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Matilda: What the fuck was that about Ivan, way to make yourself look like a tit. Do you always have to be so embarrassing?
Ivan: I’m not arguin’ with you out here at 5AM. Let’s go home.
Ivan: We should celebrate.
Ivan: I thought you’d be excited about your new job.
Matilda: How stupid do you think I am?
Ivan: C’mon, I never said that.
Matilda: You’re implying it, and I’m not falling for it.
Ivan: Fallin’ for what?
Matilda: Come off it Ivan. You don’t change your mind that quickly, so don’t pretend you’re okay with me working for Arturo.
Ivan: I’m not pretendin’!
Matilda: [scoffs] Sure.
Ivan: I don’t wanna fight Tills, you were right okay? You can do whatever makes you happy.
Matilda: Ugh, you’re so superficial sometimes.
Ivan: What I can’t change my mind? C’mon, it’s late-... Or, early. Can’t we just go to bed?
Matilda: I’m going to bed. You can stay out here.
Matilda: I told you to stay out!
Ivan: You can’t kick me out of my own bedroom. I don’t even get what you’re so mad about.
Matilda: First of all you embarrass both of us by getting all possessive and jealous in front of everyone-...
Ivan: I’m tryin‘-...
Matilda: Then you think you can manipulate me by suddenly acting all supportive n’ shit. How dense do you think I am?!
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Hi, I love your blog! Could I request a hero who is injured/kidnapped, expecting help to arrive any second...but then it is the villain who rescues and takes care of them? Thanks!
"My friends are coming," the hero said, almost sneering. "I don't need you to rescue me."
The villain looked at them for a long moment, just looked at them. The villain never just looked at them. They always had something to say, and it was normally withering.
The hero's throat lodged tight. Something rotten wriggled in the pit of their stomach. Because that expression...
"My friends are coming?" They hated that it was a question, that the conviction had sucked out of them. Right? It echoed in the air between them, as if anything about this was right. "They wouldn't leave me here. I can't leave, in case they come, and then I'd have to - have to -" The hero trailed off, because the villain still wasn't saying anything. They just had that expression.
Sad. So damn sad.
The hero crumpled.
They hadn't cried when they'd felt an ankle snap, or when their stomach began to gnaw on itself in hunger, or when the dark and the cold closed in around them in the cell for what felt like an endless amount of time. They'd been unmoved by their kidnapper's taunts, by the vials of blood stolen from their veins, by the bruises swelling on their cheek. The hero's eyes burned with the terrible urge to cry then.
"Come on," the villain said, and held out a hand. "You're hurt. Does it really matter who gets you out of this hell hole?"
The hero took the villain's hand. They knew they were being ungracious, ungrateful. It wasn't like they didn't want to get out.
The villain was terribly gentle, pulling them up, pretending that the hero had the strength to have done it themselves if they really wanted to. They hobbled towards the exit.
The hero caught flashes of blood in the corners of their vision, prison guards removed from the board with a single-minded viciousness. The villain had a cut a visceral path through the compound to reach them. They had raised hell to do this, no holds barred.
"Are my friends hurt?" The hero asked, and tried to pretend the words weren't almost hopeful. Almost. "What's happened?"
The villain's jaw tightened. "Let's just keep moving, okay?"
"They make some kind of deal with you to come get me? Whatever it was, I swear -"
The villain rounded on them, viper-quick.
The hero flinched, and it wasn't really because of them.
The villain caught hold of the hero's arms, steadying, even as they glared. Their gaze promised carnage. It simmered with enough rage to an end a world.
"They're not coming for you," the villain hissed. "They weighed up the odds of getting you out, and they decided not to bloody well try. They decided it wasn't worth it. They're fine."
The hero swallowed.
"They're fine," the villain said, grip tightening a fraction. "And you - you're -" The villain's gaze scoured over them, livid, and then there was something very different on their face. It wasn't, exactly, soft. Yet... "You're hurt." Those words were soft. Raspy. A confession, of something, at least.
There was something vulnerable about the very word, wasn't there? Hurt. Not 'you need medical attention', with its clinical diagnosis. Not 'you have sustained severe injuries'. Hurt. You are in pain. It stripped everything bare.
"You said that before," the hero muttered. They looked down, and swallowed again, even harder. It didn't ease the thistle of emotion stuck in their throat. It didn't get rid of the bile. It didn't make it feel less like they were choking. The hero squeezed their eyes shut, and felt a damning tear slip free. "I'm fine. Always am."
They were so, so tired.
The villain's hold loosened, a little.
The hero opened their eyes.
Their gazes locked once more..
"You're fine," the villain said, quietly lethal. "Okay? I'm furious. You deserve better."
The villain looked at them again, with that same awful silence.
"Please," the hero's voice broke in turn. "Don't. I can't. I just - I can't."
They'd never said please to the villain before.
The villain didn't even look like they were getting any joy out of it.
They turned to continue leading the hero out instead, carefully, to continue rescuing them. That was the truth. The bitter-relief-disappointment of it.
The villain had come for them and no one else, no one they'd expected or trusted to be there for them, had. What was the hero supposed to even do with that?
The two of them eventually emerged into sunshine. It was shocking and warm and bright. The hero had forgotten how bright it could be.
The villain glanced at them again, in the full light, and sucked in a sharp breath as everything the morning exposed.
The hero tensed.
Still, the villain didn't try to press the topic, they didn't vow to go back into the compound and murder the hero's kidnappers again, though the hero knew that expression well enough to know that the villain definitely wanted to. Instead, the villain pulled the hero a little closer, and took a little more of their weight.
"I've got a first aid kit in the car," the villain said simply. "It's not far. You're okay. You're going to be okay, now."
And, with time, and a villain's diligent care, they were.
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