More fic, obviously.
Title: And not to yield
Summary: Slade hates being helpless.
Author's Notes: Prompt eleven, Castration Anxiety
Word Count: 160
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: DC Comics
Category: Gen. Content some readers may find disturbing.
Spoilers: None, requires context: found here.
"You would make a tasty dinner, Terminator. Or you might become one of us." The thing's clawed hand reaches up to stroke the slim, distracting ribbons.
It's more like a caress. Like a man touching the hair of a woman he wants.
"*That* would amuse me, you obeying my commands without question. Which would *you* prefer? Death or unlife?"
The grip tightens, fingers twining in the ribbons.
Slade could die here. He could worse than die. He knows exactly how powerless he is, how little he can do, and the one chance he's got is a bunch of altruistic, stupid kids. And his son.
If he makes it out, it'll be luck. Not skill. If he doesn't… either he'll be dead, or he won't. He'll be some *puppet* for this thing's amusement, no will of his own, owned and used and helpless.
Fuck that.
"Go to hell," he spits out, and hopes to God he's lucky enough to die fast.
Summary: Slade hates being helpless.
Author's Notes: Prompt eleven, Castration Anxiety
Word Count: 160
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: DC Comics
Category: Gen. Content some readers may find disturbing.
Spoilers: None, requires context: found here.
"You would make a tasty dinner, Terminator. Or you might become one of us." The thing's clawed hand reaches up to stroke the slim, distracting ribbons.
It's more like a caress. Like a man touching the hair of a woman he wants.
"*That* would amuse me, you obeying my commands without question. Which would *you* prefer? Death or unlife?"
The grip tightens, fingers twining in the ribbons.
Slade could die here. He could worse than die. He knows exactly how powerless he is, how little he can do, and the one chance he's got is a bunch of altruistic, stupid kids. And his son.
If he makes it out, it'll be luck. Not skill. If he doesn't… either he'll be dead, or he won't. He'll be some *puppet* for this thing's amusement, no will of his own, owned and used and helpless.
Fuck that.
"Go to hell," he spits out, and hopes to God he's lucky enough to die fast.