Digimon Huecember No. 21 Morphomon

digimon huecember no. 21 — morphomon

🦋

Larindrome - The Towering Wyvern

hello! i love ur writing so so so much! i was wondering if i could request a snippet where the villain discovers the hero's self harm scars? if not, that's ok too🥰❤️ have a lovely day :))

“Oh, darling.” The villain’s voice was much too soft.

The hero felt a sharp flicker of panic - they could have dealt with the villain mocking them - but they weren’t entirely sure they could stomach that tone. Not when they were so bare, so vulnerable, so utterly exposed. 

The hero couldn’t even protest nor offer up any excuse or convincing lie; not with the gag in their mouth. This wasn’t supposed to go like this after all.  

It started when the villain had spied the marks on the hero’s arms - tearing the sleeve of their suit so that they could inject some nefarious substance or other. The bit had been so the hero didn’t, apparently, bite through their own tongue. 

The syringe had however been abandoned on the side the second the villain saw the hero’s skin. Despite the hero’s muffled protest, the villain had promptly cut open the other sleeve and, then, made short work of everything else.

The villain’s gaze roamed over them, taking it all in and the hero wanted to scream. The thought of anyone finding out had always been bad enough...but to have the villain of all people...and like this...

They jerked uselessly against the restraints, the flicker beginning to swell into full blown panic. 

The villain ghosted their fingers across the marks, with that same terrible gentleness. The hero flinched, even if it didn’t hurt - maybe because it didn’t. They didn’t know. The hero’s muscles tightened taut with stress, with the urge to bolt and the complete inability to.

If they could run the villain would never even have seen this far. 

The villain’s gaze moved up, catching the hero’s wide-eyed stare. 

“I know what scars I’ve left on you, hero.” The word, ‘hero’, didn’t carry the mockery it normally did. “I know what kind of scars people get doing what we do. This...” their grip tightened, and their nails dug in. “This is not that.”

The hero’s fingers curled into fists, breath hitching. They did their utmost to keep their expression composed. Their mind raced; trying to figure out what the villain would do. Well, what could they do? They didn’t know what the villain even intended with this, now. What would they possibly care what the hero did in their free time? Yet, clearly, they cared. Otherwise they wouldn’t have set the syringe down they would have continued business as normal. 

The villain reached up after a moment, taking the bit out and setting that aside too. 

The hero wrenched their gaze away, working out their jaw. They could have spoken now but they said nothing. Anger churned with the panic. The villain had no right to expect an explanation from them, if that was what they were waiting for? 

“Control, punishment or something else?”

The even question snapped the hero’s stare back, in surprise. The villain’s voice had gone even again, instead of that horrible ‘handle with care’ softness. 

“What?” it came out raspy. 

The villain tapped one of the scars. “Do you do it to feel in control of something, to punish yourself, or something else?” 

“What’s it to you? You’ve literally got me tied to a chair.”

“Your enemies hurting you is very different to doing it to yourself. You cannot control your enemies, but nor would you expect them to be kind.”

“I swear if you of all people are going to start a lecture about being kind to myself.” The hero’s eyes burned, hot and embarrassed. They really hoped they didn’t start crying. 

“If you answer my question I’ll stop pestering you about it.”

The hero looked down, considering their options, really not wanting to talk about it with them. Still. “It makes my head shut up. Happy?”

“Happy is an interesting word choice given the topic of conversation, but I accept your answer, yes.”

“So you’re going back to whatever is in your nightmare syringe?”

“It’s a serum to limit your powers.”

“Oh.” 

“I did tell you.”

“Your monologues are very wordy and scientific. I get bored.”

The villain snorted. Still, they stayed crouching in front of the hero, studying them quietly. 

“...you’re not going back to stabbing me with the nightmare syringe?”

“Do you want me to stab you with the nightmare syringe?”

“No. Obviously not.”

The villain did not look entirely convinced. 

The hero gritted their teeth. “This is bothering you,” they said. “Knowing this about me. I’m not - I’m not suicidal, or anything. You can still get around to killing me yourself or - or whatever.” They faltered as the villain continued to stare at them. “What?”

“You make it a little too easy to forget you’re human, sometimes, hero.” The villain rose up to their feet. “Stay put.”

“Stay - you have me tied to a chair. Where are you going?!”

"I need to think,” the villain said. “And possibly punch something. And then, if you’re willing, I have some ideas on what might help.”

“You - what - hey!” 

The hero sat there, bewildered, at the sound of the next room being thoroughly destroyed. 

Nothing was quite the same after that.

#Merry crisis

Buckle up for another unhinged story time. Now, as I’ve said before, I used to work at a sex shop. At one point I had three roommates and we all worked the same dildo slinging retail job and lived together. It was extremely sitcom.

Now, as you’d imagine, living with three other people who also talked about sex toys all day created a microcosm of people who were all extremely comfortable around sex toys and related topics. No one left dirty toys laying around but seeing things left in showers or showing off a new purchase was just a Tuesday.

After some life upheavals I ended up living with one of those roommates again, just me and her. For the sake of this story let’s call her Betty. Betty and I shared a two bedroom, and the layout was all the common spaces were an open floor plan and then one hallway formed a T, with my room and bathroom to the left and Betty’s to the right.

Well, one day my cousin calls me up. He’s coming to town for a visit and I offer to put up him, his wife, and their more… sheltered friend. (Unbeknownst to me there was a full Briefing for this girl before she met me so that I didn’t overwhelm her with my blasé attitudes towards- well, most things).

They drove in from two states over and it was a long drive. I had to work and couldn’t greet them or spend the first day together. So I told them to come grab my key so they could all shower off and settle in before me.

I arrived home later that night and found the atmosphere a little awkward at first. Things quickly warmed up and I charmed their friend, impressing my cousin with my immaculate respect for personal comfort levels. We had a lovely evening. By the time we all said goodnight I’d dismissed the initial tension as being tired after a long drive.

The next day we all decided to go to the zoo. I’m a morning shower person, but I let them go first while I made breakfast. After breakfast it was my turn and I hopped in the shower.

Midway through my eyes fixed on it. A little pink sex toy, sitting brazenly on the rim of the tub. Oh no, I thought. This was why things had been awkward yesterday! I left out a personal object because I’d literally forgotten to ever put them away by that point.

What I felt wasn’t embarrassment per se, because that emotion had been utterly eradicated by that point. Rather it was a deep shame that I’d leave out something that might make a guest feel uncomfortable. They told me their friend was sheltered and I had left out a sex toy, it was the epitome of rudeness!

I rejoined everyone and said, “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize I’d left that in the shower, that was so rude of me!”

My guests all exchanged a Look. I looked from my cousin to his wife, she glanced toward their friend, and their friend looked at my cousin. No one would look at me.

“Well…” my cousin finally said, “you didn’t tell us which room was yours yesterday.”

I blinked in confusion, Betty’s room and bathroom were basically just like mine.

“When we got here,” his wife continued, “we went to the other side first. In Betty’s bathroom.”

Reader, Betty’s bathroom.

Had been absolutely covered in dildos. Sex toys of all shapes and sizes covered every flat surface, the tub rim, the sink, the shelves. Wall to wall sex toys. Apparently Betty was doing a spring cleaning and had left her entire extensive collection out to air dry.

These three weary travelers had opened a door to the dildo dimension and had no idea how to react. To this day I have no idea what context clues they used to figure out Betty’s room from mine.

But when I’d come home they were lost in the sex toy shell shock, presumably wondering how they could ever talk about it with someone who felt it was okay to leave out every sex toy they own when expecting company in some kind of bizarre power play.

By the time they finished telling me about this we were all laughing so hard we were in tears.

“When we saw your bathroom with one little pink toy it was so discreet we didn’t even care!” They told me.

After my cousin and his crew had gone on their way I finally told Betty the whole story. She listened with eyes growing wider and wider and finally burst out, “That’s why they were so weird when I got home!!”

Now thats a bumper sticker.