#itsdrabbles

[sad-boy-hank]

dumb horror au idea drabble from a year ago lmao

!!graphic fantasy warning!!

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Victor bit at the hand that fed them often.

Hank thought it was just a strange way of showing love.

Every day, Hank would hand-feed his chained prisoner, and every day Victor quite literally bit back at him. Hank saw it as endearing. Victor saw it as terrifying.

He truly and honestly couldn’t understand why Victor shouted and screamed and sobbed so often. They were well cared for, well fed, and well loved. Surely they should show some gratitude, yes? A thank you at the very least.

Well, Victor didn’t think so.

Victor thought that Hank should be sliced and diced and boiled alive.

They fantasized about it often, imagining themself carving out Hank’s organs as he wailed helplessly on an operation table.

They’d make soup from those guts.

[sad-boy-hank]

Dead Girls

by Salemn

for @saltymongoose

TW: Assumed contemplation, killing

Reader was always sweet.

The music they sang though. . . It made Hank stop in his tracks, confusing the bandits he fought.

"I, your name, do solemnly swear, not to off myself, think about offing myself, or continue thinking about offing myself without reaching out for help, after listening to this song."

"P. . . player?" Oh, the poor dear. . . his player, his darling, wanted to hurt themself in that way?

The bandits stopped as well, whispering amongst themselves.

"Wha wassat?"

Hank shook their head and dove back into the fray, the screams of his enemies no more musical than your voice, cooing at him between verses. "- dead! Better dead! Gun against your head, you like 'em dead!"

This had to be a cry for help, no way it wasn't, Hank needed to help before it got-

"Well, sorry for the dark tone. What can I say, Penelope Scott is muh jam! Next up is. . . let's see, chat. . . Cigarette Ahegao! One of my faves!"

Oh.

It was just some stupid song.

Hank shook their head again. "Jesus, player, don't scare me like that!"

[sad-boy-hank]

dumb little one of two part drabble i made

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You shivered in the biting cold. Ever since the damned project had begun, the core had been fucking with the weather. So now, in the middle of summer, you were freezing your paws off. Literally, since you could feel your paws go limp. You were in no state to work and yet, your director demanded that you come in today. Hmph. Christoff and the others get the week off, why don’t I?

You were the director’s favorite. He just loves seeing poor little you quake at his desk, begging for hours off. He enjoyed your teary eyes when he rebuked you for small mistakes. And god, he obsessed over how jumpy you got around him. It was obvious- to everyone but you. You only saw it as a predator toying with its hapless prey before devouring it whole. You hated the feeling. Hated it more than anything.

The doors whirred open. The area was mostly silent, save for the tower guards, made specifically to be able to work through the winter. As your body warmed up, you could feel your control over your paws returning. You flexed your paws, able to feel them once more. Now, what’s our workload today? You climbed the main stairs, arriving at the empty cafeteria. It felt odd, the normally bustling place so quiet.

You ran a paw over one of the tables. Cold. You shivered. This didn’t feel natural. Your footsteps seemed to echo endlessly through the empty halls as you traversed them, stairwell by stairwell. Everything was sleek, save for the machinery and control pads and hideous chambers that you scooted away from as you walked past them. A shudder ran through your spine. You quickened your pace.

When the doors to the level you worked on opened, you were quaking. This place is much creepier when no one’s around. There were one or two people working- mostly signing paperwork and regulating the thermostat for the main project’s chamber. You took a deep breath and walked in, still shaking slightly.

Okay. I can do this. This is easy. You grabbed a clipboard and took shaky breaths, walking past your coworkers and to your desk. You adjusted your coat underneath you and pulled out your chair with a foot before sitting down. You sighed at the stack of papers waiting for you, but dutifully pulled off the top one and began to write.

First paper was a progress report on the project. What’s been done so far, methods of doing it, what you have yet to do and how you plan to tackle it, etcetera. Pretty vanilla stuff. Sadly, every time you saw an “Explain how” you died a little inside. It felt like hours as you just stared at your paper, spacing out. You blinked back to the present. With slow strokes, you wrote a sentence. And went back to staring.

The next five papers were wavers for future experiments, again standard stuff. A lot of reading, though, which you hated. And unfortunately, you couldn’t just sign your life away without reading the terms and conditions. So, begrudgingly, you read. And reread. The words began blurring together and you could hardly keep your gaze on the paper. You shook your head. And there are five of these? Jesus Christ.

[sad-boy-hank]

i'm not gonna finish it so here's the photalt drabble

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Phobos couldn’t understand why it hadn’t changed. He’d made sure everything was perfect, and the beast still put up a struggle. It didn’t. Make. Sense. He hated when things didn’t make sense. Especially now, when he was trying to control that thing.

Hm. Thing wasn’t the right word.

Considering how Phobos spoiled the thing, pet would be a more appropriate term. He cared about the monster. He loved it, genuinely thought of it as a friend, but it was not so kind to its master. Phobos hated that.

He couldn’t hold it against the creature, though. It was strange, how soft he got with it, but no one had the guts to bring it up. Phobos just. . . really loved his strange dog.

Gestalt. Gestalt was its name. And Phobos doted on it. He called it pet names, gave it treats, let it feast upon grunts to its heart’s content, and yet it still disobeyed. Phobos loved it, pampered it, and Project Gestalt hated his guts. For some reason.

Phobos shook his head and entered the cell. He wasn’t going to back down, not now. The door slid open, revealing a massive shape chained to the wall. Project Gestalt. Phobos’s favorite pet.

[sad-boy-hank]

Zephyr, Doc. Since he revives people and all. Kinda of an irony in the statement, probably with a recently revived person too

Zephyr “God, you make me feel alive! Please tell me you feel the same. . .”

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You were fucking sore.

Everything hurt, like someone had tazed you in all the worst places. You could recall very little. There was. . . A bright light? Like from a ceiling light? Maybe you were on a mission? You groaned, palming your face and sitting up. Well, where were you now?

You looked around. You were in a gurnie, with a small cart sat next to it. You noticed that you were hooked up to an IV. What on earth happened?

You snapped upright when you heard a soft hum. You weren't alone. You lay back down quietly and pulled the sheets, hoping that your company would think you were still out.

The humming grew louder as the source became closer, making you clench your jaw to keep from trembling. "My, my, still asleep?" a familiar voice asked. "This ought to help." They ran a cold, hard object, presumably a scalpel, along the length of your arm, drawing blood.

It made you whimper, but you tried to keep the illusion of slumber. The voice huffed disappointedly. "Well. Dear. At least you won't be fighting back." You pursed your lips as you felt something wet graze the cut. "Mngh, god, you make me feel alive." You began to tremble slightly. "Please. . . tell me you feel the same. . ."

[sad-boy-hank]

EXCERPT EXCERPT

@caninewaterway PSPSPSPSPS

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You gulped as you entered the room, ushered in by two soldats.

Why would you need to be ushered in by two soldats, you ask? Who are you visiting? Phobos? Hank? The Auditor herself?

None of those, actually. You were just meeting your charge for the first time. A MAGnified Elton Ridgewell, codenamed MAG Agent: Torture. You didn't wanna call him Torture though, too crude. Maybe he would like Elton better. Maybe he was so mad because he was forced to go by a name that made him feel evil and bad.

Or maybe he's just an animal and you're projecting.

[sad-boy-hank]

@the0nlychrissy OK OK A SNIPPET-

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"Ah, ah! No wriggling." He unsheathed his combat knife, the light glare flashing into your eyes. You whimpered. The teeth on that thing looked menacing. "You might undo your stitches, and, heh. . ." He kneeled down, head level with your unbound chest. Lucky for you the only thing he was staring at was your face. Maybe unluckily, actually. You hated his stare. Sanford brought the knife to your outer thigh, digging the teeth in. "You know how I get when you hurt yourself."

[sad-boy-hank]

Love, but really like the idea of the response being “No. I don’t love you. I want you to cry, to sob, to beg, to feel yourself break apart with desperation as I continue to deny you. There is no love from me, understood? I’m only here to watch your suffering with glee.”

I have no idea who this would even go to but yeah, an idea.

Love “Please, I just want to be yours. . . Let me!”

You stared at the bloody ground in shock. It was done. Rot'd done it. Rot'd done more. Bullet holes covered Bryan's body, blood oozing out of the wounds like slime. It was disgusting. You felt its hands on your padded shoulders. "I'm sorry about him," Sterling whispered. "He. . . he was too close to realizing-"

"We both know that's bullshit," you snapped. "You knew for a fact once you killed Sam nothing was gonna fuck you up." You began panting, hot with anger. "You knew the job was done. You just want me alone."

Sterling paused, zoms hot breath making your hair stand on end. It gently clicked the secures of your helmet. "Please," it whispered, sliding off your helmet, "I just want to be yours. Let me."

"N. . . no."

Rot gasped. "Huh?"

"No!" You repeated. "I don’t love you." You could hear Sterling begin to cry as you went on. "I want you to cry, to sob, to beg, to feel yourself break apart with desperation as I continue to deny you. There is no love from me, understood? I’m only here to watch your suffering with glee.”

There was silence and, for a moment you hoped Sterling had left. A chuckle sounded from behind you. "Then I guess I'll keep trying."