An injured, hunted hero hides in his former lover's safehouse to catch a breath. Unfortunately, his presence is soon noticed by said ex-lover.
The safehouse has been abandoned for months, maybe even longer - just as Hero hoped.
He remembers Villain bringing him here once, after a rough betrayal that left Hero poisoned with no one to rely on except for his then-friend. Here they first kissed. Here Villain decided Hero would belong to them.
But all of that was a lifetime ago. Before Hero betrayed his lover. Before he left leaving just a note and no goodbyes.
Now that he finds himself in a very similar situation, betrayed and with no allies, it's ironic that it would be Villain helping him - even indirectly so, by unknowingly giving him a place to rest for a moment.
As he's treating his wounds, he hears the softest of steps in the hallway. Just around the corner. The noise is enough to make all his senses stand on high alert.
Impossible. No one would dare.
And yet he knows what he heard.
He moves quickly on silent feet, darting to the wall next to the corner, a knife in his hand. He holds his breath, muscles tense. Ready to strike.
But when someone steps around the corner, the frame of their body is familiar. One Hero has felt against his body countless times.
Hero's blow halts in midair, the air leaving his lungs in a shocked exhale. He takes two rapid steps back, eyes wide.
No. No.
Villain lowers the arm they've raised to parry the blow and watches him with cold eyes. "Hero." Their voice holds no surprise, same as their expression.
They'd known they would find Hero here.
Hero slowly shakes his head, in shock.
No. They shouldn't be here. They should be off the continent. Like thinking it enough times will make Villain disappear.
Their hair is a little longer than he remembers, curling around their ears, caressing the sides of their neck. It looks soft, a stark contrast with their stern expression.
"Hero." Villain calls him again, commanding his attention. "What are you doing here?"
It's been years since he heard that voice. It's never been so cold and stern when talking to him.
Hero straightens up, knife lowering slightly. He really doesn't think he can take Villain in a fight right now. His injuries slow him down too much, his leg almost unusuable, exhaustion pulling him down.
"Villain." Voice carefully neutral. "I... didn't know you were in the city."
This is worse than being captured.
"Clearly. Or you wouldn't have come here." Villain tilts their head, studying him. "Everyone is looking for you, I hear."
But I found you first, goes unspoken.
Hero knows Villain has been looking for him since he left. He always knew what would've happened if he were ever found.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Torture, Drowning, Hurt No Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, spoilers for S03E03
A/N: additional trigger tags for carceral abuse and vomiting.
“Well, you’ve washed up right back where you belong,” the warden had remarked on her first day, not quite to Sana but to the air beside her, “so I suppose justice really does win out in the end.”
It had been nearly two weeks and she could still hear those words ringing in her ears. Sana hated the way they slipped into the back of her mind and pressed on her, constricted slowly, took every inch she couldn’t defend. Nobody belonged here, nobody deserved this. And yet, as the guard— Dusty, Dustin, something like that, none of the guards wore name badges— gripped her upper arm and pushed her through the throng of inmates in the mess hall, she walked placidly and kept her eyes down. She fought to feel something beyond the sickening weight of fear and resignation sinking in her stomach. That desire buckled and crumbled into nothing under the burning weight of every single person in the damn prison watching her be led like a lamb to slaughter.
The guard shoved open the kitchen doors with a sharp bang that she barely flinched at. She didn’t need to bite her tongue to stay quiet when he announced, “Let’s see what the folks in the back here have to say about you disrespecting their hard work!”
There wasn’t a rule, per se, about sharing food. She could protest about that, if she wanted, or that dumping both trays out on the ground seemed more disrespectful than trading beef for chicken. But she knew the truth, knew the real rule she had broken. The guards had made it quite clear what consequences fraternizing with others would bring. After what happened the first time she was imprisoned, nobody was willing to take the chance of letting her build a network again.
Guard turnover was high, in a place like this— anyone who could stomach the work took the experience and moved up to a real planet, one with lawns that could grow and proper commodity shipments. Night shift was always too understaffed to really control everyone; Sana had thought she was safe. It was her own fault. And now, as Dalton or Dustin— the red-haired guard, how about that— surveyed the large, industrial kitchen they found themselves in for his next move, she was about to pay for it.
Hold steady, kid. His eyes passed over stainless steel countertops, knives, a pot of boiling water. You can endure this. The fear curdled nauseatingly into panic as he lingered on a row of blenders on the counter. You have to, so— His eyes lit on the sink, half-filled with soapy water, and brightened.
“Come on,” he said. His grip tightened on her arm. Sana balked, her legs suddenly frozen in place. Devin— Red Hair— turned to her with a sneer. “I said, come on.”
Sana opened her mouth, scrambled for a way to stall. This guard had only been around a couple days and she had no idea what made him tick yet, whether he would get bored if she remained impassive or if he’d push until she broke. She tried to glean something from his face, but the pure animal terror freezing her body in place scattered her thoughts in a thousand directions. Say something. There has to be something you can say.
A voice from behind interrupted her— one of the other guards. “Sorry, I got held up. Still need a hand, Derron?” Ah. Derron.
Derron appraised her. “Yeah. Help me get her up by the sink.”
“Sure thing.”
It took a wrenched shoulder and a hard hit to the knee, but Sana wasn’t really in a position to win and it wasn’t long before she was bent over the surface of the water with her arms cuffed behind her back, the sharp edge of the sink basin digging just below her ribcage. The workers just averted their eyes and skirted around them.
“You’re real quiet,” Derron mused. His hand rested on the back of her neck, revoltingly intimate. “They told me you were something of a rebel.”
Sana fought to slow her breathing, to slow her galloping heart. Calm, kid. You’ll get through this. “Do you need something from me, Officer?” she gritted out through her teeth. Her breath raked over the surface of the water.
“Quiet and polite. It’s a wonder you get yourself into this much trouble, really.” He paused, waiting for a response. Sana stayed silent. His fingertips squeezed ever so lightly around her neck. “Alright, then. Straight to the point.”
Sana had a short moment to steal a gulp of air before her head was plunged into lukewarm water. For several long seconds, the world felt still. Then, a warm tendril of deprivation began to smolder in her chest. Panic built rapidly, sharply; she thrashed against the hands holding her neck and shoulders, twisted and bucked, fought with waning strength. Her chest spasmed, demanding a breath that she could not take.
She surfaced, choking and coughing and retching. Her own desperate gasps for air, raw and terrified, filled her ears.
The hand on her neck fisted in her collar, dragged her body half upright. “Anything to say? Anything at all? How about an apology?
Sana could only cough helplessly. Wrong answer.
A heavy blow landed on her diaphragm, driving every scrap of air from her lungs with a wave of nausea, and she was forced again, gasping, into the water.
Water filled her nose and throat and everything was pain, and pain, and pain.
—
“I’m sorry— I’m sorry— Please—“ Sana babbled between coughing and vomiting water. The hand on her neck tightened again, and another wave of fear washed over her.
“I think that’s enough. We gotta get back.” The other guard— Cooper, Sana remembered blearily, folks said he’d been around awhile— grabbed her upper arm and started pulling her to her feet. Her knee throbbed. She felt an awful little swell of gratitude at the intervention, in spite of it all.
“Wait a sec,” Derron stopped him, “we ought to rinse her off first.
Cooper growled, “She can rinse herself just fine when showers open in a few hours—“
“No, no, no. We should really take care of it.”
Sana flinched as scalding, pressurized water hit the back of her head. She leaned heavily against the sink and used every modicum of self control she had left to not cry as rapidly-cooling water methodically soaked every inch of her clothing. Her jaw quivered.
“Now take her back,” Derron said. “I’ll go get a head start on the paperwork.”
“Yeah,” Cooper said, regarding him carefully. “I’ll do that. C’mon,” he tugged Sana’s arm to lead her back towards the cell block.
On the walk back, the soaked fabric clinging to her skin went from cool to frigid. Sana’s teeth started to chatter ever so slightly— she suspected once she stopped moving it would get a lot worse. Her knee buckled badly with every step. She had to strangle the thought in her head that it was her own fault for resisting.
It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t. It wasn’t.
They stopped in front of the tiny barred alcove housing Sana’s meager cot and not much else. “You’re gonna want to get out of those clothes before you catch cold,” Cooper commented mildly as he unlocked Sana’s cuffs.
“I don’t h-have anything else,” Sana snapped miserably before she could stop herself. She winced.
Cooper paused, clearly debating punishing her for the misstep. Instead, he shoved Sana harshly back into her cell. “Don’t see how that’s my problem.”
His footsteps receded down the hall and Sana had to remind herself once again that not being beaten doesn’t constitute kindness.
She slumped down into her cot, curled against the blinding light and the chill that leached the warmth from her bones, and let out a short, quiet sob that sounded every bit as pathetic and broken as she felt. She briefly considered removing the sodden clothing— somehow, losing that scant layer of protection felt worse.
You’ve washed up right back where you belong. Every god damned second in this place made the thought harder to banish.
There was a small group working on some sort of escape plan, she knew. Sana hadn’t wanted to get too close, didn’t want the toxin of her presence to ruin their efforts, not when she had her own ticket out coming. She told herself she would sit still and endure and wait to be found.
Sana tried to have faith— faith that her message would land in the right hands, that Arkady would understand what it meant, that she could mount a rescue mission. She fought to believe that someone was coming for her. Here, now, shivering miserably in her cell, those uncertainties yawned out before her, insurmountable and massive. And she could feel the way waiting was poisoning her, rotting away her will— if Sana didn’t do something, didn’t grab this tiny fingerhold of control while she could, she’d be a shell of herself by the time anyone found her.
kakashi x shikaku!!! tell me MORE please, that is so big brain
(also, love your blog btw, came from your obkkrin fic where obito has no choice but to hide in kamui for the next 9 months or else he'll have to face minato's wrath)
SDJHSHJDHJS LITERALLY HELP HIM <3 minato will get over it when he shifts into Future Grandpa Panic Mode
kakaku (tentative ship name bcause all the others suck) is SO.
theres one fic i read on ao3 that Opened my eyes to it and its currently living in my head and driving me insane. i think kks + skku is something that happens Mostly accidentally. in my head, shikaku + yoshino separate around the time shikamaru is six ish just because theyre mutually gay and work better as friends, theyre still both very close and care for their son deeply! just, they’re gay.
jonin commander + council member + nara mind means that shikaku’s a close hand to the third hokage, undoubtedly has some contact/input with anbu. i think he and kks just kinda stumbled into each other. kks is wickedly intelligent in his own way and also a little shit and i think shikaku was just kind of intrigued.
(especially based on his canon interactions with his wife and shikamaru’s commentary on it. powerful ppl with attitude simply seems to do it for him)
the fic im writing is kind of background kakaku and its mostly kks fussing about maru being sick but kakaku WILL happen in it
heres a snippet for u <3
+++
The door creaks, and Shikamaru is already lightheaded from sitting up so suddenly, but the tension makes his heart pound, makes him freeze as the door slowly swings open to reveal—
Kakashi steps into the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, and Shikamaru processes his appearance in a second. Wishes he hadn’t.
Kakashi’s hair is even more unkempt than usual, sticking out in odd puffs and angles. He’s not wearing his hitai-ate, in fact he’s not wearing his uniform at all, what he is wearing, Shikamaru realizes with a previously unprecedented level of horror, is one of his father’s shirts.
He knows it, because his father is the only man under sixty in the village to own a ‘I’d rather be playing Shogi’ shirt.
+++
“Ah.” Kakashi said, hand now firmly held over the lower half of his face. “Excuse me.”
Shikamaru blinked, watched as Kakashi stepped back into his father’s room, shut the door, and emerged half a minute later with his mask and a pair of sweatpants on. He is still unkempt, but decent now.
An injured, hunted hero hides in his former lover's safehouse to catch a breath. Unfortunately, his presence is soon noticed by said ex-lover.
"I did love you." Soft. Pained. "I'm sorry I deceived you."
Villain blinks, whatever they were going to say forgotten on their lips. "You never mentioned that." Their confused expression is quickly taken over by a frown. "I don't understand."
Hero sighs. "What don't you understand?" He's so tired. Villain isn't usually this chatty before torture. They get like that in the middle of it, normally.
Villain tilts their head, one hand coming up to rest on Hero's cheek. "You say you love me." Their words are carefully measured. "But you keep running away."
Are they… still playing? It's really not that hard to understand. What's going on?
"I betrayed you. Betrayed the people you work for." Hero speaks slowly, makes sure Villain understands what he's saying. It's definitely not the first time he has to explain something to them, but usually it's the minutiae of human behavior that needs explaining. Not... this.
This is pretty straight-forward.
"Your job is to torture traitors. So I ran." Confusion flickers on Hero's expression. "You've been trying to capture me for years. Of course I stayed away."
Hero can see the very moment understanding dawns on Villain.
They huff a laugh. "Hero." Their hold on his cheek becomes firmer. "I don't care about them."
...what?
"I… betrayed you." Hero searches their dark eyes, the firm touch almost making him melt. "I lied to you, the whole time. You're perfectly capable of torturing me just for that."
Villain huffs again. "You didn't betray me. You stole yourself away. That made me angry but it's no betrayal." A thoughtful hum. "That makes me angry." Their other hand goes in Hero's hair, caressing it.
They cradle the back of his skull and drag him up to a sitting position again, hand comfortably wrapped around Hero's nape. "Did you think I was going to torture you? Is that why you tried to cut your own throat?"
Hero starts trembling all over. Not out of fear, but out of the sheer effort it takes not to go pliant in Villain's familiar hold. His eyes are slightly wide as he looks at them. "Of course you're going to torture me." That's not- it was never in question.
"I am not." They make it sound so simple. "I won't break what's mine."
"But that's- it's your job." Hero sounds slightly desperate. He can't believe them. They must be lying, trying to get him to lower his guard. Any second now they're going to drop the act, go cold again.
"My job? For the people I just told you I don't care about?" Villain sounds faintly incredulous.
"You want to make me believe I could have come home, covered in the blood of your superiors, and you would have just smiled and kissed me?" Hero gives them a disbelieving look.
"Yes. Where you belong." Their eyes grow hungry for a moment before they get the possessiveness under control again. "It's fun, my job. Allows me to do things I enjoy very often. But it's just that. A job."
Hero shakes his head, eyes still slightly too wide. "If I had gone to my superiors and told them I was still living with you, they would have ordered me to kill you in your sleep." Almost mechanical. As he processes.
I could have… gone home?
Villain shakes their head and caresses Hero's hair, firmly. "It's alright. Chasing you was fun, if frustrating. But now it's time to stop running away."
And Hero... goes pliant.
He looks at them with once-familiar vulnerability in his eyes. What he shows only to Villain. "You just want me to stay?" Quietly, still a bit disbelieving.
"Yes." No hesitation. No trick to be detected.
Hero swallows thickly. "Am I forgiven, then?" he asks, because he needs to know. "I didn't- I wouldn't have run, had I known I was safe."
Villain is quiet for a moment, as if searching the answer within themselves. "You are forgiven," they finally say, without particular emotion - but it's not untrue. Hero can see it in their eyes. They search Hero's eyes in turn. "Will you stay?"
Hero sighs, happily relieved. "I want to stay with you." A whisper. Then, "Yes."
"Good." Villain grins. They waste no time, undoing Hero's restraints so they can pulls him into a tight hug. They tilt Hero's head back for a kiss and Hero immediately goes fully pliant, smiling into it.
When they part, he presses a softer kiss to the corner of Villain's mouth and sighs again. "What happens now?" he asks, curious to hear about Villain's plans.
I can have this again. It still feels like a dream.
"We wait for the world to stop looking." Villain smiles, sharp and vicious. "And in the meantime, I have a few matters to settle with the people hunting you down."
Hero blinks. Oh, that's right. He had forgotten what it was like for someone to get revenge for him. To want to get revenge.
He smiles. He's aiming for sharp, but it's more happy than anything else. Villain is not the first Hero has given himself to, but they're the first who cared enough to want to keep him.
And when they take his nape and pull him in for another kiss, he can't help but think that their touch still feels perfect.
Whoops, it's done!
This was a blast to write, we love grey characters and perceived danger with a happy ending. If you enjoyed this, consider following us for more content of this kind - and right now we are also accepting prompt requests!
Thank you for following this story to the end, we love you.
An injured, hunted hero hides in his former lover's safehouse to catch a breath. Unfortunately, his presence is soon noticed by said ex-lover.
TW: attempted self-harm (suicide)
Villain walks to him, confident. There are no weapons in their hands, they are not even in tactical gear - just their more casual outfit.
Hero keeps backing away, moving trajectory before he can bump into a wall. He needs to keep some distance between them. If he ends up having to do what he fears he'll have to, he'll need Villain to be far enough away to not be able to stop him.
After a minute of going in circles, Villain stops with a small huff: "Enough running, Hero."
Hero's eyes narrow slightly. "Stop trying to catch me, then."
Anger comes back to Villain's dark, unforgiving eyes. "You ran, and now you're here. You came to me."
Hero shakes his head quickly, eyes on them. "I just needed a place to lay low for a couple hours." He knows how Villain's thought process works. He remembers how he became theirs in Villain's mind all those years ago. "I didn't mean to... inconvenience you. You were supposed to be elsewhere." Panic and frustration mix in his voice.
Villain seems equally frustrated, as if Hero's stubborness were a source of endless annoyance for them. "What's your plan, Hero?" they try to reason with him, despite the growing need to just grab what's his. "You cannot run again. There's nothing for you outside but seeking eyes and bullets."
He can see it in Villain's eyes. The knowledge that they're right. Hero has been deluding himself. There's never been a way out.
His hand clenches on the knife.
Villain's eyes flicker to it, then back to Hero's eyes.
"Do you want to fight, Hero?" Soft words. Like velvet wrapping around Hero's throat.
Hero remembers that tone in very different contexts. He shivers, despite himself, and Villain smiles seeing it.
They offer a hand, palm up, skin bared. "Come, Hero." Eager. "No more running."
Hero shakes his head again, taking another step back. "No." He's not going to end up on the other side of Villain's knives. He knows very well what they can do to people. And when it's personal...
Villain's eyes narrow. "No?" they repeat, slowly, like they couldn't understand the word.
Hero feels a shiver go up his spine. This time, it's pure animal fear.
Villain really didn't like that.
But even he can't expect Hero to willingly go to the slaughter.
The terror comes as a surprise, despite it all. Hero feels trapped. A trapped Hero is a dangerous Hero.
He doesn't want to do it. Not in front of Villan. Not at all.
But he won't be tortured by them. He refuses.
Villain takes another half step forward, hand still outstretched. "Hero." Soft, almost soothing. "Come on." Such a sweet offer for such a terrible fate.
Hero lets himself feel love for Villain, for the first time since he left them. Allows it to fill his chest like it once used to. His expression becomes one of such sweet pain, for a moment. Affection and hurt softening his features.
Hero has always known he was Villain's. It doesn't mean Villain gets to do as they please with him.
His muscles tense a split second before he goes to slash at Villain's outstretched hand, hoping it will make them lean back, go on the defensive.
He just needs a second.
He raises the knife to his own throat, determination in his eyes. He sees Villain's eyes widen, sudden understanding dawning in them. For the first time since Hero has known them, there's a hint of panic in their expression.
As Hero starts to drag the blade against the fragile skin of his neck, Villain rushes forward with a speed Hero didn't know they possessed.
A firm, too-strong hand wraps around Hero's wrist and drags it away from his throat, clenching until the bones grind together and it hurts.
They moved too fast.
"Stop." Their voice holds an unnatural echo, a firm command.
No no no no no-
Hero panics. He starts struggling, breaths too quick, eyes wide. Villain's hold feels like steel, their body a wall of solid stone.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"After all that you've done to me, to us, why would I let you live? Why shouldn't I kill you right now?"
I love you. It's a useless thing in their chest, words that will never get to be spoken from their lips. Instead, they say what they know will actually save them: "I know where your lover is."
Their enemy's eyes, the eyes of their most beloved, go wide. The weapon raised over them trembles, then lowers.
"For your sake, I hope you are not lying." There is only anger in that voice so dear to them. "Now lead the way."
This morning, I woke up with a bit of a hankering for some migas, like my mom used to make on weekends when I was a kid. It’s a pretty simple recipe; it’s just fried corn tortillas, eggs, and a can of Rotel tomatoes and chiles. She taught me when I was eight or maybe even younger than that, although I was always afraid to properly fry the tortillas and the eggs would make them soggy.
I had the thought, as the tortillas fried, that maybe someday I’d make these properly. I’d make my own corn tortillas, from scratch, and stew my own tomatoes and chiles, and cook the can of black beans I was heating up on the side myself (a likely story; I’ve never had the knack for beans). Maybe one day, these could really be mine.
Of course, even then, I’d be buying the cornmeal for the masa, and the tomatoes and the chiles and the dried beans. God forbid I try to make the handful of cheese I sprinkled on top from scratch.
They are all indigenous crops, though, and if I had the land I could grow them for myself, and harvest and prepare them, and keep my own chickens and a dairy cow. But even then, none of those things could be mine, could they? The climate that textures the flavor and quality of these crops, the sun that feeds them and the rain that waters them and the wind and the insects and the birds that pollinate and the soil filled with bacteria and recycled plant matter and memory: the memory of every person who lived on this land before me, every person who cultivated and nurtured it, every person who robbed and depleted it— how could any of this ever be mine?
So maybe this food can never belong to me, really. Maybe I will have to be content in the awe and wonder of the many, many lives and tiny fragments of the universe that have all converged together to make this simple breakfast from my childhood.
A failed lab experiment is sent to die in the lair of the most dangerous monster the lab has ever produced. Luckily for him, the monster is far less insane than the scientists like to believe.
Ninety-seven days after they took Saka, his captors stopped caring if he lived or died.
All the awful concoctions they injected him with changed his body, but not to the degree they were hoping for.
He can see in the dark. He knows he has fangs in his mouth, fangs he knows to be venomous. He feels the itch of scales on his skin, patches of them. All kinds of drugs have stopped working on him days ago.
But they were hoping for a monster, and he still has the shape of a man.
Saka stays curled up as much as he can, too alone and in pain to put up a strong face, keep his spirit. Nothing feels like him anymore, every day he is taken and prodded and modified, and he can’t- He can’t take this.
His body is not his own, his freedom is gone, his life is over.
And he is cold. Always, he is freezing cold.
What else is there to do but curl up and wait in dread for the next day to come?
But today the guards escorting him are stopped long before they can bring him to the usual lab.
“Doc doesn’t think she can do much else with him,” the scientist barring their way says, barely even looking at Saka. “She says give him to the Harbinger. He’s been restless lately, he needs something to distract him.”
The name rings a bell. Harbinger. The infamous monster no one seems able to kill. The first one to appear during the Night, and the last to go. The one that can make people see things that are not there, that can twist limbs and break bones with a mere gesture. The only beast that resembles a man, even though he is anything but.
One of the guards snorts. “Sure thing,” he says, and makes Saka turn around to go back to the cell sector - a different wing from the one he’s been kept in up to now.
“What happens to the ones who are given to him?” Saka barely recognises his own voice after weeks of only using it to scream and beg. So rough and weak, so flat. The fear is hidden deep inside.
What could the Harbinger possibly want with him if not tear him to pieces, first his mind and then his body?
The guards seem amused he dared to speak up.
“Good question.” They exchange a glance. One of them grins. “I bet you one hundred he’ll last... eh, maybe three hours.”
The other one shakes their head. “They say the thing’s restless. Either it tears him apart as soon as it sees him, or he gets to lose his mind. In that case... one hour. Tops.”
Such carelessness in speaking of such dark topics. How many people were led to that containment cell before him?
“Boy’s sturdy,” the first guard says, patting Saka’s shoulder as he makes him stop in front of an extremely reinforced door. “I still say three hours.”
In front of them, a series of clicks announces the opening of the reinforced door, delicate mechanisms releasing one after the other. There is another identical door a few feet in, creating an air-locked room in-between.
Saka’s arms are restrained behind his back, his ankles bound together with a short chain. But guards are careless. They never realize all of them have lost hope.
He turns around and slams his head into the first guard’s nose.
He’s dead anyway. If he’s shot now it would be a mercy.
Pain explodes in his skull as the other guard hits him over the head with the butt of their pistol, jerking him backwards by his shirt.
“You little-” The first guard spits, holding their bleeding nose, trembling with rage. “I hope that thing keeps you for longer than three hours! Throw him in!”
Before Saka can blink past the dizziness and pain, he’s shoved forward and through the opening. Immediately the first door starts to close; only when it is completely sealed does the second one open, its mechanisms just as complex.
Fallen on his knees, hands open on his thighs, Saka turns watery eyes to the ceiling and prays.
There are monsters in here that go far beyond any nightmares man is capable of conceiving. The only mercy is that so many of them are too bloodthirsty to make painful deaths last.
His breath shudders out of his lungs and he squeezes his eyes shut, a sob caught in his chest. Please. Please.
He is so tired. He wants to die while he is still at least a shadow of his former self.
Silence falls as the second door folds away.
Perfect, heavy, oppressive silence.
A whisper of fabric.
And then Saka’s body is seized by an invisible force and lifted high into the air, brought forward.
He goes rigid, fear choking him.
Once, instinct would have made him struggle to get free. But now he is too used to unbreakable restraints, to his limbs being immobilized no matter how great the pain and how unbearable the restlessness.
He opens his eyes and stays perfectly still. It’s always so much worse when you don’t see it coming, no matter what they say.
What he finds is a well-furnished room. He can see a large bed, a sofa, an armchair. The walls are covered with hung up paper scrawled with charcoal drawings of... buildings, maybe. Alien buildings, impossible architecture. The floor...
The floor is made up of tiny pieces of stone and glass, a sprawl of colors forming the strangest shapes that make no sense, that represent nothing. A section of it has been dug up, the pieces lying in a pile around the shallow hole.
It takes him a moment too long to see him. He is so unnaturally still, dark blue clothes so similar to the blue of the bed linens.
He sits there, cross-legged, staring at Saka with those glowing blue eyes he saw only in the pictures and recordings. His unnatural charcoal-black skin is exposed, and so are the glowing cracks running all over it.
This being looks exactly like what it is: a man pumped full of chemicals and energy until he burned up from the inside out.
He must be completely insane. Is he in constant pain?
And what relief is there but to take it out on others? Monsters like them are made to savage and kill.
“Hi,” whispers Saka, his voice still so rough and ugly, just one more thing he doesn’t recognise. “I’m sorry.” He blinks away the tears.
The Harbinger blinks.
There’s the horrible sound of metal twisting and being torn apart; Saka’s restraints fall from his limbs. It doesn’t really matter, he’s still suspended a meter from the ground in a telekinetic grasp.
Until he isn’t. Until he finds himself on the ground, on that strange textured floor that is one big mosaic.
The Harbinger tilts his chin down slightly to keep looking at him, and a lock of blood red hair brushes the line of his jaw.
Saka wants to beg him to make this quick, but the Harbinger has been given furniture, has been given the means to draw and entertain himself, which means he retains human intelligence.
Begging would just encourage him to make this last longer.
So he looks down, chin still up in the face of his end, and admires the pretty colors of the mosaic. He wonders how he cleans the grooves between the little stones. Blood must be hard to get out.
Maybe he likes it better that way.
“What for?”
The voice comes suddenly, but it’s not a voice at all. It’s a thought, placed in Saka’s mind and made to resemble a voice. This being really is beyond any human scope.
And he has still to move a single muscle, has still to get up from the bed. Not that he needs to.
He might not move a muscle the entire time he is killing Saka.
“You’re just like me.” A single tear falls from his eye and crosses his cheek, dampening the corner of his mouth. “You're just like me.”
He was someone once. He only wants this because they made him want this, no matter what he thinks now.
They didn’t deserve what happened to them, and no one is coming to save them.
The Harbinger is silent. He shifts just slightly, his clothes swishing in a gentle whisper.
The telekinetic grip comes back, lifting Saka off the ground and bringing him closer, until he’s hovering above the bed - and being placed on it, just shy of the Harbinger’s body.
Darkened fingers rise to wipe away that tear, and perfect warmth brushes against Saka’s cheek.
Saka’s breathing falters and his eyes widen.
He bites his lip. So warm, the Harbinger is so warm and he is freezing, always freezing, never not in pain.
His sigh is a pathetic, trembling thing. “They’re not happy with how I came out,” he tells him falteringly, terrified out of his mind and yet somehow glad he gets to speak to someone, no matter how insane. “I’m not monstrous enough.”
The venom is not enough. The fangs are not enough. They want violence and horror.
“Mh.” The Harbinger passes a thumb under his eye, studying it. The Harbinger has glowing eyes, Saka’s reptilian ones might look normal to him. His other hand touches Saka’s wrist, the back of his hand, feeling the scales.
“I think you are beautiful,” he finally murmurs. “Don't cry.”
Saka doesn’t stop worrying about his eyes being plucked out.
Not being able to defend himself is- well, the norm at this point. It’s normal, and he is still just as scared every single time.
“Are you going to hurt me, Harbinger?” What a stupid question. The guards were so kind to tell him exactly what he was going to be given to. He looks down once more, not a single spark of hope remaining. “I just want to be free.” Free me.
“I do not feel the urge to do so.” The Harbinger tilts his head slightly, regarding him. “Do you want to die?”
His hand is still so close to Saka’s cheek, almost cupping it. If he just moved a little to the left he would feel that incredible warmth all pressed up against his skin.
Saka aches for it. He doesn’t remember what it means to be warm.
“I don’t want to be in pain anymore.” He dares to lift his eyes enough to meet the Harbinger’s, so blue and unnatural.
He can’t help but notice that he looks so young underneath all the unnaturalness. He doesn’t look like a feral beast.
The Harbinger’s lips twitch, no amusement reaching his eyes. “The pain will fade once your body adjusts to the changes,” he comments. “How long has it been?”
Those cracks all over his skin must hurt. They pulse sometimes, like they’re still an open wound.
It’s been more than a decade since the Harbinger’s first appearance. This man has been a prisoner since Saka was a boy.
“A few weeks since the first changes.” Nothing in comparison to him. “They keep adding things.”
He blinks. “Kept adding things. It seems they have given up.”
No more being strapped down, no more horror at the idea of waking up changed, different.
He is supposed to die in here.
“And I don’t- think it will,” he adds, keeping himself still, so still. “They made me cold. Everything is cold.”
For some reason, the Harbinger seems exasperated. “They never learn.” His fingers twitch, and that’s all the warning Saka gets before the telekinesis is on him again.
Before he knows what’s going on the covers are being pulled back and his shirt is being torn off.
“Dirty clothes,” the Harbinger mutters, the words only for Saka. “Why do they even bother?”
Saka is laid down on his back, head on the pillow, and the Harbinger moves to cover him completely with his body. The bedcovers go over them, creating a warm cocoon.
For long seconds, Saka stays stiff as a board.
He- The Harbinger is...?
Once the heat penetrates his skin and finally warms him for the first time in weeks, he goes limp.
A shocked, wounded sound comes out of his throat. “Why?” he asks, helpless, even as he clutches at the monster and holds him closer, greedy, unable to stop. “You- They said you would…”
“Oh, I know they take bets.” The Harbinger hums and allows Saka to keep him close, presses down on him with his solid warm body. “You were lucky. I am restless, not angry.” He places a hand on Saka’s head, fingers going under his hair, lightly gripping the roots. “Relax. I am not killing you.”
Saka hides his face in the Harbinger’s shoulder, so miserable he will take comfort even from the one he is so afraid of, and starts shivering and shaking. His chilly body is slowly warming up, becoming more pliant, letting go of the pain and discomfort.
Even the shiny patches of scales are slowly gaining some heat.
“Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you, I- You’re warm.”
“You’re getting warmer, too.” The Harbinger tucks the covers around him a little better. “You’ll see the pain will lessen soon.”
“It already is.” The realization that he is feeling better for once finally hits. Someone is actively helping him.
He reaches for the monster’s face and moves his hair to the side. “Will they take me back now? They don’t seem to like it when I’m not in pain.” A very neutral tone for such a helpless question.
With a thoughtful hum, the Harbinger leans into the touch. For all his might and terrible powers, he must be always alone too. “I suppose they will leave you here a while longer to see what I do with you,” he guesses. “The previous times they waited until my routine check-up to take the bodies, so they will probably do the same with you. If that’s true, you still have days to go.”
Another hum. “To decide if you want to die.”
It wasn’t supposed to be a choice Saka got to make. It should have just happened.
If he chooses it, it’s suicide. It tastes so bitter on his tongue, acidic with fear. But the Harbinger here is proof that his torment has only just begun.
Years. He nods quietly and cups the back of his head, going back to hiding.
“A few days,” he repeats. “I won’t bother you.”
“We’ll see,” the Harbinger says, but it doesn’t sound ominous. There’s almost the slightest hint of humor in the words.
He presses down on Saka and gently caresses his naked arm, helping him warm up.
“Why are you helping me?” Maybe he shouldn’t ask. “It’s nice of you. Why?” Now Saka understands why their captors never let the prisoners interact with each other. It’s too easy to retain their personalities, to find a kernel of contentment in simple interaction.
“You were in pain.” The slightest tug to Saka’s hair. “And I wanted you to stop cowering.” Which, by the sound of it, was incredibly annoying to the Harbinger. “There are cameras everywhere in this room, and in the bathroom too,” the supposed monster tells him. “But no microphones, since I do not speak. There are some in the antechamber, however.”
The insistence in using telepathy makes more sense now. “Thank you,” says Saka again, and means it for everything. “I’ll be careful.”
He’s a person. The Harbinger is a person, not a monster. “Is there anything I can do to help you not get angry? I’d rather not know what happens then.”
He can- imagine.
“Don’t try to ruin my things.” A basic rule of hospitality, something that’s supposed to be a given, but nothing is taken for granted here. “Don’t attack me.” A moment of consideration. “Try not to bring dirt anywhere. I like being clean and having clean things. This includes the floors as well.”
Since Saka is not sure where he would even find dirt, that’s probably not going to be an issue. “I will be a polite guest.”
He burrows a little better under the Harbinger, the permanently tense line of his shoulders finally easing. He has knots for days and a headache that will never go away, but this helps so much.
It’s making him feel human again. A bed, a warm body against his own, a conversation... All perfect things.
I can’t go back to my cell. He tries not to think about that. About how dangerous and destructive giving a prisoner crumbs is.
He slides his hands beneath the Harbinger’s clothes and holds on. His skin is scorching hot. If he were to take those clothes off and press himself against Saka, chest to chest, it would feel incredible.
“You do that,” the Harbinger murmurs, and caresses Saka’s cheek. “Rest, if you like. There’s not much to do here.”
If Saka closes his eyes he can imagine this man as one of his friends, or as a random one night stand willing to cuddle him.
He doesn’t have to be a monster. They don’t have to be in a cell, wasting away their time, waiting for the next horror to begin.
He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth so he won’t feel the fangs, and stays still so he won’t feel the weirdness of the scales.
The adrenaline crash and the poor, poor sleep of the last few weeks have left him deeply exhausted. Surrounded by this warmth, he has no chance.
With a nuzzle of the Harbinger’s hand, he finally convinces himself this is probably not a cruel trick and falls dead asleep.
