Whumpee Is Locked In A Lab And Exposed To Some Sort Of Chemical, Poison, Or Pathogen That Will Inevitably

Whumpee is locked in a lab and exposed to some sort of chemical, poison, or pathogen that will inevitably kill them.

Caretaker is on the other side of the door and forced to watch. If there’s a window, at least.

Maybe Whumpee is exposed to an airborne toxin that comes fast, seeping into the air and making it acrid. Whumpee wheezes and gasps, pounds and claws at the door, screams until there’s nothing but fire in their lungs. Whumpee’s fight doesn’t last long, efforts going quiet, body slumping over and their face going blue. Caretaker’s fight lasts much longer, pounding and yelling at the door, but it still comes all too late.

Maybe it’s a poison or a virus that works slow. Whumpee seems fine on the other side of that door, just a few broken beakers or a little needle barely breaking skin. But then the symptoms start. Whumpee gets pale, and dizzy, and all distracted and spacey, and Caretaker starts to realize something is really fucking wrong. Maybe Whumpee starts sweating, shaking, vomiting, hallucinating, symptoms just getting worse and worse by the hour. Caretaker has to watch Whumpee deteriorate right there on the floor without being able to stop it.

Maybe Whumpee keeps periodically passing out. Caretaker sees Whumpee stumble and go white, and they tell them to sit the fuck down because the last thing they need is a concussion too. Maybe Whumpee hits the ground and Caretaker is left pounding at the door, yelling at them to wake up, because the longer they’re out the worse it gets. Whumpee wakes up every time, eventually, but always in a worse condition. And then it just gets harder and harder to wake Whumpee up until they just start having seizures instead.

Maybe Whumpee is locked in there with Whumper, held at gunpoint and forced to do what they say. Maybe Whumper uses Whumpee as a guinea pig, or just to taunt Caretaker, cruelly making Whumpee’s condition worse just for a reaction.

Maybe the door accidentally locked Whumpee inside and is just impossible to open. Some sort of failsafe. Or maybe Whumpee has to stay quarantined inside, sick and alone, because they got infected with a highly infectious virus. Maybe there's researchers watching with great interest.

Maybe Whumpee can open the door from the inside but doesn’t to protect Caretaker. Maybe there’s nothing Caretaker can say to change Whumpee’s mind, not even as they sink against the wall and cough up blood and creep closer and closer to death. Whumpee would rather die than expose Caretaker too.

Get in the Water

Warnings: pursuit, captivity, escape, gun, gunshot, left for dead

Whumpee didn't stop running. Couldn't stop. They had seen their opportunity for escape and they had taken it. Had taken it and hadn't stopped running.

They knew that if they reached the river they could find a boat and cross and then Whumper would have the rest of civilization to contend with. As it was, Whumpee knew that they could also run along the river to the next town. And then Whumper would have to give up their relentless pursuit.

And Whumper was relentless.

Whumpee could hear Whumper's angry shouts as they ran. Could hear their threats to make Whumpee's life a living hell. Could hear Whumper gaining on them.

But that didn't stop Whumpee.

They couldn't stop. They were almost to the river. They could even swim across. They just had to get away. They could hear the roar of the river. They were too far upstream to swim, the snow melt had made the current too strong.

With a sigh, Whumpee stopped running. They had time. They could look for a place to cross. Whumper was far behind them. Whumpee knew that if they crossed the river, Whumper would abandon their pursuit. Would give up and go back to their remote compound. They just had to find a way across.

Whumpee didn't even realize Whumper had caught them until the bullet ripped through their shoulder. The pain was all consuming. Whumpee screamed as they tumbled forward, feet slipping on the muddy bank of the river. The momentum from the bullet carried them forward, ever closer to the water. It was only as their feet left the bank that Whumpee realized they were falling into the water.

Whumpee windmilled their arm, a scream of agony ripping itself from their throat as their shoulder moved. But it was too late. Whumpee sank below the icy, fast-flowing water.

They struggled to breach the surface, their left arm limp and unable to help them swim. Whumpee frantically kicked out, swinging their working arm as they tried to reach the surface. Air bubbles flowed from their lips.

Whumpee gasped with relief as their head cleared the surface. They struggled to keep their head up as they tread water. The current was strong and dragging them along the bank. But as Whumpee's eyes roved the shore, searching for Whumper and their gun, Whumpee realized Whumper wasn't there.

Whumper had abandoned their pursuit the moment Whumpee sank beneath the dark surface. No doubt believing that if their shot hadn't killed Whumpee, then the water or cold would.

Whumper was wrong.

As Whumpee let their body float on the current, they realized they were successful in their escape. Though their shoulder hurt, they knew it wouldn't kill them--the bullet plugging the wound for the most part. All Whumpee had to do is let the river carry them to town and they would find help. And most of all, they were free.

"Don't You Remember?"

whumper-turned-whumpee who can't remember what they did to whumpee and a whumpee-turned-whumper who wants revenge so very badly

cw: implied torture, blood, scars, fist fight, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, implied torture of a minor

In the abandoned alley, Whumper stood over Whumpee, blood on their boots and blood on Whumpee's clothes.

Whumpee gasped for air, back arching against the stone wall. They whimpered. “Why– why are you doing this?” There was terror in their eyes, deer-in-headlights-bright.

And all it did was piss Whumper off. They were no longer the scrawny kid that Whumpee had once bloodied and scarred, but their temper still had the same short leash. And this time, there was no one to stop them.  

“Why?” repeated Whumpee, their voice shaking. Blood dribbled down their chin. “Do I know you?” 

Whumper laughed. Bitterly. In the bronze-lit alleyway, it tasted like dirt and metal, bouncing off the walls before dying out. "You have got to be kidding me."

Whumpee's breathing rattled in their throat, eyes locked on Whumper with their bruised fists and dangerous smile. "I--"

Whumper cut them off. “You think this hurts, Whumpee?"

Whumpee coughed up more blood, clutching their ribcage. They nodded, Adam's apple bobbing in their throat.

“Just imagine it goes on for days. Imagine it doesn’t stop. Imagine you’re in so much pain, you can barely breathe, but it doesn’t fucking stop. But you know what hurts the most, Whumpee?” Another laugh, angry and half spat out. “That you don’t even remember what you did to me. Fuck, you don’t even have the-- the decency to acknowledge you’re the reason they all pity me. Fuck. It makes me want to beat you to death right here and right now.” Whumper ripped off their jacket, letting it drop to the gravel.

 “I mean, fucking look,” Whumper smiled harshly, more of a grimace than a grin.

Whumpee's gaze darted up and then immediately away. Whumper's arms were badly scarred-- raw-rimmed and poorly healed-- but the lines were steady, in methodical knife-blade form.

“Hold still, or I’ll have you lick the blood off my knife. That would be a new low for you, wouldn’t it?” 

Whumper shook aside the memories that burned their way into their mind, the ones that played behind their eyes whenever they tried to sleep. 

Oh, god, when was the last time they had slept?  The anger in their voice was venomous and they re-directed it at Whumpee. “You really don’t remember?” 

No answer. 

Whumpee kicked Whumpee. Hard. “C’mon, Whumpee, I know you’re in there.”

Whumpee only shook their head. They didn’t dare to look up, keeping their arms wrapped around their abdomen for protection. 

The street light bounced off the pooling blood, Whumpee's broken nose, highlighting the deep purple color under Whumper's eyes.

“I was just a kid!" snarled Whumper, "Tell me what I did to deserve this! Fucking tell me!" They didn't want closure. They wanted a fight. 

Instead, Whumpee was wiping at their bloody nose and crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."  

Whumper bit back a scream. “Fight me!” 

Whumpee stood shakily, clinging to the wall. “I told you, I…I don’t remember…” their voice cracked. “Please don’t hurt me.” 

Whumper grabbed Whumpee's jacket and hauled them close until their faces were inches apart.

Eye to bruised eye.

Breath shaking.

The smell of copper and leather.

Once, Whumper had cried those very same words.

“Please– please don’t hurt me.”

The knife began its slow work and they began to scream–

One final punch. Whumpee's head cracked against the wall and they slumped limply against the sidewalk. 

There was no closure. 

Just bruised fists and blood on the gravel. Whumper left Whumpee in the alleyway, licking blood off their knuckles. 

Don't ever underestimate someone with disabilities, especially if they were born that way. They can and will make your life difficult if you try the same for them.

#120

When the villains caught wind of a new hero on the team, they’d all taken interest. When someone came back claiming he’s blind, it’d sparked a whole new debate.

Straightforward, they’d all said. He won’t even see us coming. They’d laughed at how easy it’d seemed.

The villain feels like they’ve stumbled on a pile of gold when they come across the hero. He’s running his hand along something on the fence in front of him, something that the villain will later realise is a braille description of the view ahead of him. A white cape drifts around his ankles, an equally white suit flattering against his typical heroic body, the lightest of smiles on his face as his fingers trace the patterns of dots along the railing.

The villain can’t help but grin as they slowly make their way towards the poor hero, so oblivious, so stupid. They’re barely a hair breadth away, their dagger practically unsheathing itself, when the hero spins towards them with a swish of his cape and a flick of a blade.

The villain barely reels back in time. Staying quiet doesn’t occur to them when they’re startled. The hero looks like he’s staring right through them, an arrogant smirk on his face.

“Ah,” he says brightly, “you’re one of those criminals I’m meant to be looking out for?”

The villain sidesteps, careful to keep their footing quiet, but it doesn’t matter. The hero’s head cocks towards them as they try to step out of his blade’s path.

“You’re almost silent,” the hero continues. A smirk adorns his face, intrigued. “Incredible.”

The villain is close enough to strike, the hero looking slightly too far beyond them to be right in his assumptions. The villain shifts in fast, their dagger poised. The hero dodges back and retaliates with a swing of his own.

The villain stumbles out of reach and the hero follows. The villain’s unprepared; they were expecting a hero who’s unsure who they’re looking for, where the villain is. They were expecting an easy plaything that they could stab when they got bored.

But this—the hero is nothing but brazen confidence.

The villain shoves their dagger up to meet his blade, throwing his arm out. They move in for another strike but the hero’s already recovered. His blade easily tucks under their arm and slices into their side.

Something of a strangled gasp escapes the villain before they can stop it. They stagger back, a hand touched timidly to the wound, their eyes flitting back up to the hero. He simply waits, his blade crimson and his eyes blank. How? How?

“Would you do me the honour of telling me who I’ve met?” he asks, as if this is nothing more than a casual meeting between friends of friends. The villain wants to snap him in half for the audacity.

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business.”

“Aha,” the hero says, almost a laugh, “You’re [Villain].”

The villain can only stare at him in horror. The hero seems to feel the tension in the silence, because he continues. “You’ve a bad mouth, favour in the blade, light on your feet.” A teasing smile. “And you’ve a smooth, caramel voice I haven’t heard in many like you.”

“Wh— Excuse me— You—” 

The hero just smirks, the stupid smirk of someone who knows he’s untouchable in every sense of the word. “Flustered by compliments, too,” the hero finishes with a laugh. “Good to remember for next time.”

“I’m not flustered!” the villain finally manages, “and my voice isn’t caramel. That isn’t a thing. You sound stupid.”

“I’m happy to be stupid if it means I can recognise you as the villain who speaks in caramel.”

The villain’s side is beginning to really ache. They need to be somewhere that’s not here when it inevitably gets worse. “Do what you want. I’m going home.”

“May I escort you to a prison cell?”

The villain barks a laugh, their side practically splitting with the forced fakeness of it. “As if you know where the agency is from here.”

“I always know where I am, [Villain].” A smile again, softer this time. Knowing. “You underestimate me for a characteristic I think makes me as interesting to you as you are to me.”

The burn in the villain’s skin is an ode to that. “Sure.” The villain turns on their heel before a thought occurs to them. “I’m going to walk away, loudly. Do me a favour and don’t fucking shank me when I do.”

The hero’s face twists back into a smirk. “As long as I hear you moving away. Until next time, [Villain].”

A blind hero! everyone had cried. It’s almost too easy!

The villain scurries away with a gash to the side and a slam to their ego, and they know now to know better than that.

Environmental details for a scene I'm putting myself to sleep with tonight...

Whumpee's cheek meets the metal bed of the truck as they press them down to tie their hands behind their back

Whumpers voices reverberating in the tiny space and sinking to whispers when the engine shuts off

It smells like rust and cockroaches on the ground. Whumpee is allergic to cockroaches and their nose itches on top of everything else.

Whumpee isn't just scared. They're angry and panicking. They think they're going to die. And they don't deserve that.

They're mocking whumpee and keep using words that don't make sense for the context. They must have a special dialect.

There's this sweet smell, the smell of tears and blood.

Whumpers' boots clomp and creak. Whumpee is afraid of being kicked again and tenses at each movement.

Whumpee's stomach is sore and cramping from the tension. They can't relax, either.

what do you MEAN they FUCKING MISSED???