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arealphrooblem · 4 months

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A Lost Cause Part 3

Synopsis: The trusted keeper of all the Heroes' secrets, Civilian's existence is kept a tightly guarded secret itself. So how did the villain find her? And how will she withstand the attempts of his scientist to break her open and discover those secrets himself?

CW: nonconsensual drugging, medical whump, medical experimentation, needles/IV insertion, mentions wounds from torture, torture recovery, captivity

Part One

“So the serum had several unforeseen consequences.”

The doctor delivered this news as he checked her vitals, scribbling on that goddamn clipboard of his.

“You mean having my body convulse in excruciating pain wasn’t the effect you were looking for?” she croaked, the biting sarcasm weakened by sounding like a 90 year old smoker.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If I wanted you tortured, I would have left you in Vanderbilt’s facilities. This was just a . . .complication. A fascinating one, to be sure.”

“Oh, well that makes it all worth it, then.”

The remark sent her into another coughing fit, throat on fire, and the doctor tsked her.

“You should speak as little as possible until your vocal chords heal. You’re due for more pain meds, by the way. Give me a thumbs up if you’re starting to hurt.”

She gave him the middle finger instead.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Do you also acquiesce to tea with honey?”

Two middle fingers this time and a hateful glare.

“Excellent. I’ll bring it right out."

He doted on her for the next few days, bringing tea and books on medieval history (including one on torture, which he handed to her with a smirk). Her vitals were checked with almost obsessive regularity, the ache of her muscles numbed with pain meds that he never failed to deliver on time. He never apologized for what happened to her, insisting it was nothing more than an “unfortunate complication”, but he seemed wordlessly contrite with his actions.

Not that that made everything better.

It just made things more confusing. Under soft blankets, sipping tea and reading about the Norman Conquest, she couldn’t help but feel lulled into sleepy contentment.

When her muscles finally stopped twitching, the doctor walked in, rolling a cart with several syringes. The sight of it felt like a fist clenched around her lungs.

“No!” she yelped, jerking back against the bed. “I’m not doing this again.”

He didn’t even look at her, his attention on rearranging the order of the syringes. “Of course you are; that’s why you’re here.”

He selected one, held it up to the light and tapped it before turning towards her.

“Get that fucking thing away from me,” she growled, scrabbling out of the bed.

Her hands snatched the first thing she could find for a weapon — his book — and threw it at his head. It smacked him straight in the face, causing him to flinch and drop the syringe.

She took the opportunity to run, shoving him as hard as she could when she passed him for good measure. The loud thud as he hit the wall echoed behind her as she careened down the hallway. At first victory sang in her blood, but the adrenaline quickly faded in the weakness of days spent lying in bed. Then a spare tremor hit her legs, sending her tumbling to her knees.

It was all the doctor needed to catch up with her. Springing back to her feet, she had barely made it two more steps before the force of his body hit her from behind, shoving her face first into the wall.

“While I understand your reluctance, I really do not have time for it,” he murmured against her cheek, breath slightly ragged.

She threw her weight against him as hard as she could but he did not budge behind her. For such a nerd, he was solid. His hands threaded themselves into her hair, yanking her head back and a sharp prick hit her neck.

“Just remember,” he said as her world started to tilt, “when you wake up inevitably furious, that this could have all been avoided with your cooperation.”

The world returned to her slowly. First in images, then in sound. The doctor sat in a chair before her, scribbling in a notebook, the cart of syringes next to him. The sight of it sent her jerking back in instinct, but her body could not move.

“Finally,” he said once he noticed her aborted movements. “I think I will have to adjust your dosage for next time.”

It took only seconds for her to realize she did not wake up in her bed, but in a padded, high backed chair, the kind with the extra wide arms for blood drawing. And she was strapped down from her forehead to her throat to her arms to her legs and feet.

Panic dragged sluggishly up her chest, the drugs still weighing her down. But he had locked her body down tight. She couldn’t even twist her head away from the sight of him readying the needle.

The Agency had prepped her for torture. They educated her on all the ways it could happen, all the effects it would have on her body, the different ways she could hold out. As horrifying as it was to sit through it all, it helped her by making it predictable.

This was not predictable. She had no idea how each drug would make her respond. And even worse -- neither did he.

And that made this whole ordeal somehow more unbearable than her actual torture. She had never prepared for something like this.

When his gloved hand swiped the alcohol wipe over her arm, the only thing that kept her from breaking down and begging him to stop was the fact that her tongue still felt thick and clumsy in her mouth. All that came out was a strangled, panicked no as the needle plunged in.

For an agonizingly long moment they just stared at each other. He slipped his glasses off, tucking them away in the front pocket of his lab coat. The soft warmth of his dark brown eyes made her stomach squirm. It looked wrong, a predator’s disguise. A man like him did not deserve to have eyes like that.

“Tell me your name,” he said.

She projectile vomited into his face in response. What followed were hours of intense nausea, unable to hold down even the water she used to down anti-nausea pills. Eventually the doctor injected something into her IV and sent her to sleep.

“Stop scratching. You’re going to cause scarring.”

She glared poison at him, a rash climbing its way around her torso like poison ivy. The itching was unbearable.

“I would take literal torture over this,” she spat.

“You’re one of the few people on this earth who could make such a claim,” he agreed with that pleasant nonchalance that made her want to throttle him. “Pull your shirt up. I brought you more cortisone cream.”

He made it himself and its smell burned her nose. She refused to touch it at first but the urge to scratch overwhelmed her and he threatened to put it on for her if she didn’t stop. That and the oven mitts and duct tape he had lying on the window sill, an unspoken threat.

“When you’re done, we should go for a walk. It’s warm enough outside that you won’t need a jacket.”

She froze, staring at him wide eyed. “Outside? You’re taking me outside?”

“The weather is beautiful today. It’s a shame you can only experience it through your window. And the exercise might distract you.”

The cortizone cream was spread with lightning speed. She felt like a kid at Christmas — both hopeful and terrified of disappointment. The doctor graciously provided her with more durable house slippers, the kind with rubber soles, and guided her through the hall and out an innocuous door.

Behind the building, which looked like an innocent two story cottage, was a beautiful garden. Bordered by tall, lush hedges and trees, a gravel path wound its way around ordered raised flower beds and stands of rose bushes and irises. Spring sunshine filtered through the trees, dappling the patio and table and chairs.

She swallowed thickly, suddenly overwhelmed. It was so beautiful and he didn’t deserve to have something like this and yet she was so so relieved to be there. The air smelled fresh and vaguely like salt. In the distance she could hear the low rumble of waves.

He guided her along the walkway, pointing out the herbs growing in the beds, rambling on about the native plants and the kind of medicine you could make out of them. It felt rather like a scene from a regency novel, taking this “turn about the garden.” But she couldn’t find it in herself to be pissed about it.

“It’s been several minutes without a caustic remark,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I take it you find this place satisfactory?”

“It’s okay,” she said, struggling for an air of nonchalance. She didn’t trust him not to use this place against her.

“High praise indeed,” he drawled.

They took two more laps before he deposited her at the patio table. By this point exhaustion threatened at her edges though she tried valiantly to hide it.

“Let’s not overdo it today,” he said with a knowing look. “Wait here and I’ll get us some tea.”

Sitting in the fresh air and sunshine as she waited, having freedom at the tips of her fingers but not the strength to take it, felt like the worst cruelty he had inflicted upon her so far. And the worst part was, she didn’t know if he even meant it as such.

The doctor reappeared only a few minutes later, humming and holding an honest to god tea tray, complete with china cups and a clear teapot. She made sure to watch him pour and sip his own drink before she helped herself.

It was good tea. She hated how companionable their silence was becoming, how much she was getting used to his presence. And yet, some things still didn’t piece together.

“What makes me so valuable?” she asked. “Sure there are other ways to get information, other people to experiment on. But you said there was only one me.”

He turned his gaze away from the irises and slowly pulled down his dark glasses. His eyes looked as warm and comforting as the tea he made.

“You should kiss me,” he said, gentle and inviting. “There’s no need to be afraid. You’ve been wanting to for a while now. You think about it all the time.”

“What?” she spluttered. Her eyes instinctively flickered down to his mouth before she jerked them away. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

He threw his head back and laughed, rich and deep.

“That’s why,” he said, pushing his glasses back up. “My power is hypnosis. I can make anyone think or feel anything I want. Except for you. I’ve never met anyone whose power can cancel out other powers. I want to bottle it. Literally.”

“Bottle it?” she repeated numbly. “To use on other people?”

To use on her allies. Her friends. To take the one thing they depended on her and use it against them.

She felt sick.

“Of course. It could be useful in a wide variety of situations. And I have to admit, I’ve wondered if it would work on you. Can you nullify someone’s nullification powers? The answer would be fascinating either way.”

Dread gripped her insides with icy fingers, the mild spring sun feeling far away.

“Just think -- if it did work on you, I would be able to break into your mind without hurting you. No torture ever again.”

He shot her what he probably thought was an encouraging smile.

She threw up again.

Let me know in a comment if you want to be tagged!

Taglist: @morning-star-whump

#hero x villain #my writing #enemies to lovers #villain x civilian #writeblr #whump #medical whump #whump writing #a lost cause

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arealphrooblem · 4 months

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“You shouldn’t have pressed,” his partner said. “I told you not to start investigating, didn’t I?”

The detective stared, dumbfounded for the first time. His partner- not his partner anymore, was he?- smiled, pushing off the wall, striding over to the detective.

He laughed. “As much as it annoys me, all this might’ve been worth it just to see that look.” “The- the first body,” the detective said. “Phillibert. It wasn’t about the money, was it?”

“It wasn’t about the money,” his partner confirmed. “You never really thought it was.”

“The second murder-”

“Clever touch, right?” his partner shrugged. “To be honest-” He winked when he said those words- “that one wasn’t me. Not personally. I was busy keeping a nosy little detective out of the way.”

The detective swallowed hard. That was the night they’d been attacked in that alley together. The night his partner had helped him back home, given him a drink and tended his bloodied face and hands. They hadn’t argued about the case, for once. He thought that had meant something.

Evidently it had.

“When did you turn?” It wasn’t what he wanted to ask.

His partner scoffed. “Turn. Please. There wasn’t any turn at all- I haven’t changed. I was never as optimistic as you.”

“You wouldn’t have done this ten years ago.”

“I didn’t have the opportunity ten years ago.” He took a few steps closer to the detective. “But I would have taken it if I had. The world is an unfair game. Sometimes you have to cheat to win.”

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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if i made a hero & villain discord server would anyone be interested?

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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A Good Roommate Is Hard To Find Part 4

Synopsis: Civilian has harbored a secret crush on his roommate for a long time, only to find out that said roommate is the newest villain on the scene during a robbery at his job.

CW: mentions of homophobic parents

Part 1 Here

Ben’s parents always accused him of being as stubborn as a goddamn mule, especially when it came to his sexuality, which they viewed as some sort of rebellion that he childishly refused to grow out of. Even Adam joked about it when Ben would play a video game until he completed every task, gained every achievement, and found every collectible.

Even his crush was stubborn, digging its fingers in when any sane person would have moved cities, new roommates be damned.

In the face of Adam’s injuries, his resolve crumbled like a Nature Valley granola bar. The new fear that unlocked seeing Adam limping and covered in blood over-rode whatever lingering anger and resentment he had about Adam’s . . .new career.

In its place rose a fierce protective instinct and the need to dote like an old grandmother. He made Adam tea, changed his bandages, cooked and did the dishes and brought Adam his meals so he wouldn’t have to hobble to the kitchen table.

No matter what happened between them, no matter what Adam did in Ben’s absence, the realization that he nearly lost Adam haunted him.

Ben arrived at this city friendless with a useless degree and freshly disowned by his parents. Meeting Adam at his first job felt like nothing short of a miracle. They clicked instantly and for the first time in years Ben felt seen. Adam lit up when they found shared days on each weekly schedule and complained bitterly about the days their shifts didn’t cross. The first time Ben called in sick, Adam sent him a flurry of concerned texts and Ben nearly cried. A quiet, awkward kid turned anxious loner, Ben never had his absence noticed or mattered to someone this much.

He thought for sure their friendship would go to shit when they got an apartment together but living together felt as easy as breathing. What few fights they did have were resolved quickly, as Adam refused to let Ben hide his issues and suck it up. They always found a compromise, something Ben’s parents never granted him.

No wonder he fell so quickly and so hard. And even in the face of a knife at his throat, those feelings refused to let go. He was stuck with them and the night Adam came back Ben resigned himself to his fate.

“Fucking Christ, Ben, sit down,” Adam said from the couch. “I can get my own drink, I don't need a fifties housewife.”

“It's fine, I was already getting up anyway,” Ben protested but Adam glared.

“Sit down.”

“But —“

“Sit. Down.”

Something dark flashed in Adam’s eyes, sending a thread of hot, shivery desire through Ben’s spine.

He sat down.

Adam limped over to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. Even after two days, his leg still pained him, though he wouldn’t tell Ben what the injury was or how he got it.

“Maybe you should go to a doctor,” Ben suggested as Adam wandered back in.

“Absolutely not.”

Adam didn’t even spare him a glance as he reached for the remote.

“What if you broke it or something?”

“I didn’t break anything. Quit fussing, Benji, and scoot over.”

Ben obliged, sitting at the far edge of the couch. Adam stretched out on the rest of the couch, setting his head in Ben’s lap and draping his injured leg gingerly over the other end.

Suddenly every nerve was on high alert. Adam had done this before, usually when drunk, and always with a pillow. This time his face lay bare against Ben’s jean clad thigh. Whiffs of his cologne teased Ben’s nose, his body heat sinking into Ben’s leg.

It took every inch of willpower not to spring a boner right then and there. If Adam turned his head the other way, he would be breathing right against Ben’s dick.

“Doesn’t it hurt,” he asked, trying to turn his thoughts anywhere else.

Adam glanced up and gave Ben a small, wistful smile. “I’ve had so much worse. You worry too much.”

“That does not in fact make me feel any better.”

Adam wriggled, adjusting into a more comfortable position and Ben bit back a whine when the back of his head brushed against a growing erection.

“You want a pillow or something?” he asked, voice coming out somewhat strangled.

“Nope. I’m fine. Flip to ESPN. The Lakers are playing tonight.”

Sports. Dozens of men in their physical prime sweating and running and showing off lean, muscular arms while another man lays in his lap. Just great.

Of course the day the worst cold front of the season hits, the power to half the city gets shut off, including their apartment building. Ben had just shuffled home from work, kicked off his shoes, and pre-heated the oven before the whole place plunged into darkness.

And of course Adam was nowhere to be found and he didn’t answer any texts or calls.

Things like this happened more and more often. Maybe it was because he didn’t have to lie to Ben anymore about his activities — Adam had taken a lot of “late shifts” and overtime before the truth came out — or maybe things were ramping up in the criminal underworld. But more and more often came long swathes of time where Adam disappeared and could not be contacted.

Usually Ben spent that time staying up as long as he could for Adam, always scared of another bloody return.

This time he yanked off his comforter from the bed and sat on the couch, pissed. It was freezing, his phone battery almost dead, too dark to read and no internet. The fuck was he supposed to do?

By the time Adam stumbled back through the door, Ben had dozed off and on the couch in pitiful snatches of sleep, too cold to get any rest.

“You have shit timing,” he said, teeth clacking. “Turning off the power couldn’t be a summer activity?”

“Then you’d be pissed at how hot it was,” Adam retorted.

“At least I could open a window.”

Adam threw him a devious smirk that looked almost ghoulish in the glow of his phone. “Or take your clothes off.”

Ben’s cheeks heated, the only warmth he could feel.

“Seriously though, what the fuck?”

“It wasn’t my idea, trust me,” Adam grumbled, toeing off his shoes. “My boss is an impulsive fuckface.”

“So how long until the power comes back?”

Adam shrugged. “A while. The point is that it will take a long time and a lot of resources spread across the city to get it back. So layer up, Benji.”

Ben groaned. “Fantastic. Are there any perks that come with this gig of yours?”

“Not yet. But there will be.”

Ben had his doubts about that. Part of him wanted to really interrogate Adam, to know everything — what got him started, what his goals were, what the point of all of it was. But Adam was right — the more Ben knew, the more of a liability he was. Better to stay ignorant, even if his anxiety filled the gaps with ideas probably worse than reality.

“Come on,” Adam said, motioning to his bedroom door. “Bring your blanket, we’re bunking up tonight.”

All thoughts ground to a sudden halt.

“What?” Ben asked stupidly.

“It’s freezing in here or have you not noticed?” Adam said, already heading towards the bedroom.

“Yeah, but —“

“Quit being a wuss and come on. It’s the only way we’re gonna get warm.”

Heart pounding, Ben followed, blanket clenched around him like a shawl. Adam didn’t know about Ben’s feelings but he did know about Ben’s sexuality and he never had an issue with it. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t get freaked out if he woke up to Ben’s erection against his back. Or to Ben moaning from a dream or sleep-cuddling or hundred other humiliating tells that could happen in the obliviousness of sleep.

Still, his idiot self followed Adam into the bedroom. Adam gestured for Ben to crawl in the bed first. The twin mattress was set against the wall and did not leave much room for two grown men. Ben started to despair as he scooted as far over as he could and still Adam’s thighs brushed against his as both men jockeyed for room. Eventually they ended up on their sides, facing each other, close enough to feel their breath on their lips.

That and the smell of Adam and his warm radiating against Ben under the covers was enough to send him a little light-headed. Only two inches and his own willpower separated them from kissing.

“You good?” Adam whispered.

Ben nodded. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely.

Adam shuddered and scooted closer, pressing his head against Ben’s shoulder. “I’ve been freezing all night,” he muttered.

“Same,” said Ben, hardly daring to breathe. The smell of Adam’s shampoo tainted every lungful of air.

“I’m too wired for sleep, though. What about you?”

He should feel exhausted but having Adam pressed up against him ignited every nerve in his body.

“I’m not tired,” he said.

“You wanna play Never Have I Ever?”

“We don’t have drinks.” And thank God for that because who knows what insane statement Ben might ask under the cover of darkness. Like Never Have I Ever killed someone. Or Never Have I Ever thought about kissing another man. Things that haunt Ben that he also doesn’t want the answers to.

“What about Truth or Dare?”

“There’s no way in hell I’m getting out of this bed for a dare and I don’t trust you not to ask me something totally humiliating.”

Or for Ben to trust himself not to dare Adam for a kiss. The temptation, with Adam pressed close enough that Ben could feel the reverb of Adam’s voice against his own ribs, was too great. Something about the darkness made Ben feel reckless and only the life-long ball and chain of his anxiety kept him from going rogue and ruining everything.

“Goddamn do you get cranky when you’re cold,” Adam grumbled. “How about this — we take turns telling us something the other person doesn’t know about us. But we get to pick what we reveal.”

Always hungry for knowledge, especially about Adam, the King of Evasive Answers, Ben could not resist.

“Okay. But you go first.”

Adam thought for a moment before answering. “One of my greatest fears is that I’ll get that tick bite that makes you allergic to meat.”

Ben smiled. “Good thing we live in a densely populated city.”

“There are ticks in the city. We’re not safe here.” Adam sounded so serious that Ben had to laugh. He pulled away from Ben’s chest and he could feel Adam’s glare even in the darkness. “Alright chucklefuck, what about you?”

“Um . . .I hate cake. I’ve never had a birthday cake I enjoyed.”

“You hate cake?”

“It’s dry and gums up my mouth and the frosting is always too sweet.”

“You’ve just never had good cake.”

“I’ve had all kinds of cake. They all suck.”

“I could find you a cake you’d love.”

“Careful, Adam. That sounds like a bet.”

“Oh yeah? And what would you give me if you won?”

“Anything.” The word slipped out of Ben’s mouth before he could stop it.

He felt a sharp intake of breath against his collarbone.

“Anything?” Adam whispered. A strange tension strung his voice taut. Ben wished he could see the expression that matched it. “That’s a dangerous thing to promise.”

“I um — ” Ben swallowed thickly. “I really hate cake.”

“We’ll see about that.” It sounded almost as if Adam was talking about something else and though Ben usually squashed any wishful thinking down, he let this one take root.

“Your turn,” he said.

“I’ve never been drunk.”

“Bullshit,” Ben said. “I’ve seen you drunk. Multiple times.”

“You’ve seen me pretend to be drunk. I’m very good at it.”

“Seriously?” Ben thought back to last New Years, at a party thrown by one of their old coworkers. Adam had been giggly and ridiculous and adorable, his guard down in a way he never allowed sober.

Or so Ben thought.

“Being drunk makes you too vulnerable,” said Adam. “People do and say stupid shit they never would sober. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Why lie?” asked Ben. “You could just say you don’t drink.”

“That draws a lot of attention. People take it as a challenge to get you to drink or they interrogate you about it or they get pissed because they think I don’t drink out of some moral high ground. It’s easier to pretend.”

Adam always seemed confident and untouchable, even before Ben found out about his criminal activities. To hear him admit to so much fear tonight . . .the trust felt addictive. And suddenly the weight of his own secret, his own fear, felt unbearable.

“I’m in love with you.”

The intimacy of the darkness, of their bodies cradling each other, the vulnerability of secrets, cocooned around him like a protective shell. He felt bulletproof. He felt tired. The secret weighed so much, even if he could ignore most of the time.

Silence intensified between them at the confession. Ben’s heart roared in his ears.

“Oh Benji,” Adam sighed. “You’re supposed to tell me something I don’t know. That’s how the game works.”

“I — you knew? How? How long?”

“Not long after we moved in. You’re not very subtle, especially when I know you so well.”

Ben anticipated all kinds of reactions, but not this one.

“Oh. I’m — I’m sorry. I didn’t mean — ”

“Don’t be sorry,” Adam said, his tone heartbreakingly kind. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I don’t — I don’t want to weird you out.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Adam’s fingers curled around Ben’s shoulder and squeezed. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”

A dangerous spark of hope ignited in him. Adam knew. Adam knew and it didn’t freak him out. Adam knew and he still put his head in Ben’s lap and cuddled with Ben in bed and —

“Do — ” Ben swallowed, his heart in his throat. “Do you — ”

“My father is a supervillain.”

Once again all the thoughts zig-zagging in his head screeched to a halt. “What?”

Adam took in a shaky breath. “He’s dead now but he was very infamous when he was alive. Other villains cowed to him. I inherited his powers.”

“You have powers?”

There had been a handful of infamous supervillains in the past few decades and all of them had terrifyingly powers. No matter who Adam ended up connected to, every option was lethal. A lick of fear tingled up his spine.

I don’t need a knife to hurt you.

But right now, pressed so close together in the freeing darkness, Adam didn’t feel dangerous. And it wouldn’t matter if he did because reckless want surged through Ben, burning out the dogged fear that always followed him. Adam might be murderous, he would never love Ben back the same way, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t want it to matter.

Adam pulled away, his fingers digging into Ben’s shoulder, the intensity of his gaze almost a physical weight.

“No one knows about this, Ben. No one. My crew, my boss — they think I’m a grunt, a weapon to point with. And I need them to think that. Do you understand?”

Of course Adam had a plan laid out. And the fact that he’s telling Ben the one piece that could bring it all to ruin left an ache in Ben’s chest.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Ben said. “I swear. I worry about you all the time. I want you to be safe.”

“I trust that.” Adam’s grip loosened and he smoothed his hand over the wrinkles he caused. “I shouldn’t. I don’t trust anyone. But you . . .you feel different than anyone else I’ve met. I can’t really explain it.”

“You do too,” Ben whispered.

Adam’s hand traced up the column of Ben’s throat, cupping his jaw with just the barest finger tips. The urge to kiss him swelled up in Ben, overwhelming, a wave of reckless desire finally cresting. Just a small kiss. Just this once.

He ducked his head down a fraction of an inch, terrified and determined all at once, when Adam pulled back.

“Go to sleep, Ben,” he said quietly, hand sliding away. “I have a long day tomorrow if you want the power back on.”

Disappointment crashed into him, a wave against a cliff. “Yeah,” he said, a tremor in his voice. “That would be nice.”

He slept facing the wall, feeling Adam’s breath against his neck. The next morning the bed was warm but empty.

Taglist: @itsmyworld23 @canary-warrior @cyborg0109 @littlesadzap

Let me know in the comments if you want to be tagged!

#a good roommate is hard to find #hero x villain #villain x civilian #friends to lovers #original fiction #writeblr

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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For the ship ask game: #7 what’s their most and least favorite thing about each other? For your favorite ship!

Thank you so much for the ask!!

For this question I will pick the Queen and the Warlord from my series Terms of Surrender.

For the Warlord: His favorite thing about the Queen is her level-headed practicality and intelligence. His least favorite thing about her is how little she values those traits about herself.

For the Queen: Her favorite thing about the Warlord is his ability to balance ruthlessness and mercy and her least favorite thing about him is his paranoia.

Link to questions here!

#asks #ask game

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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a lost cause!!! part 3 please!!! i love you and your writing!!!

Thank you! That one is next after A Good Roommate Is Hard To Find

#asks

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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I've been following your "It's difficult to find a good roommate" and I absolutely love it. Please keep posting it, because I'm absolutely obsessed.

Yesterday I thought of a completely random thing. Have you heard the phrase "United we stand, divided we fall" well what if we turn it on its head "United we fall, divided we stand" could you write something on that I feel like that would make for an interesting prompt.

I am working on that snippet right now! Hopefully it will be done today but if not, then def tomorrow!

#asks

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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Hi, i hope your day is going well! I wanted to ask if you could please continue "a good roommate is hard to find"? I loved that one, but no pressure obviously. Thanks for sharing your writing, all of it is wonderful!♥️

I plan on finishing any ongoing snippet I start. Sometimes work gets crazy or I have to sit down and really figure out where I want the story to go, but I always intend on finishing the fics that I start! Thank you <3

#asks

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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~couple questions~ for when you need an excuse to talk about your characters/ship 😽

send some numbers and the names of the couple! don't forget to send an ask to the person you reblog from - including me 🔪

What do they think of each other's family? And how does the family feel?

Do they like each other's friends? Do their friends like them?

What's their favorite thing to tease each other about?

How do they compare to each other's exes? Are they the same "type" or an upgrade/something different?

How do they sleep?

Do they have pet names for each other? Do they like them?

What's their most and least favorite thing about each other?

What do they find physically sexiest about each other?

Are they a "we" couple?

What was their last big fight? What did they learn from it?

What good do they bring out in each other?

What struggle have they seen each other through?

How do they express love for each other? Do they have compatible love languages?

What little things remind them of each other?

What habits or characteristics have they picked up from each other?

How do they react when the other is upset? How do they try to help?

Do they believe in marriage?

Would they have kids together?

What values do they not share? How do they reconcile those differences?

If they disagree, who's usually the one to compromise?

If they live together, how do they split household responsibilities?

What's different about their backgrounds? Do those differences affect the relationship?

What was their first impression of each other?

How did they fall for eachother?

Who said "I love you" first?

How are they with PDA?

What interests do they share? For interests they don't share, do they ever participate anyway?

How are they with money? Does one do more of the financial supporting?

Where is their relationship lacking? What could they do to improve it?

Where is their relationship the strongest?

#trying to get back into writing #if anyone is curious about any of the pairings ive written #please ask!

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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This is a story written by @thepenultimateword! Link here

Hello Ginger. I have a question. Were you the one who wrote about/have somewhere in your dash a short story about an empress who keeps an enemy general as a war trophy?

that wasn't me but I know I've read that story!! maybe try my #soldiers and generals tag?

#fantasci tumblr #hero x villain #female villain

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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'this needs a part 2' my brother in christ u did not even reblog

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arealphrooblem · 5 months

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@jeahreading there is a part 2! I just forgot to link it

A Good Roommate Is Hard To Find Part 2

I was blown away by the response to something I banged out without much thought.! I've received several asks about continuing this so here is part two! Thank you everyone!

Synopsis: Civilian has harbored a secret crush on his roommate for a long time, only to find out that said roommate is the newest villain on the scene during a robbery at his job.

Part one here

CW: named characters (juggling two unnamed male characters pronoun wise was just a huge headache)

“Salt?”

Ben stared at his roommate from across their tiny kitchen table. Two bowls of soup lay before each of them, accompanied by folded napkins and spoons and glasses of water. The formality instantly raised his hackles. Whatever happened to eating on the couch while they watched stupid youtube prank videos?

Fear and anger twisted and blended into each other until he didn’t know what was responsible for the maelstrom in his chest that the hot shower did nothing to calm down.

“How long?” he said instead.

It was the question that plagued him the most. Did this start before they met? Had Ben lived with a stranger in a mask this whole time? Or did it start later? Did something horrible happen to make Adam desperate enough to try villainy and could Ben have prevented it?

“How long has salt been around?” Adam asked blithely. “I don’t know. Probably at least a thousand years or more. Did the Romans use salt? You’re the history nerd, not me.”

“Don’t mock me,” Ben snapped. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Do you really want to know?”

What fucking kind of question was that? But Adam tilted his head to the side, the look in his eyes deadly serious.

“Because if I tell you,” he continued, “that could implicate you. Once you know, you can’t un-know. And Heroes have ways of making you talk. There’s no way they’d believe you didn’t help me all this time.”

So consumed with the fear of Adam himself, Ben never thought to be concerned with anyone else. Now a new fear dug its roots into him.

“There’s no way they’d believe it now,” he said, heart thudding again.

“They would if you were genuinely clueless.”

Or if I turned you in Ben thought. That was the other thought that had plagued him the last few days.

Now that he knew, what was he supposed to do about it?

“But I don’t intend on you talking to anyone about this,” Adam added.

Again, Ben’s hackles raised at the certainty in Adam’s voice. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“How would you stop me?”

He didn’t mean it as a taunt. He knew Adam was dangerous, but not how. Did Adam have powers or weapons? What plans did he have for Ben?

“You don’t want the answer to that question either,” Adam replied softly. “But know that I would, if I had to. I’m capable of anything when I know it’s my best option.”

The lump was back in Ben’s throat, making it hard to swallow. He could stomach the lying, even understand it a little. How do you tell your roommate that you’re the one behind all the recent robberies and arson?

And Ben could handle the crimes, for the most part. This city ate people alive and anyone not obscenely wealthy had one bad accident standing between themselves and homelessness. So far Adam’s crew had only targeted places with large payouts. They took hostages when necessary but had no casualties so far.

But the threats? The knife at his throat? The lack of hesitation before launching to dark promises of violence hurt Ben the most. Even without his stupid crush, they had become friends the last three years. Their lives had become enmeshed with each other’s in a domestic intimacy that went beyond two people who simply shared a space.

Adam knew his allergies and what restaurants to avoid because of it. He knew Ben’s parents and siblings. He knew Ben’s failed dreams and useless history degree. They shared shampoo and lonely holiday dinners and a Netflix account.

Ben thought he knew Adam the same way. But now all that had unraveled, and though he never harbored the hope that Adam could return his affections, seeing how easily Adam could threaten his life as if Ben never meant anything to him . . .

The knife would hurt less.

“What . . .” Ben swallowed again, his voice coming out choked. “What do you want me to do? I can move out. Leave the city.”

Adam’s eyebrows shot up. “Leave? You can’t leave!”

Hope rose ever so slightly without Ben’s permission. But when had it ever listened in the first place?

“I can’t afford this apartment without you.”

And there it went, dashed on the rocks.

“Haven’t you been . . .earning extra income,” Ben asked hesitantly.

“Not enough to cover your portion of everything for more than a month or two. Besides . . .I only get a small percentage of the cut. I need you.”

Boy, would Ben have loved to hear that in literally any other circumstance.

“But I’m a liability now,” he protested.

“Are you?”

Adam got a certain look in his eye anytime they played strategy games. It didn’t matter what kind — Among Us, Monopoly, chess, Street Fighter. His mind always worked five steps ahead, thinking of contingency plans for contingency plans, and Ben knew when that glint showed up in Adam’s eye, he was about to lose. That he had lost long before he even realized it.

“Here’s the way I see it.” Adam leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “You hate living with your parents and you don’t want to leave the city. I can’t leave because I’m . . .in the middle of things. If either of us were to move out, we’d both have to find another roommate and the odds of us finding people that work as well with us as we do with each other is impossible. We would both be miserable.”

“You think I would be more miserable with a person who didn’t threaten me with a knife?” Ben asked.

And the answer to that question was yes, but Adam didn’t have to know that.

“What if they never turn the light on when they piss at night and get it all over the toilet?” Adam countered. “What if they eat the last of all your snacks or move their obnoxious girlfriend in or never empty the dishwasher before sticking their dirty dishes in?”

Objectively speaking, Ben would rather have a knife to his throat one time than deal with any of those on a constant basis.

“We know how to live with each other. We’ve developed a routine that has worked for years. This doesn’t have to change anything. It’s not like I haven’t been doing this for months while you had no clue anyway.”

“You will never trust me not to snitch,” said Ben.

“If I’m in jail, then how are you going to still live here with any kind of sanity? Better yet — if I’m thrown in prison because you ran your mouth, how are you going to be safe from retaliation from my boss or crew members? How are you going to avoid your own prison sentence for being an accessory? Is it worth your life to put me away?”

That last question hit him hard. He knew it was cowardly and stupid beyond measure, but he couldn’t bear the thought of blowing up the little life he’d carved for himself here. It didn’t amount to much, especially to his parents, but he loved it all the same.

“No,” he told Adam softly. “It’s not worth it.”

He loved his life and he loved Adam and he loved his life because of Adam and it all fed into each other like one writhing ouroboros.

Adam leaned back again, looking devastatingly smug. “I didn’t think so.”

“So . . .what now?” Ben bit at his lower lip, the nervous tell that always gave him away in poker. “What do you want me to do?”

“Eat your soup for starters.” Adam nodded at the bowl in front of Ben. “And then give me your phone.”

“My phone? What do you want with my phone?”

Adam leveled a flat look over the table. A look he shot at Ben frequently over the years when Ben made a particularly bad pun. He used to love making Adam give him that look. Now it felt tainted with an undercurrent of a threat.

“Eat your soup, Ben.”

Ben ate his soup. It came out great, almost as if they had just ordered it from the restaurant that inspired it. Adam didn’t cook often, but when it did it outshone Ben’s rudimentary skills. And when they both finished, Ben cleared the table, almost on autopilot, because the person who didn’t cook did the dishes. It was one of the first routines they established.

Usually Ben hated washing dishes which was why he volunteered to make dinner so often. Tonight however it offered a soothing distraction, much more effective than the shower Adam insisted he take. Right up until he felt Adam’s hands on his thighs, sliding up to the edge of his front pocket.

“What are you doing?” he yelped, dropping the spoon with a clatter.

“Looking for your phone.” Adam’s voice pressed right against the shell of Ben’s ear.

His fingers wriggled their way into the pocket, tight in old jeans Ben should have thrown out when he graduated. His breath stuttered in his chest at the intrusion, which lasted only a few seconds, and at the triumphant snort against his ear when Adam slipped the phone out.

He swallowed thickly, throat tight for a very different reason than before. Adam stepped back, the heat of him gone just as suddenly as it appeared. A glance over his shoulder showed Adam leaning against the stove, brow furrowed as he typed in Ben’s password. Because of course Ben had given it to him, thoughtlessly, for vague future emergencies.

“What are you doing to it?” he asked, nerves fluttering in the pit of his stomach. What if he didn’t get it back?

“Precautionary measures,” Adam replied distractedly. “I’ll give it back in the morning.”

“The morning?”

He spun around, soap dripping from his hands. Adam leveled another flat look at him.

“Do you want this to work or should I get another knife?” he said.

The blood drained from Ben’s face. His eyes darted over to the knife block, sitting just inches away from Adam’s hip. There was no way he could reach it in time — not that it would matter if he could. Clumsy and inexperienced, he’d only hurt himself and save Adam the trouble.

“I just . . .want to know what’s happening,” he said, eyes prickling for the second time that night, goddamn it. “You don’t have to keep threatening me.”

The cognitive dissonance of having Adam so carelessly threaten him, pulling a knife on him — Adam, his best friend that he lived with for years — felt like it could split his head apart. Life was starting to not feel real anymore, like he was in a video game instead. Or a nightmare.

Adam’s expression flickered, looking almost stricken, before Ben turned away. He rinsed what was left of the suds from his hands and then turned the water off.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, even though it was barely dark. “Keep the phone.”

Then he walked straight down the back hall to his bedroom. Adam called his name, almost too softly to hear, but Ben ignored him and shut the door.

He locked it too, for good measure. Not that it mattered. Sleep did not accompany him much that night.

Part Three

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arealphrooblem · 6 months

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Heya I am visiting all of my favorite blogs!✨✨

Sooo

Trick or treat?

A trick! Gimme your best shot!

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arealphrooblem · 6 months

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A Lost Cause Part 2

CW: nonconsensual drugging, medical whump, medical experimentation, needles/IV insertion, mentions wounds from torture, torture recovery, captivity

The anticipation of what might happen each time he walked into the room was almost worse than actual torture. His words ran on a loop in her head as she dozed in and out of deep sleep.

I am dying to create the tools that will break you open.

But each time he visited, he did nothing but check vitals, change bandages, survey her progress, feed her. Slowly she worked her way up from broth to solid food, from sleeping most of the day to sleeping at night, from needing a catheter to walking to the bathroom herself once the bottoms of her feet were healed (and that was not a fun day, no sir).

The scientist refused to answer her questions outright unless she offered up answers of her own. Each day they ended in a stalemate, which he seemed to find amusing.

He refused even his name. Eventually she just started calling him the doctor, because he treated her like one. Despite her captivity, despite the ominous warning Vanderbilt gave her in the interrogation room, despite her overwhelming vulnerability, he treated her with polite and patient professionalism.

She tried to give him the same courtesy. Whatever his future plans were, he had given her the space and time to heal back to full strength. She would make sure he regretted that. But first she had to look cooperative and weak.

A few days after shedding both the catheter and the bandages on her feet and thighs, the doctor strolled in not with his usual stethoscope, but with a clipboard and a pen.

Her gut did not like that.

“Your recovery is chugging along quite spectacularly,” he said, clicking the pen. “Which means we are almost ready to start the clinical trials. Of course, before I give you anything, I will need you to answer a few questions about your medical and family history.”

“Clinical trials for what?” she asked, feeling like she swallowed a stone.

“For my experiments, of course,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Why did you think I’ve been helping you recover? Pity? The goodness of my heart?”

“What experiments?” she demanded.

“Oh I have several in mind for you. But first, a few questions.”

“Sure, of course,” she said, deeply scathing. “Let’s make it easier for you to torture me. I’ll jump right on that.”

“You should, if you want greater chances of survival. I need to know your allergies, cancer risks, medications you’ve been on, previous surgeries, or else I could accidentally kill you. You’re a very special experiment. I’d rather not lose you so soon to such a preventable cause.”

It made her blood run cold, the casual way he voiced her probable death, as if he equated it with the disappointment of prematurely expired raspberries. An inconvenience, but there’s always more.

The worst part was that he had a point. What would be the purpose of her team rescuing her in a blaze of glory if she had died of anaphylactic shock?

So through gritted teeth, she answered all of his medically relevant questions. He wrote each down dutifully on his clipboard.

“And your name?” he asked finally.

She pursed her lips into a thin line and glared at him. He nodded.

“Not today, then. No worries. That will be the first thing you give me with the success of my first experiment.”

A knot formed in her stomach. “What’s the first experiment?” she couldn’t help but ask.

He smiled enigmatically. “You’ll find out when the time comes.”

She waited a few minutes after the door shut before she tip-toed to the window. The only thing she could see outside was a sheer cliff and water for miles. Probably the ocean, but she couldn’t open the window to tell. It was nailed shut.

Wherever she was, it looked far from civilization. Maybe that was why, after what had to be at least a month if not more, that her team hadn’t found her yet. They were city people. Superheros rarely had to venture into the rural countryside, let alone a place this remote.

Such reassurances did not cure the unease in the back of her mind that something didn’t add up.

Now that she had recovered, fatigue did not weigh her down so much and boredom began to creep in it’s place. The doctor offered her a handful of novels, mostly pulp scifi and dystopian literature. She read them and re-read them so often she could quote passages from each one. When the doctor finally appeared in her room with a small, rolling table of syringes and an IV needle, the jolt of adrenaline was almost euphoric in the face of the mind numbing monotony of her days.

“You seem eager for our first experiment,” the doctor said with a bemused quirk of his lips.

“Ecstatic,” she deadpanned, ignoring the jolt in her heart. “I can’t wait for you to kill me with whatever ungodly chemical is in that.”

He chuckled, pushing the cart next to her bed. “You’re right in that God has nothing to do with what I create. But it is not my goal to kill you — the opposite in fact. I try to limit risks as much as possible. There is only one you, after all.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Is it not?” It was almost comical how he blinked at her in innocent confusion.

She just glared at him in return, which he cheerfully ignored as he slipped the latex gloves on with a snap. He even hummed a little as he pulled open the packaging for the IV needle and the alcohol wipe.

Meanwhile her gut churned and frothed in horrible anticipation. She had gone through literal torture but this scared her more. When knives or brands or electric cattle prods came out, at least she knew what they did. No one knew what would happen as a result of this experiment, not even him. At least the goal of torture was to keep you alive as long as possible. These experiments could kill her. These could be her last living moments.

Fear tainted her every breath but just as she did in the face of her torturers, she refused to let it show on her face. Instead she stared resolutely out the window, at the glint of the water in the sunlight.

“Deep breath,” he murmured just before she felt the sharp pain of the IV needle.

Her gaze darted to him, drawn like a magnet to the sight of him tapping the air bubbles from the syringe. Nausea roiled inside her. She fought hard against the urge to rip the IV out before he could inject the serum. Instead, she could only watch in horrified resignation as it flowed through the IV drip.

“And now we wait,” he said, flashing her that polite smile, as if they were sitting in a doctor’s office.

He removed his dark tinted glasses and sat down at the love seat.

“We wait?” she cried. “Wait for what?”

The anticipation of the IV alone nearly drove her mad and now this?

He shrugged. “Ideally your mind should relax into an altered state where you forget you’re not supposed to keep your secrets and you tell me whatever information I desire. However, that didn’t work well back with Vanderbilt and I’m not expecting much success this time. I just want to see how you react to these sorts of chemicals.”

“So you’re just fucking around with my brain?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose.” He crossed his legs and tapped his thumbs on his knees, the picture of nonchalance. She never wanted to hit him so much.

“What if it does nothing? What if you failed?”

“Failure is just important data I didn’t have before. I’m not afraid of failure.”

You should be she thought bitterly.

But of course it wasn’t his life on the line.

When the effects hit her, it wasn’t nothing. All the muscles in her body locked up and spasmed. She could do nothing but writhe in the bed and scream. It felt worse than all her other torture combined.

By the time she finally blacked out, she couldn’t scream anymore.

#hero x villain #villain x civilian #whump #whump writing #medical whump #my writing #a lost cause #this is pretty dark for me

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