Take a whumpee out on a farm in the middle of nowhere man’s land, and you don’t even have to tie them up, you don’t have to break them. The escaping will do all the work for you.
They’ll run till their lungs give out, they keep crawling until they bleed. And then you ride out on your horse and carry them back, each time patient as ever until they just stop.
They beg you to talk to them, to yell at them, to punish them, anything other than just ignoring them, watching them break slowly.
And eventually you throw them a bone, you acknowledge them only at the small cost of everything they were before.
They only have room to be yours now, and a part of them can’t remember anything else.
character a rescues character b, who is injured badly, but they can’t get home and are forced to take shelter. Days pass, and character b starts to run a high fever. Character a has to use whatever they have on hand and just…hope. Character b, delirious, begs to go home.
Whumpee comes home after a long mission away, they are closed off and reserved which is unlike them as they usually jump at any chance to talk. Instead of deeply kissing the caretaker they just give them a quick peck and sits down on the sofa staring off into space, zoning out.
The caretaker immediately catches on that something is wrong and makes their way to Whumpee and sits with them. Caretaker guides Whumpess head onto their (caretakers) chest and places small soft kisses to their hair. Rubbing slow gentle circles on their arm they ask Whumpee if they're okay and want to talk. After a beat of silence Whumpee answers solemnly that they are fine.
The caretaker slowly gets up and pours whumpee a glass of water and tells them to stay put. A few seconds later Whumpee could hear the gentle sound of a bath running as the caretaker makes their way back to the whumpee. They take the whumpee’s hand and slowly guides them to the bathroom where a warm bubble bath is being prepared.
The whumpee takes off their clothes with help of the caretaker and descends into the bath. The caretaker starts gently washing and massaging whumpees scalp and hair, getting all the grime out. After awhile of comfortable and much needed silence the whumpee talks. They slowly explain what happened and what they saw. Their hands are shaking and they are trying their best to hold back tears. The caretaker doesnt interrupt, they just sit there and listen.
Skeletonization - the final phase of decomposition.
It occurs when the soft tissues of a dead organism have completely decomposed, leaving only the skeletal remains.
The rate of an organism’s decomposition varies depending on several factors.
Therefore, there is no standard timeline on when skeletonization occurs after death.
This process occurs gradually, with the skeleton becoming visible slowly as the organism’s soft tissues and organic matter decompose.
Skeletonization marks the end of an organism’s decomposition.
Decomposition occurs in 5 phases:
During the first stage, known as fresh decay or autolysis, body temperature decreases, the body stiffens, also known as rigor mortis, and blood pools on the side of the body closest to the ground.
Next, the early decomposition stage begins. It is during this stage that the body begins to change more rapidly. Changes include bloating, skin discoloration, and hair loss.
Active decay, the third stage of the process, involves additional changes to the organism. Skin will continue to change color, and tissues will begin to decompose.
During the fourth stage, or advanced decay, remaining tissues continue to decompose, resulting in skin sagging. Some bone may begin to show, although the complete skeletonization process has not yet begun at this stage.
Skeletonization is the final stage of this process. The organism’s skeleton becomes exposed during this stage. This stage begins when at least one-half of the skeleton is visible. The remaining tissues will erode over time. Bones may initially be covered in bodily fluids or decomposed tissue. However, as the skeletonization process continues, those substances will fully decay, and the bones will become dry.
Environmental conditions impact how quickly an organism decays:
Specifically, temperature, humidity, and insect activity can affect decomposition rates.
Organisms found in warm, humid environments with high insect levels will decompose at faster rates than those found in cooler, less humid climates.
In the case of human decomposition, the body’s clothing or how well it is protected from the elements can also impact how quickly it reaches the skeletonization phase.
However, once the organism reaches the skeletonized phase, it can remain in that state for years or even centuries.
The rate of decay of the skeleton is much slower than the earlier stages of decomposition.
Environmental factors also impact how long the organism remains in a skeletonized state.
Skeletons in fertile soil may take 20 years to decompose.
In neutral soil or sand, it can remain in a skeletonized state for much longer, even hundreds of years.
Skeletonization is an important topic for scientists, forensic anthropologists, crime scene investigators, and archaeologists.
Skeletonized remains are often studied to learn more about the body and what happened to it, including how and when the individual or organism died.
Forensic anthropologists study skeletonized remains for several purposes. Studying these remains can provide insight into how the person lived, what treatments or medications they may have taken, and what factors played a role in their death.
From a historical standpoint, studying unearthed skeletonized remains from an earlier era can help anthropologists learn about the individual’s ancestry or personal history.
Forensic anthropologists also play a key role in crime scene investigation.
When human remains are found and a crime is a possibility, investigators will collect evidence, including hair, fibers, and blood spatter.
Autopsies can determine the cause of death, and
DNA can identify the individual.
Then, forensic anthropologists step in to provide expert insight, which can help identify the cause of death, and more.
Skeletonized remains require the work of forensic anthropologists to determine the cause of death and identity of the victim.
These scientists will procure and clean bones to ensure they are ready for analysis.
Then, forensic anthropologists work to determine the biological profile of the individual, which can help develop a thorough life history that may assist investigators.
The biological profile may include information on the individual’s sex, estimated age, ancestry, and stature.
Once forensic anthropologists determine the biological profile of the skeletonized body, the focus shifts to identify what factors played a role in the person’s death.
These scientists may often spend months analyzing the skeletal remains of any case.
They are trained to be able to distinguish previous injuries, such as a broken bone during childhood, from trauma that may have contributed to the death.
Their findings can provide important insight that can help detectives solve a crime.
They may take the stand in a trial to share their findings with a judge and jury.
Archaeologists study uncovered artifacts, including skeletonized remains that may be found at historic sites.
Skeletonization, then, is also important in the study of archaeology and can enhance the understanding of history.
An assessment of skeletonized remains can also reveal health conditions that the individual faced throughout their life.
For example, archaeologists can examine a skeleton’s teeth to determine what, if any, dental diseases or problems they had.
Bones may also show a history of arthritis, gout, or spine inflammation.
Visible fractures, sharp force trauma, and blunt force trauma may provide clues on how the person died.
B cards their fingers through the smaller man's hair to wipe away the blood and muck blotting on A's face. But its no use, his hands were already filthy days ago. It had happened when their small traveling party had settled and bandits forced out into the open.
A rope. A knife. A few roared spells. B shuttered and An snapped back to reality.
He planted a palm firm over the growing splotch in the center of B's tunic.
Screw this reality then... Where this kid.. had been stupid sure, but he didn't dare think the kid would run out in front of a sword strike meant for when A's back was turned.
B sputtered, choking on red that bubbled from their lips.
A wiped B's face with their free hand again. Lifting him, slightly to clear his throat.
"Easy, kid! Its not as bad as it looks, you have to keep breathing for me!, Alright? please! " He begged.
A's face Scarred and cowled with years of work and war now bore a desperation B never saw before. Not in battle, not-
not even when his mother had died.
B' looked up, every piece of armor ripped away In bare tunic, he had looked washed out, pale against the red earth that covered everything on the fields..
B tried to nod but everything in his body was burning, and all he can think about is how warm A's chest feels beneath his cheek. Or how the stab in his middle would make a really pretty scar one day.. but somewhere he knows.. it wont ever get to look like the ones A' hides beneath their big cozy coats.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him and B's eyes slipped closed..
Soft, heavy shaking and a warm..gentle wetness fell over his cheek dripping down and soaking into B's tunic.
"..f-...fath-er?"
--------------------------------------------------------------
Teddah! did a contin for ya, and i hope its alright for the little spark i had.
@hurt-comfort-my-beloved
do you even know how much work goes in to keeping this basement appropriately creepy and disgusting? thats not rust on those pipes, i painted that. i cant have rusty pipes. i use those to shower. those are actually fancy rats, too, the wild ones are too good at hiding. and frankly good handcuffs are wayyy more expensive than the pink fuzzy kind. the filing cabinet is real, though. dont go in there. i need those paystubs to do taxes.
"get up." a light nudge followed by a kick to their abdomen. "get up."
whumpee shakes their head. curls up tighter into themself. what's the point, if all that awaits them is more endless agony anyways?
a low cry of despair slips past their lips as whumper grabs their hair and pulls them up. "I said," two heavy slaps followed by a warning squeeze to the back of their throat. "get the fuck up."
whumpee trembles, trembles, trembles. tasting blood, feeling it dribble past their chin. it won't stop. what's the point?
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—
CHLOROFORM WHUMP PROMPTS
It's just so... delightfully dramatic >:)
These can also double as kidnapping/capture whump prompts.
*~*~*~*
HERO X VILLAIN
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."
BOUNTY HUNTER
"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."
SPY
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."
DETECTIVE
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."
ROYAL WHUMPEE
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."
UNDERCOVER/TRAITOR
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
Tw character death (implied/fade to black)/ blood and blood loss/ loopy from blood loss/ blood under cut lol
“Ya know… I never really thought about how nice of a color blood is. Heh.” Whumpee let out a single breathless laugh like they’d just run a few miles.
Caretaker turned to see what Whumpee was going on about this time.
“You’re late again, Whumpee. And what the hell are you—” Their heart stopped and they froze as they took in the scene in front of them.
Whumpee was there, leaning unsteadily against the wall like gravity was fighting them to stay upright.
Whumpee looked up at Caretaker with a smile. Dazed, eyes and a dopey expression on their face. Clearly a bit out of their mind.
“T-too bad its hurts sso muuch t-to ssee it,” Whumpee slurred.
They stared down at their hand covered in blood with a look of awe. Like the red covering their hands and that stained their shirt and most of their skin was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen.
“I’sss so pretty…” Whumpee’s smile was gruesome with that same, beautiful red color before it fell with a grimace. Their hand came back down to hold their stomach. Right where the worst of the blood was seeping into their ripped and ragged shirt, pooling in the waistband of their pants, dripping to the floor. “F-f-fuckin’ hell… heh,” they laughed again. Even more breathless. Blood splattered from their lips with each huff of half-aborted, painful sounding breaths. “Pretty… but f-f-fuckin’ h-hurts.”
Whumpee’s eyes lazily followed the blood as it pooled around their hand again, sliding in rivulets over their knuckles and dropping onto the floor with horrific splashes. They stared at the pool that was growing beneath them.
“A-always said b-beauty is p-pain.” Whumpee’s loopy laugh at their own joke turned harshly into pained, gurgling, wet coughs before Caretaker finally felt their thoughts kick back into gear.
“Whumpee!!”
Caretaker sprinted forward as Whumpee fell to their knees with a painful thud. Their head lulled forward and their arms drooped. Caretaker saw their body jerk with one last effort to stay upright before they crumbled just before Caretaker could reach them.
“Fuck- FUCK! Whumpee NO!” Caretaker slid beside Whumpee, pulling them to lay on their back with their head in Caretaker’s lap.
One look at the gaping wound through the tattered clothes and Caretaker knew this was bad.
Very bad. And yet they couldn’t remember a single piece of emergency information about what to do in this situation.
A vague thought about how Whumpee could have possibly made it this far like this echoed in their mind along with every other panicked thought running through them at the speed of light.
Whumpee looked up at them with unfocused eyes and recognition crossed their face after a moment.
“H-hi C-caret-t-taker,” they stuttered then gasped in a breath like the effort to speak was already too much. Whumpee’s eyes crinkled and gleamed with their smile up at Caretaker, like they weren’t in excruciating pain and on the brink of bleeding out. “S-sorry ‘m l-late,” they whispered.
“Shhhh, Whumpee,” Caretaker hushed them, brushing a bloodied piece of hair that had been matted to their skin off Whumpee’s face. Whumpee blinked slowly like they were enjoying the gentle caress despite the blood covering them.
Caretaker looked back down at Whumpee’s stomach and had to hold down the bile that was threatening to come up.
“What… what happened?” Caretaker could barely choke out.
“N-never thought I had something so b-b-beau-beaut-iful in m-me, huh, C-caretaker?” Whumpee laugh-coughed again as if they hadn’t heard Caretaker’s question. Their whole body shuddered with the coughs. Their eyes closed again in a blink so slow that Caretaker wasn’t sure they would open again.
“Don’t fall asleep Whumpee,” they tapped the others cheek lightly to get them to look up at them again. Caretaker’s brain finally caught up amongst their panic. They reached for their phone and dialed the emergency number. “I’m.. I’m calling the ambulance. But you gotta stay with me.” Whumpee’s eyes blinked closed again. “No no, come on! Stay with me!”
Whumpee’s eyes popped open, but was still unfocused and searching.
“Y-you’re very pretty t-too, Caret-taker,” Whumpee smiled a lazy smile but their eyes were barely open anymore.
Whumpee reached up with a shaking, trembling hand and lightly touched Caretaker’s face. Whumpee seemed to smile at the red marks their hands left behind in Caretaker’s skin. They left another streak of it like some kind of horrible finger-painting.
“Heh. Pretty,” they huffed with strained effort in their tone.
Caretaker could feel how cold their trembling touch was and the cool air licking against the gore Whumpee’s hands left in a perfectly shared, gruesome hand print made them shiver.
“Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?” Caretaker vaguely heard the emergency line operator on the phone still in their hand. Once again, they were kicked back to the present, bringing the phone back up to their ear— the side opposite the one Whumpee was holding and admiring.
“H-hello? Yes! I’m here! I-I need an ambulance at.. um 845 West Ma—” Suddenly their arm was being tugged away by the same hand that had been holding their cheek. They lost grip on the phone and it clattered to the floor. Whumpee didn’t let go of their arm when Caretaker went to reach for it again.
“Whumper came back for me. I-I escaped…” Whumpee breathed so quietly that Caretaker could barely hear them but it was clear they were determined to say this. “W-wanted t-to see you… o-one last t-time.”
“N-no! Whumpee, the phone! They’re coming! They’ll help you!”
“W-wanted to th-thank you f-for e-e-very-th-thing.”
“You can thank me later, Whumpee!” Caretaker pulled from their grasp and took the phone again as Whumpee’s hand fell limply back down.
Whumpee let out a shuddering breath like that small effort to reach out to Caretaker was more than they could handle. Perhaps it was. Caretaker took their cold—too cold— hand back into their own, missing Whumpee’s touch immediately. Whumpee smiled up at Caretaker with a gentle, though bloodied, grin and squeezed feebly around Caretakers hand.
Almost like Whumpee was comforting Caretaker.
“Ambulance! 845 West Main Street! Hurry! Please!”
“Can you tell me what’s going on? What the injuries are?”
“Blood!” Caretaker spit out immediately, half focused on the way Whumpee’s smile was drooping and their eyes blinked closed slower and slower. “U-uhm! Big— uh? Hole—wound! in their stomach. Just.. just above their navel?” Caretaker tried to explain, horror rushing through them as Whumpee’s grip slowly began to loosen in theirs.
“Can you put pressure on the wound to help stop the bleeding?” The operator asked.
Caretaker nodded as if she could see them. “U-um. Yes. Pressure! The bleeding!” Caretaker recalled that old bit of emergency knowledge the moment the operator had said it and cursed themself for forgetting it the moment they needed it.
Caretaker moved to do just that but Whumpee’s hand tightened again. Caretaker looked down at them, surprised by their sudden energy, only to see their eyes wide and fearful and overflowing with tears.
“D-d-don’t le-let go of m-me. P-please!”
“Whumpee, I have to put pressure on—”
“N-not g-gonna w-w-work. Pl-please d-don’t l-let me go. P-please don’t l-leave me. I-I don’t want t-to be a-alone. D-Don’t let go!”
“B-but Whumpee—”
“Please..”
“Hello? Can you hear me? Hello? Are you putting pressure on the wound? If you can hear me, emergency vehicles are on the way to your location. Seven minutes out.”
“It’s too late.” Whumpee whispered. “P-please don’t let go of me.”
“O-okay, Whumpee. O-okay. I’m here. I-I’m not going anywhere.”
Caretaker squeezed Whumpee’s hand again and Whumpee let out a relieved, choked sob.
“I-I-I’m sorry.”
“Shh. Its okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“I love y-you.”
“I love you too, Whumpee.”
---
Accidentally inspired by my own prompt and it turned into this… whoops…. Feel free to tag me if you write for this prompt or any of my others! I’d love to see your whump :)
"my lord with all your heirs are you not worried of a succession crisis." Said the advisor "trust I have asked them many times and all but two deny the throne." Said the king "my oldest thinks it's his obligation to take it and my youngest thinks it allows her to eat ice cream for dinner."
CW: aftermath of noncon, injury reveal, bruises, concussion, blood
@juneofdoom
*~*~*~*
Villain knew Hero was waiting up for them before they even opened the apartment door. Golden light spilled beneath it, and the television murmured softly on the other side.
They closed their eyes briefly before unlocking it and stepping inside. The warmth of the apartment hit first. Then Hero’s eyes.
They were curled into the couch in sleep clothes, one sock missing, book abandoned face-down beside them. Their expression sharpened immediately when they saw Villain.
There it is, Villain thought tiredly. The worrying.
They loved Hero for it.
God, they loved them for it.
Which was precisely why they couldn’t bear this.
“You’re late,” Hero said softly.
Villain slipped off their gloves one finger at a time to hide the slight tremor in their hands. “Work.”
Their voice sounded normal. Calm. Dryly amused.
Good.
The hallway swayed slightly when they started walking.
Less good.
Villain compensated automatically, smoothing their gait before Hero could comment on it. Years of practice made the adjustment effortless despite the nausea clawing behind their eyes.
Shower.
They just needed the shower. Wash off the blood, the hands, the smell.
Then they could come back out and smile properly and let Hero fuss over a fake headache or a pulled muscle and everything would be fine.
“You’re bleeding,” Hero said.
Villain touched absentmindedly at the side of their neck. Their fingertips came away red.
Annoying.
“Comes with the job.”
Hero didn’t laugh.
Villain could feel their gaze following every movement as they loosened their cuffs and headed for the hallway.
Don’t ask questions, Hero. Please.
“I’m going to shower,” Villain said lightly. “Then you can scold me for my work-life balance.”
Behind them, silence.
Then—
“Turn around.”
Villain stopped.
Their eyes slid shut for half a second.
Damn it.
Hero almost never used that tone.
It slipped under Villain’s ribs and curled around their spine until disobedience felt impossible.
Villain stood there for a moment arguing with themself.
They could ignore it.
Technically.
They could laugh and keep walking and lock the bathroom door behind them.
Hero wouldn’t force them, would never force them. But then they would get that look in their eyes tomorrow morning. Hurt hidden behind understanding. Quiet acceptance masking their worry.
Villain hated that look. Hated being the cause of it even more. It was ridiculous, honestly. They faced armed mercenaries without blinking. Lied to governments. Walked into torture chambers with their pulse steady.
But Hero saying ‘turn around’ in that soft voice?
Devastating.
Villain almost smiled despite themself.
Idiot.
Completely gone for them.
They hid the expression before turning around carefully.
Too late.
Hero’s mouth twitched.
“You’re amused?”
“No.”
Liar.
Hero stood and walked closer.
Villain kept their posture easy despite the pounding in their skull. Their suit was still immaculate. Hair still neat enough. They knew how to hold themself together.
Hero's gaze travelled over them once, calculating.
Too perceptive.
Villain resisted the urge to fidget.
“You’re favouring your left side,” Hero said quietly.
“A bruise.”
“You took your gloves off before your coat.”
Villain blinked once.
“The blood on your collar bothered you more than the blood on your hands,” Hero continued softly. “Which means you knew it was there already.”
Clever thing.
Villain kept their expression smooth. “You always did overanalyse me.”
Hero ignored that entirely. Their gaze lifted to Villain’s face instead.
“And you have a concussion.”
Villain sighed softly through their nose. “Mild.”
“One pupil’s blown.”
“…Moderate concussion.”
Hero stepped closer. Villain held perfectly still.
“You should sit down,” Hero murmured.
“I’d rather shower first.”
“Why?”
Villain smiled faintly. “Because I’m covered in blood?”
“No.” Hero tilted their head slightly. “That’s not the reason.”
Dangerous.
Dangerous conversation.
Villain’s stomach tightened.
“You’re very determined tonight.”
“You’re very evasive tonight.”
Villain looked away briefly, gaze catching on the bathroom door. So close.
Hero followed the glance immediately.
Ah.
Villain suppressed a grimace.
Hero softened then, all sharp intelligence melting into something unbearably fond.
“Okay,” they said quietly. “One thing first.”
Villain eyed them warily. “Hm?”
“Just one hug.”
Absolutely not.
The answer flashed through Villain instantly.
It was too risky. Far too close.
Hero would feel the shaking. The bruises. The way Villain flinched at pressure in the wrong places.
Worse—Villain wanted it.
God, they wanted it.
They were exhausted down to the marrow. Their head rang. Their skin still crawled from unwanted hands and cruel laughter and being held down—
No.
No.
Shower first.
Control themself first.
Hero watched the war play across their face and softened further.
“I don’t care that you’re dirty,” they said gently. “Then you can shower and I’ll stop bothering you.”
Villain almost laughed at that. As if Hero had ever stopped bothering them. As if Villain had ever truly wanted them to.
Their chest ached suddenly with helpless affection.
Hopeless.
They were absolutely hopeless for this person.
“…One hug,” Villain muttered.
Hero smiled immediately.
It hit Villain right in the ribs.
Idiot, they thought again, exasperated and terribly fond.
Slowly, reluctantly, Villain spread their arms slightly in invitation.
Hero stepped into them at once.
One arm slid around Villain’s waist. The other curled around the back of their neck.
Villain stiffened immediately.
Wrong.
Hero didn’t usually hug like this.
Their pulse stumbled. “Sweetheart—”
Too late.
Hero’s fingers had already disappeared into their hair, searching and careful.
Then suddenly not careful at all as fingertips brushed the sticky blood matted at the back of Villain’s head.
Villain hissed sharply.
Hero went still for exactly one second.
Then their hand at Villain’s waist tightened.
Not affection anymore.
…Assessment.
They tried to pull back immediately, but Hero's other hand slid lower first, fingertips grazing beneath the hem of their shirt.
Pain flared white-hot across Villain's hips. They jerked violently.
Hero froze.
Beneath the lifted fabric, dark purple fingerprints bloomed across Villain's skin, stark even in the dim hallway light.
Villain's stomach dropped clean through the floor.
No.
No no no—
Hero stared.
Then their gaze snagged on another bruise, lower this time.
Teeth.
Villain felt Hero go utterly motionless against them.
Too late. They knew.
Villain shoved them back hard enough that Hero stumbled.
“Don’t.”
Their voice cracked violently.
Hero stared.
Their hand lifted instinctively, then stopped halfway when Villain flinched.
Villain dragged their shirt back down with hands that refused to cooperate. One side caught on their belt. They yanked harder than necessary.
"Well," they muttered, forcing an exhausted smile. "That was invasive."
The silence stretched.
Hero didn't answer. The colour had drained from their face.
Villain's smile faltered. "...I'm fine."
Hero's eyes flicked to the blood still drying in Villain's hair.
"...Mostly," Villain conceded.
Hero swallowed once.
"Who?" they asked quietly.
Villain blinked. "What?"
"Who did this to you?"
Villain looked almost offended. "That's an incredibly broad question. You see, it could be the concussion. Could be the broken ribs. Could be—"
Villain caught themself too late.
"...Actually, no, let's not make a list. It'll ruin the night."
Another silence stretched between them.
When Villain spoke again, the humour was thinner now. Held together by habit.
"It wasn't..."
Their jaw locked.
The next word refused to come.
For a long moment they simply stood there, staring somewhere over Hero's shoulder, as though waiting might make the sentence finish itself.
"...Consensual."
They laughed quietly.
"I've discovered it's a remarkably unpleasant thing to say out loud."
Hero's gaze never left their face.
Their hand curled slowly into a fist.
"I assure you," Villain murmured, eyes fixed stubbornly on the floor between them, "it was not a lapse in judgement. I wasn't—" Their throat worked. "With them. By choice." Villain shut their eyes. "I fought."
A breath.
"I lost."
Their laugh broke halfway out.
"Embarrassing, really.”
They squeezed their eyes shut.
“...I didn't choose it."
Their hands started shaking. "I tried to—to make them stop.”
"Villain."
"I would never—"
Their voice disappeared.
They tried again.
"I would never do that to you."
A flicker crossed Hero’s face.
Rage.
Cold, silent, catastrophic rage.
Their jaw tightened so hard a muscle jumped beneath the skin.
“...Didn’t catch it the first time, love. My mistake.” Hero took one slow step forward. “Who?”
Villain took a step backward.
Hero took one forward.
Villain hated the tremor in their own hands. Hated the tears burning suddenly behind their eyes even more.
“It’s handled,” they said tightly.
Hero looked at them like they’d said something insane.
Villain’s head throbbed harder. The apartment tilted unpleasantly.
“I said it’s handled.”
Hero’s voice came very quiet. "You weren't hiding the blood."
"—That’s enough."
Villain turned away.
"..."
"Villain."
They stopped.
This time, they didn’t even try to turn around.
*~*~*~*
Villain whumpees that are trying very hard to remain stoic AND FAILING RAAAGGGHHH *chomps violently* 🤌🤌🤌 chef's kiss. making out with the chefs, even.
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
"What did you do to them?" "Nothing. They were the ones that went into my head uninvited, psychics really need to learn boundaries. I tried to keep the away from dangerous memories, but you know how they are with privacy." "What did they find?" "I don't know, I forgot it for a reason."
the role of the person in the passenger seat is not only navigator but secretary as well. you have to type up the drivers messages to random ladies on facebook about cbd cream & google whether that billy joel song was the theme song for that show or not
Based off of my SOA magic system that should probably post, because yesterday was my birthday, these are basically my truest fave tropes
When heartbreak/grief affects a character's magic
Magic backfiring often having the same effects as a gun backfiring
When the stress and trauma is genuinely killing the character
The variance of scars caused by magic. Necrotic scars from dark magic. Colorful scars from haphazard spellcasting. Lighting scars that refuse to fade. Leathery skin from overuse of fire magic. Discolored fingertips, foggy eyes, rapidly graying hair, gimme gimme gimme
Nose bleeds from overuse? A class. But what about... tinnitus, blurred vision, dizzying, loss of appetite, weight loss, tingling/numbness, loss of balance, paling skin, weakened immune systems, muscular pain, oh I could go on
Soldiers collapsing mid battle from using their magic too much
Squad mates holding up their comrade so that they can keep casting magic, despite their weakness and inability to stand for themselves
Watching magic trace through someone's veins before it conjures into reality
I cannot forgive myself for the past.
There are shadows waiting in the corners of quiet rooms.
Memories of my mother in the curls of my coworkers hair.
A lingering disgust behind every kiss my husband graces over me.
Stuck in this invisible space.
Somewhere between realities.
Is this hell?
Or is this meant for me?
