Whumptober #23 & #26

The antagonist is ripped from sleep by their own stupid ringtone, it’s loud and being woken up after their fight with hero, victorious as it was exhausting, made them irrationally irate. 

They didn’t bother turning on the lights–thinking that they were going to ignore it, trying to fight down that little bit of worry that nibbled at them, who calls at–shit!–three in the morning?! It was the abnormal hour that made them pick up the phone, squinting at the screen in the dark. When they saw the name on the screen concern struck, cold and immediate, it was their good friend calling them, their good friend who never was awake after eleven, choosing to study instead of party, choosing work in the morning over enjoying life. If the antagonist had to choose one word to describe them, other than kind, generous, or loyal, they would have picked stable. 

Stable people don’t call at three in the morning on a day before they had to work. 

The Antagonist doesn’t waste time, they flick on the bedside lamp and answer the phone. “Hello? Friend?” They don;t bother disguising the concern in their voice. 

Ragged breathing comes from the other end, a pained groan, and then a voice, weak, but still recognizable, “H-hey, b-buddy,” Another groan accompanying the sounds of shifting, “I-I ne-eeda f-favor.” 

“Sure, anything, what’s going on?” They are already out of bed, pulling on pants and a dirty T-shirt, their heart beating a fluttery rhythm in the base of their throat. 

“M’pretty m-messed up,” their friend groans, S-some guy j-jumped me, I-I need y-you t-to take me t-to…” there was more shifting, a cry of pain, “s-six, five, n-nine wal-walnut st-street.” 

The antagonist scrambles for keys, already cursing hero, wasn’t preventing things like this what he was supposed to do? They freeze, stopping in the dark, keys in hand as a wave of self loathing and realization washes over them, they’d hurt hero tonight, far too badly for them to stop a mugging. They’d been waiting for a call from their henchman that they’d either captured hero or found them dead. This was their own fault. 

“I’m coming right now,” The antagonist is jolted from their horror by their friend’s gurgling coughs over the phone, “Stay awake! Alright? Where are you?” 

“The p-park on wess–on westside, M’under a l-light by the p-pond,” they pant, their slurring getting worse. 

The antagonist starts their car, only realizing that they are still wearing their slippers, they listen to the gasping breathing on the other end of the line, the groans that are rapidly becoming weaker, they don’t bother parking when they reach the lot, they leave it idling, throwing the door open. 

“I’m here,” they relate softer than they’d planned, already straining to hear the soft intakes of wheezing breath from their friend, their eyes frantically scanning the ground looking under all of the lights as they race through the park towards the pond. 

“N’thing,” their friend’s voice comes through the phone line so weakly that they have to stop running to hear it, “M’dres–dressed kinda we-weird.” 

“It’s okay,” they breathe, “I’m going to find you, it’s okay.” 

But when they come across their friend it is certainly not okay, the shock of the sight makes them stop, their phone tumbling from panic numbed fingers into the wet grass. 

The mask was off, but they would recognize hero anywhere, even if their costume was in tatters, even if they were bleeding out from the myriad of wounds they’d just given them, even if it was their friend’s bruised and bloody face behind the mask. 

No, no, NO! is all the antagonist’s mind is capable of thinking, as they stare wide eyed at their friend, horror already knocking at their bones at the state of them, at what they had unwittingly done to them. 

Their friend was pale, but humor flashed in their glassy eyes at seeing the shocked reaction of the antagonist, they fought to make the words, “S-sorry,” they breathed, their voice was not much more than a raspy whisper, “I-I was gonna t-tell y-you, bu-but t-the antagonist–h-he’s d-dangerous, didn’ wan’ y-you h-hurt,” they grimaced, looking back at the antagonist with hope in their tired eyes. 

They didn’t know either. The antagonist wanted to run forward, to run away,  to apologize, to scream, but their throat refused to make a sound, their feet refused to move. 

“You? You’re the hero?” The finally manage, more angry than they mean it to be, but they are angry, both because of the betrayal and because they think that it’s very likely that their friend, the one who helped them through the loss of their parents, the one who showed up every Friday to watch the next episode of their favorite show together–was probably going to die, and it was going to be at their bidding. 

They recalled all of the blows that they’d administered during the battle, as they watched the hero–their friend take wheezing panting breathes, a pale hand curled protectively around the still bleeding bullet wound in their side, the antagonist could see from here that they didn’t have the strength to put any real pressure on it anymore, that bullet wound had made them high with the certainty of victory not even an hour ago, they’d cackled when the hero had cried out at the pain, angry that they’d managed to get away. 

But this was different–wasn’t it? 

“Bud?” The hero croaked, the antagonist could see blood on their lips from their damaged lungs, see the twisted way that their chest moved on every burning inhale, the way that their shoulder bled a growing dark stain on their uniform…They had done that, they were responsible for the swollen wrist, the long terrible gash on the hero’s thigh….They were responsible for all of it. 

They took a tentative step back, almost, but not quite against their will. 

The hero’s eyes widened, “W-what’re y-you..? “ They can’t finish the sentence before they lose themselves in rough coughing, wincing and squeezing their eyes shut against the pain, when they pry them open again, there is desperation and confusion glimmering there, a little fear too, “P-please? Fr-friend?” they raise a trembling hand towards them, fighting to keep their eyes from sinking closed. 

The antagonist bolts, if only to keep from looking at the scene they’d caused, something in the back of their head is screaming at them to get back there, to save them, but they don’t listen to it. They can’t. If they go back the hero will know what they are, they’ll hate them like everyone else does, they can’t let that happen, they can’t! They reach the car before their knees buckle under them, their body itself rebelling against the traitorous act of leaving their friend to die. 

A soft calm voice that almost doesn’t feel like it’s coming from their own mind at all asks in the terrible silence, how can they live with themselves if they leave them? 

The antagonist dissolves, not knowing the answer to their own question. 

A few moments later their phone rings in their pocket, they didn’t remember picking it up off of the ground, but they realize that it’s their other phone–their business phone from when they are parading around as the antagonist….their stomach flips in knots when they see that the number is one that they recognize–it’s the hero’s number.  

The psyker is on the floor, twitching. She can tell he’s the psyker they’re looking for, because his skin is still visibly sparking off into the air. “Jan, cover me,” Ariadne instructs grimly, approaching. “Everyone else, forward. Time’s a-wasting.”

This bit is like shoving her hands into a wild animal’s cage, but there’s no time to lose. Pity she doesn’t have 068 and his soul-sight to hand to tell her if the guy’s freaking possessed or not. A more highly strung team might just shoot the psyker and call it better safe than sorry… but Evelyn would have her head for wasting Imperial resources like that. She’s here to either return this guy to his posting or claim him as an Inquisitorial asset. Hopefully he doesn’t need putting down. She nudges the prone man with a boot - just barely at first, then more sharply. The second one gets a bit of a whimper. “Anyone alive in there?”

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a knife through the hand, pinning a character to the ground, their fingers shaking and little whimpers escaping them as each movement brings pain

((this is a human version of scarecrow, modern day. he’s only 19 or so))

This wasn’t the first time he’d pissed off his employer, but certantly the most painful. He hadn’t expected the baseball bat to the head, or the knife through the palm of his left hand when he was prone, laying on his back. Everything else, though? That was normal. Now he was alone, any twitch of his fingers bringing more pain. His breathing hitched as he instinctively tried to pull his hand closer. If he rolled to try to grab the knife, or just pulled it out as he lay now, he’d just tear his hand open even more. Serrated steel had that sort of effect on a person.

Sayyid let a small noise escape his throat. Everything hurt. He’d have to find a way to hide this. A shirt could cover the brusies that would form on his back. Luckily, his employer didn’t want to leave obvious or lasting injuries on people in their hire. Not for this kind of work. Anything that drew attention would be the end, and already he drew enough that everything he did was monitored by him employer. Sayyid closed his eyes as he tried to remember what he’d done this time. Was it- yep. That argument. He couldn’t remember the specifics even, but the young, hot-headed hitman had said something… Right. Tried to correct his employer. Oops.

The door to the small room opened and a woman with short hair stepped in. Sayyid kept his eyes shut and didn’t bother to stiffle his whimpers anymore. He knew who this was. To him, she was the closest he’d ever get to see of his mysterious employer. It was her he’d argued with. He sometimes confalted the two in his mind.

“Are you done arguing, boy?” she asked. Sayyid went to speak, cut off by his own cry of pain as the knife was roughly torn out of his hand.

“Y-yes, Sir,” Sayyid whimpered. He didn’t dare move. He’d gotten hit enough times in life to know that you didn’t move until they said you could.

“Louder.”

Sayyid cringed and yelped as he felt her step on his already injured hand. Eyes shut eyes shut eyes shut

“Yes, S-sir,” he answered, a little louder this time. The weight dissapeared from his hand.

“Get up.”

Sayyid pulled his hand closer and quickly got to his feet. He looked at the taller woman. She crossed her arms.

“What are you waiting for? You’re free to go.”

Sayyid blinked stupidly at her. The woman merely walked over and slapped him across the face to break him out of the stupor.

Sayyid nodded, taking a few cautions steps towards the door to the hallway.

“S-Sorry, sir. You said-”

“Go home. We’ll contact you when you’re needed again.”

When he was sure he wouldn’t get punished again, he power-walked towards the exit.

Maybe he could find a way to do this job and not get the shit beat out of him every time he made a mistake.

Hero’s Pet: Villainess

(More of this! Whatever it is. Thank you guys so much for being patient! I didn’t mean for more parts of this to take so long, but life has really been draining my writing juice. Previous parts: Orignal Prompt, Continuation 1, Continuation 2,  Continuation 3, Continuation 4. How long will this go on for? Who knows… Will poor sidekick ever get rescued? We’ll see….)

“Hands in the air! Everyone on the floor!”

The still air in the bank split with screams as the robbery crew starting grabbing patrons and shoving them to the floor. Another locked the doors, drawing the blinds, while two more of Villainess’s henchmen grabbed the tellers and led them to the rest of the hostages.

“I’d like to make a withdrawal,” Villainess snickered to the bank manager as she grabbed them from their office.

The whole heist went off without a hitch. Villain sure had abandoned a honey hole of a town and Villainess was keen to move in. Even their famous Hero must be getting sloppy, as they didn’t even show up. Soon the crew was loading the money into the vans and Villainess stood over them, watching and keeping an eye out for this famous Hero they’d heard had run Villain out of town. Every villain needed a good hero after all, and if they’d taken Villain out, she was eager to take up the challenge.

“Put it back.” A gun clicked behind her.

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Dang am I a whump fan of kickings. Whumpee is on the ground after a punch, spitting blood and whumper just kicks them square in the ribs. Then kicks them again with solid boots, in the stomach and again in their back. The whumpee groans and tries to roll over. Whumper kicks them again. Even better if angry whumper words are punctuated by kicks. Dang I love kickings.

Ohh bonus points if the whumper rolls them over with the tip of their boot, and then places their foot on their chest, pinning them to the ground and looking down at them as they struggle to breathe.

(This prompt spooked around in my head for a really long time. 🤣 I know the season does not quite fit, but compassion and the spirit of Christmas are always valid, no matter the time of the year! 🌲 Please enjoy! 🖤)

#7 - Cold

[Hero] walked through the snowy streets, trying to take in everything that their eyes registered. The change in weather had been so sudden that no one in the city had taken precautions against the surprising winter. Only one week ago, the news had reported about “A surpassingly long term of really mild temperatures” for this autumn.

…How far that was away right now.

They looked down to the ground. It must have been already five inches. And it continued steadily. No busses, trains or taxis would drive this evening, maybe not even tomorrow. The whole city was astonied.

Rationally, [Hero] had every reason to be pessimistic about that. Everything was chaotic, locomotion was limited and their flat was isolated like shit eversince, allowing the freezing air to creep directly inside of their home.

Still, it felt peaceful. It seemed like everything was set into slow motion. The usual stress was muted by the tons of frozen water that sailed down the sky, making everything quiet.

[Hero] wondered when they had seen snow the last time. It must’ve been years. They didn’t know they had missed it so much.

Maybe, [Hero] mused in their thoughts, they would even go to one of the Christmas markets tomorrow, just for the feeling of it.

Their eyes glid over the white alleys and a silent smile appeared on their features. Yes, they would go. They would go and enjoy themself. Take a break from their busy job and let their soul rest for some time.

They took a few more turns and just decided to go home, when they noticed something strange.

A shadow, only a few feet ahead of them. [Hero] approached with slow steps and frowned.

Their eyes widened when they recognized what the bulky umbrage in the white snow was: A person. Not moving and in a curled up position.

“Hey!”, [Hero] called, hastily making their way towards them, “Hey, are you alright?” They kneeled next to the figure and gently shook them by the shoulder.

“Are you conscious? It’s far too cold here to-”

The words got stuck in their throat, when they turned the stranger around and the shadows revealed who was laying in front of them:

[Villain]. Bloody and bruised.

[Hero] took in a sharp breath, instantly jerking away from the criminal. Their hand glid automatically to the place where their weapon would normally be, but there was nothing. They must have left it at home. Shit.

They looked around frantically.

Was this a trap?

Were [Villains] henchmen still here?

“D-Don’t worry…I-I’m alone…”, a faint voice murmured. It belonged to [Villain].

[Hero] looked down. Their actual nemesis had turned their head around, hazy eyes looking at them in a disoriented manner.

“A-Are you.. M-my guardian Angel…?”

Now that the lights shone onto them, [Hero] noticed the bruises that were covering [Villains] pale face. Their nose was broken too. All around were footprints and crimson splatters in the shuffled snow.

Paying closer attention, [Hero] also saw the little shudders that ran through [Villains] maltreated body.

How long had they lain here?

“[Villain], what-…What has happened to you…?”, [Hero] asked hesistantly, still scanning the street for unwelcome attackers.

The criminal simpered blearily. [Hero] had never seen them smile, only grinning and sneering. Like this, [Villain] nearly looked like a decent human being. “I-I… didn’t t-take care… of m-myself…”, they murmured. They looked up to [Hero] with misty eyes. “..w-was s-so..stupid…”

[Hero] was astonished. Did [Villain] even know who was kneeling in front of them?

They looked around once again. It could be such a perfect way to lure them into their enemies claws. No one was approaching the streets and the snow would silence any kind of fight or action. They would be gone within a second.

[Villain] just had to make them feel pitiful enough to forget their cover.

But what if it was not a trap?

[Hero] was at loss. They could not just flee and let [Villain] be perished by the cold. They would never forgive themself, if there was even the slightest chance that their enemy was actually in danger.

All the time, [Villain] kept their mellow gaze on them, their fluttering eyelids already sprencled with frost.

“Goddamnit.”, [Hero] chuntered. Their voice filled with frustration. “Why didn’t I go home one alley ealier?”

They were caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. But they had to do something.

Swallowing their fear (and probably all of their common sense), [Hero] decided to take a closer look at [Villains] state. They cautiously approached their nemesis and gently pushed a hand into the collar of their shirt, still looking out for any attacks.

[Villains] skin was terribly cold. [Hero] gulped when they found the pulse: Far too low. “Can this be true..?”, [Hero] questioned themself before removing their fingers carefully.

Was [Villain] really howering between life and death?

“T-they.. attacked m-me..”, [Heros] nemesis breathed suddenly. Their gaze told [Hero] that they were only moments away from falling unconscious. “I c-can’t m-mo..ve.. m-my legs… i-i’m..s-so col…d..” [Villains] eyes flickered and finally, their head sank down onto the pavement.

Oh god… This really wasn’t staged.

What the hell should they do now? Nobody would be able to take [Villain] prisoner in this snowstorm. Nobody-

Suddenly, [Hero] froze. No one knew that they were here. No one knew that [Villain] was here.

The realization of the perfidious plan slowly perlocated through [Heros] mind: Someone had attacked and purposely dumped [Villain] here to let them die a slow and lonely death. The weather was perfect to avoid unwanted spectators and killed everyone who stayed too long within only a few hours. [Villain] had been made immobile and was left without any chance for rescue.

There was only one unforeseeable factor that could still cross that plan: [Hero].

What were the odds that someone else would find [Villain] in time? All the way through the streets, [Hero] hadn’t seen a soul. It was a tight time slot, exclusively open for them. [Hero] shuddered.

The choice about their enemies’ life laid in their hands.

Looking down, they noticed that [Villain] had stopped shivering. Their skin was slowly starting to turn blue.

One more hour and they were dead.

[Hero] had to make a decision. Now.

…Rationally, [Hero] knew that they should just leave them.

No one would suspect a thing. Hell, authorities would even be glad, if [Villain] was gone. There wouldn’t be any further investigations that could damage [Heros] reputation and mark them as a criminal. They would be save and sound.

Also, if [Hero] saved them, everything [Villain] did in the future would automatically redound upon them. No matter if other people knew it or not, [Hero] would be at least partially responsible for [Villains] crimes.

They had to think about leaving them here.

But [Villain] was a human being. They were a person. A fucking criminal, a pain in the ass and an arrogant slug, but still: A person.

[Villain] was just as human as [Hero] and their team were.

God, what should they do? Wasn’t [Hero] on the good side? Shouldn’t they help others whenever it was possible? Even when the person in misery was [Villain]?

“[Villain]. Who robs, blackmails and threatens other people. Who brings nothing but trouble. You really think they are worth saving?”, a sharp voice in [Heros] head asked. It sounded just like the one of their boss. “They are trash, nothing more.”

“Trash…”, [Hero] echoed silently.

Yes, that’s what [Villain] was for their company. Not a person: Trash. A disruptive factor.

Taking a decision, [Hero] turned away and took a few steps.

It was true. They had to leave them. Everyone would be better off without [Villain]. Everyone would be safer.

…This was the right thing to do.

…But…

“Goddamn it!”, [Hero] cursed and shook their head, hastily walking back to [Villain].

No. They couldn’t do it.

They couldn’t fucking do it.

Never would they forgive themself, if they extradited someone to death. Maybe their bosses were like that, but [Hero] wasn’t. They couldn’t just let someone die because it was easier. Or because that person was in the way. Because they didn’t conform [Heros] moral standards.

They didn’t care if it was weakness, but [Hero] was not like this.

They couldn’t let [Villain] die.

They just couldn’t.

Crouching down again, [Hero] moved closer towards their enemy and tried to sit them up. [Hero] took off their own coat and wrapped it tightly around [Villains] chilled body.

They would help them.

[Hero] wouldn’t let their enemy die in the snow.

When they lifted them up, [Villain] murmured something inaudible before their head fell down onto their saviors chest. Half-dried blood smeared into [Heros] shirt.

They gulped nervously. Doubts, anxiety and guilt were rising up in their chest.

This was insane… This was so fucking insane.

“Don’t make me regret this!”, [Hero] hissed to their foe before struggling up their feet.

“Don’t make me fucking regret this!”