seen from Germany
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seen from France
seen from Italy
seen from United States
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Meet "The Father" or thats what the news call him. he has no name and yet he responds to whatever you call him He doesnt talk he just appears and kills if you manage to get close he is very silly..... i smirk He cannn sign and write but he likes to pretend he isnt able to understand anyone UHM YEAH I HOPEEE U GUYS LIKE MY LITTLE OC!!!
Commission for takumiiscool of their OC Noah with Noire! 📖
Buried Depths Masterpost
Parasitic magic is turning Zachary Sparston into something monstrous. He hasn't committed any crime, but that's no excuse to not drag a dangerous superhuman into custody. Zach is willing to comply with the experiments. Anything to help him control his powers. Unfortunately, this prison is also a testing ground for superhuman soldiers. Compliance will turn him into a weapon, but he'll be a supervillain if he fights back. Zach just wants to sit by the lake with his sketchbook. Instead, he's trapped down here.
The Story [completed]
Chapter 1: Introduction
Chapter 2: Katabasis
Chapter 3: The Handler
Chapter 4: Physical Exam
Chapter 5: Physical Exam (ii)
Chapter 6: Sara's Interlude
Chapter 7: Running Shoes
Chapter 8: Escapism
Chapter 9: Sunburns
Chapter 10: Control
Chapter 11: Possession
Chapter 12: Control (ii)
Chapter 13: Outside Contact
Chapter 14: Biopsy
Chapter 15: Control (iii)
Chapter 16: Training Arc
Chapter 17: Sparring
Chapter 18: Family Inheritance
Chapter 19: Sleep Deprivation
Chapter 20: Sparring (ii)
Chapter 21: Noah's Interlude
Chapter 22: Character Design
Chapter 23: Sparring (iii)
Chapter 24: Failed Escape
Chapter 25: Vivisection
Chapter 26: Hell
Chapter 27: Vivisection (ii)
Chapter 28: Apathy
Chapter 29: The Mission
This is Noah!! :D (He/They/Star)
In Gacha Life 2, I had a big batch of ocs that are starting to surface thanks to one of my moots huehue X3c
Gacha vers under cut ↓
Accessory
< Read Part 1 | Next > | Rainwater and Gasoline Masterlist
Tags: kidnapping, captivity whump, carewhumper, restraints, manipulation | Words: 977
༻✦༺
The moment the trunk popped open, Noah gasped.
Reid was curled inside—limp and silent.
“No. No fucking way. You killed him? You killed—!”
Ezra was on him in an instant, one hand slapping over Noah’s mouth, the other fisting in his hair.
“Shut the fuck up. What is wrong with you.” Ezra’s voice was a hiss. Controlled. Terrifying.
“And no. He’s not dead, by the way. So calm the fuck down.”
Through his panicked breathing, Noah noticed the way Reid’s body was positioned. Hands behind his back. Ankles zip-tied. Why would Ezra need to tie up a corpse?
He slowly tried to calm his breathing. He’s not dead. He’s not dead.
“I’m gonna let you go now,” Ezra hissed. “But you better fucking stay quiet.”
Noah squeaked and nodded around the hand.
Ezra released him. Noah braced himself against the edge of the car, dizzy with fear—and whatever this was. Something beyond fear. Something slipping beneath his skin and burrowing deep.
Ezra gestured to the trunk. “Grab his feet.”
Noah hesitated.
For a second too long, he just stared at them—Reid’s legs, zip-tied at the ankles.
Solid. Human.
Alive, Ezra had said. He was alive.
Noah reached forward, his fingers brushing cold fabric.
Yes. Solid legs. Human legs.
Not a corpse. Not a corpse.
But they weren’t Ezra’s hands on Reid’s body. They were his.
His hands. Helping.
He was a part of this now.
He cast a quick glance around the lot.
No one. Just the wet gleam of concrete under the streetlight. The rain made everything blurry. Thank god. He didn’t see any cameras. No red blinks. No reflective domes overhead.
Just grab the feet.
He did. Ezra took the shoulders.
Together, they hauled Reid out of the trunk and into the dark.
༻✦༺
The lock clunked, echoing in the rain-soaked silence. A heavy metal door creaked open.
How Ezra managed to haul Reid’s upper body with one arm while unlocking the door with the other wasn’t something Noah had room to think about.
He was too busy squeezing limp legs through quickly soaking denim.
Too busy praying this wasn’t a corpse.
Too busy not thinking about murder trials. Or prison time. Or whatever kind of sentence they’d give for something like this.
The warehouse swallowed him with the kind of cold that made Noah's skin feel like it didn’t belong to him anymore. The air smelled like old chemicals and damp concrete. Ezra didn’t turn on the lights—just flicked on the flashlight from their phone, sweeping it over the floor.
“Short-term rental,” they muttered, like that explained anything.
The main room was massive, wide-open, and gutted. Paint peeled from the walls. Graffiti from someone else’s bad night bled through the drywall like bruises. The floor was littered with the leftovers of something—maybe a party. Maybe squatters. A cracked folding chair lay on its side. An empty beer can. A lone sneaker.
In one corner, Noah swore he saw what looked like dried blood spattered low on the wall, just above a pile of discarded zip ties. Or maybe it was rust. Or maybe his brain was starting to rewrite what he saw into something worse.
Ezra said nothing. Just kept walking.
They dragged Reid through the open space, his body heavy between them. Ezra led the way to one wall of the room, flashlight beam bobbing across the floor.
Somewhere overhead, a motion-activated light buzzed to life. A single fluorescent bulb cast shadows across the concrete, flickering like it couldn’t decide if this place deserved to be seen.
“This way,” Ezra muttered. “Bring him over here.”
Noah said nothing. He was too focused on not throwing up.
They reached the far wall. Ezra dropped Reid without warning, letting him slump sideways to the floor like a discarded doll. Noah let go slower, more hesitantly, like if he were gentle enough it might undo what was already happening.
Ezra crouched low, scanning the base of the wall. That’s when Noah saw it: A bolt embedded in the concrete. A heavy length of chain, coiled loosely beside it. A discarded Master Lock, still half-closed around one link.
Ezra picked up the chain with quiet purpose—like it was exactly where they expected it to be.
“Cut these,” they said, nodding at Reid’s bound wrists.
Noah stared at them.
Ezra held up a pocket knife. “So we can get him upright. I’m not keeping him folded like a suitcase.”
Noah didn’t move, so Ezra turned Reid over and cut the zip tie themselves, the plastic snapping loud in the echo chamber of the warehouse.
Then Ezra stood. Held up the chain. “Hold him up.”
“What?” Noah choked.
“Just fucking do it.”
Noah braced Reid’s upper body up against the wall, feeling how limp he still was. Glad he was at least still warm.
Ezra slipped one wrist into a pair of metal handcuffs—thick, clunky, police-grade—and with practiced ease, snapped the other side through the chain loop and locked it tight.
Reid’s arms were raised awkwardly above his head, suspended from the bolt like he’d been hung there for display.
Noah took two shaky steps back.
He stared at the cuffs. The chain. His own hands. He’d helped. He’d helped Ezra do this.
His stomach churned. He wiped his palms on his jeans, but it didn’t help.
Ezra straightened. They looked pleased.
“You did well,” they said.
Noah didn’t respond.
“I mean it.” Ezra stepped closer, their voice low, gentle now.
“I’m proud of you.”
Their hand brushed Noah’s back, like this had been a team win.
Noah felt sick.
Behind them, Reid groaned.
༻✦༺
Next >
I already have plans for part 3… we’re gonna learn a bit about their shared past but i would LOVE to hear any theories <33
Rainwater and Gasoline Taglist:
@whumpsday @unorganisedalienrubbish
I realized a lot of my Noah art is of him being a sad tortured swordsman so I wanted to depart from that for a little bit, and draw something that shows more of the kind of person he is. :] Noah may spend his travels alone but he is not always lonely. Raised from an early age to recognize the writhing life in the world around him, Noah finds contentment observing nature wherever he goes, and occasionally there's someone in need of help🐣
my new ocs Juno (he/him) and Noah!!! (they/them)<333
Hockey Bros snippet
"What sounds good for dinner?"
Noah tapped his chin with one calloused finger. "Pad Thai." Brandon glared at him. "I am not driving an hour and half out of town just so you can have pad thai." "You asked."
