I just read a fic about Albedo scientifically drowning Ben and it was really really striking.
If not your cup of tea no worries.
But, It's like I have a hard-on for villains and villainous behavior. I would straight up read about an alien testing/torturing a person.
Like the scientific dedication and the respect for what was done even as his actions were insane.
It was *chef's kiss*
I do not support murder, experimentation or cutting anyone open .
A dissection can be terrifying and incredibly sensual if done right.
I swear I'm not into horror but apparently I might actually be.
Ben is an ideal candidate for investigation. Now I'm imagining the watch being activated during a scientific exploration, just so you can watch the organs and skin stretch and change.
(Apparently I wanna see how much Ben can take.)
That's pretty worrying tho. I can acknowledge how psychotic that can be. I do not want to commit such things or Acts. But I can definitely recognize the interesting aspect and exploration.
I'm sorry if I made anybody uncomfortable.
That was certainly not my intent.
And this was immediately after a few people reached out to see if I was okay. My brain likes to delve into weird topics and places.
Looking back over this after I had a few hours to reflect. And whoo. I am perfectly okay guys.
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Me and a friend were talking about some OC's and I got inspired to write a scene with them that we had in mind. It might be a little awkward without more context but I tried to get some of the more important stuff for this story in there.
I just figured I'd post it for the hell of it. If people like it I might write some more, and explain some more context for the universe. Anyway, if you're interested, here it is:
Fearing death when you cannot be killed felt counterintuitive. And yet to Dawson, it was as incomprehensible as immortality is to most. The fear of what one cannot understand reigns supreme to even gods, in the end. And mortal accounts of the subject did not inspire wonders.
Sometimes he went to his own world briefly, where his heart was, if he ever felt something stir. He hated this place, but it was good to make sure it was safe. He would rather fear the improbable than the inescapable.
"..."
Yet everything was fine. No death today, he probably just imagined something. Besides, the inevitable had already made its place in his existence.
"..."
And it took the form of knowing that no matter where he went and what he did...
"..."
SHE would always find a way to annoy him somehow. Maeve, his only godlike equal. Even when she wasn't actively in the back of his current host's mind, her usual presence there was enough to leave a little something in his psyche even in his purest forms. And she knew it.
If she couldn't kill him or control him like everyone else (not for lack of trying, he was on his seventh vessel in this world; a record), then this was the next best thing. Whatever "this" was supposed to be.
It was a shame the only equal he had found in any world had to be so obsessive over that fact. The way she had to remain above everything.
Her ego was unstoppable...and yet when combined with her rather apocalyptic tendencies, it also proved to be some of the best entertainment he'd ever found. So how could he resist? She could do whatever she wanted to and with his vessels, at least the ones he could access in this world, but she had no way to get to this little dimension of his, meaning she could do nothing to him.
He had the perfect person to toy with, and yet he was just useful and interesting enough for her to put up with him.
"..."
And that sounded much more fun than standing in this place. So with the flick of his wrist, he began to shift into the world of his entertainment.
He almost thought he'd felt something in the back of his mind as he left. The expectation of Maeve to be nipping at his thoughts soon. And yet as he passed into her world once again, he was met with... silence. Usually she pestered him the second she had access.
It honestly put him on edge. He'd watched her do her work in the past and she was only ever quiet when she was planning something.
If he had to guess... she probably had gone to crash the party he was planning. The cultists she kept around weren't the most exciting attendees, but Dawson had to make do with what was available. And as much as his little frenemy hated them, they were a decent distraction for any potential dissonents. Despite that, she still couldn't stand them, resulting in the occasional massacre.
And with how long he'd been planning this one in particular, if that were the case, she was never going to hear the end of it.
He had appeared in the large tower where she spent most of her time, planning to mess with her before the party started. But after wandering its halls with no sign of her, and still not hearing her through his vessel's mind, he quickly teleported to his own home, a lavish villa in an otherwise abandoned building nearby.
Surely enough, before he could even see it; he could smell it. The stench of fresh blood and unkempt gore.
Then his eyes confirmed it; the place was a massacre. The opulent white walls were painted red, a small pool of blood dripping off an upper floor and creating a monotonous and repetitive tap as each drop hit the now disheveled hardwood floor. Bodies and broken furniture were littered throughout the main room, torn apart like an angry child's dollhouse, yet noticeably less artsy than her usual work. If anything it seemed rushed.
In fact, the next thing which caught his attention was the woman herself, still in the act. A tendril of twisted flesh and steel outstretched, pinning a dying man to a nearby wall by the neck, covered in the blood he had coughed on it as the light left his eyes. His breathing stopped and the tendril recoiled, disappearing behind her back as if it was never there.
And then it was just the two of them.
His now-drenched shoes, party suit and clenched brows.
Her untouched purple dress with golden embroidery, casual slides, long and untouched pure white hair, and shit-eating grin.
He snarled, âYou really want to play this game? I'm the only reason any of these little peasants can even tolerate you. These parties are the one thing I ask and your little entitled self can't even handle that. You want to have no little minions left to push around? Fine! I'll leave, forever, and you can sit here, finally at the top, all alone with no more toys to play with. Is that what you want?!â He had gotten up in her face as his voice got louder and louder. She hadn't even acknowledged it; he was pretty sure she hadn't even blinked.
Finally, she moved, raising her hand up to his forehead and pushing him back slightly with only her pointer finger, taunting him. Finally she spoke, only she did so inside his mind, not bothering to even open her mouth.
âAdorable little temper tantrum, boy, but I'm already at the top. And the only reason I let you stay around is because you're entertaining. Not the other way around.â
His face was now red and he was fully screaming. âBullshit! I know you better than you want to admit, and I know the only thing that âentertainsâ you is control, something which you will never have over me! The reason you keep me around is because no matter how much you refuse to admit it, you know that my charm, something you lack entirely, is the only thing keeping your play at civilization together out here!â
She remained satisfied with her work, grinning even wider now, clearly enjoying this. She continued to talk through their mind rather than speak aloud.
âWrong again. There's two things that entertain me. Control, and gaining control.â Her smile reaches its apex, naturally sharp teeth and soulless eyes on full display.
âGuess which one I'm doing right now?â
He began to open his mouth to retaliateâŚbut she raised her hand and clenched it ever so slightly. And then something began to stab in his chest. Like a knife twisting inside his ribcage. He almost started to panic. It didn't make sense, how could this have happened? She couldn't even access his heart.
He focused on the sensation itself. But something was off. It didn't feel like HIS heartâŚjustâŚa heart.
He froze in thought. This host was connected to her, mindâŚand body.
She was stabbing his host's heart. She was toying with him. He tried to burst out in rage but it fizzled out in relief.
âOkay. You got me. Fine. Good one. But I'm not forgiving this mess, you-â
She interrupted him, still not bothering to use her mouth and beginning to pace off towards the stairs. âI'm surprised you could forget how much control over your body I really have. It's not the first time I've given its heart a squeeze. And it's not the only thing I've done.â She didn't lose any of her cockyness, It had strengthened tenfold.
He was ready for this conversation to just be done. He could feel adrenaline coursing through him, but he wasn't willing to show weakness. Not after that display. He could feel his heart racing, back in its home.
Except it didn't feel like it was home.
He took a breath. It was just his nerves, he was imagining things. Just like he had before when he went to check on it in the first place. Except wait, that was real. That was her. Was this real too? He didn't even respond to his little tormentors taunting.
And he didn't need to, she read him like a book. âNervous?â she asked, finally at the top of the stairs, for whatever reason she was there.
âNo, I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous? You can't even hurt me-â
[SYS:FUNC-WARP:USER "IdiotsVessel7"]
Suddenly, she was right in front of him, right in his face. He jumped back and shuttered, just starting to get angry again.
âcan't be bothered to warp around normally? You've gotta use my host? Are you that lazy?â
She stepped forward. He stepped back.
âI can. Whenever I want to. Wherever I want to.â
He stepped back again, confused. She stepped forward again.
âAnd what's your point, hm? Gonna try and scare me again?â
She stepped closer. He began to back away even quicker.
âI've done it before. Didn't you realize? I'll give you a hint, it wasn't very long ago.â She was smiling again, just like before. And her hand was starting to clench again.
He felt the heart in his chest cry in pain again, causing him to grit his teeth and groan. His thoughts were scrambling to figure out what she was talking about. He felt weak. We felt like a fly in a spider web. He shouldn't have, he was fine, he was gonna be fine. So why did it not feel like it?
He kept moving away and she kept getting closer until he was almost against a wall. What the hell was she talking about?
He tried to remember all the times heâd felt her do something, or the times he thought she did at least. But there were so many.
His hostâs heart continued to cry, she was probably going to kill this vessel and force him to get another one. He tried to focus on one thing or the other but it was becoming too much. And then he froze entirely in the face of a thought.
Heâd felt something when he was making sure his heart was safe. And heâd felt something off about it since this conversation started.
He tried to deny it. But he couldn't. His host was connected to her. And heâd taken it there.
His eyes widened and he stumbled against the wall. And she continued to move closer, until she was right in his face, still smiling.
And she finally spoke out loud.
âGood guess.â
She completely closed her fist, and his vessel's heart was crushed completely. He fell to the ground, relieved for the pain to be over.
And then it kept going.
She was clawing at his heart. His real heart.
He tried to panic but his current body was shutting down. HE was shutting down. All he could see was her, smiling and laughing. His mind was racing so fast that it froze completely.
She leaned down, continuing to stay in face, hiding the world itself from his view.
She spoke both out loud and in his head at once, completely filling his senses. âNow tell me. Who's on top?â
He choked out the only word he could think of, at all. âYou.â
âGood.â
His vision began to fade, and the feeling of the floor beneath him went numb. His sense of smell left him entirely.
The last thing he heard before he left this body was her, once again.
âI'm going to get you a new form to possess, you're going to go in it, and then we're going to have some new rules. Don't even try to run.
Hello, sorry to disturb! I really enjoyed the 'badly injured villain collapsing in their hero nemesis' arms cause hero has morals so they wouldn't hurt them' prompt whump that you wrote, would it be possible to request for a continuation? Thank you! (´ęł`)/
Oh, I absolutely loved that one! I really hope I got the right one, thereâs a couple different things Iâve written that are somewhat close to that description. If not, Iâm really sorry.
This is a continuation from here, which is such a fun one. That one was entirely angst, so here we have some good comfort! I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for your ask!
CW//Injury, eating non-food, talk of wounds, thoughts of death, hospital setting, mental breakdown, on the run
Their leg.
It had been the only thing Villain had had the capability to focus on, ever since a near brush with capture had left them with a terribly wounded limb. Every last time theyâd awoken, shaking and shivering, their mind had snapped to their lower body.
To their leg.
Besides the heroes, relentlessly on their tail, their wounded limb had been the greatest threat to their existence, and their freedom, so far. In a normal life, perhaps, a broken leg would be only a mild point of annoyance. Something that forces one to use mobility aids for a period of time before the limb heals itself.
But Villainâs life, for the past few weeks, had been anything but normal.
There was nothing normal about living as a hunted animal.
That was exactly why, when Villain awoke, their mind did not immediately go to how they had gone unconscious in the first place. They did not find themself thinking about their environment, or the time, or anything else that was perhaps important.
No. They thought only about their leg. Every time theyâd woken up, they were determined to keep stock of it. After all, day by day, it had been getting worse. Always worse. First, it was swelling. Then an unbearable, itchy redness, followed by a terrible numbness that seemed to ebb and flow with the weather.
What was it now? Was it still good enough to use?
The result of their physical inquiry had not been something Villain was prepared to handle.
Their leg was... okay.
Sure, it was still a little itchy, and still felt a bit odd. Yet, there was no swelling, no numbness. No numbness, and yet, no pain. They could still feel the leg, feeling the weight of something pressing down on it, but there was no pain associated with it.
It was that pressure that finally convinced them to open their eyes.
Blearily, a few times, Villain blinked, allowing the light of the waking world to filter into their eyes. Where were they? Were they still at that abandoned mall, or had they moved on to the train station? They couldnât quite remembe-
They couldnât see their leg.
Villainâs train of thought was cut off in a panic as they looked down, to the location where the limb should be. They took stock of nothing else around them, no, only the lack of a limb. Their eyes shooting around in a panic, they found that their other leg was gone too, and their pelvis, their torso-
Oh.
It was only then that Villain truly woke up to realize their surroundings. They were laying on a bed. Overtop of them, a white blanket, obscuring their lower body, which was most surely still in its proper place.
A... bed? A blanket?
Were they dreaming? They had no such luxuries, not as a hunted animal.
Then...
Somewhere in the room, a room that they had not so much as thought to examine just yet, an opening door creaked.
It was then that the memories of the night prior hit Villain like a truck.
The train station. That was where they had been hiding out, the abandoned train station, sleeping on a platform where thousands of prospective passengers had once paraded. Then, the shouting. The chase...
Theyâd been found. Theyâd fled, of course theyâd fled, but with a bum leg holding them back, there was little to stop them from being herded right where the heroes wanted them.
A firing squad. Villain had been forced into a room, surrounded by armed foes, encircling them on an upper story catwalk. They did not remember pain... Did that mean this was the afterlife?
No. Not the afterlife.
If it had been the afterlife, Villain would not have looked up to see Hero. But, that was exactly what they did. In an instant, their heart caught in their throat as they struggled to sit up, to look at the world around them.
A hospital room. They were in a hospital room, on a bed, surrounded by blank white walls and every sort of machine. Was this some odd sort of torture? Putting adrenaline into their veins so that they could not die as they were being mauled, ravaged?
Their expression turned to one of utter horror as they met the eyes of their foe. Hero was... smiling? Not a wicked smile, not a grin. A true, soft smile.
Villainâs mind all at once associated that particular smile with one particular phrase:
âItâs only a tranq.â
When Hero had spoken those words, Villain had assumed them to be a joke. A little jab, a last laugh before they were torn to shreds by a thousand shots of lead.
Yet... There were still here.
Why?
They had been so ready to die. So much time running, so much time crying, failing to sleep... Theyâd been ready for the end of the hunt.
Yet, here Hero was.
Villain opened their mouth to speak, but found that no words managed to form. Hero filled the air for them:
âHey, Villain. How are you feeling?â
That was when Villainâs spiraling thoughts managed to form into words on their tongue.
âHow am I feeling? I- You were going to kill me! You shouldâve killed me! Youâve been chasing me, I- I was eating grass and garbage and- I was done! My leg- I couldnât keep going, I was done, I was finished, you were supposed to kill me! I lost! I failed!
I shouldnât be here!â
By the time they were finished, Villain was panting, gasping for air, for sense, for anything.
How were they here?
Unthinkingly, they swooshed the blanket off from their body, revealing all that it had formerly veiled.
Their leg had been... wrapped in a cast? A blue plaster cast, beautifully done, with clean edges and all. Far better than the branch and rope theyâd tried to splint it with. And the rags theyâd called clothes for the longest time... They were gone. Replaced by a sort of gown, designed solely to keep them warm, with little thought as to style.
Help.
They were supposed to be killed! Shot! Shredded!
A deer in the scope of a dozen hunters.
Now, they were in a hospital room, their bum leg casted and healing.
With wide eyes, Villain looked up at Hero. Their foe looked just as surprised as they did, yet, in the very opposite angle.
Why was Villain surprised at such basic decency?
âUm...â
It was clear that Hero worked far more often in combat than in counseling.
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