#jekyll/hyde

[addicted-to-dc]

Jekyll/Hyde Part 5 - Taskforce 141 x Reader

<Previous Chapter & Masterlist Link

Content Warnings: PTSD, Violence, descriptions of wounds, previous taskforce betrayal, angst, drugging, revelation of sexual assault. As always, if I’m missing tags do not hesitate to message me or post a comment. 1595 Word Count

Tags for those who encouraged me to write this (: @greeniegreengreen @aeilani  @poetslastdeath

Ghost has kept a visual on you since you were dismissed for the night. Your muscles ache from sitting around for an ungodly amount of hours, but the soreness won't stop you from finding what you came here for. 

The mission led to an outpost near the Russian/Ukrainian border, the same one you spent months recovering hidden in the musty basement. Laswell wouldn't trust anyone, keeping your survival so under wraps that your medical staff didn't have access to anything but the bare necessities. Just a barely alive soldier that survived going through a fucking blender.

A living corpse, one of the doctors had called you. It still feels fitting.

The pups trail after you like they usually do, but you need them to keep the Lieutenant off your ass. You have to do this alone, slowly approaching the familiar sight of four hallways meeting into an intersection. With a click of your tongue, you and the dogs separate. 

Muscle movement leads you to the stairway, the office-like door easily disguising its true face. Your key slides in perfectly, unlocking it with a twist of your wrist that sends pain up your arm. Gritting your teeth, you push on and enter. The automatic lock engages once the door closes, and you descend into the abyss.

Each step is weighted, lead-filled limbs slowing your descent. The echoes penetrate your mind, the sound bringing back too many memories. The quick descent of staff rushing to stabilize. Others run up despite their lungs begging for breath.

Taking in a deep breath, you smell the change in air. Damp and pungent, reeking of compromised concrete and cut corners. You let the darkness wrap around you, leaving most of the lights off until you finally reach it-

Flicking on the farthest light, THE filing cabinet jumps out of the dark. You don't know what to expect, too many unknowns quickly careening into chaotic assumptions that all lead to the same question: How did you survive? 

Sucking in a breath, you push forward and unlock the drawers. Shaky hands pull open the first. Nothing. The same goes for the second. The third opens to reveal a singular, hefty, file. Blinking the unwanted tears away, you grab it and sit at an open desk. It's just paper and ink. It is, but what will it say? The file can't be the answer to all of your questions, but it's a start. You open it.  Your tears fall once you see the choppy medical report at the top. 

Near-fatal trauma to the head, installation of metal plating, or similar in progress at the time of report. Five gunshot wounds, all dressed correctly by the patient. Handled by staff. Broken bones, scarring, superficial wounds... 

Then the drug screening. Your tears blur your vision. No, no, no nononononono.

The patient’s uncommon brain chemistry and hormone levels are likely the result of heavy doses of aphrodisiacs for an unknown segment of time. The medication provided by the investigation corroborates this-

The paper crumples under the force of your hands, the chair screaming against the floor as you back away from the words. The floor gives out, the biting cold of the concrete doing little to ground you. Rage shakes your entire form, the cold only adding to it as the filing cabinet slams onto the ground.

Metal slams against metal as the chair soars into the cabinet, the plastic seat shattering on impact. Your skin splits open with red ichor flowing out. It jolts down your knuckles with each heavy breath you force out of your lungs. Black dots threaten to obscure your vision, but it only tunnels. 

The world falls away as your lungs burn from your screams, but you can’t hear them. Not when you can still feel Dane’s hands on you. Warm and loving touches followed by words of support, of wanting a family with you, vowing to be by your side on and off the field. 

How long were you drugged? When did this all start? How could you be so stupid, careless? You pour through every memory you can, peeling back the rose-colored lens until you see everything properly for the first time. It’s so clear now. 

When did Dane begin bringing you food? How many times has your team fetched your drinks? His fingers sink in deeper, your muscles twitching in reaction to the phantom pain. How did he go from co-worker to lover? Too fuzzy, too out of reach when his hands blind your eyes.

All the digging questions, getting nervous when you reached out to allies behind his back. Distracting you. Making you more reliant on the team until it became second nature. A habit that he curated until you did all the work for him.

Sucking in a breath, you recalibrate and take in your surroundings. Ghost is by the desk, all papers scattered and scanned through. Fuck. Fuck. You couldn’t even make it past the first two fucking pages.

“You couldn’t have known,” Ghost utters, his eyes drifting from the file to you. “Did every dirty trick in the book and they still failed.”

Bile churns in your stomach, nothing but disgust polluting your thoughts. His hands. His hands are everywhere. A comforting warmth that now burns through you like lava. You’d rather deal with the burning pain of heated metal than this. Drugged to act like a bitch in heat, keeping you stupid with false love and lust.

“They did enough, Simon,” you choke out, your throat raw and aching. How long were you screaming?

He’s on you before you realize it, gloved hands dragging you from the ground. Your hands claw at his, trying to break from his grasp as the dogs bark.

You land on the desk, eyes wide as he digs around your pockets until he finds your photo. He takes your knife and takes his time slicing out each person with precision. 

The sisters flutter to the ground first, easily forgotten as he moves on to August who meets the same fate. The worn paper disappears from view until Dane meets his end in the trash. The remaining photo, just you and the dogs,  is gently returned to its resting place. The knife slides back into its sheath without resistance.

Simon Riley is a confusing man, one of a kind that prevents you from coming up with anything tangible to compare him to. An abyss, that’s all you see in his eyes. The very same one that stares back at you in the mirror, yearning to consume what little humanity you have left. 

“Y’know my name. Wanted me, did you?” He teased, invading your space even more. His hand, ungloved, pulls you closer. 

“Wanted th’ best,” you mutter, sagging against the wall. “Price got you before I could.”

“Laswell kept her trap shut about tha’.”

You close your eyes, leaning into the warmth of his hand and finally letting the tears fall unrestricted. Your hands grab his arm, needing some form of control even now. You open your eyes as his other hand drags across ancient injuries.

The patch of hair on your scalp that refuses to fully grow back after Urszula. The divot on the side of your skull where your metal plate resides. Your incomplete ear, eviscerated by Dane’s bullet. Scarred bites on your hands and arms from K9 training. Too much war carved into your flesh, a constant reminder you will never escape. Each touch met with a flinch.

You haven’t let someone touch you like this in so long.

Simon stares at you for a few moments, then he wanders to the door. The lights are getting to you again, his voice no longer distracting you from the screaming bulbs. Your hands shoot up to cover your ears, the papers wrinkling under your legs as you curl in on yourself. They’re going to send you away, you know it. No matter the experience, no matter how decorated you are, you’re going to end up forgotten and-

The lights flick off, killing the screaming and leaving you in darkness. You can see his silhouette approach, getting closer and closer until he’s in front of you again. Consumed by his mass. There’s a rustling of fabric, then it’s in your hand. You run your fingers along the breathable fabric of a balaclava. Then you feel something sewn into it, digging your fingers into the eye holes of a mask. 

“Ruse chewed up your bag,” Simon mutters, guiding your hand to feel the rest of the mask. “Gaz found it. Johnny fixed it up for you.”

Your mask. He guides your fingers along the open mouthpiece, the jagged edges replaced with a smooth texture. 

“‘S not finished, needs paint,” Simon continues, remaining silent when your tears hit his skin. “He removed some features, had to change it, but kept most of its charm. He kept bitching about the sanding. Passed it off to Gaz when his hands started cramping.”

“How long have I been down here?” you ask him, hands squeezing the fabric.

“Nearly half a day,” he responds, helping you down.  He steadies you when you wobble. “C’mon, let’s get some grub in ya. Price has some news.”

He guides you to the door, opening it to reveal Sunshine and Mohawk, no, Gaz and Johnny, resting at the bottom of the stairs with Price above them. The captain gives you a knowing look. 

What did he say in the forest? He’ll take care of you. They all will. You’re starting to believe him… and it fucking terrifies you.

(Next Chapter in Progress)

[secondbeatsongs]

"Jekyll and Hyde" from Arthur with every first beat removed

[dross-the-fish]

Aaaaa the cord came in the mail today. Not me working on a "cover" for a fic I'm nowhere near publishing XD

[bananaeatstape]

not very new hyperfixation rediscovered write a poem abt it

edit: made another one :D

[prokopetz]

I think we need one of those popular read-along blogs to tackle The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in the same way that's been done for Dracula and Moby-Dick. The number of folks around here who appear to be under the impression that reading a queer subtext into Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a subversion rather than being straightforwardly material to the plot is frankly embarrassing, and I'm assuming this is because nobody's actually read the damn thing.

[aquilacalvitium]

[m0ntylee]

In The Strange Case, straight up Jekylling it and by it. Haha.. let's just say my Hyde.

[maruchanart]

Do we fw a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde AU

[footsniffer1-0]

I guess the guy likes musicals now

with emma version on the bottom!

[oriondotrose]

I stumbled across @arythusa’s The Glass Scientists webcomic early this year and fell in love, so I animated a little scene for fun 🧪

I built a Front and 3/4 Front Jekyll and Hyde rig (fun fact, they’re one rig!) and animated them in Toon Boom Harmony, HalluciLanyon spawning and getting harpooned is a tweaked version of that rig, and him getting bodied was drawn in Procreate.  The layout was also made in Harmony. The audio is from the movie Drop Dead Fred.

I used the comic itself as the ‘model sheet’ to build the rig off of- used various panels for their heights and body parts in place of character, hand, mouth, etc sheets, so many pieces are pulled right from the pages. I also got to experiment with compositing, which was fun!

The art and story of this comic hooked me and I’m so excited to see where it goes! ❣️

[goryhorroor]

horror sub-genres: gothic

[addicted-to-dc]

Jekyll/Hyde Part 2 - Taskforce 141 x Reader

Tags for those who encouraged me to write this. Thank you!!! @greeniegreengreen @aeilani @poetslastdeath 

Link to Part 1

Content Warnings: Typical CoD violence, ptsd, reader is going to be unhinged (even more so in the next chapters).

The computer does all the work for you nowadays. Honestly, you expected this to be your time to think things over. ‘Meditate’ as Laswell calls it. Rumination sits better on your tongue. How in the world can you ruminate in conditions like these? The overhead lights are buzzing, a high-pitched constant ringing that’s giving you a migraine. It feels like an ice pick was shoved through your eye socket, the cold metal turning warm as it disturbs thousands of nerves.

The seclusion you needed has fucking left the building, leaving you alone with a team of walking dead men. Laswell didn’t tell them why you had so many deaths. One would assume that the common denominator (i.e. YOU) are the reason why families mourn their loved ones. With every step you take you can hear the jingle of all those tags, so many souls gone because you couldn’t stop digging for the truth.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to drag yourself out of your exhaustion. Your efforts only reward you with a sharp pain in your skull. Checking the time, you internally groan. Less than an hour until your dogs are here. Fuck, you miss them.

There’s a flick of a lighter, the scent of leather and wood assaulting your nose. Then tobacco invades your senses. “What’s on your mind?”

Captain Price, the man who started it all. He’s a survivor. He might stand a chance at what’s coming next. It’s been a while since you’ve interacted with a man this intense. He’s a smart one. The cigar erases the mustiness of the room. Smells like home. You can feel your body relax, albeit slightly. Maybe you just need a smoke.

“The only family I have left,” you reply, yanking out your cigarettes. Your only photo lies folded in the nearly empty pack. You flick it to Price, your aim true as it rolls to the edge of the table. “Three dogs. Sir, Bear, and Ruse.”

Ghost shifts slightly in his chair, dark eyes on the photo as soon as Price uncrumples it. “Cerberus?”

You can see recognition flash in Price’s eyes. In all of theirs. At least they don’t try to hide it. Sunshine leans forward, his eyes reevaluating you. “You’re The Huntress.”

It’s not a question. He knows. They all do. Price hands the photo to Mr. Mohawk. You shake your head, “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”

��Fuckin’ unstoppable is what you should be called,” Mr. Mohawk chuckles, looking up from the photo. “I’ve seen yer work. Thorough, precise, efficient, and batshit crazy.”

“They say you’re a sniper hunter,” Ghost states, eyes blazing with intrigue. “That true?”

You nod, your index finger running over the scar on your chin. Mr. Mohawk’s bright ass blue eyes bore into your own. “Why the name change?”

Your muscles tense, feeling the weight of hundreds of hands pulling you down, down, down… Broken nails tear at your flesh, opening old wounds that never fully healed right. The screams ring in your ears, curses that taint your very soul to this day. “A story for another day.”

“Is this your original taskforce?” Price asks, pulling your attention away from his sergeant.

“Yes, it is,” you reply, lighting up your last cigarette. “Picked every single one of them myself. Two Polish battering rams, Maryna and Urszula Kowalski. They were always at each other’s throats, but they were the devil and angel on my shoulder.”

You take a long drag. They were the first ones to die.

The frequent migraines and metal plate in your skull are because of them, cracking your skull open before you could even walk off the transport. Their deaths were too quick, but watching the Semtex burst in the sisters’ faces was cathartic. Liars always fail to earn mercy from you. Traitorous ones at least. You exhale, releasing the tension. They don’t deserve to weigh down your conscience.

“August Lindemann, a German tech genius. Spoiled us with all the newest gadgets on the field.” You chuckle, dark eyes meeting Price’s. “I always said they’d make us lose our edge.”

For all the brains he had, they didn’t look so special splattered across the wall. You fought through the entire base to get to him. Cowering like the leach he was until he was the only one left. It didn’t even take cutting off his precious fingers to find out who organized all of this: General Sheperd. You know this leads deeper into the abyss, merely scratching the surface of this conspiracy.

“The last one is American; best shot I’ve ever seen and an even better medic. Dane Reid was a serious man, but he always kept everyone together.”

His ring lies against your chest, right next to yours. You scratch your right ear, digging your nails into what’s left of your upper cartilage. He was the best shot, but your dogs were loyal to no one except you. Even your husband. Using yourself as a decoy was risky, but Sir, Bear, and Ruse tearing him apart made the sacrifice worth it. And the bullet you put into his heart? Even more so.

You can’t wait to see them again.

“You and the dogs are the only ones left?” Sunshine asks, gently taking the photo from Price. “How did Laswell find you?”

“Wandering the Russian forest with stolen data,” you reply, picking at your broken nail. “She found me and the dogs months later.”

“An’ yer team?” Mr. Mohawk questions. “Wha’ about them?”

“I killed them all,” you answer, putting out the cig. You’ll save it for later, death usually ruins the taste. “They tried to sabotage the op. I only got one name when all of it was said and done, and you want to know who it was?”

You scan over every single one of them. The truth always hurts to tell, but you need them to live. You can’t lose anymore, not when Laswell holds these men to the highest regard. What did she say to them? Oh, yes, you need a team to survive with you. There’s too much death permeating the air. The smell of burnt flesh burns your nose.

“General Herschel Sheperd,” you snarl, the rage of Hyde breaking past Jekyll’s walls. “Laswell says you’re looking for him, and I want my pound of flesh.”

You’re sure they can see the insanity in your eyes, the ferality that consumed you in the forests of Russia and nestled its way into your very soul. Split into two beings, one desperate for peace and the other salivating for revenge. You’re not a Captain anymore. You’re nothing. Just a revenant walking amongst the living until your duty is fulfilled. Peace was never an option for you in life, only in death. You accepted that the day you lost your team, your only family. One gaze bears the most weight.

Your eyes catch Ghost’s. Dark eyes penetrate your soul, reading the scripture of your heart. Loyalty broken, trusted allies and friends betraying old bonds. Killing them. Broken, a living being inhabited by the scraps of its own psyche. Two peas in a fucked-up pod. Your phone vibrates on the table, one singular message popping up on your screen: They’re here.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble, pocketing your phone. “They’re here.” You’re itching to leave, to run to the last semblance of family you have.

Clearly, you’re too easy to read. Price stands, the others following suit. “Let’s go meet them then.”

Sunshine barely has the door open when you slip through, quickly maneuvering through the shitty corporate layout of the building until you reach the side lot. You can see them. Tears threaten to cloud your vision as you see Sir chase Ruse around the grass. Bear lays in the shade. Laswell notices your approach, giving you a small nod. You whistle loudly, their playtime immediately put on halt. It takes a second for the noise to bounce around their brains, immediately whining once it finally clicked. Sir, the eldest German Sheperd, is the first one to make it to you, whining and jumping in your arms. His love is always overwhelming, but it’s welcome.

Sir manages to hold onto your shoulders, forcing you to catch him to regain your balance. Only for Ruse, the younger Shepherd, to knock you to the ground. It startles a laugh out of you, a smile following soon after. God, it’s been too long since you’ve seen them. Bear in all her glory runs up and sits at your feet. Your smart girl. A Rottweiler mix, probably shepherd, but her fur pattern always draws you in. You coo, using whatever body part you can to pet all three of them. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

You sneak them treats, whispering sweet nothings to each of them as you try to make up for lost time. Six months away from them has been torture. Then again, you thought you’d never see them again. Every op feels like the last.

“Forgive them, it’s been half a year since we’ve seen each other,” you turn to the group, sputtering when Ruse licks into your mouth. “CERBERUS!”

They fall in line perfectly, ears perked and waiting for orders. A hand pops into view, and you take it. Sunshine pulls you up, chuckling at the slobber left behind. He tilts his head, eyes catching something on your chest.

Frowning, you look down. Your rings are exposed. Tearing off the necklace, you shove it into your pocket. You’re allowed to have your secrets.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Next part ->

[susiephone]

anyway if dracula daily made you realize how great the book dracula is, please read jekyll and hyde, it's also extremely good. and the audiobook narrated by richard armitage is EXCELLENT.

[doctormori]

I love this book to death, so here's some things I noticed <3

[elainiisms]

*me at the club* so does anyone wanna discuss queer undertones in classic literature?

[prokopetz]

Drinks from an Erlenmeyer flask full of glowing liquid, then immediately clutches my chest and falls to the floor behind a conveniently placed laboratory bench, writhing and shrieking while thunder crashes overhead and ominous music swells, and when I stand up again I'm wearing a magical girl dress.