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Its always really great to read your work in my free time. Would you maybe consider a short story involving the hero's sidekick being killed by one villain, so the hero's primary villain goes to their hideout to console them
"Hey." The villain announced their presence as softly as they could, wary of startling the hero.
The hero didn't startle. They didn't even look up, or twitch. They continued to stare at a blank piece of the floor, jaw set, like the flagstones contained all the answers in the universe.
"I - uh - I heard what happened." The villain moved closer, slowly, making sure not to dip out of the hero's periphery vision. "I'm sorry."
The hero was clutching something in one white-knuckled fist - what was it?
"I know my saying that doesn't change what happened," the villain pressed, as the hero continued to say or acknowledge nothing. "But I'm so sorry for your loss. They were a good kid. Brave. How are you..how are you doing?"
It was a scrap of clothing. A bloodied scrap of clothing. The sidekick's uniform.
The villain closed their eyes briefly, releasing a breath. When they opened them, the hero's gaze was locked on them. The villain nearly jumped. The hero's stare was dark, boring into them with a drill-like precision, fierce and hard enough that the hairs on the back of the villain's neck stood on end.
They'd seen that stare before. Just the once.
And what had followed...
They through caution to the wind and crossed the room to the hero's side, kneeling in front of them and taking the hero's jaw firmly in their hands.
They had come expecting tears. Heartbreak. Something they could soothe and console and hold the hero through, perhaps, though the two of them would never speak of it again.
They should have known better.
"I know you want to kill them-"
"-Don't." The hero's voice was raspy, but unforgiving. They let the scrap of clothing fall to the floor, like it was nothing, and not the red flag of a bull fight screaming. "Don't try and stop me."
"You try and stop me. Every time."
"I'm not you."
"No," the villain agreed. Calm against the tempest. They dug their nails a little harder into the hero's skin, grounding. "They actually looked up to you."
"Fuck you."
"I'm not suggesting you don't seek vengeance," the villain said. "I'm merely suggesting you be smart about it. But that's another matter."
The hero bared their teeth, though they hadn't lashed out yet despite the dark look in their eyes, so the villain was definitely taking that as a win.
The villain caressed their cheek; wishing they could find some joy in the corruption of it, in the proof of what so many good people were willing to do in the name of grief and justice.
They couldn't.
Not when the hero looked like that. So hollow. Like if the villain simply scraped out the fury, softened the sizzling hatred a bit, let time heal the hurting, there would be nothing left all.
"Do I need to tell you that it wasn't your fault?" the villain asked.
"I know whose fault it was!"
"Good."
"Are you going to try and stop me?"
"Tonight, yes. Tomorrow...that's on you."
"You didn't even like them."
The villain shrugged. They both knew liking someone wasn't the same as respecting them, and certainly they weren't convinced the sidekick wouldn't come back as a poltergeist if the villain let the hero loose to lay carnage on the very night they died.
No. The villain didn't even like them, but they did like the hero, and they knew what the hero's sidekick would want them to do.
"Is that why you came here?" the hero demanded.
"No. Unhappy coincidence. I came to check on you."
The hero finally wrenched their head free, chair scraping as they surged to their feet. "I don't need checking up on. I'm fine. I'll be fine when I feed that bastard their own windpipe."
There were many things the villain could have said to that, and would have said to that, on any other night. As it was, they watched the hero. Watched the shaking volcano of them, the tremors and ever more devastating fragility of something that might just shatter completely.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," the hero snarled. "And don't you dare say that it's okay for me to be angry."
The villain shut their mouth. About to say just that, and more.
The hero shook their head. They slumped back into their seat, in perfect stillness, as quickly as they'd moved.
"Tomorrow," they said. "Tomorrow, then."
"Tomorrow. If that's what you truly want. Then I'll help you kill the bastard myself."
The hero reached for the scrap of material again, tucking it close against their chest, head bowed. Their fingers continued to tremble. The villain was not stupid enough to consider it weakness.
Tomorrow.
The villain would pick up the pieces after that.
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ishipgenfics · 6 months
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Outsider POV on Somewhere Else Jonathan Sims must be just. so much.
Like imagine. You're part of a support group, and a new guy decides to join. You ask him his name and he says, "Jonathan," and then after a long pause, "Blackwood. Jonathan Blackwood. But call me Jon."
He doesn't like tape recorders. You only know this because the person who hosts the support group is into retro things, and tries to keep a couple around. She turned one on once when someone asked about it, and you noticed Jon clutching his nails into his hands so tight he's nearly breaking the skin. You lean over and whisper, "Do you want me to ask her to stop?" He says, "It's fine," and you nod, but you still try and change the subject whenever people bring up tape recorders from that point on.
He full-body flinches one day when someone says Hello, Jon. Nearly slams into a wall and everything. He tries to play it off, but after that people say Hi Jon, or Nice to see you, or things like that. Anything but Hello.
He says he used to work at a 'non-profit for studying the supernatural'. Someone asks where it was and he says London. You tell your wife about it, and two days later she emails you an article. Magnus Institute Burns Down In 1999. It was in Manchester. You tell her not to bring it up again.
The guy is snarky and blunt and downright rude at times, but when a woman comes in and tells them about being trapped in a empty warehouse for a week, he comforts her in a way none of the rest of them know how. "I believe you," he says, repeats it like a mantra, like a prayer. "I believe you." He says 'I'm sorry' less like he's sorry this happened to her, and more like he's taking the blame onto himself.
He talks about Martin, sometimes. His reason, he calls him. Normally you'd point out that while it's of course good to love your partner, you should have other reasons to live, but you stay quiet. This guy needs all the happiness he can get.
You leave a little late that day, and when you do you hear him on the phone talking to someone. "She'd been touched by the Lonely, Martin!" he says. "Which is bad, of course, but--" he seems to choke up, "Martin, I didn't feel any compulsion for a Statement. A-at all. I think it's really gone."
You just walk by.
You don't know what's going on with Jon, but it really isn't any of your business. You're an anxious queer lesbian and he's a traumatized ace guy, and you aren't going to make his life any harder than you have to.
Just. Jonathan Sims in a support group.
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avvail · 1 month
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truth potion/serum 😌
“What’s that?” The hero murmurs uneasily under their breath, watching as the villain carefully inserts the needle into the soft flesh of their forearm, making them wince slightly. They watch it plunge into their vein, only daring to tug against the restraints once the needle is out of their skin.
The villain merely sends them a smile. “Nothing that’ll kill you.”
“Let me guess,” the hero growls. “A fate worse than death? Are you really trying this bullshit with me after all this time?”
“You don’t think our dynamic is a conventional one?”
The hero shuts their mouth, contemplating what the villain’s game was. If it was a sedative, it was a slow acting one, since they couldn’t feel any symptoms creeping up on them just yet. It was peculiar - they felt just fine.
“Let’s be honest,” the hero sniffs, and they don’t miss the way the villain almost laughs in amusement. They don’t know why that’s funny. “If our relationship was a conventional one, you would have killed me the moment you kidnapped me.”
The villain hums, their eyes roaming from their face languidly, kissing their teeth. The hero watches with a stubborn frown as they begin to circle around them, ever so slowly, and it makes them nervous.
They try not to shift.
“You’re right,” the villain sighs from behind them, and they want nothing more than to crane around to keep their eyes on them, but they can’t. Their heart races relentlessly in their chest, clenching their jaw. “Would you rather we adhere to the stereotypes?”
They roll their eyes. “If it means getting killed, then why would I?”
“You’re self righteous and selfless, aren’t you?” The villain teases. “Doesn’t that come with your job?”
“It doesn’t mean I’m eager to die. Dying means defeat, and I wouldn’t ever let you defeat me. You and I both know that.”
The villain stops beside them, a smile on their face that the hero doesn’t like. They send them a sharp glare for good measure, just because they can.
“So, is that a no?”
The hero wants to know where this is headed.
“No,” they confirmed. The villain stepped closer to them, their thumb gently brushing over a tender bruise on their temple. The finishing blow that had rendered them unconscious, making it easy for the villain to drag them here into their clutches. The hero forces back a wince, their eyes hard and determined. The villain loves that look.
“But you’re like that with others,” the villain comments, still stroking their temple. “Other villains, I mean. Especially Supervillain - the typical good versus bad. You know they’d kill you if they could. Stereotypes, after all.”
To hero resists the urge to lean keenly into that touch. “Because I know Supervillain is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Their eyes gleam mischievously. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”
They shift. No dizziness yet, and their vision is completely clear, along with their mind. It’s not a sedative. What are they planning?
“No,” they respond after a moment, and the villain’s jaw ticks. It’s the only sign of irritation they’ve seen from them, but their tongue blurts more before they can stop themselves. “You’re dangerous in different ways.”
The irritation disappears, and the thumb slips down their cheek.
“Dangerous in different ways,” they muse, as if chewing the words that came out of their mouth. The hero’s heart is pounding against their ribcage, and they’re not quite sure why. The villain is incredibly close, feeling pinned down by their cold gaze alone.
“You’re easier to be around,” the hero speaks, trying not to stammer over their words. “I...” I hate you, don’t get me wrong. That’s what they want to say, but their throat closes up before they can. The villain’s thumb strokes the bottom of their jaw, and they shiver, as if encouraging them.
“Because I know you won’t kill me. When given the chance, you go easy on me.”
“You think I go easy on you?”
The hero gives them a disgruntled look. “You never torture me. Last time you kidnapped me, I slept in one of your guest rooms.”
“You were still a prisoner, or did you forget?” The villain scoffs. Of course they had been. The hero had spent all night trying to pick the lock, to smash the windows, but there was no point. They were a prisoner, but it never felt like they were in danger. Not in the same sense they felt when the supervillain almost incapacitated them. It was different.
“That’s not the point,” the hero snaps, unaware of their own rising irritation. They jerk their head away from the touch, feeling as though it was distracting them. The villain has this arrogant smirk on their lips, as if they know exactly what they’re doing. “If I ever kidnapped you, I wouldn’t stick you in a luxurious room. I wouldn’t let you sleep on a bed, I wouldn’t have you here and not torture you.”
The villain hums, their voice dropping low. “You like it when I treat you good?”
“Yes.” No. “I do.” It’s weird.
It takes a single, heart stopping beat for the hero to realise what they’d just said, their brows furrowing in confusion. They open their mouth to say something else, before their eyes flick down to the red pinprick from the needle in their skin. They release a shuddering breath.
“A truth serum,” they breathe. “That’s what you injected me with.”
The villain lets out a dark, amused chuckle. “I was waiting for you to figure it out.”
They lean back, creating a rift of air between them where the hero can still feel their warmth. It still feels hard to breathe, their wrists flexing under the restraints, and they grind their teeth hard together. This is dangerous. This was exactly what they were talking about.
“Are you tired, Hero?” The villain’s soft voice questions, enough to make the hero swallow uneasily. Their heart is racing now, so fast they feel like they’re going to throw up. They screw their eyes shut.
“Yes,” they say, feeling fingers under their jaw, tipping their head back. Their eyes open instinctively. The villain almost coos.
“And you love how easy it is with me,” the villain murmurs, admiring the embarrassed, shunted look in those cute eyes of theirs. “Love how I treat you.”
The hero’s fists clench. They desperately try to say no. “Yes.”
“And,” the villain purrs, their thumb brushing along their bottom lip with precious ease,” it’s dangerous because it’s so easy to shut your brain off. So dangerous to let your guard down around me. Easy to manipulate, as much as you wish that wasn’t true.”
The hero almost whines. “Yes.”
“Do you think I’m manipulating you?” They ask, their voice a hushed whisper, like a soft lull in their brain. The hero squirms, but they still can’t look away, not even daring to swallow. The villain leans in closer, their lips so close to theirs, and their voice turns dark. “Do you think it’s working?”
Who knew the hero’s weakness was simple acts of kindness. The villain had never thought going so easy on them would make them putty in their hands. But it did.
The hero bites down on the inside of their cheek, straining not to answer. The villain’s fingers curl around a lock of their hair, tucking it behind their ear tenderly. Too tenderly - the hero loves it.
“Better not fight it,” they hum. “It’ll hurt.”
“Yes,” the hero finally gasps, the throbbing pain in their head easing. They almost feel out of breath, trembling under each of their cunning touches.
The villain’s eyes gleam, leaning forward to kiss them. The hero had been so adamant they could never defeat them, and it almost makes them crackle. Maybe never in the stereotypical sense, but they had proved this was not a stereotypical rivalry; what was true defeat if they didn’t conquer them, after all?
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@badthingshappenbingo
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Listen I LOVE the humans are space orcs thing, but imagine.
Humans are space crabs.
Like sure, there’s some really different looking aliens out there, with different ways of communicating and reproducing and stuff. But like. Being a human is just generally a good way to become the intelligent species on a planet. There are just human-like things everywhere.
“Our ship has 3 humans and 5 kraleex” Hendt reminded the human, Jane.
“What? No the ship has 2 humans, 2 splaids, 3 kraleex, and a loktad.”
“Agh, you all seem to tell each other apart but you look the same to me.”
“Kristopher is literally ORANGE AND 7 FEET TALL.”
“You’re beige. And Lance is uhhh.” He paused as he rooted around for the human sweet in his head. “Caramel. That’s practically orange.”
“Seriously humanity had some fucked up shit going on, you’ll probably offend Kristopher if you call him a human to his face.”
“Didn’t you convergently evolve?”
Jane sighed.
“Yeah but like- humans are pretty naturally aggressive. Loktads are quite peaceful, that’s why they took so much less time than us to advance. He’ll see it as an insult.”
Handt shifted uncomfortably.
“Humans are very useful in difficult situations. Despite your size and lacking in physical strength many of you have great problem solving skills. Your roots are nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Yeah because compared to other pentadactyly we were very distrustful of our own species and formed smaller groups. We had to be stronger as individuals.” Jane was starting to get a bit frustrated about giving this history lesson. Handt should have been given a briefing on human-like species, but the Strokt were know for their ability to pick up on skills, not knowledge.
Thankfully, they nodded slowly.
“I will refrain from calling Kristopher a human. I can see how this may hurt him.”
Jane let out a breathe of relief when he retreated. She couldn’t even remember the original argument. But at least Handt would now be less likely to offend one of their crew mates.
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avvail-whumps · 4 months
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ok so i just saw the prompt that you reblogged on your other account and.. i was wondering if you ever had the time would you write something about a hypnotized whumpee?
content warnings: intimate whumper, hypnosis, conditioned whumpee, non-con touching (not explicit), mentioned non-con (not explicit)
“Aren’t they just so pretty?”
The caretaker says nothings. It’s obvious by the grim expression on their face that they don’t particularly want to encourage the whumper’s behaviour.
The last time they had seen the whumpee, they had been kicking and screaming. Putting up a fuss any chance they got, making life as difficult as they could for their captor. They had this fire in their eyes that didn’t seem to be dying out any time soon.
But now?
They’d almost been surprised by the quietness of the house. The whumper would usually have them restrained in some way, and they’d be writhing and kicking up a fuss, making lots of angry noises.
Instead, they observed their quiet, stiff form on the sofa. There was something eerie about their eyes; blank, unfocused, hardly even blinking. Even when the whumper carded a hand through their head, there wasn’t even a flicker of emotion on their face.
The caretaker was in awe at how complacent they were being.
“What did you do?” They find themselves asking absentmindedly, unable to tear their eyes away. Because they are genuinely shocked.
The whumper hums softly under their breath, scraping the hair away from the whumpee’s forehead. They’re devoid of usual cuts and bruises - the caretaker wonders how long they’ve been like this.
“I tried a new method,” the whumper answers vaguely, steely eyes staring into theirs. “This way, I can’t get bored.”
The caretaker doesn’t realise their confusion flickers in their expression, but the whumper notices it, as observant as they are. They gently run a finger under the whumpee’s chin, who still has that blank, half lidded gaze. Like a China doll.
“If I want them to be an eager little thing that serves to please me, then I can make it happen with just one word,” they hum, snapping their fingers in front of the whumpee’s face, as if to prove a point. They don’t even blink. “I like it when they put a fight, too, but too much noise, and I can simply admire them like this.”
They tilt the whumpee’s head back, just enough to admire their slack expression. “Isn’t it perfect?”
The caretaker’s mind swims. “So, you hypnotized them?”
A cruel smile appears on their face, squeezing the whumpee’s shoulders.
“Yes,” they answer. “Yes, I did.”
They slowly nod. That explained the sudden change, but seeing the whumpee like this, so dazed and so relaxed, they can’t help but shudder. There’s something really eerie about it. That the whumper holds their mind in their palm of their hand, triggered only by simple words.
“Was it hard?” They find themselves asking. The whumper smiles.
“They’re a stubborn thing,” they chuckle, tilting their head. “You know that. But I can programme them to do whatever you or I want.” Their voice drops dangerously. “You can take them to the spare room, if you really want.”
The caretaker immediately cringes, and they shake their head. They feel more disgust towards the whumper than ever before, and they don’t want to imagine what the poor whumpee’s been through already. If they remember it...
“No, thank you,” they grumble. The blank stare is unnerving them. “I’ll pass.”
The whumper chuckles, still running their fingers through the whumpee’s hair. They stop to observe their face, before a crooked smirk spreads across their lips. They tap their nose gently, cupping their cheeks as though they would with a lover. The whumpee does nothing back.
“Your loss.”
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If your still taking suggestions, could you do one with the hero getting captured by the villain and they are getting beaten and tortured, then the other villain (the one that likes the hero and vise versa) comes to save them?
Btw I love your stories so much!!!
"You do get yourself in the most awkward situations, don't you?"
The hero opened their eyes. It took a moment for their vision to stop wavering and for the villain to come into focus - standing in front of them on the other side of the cell door, almost convincingly at ease. There was a spot of blood on the villain's collar.
The hero had never seen the villain look anything other than immaculate.
It took them another few moments of staring to realise that they probably weren't hallucinating, actually, as the villain got to work untangling the security wards on the door.
"Hi," the hero said.
The villain smiled, a flash of thing that didn't reach the oncoming storm in their eyes. "Hello."
"You took your time."
"Ah, well," they said. "You know how much I like seeing you bloody. I would have missed out if I came sooner."
The hero wheezed a laugh and instantly regretted it. They must have passed out for a second, before when they world unblurred the villain had moved and the door was...
Dust.
There was no door anymore.
The villain's magic roiled seething as they knelt in front of the hero, studying them for a beat.
"Stay with me," the villain said, softer. "You're going to be okay."
The hero swallowed.
The villain dropped their attention to the hero's power-blocking restraints.
It struck the hero then that there should have been guards. The other villain. Some sort of alarm blaring, perhaps. The air was eerily still and the compound deathly quiet except for the hero's ragged breathing.
"Did you kill them?" the hero asked.
"Depends. Are you going to lecture me if I say 'yes'?"
"I don't lecture."
"A stern moral talking to. You don't have the energy for one of those right now, I think."
"Most of them were just doing their jobs. Trying to keep their loved ones safe."
"And most of them," the villain said pleasantly, "died screaming for hurting you." They managed to get one of cuffs off, dropping it with a hiss of pain against the concrete floor. "Rest your voice. You sound awful. Screaming is bad for your throat."
The hero frowned.
The villain moved onto the second set of restraints. Up close, any mirage of being at ease vanished entirely. There were dark circles under their eyes. Their jaw was locked rigid. Their hands were far too steady as they worked.
"I know you came as soon as you could."
"Rest. Your. Voice."
"Thank you."
The villain's gaze cut up to them, blazing. They reached a hand up to trace one of the bruises on the hero's cheek.
"But I still don't think you should have killed them," the hero said.
The villain scoffed, rolling their eyes. Their grip tightened on the hero's jaw, but not quite enough to hurt, before letting go and returning to the restraints.
They came off again soon enough, and the villain hurled them across the room hard enough that they dented a wall.
Power rushed through the hero. It didn't stop the pain, but it did make them feel slightly less like something had been amputated.
The villain's gaze moved over them again.
"I can walk," the hero said.
The villain raised a brow.
"I can limp."
"Mm. If you pass out again, I'm carrying you. And taking photos." The villain offered them an arm, helping them up.
The hero staggered, and the villain's grip tightened on them, steadying them. They made it until a stair jolted them until passing out again.
There were so many photos.
But they were safe. And looked after.
And they knew, every time, that the villain would always come.
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Hero x Villain
The Villain tore the city apart to find the hero, it had been over three months since the hero's disappearance and he had already searched every nook and cranny of the capital, only to find out that she had gone missing, but where? How could she leave her dear city she had been protecting since the last seven years? "Boss" his aide came running to his side, the aura which surrounded the villain made it hard for him to breath, the aide gulped "The head of the super cops must be knowing something about the hero's disappearance". The villain's eyebrows furrowed down, his lips stretching into a twisted smile, which gave chills to his aide. "Ha" he smirked, brushing his hair up, "Did she quit her job and left for somewhere else", the villain could not understand that why was he feeling so annoyed about this, when all he had ever wanted was the city's destruction, his revenge and the death of this country's savior. He could feel his veins protrude on his neck, as he clenched his fist tightly reminiscing about the swaying figure of the hero who could not even walk normally after their last fight. "When I find you this time, I will make sure that...." his last words disappeared, into the dark black suffocating aura he emitted.
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ghostfalcone · 4 months
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I drew this a couple of days ago, but I wanted to include a little story snipped, but writer's block hit me; it's still around; at least I managed to get something... Anyway, here we go. ----
Duke was baffled. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Tyto was hovering right in front of him, wearing his Knight Owl suit, and his right was resting on top of his swollen baby bump. Duke was surprised that his boyfriend had managed to squeeze into the suit. But it didn’t seem to fit any tight or uncomfortable, although the belt was missing.
“What are you doing here?” His counterpart remained silent momentarily before snarling: “Do you think this thing will hinder me from fighting?” He clenched his fists and glared at Duke.
“Yes, I do. Since our pups are there, I am concerned about you and their well-being.”
Tyto huffed, annoyed. “Oh please, spare me with this, bs. I’m not a helpless omega wife.” “Right now, you’re stubborn and reckless.” He moved closer to Tyto, grabbing one of his hands. “Please, stay out of this. Jaze and I can handle your aunt on our own.” Tyto stared at Duke’s hand and then up into the green eyes he had fallen for. He raised his and Duke’s arm and gently kissed his boyfriend’s wrist.
“Precisely because she’s my responsibility, I must fight her.”
Someone flew over from the nearest rooftop and stopped next to them. It was Jaze. “This is not gonna happen, Tyto. You are benched from this fight.” He said with a brief look at his younger cousin. “Gosh damn it, not you too!” Tyto said, but Jaze waved the objection away. “I’m not gonna debate with you. I know you can fight, but not when you’re carrying pups. Stay out of his!” Jaze released a brief burst of Alpha pack command, and Tyto backed away, finally defeated. “I dare you two to die out there!” Duke was putting on his mask and chuckled. “Not gonna happen. See ya later, hun.” He kissed Tyto’s cheek briskly before the two alphas flew away. Tyto was watching them disappearing over the horizon.
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writingpromptsworld · 9 months
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Snippet #7
(Part-1)
“Soooooo…you need my help?” The villain questioned, smugness plastered on their face. The hero had come banging on their doors at 5 in the morning, disheveled. A number of thoughts had begun to form in their mind, at the sight of the hero but they had pressed them down, and let the hero in any way. Oh, how they had fallen for the other.
“Yes, you could say so, I guess.” The hero replied, glancing around from where they were sitting on the couch opposite the villain.
"Oh, and why would I help you? What's in it for me?" The villain asked, their eyes glinting with mischief one could almost miss, but the hero saw it more clearly than ever.
Originally, the hero hadn't intended to come to the villain and beg for help. But, when the superhero told them that 'there was nothing they could do except, go to the villain for help if they wanted to take down the supervillain',they were forced to show up at the other's doorstep. They sighed and then inhaled the coffee smell that was getting stronger with every passing second. They gazed at the villain's cup, brown liquid omitting hot air into the room.
"Well, there is less competition for you when -if- we defeat the supervillain. What else would you want?" The hero explained, steadily. They suppressed the urge to yawn, as the villain sipped their coffee calmly. Cursing internally to the superhero, they waited for the villain's answer.
"While you're quite right, that there would be less competition for me. There would, however, inevitably be more enemies as well. So, my point is, I want something that would promise me a satisfactory future." The villain grinned, finishing. They put down their cup and watched the hero with anticipating eyes. For a minute, the hero stayed silent. The silence felt immense while the birds sang outside in the trees.
"And, what is that?" The hero pronounced, hesitantly, an annoyed edge lacing through their words. The villain was testing their patience on this awful morning, and they were not up for it. They should have just told the superhero to meet the villain themself, they thought. But, then again, the superhero gave them the orders, not the other way around.
"I want you to make a deal with me, that in the future, you will protect me from my dear enemies, as well as share your little secretive missions that are beneficial to me." The villain declared, confident with what they just proposed. The hero deflated. This was not what they expected, they expected something like a million dollars or entry to the city's security system. But this, this was very unpredicted.
"I get the mission part, but why would you want my protection? I mean, come on, you're the biggest criminal in the city, no one would dare to take you in a fight." The hero wondered, a bit confused. The room was quite dark, with little to no light. They could barely make out the villain's silhouette.
"Well, speak for yourself, sweetheart. You're one of the biggest and the most famous heroes of the city, of course, you'd be able to protect me if you wanted to. Every villain knows how honored you are for your missions. Some would go as far as to say they admire you, but that's beside the p-,"
"Do you admire me?" The hero interrupted, sudden curiosity making its way to them.
"I-, what?" The villain frowned, dumbfounded.
"I said, do you admire me?" The hero repeated, tilting their head. Honestly, what was going on with them? Why did they want to know? They should be finishing this ASAP and getting to their fucking bed to get a wink of sleep, they haven't slept in the last 48 hours for god's sake. But, here they were, asking the villain ridiculous questions.
"I mean, sure. Yeah." The villain said, shrugging. They picked up their coffee and started taking little sips of it. For some reason, they had begun to feel hot. This was so unexpectant of the hero, for they were always so professional. This was anything but professional, from what they could tell. And, perhaps, it was true. They always did admire the hero, just like they admired their dad, who was the superhero.
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rules: make a new post (or reblog from this one, I don’t really mind :) and post the latest line in your WIP & tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like)
Thank you so much for the tag @winterinhimring !!
“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says, and it’s the truth. “I must’ve- yesterday was long. It was really long. I just forgot to tell you, I guess. And I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care,” Techno replies easily, and it’s also the truth.
Included more than one line because why the heck not? This is for a fic that I haven’t really worked on for a couple months, but I’ve been thinking about it lately :) Perhaps I shall write more for it soon.
No pressure tags: @biathediamond @kanerallels @cryingtulips @thisistheendtimes @icyfox17 @ohmagosh-i-love-bees @approximately12lbs-of-ducks @fairytale-lights @brown-little-robin and anyone else who wants to join!!
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creppersfunpalooza · 1 month
Text
Caught
CW/TW: drugs, mentions of addiction, vian. just generally vian, quick implications of dehumanization, lab stuff, mentions of corpses, self-experimentation
hi guys i actually wrote something. rare. shocking. limited edition…. (in the sense that i will probably delete it if i decide i hate it later)
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Silence is like a poorly fitting shoe. It’s uncomfortable at first, but you eventually grow into it. Dr. Venstal was used to working in silence. He was familiar with it. He’d even go as far as to say he usually preferred it. It let him concentrate. No frivolous distractions. Cadavers are very quiet. Amazing listeners, but generally speaking, they don’t have any words of their own.
But in that dimly lit office, the silence brought him no comfort. It hung in the air like cigarette smoke, coating over and sticking to everything it could. It didn’t help that his boss’s eyes were boring into his with an uncomfortable intensity. He couldn’t figure out what the man was thinking. Both that and the palpable tension in the air caused his throat to swell.
“Do you want to tell me what you were doing?” His boss was the first to speak, as was expected. His expression was completely neutral. An impartial judge waiting to determine his fate, no doubt. It didn’t reassure him.
“I…” The doctor started, but he swallowed down the words before they left his mouth. “I don’t know.” Feigning ignorance. It wouldn’t get him anywhere, he knew that, but it was the only thing he could think to do. At this moment, he was neither innocent nor guilty. He could still plead his case.
The man across the desk sighed and slid an ampule forward. The label was written neatly in Vian’s handwriting. The vial itself was partially empty, with only a few pearls of clear liquid sloshing around inside the glass. Vian bit down on his lip. He hoped the coppery taste would be enough to keep him grounded.
“Well, I just… Wanted to try something. I don’t exactly have people lining up to test these sorts of things.” He murmured, pressing against the couch. The wood frame creaked beneath him.
His boss rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Dr. Venstal, you know I trust you. I need you to do the same for me. I’m not firing you, and I doubt I will. Just tell me what you were thinking.” He sighed, gently placing the vial to the side.
“As you know, I have a hobby of developing medicines.” The doctor started, fiddling with his hands just out of view. “And, well, I can’t test those on anyone. I’m not authorized to do so.”
“And you thought your best option was using yourself?” Incredulousness hung heavy in his voice. “Do you realize how wrong that is? How much was at stake?” The rabbit’s judgment was clear. Painfully so. Of course Vian knew the consequences, he had a brain. It wasn’t as if he’d done it on a whim.
“I do, I’ve considered the risks. I just… Figured the results would outweigh the suffering. I see my mistake now. I shouldn’t have put myself in danger.” He replied with artificial sincerity. This situation was terrible, but not as bad as it could have been. He could salvage it. Best case scenario, he’d keep his job, get a small reprimanding, and maybe be monitored for a few days. Perhaps if he played his cards right, he could even gain a test subject from this whole ordeal. There were plenty of candidates, they just weren’t accessible to him.
His boss smiled. A good sign. “I’m glad to hear that, Dr. Venstal. I understand what you were trying to do, really I do. It’s very admirable, but we can’t have you risking yourself. You’re too important.” He spoke softly. There was something wrong about the way his tone changed. He’d been so professional just a moment prior. “But… We’re not done here.”
Vian wracked his brain. What else was there to speak of? He hadn’t left anything incriminating behind. Nothing that would be out of place, anyway. He’d hidden his tracks well. Paranoia crept into the edges of his brain, trickling into the little bends and folds of his mind.
“I searched your office. I found a concerning amount of opioids. Ones you’ve made, and ones that I can only assume you’ve also been… testing.” Oh. that. He hadn’t really expected him to notice. After all, it wasn’t really uncommon for someone in his field. Still, it didn’t look good for him. He didn’t have a proper way to respond.
In full honesty, he rarely tested anything addictive on himself. If he had to, he made sure to space it out. Instead, he turned to his patients for that. People who could be easily monitored as long as they stayed in the sanctuary. It had been harmless so far, only causing a few long-term drug dependencies. Nothing serious, just faults of the patient not being able to overcome the initial craving. He couldn’t exactly explain that to his boss though, not without being put away. He didn’t want to lie to him about drug addiction of all things, but what other choice did he have? Going to jail?
He steeled his nerves and responded.
“Well, yes, but I haven’t done anything like that for weeks. You can test my blood, if you need to.” He felt ashamed for admitting to an action he hadn’t even committed, but by the sympathetic expression on his boss’s face, he knew he’d made the right choice.
The man set his hands on the desk, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “Thank you for being honest with me. This must be a very sensitive topic for you, but I hope you understand that I can’t just let this continue.” He took a deep breath before revealing his verdict. “I think it would help if you got some fresh air. Working yourself to death in that office isn’t doing you any favors. You’ll also need to retake your psychological evaluation, and I’ll be recommending you a therapist.” He spoke with a reformed sense of professionalism. Vian was a bit surprised by how mild all of this was. Was that really it?
“You’re dismissed, A7. I’m looking forward to seeing your improvement.”
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the-modern-typewriter · 3 months
Note
Imagine a villain straight refusing to fight another member of the Hero Team just cuz his hero archnemesis is not present
"Where are they?"
"Oh, not again." The protagonist could feel a headache coming on. "Look-"
"-Are they hurt?" The villain's eyes went dark and dangerous. "Who hurt them?"
"They're fine! Oh my god."
"Then where are they?"
The protagonist definitely had a headache. "It's their day off."
"They didn't tell me they had the day off. What's wrong?"
The really concerning part was that the hero probably would tell the villain which days they were working and which they weren't. The two of them were as bad as each other! The hero was going to be unbearable when they came back and found out that the team had fought the villain without them.
"Can we just get this over with?" the protagonist tried.
"No."
The protagonist sighed. They pinched the bridge of their nose and took a few deep breaths. "Okay," they said slowly. "But you realise I'm still going to have confiscate your nightmare robot."
"It's not for you. And don't think I didn't notice you dodging the question!"
The protagonist considered their options; lies, truth, everything in between.
The villain's nightmare robot hunkered down a little more pointedly in the middle of the bridge. Several people honked their horns. It was, honestly, embarrassing for everyone involved at that point.
"Their grandma died."
"Oh no." The villain's whole face softened. "Grandma L or Grandma P?"
Of course he knew the hero's grandparents. Of course he did. "Look, about the robot-"
"-I'll reschedule," the villain said.
"I can't let you keep the robot. My boss would have my head."
"That sounds like a 'you' problem. I have flowers to send."
The protagonist's eye twitched. "If you try and walk away with it-"
"-Do you really want to traumatize this entire bridge of innocent civilians?"
"I'm sure they're traumatized having to listen to you two idiots on a weekly basis."
"I'm taking the robot. When are they back?"
"They haven't said," the protagonist said, through gritted teeth. "As you know-"
"-They'll be doing all the funeral arrangements. Yeah. You know what, give me their number. I'll text them."
"I'm not giving you their number."
"Why not?"
"It's against policy."
"I'd like to express my condolences."
The protagonist looked them dead in the face. "Mm. That sounds like a 'you' problem. I have a robot to confiscate."
The robot slammed a fist into the bridge. It wobbled precariously.
The protagonist raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. They folded their arms across their chest.
"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" the villain snarled.
"I hate you too, don't worry."
"I should kill you."
"They'd have so much paperwork when they got back from the funeral. It would really improve their month, you killing me."
They ended up glaring at each other.
"If I give you the bloody stupid robot, will you give me their number?"
The protagonist smiled sweetly. "That's the only smart thing I've ever heard you say."
Everyone, generally, preferred it when the hero was around.
They all made sure it didn't happen again.
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ishipgenfics · 1 year
Text
You and Your Human: Part 1
You are small. You have tall ears and a long tail you use for balance and to carry things. You are covered in orange-yellow fur. Standing on two legs, you are about three feet tall, but you do not usually stand on two legs. Your front legs have opposable thumbs. Your language is a series of chirps and squeaks.
You are very, very smart. You were a member of your species first space venture. You were sent as a doctor. In the years since, you have worked on nearly twenty different ships. You discovered you have a natural knack for languages. You know everything you would ever need to know.
But... you do not understand humans.
You have heard the stories, of course. Humans are very new to the galaxy, even newer than you, and they are feared. They are strong, able to take levels of pain that would kill even a Xephala. They choose the things they care about, and will destroy anything else without hesitation. They are unaffected by mental tortures, seeming to suppress memories that would make any other species break. They are deadly, and to be avoided at all costs.
But personally, you don't really see it. Your human is bigger than you, of course, but you know that you are small. It rips fabric easily, but it as gentle with you as a Kaysbury beetle. Terror flashed in its eyes when you tried to give it a medical examination. It shrieked like a nestling when it accidentantly cut itself on a bolt.
For Saint's sake, this thing can't even handle spice! How could this possibly be a threat?
You cannot speak with your human. Though you know many languages, you do not know the one it speaks. You are trying to learn. You have never yet found a language you could not master. Until then, you find other ways to understand him.
Your human is tall, obviously compared to you, but even compared to the pictures of other humans you have seen in books. It is good at projecting a confident aura, but it has tells. Its hands shake, just a little, when it is in an enclosed space. It clenches its paws when a Cervilian comes on screen. And it hates medical equipment. Its breathing speeds up noticeably when it is forced to be near such.
You record all your observations with a keen eye and a yellow notepad, and adjust your behavior accordingly.
Although your human seems uncomfortable around others, you need your crew back. This flight was supposed to be a test drive, trying out some of their duties in the new vehicle. You got distracted by your human, but the deadline is swiftly approaching. They will assume you dead if you do not return soon.
Your human is sleeping. You do not know if it has gone at light-speed before, and you do not have the words to explain. You hope it will not awaken.
You hop up into your captain's chair. It was made for a creature taller than you, but it will serve. You tap the appropriate command and passcode into the panel at your side. It glows and hums in acknowledgement. Your human has never been here. It does not like bright lights. You will have to ask Meritha if she can adjust it once you get back.
To your relief, the light-travel goes off without a hitch. It's always a dangerous procedure, no matter how many pamphlets they pass out, and you know it. You also know you aren't the best pilot in your crew. The only reason you were sent was for your diplomacy. You might not make it back, but at least you won't start a war.
You knock on your human's door and it emits a low beeping frequency until your human wakes up. Its lips are pointed downward and it is slumping. Your human dislikes being woken up.
"Thing? What-is?" your human says in your language. You shake your head (means negative, negate action). You know its language better than it knows yours, and you already have to translate for your crew. You have explained countless times that it is simply easier for you to learn rather than it, but your human is persistent. It is... endearing. In its way.
"New place," you explain. "New people. You okay?"
"Why?" your human answers. It looks uncertain. You jump up onto its shoulder and run dexterous fingers through its hair. Your human likes touch.
"Ship," you hesitate. "More safe with them. Them here, than you safer. Us safer."
"They are good?" your human asks. Its voice is low. It is being vulnerable, showing its emotions. You are so proud.
You nod. Your tail is swaying, your eyes are bright, your ears tall. It's honestly a little embarrassing-- you are glad your human can't read Pyrican body language. "Good. Safe."
You land upon the planet, your human by your side. It is wrapped up in tight clothes and a mask. It did not fight this, although you did not have the words to explain why. Your human never seemed to need the explanation that being a human was a dangerous thing in this galaxy. It knew.
Your crew is not here. This is the meeting spot. You checked, and double checked. It is in an isolated location, but with a mountain to serve as an easy sign if you land in the wrong place. This is the right spot. And you are here and they are not.
They... left you.
You have left ships before, of course. When you would get a new assignment, if you saw a better opportunity, if they did something you could not tolerate, if they asked you to do things you were unable to do. You are not a criminal, but you are a freelancer, which means you have run in the same vein as criminals before. Every time you left, it was professional and communicated clearly. If a fight broke out after that, well, that wasn't really your fault now was it?
You have never been left like this. You did not realize quite how much it would hurt.
You feel a gentle tap on one of your front legs, and turn around to see it is your human. It is bent down, with an expression you do not quite recognize on its face. "You-safe?" it asks. "Body tesned. Mind tensed. Me worried you?"
You are too tired to tell it to speak its native language, to not bother itself for you. You are one of the few species that can safely produce adrenaline, and although it doesn't make you a saints-damned killing machine like it does with humans, the crash is just as bad.
"Expected outcome not," you try to explain. Your small body shakes with heavy breathing. Light-travel is stressful and adrenaline is a void of a drug. "Crew should be here. Crew not here. Alone."
Your human wraps you up in a gentle embrace. You feel certain that if it just squeezed a little tighter, it could pop you like a balloon, but it does not. "I am here."
Whimpering and snuffling, you bury your face into your human and let yourself cry.
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avvail · 29 days
Note
(enemy turned caretaker)
During a fight, Villain accidentally ends up triggering Hero's trauma but Hero keeps it together until they find an alley to have a silent panic attack in.
(love the Bingo idea btw!)
The hero couldn’t breathe.
They had barely managed to slip away from the battle undetected, terrified of what might have happened if they’d been unable to. They can feel their sharp nails digging into their neck, as if trying to remind themselves that the villain’s hands aren’t crushing their windpipe, but it’s too late.
They’re spiralling ridiculously bad, and they can hardly suck in a sufficient amount of air.
Their head is so loud. Even when they’re leaning against the wall of the alleyway, it’s so overwhelming that they feel as though they’re going to fall. Even when something grips their shoulder hard, the hero can barely feel it, like they’re somewhere else completely and everyone else is as invisible as the air they can’t even breathe.
“Hero,” the villain says curtly, trying to get their attention. The hero’s eyes are wide, unfocused, and they don’t miss the pale sheen from the lack of oxygen. They frown, tugging their hand away from their neck. It’s purpled with the villain’s handprint, and their brow twitches.
“Stop that,” they snap, gripping their wrist tightly. “You’re bleeding.”
They tug the hero down to the ground, their lips pressed into a thin line when their jerky movements make them feel almost bad, knowing they were the cause of this panic attack. They press their hand hard against their mouth, forcing them to meet their eyes.
The hero squeals, cutting off their breath. They try to pull away, but the villain keeps them pressed to the wall, unmoving.
“Snap out of it,” they snap, their voice low, intent on trapping the hero’s attention so they can’t think of anything else. “Just look at me.”
The hero barely does that, the terror evident in their watery eyes. They squirm and wriggle, their fists pounding against the villain’s chest, but their hand doesn’t budge, and neither do they.
“Keep looking at me,” the villain growls, and the hero does. For a long few seconds, their shaking hands stutter to a stop, and there’s a flash of lucidity in those wide eyes. Only when they start to pale from the lack of air does the villain finally release them.
They suck in a sharp breath, forcing themselves to take long, deep inhales of air for at least a minute or two. The villain watches intently, just to make sure they don’t spiral again, and the hero swallows uneasily, wincing.
The bruises around their neck suddenly make the villain feel a twitch of remorse again. They supposed that was off limits from now on, not if it made the hero feel like this.
“Tell me five things you can—”
“I’m not doing that,” the hero rasps, their face contorted in discomfort as they focus on getting the air back into their lungs. The villain raises a brow, but they don’t say anything.
“Indulge me,” the villain hums.
They shoot them a glare, but regardless, they comply. Silently. They don’t speak, but they can see the hero’s eyes flicking around, and their mind ticking away as they process everything around them. Finally, they look back at the villain.
“Good,” they sigh, rising to their feet. They hold out a hand for the hero to take, but they ignore it, remaining on the floor. Stubborn, the villain comments in their own mind. “Is that something that happens often?”
The hero quicky looks away again, rubbing their arm. “Not really.”
Not unless they strangle them again, the villain mused internally. They make a mild note that although victory was what they were aiming for, they weren’t going to play dirty. But they didn’t have any intention to stick around.
“Let’s postpone this for another day,” the villain says dismissively, waving a hand. “This was a mood killer.”
They bristle defensively. “Sorry, I can’t control it, asshole.”
The villain shrugs. “I’m not talking about the panic attack. I’m talking about helping you.”
The hero goes quiet.
“This won’t happen again,” the villain continues, an edge to their tone. They were enemies - any normal villain would have taken advantage of that panic attack, or even the discovery of a weakness of theirs. Taken advantage of it; they hate how they don’t want to.
“Are my morals rubbing off on you?” The hero sneers, and the villain is somewhat pleased there’s a flicker of that fire again.
“Let’s be clear, sweetheart,” the villain scoffs. “We’re enemies. That’s not going to change.”
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@badthingshappenbingo
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ebongawk · 6 months
Note
can we see a sneak peek of the next 'hearts beat' chapter??
oh gosh, sure!! 🥹🥹🥹
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avvail-whumps · 1 month
Text
‘the facility’ — the breakout 2/?
previous · masterlist
content warnings: prison whump, whumpee turned whumper, sadistic whumper, mass prison breakout, captivity, imprisonment, torture, violence, beatings
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Noah’s head felt as though it had been rammed through a wall when he finally came to. It took him a long, aching few seconds to realise that was pretty much what had happened - the elevator doors.
His hazy vision could barely make out where he was, if he was the right way up or not, but he soon began to wriggle his limbs and realised he was lay on his side, head pressed uncomfortably into the cold floor.
He bit back a small moan of pain - his arms were twisted behind his back, knotted together with an uncomfortable, scratchy rope. The fear was stabbing numbly at his chest, the situation dawning on him.
The breakout. Cash – shit, Cash.
Noah’s breath hitched, feeling automatic tears start to relentlessly sting his eyes. He could recognise one of these rooms, one of torture. It wasn’t the one they had experimented on Cash in, being much larger and decorated with so many more horrifying tools.
The scientist felt dizzy looking at them, shifting. Aches spiralled through his muscles, the pins and needles kicking in once he finally became aware. As he did, something caught his eye.
There was someone else against the adjacent wall, an Apoid. The helmeted head was dipped down low, arms equally twisted behind his back, but Noah could just catch a small glimpse of a short link of chain. The visor on the helmet was cracked, and their chest was rising and falling slowly.
Noah’s heart sank. The Apoid was still alive, and better yet, he prayed it was who he thought it was.
“Fionn?” He croaked, his throat dry from the last moments he’d spent screaming. His heart was hammering in his chest. “Fionn, wake up. Fionn.”
“He’s not gonna hear you.”
Noah felt his body seize in a vice grip, the voice from behind him making all of his blood go cold. He didn’t even have time to crane around until someone was stepping over his body, and his wide eyes flickered up to meet Cash’s face.
He was smirking. But those eyes; he wasn’t amused at all.
“Hello, doc,” he spoke calmly, crouching down closer towards him. Noah winced, his chest rising and falling with his quickly labouring breaths. “Glad someone didn’t pump you with any lead. Been looking forward to this since the alarm went off.”
Noah shrank further into the floor.
He remembered what that prisoner had said, and it frightened him how Cash had been gunning just for him the whole time the chaos had erupted. To fulfil the promise he’d made. His throat ached in reminder of that moment.
“It’s not as fun when the boot’s on the other foot, huh?” Cash sneered, tilting his head as his unrelenting gaze didn’t falter for a moment. Noah forced himself to look away, tucking his wobbling bottom lip under.
“Cash, please, I—” His words dried up, squeezing his eyes shut. He was so terrified. “I didn’t take any pleasure in it. I didn’t—”
“—want to?” Cash interrupted. “You signed up for this place.”
“I had to,” he shakily whispered. “It’s my sister. There was no way I could afford her treatment if I didn’t—”
“Noah,” Cash groaned, the irritation evident on his face, now hardened from his fear induced babbling. Fingers twisted in his hair, pressing his temple into the concrete floor. Noah bit back a whine of pain. “I don’t want a justification. In fact, I don’t care. But I am gonna make you pay. There’s nothing you can say that will change that.”
His stomach twisted. He was shocked he hadn’t thrown up yet, with the stress of the breakout and all the horrfic things he’d seen, and now this horrific predicament. His white jacket was still stained with patches of blood, a cruel reminder that none of it had mattered in the end.
“Why not run?” The scientist whispered shakily. “This is your chance to escape this place. There’ll never be another opportunity.”
Cash raised a brow, looking disinterestedly at the muck on Noah’s jacket. “Doc, getting out of this place ain’t easy. They’ll have the army, thousands of Apoids, anything swarming the outside of this place. Those lucky enough to get out won’t last two minutes up there. But here?”
Cash grinned, the sight wolfish. The secretary figured he might sink those sharp teeth into his neck for good measure. “They’ll eventually get control of the place. They’ll round up the prisoners and take us alive once we cooperate. After all, they won’t gun us all down as long as we remain in the Facility.”
Cash’s fingers twisted harder into his hair, and Noah’s body went rigid, hissing through his teeth.
“I’ve been in this place longer than you, doc. I know how they work,” he whispered sharply, the puff of air on the shell of his ear making him shudder. “So, why not take this time to do something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I laid eyes on you?”
He roughly released him, and Noah’s throat bobbed as he swallowed uneasily. Cash was right - an escape would only end in death. Clearly, after the fiasco when he’d broken out of his cuffs, the Facility prioritised taking the prisoners alive unless it was absolutely necessary to kill them. They’d send in reinforcements, round them up, and get the place back under control.
It meant that Noah was going to have to wait for the reinforcements to show up. Who knew how long that could take? Depending on how far the breakout had stretched, which levels were unaffected and under control, he was in the dark.
In the dark, and trapped with his prisoner, who had every desire to make him wish for a merciful death.
Noah hadn’t even realised he’d started crying until Cash scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, biting back a small whimper.
“You’re a doll, doc,” he cooed, his eyes gleaming. “I’m going to take my time with you. Though, I was kind enough to provide you with some company, at least.”
Noah’s teary eyes darted over to Fionn.
He wondered how Cash even knew that was him, but he didn’t care.
Fionn wasn’t safe, neither of them were, but at least he knew he wasn’t dead. The last thing he had been so consumed about was if he’d cost the Apoid his job; now he wished that was all he had to worry about. Noah bit back the little sniffle, the dizzy headache throbbing uncomfortably through his skull, only intensified by the pounding of his heart. 
Level Nine was terrifying enough as it was; locked in a room with one of their prisoners, completely at their mercy? Noah didn’t think anything worse could have happened. Level Nine prisoner’s were some of the most ruthless war criminals, prisoners of war, agents and spies, too dangerous to be kept anywhere but a highly sophisticated underground prison. He had recieved Cash’s file, but it didn’t tell him anything about the things he’d done to get himself locked up in here. Only blood types, medication - things that he would have to know as his scientist. 
Noah didn’t want to think about all the horrific stuff Cash had done.
The fact that he probably knew how to kill Noah in more ways than he could ever imagine. 
The fact that he would know how to hurt him until he wanted death. 
Horror twisted his core - there was no point begging right now. For Cash, this was how it was supposed to be. The Facility would be swarming on the surface - the moment someone managed to get out, they wouldn’t be there two minutes before they were found and gunned down. 
And, for some reason, Noah got the impression that mindless slaughter and violence would become pretty boring for someone as calculated as Cash. The breakout was an exuse for anarchy and escape; for Noah’s prisoner, it was an opportunity for payback. 
“If you want to punish someone, punish the Higher Ups,” Noah choked out, cringing when Cash’s eyes remained staring languidly at Fionn’s unconscious form. “The people who run the place. They’re the ones that pass the orders. Please.” 
Cash tilted his head, cold eyes flickering up to the ceiling, as if in thought. “That’s the thing, doc. They’re smart enough to know that. It’s always why they’re smart enough not to stick around when they don’t have to.” 
His boots thumped across the ground, stopping in front of Noah’s damp face again. Over his prison clothes, Cash was wearing one of the Apoid’s jackets, unzipped. He’d probably taken it from someone he’d killed, since Fionn was in full uniform apart from his weapons. The prisoner had stripped them. 
“But we’ve both seen for ourselves that people like you are expendable,” he mocks cruelly, reminding Noah of those words Fionn had shouted with such conviction. Something stung at his chest. “That’s why.” 
He admired the crestfallen expression that fell upon Noah’s pitiful face for a few moments, before he pretended to glance at the non-existent watch on his wrist. He hummed, lip quirking into a malicious smirk. 
“Alright, enough chit chat, doc,” he murmured. “I was hoping your little Apoid would wake up, but we’re on a time crunch here. So, let’s get started.” 
Noah flinched violently when his hand fisted into his shirt, hoisting him onto his feet like he weighed nothing. The prisoner even made a quiet comment about how little he would weigh, even soaking wet, but Noah couldn’t hear anything over the relentless pounding in his skull, and the blood rushing through his head. 
The prisoner guided him, or more like dragged him, close to the wall, where he took in the horrible sight of shackles attached to a chain in the ceiling. His knees were refusing to even hold his own weight, a colourless complexion fixed itself to his face. 
“Coveniently, these rooms were made for torture,” Cash smoothly spoke, taking a pocket knife to Noah’s restrained wrists and cutting through them easily. Before he could even consider attempting to wrench away from him, the prisoner was slapping the cold metal cuffs around them, stretching his arms uncomfortably above his head. There was a small pinch in his shoulder blade from the position, and he had to bite back a pained whimper. 
“The most challenging thing was deciding what to do with you first, though. Especially with all of these options,” he hummed absentmindly, running his fingers along the wall, lined with various tools that Noah didn’t dare crane his head around to see. He heard the clank of metal, and Cash circled back round in front of him to see he was cradling a lead pipe. “I don’t want to put you out of commission too early. Look at you - you’re so frail, doc.”
Noah’s heart was racing. With each passing second of being in this position, he was imagining all of the places that the lead pipe would crack against, and he could barely breathe from the horrifying concept. Was this how it felt for them? Waiting for the inevitable torture?
“Cash,” he breathed out shakily, biting back a sob. “Cash, please.” 
“Not gonna work on me,” the prisoner sighed, unbothered. “I don’t have a soft spot for those that grovell. Sorry.” 
Noah had barely even been able to brace for the first swing. Cash had moved so fast after standing so casually, that he only registered the movement after the crack of impact landed on his side, and his throat closed up in agony. His whole body seized up, a wretched, choked sound escaping his lips. 
The chains rattled from the very impact, his eyes wide and watery. Cash’s eyes gleamed with something predatory, like he could sense he was going to enjoy this. The numbness came next, followed by the tidal wave of crippling agony. Noah wanted to double over, try to ease the blinding pain, but it was impossible with the chains. 
“That was just a love tap,” Cash purred, and there was this sick delight in his voice, like the hit had released something within him that had been festering for years upon years. “Don’t be dramatic, doc.” 
Noah can’t even process the comparison of that only being a love tap before the pipe sinks into his stomach with vigor, and a sickening cough gets all tangled up in the scientist’s throat. The sheer force is enough to rip the air from his lungs, rendering him gasping and squirming in the chains as he tries to process the throbbing pain spreading through his body. 
The pipe goes for his side again. Then his ribs - Noah see’s stars on that swing, and he can barely even feel the instinctive panic that something was cracked before another was slamming into back, avoiding his spine. 
“Stop,” Noah tries to choke out, but he’s been rendered breathless and he’s in so much pain and he just wants to go home. Cash taps the edge of the pipe under his chin, gently tilting his head up to meet his unfocused, tear filled eyes. He can’t help but wrack with groaning sobs, each jolt making his body flare up in intense agony. Breathing aches. 
His face is contorted in pain, and Cash admires it languidly. 
“But, doc,” he drawls. “Why stop when we’ve only just begun?”
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