June Of Doom Day 16

June of Doom Day 16

"At least it can't get any worse"

| Stairs | Concussion | Hammer |

Cw: Escape attempt, prompts above, and bone breaking.

...

Whumpee sat on a chair in the sparklingly white room, groggy and confused, their hands and feet tied down.

They couldn't see properly, their vision was blurred and the light was way too bright. But they could make out the shape of Whumper when they entered.

They circled Whumpee a few times, not saying a word.

They finally stopped in front of them, tilting their chin up to look at them. Whumpee blinked, trying to clear their vision.

"What did you think you would achieve by running?"

Whumpee couldn't answer. Whumper dropped their chin and began to circle them.

"Did you think it couldn't get any worse? Did you think you actually had a chance? All you succeeded in doing was falling down some stairs, concussing yourself, and making me angry."

Whumpee whimpered, unable to form a complete sentence.

Whumper leaned in close. "You were wrong Whumpee, it can get worse. And because I can't touch that pretty little head of yours until it's healed, I'll have to punish you some other way."

"No," Whumpee managed, but Whumper ignored them and drew a hammer from the table against the wall.

"I hope I won't ever have to say it again, Whumpee. You are never getting away from me."

With that, Whumper drew up the hammer and brought it down on Whumpee's hand as hard as they could, and Whumpee screamed.

June of Doom Day 2

"Get in"

| Sobbing | Survivors Guilt | Salve |

Cw: Death, Kidnapping, manhandling

I'm tryna get in all the prompts every time but this one was hard. I'm doing my best though.

...

Whumpee hadn't said a word since Caretaker had fallen dead on the floor before them. Whumper had put a knife through them. It still sat there, wedged in their back, and it was all Whumpee could stare at. They just stared as tears slid down their cheeks.

Whumper had been delighted.

"Don't you see Whumpee? It's just you and me now. They can't take you away from me."

Whumpee had just sobbed.

Whumper had left the room shortly after, leaving Whumpee chained to the wall, just too far away from Caretaker's unmoving form to do anything more than stare and cry. They were a mess now. Snot and tears smeared all over their face. But they couldn't stop crying.

Caretaker was dead.

Whumper returned eventually and ignored Whumpee entirely as they dragged Caretaker's body out to the waiting car and shoved it into the boot.

They returned to Whumpee, crouching down in front of them to unlock the chains.

"Come on," they said, pulling Whumpee gently along by the wrist. Whumpee didn't resist. They followed Whumper out to the waiting car but froze when Whumper tried to nudge them into the back seat.

"Get in."

Whumpee shook their head.

"Get in Whumpee, before I lose my temper."

"No, please." It was barely more than a whisper, but Whumper heard.

"None of that now Whumpee, get in."

"Kill me instead."

"What?"

"Kill me instead, just wake up Caretaker. Please." Whumpee fell to their knees.

"Oh don't be ridiculous, get in the car."

When Whumpee only responded with a sob, Whumper grabbed their arm roughly and shoved them in. They landed on the floor of the car and the air knocked from their lungs.

"I told you to get in. Now be quiet or I'll gag you."

Whumpee just sobbed again, curling into a ball in the foot space.

Whumper got in and drove off. By the time they'd buried Caretaker's body in the woods and returned to their home, Whumpee's wretched sobs had quieted to raspy breaths.

Whumpee didn't object when they were dragged from the car and into the house. They didn't even object when Whumper sat them on the countertop and pulled off their shirt. There was dark bruising forming where they'd hit the floor of the car.

Whumper sighed. "See, this is what happens when you disobey me. Caretaker's gone. There's really no reason for you to be so difficult."

Whumper wiped the tears from their face and carefully applied a salve to the bruising, muttering about how grateful Whumpee should really be, about how happy they were going to be now that Caretaker was gone, but Whumpee didn't answer, they just stared off into space, only seeing that bloody knife handle sticking out of Caretaker's back.

June of Doom Day 7

"What's the bad news?"

| Disoriented | Bite | Chainsaw |

Cw: Kidnapping, ambiguity. I didn't use the chainsaw on my whumpee cause I'm not that cruel to poor Sidekick.

Exams have begun so tragically it will be a bit of "post schedule who?" for a while, but I'll do my best to keep posting every day!

...

Sidekick watched through half-lidded eyes as Villain hefted the chainsaw and began hacking at the door. They were groggy and tired, their head pounding, and all they could hear was the beating of their heart and the roar of the chainsaw.

They knew they had to do something. Stop them. Get away. But they could barely form a sentence, let alone get up and run.

"Villain," they managed, "Let me- let me go."

Villain let go of the weapon and dropped it to the floor, not even looking at Sidekick, only at the fresh cuts they'd made in the wooden door that separated the two of them from the outside door. That kept Sidekick inside headquarters.

"None of that now Sidekick, I'm trying to help you."

They stepped back, gauging the distance, before bringing their leg up and kicking the door with all their might. It rattled. They did it again. And again. Until the door crashed to the ground outside.

Sidekick flinched at the noise.

Villain leant down and scooped Sidekick up, carrying them like they were nothing out the door and towards their car. Sidekick was too weak to do anything against them.

Villain managed to swing the car door open and lower Sidekick in without too much hassle, but as they tried to buckle them in, Sidekick did the only thing they could. They bit them.

"Ow, fuck. Did you just bite me? What the fuck, Sidekick?"

Villain pushed them back against the seat, one hand firmly on their chest, the other pulling the seatbelt across and buckling it.

Villain pulled away, cradling their hand. "Don't fucking bite me again, okay?"

They climbed into the driver seat and sped away from headquarters, Sidekick getting more and more groggy until they finally fell unconscious.

...

AN: short ik but I'm trying. I like the ambiguity in this though. Like is villain caretaker or whumper? Who knows. Not me cause all I know is stress. If anyone wants to send asks feel free cause God knows I need the inspiration. I'll set up a proper pinned post for my blog whenever I find my sanity.

June of Doom Day 6

"You're doing great."

| Injection | Nightmare | Duct Tape |

Cw: Implied torture

People liked my Hero/Villain whump so I'm gonna write more of that because that is the good shit and I didn't want to be repetitive before. Also Villain Caretaker>>>>>>Villain Whumper

...

By the time Villain had found Hero, they had already been beaten unconscious and their attacker was long gone. They lay, bruised and bleeding, ducktape binding their hands and feet and covering their mouth.

Villain cursed and scooped them up into their arms, carrying them with ease to their car. Once their limp form was suitably strapped in, Villain tore out of the car park and headed for their lair. They didn't bother removing the duct tape just yet, it would have been a waste of time.

Villain called Henchman on the way, cutting red lights and cursing at crossings.

"Boss?"

"You're going to find out who hurt Hero, and you're going to bring them to me."

"Is everything okay? What happened."

"You're going to find them, do you understand?"

"Uh, yes boss, of course."

The line went dead and Villain swerved to avoid a truck as they sped through another intersection.

When they eventually arrived at their lair, Hero had begun to stir.

Villain unbuckled them from their seat and ripped the tape from their mouth, carrying them into their lair and placing them gently on a couch.

They used a knife to cut the bonds from Hero and laid them out as gently as they could.

Hero began to stir, but Villain quickly realised they weren't waking, they were having a nightmare.

"No, please, no more," Hero begged, and Villain cursed, but let them sleep through it. It's worse to wake them during a nightmare, they knew.

But when Hero kept struggling, and wouldn't calm down, Villain found themself strapping their struggling nemesis to the table they normally used for torture.

"Calm down, I'm trying to help you."

Hero wasn't listening. "No, please, no"

Villain didn't listen and began preparing the supplies to treat Hero's various wounds.

They treated their burns and the slash across their forehead, whispering encouragements as they set Hero's broken leg. Hero had given up fighting, hovering halfway between conscious and unconscious

"You're doing great," they said, and Hero just gritted their teeth against the pain as their leg was splinted.

They bandaged Hero's cut arms, and eventually moved to cut off Hero's shirt, to reveal a myriad of cuts crisscrossing their chest.

Villain glared, trying to reign in their anger, then placed the scissors down on the table, with probably more force than necessary. Hero flinched at the clatter.

"Who did this?"

Hero shook their head.

"Tell me."

Hero looked away as best they could and didn't meet Villain's gaze. Villain just cursed again and set to work on the wounds on their chest.

When they were done, they retrieved an injection of antibiotics from their supplies. Hero tried to struggle away, but they were held tight.

"Calm down. It's just antibiotics, some of you're wounds are already infected."

Hero gulped. "Why are you doing this?"

Villain didn't look at them as they pressed the syringe into Hero's arm and pressed in the plunger.

"No one gets to hurt you but me. Get that?"

Hero nodded hesitantly, and Villain stepped away from him, beginning to clean up the various packages and bloody clothes left around.

Henchman interrupted before Hero could question anymore.

They gave barely a glance to Hero before they turned to Villain, their grin positively feral.

"Found him," they said, and Villain smiled.

June of Doom Day 13

"Say something"

| Rescue | Broken Promise | Weak |

Cw: The tags above, implied beating, betrayal

Sorry for formatting I'm writing on mobile. I'm also close to death with this cold so i apologise for the state of this.

...

Sidekick lay, broken and bloodied, in the middle of the street.

Villain had spotted them, about ten minutes ago, and battled off Other Villain, and Henchman had arrived soon after. They crouched next to Sidekick, rolling them onto their back to reveal the myriad of bruises.

"Who did this," Henchman growled.

"Other Villain," Villain told them, looking down at Sidekick in pity. "From what I've heard, Hero sold them out."

Sidekick groaned, their eyes fluttering as they fought to stay awake.

"Sidekick? Sidekick it's me, Henchman."

"They promised," they muttered, "they promised they wouldn't."

"Sidekick, what are you talking about? Come on we have to get you out of here."

Henchman, with some help from Villain, hoisted Sidekick to their feet, arm around them, holding them up.

"Hero promised," there were tears in their eyes, "they promised they wouldn't sell me out."

Henchman's grip turned tighter in anger as they led Sidekick away, towards their car.

"Hero will pay, Sidekick, I promise."

Sidekick just slumped against them and Villain helped carry them to the car and buckle them into the back seat.

"Hero will pay," Henchman repeated, and Villain nodded.

"This went too far."

Villain Rehabilitation

Based loosely on a dream—I have no recollection of writing this

Cw: medical malpractice, institutionalized abuse, mentioned “therapeutic” torture, mentioned drowning/water torture, burns, there’s just a general upset, creepy vibes here, mentioned electrical torture, accidental self inflicted burns (Villain has fire powers.. it makes sense in the piece)

The floor was cold to match the air, villain could feel the chill seeping up from the tiles, through their thin socks. It was freezing in their small room, of course it was. It was always freezing. The thin blankets on their cot did absolutely nothing to protect them from that cold. It didn’t bother them like the way it used to, but on particular bad days it still caused old scars to ache, healed wounds to throb as if new.

It was Thursday. They knew that much. They had no clue what the date was, nor the month. In their little cell, there was no windows, only their bed and a dresser, and a little bathroom through an open doorway. And the camera in the corner, which they did their best to ignore. Their last attempt at escape had lost them the shred of privacy they had left, two of the staff members coming in during the night to remove the curtain that blocked the bathroom from the main space. Whatever. They tried to act as if that didn’t bother them. One of the few luxuries they had left, gone.

They knew it was Thursday, though, because no one had come in. No staff to deliver their meal, no guards to drag them off to another therapy session. They were alone and cold and hungry, which meant only one thing.

It was Thursday, and that meant Hero was coming.

They honestly would have preferred therapy. They would have preferred to be submerged into the depths of the ice cold tub, or the burning hot steam, to scream and thrash as the water seared their skin, leaving welts and burns similar to that flames would cause. But the staff had tried that, dozens of times. Sparks from a lighter, or whatever humane name they chose to give it to cover the fact they were intentionally trying to burn them did not bother Villain the way they would others. Fire didn’t harm Villain unless it was of their own creation.

Those flames were snuffed out the moment they crackled to life.

The so called criminal cast a bitter glance towards the ceiling, the four sprinklers connected to the main water tank, just waiting for the activation button to be pressed. Either from the security office where they knew a guard was watching them now, just waiting for the first flicker of light to turn on the water, or from the outside of their room where any traveling worker could press it if they saw fit through the little glass window on the door.

It was more annoying than anything. With the cold, it would take much more energy for them to produce even a spark, energy they did not have to spare from the nutritional meals they were given. What a load of crap. The sludge served on the tray could barely be considered food, only enough to keep them alive, not doing anything for the hunger.

If there was one thing they had to look forwards to in Thursdays, though, it was lunch. Hero always brought them lunch, from wherever they could spare the time and expenses beforehand. Usually it was fast food, something quick and greasy that would leave Villain sick for a bit afterwards, but other days it was true meals from expensive restaurants, multiple rich courses with drinks and desert to go along. Though Villain usually ended up full before that, their appetite not what it used to be after their strict, forced diet, they could appreciate the thought, and Hero would never comment when they slipped an extra roll or handful of fries into the pocket of their jumper, to stash away in the corner of their room for whenever the next bout of hunger would strike.

That almost made up for the distress the rest of their visits would cause.

As if on a cue, Villain looked up just in time to hear the heavy lock of their door slide out of place. They were backing up even before the guards stepped in, knowing the procedure by heart now.

“Against the wall.”

The room wasn’t small, but it wasn’t very big either. Eight steps across was all it took for the distance between them to be closed. Villain bit the inside of their cheek, more annoyed than anything as they raised their hands, holding them out to either side as the pair of guards stepped forwards, one holding the dreaded pair of gloves, the other with his prod already flicked on, electricity buzzing the end, prepared for any outbursts.

Fire might not have hurt them, but electricity sure did.

They didn’t fight as the first guard grabbed them by the arms. They knew better than that. The scars they held from the first and only time they tried to fight back still stood out starkly against their skin.

When Hero had given them the choice between prison or the Villainous Rehabilitation Center, the choice had seemed obvious. Life bound in chains behind bars, isolated in a cell under constant watch, or a brochure with a lovely castle like campus, smiling faces and gentle therapeutic programs to reteach criminals the way of society and introduce them back into the community, it was obvious which one they were going to pick. They weren’t a criminal, they had at first tried to protest. It had been an accident, a mistake. They hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.

Now they wish they had chosen prison.

The gloves fit snug and warm over their hands, borderline burning as the guard then fastened the familiar cuffs around their wrists. The fabric stretched nearly to their elbows, thick like the ones a person would wear when tending a fire. Villain was sure that’s where the inspiration for the design had come from. In some weird, twisted opposite way, they were designed to rather keep the flames contained. So the only thing they would burn if Villain slipped up was themself.

The marred burns that covered every inch of skin from their forearms down proved that they were effective.

The guard grabbed their arm, and they were walking out of the room. Down the hall, through the compound. Villain knew there was a nicer side to the center, somewhere towards the outside where all of the minor patients were kept. The ones with chances of recovery, one of the doctors had told them as Villain caught a glimpse through a cracked door. They had looked like the ones in the brochure, happy and smiley and hopeful. They did puzzles, and ate at buffets, and watched movies and played piano and went to normal therapy sessions where they talked about their feelings and their pasts and were only there for a few months before they were let out. But anyone who had the misfortune of being deemed “too sick to help”, anyone like them, were all locked away, behind doors that required keycards and cold cells and torture disguised as treatment. Villain knew there were others, they could hear the screams and sobs in the middle of the night if they pressed their ear to the crack in the door, or listened through the vents.

They were brought to a familiar room. The soft lights and cushioned chairs gave it the illusion of safety, of comfort, but Villain knew better. The shackles were connected to a short chain fastened to the table, and Villain was pushed down to sit in one of the chairs.

“Hero will be here shortly.”

Of course they would. It never took them more than five minutes after Villain was brought to arrive. They were sure that was purposeful, Hero was likely just sitting in another room, waiting to be given the go-ahead. There was some procedure, Villain was sure, but they didn’t care enough to risk asking. With nothing to do but count the seconds, Villain shifted in their seat and waited.

True to their history, Hero didn’t take long. The door opened and Villain looked up, a sour taste budding on their tongue.

“Hey.”

They sounded tired. Villain didn’t respond as Hero closed the door behind them. They held a bag in their hand, the smell of freshly cooked food making Villain’s stomach flip as they walked over and set it down on the same table villain was chained to before taking the seat opposite.

They waited, but Hero didn’t make any move to take the food out, so after a moment they leaned back. They would have crossed their arms, but the chains wouldn’t allow that so they settled for crossing their legs instead.

“Villain, the doctors said you have stopped putting effort towards recovery.” Hero’s voice was soft, their hands folding on the table. They didn’t meet Villain’s eyes. “They have suggested a new treatment plan, and after a long consideration, the agency has approved.”

Villain’s entire body went cold when Hero looked up. There were tears in their eyes.

“After today, I am no longer permitted to visit. The sessions will become more frequent and intense. Your rules and schedule will become more strict. Until further notice, all items of luxury or comfort will be revoked.”

Revoked? Villain felt nauseous. They weren’t entirely sure what counted as an item of luxury, but they had a really bad feeling.

“The faculty has issued a formal appeal to request your entry to a clinical trial, which after long thought the committee decided to pass. I’m sorry, Villain. We have all been trying, but you can’t get better unless you try, but since you’re not willing to put in the effort by choice, dire measures must be taken.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Villain murmured after a long moment, their voice coming out a quiet rasp. They didn’t do much talking anymore, only using their voice to scream or beg in sessions. Speaking felt weird, wrong.

“I tried to suggest alternatives, Villain, I did. I couldn’t change their minds.” A single tear rolled down the hero’s cheek, and they quickly scrubbed it away. “I really hope you get better soon. I don’t want you to turn out like the others.”

Not another word was spoken after that. Villain sunk back in their seat. They weren’t sure they wanted to know what that meant.

When it came time for Hero to leave, the food sat still on the table, untouched and cold. They glanced back over their shoulder, but villain didn’t look up.

The door shut behind them without so much as a “Goodbye.”