i would KILL to see more whumpees completely break down. Like, hyserical. Bonus if their (or originally was) stoic or defiant.
I need to see them be in absolute denial that their safe. They think Caretaker is just waiting for Whumpee to do something bad so then they can punish them. Until they do a mistake, and then Caretaker says, “That’s okay.” Whumpee’s very grateful at first. They can still eat, even if they did drop their spoon.
And then another. Same response by Caretaker.
Then another. Nothing happens.
Then another. Why isn’t Caretaker doing anything? They should be borderline dead at this point. Why? Are they not good enough to be punished?
Whumpee begins purposefully doing mistakes. First its soft, like accidentally spilling water. Then its purposefully ignoring Caretaker. Then burning food.
Still, no reaction.
One even, Whumpee dropped a plate, and instantly shattered. Caretaker jumped at the sound of the clay breaking, running over to the kitchen. Whumpee braced themself.
Just to get a “Oh my god! Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?”
That was the last straw.
Suddenly, Whumpee starts throwing things, flipping over tables, hurling insults and screaming Caretaker, like: “CMON, I KNOW YOU’RE ANGRY! I CAN SEE YOU FUMING HOU FUCKING BITCH! DO SOMETHING! CMON, DO SOMETHING!”
Caretaker urgently tries to calm Whumpee down. Are they not good enough? Is that it? Has Whumpee disappointed Caretaker so much, to where Whumpee isn’t even worth hitting?
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im so desperate for some angel whump fics i cant lie i can sense them out there but i cant FIND THEM so if anyone has any recommendations pls send them my way somehow
some thoughts I've been turning over in my head lately:
whump and hurt/comfort as genres are about the acknowledgment of pain in a culture where we are taught to suppress and deny and ignore the things that hurt us. The elaborate and detailed descriptions of pain, illness, grief, injury, and trauma in fiction are things that we usually don't express in real life, because it's painted as inappropriate to talk about such things at all. We don't know how to talk about these things because we go out of our way to avoid talking about them. You just have to tough it out. Things will get better. Maybe you should talk to someone, followed by therapists complaining about patients traumadumping. Healthcare professionals that don't listen and don't believe you and give bigoted bullshit "treatment" plans and then slap you with medical debt. And even with people that we do trust, conversations about pain and trauma can be disturbing and distressful because it rehashes vulnerability and opens us up to more pain.
My sibling talks about meeting customers in their retail & customer service jobs that share terrible secrets with them. Terminal illnesses, grief for lost loved ones. People tell bartenders and baristas these things because they'll see that person once and never again. They're not expecting them to save them or help them. They just need to say it to someone they're only going to know for three minutes, so they can hear themselves say it out loud. To get it out of their heads. Maybe to practice saying it so that when they tell the people whose responses really matter to them, they're not saying it for the first time. Rolls off the tongue easier if you've said it before. You can make a mental script of it, for the next person.
I think that's what the whump is for. Talking about it. Working it out on paper so that it gets out of our heads. Reading it to feel seen, to connect. Not necessarily one-to-one situations; it's not always about the specific action or illness or injury. It's about the pain. It's about being allowed to acknowledge you have a pain, a hurt, a wound that won't heal on it's own, or maybe not at all. It's about having a space where pain isn't dismissed or turned away from. Where instead we can sit with it and explore it and thread it through our fingers like barbed wire.
Something something splintered community, stolen privacy, burnout burnout burnout but still caring, still wanting care and wanting TO care, not knowing what to say when someone is that vulnerable with you, not knowing what you want people to say, just knowing that everything hurts and that we all want to feel loved.
I think this is especially evident in the hurt/comfort variety, where the undivided attention and focus is on the whumpee. It's not just about seeing someone get hurt. It's about validating fear and hurt and distress. The fantasy and romanticization is about the care shown by those that matter most, or by the person they think doesn't care, or by their enemies or even by the person who afflicted the hurt in the first place. The caretaker drops everything else, stays by their side, foregoes other responsibilities and self-care in order to tend to the wounded. They grieve the pain or loss alongside the afflicted, taken as personally as if they were the one hurt themselves.
It's about desire for recognition. It's about acknowledgment and fulfillment and letting pain matter, letting pain have tangible consequences and receiving not only physical but emotional care. and so, like many things, it's about love.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“The wraith arrive earlier than expected, the team is separated across the city with little hope of reaching the gate.”
Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagan, Ronon Dex, Laura Cadman, Evan Lorne, Elizabeth Weir, Radek Zelenka, Original Characters, Chuck (Stargate)
Additional Tags: Disasters, Wraith (Stargate), Season 2 Atlantis, mention of ford, Post Duet, Pre The Lost Boys, Evacuation, Wraith intel, part of a series, Major Character Injury, Whump, no beta we die like beckett, multi chapter fic, Reference to previous fic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, reliving trauma, Rodney McKay Needs A Hug
Series: Part 2 of Atlantis Extended Expedition Collection
Summary:
Upon receiving intel of a Hive ship bearing down on a planet recently allied with the expedition, AR-1 along with Major Lorne, Lt. Cadman, Major Ryann, and Lt. Reeves race against the clock to evacuate the large city of Kel Vannis before the Hive arrives.
okay as promised here is some vivian content!!! this is based off of an ask @featherlovesrobots sent me and one of the prompts was:
[backstory fic where Vivi gets sick as a kid and Simon does his best to take care of her (baby Simon content…. baby Vivi content…….)
so this is that! simon is meant to be around 9 here while vivian is meant to be around 5! simon's younger sister (yes you were right feather, he is an older sibling) is about 1 or 2 at this point so simon has a very large age gap between him and both of his siblings (the youngest having not even been born yet at the time of this fic)
i hope you enjoy! i kind of loved writing small simon so maybe i will revisit this one day, or even small archie because theyre so cute
whumpee: Vivian
caretaker: Simon
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
“Simon?”
Simon blinked awake and scrubbed at his sleepy eyes. He opened them to find the worried gaze of his cousin, shaking his shoulders.
“Vivi? Hm?” He slurred, sitting up slowly.
“Th-there’s someone in the house.”
Simon’s eyes widened and his blood ran cold.
There shouldn’t be someone in the house. His mom and his aunt had gone out tonight and his sister was staying with his grandma. For once, they let Simon be in charge while Vivian had a sleepover, and he couldn’t mess this up. He was nine years old! He had to handle it.
“Stay here,” He told Vivian groggily, and she tucked a blanket around herself to hide.
He didn't really question where Vivian got her information. For one, he was far too sleepy too, and two, Vivian was not the type to joke about that. He trusted her. Simon steeled himself and grabbed the navy blue bat he kept under his bed from the singular month he did baseball.
Staying low and quiet, he stalked out of his bedroom and into the hallway, listening in for any sounds that might give away an intruder's position.
It didn’t matter that his hands were shaking. It didn’t matter that he could feel his heart thumping out of his chest. He was going to keep Vivian safe.
He made his way into the hall and kept his bat up high, gripping tighter. The dark made it hard to navigate, but he managed to flick on the lights and check behind all the bedroom doors and closets only to find nothing at all.
Weird.
He checked the kitchen, then the living room, then the kitchen again, and after about ten minutes, he was sure he searched every inch of the house.
Nothing. There wasn’t a single sign that anyone had been there since Simon’s mother and aunt had left.
He returned, confused, to the room where Vivian was now laying down on the air mattress, clutching the blanket even tighter, and knelt down beside her.
“Vivi, there’s no one there. I checked and the house is empty.” He glanced at his alarm clock and found it was only a little past midnight. “Mami and Tía aren’t home yet.”
“But I heard it,” She wailed, bursting into a shaky fit of sobs.
Seeing her in the light from the hallway made Simon frown. She was wearing some Minnie Mouse pajama pants and one of Simon’s Pokémon shirts, but it clung to her tiny frame strangely as if she was sweating. Her hair was frizzy and messy and her tear tracks glinted off her face, making the whole scene a little more heart-wrenching.
“What’s goin’ on, Vivi? We’re safe. I promise.” He placed a hand on her back to pat it comfortingly but stopped short when he felt the sheer amount of heat radiating off of her through her damp pajamas.
“Oh no,” He whispered, pressing a hand to her forehead and cheek. His worry only spiked when she simply scooted into his lap and leaned into the touch.
“I don’t feel good,” She murmured, draping her arms around Simon’s neck and settling closer.
Vivian was quite physically affectionate even when she was feeling normal, but that affection usually came in the form of climbing or tackling or jumping on Simon’s back. She only really got clingy like this when she was sleepy or ill, and considering she had just woken up in distress, Simon had to assume the latter.
“You’re sick, Vivi. You just had a bad dream," He concluded. "Why didn’t you say you didn’t feel good earlier?”
“D’nno,” She replied softly, snuffling against the fabric of Simon’s shirt.
Simon held her closer and racked his brain with what to do.
He could handle this. He was big now, he could take care of his little cousin. He tried to think about what his mom did for him or his sister when they were ill.
“You gotta change out of this shirt. It’s all sweaty.” He set her down in the nest of blankets (to her audible dismay) and began rifling through his drawer for a different shirt she could borrow.
When he turned back around to hand it to her, he found that she had somehow collected every blanket from the floor and was now bundled up as tightly as possible.
Alarm bells went off in his head and his mother’s voice came to mind from the last time he had the flu.
Simon, quítate esa cobija. Tienes fiebre demasiado alta.
He crawled over to Vivian and remorsefully peeled away a few of the layers.
“I know you’re cold but you’ll get too hot under there. Mami says it's not good for a fever. Come on Vivi, let it go.” He murmured, prying it out of her tiny hands.
Vivian looked at him as if he had slapped her across the face. All he could do was watch as her face crumpled and she began to sob.
“I’m s-so cold, Simon,” She bawled, burying her face into her hands and shaking even harder.
Simon felt his heart crack in two as he shuffled closer and placed a hand on her knee.
“I know Vivi, I know. I’m sorry. Can you come with me to the living room? And I can make some soup for you and get medicine? Then I’ll lay with you to keep you warm and I’ll put on the TV, okay?”
Vivian sniffled dejectedly, but she finally nodded.
“Okay, first put on this shirt and meet me outside. Yell if you need help,” He said before pressing a kiss to her forehead and rushing out to the kitchen.
Okay Guevara, focus. Soup should be an easy enough task. His mom kept their kitchen well stocked and he'd seen her reheat it plenty of times.
Simon opened the closet door and stood on his tip-toes to reach a can of chicken noodle and skimmed the label before deeming it acceptable.
He flicked on the stove and poured the contents of the can into a small pot and left it to rummage through the medicine cabinet.
He vaguely thought about getting a thermometer down to take her temperature, but he had no idea how to use one and even if he did, he doesn't quite understand all the numbers and beeping. He'd defer that task to Tía for when she came back and do the best he could with what he knew he could do.
Once he gathered all that he needed, he heard a soft door creak coming from the hall.
He turned to see quite possibly one of the saddest sights he’d seen in his entire life.
Vivian was wrapped in a fluffy blanket, staggering out of the bedroom. She was shivering visibly and her eyes were glassy. She hardly even looked at Simon as she beelined for the couch and curled up immediately into the armrest. A small cough shook her shoulders and she whimpered quietly.
Just hold on a bit longer, Vivi, he pleaded in his mind and went back to idly stirring the soup on the stove.
Once it was warm enough, he had to climb the counter to reach a bowl, and poured the steaming liquid into it. He only spilled a small amoutn and figured he'd clean it after Vivian fell asleep. He brought the soup, some water, and ibuprofen to the wooden coffee table in front of her.
Her gaze lifted and she sniffled sadly.
“Wanna go to sleep,” She complained, scrubbing at her face.
“Can you eat some food first and take some medicine? It’ll be yucky but it will make you sleep good. Also might help with the bad dreams.”
Vivian nodded slowly and scooted closer to Simon as he sat beside her.
“Say ahh,” He mimed, spooning some noodles and chicken into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and Simon prepared another spoonful.
They continued this until about two-thirds of the bowl was gone and Vivian was flagging.
“Don't sleep yet, let me get your medicine.” Simon measured and pured the sickly sweet grape liquid into the measuring cup and passed it off to Vivian who scowled and scrunched away.
“It smells yucky. I don’t want it.”
“You hafta drink it. It’ll make you better. Mami always gives me this one.”
“My mami gives me bubblegum. Not yucky grape,” She sneered.
Even though Simon fought the urge to roll his eyes, the fact that she was acting more normal was comforting. Still, he decided to play his trump card.
“If you don’t drink it you might get so sick and I’ll have to call the wee-woo truck and then we can never have a sleepover ever again. Never.”
Vivian’s eyes widened and a pout formed, but she knocked the medicine back with nothing more than a small grimace.
“Good job.”
She huffed, but as soon as Simon lifted his arm to let her settle into his side, she graciously accepted and clung to him for dear life.
Simon changed the channel to their recorded episodes of Adventure Time and put the volume of the TV to barely above a murmur.
They hadn’t even gotten halfway through the first episode when he felt Vivian's weight get heavy on him and heard her breathing even out.
He sighed, relieved.
He handled it, and he would stay awake until Mami and Tía came home so he could explain what happened and let the adults take over. All he had to do was wait it out and he would have done a good job.
When Marcella came home with her cousin Yesenia not one hour later, she was equal parts endeared and shocked to find her son cradling his cousin as he practically drooled on top of her head. The mess of soup and medicine and tissues told her enough, but she would have to ask Simon what actually happened later.
For now, she carried him to bed while Yesenia handled Vivian and got her set up in the guest room. As Marcella set Simon down in his bed and tucked the blankets around him, she kissed the soft skin above his nose and smiled.
“Goodnight mijo. You are such a sweet boy. I love you.”
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Heath didn’t leave Killian’s side for a week after Felix’s party. On the third day that Killian stepped outside his quaint cottage on the edge of town, he smiled, bemused at the vampire who lingered on the stone wall across from his house.
“Do vampires sleep?” Killian asked that morning. Heath nodded along, enjoying the conversations he had with the human. It had been a while since he let himself have a friend, let alone a human one.
“Yes. We can sleep. I enjoy sleeping, I just don’t need to do it. Vampires are crepuscular creatures anyways so we—”
“Crepe— what?”
Heath blinked. “Oh, sorry. We’re nocturnal. We sleep at day and wake up naturally at night for the hunt. The opposite to humans who sleep at night and wake during the day.”
Killian hummed. “Felix isn’t nocturnal,” he said quietly.
Heath’s haze hardened as they came up to the gates of Felix’s estate. “No. Felix is an exception to many rules.”
Felix raised an eyebrow when Heath opened the door of the state house, Killian following behind. His cat-like eyes drifted lazily to the clock, a minute before the start of Killian’s shift. Hmph.
Felix greeted them in his usual cheerful way. Killian nodded stiffly, responding politely before dismissing himself to get to work. That left Heath as the object of Felix’s attention.
“You seem to have taken a liking to my darling pet,” Felix told him with a smile.
“He’s your employee, not your pet.”
“Well, he’s not as fun as you were. You could do it all. Employee, human punching bag, entertainment, blood source.”
Heath bristled when Felix slung a lithe arm around his shoulders, guiding him into Felix’s study. It was a beautiful room, and Heath could see why Felix spent most of his time in here. The walls on either side were fitted with mahogany shelves, lined with at least two hundred titles, all of which Felix had read. Some that even Heath read after Felix taught him how.
Dark oak wooden floors boxed in the lush, burgundy carpet that ran the length of the floor; the middle strip where Felix’s cherrywood desk stood proud, commanding the space. Behind the desk was the giant gothic window that opened out into the grounds behind the house. Heath remembered when he was helping the stable hand attend to the horses, feeling eyes on him and looking up to see Felix observing him from his study window. His proud head held high, arms behind his back, and even from the vast distance Heath could still feel Felix’s hungry, predatory grin on his face.
“Whiskey, darling?” Felix asked, disentangling himself from Heath and walking over to his decanter beside the two armchairs off to the left of the room, near the exposed fireplace.
“Why not.” Heath said with a shrug, following him to the armchairs and settling into one, staring into the flames of the fire. “You can’t touch Killian, Felix,” Heath said, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes.
The vampire paused his movements for a brief moment, a cunning smile gracing his lips. “Mmm. I love it when you’re bossy.”
“I mean it,” Heath told him, taking the glass of whiskey with a pointed look. Felix ignored it as he sat in the other armchair, staring into the flames. “The Hunter is protective of him, and if you get between that… he’ll rip you apart.”
“As if you wouldn’t love that,” Felix purred. “Such a shame that you’re leaving us to return your green hills of old.”
Heath bristled, shifting to get more comfortable. He felt Felix’s cat like eyes on him, studying him, everything he did or didn’t do.
“Well… I think I might be sticking around for a bit.”
“For how long?” Felix didn’t give him the time to answer, humming to himself, swirling the honey-coloured liquid in his glass. “Wait, no. Let me guess. Around… 80 years?”
Heath took a sip instead of answering.
Felix laughed. “And if I turn him before then?” He asked, his voice low and sultry. Heath looked at the vampire, letting his emotions pass over his face. “I guess you’d have to stay around forever, love.”
“Don’t test me, Felix.”
“Oh come on. You just need a little blood in you. Then you’ll lighten up.” Felix said. “I have blood on tap if you want it.”
“I’m about two seconds away from ripping your throat out.”
Felix waved him away. “You old flirt, you. Though, we do have to discuss your living arrangements if you are to stay here with me.”
“I’ll find somewhere in the village.”
“Nonsense.”
“I’d rather not stay here, Felix.”
“Well… that just won’t do, will it?” Felix asked, his bright eyes basking in Heath’s attention. “I’ll tell you what, darling. Because we’re such old friends, and because I understand that that monster inside of you will protect Killian at all costs, I have a proposition for you.”
Heath scoffed, nostrils flaring, because he knew exactly what Felix’s propositions were. Heath turned his eyes back to the flames, wondering vaguely if setting himself on fire would hurt less than whatever evil Felix had concocted in his mind. “Is this one I can refuse?”
“Of course, love. I’m not unreasonable. You always had a choice.”
Heath downed the rest of the liquid in his glass, savouring the burn in the back of his throat. “Alright.”
“I won’t touch a pretty little hair on Killian’s head, he will be the most protected human in the village. I’ll even spare his little family my wrath too.”
Heath nodded. “Okay.”
“But you have to understand, that that would mean I would be extremely bored, and you know how I get when I’m bored… so either, wow, look at me. Giving you options aren’t I so generous? The years have made me soft, Heath. Or maybe that was just your effect on me.”
“Either?…” Heath echoed, imploringly. Felix exposed his fangs over his lips, knowing he had Heath right where he wanted him.
Felix kissed his teeth, tsking Heath lightly as he stepped around to the back of Heath’s chair, slinking his arms over Heath possessively.
“You’re no fun, darling,” he said with a playful pout, lips beside Heath’s ear. Heath raised a hand, wrapping his fingers around Felix’s wrist, trying to dislodge the touchy vampire from him, but Felix just clamped down harder around Heath. “And you forget, I’m stronger than you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Heath’s temple.
Heath huffed out a breath. “Either?” Heath repeated, defeated.
“Either, you take up your old position for me, in place of Killian. You provide me with all the joy and entertainment you used to before,” Felix murmured, smiling when he felt Heath shiver under him at the mention of entertainment. “Come back under contract for me, and work for me again…”
Felix trailed off, running a hand through Heath’s hair and pulling his head back and to the side, grazing his fangs along Heath’s throat. “Or you go out and you enthral a sweet little human for me to play with while you protect poor little Killian.”
Heath stiffened under Felix, his grip turning white knuckled on the glass. The sound of glass cracking punctured the silence between them until Felix tutted and Heath relaxed his grip.
“That’s—” Heath stuttered. “You know that’s not even an option.”
“But it is, love. I’ve always given you the choice.”
“The illusion of choice,” Heath spat, his words coated with a helpless venom. Felix’s free hand roamed to Heath’s chest over where his heart used to beat.
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’m making concessions too. It’s so much more fun to terrify humans, the taste of their fear, the pounding of blood.” Felix tightened his hand over Heath’s heart, puncturing his chest with his claws. Heath jerked forward with a hiss, but Felix pulled him gently back. “Though I’m sure I could make do with having you by my side again. You always were my favourite, you know.”
If Heath had a heart, he knew it would be racing a drumbeat in his chest. His lungs would tighten in his chest, pulsing against his ribs at the panic that threatened to overwhelm him at Felix’s generous offer.
“And if I refuse?”
Felix sighed against Heath, nuzzling his nose into Heath’s throat. “Then I’d have to use Killian in your place.”
Heath froze under Felix. Felix’s fangs traced a line down Heath’s throat, already knowing what Heath was going to choose.
“I hate you.”
“I know, little one.”
Heath’s fingers curled into fists, useless. He knew coming back here was a bad idea, a terrible idea, but to think that Felix would trap him again like this? He got out, why did he come back?! Why!
“We make a blood pact,” Heath demanded, tightening his free hand into a fist on the armchair.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.” Heath’s breath hitched as Felix’s fang drew a bead of blood in his throat. “Can I take that as a yes?”
Heath deflated in the armchair. He swallowed thickly.
“Yes.”
Felix hummed, delighted and sank his fangs into Heath’s throat. Heath bucked against him, trying to dislodge the ancient vampire from his neck, but Felix held him down with ease as if Heath still had the strength of a human. Heath hated the way he could feel Felix’s fangs draw the limited blood from his system, weakening him the more he drank.
Felix moaned happily against Heath, drinking every last drop with all the greed he wanted to. Heath was a vampire, he wouldn’t die if he was drained dry. Felix didn’t know why he didn’t think of this before. All the worries and limitations of humans could be mitigated with a vampire slave.
It was only when Heath let out a small keening whine that Felix pulled away, licking the wounds to seal them and stop Heath bleeding out. He didn’t even have to do that, it was more like a reflex than anything else.
Heath’s vision blurred, feeling lightheaded as Felix pulled away. He dropped the glass to the floor, which Felix caught before it hit the ground. The vampire set the two glasses on a table between the armchairs, smiling at Heath who was glaring weakly up at him through half lidded eyes. The venom must still have an effect on Heath’s body. Something Felix noted and stored away in the back of his mind.
“Oh, look at you,” Felix cooed, booping Heath on the nose. “Still as adorable as the first day I found you.”
“Fuh—ck you.”
“Still as feisty too.”
Heath tried to sit up, but his body felt as if it was cemented down to the chair in lead. Fuck. He hadn’t felt this powerless since… since he couldn’t remember when. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Felix cut a line over his wrist and Heath tried to push himself forward to reach the vampires arm. He had to drink Felix’s blood for the pact to be binding, to protect Killian if Heath agreed to be Felix’s fucking slave again.
Felix held his wrist out of Heath’s reach, his bright eyes shining as he watched Heath struggle and pant against Felix’s venom. “Come on, Heath. Just a little further,” he coaxed.
Heath shook his head, trying to shake off the numbness that kept his body still as the grave. He grunted with the effort, slamming his eyes shut as he moved forward, the world spinning as he fought against the compulsion to keep him docile.
“Come on, Heath,” Felix taunted. “Don’t you want to save that poor human’s miserable existence?”
Heath finally grabbed Felix’s arm at the elbow, pulling it down towards his mouth. Just before his fangs lowered, however, the wound healed and Heath glared up at the ancient vampire unimpressed.
A cold hand stroked Heath’s jaw. “Come on, darling. We both know it’s more fun to just take what you want.”
Heath swallowed, and bite Felix’s wrist, his fangs sinking deep into the flesh and drawing the old, recycled blood from Felix’s wrist. The blood tasted putrid and wrong, but Felix practically moaned above Heath as he pulled more and more blood from the vampire’s body.
A hand wound itself tightly through Heath’s hair and yanked back suddenly, pulling Heath off of Felix with a gasp. He coughed and spluttered, trying to get the horrible, acrid taste from his mouth, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. Heath glared up at Felix who grinned, showing his fangs down at Heath.
“Good,” Felix murmured, thumbing away a drop of blood that was dripping down the corner of Heath’s mouth. “Now, dear. Only one thing left to do,” he said, and sliced his left palm, the gash going deep. Before Heath could protest Felix grabbed his wrist and did the same, before joining their hands together.
Heath hissed as he could feel the pact take hold between them, burning through his palm to the back of his hand. Tendrils of black ink-like blood traced a beautiful pattern from the back of his hand, up his arm and locking like barbed wire over his heart. He lurched forward, clutching his chest with his free hand, trying to pull his hand back from Felix’s, but Felix clamped his fingers down around Heath’s until the process was complete.
The ink-like blood seeped into Heath’s skin, burning all the way through until he was a sweaty, trembling mess, his hands still held by Felix’s. Felix’s hand burned with the same pattern, except the colour of the blood on his arm was a garish, scar-like white. The intricacies of the deal, the covenant, the contract, were scrolled onto each of their skin in the old tongue, a reminder of what they had promised each other.
When it was finished, Felix dropped Heath’s hand and studied the strange glowing contract on his arm. “Wonderful. Now, all done. It wasn’t that bad, now was it?”
Heath didn’t answer. He didn’t even have the energy to glare at the vampire. He shut his eyes against the pain that lingered like dancers following the brand up his arm. Heath’s breath hitched as he felt Felix’s cold hands were on his forehead. His fingers gently moving the sweaty strands out of the vampire’s face so he could see every twinge of pain, every after effect of the blood pact on the once human thing.
“That almost killed you, darling boy,” Felix said with barely contained glee behind the words. “You really would risk anything for a foolish human.”
Heath didn’t have to energy to fight back, but he couldn’t deny that Felix’s cold hands felt so nice on his forehead, and he leaned into the touch like a cat would a human.
“Oh, my sweet boy. I think we should get you to bed, hmm? I don’t you fainting on your first day back in my service, oh all the things we will do together, Heath.”
Heath groaned as Felix wrapped an arm around him and pulled him out of the comfortable chair, letting him lean all his weight onto the ancient vampire. “There you go, sweet boy. Oh I could just eat you when you’re like this.”
“Fuck— off,” Heath whined as Felix walked them out of the study and towards the foyer. The backdoor opened to their left and in walked a quick-stepping vampire, pulling garden gloves off her hands and smiling when she saw Felix and Heath. Then she smelled the blood, and suddenly Celeste was in front of the pair, red eyes locked on Heath’s.
“What happened?” She asked, her voice breathless. She saw the bite marks on his throat and her gaze cut into Felix. “What did you do?” She hissed, bearing her fangs at him.
Felix smiled an easy smile. “We made a deal, didn’t we Heathy?”
Celeste’s eyes went back to Heath, softening at the edges. She put her hands on his cheeks, tilting his head to look at her. “You idiot.”
“I know,” Heath said with a breath, closing his eyes at her soft touch. He didn’t want to see the pity in her face, but she would understand when he told her later. She would understand and curse Felix and kiss him and everything would be okay.
“If you’ll excuse us, darling, the boy’s a bit drained. I’m taking him to bed.” Felix said. Heath could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, so proud to have Heath under his thumb again. God. He was such an idiot.
“I’ll take him,” Celeste said immediately.
“Nonsense,” Felix replied already walking forwards, dragging Heath along with him. “I’ll be down shortly.”
Heath smiled at Celeste’s protests, his heart would’ve beamed at her care and love, but Felix was older than both of them, and older meant stronger, and Heath didn’t want the guilt of having Celeste hurt because of his foolishness, so he was happy that she remained in the hall, watching the pair as Felix helped Heath up the stairs.
Heath stopped in the room he and Celeste were sleeping in, but Felix dragged him on, further down the hall. “Felix, where’re—”
“Hush, dear boy. Just let me worry about everything, you shouldn’t trouble your pretty little head about it.”
Heath swallowed, trying to straighten in Felix’s hold and dig his heels into the carpet, but Felix pulled him along, all the way down to the door at the end of the hall. Felix’s room. Heath’s heart leapt into his throat, as he struggled against Felix’s venom injecting weakness through every inch of his body.
He hadn’t been in Felix’s room since he was human. It was the last place Heath was human, and it’s not a place he’d like to revisit, or filled with happy memories. It felt as if Felix had taken a knife and plunged it into Heath’s gut, twisting the metal as he opened the door and Heath was greeted with the familiar scent of the vampire.
It wasn’t like Felix ever did anything untoward to Heath when he was human, but he had a very strange possessiveness about him that Heath knew humans just didn’t. Some nights, when Felix didn’t leave Heath in his own room, or in the basement in chains for misbehaving, Felix would bring Heath into his room, into his bed, and cuddle him like he was a teddy bear.
It was so foreign a touch, so strange and upsetting. Felix would wrap Heath in blankets until he couldn’t move his limbs enough to cause any real trouble and cuddle him the entire night, his arms like iron chains wrapped around his entire body. He remembered not sleeping initially and Felix noticing this, and that was worse.
Felix would talk to him then, or sing softly in his ear. Or he’d drain him until Heath passed out, and eventually Heath learned to just sleep as quickly as he could before the vampire tried to do any of the other things to try and get Heath to sleep.
“Felix, please, let me sleep in my room,” he begged, his voice coming out high and whining. “Please.”
“We’re here now, darling, don’t worry. Here, sit down there,” Felix said, setting Heath down on the side of Felix’s bed. Heath gripped the edge of the bed, the soft duvet bunching under his hands.
“You did this… on purpose,” Heath huffed out, the world swimming in a mixture of colours that made him feel sick. Felix appeared in front of him again, taking a knee in front of the immortal hunter and grinning up at him.
“Did what?” He asked feigning innocence and tilting his head as he worked on unlacing and removing Heath’s shoes. Heath closed his eyes, trying to stop the world from turning but it didn’t stop the wooziness in his head. He groaned and shot a hand out, grabbing the poster of Felix’s canopy bed. “Oh, pet.”
“I’m not your pet,” Heath seethed, eyes flashing open. That was a mistake. Felix moved with unnatural speed, scooping Heath up in his arms and depositing him in the middle of the ridiculously big and comfortable bed.
Felix grabbed the duvet and pulled it up, tucking Heath into the bed. “Now, surely, I don’t have to stay with you, do I? Or tie you down so you don’t try and get up, hurting yourself.”
Heath shivered at the thought. “No,” he said weakly. Felix beamed.
“Wonderful. I’ll be downstairs when you feel better.” Felix leaned in, pressing a kiss to Heath’s temple. Heath turned away, but Felix just carded his hands through Heath’s hair. “I’m so happy you’re back, darling. I really have missed you. It’ll be just like the old days.”
Heath suppressed the whine of protest, opting to just stay silent and let the vampire just do whatever he wanted until he was satisfied and left. “Just call my name when you wake, sweet boy. I’ll come get you.”
Yeah right, Heath thought, but he just said: “okay.”
Felix beamed down at him, smile exposing his fangs and then he left. The heavy door shut and Heath flinched when he heard the sound of the lock. The bastard locked him in? Fuck. Felix told him once that he had made his house vampire proof.
Dramatic things, us vampires, he had told Heath one night when Heath was struggling to sleep in Felix’s bed, shivering against the monster. We like to break things and doors and furniture to make a point, so I made this manor vampire proof. Well, as much as possible. Ancient ones like myself could still destroy this place, but normal vamps? They may as well be human here.
So Heath would have to call Felix to come and get him when he woke up. Great. Perfect. Right now, Heath was exhausted and he just wanted to sleep. He could deal with Felix when he wakes up, hopefully after the venom leaves his system. Sleep came easily, his last thoughts were warm: at least, he thinks as darkness grabs him in its comforting grip, at least I saved Killian and his family from eternal torment.
“You must let me show you where you’ll be staying, Hero,” said Supervillain, releasing the chains on Hero’s cuffs and stepping back away from them. Hero narrowed their eyes into a glare, keeping their hands close to their chest as they blinked at Supervillain.
“What do you mean, where I’ll be staying?” They snapped. Supervillain tilted his head as he regarded Hero, a small smile on his lips.
He shrugged. A gesture that should have conveyed a casual thing, but Hero saw right through it. “You can stay in the cellar if you like, though I’d say a bed would be far more comfortable.”
“I’d rather you let me go, or keep our contact to a minimum,” Hero told him. What the hell was he talking about, keeping Hero here? Forcing them to stay? They couldn’t… their brain wouldn’t let them comprehend exactly what this meant. The words just kept repeating in their mind drowning out all sense and reason:
Where you’ll be staying…
Supervillain had planned this, every detail, and Hero didn’t notice. They didn’t know, they didn’t see. Supervillain didn’t let a hint slip about this! Taking Hero captive and not letting them go, and it – though Hero would never admit it – it terrified them.
What if they weren’t as good as a detective as they thought they were? What if… Hero’s eyes studied Supervillain’s face. What if they had only seen what Supervillain wanted them to see?
Supervillain hummed thoughtfully, hands going behind his back. “I’ll show you the room anyways. Give you the tour while we’re at it. We’ll see if you have a change of heart.”
Hero’s nostrils flared as Supervillain turned his back and opened the door Hero initially came through. Supervillain’s knowing smirk remained on his face as he glanced back at Hero. “Come along now, I’m not a patient man.”
“I’d rather stay right here,” Hero told him, voice low. A pathetic attempt at stubbornness. Supervillain inclined his head.
“You can walk out the door, Hero, or be dragged out. Either way, you won’t be staying here. Would you like to keep your dignity intact?” He asked, his tone light and charismatic, his words anything but. Hero hated the way he spoke as if everything was certain. As if he could control everything and it would all work out his way.
Though what Hero hated more was the fact that they knew it was better to comply than to rile him up, so they stood and walked through the door Supervillain held open. They turned their head, looking down the long hallway to their right, where Flynn and Villain were. The door at the end of the hall must be where the kitchen is, but beyond that Hero didn’t know.
Maybe it would be better to know the layout of the house, Hero mused, they could plan their escape more effectively if Supervillain was stupid enough to offer a tour. Supervillain, instead of turning towards the kitchen, went left, back the way Hero and Flynn came, back towards the cellar.
Hero followed Supervillain cautiously, one eye tracking his figure, the other careful to take note of the layout and the route back to the kitchen if they needed to flee on short notice.
Flee to who? To Flynn? A nasty voice mocked in their head.
At least I know what to expect with Flynn, Hero argued back.
Oh yeah… like how you knew he was a lying, backstabbing villain all this time right?
Hero bit the inside of their cheek instead of fighting with their smug, know-it-all side of their brain. At least when they tasted blood in their mouth, they could justify the pain. They could take their mind off of Flynn and the ache in their chest that they fought so hard to ignore.
Hero’s eyes zeroed in on the door to the basement as they stepped into another hallway. They were half expecting Supervillain to open it and shove them down the stairs before laughing like a cartoon villain and slamming the cellar door closed.
Instead, Supervillain walked past it, and Hero followed mutely, swallowing as they passed the cellar door. Now that it was so close, Hero really didn’t feel like going back there. Back to the cold and defenceless cot in a cell where any of them could come down and gloat.
Where Villain could come back and hurt them again and nobody would stop them.
Maybe a room would be better. At least Hero could barricade the door and break the window or something. They could have a better defensive position. Not be subject to their hosts moods when it takes them. Their nose throbbed at the thought of Villain coming down to their cell again and they shuddered.
Supervillain continued down the hall to another heavy door that looked solid and stiff. There was something strange about it, something Hero only noticed after Supervillain stopped in front of it and raised his hand to a keypad on the wall.
Hero stopped in their tracks. They didn’t want to swap one cell for another, and this one didn’t look as escapable as the cell in the basement. At least there Hero could see out all around them, except for the back wall, but a heavy metal door with an electronic lock would prove far more difficult.
There was a small beep ahead and Supervillain glanced back at Hero over his shoulder. A sly smirk graced his face when he noticed that Hero had stopped following altogether, probably standing six feet back.
“Oh Hero, that’s adorable. Are you frightened?”
“No,” Hero said a little too quickly. A denial. They both knew it. While Supervillain chuckled lightly, Hero wanted to punch themselves. “Where are we going?”
Supervillain’s smile was friendly and carnivorous all at once. “I told you; I’m giving you the tour of the house. Here,” Supervillain said, holding the door open for Hero and gesturing for Hero to walk in first. Hero’s throat went impossibly dry, as if Hero inhaled a pound of sawdust. They swallowed to try and restore some moisture in their mouth because what else could they do?
If they refused to comply, Supervillain would just drag them along anyway and there was no way they could fight back with their powers dampened and their hands cuffed in front of them. The weight of their blades on their back felt heavy in a way they never were before. They were right there… if only they could reach them.
Hero jutted their chin up, steeling their expression as they stormed forward and passed Supervillain, vowing that the moment they got free they would commission thigh braces for their daggers instead. That way they could never be in a humiliating situation like this again.
The room coming into focus drowned out Hero’s plans for new sheaths. Once inside the keypad locked room they stopped short and just stared. It was like the meeting room in the Hero headquarters, except, well… bigger. It was shaped like a hexagon with a domed ceiling that came to a point to let in some light through three skylight windows. The wall in front of Hero had two screens imbedded into it. One played the news on mute that was reporting some local event.
The two walls beside the back one had doors that led off to God knows where, but Hero’s gaze skimmed over them, and went instead to the corkboard on the wall to the left. Pictures of all the top ranked Heroes faces were pinned to the board; Superhero’s, Other Hero’s, and Hero’s were pinned to it. Tears pricked the back of Hero’s eyes when they saw Sidekick’s photo pinned to the wall too, a big red X painted over their face. Hero’s hands shook slightly at the sight… they should have never left Sidekick’s side. They should be at the hospital right now.
Instead, they were knee deep in enemy territory, on a tour of Supervillain’s house. Hero had to pull their gaze away from Sidekick’s face, to study the rest of the room, screwing their lips up tight to try and stop them from trembling.
Hero’s gaze dropped to a desk below the corkboard, where a hero scanner and comms sat, both of them were switched off for now. One Flynn must have stolen… been given. Hero’s hands tightened into fists at the sight. All this time… all this time Flynn was betraying them, betraying the Heroes and he had the nerve to be upset that Hero hated him?
Hero’s gaze flicked back up to Sidekick’s face again and they quickly turned away, looking instead to the giant circular table that dominated the middle of the room. A map of the city was printed on top of it. Hero recognised some of the marks that divided some of the city up. Territories that were occupied or controlled by different groups. Some good, some bad.
Hero stepped closer to the map table, noticing the chess pieces that were spread across it. There was a cluster of white on Hero HQ; the King, two knights, a bishop, a rook, but some other white pieces were dotted throughout the map. There were no black pieces, something Supervillain removed no doubt before Hero walked in. They couldn’t give away all their secrets.
Hero searched the table, making note of the pieces, trying to figure out who they were. A pawn was placed on top of central hospital which made Hero feel sick. They felt Supervillain step up beside them, but Hero didn’t bother to look at him.
“Should I take your silence as a good thing?”
“You can take my silence however you want,” Hero replied. Supervillain hummed beside them. He reached forward and plucked the pawn from the hospital and ran it between his fingers.
“Mmmm, does it have something to do with this?” Hero looked away from the map, lifting their head to stare at the news instead. Supervillain continued undeterred. “It is unfortunate what happened to Sidekick.”
“Don’t talk about them,” Hero snapped.
“What had to happen to them. They were interfering. Hot on Flynn’s scent, we had to dispose of—”
“Shut up,” Hero snarled, whipping their head to Supervillain, and stepping back away from him. “Stop fucking explaining everything you’re doing, or have done, to me like I want to hear your excuses!”
Supervillain cocked a brow at Hero’s outburst. He put the pawn back on top of the hospital, not taking his eyes off of Hero as he did. Hero searched Supervillain’s face, reading it for what he was thinking, and they didn’t like what they found. Realising their mistake too late they took a step back, trying to put some more space between them. Once they could put their weight on their back foot they could kick at Supervillain if he came at them.
Instead, Supervillain clasped his hands behind his back, chewing on words, looking for the best ones before he spoke. Everything was so measured. So controlled. It put Hero off, as if Supervillain was more machine than human.
His gaze wandered to the map, eyes running over everything with a critical eye. “Did you notice anything about the map?”
Hero frowned at the question, their attention turning back to the map as Supervillain walked around the table, stopping directly opposite Hero. They did a quick scan of it, their eyebrows knitting together. Did they miss something? No, they didn’t. The heroes know about the different territories. Maybe Supervillain giving away what heroes they thought were important with the chess pieces but other than that…
Hero’s eyes were drawn to the chess pieces, to the Hero HQ. King, two knights, a bishop, a rook. They saw the other rook and bishop somewhere else, but when they scanned the map again Hero realised what Supervillain was alluding to.
Hero hardened their gaze. “There’s no queen.”
“Very good,” Supervillain praised, and it felt like cockroaches crawled down the back of Hero’s neck. “The queen was far too meddlesome for my liking. Your perfect Sidekick you’ll note is still on the board, that was intentional.”
Hero raised their eyebrows at Supervillain in silent question and froze at his expression. There was no hint of anything human left in him, it was as Hero had imagined Supervillain to look like. Devoid of emotion and yet alive with a vibrant authority that made Hero want to hide away, to cower from — as if Hero was looking directly into the sun, eyes burning but they couldn’t look away.
“An incentive for you, Hero,” he said, his lips twitching up into a cold mockery of a smile. “A gift while you’re here, to make sure you follow the rules.”
Hero recoiled back a step, horror painting their features, as if Supervillain had killed a puppy in front of them and punched them at the same time instead of spoke.
“As long as you behave, well,” Supervillain continued, sea-green eyes drifting down to the pawn over central hospital. Hero’s heart thrummed in their chest and seemed to stop at Supervillain’s next words. “Let’s just say, Sidekick can remain on the board.”
Hero let out a shaky breath that was trapped in their chest, shaking their head. The chain between their cuffs rattled as their hands shook, tears pricking the back of their eyes as their gaze turned accusing and filled with a helpless-fuelled hatred.
“You— you’re threatening Sidekick’s life if I don’t do as you say?!” Hero demanded, voice teetering on the edge of hysterical.
Supervillain tilted his head, as if trying to understand Hero’s emotional response.
“I told you, Hero,” Supervillain began, walking around the table back towards Hero who was too focused on the pawn over the hospital. “We can be civil, this can be a beneficial relationship for us both. I can have you far away from the city, where I know you can’t interfere in the next stage of my plans, and you can rest easy knowing you’re saving Sidekick’s life.”
It was as if the world crumbled underneath Hero’s feet. They wanted nothing more than to collapse there and then, their body flooding with adrenaline as the weight of Supervillain’s words hit them.
It was all too much.
It all felt like too much.
Hero wanted to scream and cry, and punch something— no they wanted to punch Supervillain and Flynn because…
Hero flinched as a comforting hand came down on their shoulder, eyes widening slightly because when did Supervillain get that close.
“It’s a win-win, Hero.” Hero shrugged his hand off their shoulder and stepped back. Wet eyes filled with unshed tears met Supervillain’s sea-green eyes with a helpless kind of hatred. He smiled politely. “You’ll see,” he promised, “in time.”
Hero half expected Supervillain to gloat further, or press Hero on why they were nearly crying, maybe even be cruel and make fun of them. Supervillain walked passed Hero to the door that opened with a beep. Hero followed him with their eyes, biting the inside of their cheek and re-opening the wound.
“Let’s continue the tour, now that we have the unpleasantries out of the way.”
Hero stared at Supervillain, blinked and took a breath and started walking out the door without being prompted this time. They could feel Supervillain’s hungry gaze following them as they submitted compliantly, but what else was there to do? Now that he had threatened Sidekick, who was already in critical condition.
They wanted to be sick. After everything, Sidekick was only in hospital because Supervillain wanted to get to them. They wanted Flynn and Villain to capture Hero and bring them back here, where they— Hero swallowed the sob that threatened to climb their throat — where they would be… staying. Until Supervillain says otherwise.
It all felt so final, so formal, so decided when Hero didn’t make a decision. Supervillain was in control, that’s why he wanted to give Hero the “tour.” Not to show Hero around and let them see all the exits and escape routes, no. He wanted Hero to know that even if Hero knew the way out, even if they knew what doors would be locked and where the keys were, even if escape was within their reach — it didn’t matter.
They couldn’t leave.
If they left, Sidekick would be killed and it would be all their fault.
Again.
“Ah, Flynn,” Supervillain said behind Hero. Hero pulled themselves from their thoughts, raising their eyes to see Flynn standing at the corner between the cellar hall and hall that led to the dining room. He looked worried, his eyes not leaving Hero, who couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Perhaps you’d like to show Hero to their room?”
Hero felt Flynn’s eyes on them, searching their face, imploring them to look at Flynn but they couldn’t. Their stomach was flopping like a fish out of water, threatening to throw their dinner up any moment.
“Uh, yes. I will, thanks.”
“No problem,” Supervillain replied, mirthful as he strode past Hero and down the hall towards Flynn. He clapped a hand on Flynn’s shoulder as he passed and shot one last look over his shoulder at Hero. Hero met his gaze once, fleetingly, then turned their head away again.
Flynn was the first to move, walking closer to Hero who stood like a kicked puppy in the middle of the hall. When Supervillain turned the corner he smiled a satisfied smile to himself.
It was so easy to get Hero’s defence to crumble, and now that Hero wasn’t a threat to his plans, well… the city was about to change.
Caretaker fell asleep during The Notebook and only muttered out “Wow bummer” when they saw Mufasa’s death in the original Lion King movie.
So Whumpee can’t make any sense of why there’s hot salty tears streaming down Caretaker’s face, as they hold Whumpee’s head in their lap and caress their cheek tenderly, a motion so soothing that it lulls Whumpee to sleep.
And yet Caretaker keeps calling their name and begs them to stay awake.
Whumpee’s hands feel too heavy for them to reach out and gently erase the tears off Caretaker’s face. Their tongue feels as though it’s made of lead, yet they’re determined to ask Caretaker what’s wrong.
