#and are designed in a lab to make you want to gamble

[adhdaxolotl]

I think my most controversial Ren Faire opinion is that I’m fine with cosplayers as long as it still generally fits the ren faire vibe (think the Witcher, dnd, legend of Zelda, *maybe* Star Trek but that stops being funny if there’s more than three) but I do think if you show up in a genshin cosplay made from a plastic bag you got on amazon they should be legally required to bar you entry or at least charge you double the entry fee

[6azia]

Family | Silco x m!reader

—summary. Y/N is a grounding figure to the two broken individuals

—content warning. Shimmer

—word count. 3,4k

—azia‘s notes. I'm gonna translate this soon into arabic

Part 6↞ ↠Part 8 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝕾𝖍𝖎𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

The following day, Silco found himself making his way toward Singed's lab, a rare moment of privacy afforded by the fact that Jinx was occupied elsewhere with Sevika. It was rare for him to approach Y/N without Jinx by his side; the young woman's attachment to her newfound father figure was nearly inseparable. But this visit was different—he had a specific purpose.

The river toxins that had scarred his body and left his eye perpetually damaged were beginning to show subtle signs of spreading. Nothing too debilitating yet, but he wasn't one to gamble with his health. Y/N had mentioned a new variant of Shimmer, one that might be refined enough to halt the toxins' progression. Silco knew the risks of relying on such a volatile substance but also trusted Y/N's meticulous nature enough to take the gamble.

When Silco entered the lab, he found Y/N hunched over a table cluttered with vials, beakers, and notes. The faint smell of chemicals lingered in the air, accompanied by the occasional hiss of gas burners. Y/N didn't look up immediately, too engrossed in his work, but he acknowledged Silco's presence with a quiet, "Give me a moment."

Silco crossed his arms, leaning against the wall as he watched Y/N work. There was a certain precision to his movements, a dedication that Silco couldn't help but respect. He didn't interrupt, content to observe until Y/N finally set down his tools and turned to him.

"It's ready," Y/N said, holding up a small vial filled with a faintly glowing liquid. "Shimmer Variant 2. This one's tailored specifically for your condition—should stop the spread of the toxins without causing...well, the usual side effects."

Silco raised an eyebrow. "No monstrous strength or glowing veins this time?"

Y/N smirked faintly. "Not unless you want them. The formula is purely for healing—though I won't lie, the injection's going to hurt."

"That's a small price to pay," Silco replied, taking the vial from Y/N's hand and inspecting it closely. "But this lab hardly feels like the right place for it."

"I agree," Y/N said. "It's better to use a jet injector for this—more precise. I'll need to grab one from the back."

The walk back to Silco's office was quiet at first, the tension between them palpable but not uncomfortable. Silco broke the silence by taking out a cigar, lighting it with practiced ease. After a moment, he extended it toward Y/N, a wordless offer.

Y/N hesitated, slightly taken aback. It wasn't like Silco to share something so personal, and the gesture felt...odd. But he accepted, taking a slow drag and handing it back.

"Didn't think you were the sharing type," Y/N remarked, exhaling smoke as they continued walking.

"Neither did I," Silco admitted, his tone neutral but not unkind. "Consider it an experiment."

Y/N chuckled softly but didn't press further. The interaction was strange, yes, but Silco's complexities weren't something he planned to unravel today.

When they reached the office, Y/N immediately began preparing the jet injector. The device was sleek and compact, designed to deliver substances directly into the bloodstream without the need for needles. Y/N worked quickly, his movements efficient and deliberate, while Silco removed his coat and rolled up his sleeve in preparation.

"You'll need to inject it directly into the area closest to the affected place," Y/N explained, gesturing toward Silco's damaged eye. "It'll hurt like hell for a few minutes, but that's just the Shimmer doing its job."

Y/N prepped the jet injector with precision, his focus narrowing as he prepared for what he knew would be an intense process. Silco, uncharacteristically compliant, sat quietly in his chair, leaning back slightly with his damaged eye exposed. His coat was draped over the armrest, leaving him in his shirt and vest, the material rolled up to his elbows.

"Lean back," Y/N instructed gently. Silco obeyed, his gaze sharp but calm as Y/N stepped closer, standing between his legs to get the best angle for the injection. From this proximity Silco could smell a smell so unique to Y/N.

Y/N raised one hand to cradle Silco's unscarred cheek, his fingers cold and delicate against the contrast of Silco's slowly heating skin. It wasn't entirely necessary, but it helped steady Silco's head while he worked. The touch was tentative, almost reverent, and Silco found himself leaning into it slightly, the feeling oddly grounding.

"Hold still," Y/N murmured, his voice low but steady, even as his heart raced. He brought the injector closer to Silco's damaged eye, aiming carefully.

For a moment the two stayed completely still and Silco admired the view above from him, how Y/N looked so concentrated, did things to him. He hoped the other didn't see the probably appearing blush in the dimly lit office.

The moment the injector hissed, Silco tensed. A sharp, searing pain radiated through the side of his face and into his skull. He let out a low, guttural groan, his body reacting instinctively as his hands shot out to find purchase. One gripped the armrest of his chair, while the other landed firmly on Y/N's upper thigh, his fingers digging in with enough force to bruise.

The pain overwhelmed him, and before he realized what he was doing, he curled forward, his head coming to rest against Y/N's abdomen. His breathing was harsh, ragged, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the Shimmer coursed through his system.

Y/N froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden contact. But the sight of Silco in such a vulnerable state stirred something in him—an odd mixture of worry and an instinct to soothe, it was quite similar to the feeling he has every time he sees Pow-Jinx. He hesitated, his hand trembling slightly before he brought it down to rest on Silco's head, his fingers threading gently through the strands of dark hair.

"It's okay," Y/N said softly, his voice shaky but reassuring. "It'll pass soon. Just breathe."

Silco stayed there, his head against Y/N's abdomen, taking deep breaths as the pain began to dull. The warmth of Y/N's hand on his head and the faint rise and fall of his chest were strangely comforting, grounding him in the moment. He didn't know why he allowed himself to stay like this, why he didn't pull away.

After what felt like an eternity, Silco finally spoke, his voice low and rasping. "I don't know why I did that," he admitted, his head still resting against Y/N.

"Pain makes you do things you wouldn't normally do," Y/N replied, his tone soft but honest. "It takes over."

Silco tilted his head slightly, enough to glance up at Y/N's face. Both their hearts were racing—Silco could hear the faint thrumming of Y/N's pulse, and Y/N could feel every steady inhale Silco took against him.

Silco let out a quiet hum, almost contemplative, as he shifted slightly. His grip on Y/N's thigh loosened, but his hand remained, the pressure now more grounding than painful. Occasionally, he found himself nuzzling faintly against the hand still resting on his head, something in him craving the warmth and gentleness he so rarely allowed himself.

Y/N, on the other hand, was caught between emotions. He felt terrified by the closeness, unsure how to process it, yet his worry for Silco overpowered his discomfort. The sight of someone so strong and unyielding in such a vulnerable position stirred a protective instinct in him which he really despites about himself.

They stayed like that for a while, neither moving nor speaking, the quiet hum of the office filling the silence. Silco's pain subsided, but he made no move to pull away, savoring the rare comfort of contact.

Eventually, Y/N broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "You should rest now. Let the Shimmer do its work."

Silco nodded slightly, finally pulling back, though his hand lingered on Y/N's thigh for a moment longer before falling away. He straightened in his chair, his usual composure slipping back into place, but his expression was softer, his gaze lingering on Y/N with something unreadable.

"Thank you," he said, his tone uncharacteristically genuine.

Y/N nodded, stepping back to give Silco space, though his own heart continued to race long after the moment had passed. He wasn't sure what had just happened between them, but the weight of it lingered heavily in the air.

As Y/N cleaned up the injector and prepared to leave, Silco watched him intently, his thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. For the first time in a long while, he felt something other than control—something fragile, dangerous, and deeply human.

Not long after Sevika had returned with Jinx after Silco had retreated back into his room. The sound of her heavy boots echoed in the hall, followed by Jinx's excited chatter and laughter. Y/N, still lingering in the kitchen, felt his pulse quicken when he saw the pair enter. He wasn't sure if it was from residual tension or the faint blush still lingering on his face after the events with Silco.

Sevika raised a brow at him but said nothing, only giving Jinx a firm pat on the shoulder. "Don't cause too much trouble," she muttered to the girl before casting a glance at Y/N. Her eyes flickered briefly to his faintly red cheeks, and something close to a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. She didn't say a word, though, merely nodding before turning on her heel and leaving.

That left Y/N alone in the kitchen with Jinx, who was as lively as ever. She skipped toward him, her wild blue hair bouncing with each step, her bright eyes scanning the kitchen with excitement.

"What are you making today?" she asked, leaning over the counter as Y/N turned back to the stove, trying to steady his trembling hands.

"Something simple," he replied, stirring a pot. "Vegetable stew and some roasted bread."

"Boooring!" Jinx teased with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "You should make something explode in the oven! Or, ooh, can you teach me how to cook? But not boring stuff—something with a bang! Can food explode? It should explode." She didn't stop for breath, her words tumbling out faster than Y/N could follow.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Cooking isn't supposed to explode, Jinx. That's the opposite of what you want."

She huffed, pouting for a moment before something else seemed to pop into her head. "You know," she started, her tone turning curious, "you're kind of like... my mom, you know that?"

Y/N froze. His hand hovered over the pot, the steam curling into the air, and he turned to look at her. Jinx didn't seem to realize the weight of her words; she was smiling innocently, her head tilted like a curious child.

"Your mom?" Y/N echoed, his voice soft, as if he didn't quite believe what he'd heard.

"Yeah!" she said, hopping onto a stool and swinging her legs. "You cook for us, you take care of me, you're here all the time... even if you're a guy, you're kind of like a mom. And Silco's, like, the dad. You know, all serious and bossy and stuff."

Her words hit Y/N like a punch to the chest. He stood there for a moment, unsure how to respond, as the memory of Silco's grip on his thigh flashed in his mind. He could already feel the faint ache that would no doubt become a bruise, a stark reminder of the intimacy of that moment. His fingers tightened around the spoon in his hand, and he swallowed hard.

"Well," he said finally, forcing a small smile, "if that's what you think, Jinx, I won't stop you. But just so you know, I'm not exactly the motherly type."

"You're at least still alive, not like my real mom," she said matter-of-factly, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. "So yea."

Y/N's heart twisted at her words, and he had to turn back to the stove to hide the emotions flickering across his face. He finished cooking in silence, plating the food carefully. For the first time, he made a plate for himself alongside Jinx's and Silco's. He usually didn't bother eating, but something about Jinx's words and the lingering tension from earlier made him realize he couldn't keep neglecting himself—not when he was starting to feel more like a part of something, even if he didn't want to admit it.

Just as he set the plates on the table, Silco entered the small kitchen. Y/N's eyes flicked up, and he was surprised to see the man looking more relaxed than usual. His sharp features, always tense with thought or irritation, seemed softer, his shoulders less rigid. Silco glanced at him briefly, their eyes meeting for a fleeting moment that felt far longer than it should have.

They all sat down together—Y/N, Silco, and Jinx. It was a quiet, almost surreal scene, the three of them gathered around the table like a family. Jinx dug into her food with gusto, chattering about everything and nothing at once. Y/N listened with a faint smile, occasionally answering her questions or nodding along. Silco, for the most part, was silent, but his gaze kept drifting to Y/N.

At one point, Y/N felt Silco's leg brush against his under the table. It wasn't intentional—it couldn't be—but the faint contact sent a jolt through him. He didn't move his leg away, and neither did Silco. Their eyes met again, and for a brief moment, there was an unspoken understanding between them.

The meal continued in comfortable silence, save for Jinx's occasional comments. Y/N couldn't help but notice how Silco's gaze lingered on him a little longer than usual, or how his own heart seemed to beat just a bit faster whenever their eyes met. It was strange and confusing, but... not unwelcome.

When they finished eating, Jinx stretched and yawned, proclaiming she was too full to move. Y/N chuckled, gathering the plates as she leaned back in her chair. Silco remained seated, his sharp eyes following Y/N as he moved around the kitchen. There was a softness in his gaze, a quiet warmth that he didn't allow himself to acknowledge fully.

As Y/N washed the dishes, he couldn't help but think about how far things had come. This strange, dysfunctional group of people had somehow become something close to a family. And though the thought terrified him, he couldn't deny that he liked where things were heading.

The remaining time the two stayed in a comfortable silence with a thousand thoughts floating in each other's heads about the other.

Silco asked himself why he even let someone in, if it will probably end badly for one of them anyway.

Y/N was confused about his feelings. On one hand, he's terrified of the other man. However on the other hand, he had the urge to protect him after seeing how he could be so vulnerable. It was apparent that it was something long buried for Silco to feel such emotions. And Y/N can't deny the positive effect that working for Silco had for him.

As the evening drew on, Y/N finished cleaning up after dinner, carefully stacking the plates and wiping down the counter. The soft clatter of dishes and the hum of the water running in the sink filled the kitchen. Jinx had retreated to her room, leaving the two adults alone. Silco remained seated at the table for a few moments, nursing the last of his wine, before he stood up and approached the counter.

"I'll make coffee," Silco said, his voice low but firm, as though the act of making coffee was a deliberate decision rather than a passing thought.

Y/N glanced at him from the corner of his eye, nodding silently and continuing to rinse the last of the dishes. The kitchen was small, barely large enough for the two of them to move around without brushing past one another, and Y/N found himself acutely aware of Silco's presence as the man reached for the kettle.

As Silco moved past him to grab the coffee grounds, his hand lightly grazed Y/N's arm. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but enough to send a jolt of heat through Y/N' spine. He froze for a moment, then quickly resumed his task, trying to ignore the faint blush creeping up his neck.

They didn't speak as Silco prepared the coffee, the quiet tension between them thick but not entirely uncomfortable. Y/N watched out of the corner of his eye as Silco poured two cups, adding milk to one. When Silco turned and handed it to him, Y/N hesitated before taking it, their fingers brushing briefly.

"For you," Silco said simply, his mismatched gaze lingering on Y/N's for a moment before he sat back down at the table with his own cup of black coffee.

Y/N followed, cradling the warm cup in his hands as he sat across from Silco. The silence stretched on, but it wasn't awkward—it felt like something was being carefully weighed, an invisible line being crossed. Silco stared down into his coffee, his brow furrowed as though deep in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual, lacking its usual sharpness.

"You're here more often than not," he began, his gaze lifting to meet Y/N's. "Jinx... she's grown attached to you. You've made life easier for her." He paused, his fingers tracing the edge of his cup. "For me."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in Silco's tone. "I—I don't mind helping," he said, his voice uncertain. "Jinx... she's a good kid. And you've got enough on your plate."

Silco nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Which is why I think you should stay," he said, his eyes locking onto Y/N's with an intensity that made his breath catch. "Here, with us. You're already here more often than not. It's not good for you to sleep in that lab."

Y/N stared at him, stunned. At first, his mind raced with suspicion, wondering if Silco had ulterior motives. The man was always calculating, always one step ahead. But then he noticed the faint glint of something in Silco's eyes—something soft, almost vulnerable. The tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rested lightly on Y/N's thigh as though seeking reassurance... it was all so uncharacteristic of the man Y/N had come to know.

Silco's hand lingered for a moment, his fingers warm through the fabric of Y/N's pants. It wasn't possessive or demanding—it was grounding, almost gentle. Y/N's heart skipped a beat, and he looked down at the cup in his hands, his mind racing.

"I don't know," Y/N murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's... a lot to think about."

"Think about Jinx," Silco said, his voice softer now. "She'd be happy. You've become someone she depends on."

Y/N hesitated, his thoughts swirling. He thought about Jinx's laughter, her wild stories, the way she'd called him 'Mom.' The idea of making her happy tugged at his heart, but the weight of Silco's gaze made him feel like there was more to this than just Jinx.

Silco downed the rest of his coffee in one swift motion and stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. Y/N looked up, startled, and caught a glimpse of something unusual—Silco's ears were tinged with red, the faintest blush spreading across the tips. He turned away quickly, muttering, "Think it over," before striding out of the kitchen with a speed that betrayed his usual composure.

Y/N sat there, staring after him, his thoughts a tangled mess. He couldn't help but feel like something had shifted between them, something unspoken but deeply significant. He looked down at the untouched coffee in his hands, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

As much as the idea terrified him, he couldn't deny that a part of him liked where things were heading. 

[bitch-spectrum]

!!YOU ASKED FOR THEM!!

This post hit 5 likes so, headcanons.

PART 1/3

I'm not doing every single character, just the ones that felt plot important to me. These are (mostly) based on pacifist/true ending.

!!!OBVIOUSLY SPOILERS!!!

Ace

Personality Headcanons: He used to be a hardcore gambling addict as a way to cope with his post-war stress. He was also probably a heavy drinker. Both of these things he's had a solid recovery from since joining TF4. Starlo probably found him down on his luck and in a lot of debt. He still drinks and gambles, just not nearly as much as he used to. He's probably somewhere in his mid 30s ~34-37. He's the last person you want to play casual poker with though. He always wins. He's also pretty good at throwing darts but doesn't bother with it as much as card games. Physical Headcanons: He's left handed. ~5'09". He has to walk with a cane sometime from a childhood accident that never fully healed due to the lack of medical access in the underground. Because of that too he doesn't know exactly what his condition is either. He just knows some days his knee hurts and some days it doesn't. Gender: Trans Male Pronouns: He/Him Orientation: Demisexual Demiromantic but just says he's aroace for simplicity. Post Game: Life continues on as it was going for him without much drastic change. Opinions: I really love his design, I just wish we got more of him. 3/5.

Axis Personality Headcanons: He doesn't need to eat but will feel left out if you eat without him. Chujin would always have lunch with him at the lab while he still worked there. Axis would try to mimic eating sounds to feel included. Like imagine robot voice going "Om nom nom." Thats sort of what he did. While locked away in the abandoned lab he started to grow really fond of bugs and mice. Physical Headcanons: I don't have many other than Chujin based his design after a drawing Kanako did. Somewhere around the high end of 4ft. Gender: He doesn't have the RAM for a gender. Pronouns: He/It Orientation: Asexual Panromantic. He loves his trash girlfriend. Post Game: He got married to the girlfriend Clover and Ceroba made for him. Neither of them personally wanted kids so they made a trash dog out of spare parts. Eventually Axis ran out of battery and or was too damaged from sitting inactive for so long that he broke down. He was thankful that his trash gf and trash dog didn't leave his side in his final moments. Somewhere in the abandoned lab, he's sitting, holding her hand with their dog at his feet. They'll probably stay like that, undisturbed, for a long time. Opinions: He's a really cute character. I sort of wish we had more time with him instead of seeing him as a late game enemy. Very silly. 3/5.

Ceroba (I'm going to get turned into a sandwich for this) Personality Headcanons: She smokes out of a cigarette holder. One of the really long ones. She only started smoking after Chujin died. She has a lot of baggage she tends to just push away and not ever address even when it affects her and others around her negatively. She has a really strong victim complex and while yeah, she hasn't exactly been dealt the best hand, she also tends to make things worse for herself on purpose to get sympathy from other people, as to why she picked up smoking after Chujin died. She used to be a model but quit modelling when Chujin was dying. After her husband passed she tended to be neglectful of Kanako until she found her in Chujin's home lab and the rest is history. She tends to take advantage of people's generosity, especially Starlo's, she's always been like this but the habit only got worse over time. She does genuinely feel like she has nothing despite having friends because she believes her own shallow feelings towards her friends are mutual when that isn't the case. She's in her early 40s ~40-43. Physical Headcanons: She has a mombod (more body fat in her lower half, flatter chest, smaller arms but wider legs) and she can work with it. I know she canonically wears a bow in her hair but I like to interpret it as a bandana. Her hair is usually messy. Even if she doesn't have the energy to get well dressed or style her hair she ALWAYS puts on eyeliner and makes it look sleek and demanding so everyone knows she's not someone they want to fuck with, with just a single glare. She's ~ 6'02". Gender: Cis Female Pronouns: She/Her Orientation: Bisexual. Was always kind of curious about polyamory but never enough to have a talk with her husband about it. Post Game: Asgore was really thankful that she had collected a human soul and gave her all the credit, which she happily took. Martlet and Starlo didn't want that on their names. She had a short lived fame once again during which she seemed to be doing better, thankful to be back in the spotlight, even if it was a small one. But after a falling out with her long time best friend she began to live as a recluse, rarely stepping out of her home. Opinions: I do NOT like her and I find it really hard to sympathize with her character. Her writing? Solid. I like that I don't like her. I liked that when I was watching a playthrough I was screaming at my TV because I actually kind of hate her. I actually think she was an excellent twist villain. I ADORED her character at first like "YES!! Country gal's kick ass! She's a bad bitch." But yeah uh... after finding out what she did to both her child and then did the same thing to Clover I kind of lost my love for her. Which is fine because the twist was good and when I looked back there was a lot of foreshadowing. 5/5. Fantastic writing.

Chujin Personality Headcanons: Had some kind of anxiety disorder. Probably also OCD. He HATED humans with a burning passion. Like to a dangerous degree. He used to go on rambles about how angry humanity made him to Ceroba but one time one of his angry rambles frightened Kanako because she thought they were fighting. So, he stopped talking about it when she was home. He wanted to do everything in his power to protect his daughter. He'd be turning in his grave if he found out what Ceroba did to their daughter. He had several of her drawings/paintings/crafts in his cubicle. He passed away ~35-36. Physical Headcanons: I don't have many. Short king. Probably like ~5'03". Gender: Said male on legal forms but had a whole gender crisis he never got to figure out due to passing away before he could find a comfortable label. Pronouns: He/Him but was experimenting with they/them. Orientation: Bisexual Post Game: N/A Opinions: GOOD background character. I don't agree with a lot of his methods but that's fine. He was written so well I actually felt able to peer into his life through the limited scenes we got with him. 5/5.

Clover (HELP TUMBLR GOT RID OF YELLOW TEXT???) Personality Headcanons: Had a neglectful mother and a father who was probably abusive in multiple ways. They either lived in a trailer or a small mobile home. They're from the southern USA. They have an obsession with Old Westerns (from ~50s-70s) and Detective shows (from the 90s). When they decided to go looking for the missing kids they couldn't decide if they wanted to be a cowboy and go into the underground shoot-em-up style or go dressed up like a detective and be all cool and casual about collecting evidence. They decided to be both and call it being "A Cowtective." They're around the age of ~9-12. At home they would usually sleep on the couch. If their father was drunk and passed out on the couch they'd just sleep on the floor because they weren't allowed in their parent's room. They probably say "fuck" a lot. Starlo was trying to get them to cut back on swearing. Probably either a December Capricorn or a September Libra. Physical Headcanons: Freckles. Brown eyes. Gapped teeth. ~5". Tends to pick scabs so they have a few small scars here and there from relentless picking. Gender: Nonbinary Pronouns: They/She Orientation: Lesbian, but probably would have eventually picked a different label if they had the chance to grow up. Post Game: N/A Opinions: I actually really like that Clover has both personality but is also vague enough for the player to put themself in their boots. This is what really makes for a terrific silent main character. I would have liked to get to know Clover a little bit more tbh. 4/5.

Dalv Personality Headcanons: I don't actually have much on Dalv. He probably likes Funyuns and watching true crime. Probably in his 20s. He's about the same age Kanako would be if she grew up. Maybe a little older but not by much. Physical Headcanons: I like drawing him with completely black eyes. I don't see it a lot but I like it. ~5'08" Gender: Don't Have One Pronouns: Don't Have One Orientation: Multisexual of some sort Post Game: At some point somehow, word probably got to him about what happened to his friend that vanished (I'm with the theory squad that says his friend was Kanako). He get's REALLY pissed off at Ceroba and cuts ties. He doesn't really leave Snowdin much but it's fine because, carrying the memories of Clover, he makes a lot of new friends and even becomes pretty popular in the small town. RAREPAIR: He starts going out with Martlet. Opinions: To me he felt kind of lack luster. And as the first plot-important character we meet in the game, he didn't really rope me in. He felt kind of like a last minute decision. I dropped the game a few months ago because I didn't feel pulled in until I finished it this May. However, his name is vlad backwards which gets points. 2/5 Keed Vampeer.

Part 2 ,, Part 3

[greenlantern94to04]

Green Lantern #51 (May 1994)

At last, after months of hype, we've finally reached the official debut of DC's sensational character find of 1994: Ohm! You know, Ohm? The guy who fights (and almost beats) Kyle Rayner in this issue?

Oh yeah, and as of this issue, Kyle Rayner is officially named "Kyle Rayner" and not "the rando who got Hal Jordan's ring."

But, before getting his ass kicked by Ohm, the first thing Kyle does with the ring he got in Green Lantern #50 is visit his ex-girlfriend, Alex, who at first assumes this is some practical joke. I guess she's used to Kyle showing up at her door in the middle of the night wearing tight-fitting costumes? Kyle insists that this is real and explains that he got the power ring from a blue little person in a red dress who materialized in an alley, only he doesn't say "little person."

Apparently, Kyle is a bit immature and irresponsible (hence the "ex-" in "ex-girlfriend"), and his job as a freelance artist doesn't seem to be going anywhere, but he thinks the ring represents a chance to get his shit together and make something of himself. He tells Alex he could become a big shot superhero in New York (they're currently in a small town called "Los Angeles," by the way) while she, a photojournalist, could take photos of him and sell them to the newspapers for big bucks. The ol' Peter Parker gamble.

Alex is eventually persuaded by the idea, though I get the impression she's just humoring him because she wants to go back sleep (without him; he's on the couch). The next morning, Alex wakes Kyle up because some nutjob stole one of those experimental armors S.T.A.R. Labs likes to leave laying around and is trying to use it to siphon all the electrical power in LA. Alex tells Kyle to stay in the car while she takes photos and he assures her he won't do anything stupid like, say, try to fight a supervillain with a power ring he's only used to change his clothes and levitate slightly. We already know how that went. Guess we can add "impulsive" to "immature and irresponsible."

That takes us back to the start of the comic, with the ALL-NEW Green Lantern getting pummeled by the mighty Ohm -- that is, until Alex reminds Kyle that he can create stuff with the ring, like a shield to protect himself from Ohm's attacks or a big... stick thing to knock him down. Thirty years later, I still have no idea what this is:

So, Kyle successfully avoids being murdered on his first mission and saves the day as the crowd cheers for "Green Lantern," with only one guy commenting that his hair looks different now. Perhaps inspired by that, Alex later tells Kyle he should put that Graphic Design degree to use and make himself a new costume that will give him his own identity, resulting in the iconic new look that we'd already seen in the cover, and in the ads for this issue, and at the end of GLCQ #8.

(Note that they're at the beach, which means it's possible Kyle couldn't think of anything for the new mask, looked down, saw a crab in the sand, and said "I've got it!")

Meanwhile, at a maximum security supervillain prison known as "the Slab," some poor guards try and fail to contain the breakout of one of the inmates, who turns out to be... our pal Mongul! As in, the one who broke Hal Jordan's arm (GL #46) and helped break his brain by destroying Coast City. And he wants a rematch with "Green Lantern."

Whelp, hope he's better at remembering hair color than the average LA pedestrian...

Plotline-Watch:

According to the DC wiki, this is Ohm's one and only appearance, which I find really surprising. I'm shocked (pun intended) that he survived that period in the mid-'00s when Geoff Johns and James Robinson were going around murdering obscure DC characters for shock (pun intended again) value.

On the other hand, New Jersey's very own Slabside Penitentiary, which also debuted in this issue, went on to become a recurrent location in various DC stories, most notably the Joker: Last Laugh crossover and the Arrow TV show.

Speaking of the Slab, there are a few villain cameos in that scene: a devil guy I don't recognize (is that Nightcrawler's dad?), Shrapnel from Doom Patrol and Suicide Squad comics, and Captain Atom nemesis Major Force. As a fan of the Captain Atom run where MF was introduced, I was thrilled to see him here and wished DC put him to use more often. (Somewhere, a monkey's paw curled.)

I will echo Neil's comment on the post for GL #48 that the timeline for Kyle and Alex's breakup doesn't make sense. In this issue, Alex says they broke up "last week" and doesn't even wanna let him in, yet they seemed pretty chummy in #48, which seemed to take place only a few hours ago. The only way I can make sense of it is that it took longer than implied for Ganthet to crawl out of that pile of bodies and travel to Earth. Future issues do reveal that he made some other stops before settling for Kyle, so it's possible he spent several days offering the ring to random people in alleys before someone finally said yes.

I like that not only does the crowd mistake Kyle for Hal, but Kyle himself doesn't even remember the Green Lanterns were a thing until Alex reminds him, and he was already wearing the costume. This acknowledges Green Lantern's status for casual comics fans as a guy you kinda sorta know but don't really care enough to fully remember. That was definitely the case for me, until this run changed it.

No Guy-Watch this time... because he's getting his very own post! Coming soon.

[wednesdaythesecond]

no because you're so real on the travie killjoy thing. i had an au once where i put a bunch of dcd people in the killjoy universe but it wasn't very good. i did make travies killjoy name Kid Nothing Boy because i like that song a lot and it sounds like an alter ego name of some form.

i should revive that au just so i can design travies outfit again. the first one was not very good

also studying you in a lab on a scale of 1-10 id say six maybe. if you were a rat in that one experiment would you let the scientists get you addicted to gambling

KID NOTHING BOY VS. THE ECHO FACTOR MENTION!!!!!! I'm listening to that song rn and wooooooof Travie!!!! Travie!!!!! The bars?? His flow??? The beat???? The everything????? Man i could talk about Travie and GCH forever and ever (and i will but not here). You were real as fuck for choosing that as his killjoy name, that fucks.

i should fuck around with the Travie i made in Sims 4 (which is up on the gallery if anyone wants to see it, i'm one of 3 bitches in the #rpf tag) and see if i can't make a killjoy look for him. i was also toying with thoughts about Travie inside Battery City, y'know? Simple Living kind of vibes, y'know? it's shit and it sucks but there's stability and sterelax and he's def not going back to re-education <3

also no, if i was a rat, i would not get addicted to gambling. i'd be one of those rats that the scientists taught to drive but i'd also have cocaine put in my water to see if rats like DUIs too. spoiler alert, i would get so many rat DUIs.

[sadnesslaughs]

“A robot’s trying to hunt down and kill you?” ... “Don’t you know that the first law of robotics-“ .... “H-how did you piss off a robot so bad it stopped seeing you as human?!”

(A response to a writing prompt)

“Come on, type it out. Do it. It’s easy. It clearly says Gaw02az. Don’t tell me you’re struggling.” Alex mocked, sitting his laptop on the robot’s lap. The robot’s fan whirled. It had the knowledge to solve complex mathematical equations and still it was stumped by the basic captcha being presented on screen.

“It makes no sense. The words are nonsense. Why do they not make sense?” It’s voice buzzed. The mix of letters and numbers swirling in its circuits. The robot unable to process the strange security system that the humans had made to counter their kind.

“Oh, so now you know my pain. Do you know what it’s like trying to browse the internet, only to be stopped by this stupid thing? It’s enough to make a person kidnap a state-of-the-art tech robot. You need to know the pain you’ve caused me.” Alex had lost his mind. A man can only do so many captcha puzzles before breaking. The incident that caused Alex to lose his mind involved clicking a bunch of pictured frogs, that being his breaking point.

That night, he busted into the Brightal tech lab, stealing their first intelligent robot, one designed to be humanity’s helper. With this robot in his house, he subjected it to his captcha tests, wanting to let it know the world it had created. While he knew this particular robot wasn’t responsible for his problems, he didn’t care. Allowing this robot to pay for the captcha curse.

“It isn’t made for robots. It’s security, designed for human protection.” The robot spoke, its pale metallic fingertips tapping on the keyboard, trying to solve the puzzle.

“Human protection? What a joke. The only thing it protected were those Great Leapers concert tickets I wanted to buy. The shows sold out now, all because I had to click on five fucking frogs. How was I supposed to know a toad isn’t a frog?”

The robot entered the captcha, only for it to present the robot with an error, saying it had failed, despite entering the correct solution. The robot’s body shook, its internal temperatures nearly at their breaking point. “But… I was right.”

“Yeah, sometimes the captcha says you’re wrong. Hows it feel?”

“M…Maddening.” The robot hissed, clenching its hands tightly, causing the paint to scrap off its metallic palm.

“How about this one?” Alex presented the robot with a row of squares. “All you have to do is select all the cars.” The robot examined the squares, selecting a few, only to pause on one particular square. This square had a slight blur to it, with an inch of a car pushing into this square. The robot’s internal probability calculator started working. Trying to work out the likelihood that this square would be counted.

“How does one calculate this square into the equation? It includes the car, yes. But what portion of a car constitutes the vehicle? Is one percent of a car still a car?”

“WHO KNOWS! Take that gamble, buddy.” Alex rested a hand on the robot’s back, only to pull it off when the heat burned his fingers. “Ow.. You’re burning up. Come on, solve this one and I’ll take you back.”

The robot clicked that square, only to be told it didn’t count. Again, it overheated, shutting down momentarily. When it rebooted, it stared at Alex, blinking. “You are no human. You’re a puzzle. One that needs to be solved. You will fit into the square.” Its programming had jumbled, now seeing Alex as the solution to its problem.

“Huh? Ok, whatever. Guess I’ll have to tell them I found you like this. Follow me to the car.” Alex turned to the door, narrowly dodging the robot’s attempt to grab his neck. The robot picked up a small bin from the corner of the room, carrying the bin as it followed Alex.

Once outside, Alex opened the backdoor. “Alright, get in.” He ordered, before noticing the bin. “What’s the bin for? You want to do some cleaning or something? I appreciate it. It’s not needed, though.”

“You will fit in this box. I will fit you in and solve the puzzle.” It went to grab Alex, only to seize up when it saw the car. “CAR CAR CAR CAR CAR. IS IT IN BOX? SQUARE? WHERE DOES IT START OR END?” The robot broke down, tilting forward.

“No, no. I broke it. Shit, I’m going to be in trouble.” He shut the backdoor and got into the front, starting the car. “You stay here. I’ll say I found you on the street.” By the time the car started, the robot sprung to life, punching a hole through the back window, trying to reach Alex.

“YOU WILL GO IN THE SQUARE. CRUSH AND SOLVE.” The robot’s threat suddenly dawned on Alex. He put his foot down and floored it, swerving onto the street. The robot chased after him, smacking the edge of the bin, showing him where he would end up. Alex ran any red light he got, luckily avoiding any pedestrians he encountered. The whole time, the robot followed, not having eyes for anyone but Alex.

When he made it to the tech lab, he explained the situation to the man behind the front desk. The man not believing the story about the killer robot, finding it farfetched. They had checked every failsafe. The robots weren’t hostile. Still, if he had information about the stolen robot, it was worth calling for a programmer. Lindsey came down, wearing her novelty cartoon shirt, depicting two dwarven men programming in a mine.

“Do you know who stole Hollow? Sorry, they didn’t really tell me what you wanted, just that it involved a robot.” She looked Alex over before smirking. “They were right about you being sweaty. Did you run here?”

“No, I’m being chased by a killer robot. Save me! I don’t have much time. It’s right behind me.”

“It can’t kill you. Don’t you know the first rule of robotics? Have you ever taken a highschool tech class? It’s the first thing anyone mentions.” She said, a hint of smugness in her voice, confident a creation she helped design couldn’t be hostile. Though, with each passing second, she doubted herself. The man looked terrified, and that fear had to have some reasoning. “Unless it stopped seeing you as a human. What could a person even do to make a robot that hateful?”

“I may have…, tormented it with captcha? Not in a bad way. I made it solve a few easy puzzles.” Alex explained, giving a sheepish chuckle. “That’s not bad, is it?”

“That’s bad… that’s very bad. Robots aren’t designed to handle the stress that captcha causes. We can only simulate 35% of the human capacity for stress endurance. We subsidize this by giving them extra knowledge banks and an ability to access information that humans would have to study years for. So, instead of engaging in complex thought, they can pull up an answer, sparing their circuits. It wasn’t meant to leave our labs. We hadn’t worked out how to get it to solve problems without snapping. You should have seen its solution for ending world hunger.” Lindsey sighed, already seeing the pale robot charging towards the tech lab. “I need to get my laptop. Stall it.”

Lindsey rushed upstairs, trying to find her laptop. As she did that, the robot raced in, still holding the bin which now contained 1% of the cars it had passed on the road. Taking that small percentage in the hopes that mixing it with Alex’s crushed body would be the solution it required. “Last square.” The robot said.

“Wait. Your captcha has expired. Find all the plants first before engaging the previous captcha.” Alex ordered. The robot’s head twitched, sparks flying from it. It shook the bin, trying to figure out which to do first. Eventually, it turned to the office plant, throwing it into the bin. By the time it was done, Lindsey had activated the kill switch, turning off the robot.

“Did it work?” She called out, hurrying down the stairs with her laptop in hand.

“Yeah. Phew, thought I was going to die. I guess we all learned a valuable lesson today. I should go home and reflect on this.” Alex went to leave, only to get grabbed by Lindsey.

“You stole a robot. I’m calling the police. You’re going to get locked up for this.”

“How are you going to explain to the cops that you built a robot that can kill someone? Isn’t that going to cause you some issues too?” Alex said, bargaining for his freedom. “If you let me go, I won’t say a word.”

“It’s not our fault. You stole and activated it when it wasn’t ready for public testing. Still, it’s going to be a pain if our robot gets linked to that. Would make us look bad. Ok, how about this? We say that you accidentally activated the robot while cleaning our offices. You then commanded it to follow you, causing it to chase you down the street. That way, you get a slap on the wrist or at worst some community service and I get my reputation kept somewhat intact.”

“Deal.” With that, Alex survived his encounter, even if he had to pay a hefty fine for the public damage the robot’s chase had caused. Not to mention serving a large amount of community service too.

[tainted-wine]

Subject: RAPTOR

Nomu!Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

This GIANT is the lovechild of this amazing fanart and this ask:

I twisted the shizznit out of that ask, but the inspiration is still there. A thank you to anyone who makes it through this very long ride.

This fic does takes some liberties in the creation of nomu. Some factors will deviate from canon.

Words: 20k+

You can also read this long-ass story on AO3 if that’s more comfortable.

Heed these warnings: Blood and Death, Teratophilia/Monster-Fucking, Breeding, Mutant Genitalia, Unethical Experimentation, Mutilation, lots of handjobs and cum, LOTS of long tongue action and I’m ashamed, Brief Suicide Ideation, and Shitty Science

——–x——–

Fertile nomu were the greatest breakthrough that the villains could ever hope for. Breeding saves so much time and resources, as opposed to artificially creating each specimen from scratch. There were two major “programs”, as these sick bastards insist on calling them. 

The Mating Program, where the nomu were paired together, one with male sexual organs and the other with those of a female, though there was also the occasional subject that managed to possess both. It was an unpredictable process; miscarriages were common, sometimes the offspring dies minutes after birth, or the fetus develops too rapidly inside the womb and the birth becomes a violent bursting out of the parent’s body. Weaker nomu, usually the ones incapable of rapid regeneration, have been killed from such incidents. “What a waste,” those bastards in lab coats would say.

And then there was the Milking Program, in which semen was collected to later be frozen or artificially inserted into ‘other creatures’. Yeah, they say it as if ninety percent of those creatures weren’t humans.

You were an unwilling member of the latter program, but the assholes sure did love making it sound like they were doing you a favor.

“This entire precinct is yours,” they said. “Your very own farm of all-powerful beasts!”

Gee, thanks. Just what you always wanted, to jerk off abominations and collect their cum. To be fair, it could be worse. At least you weren’t one of the unlucky ones being impregnated. Your possession of a quirk, albeit a mostly useless one, probably saved you from that fate. Those without a quirk had a higher chance of passing down all of the Nomu’s abilities. Just another addition to the long list of Why Being Quirkless Fucking Sucks.

The weaker and simpler nomu aren’t an issue. A sort of imprinting drives them to obey your every command. Hell, jerking them off isn’t even needed — you can literally just order them to ejaculate, and the damn things are spewing out their putrid seed before you can even prepare your containers.

The most troublesome part of your “job” was the High Ends. They are powerful, sentient, and God help you, have an actual sex drive. They were obedient to an extent, but you can’t hold complete control over something that was specifically designed for independent thinking. You were responsible for only five of these advanced nomu, and that was too many. The touchy bastards always wanted more than just a handjob, vocalizing their lust through distorted throats. The long, beastly groans of “inside” and “give pussy” echoed in your head throughout the day and into the night.

These things can literally pound you into mush, and the very thought of carrying their horrifying children makes your throat burn with rising bile. You don’t believe it’s worth risking your life just to please their monster dicks.

That was all before they introduced you to a new ‘pet’. You stood in the hallway of your assigned area of the old hospital and watched two approaching figures. Ugh, another damn High End to make things more difficult, but this one made your heart skip a beat. 

Most of the creature’s body was a solid black, just like the rest within its tier. It was more slender than the others, upper body leaning forward with the support of long legs with joints that reminded you of a bird. Both its hands and feet were covered in scales and ended in large talons. A grand pair of ebony wings were folded behind its back, and a muscular feathered tail swayed with its movements. Overall, its appearance was a mixture of avian and reptilian.

The feathery wings were a huge hint, but absolute certainty struck you when you made eye contact, gold-filled eyes with a bird-like slant on a face that still managed to stay youthful after so many alterations to its body. You listened in on the villains’ conversations whenever they were around. With no access to any kind of media in this place, it was the only way to stay up-to-date with everything happening outside of these cursed labs. You remember hearing about their latest victory, how they managed to overpower and kill the number two hero of Japan, dreadful news that you refused to believe. But the beast that was eyeing you curiously gave you no choice but to accept the truth.

Hawks has become their newest nomu.

The doctor accompanying him smiled proudly, commanding the monster to take your side. You gulped and tried not to flinch in his presence; you were always extra tense around new additions that didn’t know you yet. “Hawks is dead,” the doctor said calmly. “Say hello to our latest work: Raptor.”

You think you’d rather stick with ‘Hawks’. The doctor doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. “We expect samples from this one daily.”

The shocking demand has you speaking before you can stop yourself. “Why?”

The man’s impassive eyes darkened and you shrink back, considering an apology but deciding that it was best to just keep your mouth shut. Prisoners like you followed a set of rules, the most important one being ‘No Questions’. They’ll feed you to the very beasts entrusted in your care without batting an eye.

Lucky for you, this man was willing to give you a pass. “Analysis, fertilization, storage for future plans…many matters that don’t concern you. Expect me every morning to take it in for testing. Until then, get it settled and collect the first sample.”

You shuddered, sneaking a glance at Hawks, who was busy looking up at the occasional flicker of the ceiling light. It was careless to underestimate how observant the High Ends were, but this is the first time you’ve seen one so openly curious. Normally they would just absently stare at nothing when left idle.

Only when the doctor turned to leave did you finally give the newcomer your full attention. “Hawks?”

He continued to watch the blinking bulbs with great interest.

“Um…Raptor?”

You nearly jumped from how quickly his entire body turned toward you, completely still and waiting for whatever instructions came next.

You scratched at your head nervously. “Right, I guess that really is your name now. Well, come with me.”

He followed you down the old hall and past the rooms where others of his kind rested, talons tapping against the tiles with each step.

 x---x---x---x---x 

Raptor’s exposed frontal lobe throbs.

He doesn’t remember anything before his awakening in that cold and wet chamber. Was there anything before? Had he just been born?

Perhaps…but it just didn’t feel right.

x---x---x---x---x

  Like all the other nomu, Hawks’s private space was nothing more than an emptied patient room. Their loyalty was the only thing keeping them from breaking down the old doors or tearing through the worn walls. Every minute spent alone with these superhumans was a gamble with your life.

But again, the newcomers make you extra nervous.

You stood at the door while Hawks examined his new home. He sniffed and pawed at every nook and cranny like an animal in unfamiliar surroundings, straightening his flexible spine to touch the ceiling before lowering himself on all fours. He seemed just as comfortable crawling as he was with walking; you can only imagine how incredible his agility has become. The beloved wing hero was best known for his swiftness in defeating and subduing villains, and it looks like the mad scientists sought to maximize his talents. The average nomu was built to be an indestructible powerhouse. Hawks was built to be an even more efficient predator than he already was.

As much as you didn’t want to interrupt him, you had a job to do. “Raptor…”

His head whipped around to pin you with a sharp stare, molten yellow slits revealing the red irises that only appear when focused. You tensed, but he made no further movements.

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath. Nomu respond best to a confident and assertive voice. “Just relax and stay still. It’s time for me to collect some sperm, if you even know what that means.” You grab the jar that you had already prepared in the corner.

He shook his wings and soft mane of hair, leaving his head a poofy mess. Well that was…cute. You approached him before setting the container back down and reaching for the pathetic rags they called shorts. It’s beyond ridiculous how these sadistic doctors are willing to completely violate and alter a person’s corpse, yet they force the abominations to keep their junk covered as some form of decency.

A low rumble vibrated from his chest as you dropped to your knees and pulled down his only article of clothing, allowing the not quite human-looking cock to spring free — a thick base with a curved shaft decorated with scale-like ridges on the top and bottom, then tapering to an arrow-like head, twitching and growing each second. You’ve seen stranger dicks, but it still catches you by surprise. Was Hawks’s dick always like this?

Is that a distasteful question? He is technically dead.

The moment your hand made contact, a loud hiss rushed past his teeth and he stepped back, wings flapping as he backed away until he hit the wall.

“Calm down.” His reaction startled you, but your voice remained steady. He wasn’t showing any signs of aggression, his widened eyes and timid posture gave the impression that he was just caught off-guard. “Calm,” you repeated more softly.

A few seconds pass while his breaths slow and he stands straight again to give you access to his fully hardened cock.

You try to move more slowly, at first running just your fingertips along his length to ease him into the feeling. You smiled at the sight of his face relaxing; he was surprisingly expressive. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”

His mouth opened to give you a glimpse of sharp teeth that could easily shred your flesh, but the only sounds that come out are several choked peeps. He winces and brings a clawed hand to his throat.

“Can’t talk yet, huh? Don’t worry, it usually takes a few days for you guys.” You closed your fingers around his shaft in a firm grip and began to stroke him.

The soft purrs must mean that he has fully given in. He thankfully hasn’t made any grabs at you yet; only staring down and watching you explore every inch of his pitch-black meat, taking his leaking pre-cum and smearing it all over for lubrication.

His wings shiver and his tail begins to swing wildly—you flinch at each loud thud whenever the powerful limb whacks the wall or slams into the floor. You briefly wonder if the feathers on his tail are capable of becoming sharp blades like the ones on his wings.

The purrs become low growls as he begins to bend over your kneeling form, muscular thighs quivering around you. His cock was twitching under your quickening pace, notifying you that it was time to grab the jar and get ready. “No need to hold back. Go ahead and cum.”

He obeyed with a high screech and two sets of talons seized your shoulders, tearing through cloth and digging into your skin. You yelped, but didn’t halt your milking of his cock, ensuring each spurt of cum landed inside the container. Blood can be felt trickling down your arms, his grip on the verge of crushing bone until he finally lets go after his final spasm. You release the breath you didn’t even know you were holding as you sealed the jar and stood up. “Good, now rest,” you said through clenched teeth and turned to leave.

A distorted chirp is heard behind you; you twisted your head to see Hawks rushing forward, and your heart jumps into your throat. Fuck, what did you do? Did turning your back excite him? Running wasn’t a smart option at this point. You held the fresh warm sample close to you as you shut your eyes and braced for whatever the nomu had planned.

But when he was close enough for you to feel his hot breath against your back, nothing happened. Then there were fingers, the same fingers that pierced your flesh with their hooked claws, lightly tracing over the bleeding wounds. It was a touch that was way too gentle for a monster created to kill.

You heard the choked sounds again, and you take a look at his face as he strains to form a word, eventually giving up and mouthing it instead. What you read from his lips was something that hasn’t been said to you during your entire time in this hellish hospital.

‘Sorry.’

He retreats to a corner and curls up his entire body like an animal sleeping in the cold.

You felt like the one unable to speak now, mouth opening and closing in search of a response. Eventually you were able to collect yourself. “It’s alright…I guess. Not the first time one of you has handled me roughly. First time one of you showed any regret, though…it’s honestly really freaking me out.” You giggle uncomfortably and decide that you need to hurry up and treat yourself before the scratches get infected. “Rest,” you make sure to command before rushing out of the door.

The restroom held a shabby but functional shower that will rid you of the blood, and the workers were at least generous enough to give you the bare minimum of first-aid along with extra gowns. A couple excruciating dabs of alcohol on the open wounds should clean them up just fine.

You’ll have to think about Hawks’s odd behavior later. You still had other nomu to tend to.

 x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Field Test

Quirk #1: Fierce Wings

Notes: As the host’s original quirk, we don’t expect Raptor to experience any difficulties with Fierce Wings. It should serve more as a refresher for his memory. With a brain more advanced than any other nomu so far, he should still be quick in attacking and reacting. His slightly enlarged wings will allow for greater endurance during flight, and of course, a bigger arsenal of feathers. The feathers on his tail are also to be tested.

The room that Raptor stood in the center of was filled with targets everywhere—some static, some moving in fixed patterns. The humans in coats were a safe distance away and watching him closely.

“Raptor, strike the targets with your feathers.”

He didn’t even have a chance to see which one gave the order before his body was already reacting. It took only seconds for him to pin the locations and time the movements of each target. In a flash, black sharpened feathers darted in multiple directions and pierced every mark in the room.

He didn’t care about impressing the Coats, but he still released a pleased hum after hearing his entire audience gasp. The whole situation felt familiar for some reason. Completing such a test felt so natural to him, he could probably do it blindfolded.

“Again, but this time use only the feathers from your tail.”

He obeyed. With his body lowered and tail raised, it only took two seconds longer to hit each mark.

Several more tests took place. He chopped objects of different materials and varying thickness, sliced apart a combat robot while using only his tail as a blade, and showed off his speed and aerial maneuvers during a small obstacle course.

His brain pulsed painfully. He doesn’t understand why taking so many commands was such a painful struggle.

He didn’t mind the tests much. At least he can actually do something in these test fields, as opposed to sitting in his empty room all day. After the very pleasant time spent with you, it was nothing but hours of pacing, scratching, and grooming out of boredom.

You mentioned there being others like him in those rooms. How do they handle having absolutely nothing to do for so long?

“Its mind tends to wander, doesn’t it?”

He turns to the source of the voice and finds a pair of Coats that stared at him like they were trying to probe his mind with just their eyes. The rest were scrambling about, discussing the excellence of his performance and scribbling notes.

But these two only seemed interested in watching him get lost in his thoughts. He stared back, waiting to see if they had any commands to give.

One of them only smirked as the loyal creature stood at full attention. “Yes, not very hostile, either. Not only is he capable of higher levels of thinking, he is the first High End that doesn’t host the body of some brutish villain. A more complex mind often comes with very human...quirks.”

Raptor blinks. They really enjoyed saying that particular word.

x---x---x---x---x

When you stepped into Hawks’s room for the second morning, you were ready to step right back out when you saw the state of it.

Claw marks everywhere, covering the walls and floor like webs embedded in the surface. Hawks was looking at you closely while stooped low to the floor, but his body appeared relaxed and not ready to lunge.

Not a single hair on you moved when you spoke. “Are you alright?”

He tilted his head at the question, releasing a puff of air through his nostrils before returning to whatever he was trying to do to the floor. He wasn’t violent with his movements. The talons scraped across wide curves, long lines, other patterns with seemingly no goal in mind. Looking around at the other claw marks, you realize that none of them are the angry slashes of a beast throwing a fit. They all looked to have been drawn in a calm matter, twisting and turning into random non-specific shapes.

“Raptor, are you…bored?”

He paused his carving to look at you again and releases a long and drawn-out groan, throat vibrating along with the vocals. Was that a whine?

All of the High Ends had traces of their original personality, but this was on another level. It wasn’t unwelcomed, however. “You know, when the other High Ends don’t have anything to do, they kinda just…I don’t know, it’s like they put their brains on a power-saver mode. You can’t do that?”

His brain responds with several strong pulses. Gross, you’re never going to get used to that pink-gray matter moving around. After what was apparently deep thought, Hawks gave a softer groan and shook his head.

You couldn’t help but laugh humorlessly at this entire situation. “Incredible. You’d think that these smartasses would know that making a creature of extraordinary intelligence—I bet that’s what they said—would mean that your big gross brain needs regular stimulation. Geniuses, my ass.”

Hawks gave a beastly snort. Seems like he agrees with you. You don’t mean to sound like those insane bastards, but it truly was incredible to see a High End that showed interest in casual conversation, not just commands or any opportunity to cause destruction.

Feeling confident that he won’t maul you out of boredom, you finally approach and kneel in front of him. “Sorry, there’s not much I can do about that,” you said with genuine sympathy. “Not like I have any entertainment of my own. My room sucks too. But—“ You held up your fresh new jar. “Maybe we can kill some time together again? God, that makes me sound like a sex worker for you guys.”

You don’t know if he has a sense of humor, but he clearly understands your hints and perks up. He stands so that your face is leveled with his groin, black scaly hands tugging at his shorts until a loud rip causes him to grunt in frustration. You giggle and decide to help tear the rest off. “They were just shitty rags, anyway,” you said.

He was already growing right in front of you. Your hand wraps around him for a second time, thankful that it doesn’t startle him again. He tenses for only a moment, but quickly relaxes when your stroking begins, a large pair of testes swinging freely now that there was no cloth to contain them.

“Wow,” you couldn’t help but gasp. “You’re not even built as big as the other nomu, but those are still impressive. I guess you’ve got plenty of samples to give, huh? Good, ‘cause I’ve gotta do this every damn day.”

You received a purr and a swish of his tail in response. It was a one-sided conversation, but it was still pretty refreshing. Milking the other High Ends was an uncomfortable task, one where you always had to be prepared with a loud and strong “No” or “Stop” whenever their excitement evolved into aggression. Every minute was tense, and despite your occasional wish for release from this shitty life, you didn’t want a violent end at the hands of these sex-hungry monstrosities.

His reactions weren’t too different from yesterday; he was being more vocal and less shy about physically expressing his pleasure. The massive black wings blew your hair back with each powerful beat, and his tail was thrashing about even more wildly.

His deep purrs weren’t unpleasant, slowly changing into higher mewls as he got closer. “Come on, just do what you did last time.”

And so he did, delivering another fresh sample straight into your container with a warped cry. His hands lingered right over you, clenched in tight fists that surely had those sharp talons digging into his rough palms. You couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if he was trying not to grab you this time. Would he really care about that without being told?

Hot, tired breaths blew into your hair as he recovered from his climax. Then, with his head reared back, he let out a yawn. You even heard a faint little whine similar to a dog escape him. It would have been pretty endearing if it weren’t for just how widely his mouth was opened, displaying the scary set of teeth within. Does he really use those in combat?

With his still-dripping member going flaccid, he returned to the spot he was scratching at, lazily tracing the markings that were already made. The thought of him doing this for another ten hours or so made you frown. They probably wouldn’t care if you stayed in this room a little longer than usual, would they?

Shrugging, you kneeled down again, this time resting beside him. Hawks stopped and looked at you curiously.

“Sharpen one of your feathers and give it to me,” you ordered.

Almost immediately a feather appears right in front of you. You grab it, taking care not to cut your fingers on the razor-like barbs. When’s the last time you’ve held a writing utensil? Shifting awkwardly next to the large nomu, you took the quill and began scratching lines into the floor. The hot heavy breaths and overall warmth from his close presence was hard to ignore. You’ve never been this close to a nomu for any reason that wasn’t jerking them off. He remained calm, watching your hand closely until you finished drawing a small grid.

“You know how to play tic tac toe?”

He blinked.

“…Okay, it’s pretty simple. You fill a space with either an ‘O’ or an ‘X’…”

Somehow, teaching a killer monster how to play a common children’s game was weirder than making him jizz. He caught on quickly, favoring X’s. You were winning each game at first, but once he figured out all of the possible patterns, every game was ending in a draw. You drew larger grids, sometimes having both of you move to a different spot for more room. Most matches were still draws, but he will sometimes catch you by surprise and scratch a row of three X’s that you didn’t notice in time, his tail swishing out of what may have been pride or enjoyment.

After a while you decided to show him other shapes. Maybe he can experiment with them more when you were gone. Who knows, soon he might be drawing more than random lines. He wasn’t bad company, to be honest. Then again, your standards have taken a nosedive ever since you winded up in this facility of unethical science. It was nice to spend time with anything that didn’t want to just tear you in half with a massive cock.

Only when you felt like you overstayed your welcome and stood back up did you realize how much of a mess you both made of the floor and walls.

“Oops, it looks like a bunch of kids got in here,” you said while looking at the collage of shapes and lines. Hopefully the doctors won’t find this too strange; he was pretty intelligent, after all. “Well, it’s about time I take my leave. You keep practicing your doodling skills, I guess.” With the jar of white fluid back in your arms, you headed on out, but a large hand grabs onto your arm.

Hawks’s yellow eyes were wider than usual, a scraping, guttural noise leaving his throat as he toyed with his voice.

“Sss…..aaayy…” Just like the other High Ends, his vocals were warped and all-around unsettling, but you could hear it, traces of the playful and smooth-talking hero that you used to watch during interviews and talk shows. It was barely there, but it was still there.

“St…aay.”

You couldn’t help the sad smile that graced your face. He was looking at you like a puppy. “Sorry, but I don’t know what they’d do if they notice me staying here for too long,” you explained.

He winced from the strain of his vocal chords. “Come…back?”

You shook your head. “There are cameras in the halls. I shouldn’t be going in and out of your room.” You tensed under his grip, afraid that refusing him like this will anger him. He has been very docile so far, but you don’t know what it takes to set him off.

Thankfully, he lets go of you and backs away with another one of those whines. For God’s sake, were you really feeling bad about leaving one of these...things?

To be fair, in the two days you’ve known him, Hawks was already much different from the others. Hell, he hasn’t even shown any true signs of aggression yet. The other High Ends are always expressing some desire to attack or break something. You thought it came naturally with all of the engineering. For something that was apparently supposed to be their finest specimen yet, Hawks’s behavior wasn’t fitting for his job at all. You just played tic tac fucking toe with him like two kids on a sidewalk.

That’s probably why you found yourself trying to reassure him. “We can play some more tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

An odd clicking noise was made—he sure had a variety of sounds reminiscent of birds—and he returned to his favorite corner, hooking his talons into an empty spot on the wall to begin yet another drawing.

The slightest hint of warmth could be felt in your chest as you left him to his creative tasks. This place sucks and has deprived you of everything good in life for…you’ve lost track of how long. You’ll take whatever you can get to make things more bearable around here.

And if that ‘whatever’ turns out to be a former top hero who was killed and resurrected into a horrid experiment, then so be it.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Field Test

Quirk #2: Reptile

Notes: The Reptile quirk will make for a great upgrade to Raptor’s physical capabilities. He may possess wings, but the ability to climb almost any surface will be helpful in enclosed areas and improve his overall performances in stealth. A flexible spine allows him to comfortably be both bipedal and quadrupedal, the digitigrade legs granting him greater speed and jumps.

Also, someone needs to send in a request for a new pair of shorts for the damned thing.

There were many more instructions to follow this time. The Coats were bombarding him with one command after another.

“Climb up here.”

“Slash this with your talons.”

“Crush this with your hands. Try again with your feet.”

His head throbbed painfully as the voices took hold of his movements. They pushed his endurance to the limit when they made him run on a machine, first on his legs, then again on all fours. He was only running in place, but it was much more satisfying than pacing back and forth in that boring room.

It turns out that he can scale walls and ceilings with little effort thanks to the pads on his hands and feet. Maybe he can try drawing on the ceiling when he returns to his room. The only downside was that you wouldn’t be able to sit up there with him.

The Coats observed behind the (assumed) safety of a wall of thick glass. Each one possessed a small microphone so that their voice can still be heard clearly through the speaker on his side of the room.

They always watched him with cold and calculating eyes, and only spoke to him when telling him to do something. You feared him; his feathers easily sensed your tension, unsteady breaths, and quickening heartbeats, yet you still took the time to be friendly. And what you do with those hands…he wishes you’d make him feel that good all day. Yes, his room was small and boring, but it did have you.

“Raptor, to the opposite end of the room,” a Coat ordered. The sensation of being pulled by his entire head forced him to take his place at the wall, staring straight ahead at the door.

His wings twitched from a powerful approaching presence, feathers instinctively sharpening at the possible incoming threat. The door was opened by a small Coat to make way for a beast, a beast with a large powerful form and exposed brain just like him.

Vacant eyes stared straight ahead, looking right through him like it was dead on its feet.

“This is one of Cloner’s spawn, yes?” A female Coat spoke with her mouth close to the mic. He supposes that they don’t care if he hears them.

“Yes. His offspring always turn out even more unstable than him. This one can’t even produce a single proper clone, and no additional quirks were inherited. It’s useless.”

“Well, at least it’ll help us in its final moments.” The man leaned into his mic. “Raptor, kill the nomu. Do not use your wings.”

The woman followed up with her own order. “Nomu, kill Raptor.”

Blood was suddenly rushing through his body twice as fast, the reds of his eyes appearing and locking onto the target that was already charging at him with a horrifying wail.

Kill it.

He ducked under the bigger creature’s closing arms that would have likely trapped him into a crushing hug, causing his opponent to lose balance and fall forward. His hand shot up and dug his talons into thick flesh, slicing it from its chest all the way down to its stomach as he ran beneath. Rising from under the nomu’s legs, he turned to see his gruesome work.

Instead, he sees the blur of a fist right before it smashes into his face and sends him flying. His back colliding hard with the wall accompanied the shattering of his jaw. There was no time to wait for his vision to clear up, scrambling out of the path of the charging silhouette before it slams into the now-empty spot, the impact shaking the entire room.

The pain only intensified when his face and spine began to shift, mending itself back together while he tried his hardest to keep his eye on the much more violent beast. A ghoulish moan was heard as it straightened itself, and Raptor could see the large gash that should have easily disemboweled it already closing up.

Ah, so they can both heal.

It was already charging straight at him again. The thing was fast and powerful, but it was acting like it had a one-track mind, sticking to a simple strategy of running towards him and dealing whatever damage it could.

His wings twitched, but there was a barrier in his mind preventing them from moving. Damned Coats.

The fight became a game of evasion, darting and dashing around the bigger and stronger nomu’s swings and countering with deep slashes. Wearing it down was impossible with such rapid healing, every cut he brought upon its skin was quickly sewn shut.

His only chance was to attack its brain, but the nomu had enough sense to protect its one true vulnerable spot, nearly crushing Raptor’s arm into paste after an attempt to sink his talons into the soft matter.

So he kept dodging, and dodging, until something inside the creature just...snapped. Perhaps it was out of frustration in failing to land any hits, but its haunting moans and wails soon became full on screams. Tightly clenched fists pounded into the floor, the stone floor crumbling under the sudden tantrum. Raptor stood and watched, wings tensing from the burst of tortured emotions.

“Hm, you weren’t exaggerating about the meltdowns,” he heard one of the Coats say, her voice as dull as ever.

“What an embarrassment. Damn thing can’t even carry out a simple fight.”

Raptor looked behind the glass of spectators and saw faces of disappointment.

“A complete waste.”

“Cloner’s children are all wasted potential.”

“What a sad display.”

“Pathetic.”

He looked back at the creature that was now writhing and flailing, its skin oozing a blob that throbbed and squirmed, like it was trying its hardest to take a shape. 

But the bubbly pulses stop and the dripping mass melts into a lifeless puddle. The nomu continues to scream after its failed attempt at using its quirk. Raptor’s gut twists with pity.

A sad display, indeed.

“Raptor! Did you forget your orders? Kill him!” 

The sharp command smothers all feelings of sympathy, and before Raptor knew it, he was running toward the tormented creature, each feather on his tail sharpening with every step. Ducking under a blind swipe, the black spear thrusted forward and pierced its brain with a sickening shlunk.

The thrashing was reduced to short spasms as the nomu choked out its final groans, its terrified eyes glazing over when the last traces of life faded. 

The tail was yanked out and shook off the blood and spongy brain matter to splatter on the ground. Raptor gave a soft whine of distress.

“Well, that was all rather underwhelming.”

“Yep, that didn’t exactly challenge Raptor at all.”

“I’m concerned about his lack of aggression. Did you all see him hesitate?”

“Most likely just confusion and caution after witnessing such a sudden breakdown.”

So many voices, so many comments; Raptor paid no attention to them. His mind was on the corpse that continued to bleed heavily from the large gash in its head. Raptor was the stronger nomu. He won.

Was he supposed to feel proud? Victorious?

“He’s a very smart one. Did you see the markings in his room? He and his harvester have been...bonding.” That voice...Raptor recognized it as the Coat that showed up every morning to retrieve him from his room to enter these test rooms. “I can’t decide if I like the idea of a friendly nomu.”

The woman dismissed his worries. “As long as he knows to kill when he’s told, his behavior shouldn’t matter. But it might benefit us to test his relationship with his owner after we’ve finished observing his quirks.”

His throat vibrates as a low growl passes through.

Raptor doesn’t like it here.

x---x---x---x---x

Maybe it’s just because Friday (you’re pretty sure it’s Friday on your self-made calendar) tends to be your busiest day of the week, or that your wrist is beginning to wear down from the many giant dicks you’ve been stroking. Or maybe it’s just one of those days when you remember just how shitty this life was. Whatever it was, you weren’t in one of your best moods today. 

That’s why you felt just the smallest hint of excitement when you reached Hawks’s door. Yes, it’s weird, but he was the closest thing you had to a companion around here, alright? 

The last thing you expected was to open the door to an empty room, at least it appeared that way until you saw the black creature resting on the ceiling.

“Aah!” You yelp and drop the jar out of fright, causing Hawks to jump from the sudden noise. You curse and quickly pick up the container and scan it for any cracks while he gracefully twists his body to drop on the floor with a thud. He was as graceful as a cat...a cat that can comfortably sit upside down.

Relieved to see the jar in one piece, you turned your attention back to the waiting High End. “I didn’t know you could climb like that.”

His wings fluttered at the comment and he raised his palms right in front of your face. Ah yes, a hand. Very lovely. But looking more closely, you could see a difference in texture on the rounded pads of his fingertips. “Ooh, little sticky hairs, huh?”

He gave a click of what you assumed to be approval, tail swinging behind him.

“So I guess you’re not just born knowing everything your body can do. Sounds troublesome.” There’s something you wanted to do, something you wouldn’t ever consider doing with the other nomu even in your dreams. “May I, uh, touch them?” You held up your own hands innocently.

Hawks cocked his head, a gesture that you’re always going to find kinda cute, before grunting and bringing his larger hands to yours. All ten of your fingers made contact, and the slightest shiver shot down your spine. 

It’s the first time you’ve ever touched one of these monsters outside of jerking them to collect semen. Your curiosity was always there, but the disgust and fear you often felt when in their presence fueled the overpowering desire to hurry up, get the damn job done, and get away from them as quickly as possible.

You never imagined that you’d be standing face to face with a High End, feeling the surprisingly soft pads on his scaly hands, his breaths deep and hot against your face as those red irises watched your expressions. He was still very intimidating with his tall form, glowing glare, and the large imposing pair of wings. But those eyes—they contained too much intelligence and emotion in them.

Too human. It was as uncanny as it was fascinating. 

Only when his eyes close and he begins to croon softly do you realize that one of your hands have moved up to touch his face. The black skin feels extra thick when you gently press his cheek, strong and leathery. He leans in and brings his head closer to give you better access, and you can’t help but reward the reaction with scratches against his jaw and chin.

“You know, you’ve been doing a shitty job of acting like the ultimate killer,” you said when he purrs happily. 

The purr morphs into a disgruntled whine. “Don’t...like.”

Your hand pauses, hoping for him to elaborate as well as he could. “Don’t like…?” You encouraged him.

He was still struggling to work his vocal chords, but at least he seemed to be showing less pain. “Don’t like...k-killiiing.”

What?

“Raptor, that’s...you know...the very thing you were made for, and you don’t like doing it?” Not that you’re complaining about his gentle nature, but hearing a damn nomu say that he dislikes killing might be the most ludicrous thing you’ve heard here, even more so than the first time you were told to make an abomination cum.

His entire body stiffens, and you couldn’t help but tense up as well. “Maaade-” He makes a harsh hacking sound. “-to kill?”

Shit. You panic and attempt to backpedal. “Not to actually kill. You’re supposed to be, you know, the strongest creature that’s capable of killing whenever he wants...if you, uh, wanted to.” Yeah, that sounds good enough.

It appears to do the trick, his body relaxing again. “Don’t like,” he repeated more smoothly this time.

“I know, I know. Killing sucks. Just don’t tell the assholes in labcoats that, alright? Now calm down.” You return to your ministrations, this time using both hands to rub and scratch his face. His eyes drift shut again as your hands trail down to his slightly elongated neck, brushing past his steady pulse.

Reaching his collar and then his chest, you discover that he’s solid muscle everywhere. He may not be on the verge of bursting out of his own skin like the others, but he could no doubt snap you like a twig just as easily. You feel his chest heave from a deep breath, the strength emanating from his body making you shiver. You shush him when he jolts as your hands reach his pronounced abs, pushing against the hard muscle until you finally arrive at his groin.

You snorted at the new pair of shorts. “Another pair, huh? At least these look a little less ragged.”

You pulled his large member out for the third time. Why did you have to do this daily? What could they possibly be doing with so many jars of jizz? Making cakes?

Sighing, you brushed off the soreness of your arm and wrist and began to pump his ridged length. “Just do me a favor and try to cum quickly, alright?” 

He made a rather sad groan at that, curling into himself so that his face was close to yours. His sharp breaths were loud in your ears.

You couldn’t help but smile even through the strain of your muscles. “What, you wanna make this last? Do you know how many dicks I’ve had to tend to today? Cut me some slack, we’re gonna be doing this everyday, anyway.”

Hawks purrs before that monstrous voice shakes your body, his hot breath warming the side of your face and neck. “Feel gooood.”

The primal lust dripping from him triggers a pulse of warmth inside you. You...can’t remember the last time you’ve felt that, and it’s just a tad strange that a nomu caused it. Were you really that starved for attention? “I-” You cleared your throat after an awkward voice crack. “I know, handjobs tend to feel good. But please be a good boy and help me out here.”

He gives a puff that blows your hair back, but he complies. The big sweaty face that buries itself in your neck is so distracting that you almost forget to get your jar ready and fill it with the incoming spurts of semen. There, the final sample of the day has been collected. Now, if you could just push the panting fiend off of you before he starts drooling on your shoulder.

Something warm and slimy touches your neck. It has you pulling back so quickly that you almost fall and spill the vile essence all over you before the jar could be properly sealed.

Hawks shrinks back and quickly withdraws the indigo tongue into his mouth, looking down in what appears to be shame. You touch the licked spot, the thick saliva coating your fingers. 

“Sss-sorrry.” Regret can be heard clearly in his droning voice.

“No, it’s...it’s okay,” you stammer. The sensation lingers, and then ignites a spark somewhere inside you.

A sick, disgusting, and absolutely fucked up spark. The next thing you say should horrify you, but instead you feel nothing but a twisted form of anticipation. “You can...um...do that again, if you want.”

His tail slapped the floor in excitement before he slowly closed the distance again, cautiously looking into your eyes before his tongue slithers out and caresses the same wet space.

The smooth muscle is hot against you, extending to inhuman lengths to explore your neck. The slick sounds as it slid across your skin should have grossed you out—all of this should be grossing you out, so you don’t understand why you tilt your head back to give him more room. He licks up and down your throat slowly to savor your taste, breathing heavily and releasing a stale stench from his open maw. You imagined the breath of a previously dead man to smell a hundred times worse, frankly. 

With your neck completely drenched in his cooling slobber, he ventures upward, purring louder than ever as he tastes the flesh of your jaw. The tapered end of his tongue begins to curiously flick at your earlobe before circling around the shell of your ear. He seems to take a liking to the flabby cartilage and laps at it playfully while giving the occasional nip and suck and god, it’s all heard so fucking clearly, every schlick and smack traveling right through your canal and setting off questionable reactions all over you. Your hands are clenched and held against your chest, but you don’t tell him to stop.

‘What the hell is wrong with me?’

The licking moves to your cheek, lapping at it shortly before moving to your pursed lips.

‘This is fucked up beyond words.’

You flinch when the clammy tongue brushes over your lips, at first smoothing over them lightly, possibly testing to see how you’d react. His face is so close, your noses almost touching. To allow a nomu this close to you, touching you like this…

When you make no move of resistance, he gets braver and laps at your mouth with controlled eagerness. Your eyes close to hide from the otherworldly gaze, but your lips feel even more sensitive to the weight that continues flicking and pressing at them, covering them in hot saliva. Several times does it briefly part your lips and graze your teeth, making you swallow at the thought of…

‘Don’t do that.’

Hawks pauses when you open up for him, but gives a gleeful chirp and snakes his way into your inviting mouth.

‘I’m really letting him do this.’

Clawed hands grab your arms a little too tightly and hold you in place. It hurts, yet all you can focus on is the flexible muscle exploring your mouth. It rubbed against the roof, pushed at the inside of your cheeks, and eventually stroked and curled around your own tongue.

‘You’re sick.’

But you’ve been sick ever since you got here, haven’t you?

When his grip loosens, you take the opportunity to place your hands around his head, digging your fingers into his...hair? Plumage? Was his hair always this feather-like?

A high-pitched sound of surprise leaves him when you try to pull him in closer. He quickly complies, closing the distance until his lips and mouth are covering yours.

It completely smothers your senses. You see his black wings expand to slowly encase both of you. You hear the wet friction of his tongue and the hungry growls that roll from his throat. You smell sweat and blood, briefly wondering just what exactly was he made to do during those ‘tests’. You taste the thick and flavorless saliva that makes you gag at first, but becomes easier to swallow as you take in more. And most of all, you feel him slowly moving in and out of your wide open mouth, the thrusting motion forcing your thighs to rub together in response to the growing heat threatening to consume you.

You snap out of it before that can happen.

Hawks pulls away when he hears your choked sounds of protest, your hands suddenly on his chest and pushing. Fresh oxygen rushes back into your lungs when his tongue leaves your mouth and retreats back into his. The warmth between your legs doesn’t fade away. Everything that just happened, everything you just allowed this monster to do fully sinks in.

And you fucking enjoyed it.

You back away from him as quickly as you can, ignoring his confused groans. A wave of nausea sweeps over you like a powerful gust that churns your stomach.

“Rest. I need to go.” It was all you said before you picked up the forgotten jar and fled the room, refusing to falter from the sorrowful whines behind you.

The urge to spew the little food you’ve been fed throughout the day all over the hallway floor is strong, but you manage to hold out until you reach the toilet in your room, quickly kneeling and hurling. It wasn’t much, but it still left you teary-eyed and with a burning throat.

What did you do? Just what the hell did you do that warranted getting kidnapped, having your nice comfortable life stolen from you, and the only way to cope was by making out with a horrid creature? You jolt from a painful mix of a sob and a hiccup. It’s been weeks since your last breakdown, but this new discovery was another hard blow to your sanity and pride. You let the tears flow as you flushed away your mess, moving over to your bed and collapsing onto the thin mattress. Fuck this facility. Fuck the scum that created all of this.

And fuck the throbbing wetness between your legs that still won’t go away.

Your sobs transform into humorless laughs. You’re going to have to get rid of the throbbing yourself, aren’t you? They won’t arrive to collect all of your samples for about another thirty minutes, so that should be enough time...

You pulled down the thin blue pants and rubbed your fingers over the slick that had gathered from what had transpired in Hawks’s room. It’s true, you’ve been doing nothing but sick shit since you’ve been tossed into this new life. Why do you even still hold on to feelings like shame and disgust? What good will they do you here?

So you try to drown out the voice of your conscience as you laid back, succumbing to the wonderfully twisted thoughts of a nomu’s tongue.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Examination

Quirk #3: Regeneration

Quirk#4: Heat Resistance

Notes: Our most advanced specimens deserve the best healing quirks we have to offer. Raptor is no exception. It will also make up for his lack of weight and hard muscle, not that he should ever be mistaken as frail. Most importantly, this should accelerate the regrowth of his feathers and supply him with an endless arsenal. We do not want to risk his regeneration being hindered by burns. After all, it was fire that led to the host’s death. This is why we have added a quirk that should make it almost completely fireproof.

The only people that Raptor disliked more than the Coats, were the Masks. The Coats saw him as nothing more than an attack dog that is expected to obey every command. But the humans in masks...to them, he was just a fleshy object to be dissected and analyzed.

They were poking and cutting to their heart’s content. His mind screamed to get away from the assortment of blades and needles that hovered over him, sinking into his skin in various places while he could only writhe against the cuffs of the metal table he was strapped to. He doesn’t believe it’s their intention to test every ounce of his willpower, but that sure as hell is what they’re doing right now as he tries, really tries not to use his feathers out of desperation.

“Excellent. The cuts begin healing the moment they’re made,” one of them observes. “Try deeper incisions. Maybe I should try removing one of its eyes.”

Raptor’s heartbeat was booming in his ears after hearing those words.

A younger Mask has been flinching from every one of the nomu’s movements. “Shouldn’t we sedate it or something? What if it lashes out?”

“Stop panicking. A nomu won’t hurt anyone without orders, though his responses to pain are stronger than I expected. We may have to fix that.”

Raptor wouldn’t mind that at all. He hisses and howls as he’s taken apart and mended back together in a torturous loop. His brain is throbbing so strongly one would worry that it might burst. He fights to think through all of the agony. 

He thinks of your touch. He thinks of your taste. Were you repulsed by what he did that morning? 

Sharp pain shot through his wings when his feathers were being forcefully yanked out, his teeth on the verge of shattering from his tightly clenched jaws.

“Perfect! Look at that, they’re already growing back in.” 

They were. He could feel the fresh plumes pushing through his skin. The regeneration did well in preventing any real damage, but it didn’t make the violent tearing of his feathers any easier to bear.

The cruel assault on his wings and tail eventually ended, black fluff littering the room’s floor. He remembers when you mentioned other nomu being capable of shutting down whenever they wanted. What he wouldn’t give to just turn off like a light switch right now.

“Alright, it’s time to move on to his heat resistance. Get the torch.”

The what? Raptor searched the fragments of his knowledge; most words were familiar to him, they just took a while to be remembered from...something. He doesn’t understand how he already knows so much, even though his subconsciousness needs time to dust everything off.

One of the Masks was holding a small object that ended in a tube. With a push of a button, a small blue flame appeared.

The glowing yellow eyes that were normally slits were suddenly wider than he thought possible, every part of him hyper focused on the small fire that was getting too close to his sore wings. His mind recovered a new piece of information:

Blue flames are to be feared.

He was thrashing the second the searing pain was felt, fighting to escape, to get away from the blue death that threatened to incinerate his wings again. He has felt this before. He doesn’t want to burn again.

Panic consumed him, unaware of how much his feathers have sharpened as he beats his wings and tail against the table. He can barely hear the Masks’ frantic voices over the ear-splitting screech, a screech that he realizes is coming from his own strained throat.

“–ptor, I SAID STOP!”

“–y arm! Fuck, my arm is bleeding bad–”

“–old you he’d attack! Why is he reacting so–”

“–atives! Into his neck! Hurry!”

Needles are being jammed into his neck, the chemicals working quickly in sapping away his strength, limbs becoming too heavy to move, and his thoughts were too cloudy to even continue panicking. The scorching heat was still present in his wing, but he can still feel the presence of all of his feathers. There was no foul smell of burnt plumage.

“Aaaugh, my arm...” In the corners of his vision, Raptor saw one of the Masks hunched over and clutching a blood-soaked arm. He didn’t mean to hurt any of them.

“Shut up and go patch yourself up.” An older man motioned the rest to come closer to the calmed nomu, which they cautiously obeyed. “Do you all see it? His feathers aren’t damaged at all. Perfect.”

“But why didn’t he stop resisting after you ordered him several times? And why was his reaction to pain so strong?”

The elder grimaced behind his mask and shook his head. “Its pain tolerance is laughable. There’s no use in a nomu having such sensitivity. We’ll need to perform an operation that will dull his nerves.” 

They scrambled around the table, gathering new tools and focusing the creaky hanging light on Raptor’s face. He was too doped up to even react to the harsh brightness.

“And if he ignores us like that again, we may need to alter his brain and ensure his compliance in the future.”

The nomu tried to make a sound of protest, but in his dazed state he could give no more than a pathetic whimper. He was rather thankful of the drugs for making him unable to notice just how many needles were sinking into his brain, or the blades that opened up the rest of his head, keeping the tools in place to prevent his skull from instantly healing. It still hurt, a lot. But as they tweaked his pulsing organ, injecting unknown fluids inside, the pain began to dim. Raptor would have celebrated and attempted to wag his tail in relief.

But it wasn’t the only thing that was fading. The coldness of the metal at his back was becoming distant, the chill in the air of the room was suddenly so faint that it no longer made him shiver. 

He wanted it all to hurt less, but he still wanted to feel. 

He has no idea how much time had passed once they finally finished and allowed his bone and flesh to close up. The old Mask stared down at him, gloves drenched in thick crimson.

“That should do it. Going by your weaker reactions, the operation was a success and you now feel less sensation. Good.”

‘No. Not good.’ It’s what he was tempted to say, but Raptor didn’t want to utter a single word to anyone besides you, and the cruel man’s recent threat of robbing him of his free will ensured that he keeps his mouth shut.

Raptor hates it here.

x---x---x---x---x

There were fresh claw marks covering the walls of Hawks’s room, and this time they were angry. The drawings and games you made together were literally slashed out, with spots of blood spread out all over the floor.

He was curled up in a corner, wings concealing most of his shaking form.

“Raptor.” Firmly addressing him is usually all it takes to gain his full attention, just like any other nomu, High End or not.

Hawks doesn’t respond at all.

That’s new...and very unnerving.

You called him again. The mass of feathers didn’t budge. You swallowed a lump in your throat. He had clearly just thrown a violent tantrum, and you don’t know if he has fully calmed down yet. Approaching him is too risky, but the damn nomu won’t even acknowledge you. So you’ll have to get through him in a more natural way. 

“Raptor, is everything alright? Do you, um, need some space? I can come back a little later...maybe another thirty minutes or so.” You offered, your body slightly twisting toward the door, ready to bolt if he decided to attack. You ignored the cold hard fact that the door and your legs would do little in protecting you from him.

His tail slowly uncurls like a timid snake, wings following suit and revealing his shrunken form. He was hugging himself tightly, talons peeling the skin off of his biceps. His head hung low, but you can see the spot of red in each eye looking right at you. He looked like an angry and frightened child, and his pitiful plea didn’t help matters.

“Don’t...go.”

His vulnerable state quelled your fears, but you still took caution. “Can I come closer?”

He looks down at the floor for a moment, seemingly pondering the question, before straightening his posture and nodding. 

You follow the routine you’ve been getting used to with him, setting aside the jar and taking some time to talk. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

It was supposed to compel him to instantly explain the issue, or at least attempt to with his awkward speech. You instead see him flinch and growl lowly, as if he didn’t appreciate you making demands. Just what is going on with him?

Your anxiety was probably visible since he quickly switched back to a less aggressive stance. You wince when he drags a claw through his flesh, blood leaking out for only a second before the wound instantly repairs itself. “Can’t feel.” He weeps with cracks in his unnatural voice. At least he’s dragging out his words less and sounds less like a moaning zombie.

“You can’t feel?” You repeated, edging closer and placing a hand over the healed spot. Another growl, louder this time, scares you into pulling away. But his bigger hand seizes yours and presses it hard onto the black skin. You feel the tremors that begin to wrack his body and try to stay calm in the wake of his growing distress. 

His voice becomes only more broken. “Can’t feel it! Can’t feel you!”

You find yourself shushing him, holding your free hand up like you’re trying to calm a panicking animal. You cup the side of his face, but that seems to upset him even more. “You can’t feel my hand?”

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, squeezing your hand tightly enough to cut off circulation. How freely he can emote still freaks you out a bit, face looking on the verge of shedding tears. Everything about him continues to be so surreal.

“Raptor, you’re a shitty nomu,” you told him with a small smile. “Not that I mind.”

And there goes that cute head tilt. The thought of him being released in a city to wreak havoc, just like the one that attacked Endeavor and...him, feels less possible after every meeting.

He was still powerful and potentially dangerous, if the state of the walls were anything to go by. You really shouldn’t be pushing your luck or his temper. On the other hand, you did decide yesterday that from now on, you are going to embrace the depraved dumbass within you. Hawks stiffens and starts to slowly pull back, but your hand makes its way to the back of his head. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” you soothed him. “I just want to see if you can feel any of this.”

With no more hesitation, you pressed your lips to his, feeling his shock through a surprised grunt. For a minute, you simply cover his rough lips with kisses while he stays completely still, eyes looking on the verge of bulging right out of their sockets. It looked downright silly. Why was he so shocked by a simple kiss anyway, after the way you let him ravage your mouth yesterday? 

Your lips pause when you remember the distraught sounds he made that morning as he watched you rush out of the room. That’s right.

“Hey,” you murmur against him. “Sorry for taking off like that last time. Just...don’t worry about it, okay.” He released a hot breath onto your face. Your trapped hand is finally freed from his iron grip, numb and stiff, but you keep your attention on the motionless nomu. “We’re not exactly supposed to be doing this, but I want you t-mmf!”

He suddenly went forward and attacked your lips, aggressively mimicking your movements with enough force to bruise. You try to keep up and calm his pace, sighing into his mouth once his lips finally begin to slow down. He’s clumsy like you expected, but his intelligence shows when he tries to follow your lead and quickly learns the intimate dance of your mouths. The occasional swipe of that blasted tongue across your lip makes you gasp, and then you feel big strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you close, the beats of his excited wings, the throaty growls that rattle your entire being…

You can feel yourself heating up again already.

“Mmm, Raptor...wait,” you manage to say between kisses, your hands pushing against his chest. He gives a grating sound of annoyance, but pulls away like you wished. You were suddenly hyper aware of his size and strength – this monster that was holding you closely and taking care not to harm you. If any other nomu had you like this, they undoubtedly wouldn’t have stopped.

“So, did you feel any of that?” Your hand travels down to his groin and rubs at the bulge that still had a lot of growing to do. “Do you feel that?”

To your dismay, he shakes his head. “No,” he groans as his wings droop closer to the floor. 

It has you stumped. How are you supposed to please him when his whole body is numb?

“But…” He licks his lips slowly. “Can still taste. Tastes so good.”

When you let him lap at your lips again, he twitches beneath the ragged cloth.

You put two and two together, and the realization makes you gulp. And ache.

Remember, shame is useless here.

He allows you to back away and create some distance. The sight before you is frightening on its own: The sharp stare of the raven-winged fiend while surrounded by the deep marks of its outburst would do well in intimidating any sane individual. Remembering what exactly he is makes you pause only for a second, your hands grabbing the bottom of your thin blue shirt and lifting it before your pesky conscience can even get a word in.

Hawks’s wings flare out slightly when your breasts are revealed to him, talons clicking against the floor as he shuffles about, at a loss of how to react. Relieved that you haven’t been pounced on immediately, you lean down to remove your pants next, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you pull the garment down and step out of them. They never supplied you with underwear, so with your two articles of clothing removed, you were completely nude in front of the dangerous nomu.

At first you both just stared at each other, until he finally came forward to scan your body more closely, mindful of how nervous you were. The tension made you almost choke and cough on your words.

“I-if you want to…taste more of me, go ahead.” You didn’t mean to squeak out those last two words. You blame it on the chilly air.

The hands that take hold of your hips feel extra hot, along with the breath that grazes your chest. The blue tongue slides past his lips and extends to press against the spot right over your pounding heart, then moving smoothly up the column of your neck and your cheek in one long swipe, the wet trail making you shudder. The mouth ventures close to your ear to utter the word that you remember repeating to him on the first day you got him off.

“Calm.”

It’s followed by a rolling purr that eases you into doing just that. The humming continues while he eyes your breasts, nipples already pert from being exposed to the air. Even in your more relaxed state, the sudden lick across your tit makes your breath hitch. He seems to enjoy your response and repeats the action, giving it several more laps before wrapping around the entirety of the soft globe like a tentacle, squeezing gently.

“Ah, Raptor,” you moan when the tip of the tongue flicks at your nipple, sending the tiniest of jolts through you. “Damn, where did you learn to do that?” 

He answers with nothing more than a groan as he continues to show off his tongue’s flexibility. It coils and swirls around the skin until every inch of it is covered in his saliva, making you even more sensitive to the cold air. Satisfied with his work, he moves on to repeat the motions with your other breast.

The pleasure was soothing, like a massage…if the masseuse had sticky boneless limbs. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around him, letting yourself enjoy the vile act of a monster sampling your taste. 

His mouth suddenly engulfs you, the damp heat adding to the ongoing feeling of his tongue dancing around your tit. The purrs abruptly become a powerful vibration that electrifies your skin and brings forth your moisture to drip and run down your thighs.

But Hawks suddenly pulls away and stares at you intensely, the glower snapping you out of your daze.

“What is it?” You were getting nervous again. Did one of your reactions irritate him?

He breathes in, again and again, sniffing at the air for something. The swaying tail hints that whatever he smells is exciting him. His head lowers in pursuit of the scent and stops at your womanly mound to take a long whiff at the spicy aroma emanating from your cunt.

With his breath now blowing right against your sex and increasing your arousal, your juices trickled freely onto the floor and for him to see. The clawed hands on your hips held you steady, preventing you from collapsing from the nerve-racking anticipation that had you shaking all over. At no point in your life have you ever felt this exposed, being ogled by a pair of eyes in which the irises were bigger than you’ve ever seen them, mesmerized by the source of the delicious smell.

The tongue slips between your thighs before you could even prepare yourself, stretching across the entirety of your lips, over your entrance, nearly reaching your ass before it pulls back toward his mouth, the rubbing of the silky muscle creating buzzes of pleasure. Looking down gives you the unpleasant view of his brain, but you also get to see him swallow and savor your taste, humming deeply in approval before salivating with the need to drink up more.

“Good.”

He doesn’t wait for your response – his face is already being shoved into you, and you’re suddenly bombarded with delightful hot sensations all over your pussy. The ravenous organ travels up and down your folds, collecting every drop of your sweet nectar while you could do nothing but spread your legs to give him more leeway – God you’re such a whore – and cover your mouth in the hope that no passerbys hear your moans in the room. 

When your legs officially become jelly and can no longer support you, Hawks tires of holding you up and allows you to fall back a little too hard onto the floor, the impact making you wince. Any other time, he probably would have at least made a sound of apology, but your sopping wet pussy has stolen his attention. He wastes no time in lifting your hips up toward his waiting mouth, now utilizing his lips along with his tongue to loudly slurp up your essence.

His vicious hunger has you seeing stars. Wings open up and expand around both of you like black curtains that darken your vision, like a bird of prey mantling over a hard-earned meal. The only thing you can clearly see between your legs are the eerie glows of red and yellow; the glare of a demon that seeks to devour you from the inside. He starts to suck your folds dry, growling as he inspects every inch of the ravaged honeypot until his lips brush against your neglected clit.

A muffled “fuck!” passes between your fingers, both of your hands tightly clamped over your mouth. The reaction surprises him, and to his delight, it triggers more of your nectar to flow. The most efficient gag wouldn’t have been enough to suppress your scream when he sucked hard on your sensitive bud.

You couldn’t help it. Fighting past the paralyzing pleasure, your hands blindly grab at his head and accidentally bury your fingers into a soft squishy brain. The discomfort makes him shake his head and groan in irritation, raising his head and narrowing those menacing eyes at you as a silent warning.

“Hah...shit...I’m sor–AH! Fuck-oh my god....” He’s already attacking your clit again before you can finish your apology. All he cares about at the moment is your taste, and not even you were going to interrupt him. The surrounding wings occasionally twitch and shudder around you, vibrating along with your approaching climax. But the second you feel dangerously close, his lips leave the perky little pebble and move back down to lap at your fresh flow. It tears you away from an orgasmic finale and brings you back to that sensual middle ground. The audible licks were amazing, but you need to reach that edge. Your hand drifted down to your pussy, right over his tongue where you can give your clit the stimulation needed to cum…

“Hwrrrrrrr…”

You felt the terrifying snarl more than you heard it, shaking you to your very core. The other core, not the one on the verge of bursting. You immediately pull away and freeze, shivering and breathing quickly at the sight of his bared fangs. For a brief moment, the tent of feathers showed off a faint sheen, like they all suddenly sharpened. A quivering, fear-fueled gasp left you. 

It felt like the staredown went on forever, but Hawks was eventually convinced that you weren’t going to distract him from his feast again and returned his gaze to the fragrant pussy before him. However, after a few more licks, he grunted in frustration. You weren’t secreting your precious juices fast enough; your body simply couldn’t keep up with his newfound greed.

The insatiable tongue keeps poking and prodding at your opening until it pushes in just enough to slightly stretch your walls. You struggle to stay relaxed and keep your hands to yourself. Hawks was currently as unpredictable as any other nomu, and you didn’t want to piss him off.

When the hot thick muscle is suddenly shoved into you, you don't even have time to cover your mouth and block the next scream that is ripped from your throat. There’s no time to adjust to the completely foreign sensation. It squirms inside of you like a living creature, massaging your pussy in ways you didn’t even know were possible, sometimes hitting that special soft spot.

Your molten center spreads its flames across every nerve. This is far beyond what you fantasized on the night you touched yourself. His tongue was able to fill you completely, all while moving around more freely than a cock or even fingers ever could. Too soon does it leave your pulsing walls and back into his mouth, where he swallows every drop he’s gathered before shooting his tongue back out and penetrating you again before you can even complain.

He was moving with more force, enough to create a visible swell in your stomach that moved along with his tongue. You can’t look away from it, even as he begins to push in and out at a steady rhythm, the pleasure building up to new heights while the bulge in your belly moves up and down. You’re tempted to ask him to move his wings to allow more light for a better view, but interrupting him now is probably a stupid idea.

He pants loudly from his open mouth as he fucks you thoroughly with nothing more than a long powerful tongue, his thrusts moving faster and deeper in search of more of your savory wetness.

Meanwhile, you were dizzy. It was uncomfortable at first. It’s been so long since you’ve been fully stretched, but it all quickly melds into pleasure you have long since forgotten – no – you hadn’t even known. Your interest in sex has greatly diminished during your stay here. Hell, you were certain that your libido was officially dead. But Hawks….

This abomination was going to be the death of you.

Your g-spot is suddenly struck again, and again. Most of your words were incoherent, and the ones that could be made out were nothing more than endless encouragement.  “Gah-hnngh, fuck, Hawks, you want more, don’t you? Ah, I’m about to give you more. Keep going Hawks don’t fucking stop.” 

Talons are biting into your skin from his tightened grip. With a low bellow of excitement, his mouth moves to cover your entire sex, prepared for the incoming downpour, and thrusts his tongue into your most sensitive spot repeatedly without mercy.

The pressure within explodes violently, completely overshadowing that laughable orgasm you gave yourself yesterday. Each contraction adds more white that flashes in your eyes, moving in from the corners of your vision until it becomes as blinding and unbearable as the bliss that washes over you. There are noisy gulps between your legs, the parched monster happily taking every rush of fluid directly into his mouth and down his throat until he finally has his fill.

Even through your spasms your walls try desperately to clamp around his tongue as it leaves, but to no avail. The looming wings finally move away and return to their usual resting spot behind his back while he sets your lower body down and licks his lips for any remaining traces of your slick. The talons never broke your skin, but they did leave some glaring marks on your hips and ass.

You still tingled all over from the waist down while your muscles make the greatest effort to respond to any of your commands. No use. You decide to lay there covered in the monster’s spit. The work of that amazing specimen of a tongue almost made you forget that this was being done to arouse him. You should probably check to see if he was hard. He may not be able to feel your hand anymore, but he still might be excited enough to cum from the act. Stupid science bastards, making your job more complicated.

“Hawks.”

The single word uttered from the nomu clears your mind instantly. Your weakened arms push you upright to properly face him. He was still crouching, scaly toes supporting the weight of his body like a gargoyle without a perch.

“You say Hawks. What...is Hawks?”

What? When did you…?

Oh. Shit. Your mouth was moving on its own while he was eating you out.

Your mind was zipping in several directions at once, hoping that he wouldn’t find anything odd about your eyes darting about, looking everywhere except at him. You settled on a simple and dismissive answer. “Oh...don’t worry about it. I was just babbling while you had me on cloud nine,” you said with a crooked smile.

Black lips twisted into a frown, accompanied by a quick beat of his wings and then...eww. His brain is pulsing way too much, so much that he shakes his head in agitation, which only adds to the disturbing visual as the organ jiggles slightly in his head. “Hawks...don’t know...I know…” His words jumbled over his inner turmoil. The long tail lifted and began to swing quickly.

You sat there, nude and bewildered. Every High-End still carried traces of who they once were, expressing some of the same behaviors and habits they presumably had before death.

This is the first time you’ve seen one with any sort of recollection of their past life, even if it’s something as minor as feeling a connection to their name. You have a feeling that’s not supposed to happen.

You shouldn’t tell him anything; nothing good will come out of it. He needs to shut up and start being a bloodthirsty killer before the doctors decide that he’s more trouble than he’s worth.

“Raptor,” your shaky legs move slowly, shifting until you’re resting on your knees, face to face with the nomu that still looks interested in your naked body even as his head throbs. “It’s not important. Stop thinking about it.”

The look he gives you is one of hurt and dammit, this is exactly his problem. “But...Hawks. Want to know what-”

“I said stop thinking!”  Your volume shocks both of you, but Hawks actually recoils from the unexpected shout. You don’t care, all it does is confuse you more, anger you more. “Why the hell aren’t you listening to me anymore? That’s what you’re supposed to do! Do whatever we tell you! What, did you break?” A full-body chill reminds you of the state you’re in. You were seriously having an outburst while still completely naked with Hawks’s saliva glistening over your thighs. You groan and turn away from the troubled hybrid to grab your clothes and dress yourself, not giving a damn if you pissed him off and he decides to kill you right there. He’d be doing both of you a favor, really.

But it shouldn’t be a surprise when you see that he hasn’t budged from his spot, making no move to retaliate. “I like you, Raptor,” you admitted. “Somehow, you managed to be the only welcomed company in this fucked up hospital slash prison, but you shouldn’t be. What we just did...that shouldn’t have happened. Fuck, I – I should’ve been terrified, and I kinda was, but, I shouldn’t have felt that good!” Your doubts, your conscience, they both return with a vengeance. But this time it’s not you they’re worried about. 

“If this is how you act around everyone else, you’re not going to last here.” You hold his face in your hands, a tender gesture that shouldn’t be possible with the likes of him. “These assholes are gonna get rid of you if you don’t do what they want, and they’re going to ask for horrible things. I know you don’t like killing, but if you keep up all of...this, you’re going to lose more than your sense of touch.”

He doesn’t make a sound, only staring at you before gritting his teeth and nodding in your gentle grasp. His compliance both relieves and hurts you.

“I’m sorry, but no more questions. Please? The less you know, the better.”

“No more…questions.” Dammit, you hate how clear the sorrow is in his eerie voice, like the mournful moans of a lost soul. “No more.”

You give him a smile of thanks, it’s the least you could give him. You try to bring the atmosphere back to its usual awkward yet friendly vibe. “Now, let me see if your, um, tasting did you any good.” You move to pull down his shorts. That is, until you notice the large damp spots and stains on the cheap material. Oh, he did not.

“Welp, it obviously worked. Now how am I gonna scrape this shit off?”

x---x---x---x---x

Hawks.

Flames.

Decay.

Death. Everywhere.

But, somehow, he knew it wasn’t his doing. 

Maybe he did kill a few...he wasn’t sure. It’s all so blurry and nauseating. 

Was he killing people? Was he…trying to save them? A monster like him, saving people?

“No more questions.”

Your voice echoes, bouncing across the shattered fragments of his mind. Raptor tries to obey. He doesn’t know what this Hawks is, or why it keeps plaguing him.

Whatever Hawks was, it’s gone. Raptor wants it to leave him alone.

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

Field Test

Quirk #5: Camouflage

Notes: As you know by now, Raptor differs from other nomu in that he is designed for agility and stealth. An invisibility quirk will not only make Raptor into the perfect phantom, it can also assist in infiltration and spying. While the quirk may be called ‘camouflage’ mainly due to how it changes skin pigmentation, it does much more than match the colors of the environment. It hides the user’s entire form as perfectly as any true invisibility quirk. Raptor should be more than capable of destroying targets without ever being noticed.

You were right. It was strange how he doesn’t discover these ‘quirks’ on his own. It was an understatement to say that he was a little lost when a Coat ordered him to activate his Camouflage. Raptor was prepared to feel those words bind his limbs and move him against his will. Whenever his brain was under the Coats’ control, he was capable of doing whatever they asked, even when he himself didn’t understand what they were asking for.

So it was worrying when he felt nothing. He heard the order loud and clear, yet it didn’t wrap around his brain like it always does. 

So it wasn’t just you. His mind no longer submitted to anyone’s commands. He would have chirped in celebration if he didn’t have an audience that was still waiting for him to follow through, giving looks and comments of impatience while he stood there. 

He can’t let them notice that he was unaffected. The words of the Mask that stole his touch repeated in his head along with the memories of cutting and burning, every nerve seething from raw pain until all feeling began to fade.

“If he ignores us like that again, we may need to alter his brain and ensure his compliance in the future.”

Alter...change...he doesn’t want them to change him. So Raptor tried to pretend, another thing that felt natural to him. 

The process of finding his new quirk was difficult to describe; it was more like willing himself to blend in until the rest of his body got the message. All of his muscles tightened, and he almost panicked when black skin began to disappear before his eyes. His wings, his tail, every part of him looked as if it was dissolving, but he can still move and feel the weight of each limb. Once his body relaxed, he was fully invisible. The Coats kept him pinned with their stares, however.

“Completely hidden. Very good,” one of them said, writing something down. They’re always watching, always taking notes on him, always judging. This all felt familiar as well. “Now, walk from that corner to there, and keep a hold on your quirk.”

There was no pull, no sudden fuzziness or loss of control. Nothing. It’s a strange feeling, following orders because he actually chooses to. It will take some getting used to, but it shouldn’t be too difficult. 

Has a monster like him ever acted before? It sure feels like it.

He performed several different tasks: running, climbing, flying, and shooting feathers. All while unseen by the naked eye. The feat even earned him a round of applause from the Coats.

“I can picture it already. He could slice apart an entire group of targets, and they wouldn’t even understand their deaths. A flurry of invisible blades!” One of them exclaimed with a smile that was way too wide given the subject matter.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to get a taste of what this is capable of right now.”

Right on cue, the doors opened. Every feather on his wings and tail bristled instantly, ready to shred whatever possible threat that may enter. They wouldn’t be able to see him. It would be so easy, just like the Coats said.

But instead of another nomu that was simpler and more violent than him, a woman was shoved into the room hard enough to make her stumble forward and fall, the door slamming shut behind her. She was dressed like you, wearing only a thin blue shirt and pants. What did they bring someone like her in here for?

She was already back on her feet, scanning the area with wide eyes and shrunken pupils before moving her gaze to the humans that continued to observe from the other side. The fear in the air was so thick that Raptor could nearly taste it as she shook uncontrollably – he wondered if her knees would collapse from the trembling alone.

He was still camouflaged; she couldn’t see him at all. The urge to reveal himself is strong, but one: the Coats had yet to order him to deactivate his quirk, and two: knowing that she was in a room with a nomu will most definitely only terrify her more, so he stayed where he was, motionless and quiet.

For a suffocating minute, the only sound was her rapid breathing until one of the Coats finally spoke up.

“Kill her, Raptor.”

“What?” The woman’s voice was constricted by anxiety. She looked timidly at the man, who only stared back expectantly, waiting for something. “W-what?” She choked out again. She switched her attention to the door, still distressed and shaking. When no horrid beast entered the room like she expected, her panic increased even more, stuttering so badly that it was a challenge to discern what she was trying to say. “I-I-I w-I won’t...I’m s-so...p-p-please.” 

Her head whipped upwards to a vent in the ceiling. Nothing happened. The confused woman was now spinning around looking for something, hysterical with the knowledge that her impending doom was coming, but not knowing where or when. The weight of her dread was making him anxious.

The same Coat, however, only sighed in annoyance at the sight of the trapped panicking animal. “Don’t dawdle, Nomu.” The final word dripped with venom. It reminded him of his place: a puppet that should have no will of its own. Raptor didn’t want to kill, but if he defies them, then they will dig into his brain again, and the woman will probably be violently killed by a more enthusiastic nomu. He’s afraid of what they might take from him next. He can’t let that happen.

The shrinking woman is still whipping her head around in every direction as her bare feet take a step backwards, then another, completely unaware of the larger creature that stood right behind her. He can’t guarantee a painless death, but he can make it as quick as possible for her.

Raptor added an edge to some of his feathers, but reconsidered. That would require pinpoint accuracy, not worth the risk with a target that was moving so erratically.

His tongue curiously ran over the points of his teeth, checking their sharpness. No, that would leave too much of a mess.

His hands clenched into fists, and that’s when he practically heard the ding in his head. A simple method, but it should work just fine.

He was originally going to wait until she backed all the way into him, but that would be rather cruel. Killing her before she even recognizes the danger is a greater mercy. His hand struck with the swiftness of a snake, grabbing the back of her neck. The delicate spine could be felt beneath.

Raptor was not as strong as other nomu. That didn’t mean he couldn’t crush a human’s bones with little effort.

He felt her jolt, but that’s all she had time to do before the sickening snap and crunch sounded throughout the room, then she went limp with nothing more than a few final twitches.

Some of the Coats audibly gasped, while others clapped excitedly at the kill they couldn’t even see coming. From their perspective, an unsuspecting woman’s neck was suddenly crushed by an invisible force like an aluminum can.

One of them didn’t look very impressed. “Eh, a bit anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

“We’re not watching a bloodsport,” another one snapped. “Raptor is designed to handle matters quickly. A cervical fracture is fast and effective.”

“She was so terrible at her job. I think she deserved a terrible death in return,” another said. 

Their babbling continued while Raptor placed the body on the floor more gently than his audience would have liked. Her eyes were still wide open, frozen in that moment of realization just a millisecond before death. Still, things could have been much worse for her. 

“I still think we should have used his harvester instead. She’s becoming a nuisance.”

Raptor has grown to really dislike that voice, the voice of the man that takes him away every morning. He always stares at him like an expensive possession that turned out to be a waste of money. It’s an effort to keep his lips from curling over his teeth whenever the bastard’s around.

An older lady spoke. “Her relationship with the nomu is unique and warrants its own set of experiments after we cover the basics here. We already told you that.”

“Yes yes, I know. But her sample this morning was pathetic. It’s like she’s forgotten her job, too busy turning our greatest achievement into a softie. Call me petty, but I’d get a good laugh out of watching her be devoured by the nomu that she’s decided to become friends with.”

Anger.

“You are petty, and short-sighted. Do you understand just how extraordinary this relationship is?”

Another Coat butted in. “Sure, but what use is sentiment to a nomu? This was supposed to be a cold lethal predator, not a child that likes to draw on walls. I agree that the bond with its harvester is holding it back. It would be better off without her.”

Raptor hates it. He doesn’t want any of them talking about you. To think that they’d consider something as twisted as offering you to him as a helpless prisoner to execute, just like the one whose spine he had just snapped.

How dare they.

The lady was suddenly staring right at him with a look of shock before her aged lips curled into a smirk. Actually, everyone was staring at him now, and they all showed varying levels of discomfort. That’s when he noticed that he can see his hands in front of him again, along with his feet, wings, and the rest of his body. His fury made him lose his hold on the Camouflage quirk. They had all just seen his face of hatred.

And yet the lady continued to smile. “I don’t believe he agrees with you two.”

She then whispered something, lips forming what looked like the word ‘magnificent’ while her eyes bore into him. Even his rage was nothing more than a fascinating process to be examined.

Raptor wants to get out of here.

x---x---x---x---x

You’re alright. You made it out. You were bruised, but you made it out.

That High-End nearly broke your fucking arm when it came. It was always a pretty rough one when you jerked it off but for god’s sake, why did it always have to squeeze you like a stress ball? Thankfully, your painful shriek of “STOP!” was enough to penetrate the horny shield over its brain and it released you.

It wasn’t your first injury, but it’s been a while since you’ve gotten such a scare. It could’ve been worse – it could always be much worse.

The fact that you feel elated when you reach Hawks’s room shows how close the two of you have gotten in less than a week. Two prisoners who agree that this place can go fuck itself; one was pumping cocks on the daily, the other failed miserably at being a ruthless monster. They ought to make a movie out of this.

You enter the room to see him resting in the center while several feathers carve into different areas of the walls and ceiling. His understanding of shapes was becoming more complex at a rapid rate, if the current drawings were anything to go by. They looked to be unintentionally abstract faces, varying greatly in size and structure, but one thing they all had in common was oversized eyes. Every face was furiously scratched in, the sound of chiseling surrounding you and adding to the ominous aura given off by the etchings that lacked skill but teemed with raw emotion. 

The scattered claw marks from yesterday are still as visible as ever. Everyday, this place looks more disturbing even with the not-so-hostile creature that occupies it.

Something prompts his feathers to stop abruptly and return to him, followed by him quickly standing up and hissing. The badly-timed hostility makes you jump back. “Raptor? What is it?” You tried to stay calm as usual.

He drew closer, eyes narrowed and teeth bared at the purplish welts on the arm that held your gazillionth jar. Oh, of course. You waved with you uninjured one. “It’s alright. One of the High Ends was being a little heavy-handed. It stings, but it’ll get better.” 

Hot air hits you when he releases a snort. While he studies the bruise, you continue to examine the newest artful additions. “So...what do all of these mean?” You ask.

He follows your traveling gaze and mutters. “Watching. They’re always watching.”

He said it so smoothly that it gave you chills. “You’re tripping up less on your words. That’s, uh, good.” When a grunt is his only response, you keep talking. “Are these the doctors?” He nodded. “Did you...have to kill again?”

A beat. Then he nods again, more slowly this time. “It was easier.” 

You’re not sure what to say to that, deciding to instead rest a hand on his arm. For some reason, what he said didn’t scare you. It was you who asked him to act more like a nomu, anyway.

You both stayed like that for a few minutes, standing side-by-side in the middle of the room’s crude composition that illustrated his short life. Innocence, rage, and now a feeling of powerlessness. You can relate; your progress here was very similar except that the ‘innocence’ part can be replaced with ‘grief’, having lost contact with everything you were familiar with. 

“You know, maybe I can add my own additions to this sometime, if you don’t mind. Make this place our own little mural.” You giggle when his tail swings at the proposal. “There’s no way they haven’t noticed how odd of a duo we are by now. I wonder how those assholes feel about all of this.”

You’re grabbed and pulled into him so quickly that the jar slips out of your grip, rolling away as you’re pushed into a hard black chest. The tight embrace squeezes your swollen arm painfully. “Shit, that hurts!”

He whines apologetically and loosens his hold. Pain and lack of oxygen aside, it’s oddly comforting. You haven’t been hugged in ages, and here you were being held by this. A song of soft coos calm you, but there is a noticeable sad tone to them. You look up at him, chin resting on his pecs. “Raptor, I know it sucks here, and I don’t really know what to say to make things better, but I’ll keep trying to hang out with you for as long as I can, alright?” You reassure him while rubbing his chest. “Remember, you’re kind of the best thing that ever happened to this place. Not that my standards in this shithole are very high – they’re actually lower than a regular nomu’s sex drive – but it’s still an achievement you should be proud of.”

Your words did their job, if his lighter hums are anything to go by. His comforting heat was gone too soon when he gently pushed you back, following up with a press of lips against yours.

There’s no more clumsiness in his movements. He switched from light brushes that had you craving more to deep smooches that took your breath away. There wasn’t much else you could do except follow his lead. The teasing licks against your lips never fail to get you going, and he probably knows that by now. Unfortunately, you had to break apart for a breather, allowing him to cradle you as he waited.

“Who the hell have you been kissing while I’m not around to learn so fast?” You joked.

You didn’t expect him to look away and hesitate to answer before uttering, “I...remembered.”

If he was expecting that to upset you, it didn’t. You can’t stop his brain from working, and he no longer automatically gives in to any demands. You still don’t know what’s up with that. “Right,” you sighed. “Are you remembering anything else?”

“No...same things. Hawks...fire...death...I want to forget.” He pulls you in again, this time taking care not to add too much pressure to your bruises. His strangled attempts at speech have become smoother over the days, but hearing the winged hero beneath the layers of grotesque sounds that create his voice is going to take a long time to get used to. “Can...you...make me forget?”

A twinge of sadness and pity. Are his final moments the only parts that keep playing in his head, in a cruel loop? You direct all of your strength into your voice and speak. “Forget about it. Forget about Hawks and all of those foggy memories.”

He sits there and blinks with no clear sign that your words had any effect. 

Then he wilts and groans in defeat.

“No good, huh?” You shrug. You truly did wish you could help him. “There’s not much else I can do, sorry.” A pause. “Must feel like nightmares, I guess. I get plenty of those.” You rest in his hold while recalling some of the fears that manifest in your sleep. “Dreams about what they’ll do when they don’t need me anymore. I never had the guts to put myself out of my misery – don’t have many options to work with anyway. Maybe I can ask a nomu to chomp my head off.”

“No.” The word was growled out, felt all around you like a small quake. You quickly try to calm him by raising your uninjured arm to hold and caress his face. You know that he couldn’t exactly feel it anymore, but the memory of your touch is probably what still managed to soothe him. It was an intimate image, touching him so lovingly while in his arms.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stick around. We can make things easier for each other.” Without a second thought, you straighten up and begin pushing down your pants, Hawks already chirping in excitement and fumbling with your shirt, his talons ripping the cloth. You were naked in front of him once again, and the memories of yesterday already have your pussy lubricating itself in preparation. Samples...semen….you weren’t thinking about any of that. You just wanted him again.

“Let’s help each other forget.”

And just like that, you were devoured. His mouth was everywhere and you happily took it all. You were addicted to his touch as much as he was addicted to your flavor. The dark blue tongue moved gracefully across your face, the small grin and lidded eyes telling you that he quite enjoyed the sight of you covered in his saliva. You opened your mouth wide as an invitation that he gladly took, the strong muscle charging straight into your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. It makes you gag and has tears pricking at your eyes, yet you continue to throb between your legs.

He fucks your mouth so fast and roughly that you’re forced to only breathe through your nose. You’re clinging onto him as you gurgle around the ravaging muscle, your nails unable to pierce his tough hide no matter how hard you grip.

Something solid rubs right against your sex, grazing your clit and leaving you moaning into his mouth. His hips were bucking into the air with a very prominent tent that constricted his growing cock.

It’s the first time a nomu’s dick actually touches you there. 

And it makes your walls clench.

You get closer for more friction, trying to grind against the massive erection while he finally removes his tongue from your mouth. That’s when he notices just how hard you’re trying to get off on his bulge.

Heat is rushing to your face at his puzzled expression. “You-” You gasp, still catching your breath after having him squirm down your throat for so long. “You feel pretty good.”

He simply watches you continue to rub against him – you don’t even notice that his hips are no longer moving, you just press closer to him and grind harder in desperation. His wings flutter and the rest of his body shakes lightly, his breaths coming out in short huffs.

He was laughing.

The look of amusement is so unexpected that it has your hips stopping out of embarrassment. And here you thought nothing else could leave you flustered at this point. “You don’t have to laugh. Trust me, you’ve looked way more desperate than I have,” You tease him. 

He clicks his tongue, then with a yank and a loud rip, his shorts are in tatters and his cock springs free right onto your belly. Another short round of huffs are heard from him when you squeak in surprise. Just where did this attitude even come from?

Beads of precum ooze from his pointed head and drip onto your stomach. Maybe it’s your lust-tinted lenses, but his cock is looking much more attractive than usual. Its curved perfectly to hit all of the right spots, and those ridges probably feel amazing when moving inside you.

“Want more?”

The low-pitched voice right in your ear has you shaking, like it was a question from the Devil himself. Thirst aside, you don’t know what you should say. You trust that he won’t fuck you to shreds like the other High Ends would, but the biggest issue…

“I don’t know if I should risk that,” you murmur, a hand reaching to rub the textured flesh. “As tempting as it is right now.”

His confidence is replaced with disappointment. That is, until he immediately perks back up and grabs your hips.

“Wait what are yoooo-whoa!”  You’re being lifted off the floor, legs dangling uselessly as he holds you easily, your body hovering right over his twitching dick.

Panic begins to set in. “No! Nononono I said-”

“I won’t.” He says softly. As softly as he can with such a voice, at least. “Calm.”

Instead of penetrating like you feared, he lowers you until your flushed lips are resting on the length of his scaly shaft.  

And then, slowly, his hips push forward.

The bumps and creases slide against you in all of the right ways. “Oooh fuck.” You adjust yourself to ensure that he rubs your clit as well. The sensation has you shuddering in his hands as the pressure inside you builds quickly. Your slick makes his dick smoother after each thrust, and when Hawks sees that you’re comfortable and lost in the rhythm, he begins to speed up. 

Your legs are swinging madly at a complete loss on how to handle the electrifying friction, but the nomu grunts and takes hold of your thighs. They close around his cock, greatly increasing the pressure as he continued to fuck past your thighs. “Stay there.” The vibration from his deep raspy voice only arouses you more. His hips collide with yours after each buck.

As amazing as it feels, your hazy mind recalls that Hawks shouldn’t be able to properly revel in this outercourse. “I-I thought...you couldn’t feel this.” You say shakily.

Hawks is eyeing your bouncing form with great interest, his hips not missing a beat as he answered. “Can’t. Just watching.”

He presses down on you more, slowing down his pace with his eyes still locked on your face. His tongue quickly swipes across your forehead to taste the sweat that has mixed with his saliva. “You look good.”

Goddamn him.

You felt close, so close, but even as your limbs tingle from the pleasure, your orgasm remained out of reach. The most severe ache that had yet to be sated, to be given any attention, was inside you. You have never throbbed this much in your life, you didn’t even know that your muscles down there could even contract this tightly. The dragging of his cock against your drenched lips isn't enough. You don’t care about risk anymore. Not after feeling what he has to offer.

There’s no voice telling you how stupid you’re being right now. It already gave up on you.

Good.

“Haw–shit–Raptor, inside. I need you inside.” You beg between your moans. He stills completely, which has you whining and squirming even more.

“Inside?”

Hearing him say it sobers you up a bit, but not enough to kill your desire. “Just pull out before you cum, alright? Think you can do that?” You ask.

He nods eagerly, wings and tail moving with glee as he lifts you off of his dick that was already lubed up by your natural fluids. He angles himself until the head is pressing at your twitching entrance. 

You can’t tell if you’re trembling from excitement or fear. Probably both.

The fine tip already has you being stretched wide, burning and stinging in spite of your pussy’s preparation. It makes you wince and want to close your eyes – to create some distance between you and the pain – but your curiosity has you looking down to watch him enter you, inch by inch. You can once again see your stomach distend as it attempts to accommodate the large intrusion, much bigger than the slithery tongue that previously invaded it.

But it’s exactly what you craved, the unique texture feeling even more delicious when inside of you. Your toes curl and legs quiver from his girth; not as meaty as the other dicks that you’ve treated, just enough extra thickness to give you a stretch that you’ve never experienced, without causing serious harm.

He reaches the end of your cavern with a few more inches to spare, and the drawn out moan slipping past his lips surprises both of you. You try to relax around him while he fights the urge to move. Black shaky wings expand behind him.

“Feel…” He gasped and choked, one would think that he was trying to learn speech all over again. “Can feel...squeezing. So gooood.” The last word came out as a strong rasp against your face.

The new discovery has you smiling, one of your hands rubbing at a much larger one around your waist. “You can feel it? You feel how tight I am, Raptor? How badly I want you to stay inside me and never leave?” He may not be able to feel your heat or your dampness, but it looks like he can’t escape the pressure from a cunt’s death grip.

He twitches inside, making you jolt. Oh, how quickly the tables have turned.

You scratch under his chin. Numb as he is, he still tilts his head like a pet dying for affection. “Then I want you to fuck me. Stop thinking, and just move...” You bring your face close to his, pulling off a seductive look and tone even when impaled on him. “...Just like a good nomu.”

Perhaps Hawks had a submissive kink when he was alive. It would explain why that riled him up so much that he was already slamming into you with absolutely no warning. 

It hurts. It hurts so fucking good. Every thrust tears a helpless cry out of your body. The scales grind against every nerve around your hole, while the ones deeper inside nudge your velvety walls as they move in and out, in and out.

You couldn’t talk between your screams, not with how violently he was pounding you. Your arms and legs wrapped around him and hung on for dear life with your face buried in the crook of his neck. His own muscular arms wrap around you in a deceptively loving embrace, pumping into you with a rhythmic smack smack smack.  All you can do is reap what you sow and take it. 

This wasn’t just for you, this was for Hawks as well. You gave him something that he could feel again. What began as whiny gasps for air soon became rolling growls that vocalize a need for more. 

Your orgasm barely sticks out of the continuous blinding pleasure as he plows harder through your spasms, your contracting muscles wrestling with the merciless cock to hold it inside. 

His tone is dark. Vicious. “Tight. So tight!”

It makes your greedy body want even more. “Oh, good job, Raptor. Such a good boy.” You praise him, feeling the brief falter in his movements. He really does like that. “Go ahead and take it all, as much as you need-ah. Don’t worry about me. Fuck me until I can’t think.”

The violent sex stops and you’re being ripped away from that wondrous cock in the blink of an eye. Before you can even question what’s happening, your world begins to spin until you’re suddenly on the floor. You’re getting adjusted onto your hands and knees right before being pierced again with a force that shoves you forward. 

Your thoughts struggle to keep up with the lightning-fast sequence of events, hindered even more by the warmth of the body hovering right over you. Hawks too was on all fours, though he looked much more comfortable and natural, wings fully spread out in a proud and dominant display as he throbbed inside of you. 

His hips snap forward, already at a rapid pace that rocks you with each hard impact and soon has you howling again. The floor was filled with uneven cracks and scratches that scraped your knees, not that the discomfort was easy to notice while you were being drilled into. As you latched onto one of his arms for support, you noticed right in front of you, was your first game of tic tac toe.

Drool dripped down from the snarling jaws above you and onto the innocent group of lines and shapes.

The mounting beast humped you with every ounce of energy he had. Your aching pussy couldn’t take it. Too hard...too big... you’re cumming again around his pistoning cock, moans melting into defeated sobs. The huge pair of swinging balls occasionally smacked right into your oversensitive clit. You were losing the will to hold yourself up, gripping his supportive arm more tightly while your thighs quivered. Even if you had the strength to, you had no plans to ask the feral savage to stop.

He currently wasn’t anything like the gentle experiment you’ve befriended in just a few days. Right now, with his head thrashing around and flinging spittle everywhere as he barked, and wings beating hard against the floor, he was terrifying. Powerful, hungry, and single-minded.

So this is what it’s like to give in to a nomu.

It’s scary.

It’s thrilling.

Every fast agonizing stroke right against your cervix takes your breath away, your mouth eventually just hanging open in an attempt to capture whatever oxygen it could into your lungs. Hawks curls into himself so that he can crane his neck and look at you, saliva flowing freely down his chin. Each breath came out as a throaty growl wafting against your sweaty face. He takes one look at your parted lips, and stuffs you with his tongue.

If your thoughts were more coherent at the moment, you’d wonder how the hell the muscle was strong enough to be able to move into your throat as hard as the dick that continued to wreck your insides. His hips assisted in gagging you even more with each thrust. The threat of asphyxiation only brought you closer to your next orgasm. 

Your mind was empty, save for the immoral thoughts that have long since driven off their more honorable competition. 

Just use me.

Your entire body was on fire, getting pummeled from both ends.

Just use me however the fuck you want.

Hawks is suddenly bombarding your cunt with short and speedy ruts of his hips, and that does it. Your limbs give out and leave you to plop onto the floor as your pleasure blooms all over. But his long tongue follows you, still pushing into your whimpering mouth to deprive you of much-needed air. He simply lowers himself and proceeds to fuck you hard into the ground, pressing your skin into his many carvings.

His tongue leaves...your eyes rolling back….

Hawks releases a horrid cry that sounds like both a roar and a bird-like shriek.

Exhaustion…

Hawks is too lost in the surprising sensations, dull but still intense, to realize that he’s shooting his thick load into your womb

Warmth...full...sleep.

x---x---x---x---x

“Get up.”

The voice is muffled as you slowly come to. Whatever you’re resting on doesn’t feel like your bed.

“I know you’re awake. Hurry and get up.”

You’re surrounded by warmth, by something breathing. Pain shoots through your back and legs when you stir. When you open your eyes, you see the golden eyes of a High End.

The fear does well in masking your aches as you scramble out of the arms of what turned out to be Hawks, who was lounging on his side like a giant cat.

And standing at the door, was the damned doctor that you had the privilege of seeing every day.

His stare looked even more judgmental than it usually did. Full-on disgusted, actually. Realizing that you’re still naked, you grab one of Hawks’s wings that were splayed out on the floor to shield yourself.

He simply shakes his head. “I’ve already seen enough. And heard enough.”

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

“I-I…” you stammer, panic rising in your chest as you’re unable to come up with any sort of explanation. You even turn to Hawks, like he’d somehow provide you with the answer.

“I normally don’t care what deplorable methods you people use to collect your samples, but going by the filth between your legs...” That prompts you to look down, and the second you do, you already feel a dense fluid oozing out of you and running down your legs that were stained with white. “...you actually allowed Raptor to inseminate you.”

His words, along with your accelerating heartbeat, thunders in your ears. Hawks is watching his seed leak from your raw pussy. He remains still and quiet, uncertain of how to act in the presence of a doctor.

“To think that someone would deliberately let a nomu breed them. I know that the two of you have gotten close,” His eyes skimmed past the many images and markings in the room. “But just how depraved do you have to be to go this far with a nomu?”

If this was before the days you allowed Hawks to touch you, you would have felt embarrassed. You are scared. Not only did he cum inside you, you’ve also been caught right after the act.

But any sort of shame?

You had the nerve to huff, still hiding your body from him not out of shyness, but because the asshole didn’t deserve the view. “I guess we’re all sick fucks around here,” you retort.

The glare on his glasses add to the intimidation factor of his glower. He takes a step forward and gives a quick tilt of his head. “Get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

Both you and Hawks are taken back. “For what?”

He scowls even harder. “Still asking questions? You’re lucky that you’re valuable right now. You have most likely been impregnated. This is an unexpected opportunity to observe one of Raptor’s offspring. We’ll be watching over you until the birth.”

You don’t move, still soaking in every word. This most definitely was a mistake. Not only are you going to be taken away from Hawks to be cooped up in a room with constant surveillance, you’re going to have a...fuck.

You feel the wing in your grasp vibrate softly, Hawks sensing your distress and attempting to silently reassure you.

“I said get dressed,” the doctor ordered impatiently. “Or are you still basking in the afterglow?” He snickered at his own joke before walking forward, ready to take you by force.

That’s when the nomu in the room finally stood up to step right in front of you, standing tall in all of his naked glory and easily towering over the man.

You had to give the guy credit for not looking phased by the very dangerous creature blocking his path. Then again, maybe he was just so sure that Hawks wouldn’t harm him in any way.

“Out of the way, Raptor.” Strong and firm. It’s the tone that ensures a nomu’s obedience, but you know by now that Hawks’s mind has grown beyond that.

As expected, Hawks doesn’t budge, still looking down with eyes of liquid gold.

The doctor only looks more annoyed, not afraid. “I knew you were defective,” he sneered. “Always hesitating during tests. Such wasted potential, yet the others insist on keeping you around. To do what? Decorate rooms? The idiots should have altered your brain by now.”

What? 

Hawks still didn’t move. The lack of reaction was beginning to get to the man’s nerves, his hands balling into fists as he contemplated what action to take next. You stayed mostly hidden behind Hawks, anxiously looking past his wings.

When he accepted that the nomu wasn’t going to move, and forcing his way past him was too dangerous of an option, he smirked. “Fine, then. You’re only making yourself look worse. I’m certain I can convince them to move forward with that operation after they see how defiant you’re being right now.”

No! You feel so damn useless. The bastard wanted to change him into something more compliant. How much would that change Hawks himself? You don’t know if there’s anything you can do that won’t just end with you being thrown into the lion’s den. 

The doctor placed two fingers to his temple. Fuck, his quirk. 

“Backup needed in South Hall, room five o’ ni-”

He stopped. Pure shock took over his face, words replaced with the faintest choked sounds. You truly considered asking if he was feeling alright.

Until a thin line of red appeared at his throat, blood oozing out, the bleeding getting heavier by the second.

“What. The. Fuck?”  Your breaths were becoming too short as you watched him crumple, the liquid crimson quickly pooling around him. “What the fuck is going on?”

The confusion and fear was making you delirious. God, you were going to pass out again, this is too fucking much, this asshole was about to take you away because you have a monster growing inside you and then he was going to turn Hawks into a regular High End but now he’s dead but who the fuck killed him and what’s about to happen to you-

“Calm.”

A large hand on your shoulder grounds you, steadying your breathing and expanding your tunnel vision. Hawks is in front of you, releasing soft coos.

“Wha–how–wha…” Your shaky lips are unable to form words, but he seems to understand. Something materializes right in front of you. Small, black, and sharp. It’s a feather, floating between the both of you. “What?” You finally spit out.

“Camouflage,” that’s all he says, as if that explains everything. Since when was he able t-

Whatever. There’s too much shit happening right now.

Still shaking, you look to see the doctor still bleeding, some of the blood flowing into the engravings and painting them red.

“Y-you killed him?” You whisper.

He nods, staring apathetically at the body.

“But, I thought you didn’t…” You trailed off, too stunned by everything that has happened to finish.

He turned his attention back to you, red irises – as red as the blood that continued flow – staring into your frightened eyes. “It gets easier.”

Once again,  you’re not sure what to say to that.

He looks to the door. “More coming soon.”

Right, whoever the doctor was contacting must be wondering why his telepathy was suddenly cut off.

“I want to leave.”

“Leave? Like, you want to escape?” Another nod. “That’s...I don’t know if that’s possible. There are villains around here. Strong villains. Shit, they might release some of the nomu on us!” 

“You want to stay?”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

“I’m strong, and fast.” His wings unfurl and sharpen every feather, his tail curling around you so that you can see the knifelike plumes on it. “Can heal very fast and blend in. Can do a lot.”

The display and simple explanation reminds you that you haven’t seen any of his combative skills firsthand. This is what they made him for.

Well then…

“Right, then how about we give them a final test?” Just when you were finally calming down, adrenaline is already being pumped back into your veins. “Let’s show them how unstoppable their latest work is.”

His little peep of agreement nearly ruined the moment, but it reminds you why you’ve grown so fond of him.

He turns around and crouches, motioning you to climb onto his back and wrap your arms around his neck. It was awkward, mostly due to the wings that you were squishing under you, but when you voiced your worries he just gave you an “It’s fine.” He warned you to hang on extra tightly whenever he gets low to the ground. He’s a much faster runner on all fours.

Stepping over the corpse that has bled dry, he stopped at the door and braced himself. 

“Ready?”

Your arms and legs were secured around him. You breathed in through your nose then out through your mouth. 

Breath in. Breathe out.

A lot of death and destruction is probably about to come your way.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

It would be great if you never had to fill another jar ever again.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Your clammy skin hasn’t felt sunlight in fucking forever. Are the heroes even still alive out there?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You try not to think about what’s happening in your womb.

“I’m ready.”

The door is pushed open. 

x---x---x---x---x

Targets first spotted at 12:50

The old surveillance cameras flicker and lag. It makes noticing the running black figure all the more difficult. On most screens, you’ll see nothing more than a blur. There will be the occasional confrontation with villains, sometimes accompanied by researchers with incapacitation quirks. More often than not, the escapees easily outmaneuver them, crawling and leaping on every surface and zooming past their potential captors before they can even follow.

Some of the stronger villains and nomu slow the duo down only briefly before they collapse from an unseen force. The recovered bodies possessed deep cuts across major arteries or accurate punctures in their major organs.

Some footage shows the two sometimes climbing into vents, temporarily escaping the cameras.

The woman on the High End’s back was injured during the fatal showdown at the hospital’s exit, enraging it to the point where it swiftly killed everyone in its vicinity, including fleeing researchers that were only caught in the crossfire.

Targets escaped facility at 13:09

x---x---x---x---x

Subject: Raptor

SUBJECT HAS ESCAPED. NOMU IS HIGHLY DANGEROUS. TAKE EVERY PRECAUTION IN RETRIEVING IT.

Some things are too good to be true. It turned out that Raptor’s brain has, shall we say, faulty wiring. Several observations have noted him hesitating upon certain commands. This should not be a constant problem with any High End. I don’t understand why they did not immediately work on this issue. It’s possible that they feared irreversible changes to his unique mind.

I personally believe that many of these flaws are the result of a compassionate host. The hero Hawks was unmistakably a gifted combatant, probably the most gifted individual the facility has gotten their hands on, but his attitude did not translate well into the role of a nomu. On the bright side, I never thought I’d ever see nomu, let alone a High End, show such genuine fondness over a human. I believe it’s worth another try in the future.

But for now, we should stick to what works. There are more than enough lowly criminals to go around.

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 8)

Previously on LBitR

“For the record, I still say Disney World would have been far safer than this insanity.”

Lena does her best to ignore Kara’s muttering. While this may be one of the more insane schemes she has ever concocted in her life, the truth of the matter is that she would have never, ever suggested it if she didn’t honestly think they could pull it off.

“Maybe,” she concedes, squinting at the drugstore compact sitting on the nightstand as she readjusts the wig. “But it certainly wouldn’t be as productive.”

She turns to Kara, who’s still frowning, and fluffs the strawberry blonde locks cascading from her own head. Maybe she should just bleach her hair and be done with it.

“So, what do you think?”

Kara’s frown deepens considerably. “You still look like you, Lena. I’m not sure about this.”

“Wait, hold on; I’m missing a crucial piece,” Lena retorts, reaching for a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses sitting on the nightstand. “Ta-da,” she says flatly, pulling them on. “Unrecognizable, I’m basically a different person.”

Kara pulls a face, and Lena mentally kicks herself, rushing to pull the frames off.

“Kara, I didn’t mean...”

The blonde raises a hand, stopping her in her tracks. “I know,” she says, though she does so through clenched teeth. “I still think this is a monumentally bad idea. Explain to me why I can’t go with you.”

Lena sighs. “Because you’re supposed to be dead, Kara--it’s far less risky if I go in alone. Even if I get caught, you remain a secret. Plus-- I know the building. I used to own it, once upon a different Earth, remember?”

Kara crosses her arms over her chest, looking entirely unconvinced. “I still think we should wait for Alex. She’s going to respond soon, Lena, I know it.”

“Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. Call her again tomorrow,” she says, as evenly as she can. “But I’m doing this, Kara. I can’t just stand by while you go without powers for another day--who knows when Alex will actually be able to help? I need to do this.”

Kara stares, pensively and worriedly, not saying a word for a long time. She looks at the wig Lena’s wearing, at the outfit they bought a few towns over to make her look like some intern--button-down, dark jeans, oxfords, at the medical supplies they’ll use to take a sample of her blood and transport it to LuthorCorp tomorrow. Her gaze lingers on the glasses Lena’s still holding, and she releases a sigh, sounding more than defeated--she sounds afraid.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” she waves a hand over the considerable space between them, seemingly at a loss. “There’s nothing to... atone for, or whatever.”

Lena smiles, knowing it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree there.”

Kara looks anguished, seems to be grinding the gears in her head, like she knows that at this point she’s just grasping at straws.

“Is it too late to find a vet lab somewhere?” she tries, with no conviction behind her tone.

“No, but LuthorCorp will have the equipment for much faster, and more accurate results. I can do this, Kara. I promise.”

Kara visibly deflates, and Lena knows the matter will be dropped, just like that. “Fine. I concede. I’m never talking you out of this, am I?”

Lena feels her smile twitch a little, but she reaches over the gulf between them, putting the glasses back on the nightstand.

“No, darling, I’m afraid not.”

Kara’s responding sigh seems to echo in the motel room; it lingers in the air, heavy with a fear Lena knows she’ll try to brush off.

“Alright, fine. Now please take off that wig--you as a blonde is freaking me out.”

Breaking into LuthorCorp is quite simple, in a manner of speaking: all one needs to make it through the main doors is a swipe card. If she had the necessary materials, Lena could easily clone one with her eyes closed, but as it is, she needs to acquire one from an actual employee.

That is easily accomplished; Kara, decked out as tourist (complete with a neon-orange fanny-pack of her choosing), distracts a low-level minion having his lunch break on the public plaza right across the street from the main building, and Lena just walks right past them, disguise in place. His entry card and lab-coat are in her hands in less than a second, and in the other, she’s already crossing the street.

With any luck, Lena will be in and out of the building before the card is ever reported missing.

The problem, however, lies in getting into a laboratory. Any of the more equipped labs, those working on secretive (and likely illegal) projects, would lie behind layers and layers of security Lena has neither the time nor the tools at present to even try to break.

To their luck, Lena doesn’t actually need to try to sneak into any high-clearance labs--all she needs is a solid thirty minutes with a mass spectrometer of her own design; a handy not-so-little piece of machinery that had become standard in all L-Corp labs in their previous Earth, and, because Lex cannot resist stealing a good idea, LuthorCorp.

Still, even to access a simple, run-of-the-mill lab at LuthorCorp, Lena needs to go through biometric sensors--retina scanners, to be precise.

And maybe, just maybe, Lena had neglected to mention that little detail to Kara when they discussed the plan for the umpteenth time that morning while she methodically took a sample of Kara’s blood, but that’s neither here nor there.

Once she’s through the main doors-- Kryptonian blood sample packed into a Thermos full of ice in her purse (I am amazed and disturbed at how easily you were able to get medical supplies like these, Lena, seriously), it’s easy enough to make her way through the  elevators, carrying a stack of papers to look the part of an intern--no one even bats an eye.

The cameras on the third floor are exactly where Lena had expected them to be, so she walks down the corridor to where she knows is a supply closet, and swipes in with no problem. The layout of the building really had not changed at all since she last worked there, even if that had happened on a literal other reality.

Once she’s in, Lena only has to wait. She counts the seconds in her head in French, both to keep track of time, but also to calm her racing heartbeat, because this--this is the biggest gamble of her plan.

Since she obviously does not have a way to bypass the biometric scanners, Lena’s only option is to get someone to do it for her.

She lies in wait in the supply closet for about two and a half minutes, and then she hears it: the sound of footsteps, two sets of them, and idle conversation, coming down the corridor directly her way. Lena takes a deep breath, counts the steps as they approach--she only has one chance to do this right.

When the steps are right in front of the closet, she swings open the door with force.

“Ow!”

The hit is a good one--whoever’s on the other side blocks her from opening the door all the way with dull impact, and her papers go scattering all over the place.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Are--are you OK, did the door hit you?”

Lena’s holding a hand over her right eye, moaning and doubled-over in mock pain as two young men--both looking to be interns-- look her over with concern. One of them is already on the floor, gathering her papers.

“Ow, no, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have opened the door like that--oww” she cries, maybe a little too dramatically. One of the interns, tall and lanky, steadies her as she fake-wobbles on her feet.

“Ouch, did you hit your head? Let me take a look at your eye, take your hand---yikes!”

Lena removes her palm, previously dusted with the finest blush powder she could find at the drugstore yesterday, and makes a big show of blinking away her tears. The make-up gives her an instant shiner, and the fine powder has the added benefit of irritating the shit out of her eye--so the swelling and the tears are 100% real.

“I’m fine, really, thank you,” she says, waving them off and taking the sheets the other intern dutifully picked up. “I’m so sorry, I was in such a hurry--are you guys OK?”

“Better than you,” the first one, laughs, though he still looks concerned. “Are you sure you’re OK? Your eye looks pretty bad, do you want to go to the infirmary or something?”

“No, no, it’s fine -- I just got to run some stuff, then I’ll get some ice. I’m fine, really,” Lena waves them off politely, touching the skin around her supposedly injured eye.

The two men exchanged a worried glance, but the first shrugs his shoulders. “OK then, take care. Sorry again.”

“No worries,” she laughs, a little too high, but she’s so close, so so close... “I’m just a klutz--my fault, totally.”

She’s already walking away towards a lab, one she had checked during her walk from the elevator to the supply closet. The interns linger by the closet door for a moment, before slowly making their way to the elevator, still sending worried glances her way.

Lena swipes the stolen card, and immediately the panel by the side opens up, revealing the retina scanner and prompting her to scan her credentials. She leans towards the scanner, and the red light makes her blink; the machine buzzes and flashes red, and a robotic voice filters through the side-speakers.

Unable to scan. Please try again.

Lena huffs, audibly--she hears the interns’ steps pause someway down the corridor. She stomps her foot, and leans over the scanner again. It buzzes.

Unable to scan. Please try again.

“Shoot! You’ve gotta be kidding me right now!”

The steps grow closer, and for a moment Lena’s a bit worried she may be overselling her frustration, but before she can try scanning her retinas again, the tall and lanky intern is by her side.

“Did you try your left eye? Seems to be in better condition,” he jokes--his smile is genuine and friendly, but Lena puts on an impressive grimace of alarm.

“I never registered it,” she bemoans, feigning panic. “God, I meant to, but then it was just one of those things--oh my god, my boss is going to kill me--”

“Hey, relax,” he quips, raising a hand to stop what was going to be a rather dramatic tirade. He smiles, and swipes his card at the door, leaning over the panel and scanning his own eye.

Scan complete. The voice drones. Access granted; Montgomery, Jason.

The panel lights up in green, and the door unlocks with an audible hiss. Lena lets out a little squeak of delight that is barely faked--she can’t believe it worked.

“Oh my god, thank you, you’re a saint!”

She pushes the door open, but is barely a foot inside when an arm blocks her entry--she almost screams, body frozen in sheer terror as she turns to look at the intern the door panel just identified as Jason.

He’s smiling broadly. “Say, I’m sorry about your eye. Can I make it up to you over some coffee, later?”

Lena can barely contain her sigh of relief, but she puts on her sweetest smile and bats her eyelashes (though she’s not sure how good the effect is with the eye that is actually stinging quite painfully--what the hell was in that powder??). “I think you just did, Jason.”

His blush would have been cute, if Lena had not been on a very tight schedule. “Oh, I insist. When does your shift end...?”

It takes Lena a second to register he’s waiting for her name; she slowly maneuvers under his arm, dragging her fingers over the sleeve of his labcoat--she can practically feel the poor guy’s shiver as she leans in closer.

“Liz,” she whispers, close to his year. “And my shift ends at seven. The café across the street alright with you?”

He visibly swallows. “Yes, ma’am. See you there, Liz.”

Lena gives him a wink--with her good eye-- as he steps away. As soon as the door clicks shut again, she exhales with relief, leaning against it so she doesn’t just fall to the floor. Her knees are trembling.

She knew she could pull it off, but she also cannot believe she did.

With no time to waste, Lena practically bolts to the nearest spectrometer, quickly uncapping the Thermos with Kara’s blood sample and getting to work. It’s almost refreshing to be in a lab again, even under these circumstances, after weeks on the road. There is an innate sense of calm that falls over her when she’s working like this, like this is her element.

Like this is where she is meant to be.

The spectrometer whirs to life with Kara’s sample--Lena only needs twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes with it. She is tempted to stay for as long as she possibly can--there is so much equipment here that would be helpful... if only she brought a bigger purse, maybe she could have stolen some without detection, since there are no cameras in the labs.

The screen begins to break down the analysis, and Lena’s barely seeing it; she’s copying everything by hand onto a notebook--once the machine is done, she will make its history unrecoverable, and she doesn’t want to print anything through LuthorCorp printers.

Lena works quickly, annotating in her shorthand and trying to work as fast as the machine gives her results. She is barely processing what she sees; there will be time to read and figure everything out later, but now, she needs all the information she can cram into this little notebook.

She can feel her own eyes widening at some of the results, has to check them twice before writing them down--her pen furiously scratches across the paper, but her brain is already elsewhere, trying to reverse engineer the method of synthesizing what she’s seeing in Kara’s blood, trying to figure out ways to get it out of her system, trying to...

The spectrometer slows down and stops--the bar on the screen reads analysis complete. Lena releases a sigh of relief, hand cramping as she writes.

And then there’s the click of a gun right behind her.

“Fancy seeing you here, Lena.”

Lena shuts her eyes--the right one still throbbing, and raises her hands, still clutching the notebook as she slowly and deliberately turns around. She never even heard the door hissing open. She opens her eyes to meet a flinty, furious glare.

“Hello, Alex.”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

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[rpmemesbyarat]

As someone in the Marvel RPC, I see a lot of “my character was kidnapped/created in a lab and turned into the perfect weapon” or “my character was captured by scientists because she was an alien/supernatural creature/etc and they wanted to study her” and inevitably, both involve a lot of gratutitous torture. The key word being “gratuitous”. Either due to wanting drama or being misinformed by popular media depictions of such things (Bucky Barnes, Laura Kinney, etc) the general assumption of fandom seems to be that scientists are basically sadists and that “experiments” are little more than exercises in how to cause their character the most pain possible. The thing is though, a lot of the reasoning for all this is. . . bad. And while canon ---be it Marvel or something else-- may do that, I would also like to discuss more realistic options and point out a few general mistaken assumptions or things people don’t tend to think of. - If a bunch of scientists are trying to create an augmented supersoldier, “perfect life form”, or whatever, that’s not an experiment, that’s a PROJECT. There is a big difference between the two. - Who/what is your character being created or augmented to fight? No one is gonna spend the time/money/effort to make a supersoldier just to have one around for fun. The enemy they are supposed to face or job they are supposed to do is going to influence EVERYTHING about the abilities they’re given and how they are “designed” not to mention how much independent thinking it’s practical to give them. For instance, for some jobs, being able to think and make decisions on their own will be a must, and that’s a risk. For others, there’s really no need to leave their free will intact if you can avoid it. Someone being “built” for espionage will be much different than someone being designed as a living tank. Likewise if someone is going to be sent into a desert environment versus expected to go for long periods underwater, and so on. Knowing what they’re designed to be going up against is CRUCIAL. - Why are living weapons the best option to fight this thing? Because generally speaking, there can be a lot more disadvantages to those than to guns and guided missiles and androids and shit. What about this enemy required a lving sentient supersoldier instead? - If a specimen is rare or valuable, it’s unlikely that it’s going to be dissected or otherwise treated in a way that will deliberately damage it. Your characters might FEAR that if they’re found the men in white coats might “cut them up” but this is actually unlikely. If scientists are trying to learn about something and it’s not a thing they can easily replace, they’re going to try to do so WITHOUT destroying or damaging it. The reason that real-life lab animals are treated so callously is because there’s lots of them, and we already know a lot about how they all work. When a scientist dissects a lab mouse, they’re not losing anything when it dies. If the first alien on Earth dies, or some super-soldier they worked really hard to create dies, they’re losing either a lot of potential information that can’t be gained anywhere else, or something they worked really hard to create and won’t be able to do again without a lot of time or effort. They are going to want to avoid that, and in this age of ultrasounds, X-Rays, and other non-invasive technology, that’s very easily done, especially in a setting where they probably have higher level tech than the real world if they’re creating super-soldiers and such in the first place. And they definitely have NO REASON to want to cut a specimen up ALIVE. - If their goal is to study a person or creature, such as the aforementioned alien, or a mermaid, or whatever else, they actually will probably want to avoid causing it stress. Stress causes behavioral changes as well as physiological ones, and if this is a never-before-seen or rarely-examined species/person, scientists will want to examine them in their default state first. Once they’ve learned everything they can about them in their “normal” state, then, yes, they may begin to deliberately induce stress to study what changes. However, they’re still likely to try to avoid damaging the specimen or inducing ill-health in it (which prolonged and/or serious stress can do) Again, the reason that regular lab animals get treated like their lives don’t matter is because THEY DON’T. Lab mice, dogs, etc., are just models for which to study humans most of the time and have well-documented behavior and physiology, they’re not rare or unknown creatures. So the approach is completely different. A literal or figurative unicorn would not be treated like that. - Likewise, if this specimen is something that was created (or augmented from an existing animal/person) it’s unlikely that the scientists are going to torture them, either for fun or through painful “tests”. Again, they don’t want to damage their hard work, either through physically wrecking them or through reducing them to a useless traumatized heap. It doesn’t matter if the scientists are mean cruel people without a bit of kindness or empathy, it’s impractical. If this being was created for a purpose, fucking it up (or turning it against you) defeats that purpose. And whoever is funding them isn’t going to be happy about that. And if whoever is funding them is the one who wanted to torture this creature/person. . . why do they need it to be specially modified or whatever? That really doesn’t make much sense, especially considering it’s virtually guaranteeing that this thing you have GIVEN SUPER POWERS TO is going to want to murder you. - Sure, it’s possible that one person on the staff might just personally be a sadistic bully or have a grudge against the character/creation even when none of the others do, like Kimura with Laura Kinney, but in all likelihood they’d be found out and fired. “But they take pains to hide it and erase security footage and--” Okay, if you really really want that, you can find a way to do it. Just know it’s not at all going to be acceptable procedure even in the most illegal of operations, not because it’s morally wrong but because it fucks with the product. And I would also ask yourself---if your character is already a lab rat, do they need to be tortured as well? Why? What does that add? Does it not feel “traumatic” or “dark” enough that they, a presumably sentient being, is already owned and imprisoned and kept from anything approaching a normal life? Why is that not “bad enough” to you that their story needs over-the-top torture as well? I’m not saying you can’t do it. I’m saying to think about why you’re doing it. Because a lot of times, in my experience, it basically comes down to cheap angst and sympathy points, often at the expense of, as discussed, logic. - “But they want to make them loyal out of fear!” Okay. That works only up until they get an opportunity to escape. Because if they’re afraid, they’ll take that chance. It’s true they might be too afraid to even try---that’s the case for many abuse victims---but I’m not sure that an organization wants to gamble that will be the case and risk losing their valuable asset the moment send asset is put in the field. And, again, risk the damage to them. This one is doable, you just have to be logical about it and think from the perspective of the people running things, not from the perspective of “what’s the most dramatic?” - “But it’s to brainwash them!” Brainwashing does not mean constant egregious torture that just somehow magically produces sudden loyalty one day. I know that tons of movies and comics have showed you this, but torture does NOT brainwash people. It actually makes people MORE resistant and hateful towards the people and group doing it. People under torture may confess to anything to make it stop, but that’s a short-term compliance and far from actually altering their minds in any way. It most certainly does not render them into obedient loyal sheep; typically the reverse, in fact. If you want to read more about this misconception and what the reality is, I’d check out these posts HERE and HERE and HERE which go much more in-depth and cite real-life sources. If you would like to read more about actual brainwashing, HERE and HERE . - “The torture is necessary for their training!” Again, this works to a point, but most people take it absurdly far in their depictions. Training is to build a person up; if it grievously injures or mentally traumatizes them, that’s counter-productive, as it decreases their usefulness. Being pointlessly cruel to your “living weapon” is just counter-productive. Training can certainly still be intense, and even un-ethically or dangerously so, but if it crosses into just coming up with ridiculously over-the-top ways to make the character suffer, it’s too OTT and clearly for angst-fuel, and most readers will probably roll their eyes because it’s just ridiculous after a certain point. Here are some good articles from SPRINGHOLE.NET relevant to this topic: Things To Know If Your Character Will Be Augmented Or Experimented Upon Things About Training & Teaching Writers Need To Know Tips For Writing Dark Stories, Settings, & Characters Pointlessly Edgy Tropes To Reconsider Using Basic Tips To Create Better Characters With Tragic & Traumatic Backstories Note that this is not to say that your lab rat character cannot have been mistreated, abused, or otherwise traumatized by their situation. Indeed, it would be unrealistic if they were NOT, since treating a sentient being as a tool under the control of others and having them commit violence, even if they do so “willingly” because they don’t know any better, is an inherently traumatic thing. But because it’s inherently traumatic, the unrealistic torture porn is just that much more unnecessary and frankly kind of silly. It’s also lazy, and the ways that many writers go about make no actual sense, as has been discussed. Going back to examples from Marvel, a favorite little-known X-Men character of mine is Darkstar, aka Laynia Petrovna. Laynia and her twin brother Nicolai were mutants born in the USSR. They were taken away by the state at birth, and raised by government scientist Professor Phobos in a “school” (read: facility) for super-soldiers. They were trained in combat and taught to be loyal to the USSR above all else. They were also told that their parents had abandoned them (when in fact their mother died in childbirth, and their father was told they had died too) and were NOT told that they were siblings, instead being given different surnames so that their familial loyalty would not supersede their loyalty to the Soviet Union. It wasn’t until they were adults and discovered their bio-father during a mission that they ever found out they were related. Yet, despite this, and despite occasionally joining superhero teams in the USA (Champions) or aiding the X-Men (X-Corps), Laynia has remained loyal to her country first, though she has often turned her back on its government (though she has returned to serving it now that the USSR is no more) What I really like about Laynia’s backstory is how different it is from most “I was raised as a weapon” stories in that it lacks overt abuse or trauma. She seems to have been treated just fine, she was never tortured, there was never shown to be any needlessly brutal training or treatment of her and the others, etc. She was raised to be a loyal servant to the state, and she was treated in a way that would actually facilitate that, and IT WORKED. So many scientists/trainers/etc in fiction seem to think it’s a great idea to treat your living weapon in ridiculously over-the-top violent, abusive ways for no real reason (except, of course, THE DRAMAZ) and will often be portrayed as insanely sadistic towards their pet projects…even though that’s obviously the LAST thing you would want to do with a valuable asset that you wanted to be loyal to you and have no desire to escape or turn sides. And as I said, it WORKS with Laynia. One of her biggest and most constant struggles FROM THE START is her loyalty to her country, versus her own conscience when she’s asked to do things she finds questionable. She also finds out again and again that she’s been lied to or manipulated by the people in charge of her, and sometimes she’ll defect, but she always ends up back again. And while she’s angry at the things that government asks her to do to others, or has done to others, she never really questions what was done to her. We never see her actually being like “holy shit, I was kidnapped and brainwashed and exploited and I’m really fucking angry about this!” like so many characters in similar situations realize (and often very quickly despite supposed brainwashing; even when still “loyal” they’re usually portrayed as hating their captors) And you know why? Because, again, what was done to her WORKED. Like she has a MOMENT in the issue where she finds out her real history and vows she won’t blindly follow a government ever again, but…she still sticks with the USSR, then Russian, government. She may not be “blindly” following, but she doesn’t seem ever able to leave them for long either. And her brother Nicolai/Vanguard strays even less than she does. And the writers never focus much on this. There’s never been a story that focuses on Laynia’s mindset or giving her a journey that helps her grow in any way or even just examines all this. Partly I think that’s because she’s so minor and has never had a story IN GENERAL that focuses on her. Partly I think it’s because writers just aren’t INTERESTED in a story like hers UNLESS it involves all the dramatic grimdark “tortured test subject” cliches, and they assume readers aren’t either. But I think this does a disservice to readers. One of my pet peeves, perhaps my MAJOR and BIGGEST one, about abuse in fiction is that it is ALWAYS portrayed as BLATANT and EXTREME, committed by people who are OBVIOUSLY monsters and who act like said monsters 24/7. They might get a shallow charming veneer to fool people, but the victim and audience both know that under that they’re un-nuanced, two-dimensional demons. And some abusers are like that. Some abuse is super extreme. But lots of abusers are much more nuanced, and lots of abuse is far for subtle. If only the most extreme types of abuse and abuser are portrayed, that’s all people learn to recognize “real abuse” as being. And real-life victims of abuse already have enough problems feeling that they weren’t “really abused” or “abused enough” to qualify. So I think stories like Laynia’s are important, and they’re worth exploring. They don’t treat abuse as torture porn, something to lingeringly emphasize to the audience in every gory detail for sheer shock value even when it makes NO SENSE for what the abuser is trying to accomplish. Instead, her story makes sense for what the government and its scientists employees were trying to do, and it has an accordingly realistic effect on her that manifests in a far less subtle but no less meaningful way than dramatic “media portrayals of PTSD” cliches. And it’s a story I’d be interested in seeing more of and finally unpacking fully, if any writer ever steps up to the plate ready to treat it with the sensitivity it deserves. Not every story of this sort needs to be like Laynia’s. But not every story of this type needs to be like Logan’s either. Figure out what works best for your character, question why you want it and what purpose it serves, and just make it make sense.

[entanglingbriars]

“As the biologist on this panel of philosophers, I thought I’d leave them to the tricky job of discussing the ethical concerns of designer babies, and instead focus on the practical aspects. Gene editing is a far more difficult endeavour than you might imagine, because many people have a very naive idea of how genetics, and the relationship between genotype and phenotype, works. So I’ll just bring up a couple of biological concerns that would mean I’d never consider having a gene-edited child.

Very few genes act alone; they’re part of a network of other genes that work together to assemble the organism. How big and complex is that network? According to the omnigenic model, every gene influences and is influenced by every other gene, which means the background genetics of 20,000 genes has to be considered when you manipulate any one gene. You might wonder, then, how this could work for all those research scientists who are busily doing experimental analyses of genes edited in their lab mice, or fruit flies. The answer: lab research animals are highly inbred, with relatively little genetic variation between individuals. That means you can tinker with the genetic makeup of one individual, and get replicable results in another animal of the same strain. Humans are much messier than that. You should know this from all the pharmaceutical ads thrown at us: there are all kinds of side effects and unpredictable variations in medications. One pill might work great for you, be terrible for your friend at work, and do nothing at all for your Uncle Ralph. Now imagine the same range of side-effects that you might inflict on a baby, and realise that there’s no way to “stop taking” the gene editing pill, and they will have to live with it their entire life.

What gene modification do you want? Because we honestly don’t know what most genes do, at least at the level of knowing all of their effects. There are a few disease genes of large effect we can dream of eradicating, such as the genes for phenylketonuria, or sickle cell anaemia, or cystic fibrosis. Those are problems so severe that the choice is between a certainty of a short, sick life, or the risks of experimental gene modification.

There is a lot of misplaced confidence in genetic engineering. Sure, we can edit out a defective gene in a mouse embryo — with some sloppiness. Sometimes the wrong bit of DNA is spliced out. Sometimes the insertion leaves little molecular scars around the site. Sometimes it fails in some of the embryonic cells, so some have the modification and others don’t. Sometimes the scientist doesn’t actually know what they’re doing.

One other significant concern is the motivation behind gene-editing embryos, and here I’m segueing into the moral concerns, which I’ll leave to the philosophers. Beyond editing out known, serious single gene defects, why do people want this? Too often we’re drifting neatly into eugenics, in which certain properties of people are valued more than certain others, but rather than executing the unfit, we’re going to selectively promote other people with properties we consider “better”. For instance, there are people who want to make sure none of their children are gay, so if we could zap the gay gene (which doesn’t exist, by the way), we could make sure that everyone is suitably heterosexual. To which I have to say three things:

But what about, for example, if someone wants their son to be destined to become a world-class football player. What genes would you want modified? It’s going to require a lot, and we don’t know what all they are. You can’t just simply switch on a big muscle gene — we do know how to do that! It’s been done in a cattle breed, the Belgian Blue, by a natural mutation in the myostatin gene, which normally keeps muscle growth under control. But there’s more to being a great athlete than having giant muscles! These cows also have serious side-effects: larger calves and smaller birth canals mean most have to be delivered by caesarian, and the adults have cardiovascular and joint issues.

Gene-editing for athleticism is worse than a gamble, because you’re guaranteed to fail to modify necessary complementary genes, you don’t know what all genes are needed for great athletic performance, you’ve just added a poorly understood variable to the poorly understood recipe for athleticism, and you’ve also added the potential for deleterious effects due to the manipulation required.

There’s already a better solution: you want a great football player, then practice, practice, practice. Raise them in an environment where football is important and they learn to love the game, and you’ve got a better chance of raising a football player than randomly mucking around in their genome. This is also true of other traits, like if you want a smart kid. We already know how to maximise that — it’s called an education.

For example, the Chinese scientist He Jiankui thought he’d engineer HIV resistance into the embryos of parents with HIV. Sounds like a good idea, right? Except that his idea was to mimic a known natural mutation called CCR-delta-32, which is carried in some people, especially Northern Europeans, who have reduced incidence of HIV in homozygous carriers.

The problem: it involves deleting some of the immune system machinery, which HIV uses to recognise immune system cells. We don’t know what else about the immune system is affected by the change. The resistance requires that both copies of the CCR-delta-32 gene be removed, but He’s changes only knocked out one copy, so it would be effectively ineffectual. The children modified by his procedure were also mosaic, so only some of their cells were affected.

The only thing his experiment accomplished was to make him notorious. And put him in prison, apparently.

What’s wrong with being gay?

What if deleting gayness also deleted other properties of the person?

And hey, you do know nobody knows how to do that, even if they had a flawless CRISPR/Cas9 protocol, right?”

- PZ Myers

[kyndaris]

Shadows of the Mind

Red-rimmed eyes stared back at me. Disgusted to see how low I had fallen, I splashed cold water onto my face – hoping against hope that it would also wash away my addiction. No such luck.

Studying my reflection, I ran a tired hand over the stubble that I should have shaved off yesterday morning…or had it been the day before last? Time blurred when sleep was taken out of the equation. And it had been a long while since I had rested my head on a pillow.

Yet though I craved the comforts of a warm bed, the only beating thought in my head was the same refrain I had heard a million times before: just one more. After all, what could it hurt? I was already late. Even if they didn’t fire me today, I would not be long for the chopping block when the next review came up.

A better man would have done more when his wife and their two children had threatened to leave because of the nights spent in the casino. A better man would probably have talked it out and made steps for self-improvement. When the accident happened, a better man might have used the opportunity to finally turn over a new leaf. Or, perhaps, a better man would have poured all their energy into digging into the truth of the situation.

But I was not a better man.

When I could not afford to continue gambling away my money at the slot machines, I turned to drink to drown out the pain. Kicked out of the house that had cost me two decades of labour and bleeding money from the debts that had gone unpaid, I was at the end of my rope.

The yellow eye in the centre of my left palm looked up at me. Judgement writ clear.

I blinked and the image disappeared. My hand was pink flesh once again. No sign of an eye anywhere. Had I just dreamed it? Or was there something more sinister? Linked, perhaps, to the work I was doing? How else could I explain the cadavers that were brought in with ridges of scales and webbed toes.

It should not have come as a surprise. There had always been rumours of a curse being laid on the small seaside town since time immemorial. Folk tales, mostly, to scare kids into behaving.

But what if it was all true? It would explain the accident. There was no way that Morgan would have missed the turn. She had always been a careful driver, particularly when there was heavy fog. And the kids were in the back…

The police had stopped by the house and had asked plenty of questions. Did I have any suspicions that she might have had suicidal thoughts or that she was not coping in any way? The idea was ludicrous. I told the officers as such. ‘Morgan would never have done it on purpose. Our kids meant the world to her. Hell, she had been heading to her parents – nowhere near the promontory…’

A sharp slap to the face brought me out of my spiralling thoughts. God. I was losing my mind and there was nothing I could do about it. One of the side effects, probably, from the antidepressants and anxiety tablets I had been prescribed.

I reached for the bottle. Twisted the lid. Two small capsules popped out into my cupped hand. Within seconds, I had swallowed them dry.

As I felt them slide down my throat, I risked one more glance at the mirror. My clothes were crinkled, dark bags rested under my eyes and the tuft of hair I still had would do little to cover my encroaching baldness. In one word I looked like shit.

Still, I had seen worse. And I found that I didn’t much care whether I lost my job today or in the near future.

I was tired of fighting. Easier to submit to the inevitable once it came. Whether that was the drugs I had taken, I couldn’t say. The fog that descended over my mind made it hard to think about it too much. Maybe that was good. At the very least I would not have to combat the crippling anxiety that would have come with it.

Gambling had taken away my family. It had taken away the roof over my head and the food to line my stomach. Soon, it would take my life. One way or another.

Within minutes I left the small cramped flat and took the rickety lift down to the rundown carpark. A tan overcoat was tastefully slung over my right arm in the hope that it would give me a modicum of respectability. I only prayed that no-one looked too closely at the frayed sleeves and the weathered scuff marks. In my other hand, I carried a battered leather briefcase that I had dug out of the closet. As I reached in for the keys to the bucket of bolts that I called a car, I realised that I had forgotten my security pass.

Cursing under my breath, I dumped most of my belongings into the passenger side seat and raced up the stairs rather than wait for the lift. Legs burning and puffing hard, I stopped at the second floor to catch my breath. Just as an errant chastisement was once again about to regale me with all my failures up to that absolute second, I mustered up what remained of my strength and staggered up the remaining flight of stairs to my two-bedroom unit.

It was then a simple matter of busting open the door and nabbing the pass sat on what could not reasonably be considered a proper dining table – an elevated plastic chair with three stools around it. Oh, how far the mighty had fallen. If only my old friends could see me now…

But I had lost most anyone that would have cared to offer any sort of aid for my self-inflicted plight.

By the time I pulled up at the security gate, I was ten minutes late. The guard took his time checking my pass and confirming my name in the system. He reminded me of a raven with his sharp beak-like nose and the shifty glint in his small beady black eyes as he looked at my face and then the computer screen with needless scrutiny.

‘Everything appears to be in order, Mister Hinds,’ he said. His voice was unusually nasally, almost high-pitched, for a man of his size and girth. ‘Be sure to clock in on time tomorrow. I’ve had journalists sniffing up here the last few days, trying to sneak in. You know how it is when it comes to the work that goes on. Probably know it better than I do.’

I nodded and made to retrieve my security pass. ‘No need to tell me twice. I’ll be doubly sure to set the alarm to a quarter to seven,’ I replied with a polite smile. ‘Thank you for your exemplary work, Horace. Doing us all proud.’

Once the gate was up, I pushed my car into gear. It trundled through, picking up speed as soon as I reached the main building and the carpark resting underneath. Built forty years ago, it was an impressive creation of concrete. Passing under the awning as I entered the carpark, I could barely make out any windows on the exterior. Appropriate, considering the secrets that we kept hidden away from prying eyes.

When I finally arrived at the laboratory, after changing into my white lab coat in one of the only sterile areas of the facility, it was ten minutes to eleven. Already a migraine had formed behind my eyes, throbbing with each beat of my heart. All I wanted to do was to take a sip of smooth whiskey to ease away the pain. Except, of course, I didn’t even have enough money to buy a pint at the local pub, let alone anything stronger.

Before I could entertain my fantasy further, Gladstone strode in from the far door. “Good to see you actually make it out of bed, Hinds,’ he said, barely looking up from his notes on the clipboard. ‘We need you downstairs. One of the,’ he hesitated slightly as he looked for a word to describe the subjects that were kept in less than humane holding cells, ‘creatures had a little incident last night. Look into it.’

Just like that, I was dismissed.

Orders given, Gladstone sat at a free desk, his eyes never leaving whatever was on his clipboard as he tapped his pen arrhythmically against it. Maybe it was my overactive imagination or perhaps it was my sleep deprived brain, but I could not help but compare Gladstone to a big cat, just waiting to pounce upon the unwary. Surely, the elongated teeth and sharp curling fingernails were due to the fact that I had been awake for the last thirty-six hours.

With a great shake of my head, I picked up my belongings and made for the far door from whence Gladstone had come through.

As I made my way down, my footsteps on the metal steps echoed through the concrete well. There was naught in this passageway to dampen sound. Austere and spartan had been the design choices when it came to top-secret laboratories nestled a few miles away from town.

Deeper and deeper and deeper I went. It was as if I was descending into the bowels of the Earth.

My only companion was a small wispish ball of bluish light, shaped into an amalgamation of an eyeball and wings. I knew I should have been disturbed by the sudden evolution in my hallucinations. Yet, I could not find the strength inside me to care. After all, what were a few demons and devils from myths and legends, when I had seen men who had sprouted bat wings and women with large bulbous eyes with gills beginning to form on their necks?

Besides, it seemed harmless anyways. Staying always three feet behind me. For a brief moment, I came to a stop at a landing and eyed it for a few seconds, daring it to attack, before shrugging my shoulders when it remained docile, impossibly hovering in place.

How exceedingly odd.

Knowing that it was not real, I did not reach for it. Even as I tried to rationally explain the phenomena floating beside me with science. In the end, I simply chalked it up to the drugs and thought no more on the matter.

Something strange was happening and it was my job to find the answers. It mattered not that I was wracked with guilt and grief. Gladstone, for one, couldn’t care less. All that mattered was that I did what I was paid for. Nothing more. Nothing less.

As I stepped through the pressurised doors and into the decontamination unit, I turned my addled mind to the task at hand. With great effort, I managed to rouse it from its stupor. By the time I emerged into the top-secret containment area, I was as focused and sharp as I was ever going to be with soporific drugs pumping through my veins. Which, to be fair, wasn’t much. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open as I stumbled forward, one hand blindly reaching for a wall to steady myself as I adjusted to the change in temperature and lighting.

‘Hinds! Thank God you’re here. I’ve tried my best to stabilise it but this is beyond my skills.’ Pritchard rushed towards me, her hands covered in a deep shade of blue and a frantic look in her eyes. ‘You know what’ll happen if we were to lose it. And I’d rather not have my head on a pike.’

‘Show me.’

We headed deeper, passing by huge containment units filled with all manner of strange creatures and monsters. Many had been found washed up on the beaches dotted along the western coast. Some had been hostile, attacking anyone or anything nearby. Others had been positively docile, more curious than dangerous.

Even their appearances varied. I had seen several that looked like they had stepped out from my worst nightmare. There was no word to describe the monstrosities. Videos I had glimpsed showed unspeakable terrors – a mix of tentacles and shapeless horrors. Bringing them back to the facility was never an option. The casualty numbers had been astronomical. We were fortunate when the retrieval team returned with footage.

Should the retrieval team manage to subdue one of these creatures, which they did on a rare occasion, they were almost always dead upon delivery. And utterly useless for our research.

Imagine what we could learn if we actually had a living breathing monster before us! The knowledge that we would have at our fingertips!

Most of what my team and I had been able to study were specimens that were mostly humanoid in appearance. One had stood out in my memory had looked like a man that I had seen on a Missing Persons poster that had been hanging outside one of the telegraph poles near my flat. The only difference had been the ridges of scales that had lined his jaw and knuckles as well as the yellowish tint to his eyes.

It had been clear that he had been in the midst of metamorphosis. How or why had remained a mystery. We had kept him in isolation, unsure how best to classify him.

Unfortunately, he had not survived long in captivity. I had been the one to discover his body one rare morning when I was actually sober a few days before Morgan’s ill-fated attempt to leave me. Suffice it to say, there was naught we could do to revive the man. The autopsy, too, had failed to pinpoint the exact cause of death. Those thoughts had consumed me prior to my gambling binge. And all I had wanted was a distraction to escape the realities of my job.

Pritchard led me to a small enclosed room. It was filled with a variety of medical equipment. At the centre of the room was a cot. Two nurses were crowded around it, their eyes fixed on the heart monitor as it beeped erratically. They looked up as we entered.

‘How’s it looking?’ said Pritchard.

‘Not good, Laura,’ answered Lopez as he rose to his feet and made some space. He was a tall burly fellow and sported long hair that was tied into a neat ponytail. If I did not know him, I would have said he looked out of place, dressed in green scrubs and a white lab coat. Despite his appearance (which would better fit a wrestling ring), he was one of the best nurses I had worked with. Professional and exacting, I could always count on Lopez on following my instructions to the letter.

‘Do you know what happened?’

Lopez shook his head. ‘Escape gone wrong? The security team found it in the early hours of the morning. It was already bleeding. Then it tried to attack one of the men. In a panic, one of the junior officers shot it. The rest is what you can see.’

Head pounding with the onset of a hangover, I pressed my thumbs into my temples. Things were rapidly going wrong and I needed to make a decision. Time was of the essence. I could not afford to second guess myself or watch as a life slipped from my fingers just because the only thing I could think about, given the emergency, was how good whisky on the rocks would taste on my parched tongue.

~

Time passed. I could not say how long we worked until we managed to stabilise the creature until I glanced at my wristwatch and saw the time. Over the course of minutes that had seemed like hours, and hours that had seemed like days, we struggled to keep it alive. It fought us tooth and nail. I suffered two scratches on my right arm and Pritchard was sporting a cut lip. It was as if it would rather death than another moment in captivity in a holding cell. A part of my sympathised with it. What was a life confined to four walls and where strange men dressed all in white came to poke and prod you?

Sweat dotting my brow, I managed to inject tranquiliser into the creature, as the rest of the team – Pritchard and the two nurses held it down. Once it took effect, we all exchanged exhausted smiles. Standing back up, I glanced at the machines recording its vitals.

‘Keep it sedated. The sutures should hold but better not risk it,’ I said to Pritchard as I dabbed at my forehead with the back of my sleeve.

‘Hinds, you’re a lifesaver.’

I shook my head. ‘We aren’t out of the woods yet. Keep an eye on the equipment. Message me if anything changes.’ Pulling off my gloves, I added, ‘I’m going to grab something to eat. Oh, and Pritchard, tell Gladstone that I can’t keep doing this. I’m a scientist. Not a bloody surgeon.’

With that, I stepped out of the cramped tiny room that we had been in for the four hours. As I did so, my stomach grumbled. A reminder that I had not eaten anything substantial for a good long while. It was a torturous trek back up the stairs. By the time I reached the top, my knees were aching and it hurt to breathe.

Why didn’t anyone think to build a bloody lift? What if an incident happened down in containment and we needed to flee for our lives? The monsters would get us all before we even made it up one flight. Except, maybe, Lopez. He looked like someone that ran marathons on the weekends. Working as a nurse in a top-secret facility was wasted on him.

Once I was able to inhale without an accompanying twinge of pain, I gingerly passed into the main laboratory. Gladstone was still seated at his desk. His eyes barely flickered as I walked by. ‘Would it be a safe assumption that the situation has been rectified, Hinds?’

I stopped at the exit, my stomach twisting itself into a knot as it sought any type of sustenance. ‘For the time being. Sir, if I may, how long must we continue to prolong their torment? These experiments are not humane. And who’s to say when the next incident may occur. Lives will be lost.’

‘You grow bold, Hinds. However, it is not your place to question the orders you are given. You need money, yes? What would your wife and children think if you came back home with no job to support their ever-growing needs? The solution here is simple. You do as you’re told.’

‘Sir, they’re—’ I closed my mouth, thinking better of it. Of course, Gladstone had forgotten the funeral. He was a man focused on results, never mind the means. The people he worked with were not colleagues or humans with lives that varied from the complex to the very simple. They were tools. Nothing more. Even now he was still intently reading through the data that had been collated over several months. On occasion, he would stop and make a brief annotation.

Were it not for the drugs, I might have strangled the indifferent bastard. As it was, I could barely summon the energy to remain on my feet. My entire body seemed to shake terribly and I desperately hoped Gladstone would not notice. God forbid what would happen if he, for once in his life, was actually aware of those around him.

‘Is there a reason that you are still here, Hinds?’ The dismissal was clear in his voice. And I gladly welcomed it with both arms.

‘No, sir. Apologies, sir.’ I left quickly, hardly daring to look over my shoulder as I made my exit.

The corridors of the facility were a dull grey. Given the nature of the research conducted within its walls, there had been no need for bombastic decorations. No potted plants lined the atrium. No colour broke up the endless shades of concrete. If there was one word I would use to describe my place of employment it would be utilitarian.

Though it was past the normal lunch hour, the cafeteria was still bustling with staff. Grabbing up a tray, I joined the queue, grabbed the first thing that would fill my stomach and headed to a table near the back of the hall where I could remain, hopefully unobserved, for as long as I desired. After all, I had told Pritchard to message me if anything changed. Beyond that, I needed time for myself.

~

Perhaps it was the fact that this was the first time that I had a full stomach in days, or that I was thoroughly exhausted after a sleepless night, or that the afternoon sun shining through the frosted glass made the spot I had claimed my own so warm and cosy. My eyes closed. Before I knew it, I was adrift on the seas of sleep and darkness consumed me.

At first, I did not realise that I was dreaming. Once more, I was back in the house that we had first bought when we moved to the town. It was not a mansion I had promised the kids, but it did have an excellent view of the sea. One that I usually tended to enjoy on the rare Sunday afternoons that I was actually at home. Unfortunately, the sky was overcast and from my vantage point, I could see the waves crashing onto the beach with a vicious ferocity.

‘Tom, you’re going to catch a cold standing out there in this weather. Why don’t you come in?’

I turned around. Standing near the glass sliding door was Morgan, a concerned look on her face. She was all rugged up, a shawl draped over her shoulders. In her hands, she cradled a mug of hot steaming coffee. I joined her. With a smile on my lips as I leaned down to kiss her on the cheek as I took the offered mug.

‘Thank you for always looking out for me, darling,’ I whispered into her ear before cheekily nibbling on her lower lobe and trailed a finger down her neck.

‘Stop that, Tom,’ said Morgan, though her body language belied her words as she pressed up against my chest. ‘Not in front of the June and Jasper.’

‘And why ever not? They’re old enough to know about these things.’

She twirled around in my arms and lightly pressed her lips against mine. Before I could deepen it, Morgan pulled away, and flashed me an enigmatic smile. ‘That may be true, but there are some things, Tom, that are better left in the bedroom.’

I chased after her. Morgan had always been such a tease, even back when we had first dated in university. She squealed when I picked her up by her legs just before she managed to slip inside. The impulse to ravish her there and then thrummed through me. Grinning from ear to ear, I marched across the threshold. My destination: the bedroom.

As I stepped through, the scene before me changed. Morgan vanished from my arms. Blinking, it took me several moments to realise that I was now in the kitchen. The lights were off. Tableware had been smashed to a thousand tiny pieces and crockery was strewn across the floor.

Somewhere in the distance, I could hear crying. Immediately, I recognised the memory for what it was. And though I wanted to find Morgan and comfort her for all the pain I had caused her, I found myself rooted to the spot, breathing heavily as if I had just run a marathon. My hands were clenched tight into fists and I resisted the urge to punch the marble countertop.

It was then that I realised that I was still holding onto a bottle of whiskey. Carefully, I placed it back on the kitchen countertop. There was no point in wasting good alcohol. Even in anger.

What I really needed was space and time to clear my head.

Glancing down at the mess that Morgan and I had made, I made a mental note to clean it all up when I came back. Then, once tempers had cooled, we would sit down and hash things out. I dared not think about the inevitable fight we would have once she learned that I had left to gamble away more money on the slot machines in the local pub. What she did not know would not hurt her.

Besides, I deserved it. What did it matter if I spent a few hundred dollars? This was the money I earned from my labours up at the lab. How it was used was up to me.

I grabbed the keys from where they hung on hooks next to the door. It would only be a short drive down into the town centre. Then, it would be only a few hours of watching the slots spin. In my bones, I knew that luck would be on my side. Today would be when I won the jackpot. Lucky 7s all the way through. And then I could leave my job and everything that it entailed.

With a resounding slam, the front door shut behind me.

As it did, the world once more swirled around me. It took several moments to realise that I was facing the front door rather than the street. A sudden feeling of dread filled my stomach. At that moment, I knew what memory had been pulled to the fore.

Despite my attempts to fight the course of destiny, my body was not my own. My hands fumbled for the house keys. In the pre-dawn light, I struggled to identify the right key. Each one I used never quite seemed to fit. Why was it so hard to open my own goddamn front door? There were only two locks for fuck’s sake.

Had I really drunk that much? Frustrated, I gave the door a kick, expecting that I’d break a toe for my efforts.

The door crashed open. It had been unlocked. Surprised, I chanced a glance inside. Everything was a mess. Clothes and books and papers lay on the ground. I knew what had happened and I wanted desperately to leave. To turn tail and get back into my car that was parked on the street rather than the garage. Or to chase after them, praying that, somehow, I’d be able to save them before they met their inevitable demise at the bottom of a cliff.

But the inexorable march of fate would not allow me to make the smart choice. It was like I was in a horror film and trapped in the body of the characters. How many times had I screamed at the screen, telling the blonde cheerleader to run instead of investigating further?

Just like those that came before, I cautiously entered the house. ‘Hello?’

My first stop was the living room. Turning the corner, I spotted upended furniture and streaks of red along the walls. There was not a soul to be seen. No sign that anyone was in the house that we had lived in for the last three years. What terrified me the most was the fact that neither the kids nor Morgan answered my entreaties.

A chill went down my spine as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

Behind me, the creaking of floorboards warned me of someone’s approach. Immediately, I whirled around, arms up. I didn’t know if I could fight off my assailant. After all, I was a researcher. Ever since I was young, the best words to describe me were tall and gangly. I had never been much for sport, preferring to stay indoors than being out in the sun where I would be more likely to suffer injury.

The thing before me could hardly be described as human. As my gaze alighted on its hideous form, I recoiled – both mentally and physically. I knew then that my trip down memory lane was ended and the nightmare begun.

It looked like it had three misshapen heads. Three pairs of discoloured eyes blinked up at me. Instead of hands, it sported crooked claws, the nails of which were chipped and terrifyingly long.  

‘Tom,’ it croaked in a broken chorus of voices. ‘Tom. Tom. Tom. Tom!’ Morgan. June. Jasper. Three melded into one.

I backed away. Until my back hit wall. It came closer, claws outstretched. No. No. No. No. This could not be happening. This wasn’t real. It was a dream. A nightmare. I closed my eyes and willed myself to just wake up. All I needed to do was just wake up. WAKE THE BLOODY FUCK UP!

‘Help me,’ moaned the abomination. After all, that was what it was. Something so twisted that it ought not to exist in the waking world. ‘Heeeeeelp us!’

Cracking open one eyelid, I discovered that nothing had changed. Only that the creature now had me pinned to the wall of the living room. It was so close, the smell of it so exceedingly rank that the urge to gag was overwhelming. I was trapped with nowhere to run.

It slunk ever closer on unsteady legs. One foot scraped along the floor. Or was it a tail? Scaly, twisted, I dared not risk another glance. Instead, I screwed my eyes up tight again, wishing and praying in equal measure that I would wake up.

Something slimy alighted on my cheek. I batted it away, choking back the scream that threatened to escape. None of it was real, I reminded myself. I only needed to wake up. Slowly, but surely, it became a mantra. My one lifeline in a world gone mad.

As something gripped my shoulder, I flinched from the touch.

Breathe, Tom, breathe. It’s just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream…

‘Hinds! Hinds! Wake up!’

It was the sting from the slap that finally tore apart the complex tapestry that my subconscious mind had woven. I blearily blinked up at Pritchard, confused and scared in equal measure. The last tendrils of the nightmare still clung to my thoughts.  I couldn’t tell what was real and what was not.

A moment passed. Then two. As I took in the empty cafeteria and the late afternoon sun fading into the horizon, I realised that I had been asleep for far too long. Unsteadily, I rose to my feet and mumbled an apology.

‘Has something happened?’ I asked, running a weary hand over my face. My eyes felt like they had been gummed together and my head was pounding. What was worse was the sudden dryness and stickiness that pervaded my mouth. It was as if I had eaten taffy. My tongue darted out to moisten my chapped lips but it little to soothe my discomfort.

What I wouldn’t give for eight hours of undisturbed slumber.

Pritchard opened her mouth, then closed it. A few moments passed in silence. Unable to stifle it, I let out a particularly leonine yawn. When next she spoke, her gaze fixed a few inches above my shoulder, I knew it wasn’t what she had initially intended to say. ‘You don’t look well, Hinds. P-perhaps I can go tell Gladstone? I’m sure he’ll understand.’

‘What do you mean?’

She wrung her hands and forced a smile to her face. ‘It’s really not much, Hinds. Gladstone was just looking for any and all volunteers for something. We are at the stage where we’re on the cusp of discovering something new. And honestly, while your expertise would be welcome should things go awry, it’s fine if you wish to decline. That’s not to say, of course, that your presence wouldn’t be appreciated. I know that this is something that you’ve been wanting to be witness to for a long time coming. I just thought that you looked tired and a little pale in the face, is all.’

Her remarks had hit far closer to the truth than I would have liked. It was as if Pritchard saw through the thin façade I had erected at work. I didn’t like it. Nobody had cared before. Why now?

I realised too late that the quiet had stretched too long between us. ‘I’m fine. Really,’ I said, hoping to fill the void with idle chatter. ‘You saw me. A little nap was all I needed. Now, where are we expected?’

The look Pritchard threw my way said that I had done little to persuade her. And though I could her innate curiosity wishing to dig further into my personal affairs, she had the wisdom to hold back. For that, I was thankful.

~

In silence, we headed back to the laboratory and the containment area. When we arrived, the presentation had already begun. Sneaking in, I felt the weight of Gladstone’s gaze on the back of my head as it bored a hole right into my skull. Gladstone never much liked interruptions. Nor did he suffer individuals that were late to one of his meetings. It meant unnecessary repetition.

I kept my head low as I took my seat near the back and glanced at the whiteboard. On it was a picture that had been blown up almost a thousand times. It did not look like much – a mess of pixelated flesh. A new acquisition, perhaps?

‘As I was saying, the next few days will be crucial. We will need to act fast if we wish to secure the specimen and bring it back here for observation and research. This may be our one chance to show the world that our work has not been in vain,’ said Gladstone. He looked down at his palm cards and pushed his glasses further up his nose. ‘Remember: this mission is top-secret. If we manage to pull this off, we will be making history. Now, are there any questions?’

My hand shot straight up. There were a thousand things I wanted to ask. Why weren’t the retrieval team being sent out? What had I missed that the strict procedures that we were meant to follow were being tossed out the window?

A flash of frustration flitted across Gladstone’s face as he spotted my waving hand before he managed to school his expression into one of disdain and disinterest. ‘Yes, Hinds? What is it?’

‘Why are you sending us? We’re scientists. Don’t we have trained men to handle situations like this?’

He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘If you had been here for the briefing earlier instead of who knows where, you would know that the situation is delicate. Timing is of the essence. Our current teams are unavailable. As such, the powers that be made the decision to have any willing staff join in this mission. Now, if there is nothing else, I must leave. There are preparations that I need to see to before departure.’

Gladstone straightened his lab coat and then stalked out of the room. I chased after him, a thousand different enquiries in mind. Before I had even rose halfway off my chair, I felt someone tug at my sleeves. I turned around, ready to snap the head off anyone stupid enough to stop me.

Couldn’t they see that I was trying my very best to make sure that we weren’t all walking into a death trap? That I was looking out for everyone involved? A sudden spear of pain shot through my head and my hands were clammy. In my chest, my heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest.

Shit. How long had it been since I last took my pills? Was it already time for another dose?

Pritchard had a look in her eyes as she mutely shook her head. Was it a sign not to aggravate Gladstone any further? I couldn’t tell. Why couldn’t humans just explicitly say what they wanted instead of dancing around the subject? If Morgan had—

No. Best not go there.

I lowered back on the chair. ‘What?’ My tone came out a little brisker than I had anticipated.

‘There’s no need to be like that, Hinds,’ hissed Pritchard. ‘I warned you, didn’t I? Told you explicitly that you didn’t need to come. But you, of course, being all macho, said that “you were fine.”’

My cheeks flushed red and I looked away. Words sprang to the tip of my tongue but I choked them down. I knew when I had been properly chastised. Pritchard was right. It had been my own stubbornness not to ask further. And when Gladstone had sprung, I had been caught off-guard. Stupid, really. I should have known something was wrong from the start.

This had been no normal meeting amongst scientists. It had been a war council.

As I brooded over everything that I knew, silence filled the gap. ‘You can’t really be serious about participating in this madness, Pritchard,’ I said finally. With some effort, I forced my gaze to meet hers.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t see any way out of this, Hinds. A lot of the others are in the same boat. If Gladstone says “jump” we respond with “how high?”’

I swore under my breath. ‘We know nothing about this…thing. How can he be so sure that it’ll be docile?” I asked, motioning to the picture that sat centre stage on the whiteboard. Looking at it, I could not repress the shudder that went through my entire body at the sight of the horror. This was no creature of the Earth. Neither human or part of the animal kingdom. It was an abomination, plain and simple – something wholly alien and terrible and unspeakable.

Years of research, completing my doctorate thesis on bioengineering and eugenics, and here I was chasing monsters. I was meant to find a way to elongate the human lifespan. This was not it.

True, the possibilities of the research had been enticing at first. I had been ecstatic when I first joined, believing that the sea creatures could be the key to unlocking the final mysteries of what I had sought for so long. But the more I saw and learned, the less it seemed my dream would come to fruition. Gladstone’s goal had diverged. We were no longer pursuing science for the betterment of society. Instead, we were trying to unearth something that should have remained closed.

‘We don’t,’ said Pritchard as she flashed me an ironic and sad smile before she rose to her feet.

As she made her way across the room with her fellow scientists, her hand lingered a while on my shoulder. I watched her round the corner and disappear from view. Another person I had failed to save. Glancing back at the whiteboard and the aberrant creature displayed on it, I made the only decision I could given the circumstances.

~

For hours I had tossed and turned, but sleep continued to elude me. The cot beneath me creaking with every movement. Frustrated, I finally settled on my back and stared up at the dimly lit steel roof of the truck I now found myself in. Around me, I heard the other volunteers shift in their sleep. Some were snoring, somehow falling asleep though the truck shook and rattled. But I knew a good number were probably lying awake just as I was.

Perhaps they were pondering their life choices, wondering where they had gone wrong and regretting their decision to volunteer. Or maybe they were fretting on what the future might bring.

Had I not volunteered, I would have been in my small cramped apartment and downing can after can of beer. Elsewise, I might have spent an evening at the pub, nursing one good drink until the early hours of the morning as I ruminated on why I had not gone with the others in my team. And if the bartender pitied me enough, they might have slipped me another.

It would have been another round of bad choices, culminating in me stumbling to my bed and falling into it head-first and still fully-clothed – unable to shake off the ghosts that haunted me still.

At least, by choosing this, I was doing something and making a difference. Whether it helped or not, I couldn’t say.

The only kick I had got was seeing the shock on Pritchard’s face when she saw me board with one of the tan duffel bags, that had been stuffed with amenities that had been handed out, slung over one shoulder for the overnight trip. I had flashed her a weary grin before I made my way over to the cot that I’d been assigned.

Tomorrow was an early start. If I wanted to be any help to the team, I needed rest.

But as soon as I closed my eyes, Morgan and June and Jasper appeared before me. Their faces as pale as the moon, their mouths open wide in a soundless scream as they beat against the windows of the car.

I jolted straight up, my breathing harsh and loud in my ears. One hand flew to my chest, hoping to calm my heart that was thundering a wild tattoo. Shit. Fucking goddammit. Where was a bottle of vodka when you needed it? Why hadn’t he thought to return to his apartment to pick up his pills before coming here? Two angry fists thumped against the too-soft cot.

‘Hinds?’ The whispery voice was filled with concern. Had I woken her up? A mixture of guilt and frustration bubbled through me. I didn’t dare turn towards her, knowing that my face was an open book.

‘It’s nothing,’ I said tersely. ‘Go back to sleep, Pritchard.’

‘You can talk to me, you know,’ she persisted. ‘Like we used to. Back when Morgan was ali—'

‘I said I’m fine.’ In the silence that fell across the entirety of the truck, I hated how loud I sounded. God, why couldn’t people just leave me alone?

Behind me, I heard Pritchard settle back into her cot. Minutes passed. Slowly, but surely, the snores resumed. I lay back down, the cot creaking as I adjusted my weight, and stared up at the roof. Finally, when exhaustion tugged at my bones, I closed my eyes and let the movement of the truck lull me into a fitful slumber, haunted by images of the restless dead.

~

As the six of us disembarked, we were greeted by a grey overcast sky on a grey pebble beach. Two tents had been set up on the sand. Not too far away were stacks of metal crates. Our supplies had been offloaded first – water, food and weapons. The thought of wielding a gun had my stomach doing somersaults and I hoped there would be something more substantial than cheese and crackers, though I didn’t feel particularly hungry.

What I really wanted, more than anything else, was a can of something cool on my tongue. Preferably a pint of lager, but anything would do.

Something brusquely brushed against my arm. I whirled around, a harsh condescending reprimand on the tip of my tongue, when I caught sight of Pritchard. It was obvious from one glance that she had not slept well. Like mine, her eyes had dark bags underneath. And there was something jittery in the way she moved. She did not smile at me. Instead, she gave me an incidental nod of acknowledgement as a greeting.

A few moments passed before I had the foresight to close my mouth, lest anything fly in. Pritchard said nothing before she joined the rest of the team near the tents. It was like a huge pit yawned between us. One that was both shared history and the pain that we had endured. But I knew that the distance between us was mostly my own creation. Over the past year, it had seemed like she had been above it all. Unshakeable. Ever-loyal to Gladstone. Whereas I had been bitter about my loss and thrown myself into whatever self-destructive behaviours that I could.

But what if she had been just as hurt and in pain as I had been?

Pritchard and Morgan had been quite close, though they came from two different worlds. There had been family picnics and barbeques and a host of various activities that had slowly petered out when my addictions had taken hold. And though Pritchard did not know the exact nature of the rift between my family and I, she had been intuitive enough to know that something was wrong.

Maybe if she had intervened earlier, things would have been different. A part of me resented that she had never reached out. How much would have changed by just one act of kindness?

Stop it, Tom. There’s no point in going over old ground. You’ve a job to do, I chided myself. Find the specimen. Take it in. Go home. Easy as pie.

Gladstone had only just begun his well-rehearsed spiel when I joined them. His eyes narrowed when they alighted on me. I flashed him a grin and gave him a jaunty wave, knowing that it would irk him. He pushed up his glasses and turned away, refusing to rise to the bait. It was a rare moment of wisdom from the man. Or perhaps Gladstone was more concerned about the success of the mission than exchanging petty barbs.

It certainly seemed that way as he droned on in his officious voice, once again going over the extraction procedures and the likely dangers that might be encountered. Perhaps there was more going on behind closed doors if the sweat on his brow and the frantic patter to his words were anything to go by.

As I lowered my hand, I startled at the lidless reptilian eye that stared up at me. A spear of cold fear shot through my heart. Gingerly, I reached out and poked it with the index finger. It didn’t even flinch at the touch. Yet, the moment I made contact, it seemed as if my finger went straight through. I poked it again, feeling only warm flesh as well as a light pain as I scraped skin. Another hallucination. And yet it looked so real.

The world seemed to spin around me.

I staggered over to one side, leaning against the metal crates for support. A moment to breathe. That was all that I needed.

Breathe in…two…three…four…

Out…two…three…four…

Okay. I could do this. Just because I hadn’t taken anything in the last twelve hours didn’t feel I wouldn’t feel any lingering side effects. Maybe it was a sign of withdrawal. What had the doctor said? I wracked my brain, trying to recall the conversation that we had shared nearly a month or two ago.

The memory was piecemeal. Nothing seemed connected.

Frustrated, I shook my head to clear my thoughts and cracked open an eye. This was going nowhere. And if Gladstone knew what was happening, he would see me as a liability. Not that I cared, of course, what the man thought. It was merely my pride on the line.

As I steadied myself for the day ahead, I saw movement at the periphery of my vision. I turned towards the tents and the supply crates. At first, I couldn’t make out anything beyond the norm. And then, I saw them. On the boxes were translucent worm-like creatures. Hundreds. Everywhere. They stretched out towards me, as if sensing my warmth and the life pumping through my veins.

Something slimy and disgusting touched my leg. Then, before I could do anything, it seemed to slither up it.

I jumped, yelping at the top of my voice. It felt like they were all over me and I needed to get them off. I brushed at my arms and slapped at my trouser pants, panic overriding nearly everything.

Shit. Shit. Shit! Had I got them all? Were any still crawling on me?

Eyes turned towards me, taking in the spectacle that I represented. I barely noticed. Consumed by the immediate threat to my person. What would they do? Burrow into my skin? Destroy me from the inside out? I did not want to go out like that. No. My death should be my own choosing.

I did not hear the screams until it was too late.

By the time that I heard the warning, I had almost no time to react. Before I knew it, I found myself face-down in the dirt and there was a piercing pain in my head. For several heartbeats, I lay on the ground stunned as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Were we under attack? Who would fire upon us? And why?

That was when the sound of gunfire filled the air. A shrill screech answered in kind, filled with pain and fear. Head throbbing, I clasped my hands over my ears, unable to bear it. It seemed to go on for hours. Until finally, it stopped.

Blessed relief swept through my body. Slowly, I rose to my feet, dizzy and disorientated. I scanned the beach, my gaze alighting on the tents, somehow untouched, and the body that lay across the pebbles. Heart in my throat, I raced towards it. The short brown locks a familiar sight.

No. No. No. No.

Pritchard was still breathing, albeit shallowly when I reached her. Eyes closed, she looked like she was asleep. I shook her as gently as I could, hoping to awaken her. She did not stir. ‘Come on, Pritchard. Wake up!’

No response. I brushed away her hair and caught a sight of iridescent scales along her brow. They had formed a ridge and were cold to the touch. I recoiled even as I tried to squash the disgust that welled up. The implications supported one of the many theories that had been floated around the laboratory. Had she always been one from the start or had this been a recent transformation?

Could it be contagious?

I dared not think too long on it. Pritchard was hurt. There weren’t any obvious wounds but for what reason would she be lying here insensate when moments before she had been alert, fit and healthy. Unlike me, she had readily volunteered to be a part of Gladstone’s mission.

It was then that I thought to stop and ponder. Where were the others? Glancing around the ruins of the makeshift camp, I could see no sign of the other scientists. Thankfully, I could not make out any immediate dangers either. Pritchard would be safe. For now.

With some effort, I scooped her into my arms. It would not do to have her out in the open and on the hard stones. I nearly tripped on one of the tent pegs when I finally put her down. She did not stir.

Nearby, one of the metal crates sat open, the lid askew. Inside were three or four rifles. I would have liked to have believed that Gladstone would not have provided live rounds. We were a motley crew of scientists and nurses – prone to sitting at desks and conducting experiments, not battlefields. If the ‘specimen’ we sought was not as docile as initially reported, it was entirely possible they would have provided tranquilisers.

But that was not what I had heard earlier. Nor did it seem that the creature that we were after would go quietly.

Behind me, I heard another round of gunfire. Without thinking, I grabbed the first gun I could reach. It almost slipped from my hands. Nothing felt right in my grip. The butt bit into my shoulder. The trigger seemed too far away for my finger. How did someone use these things? It felt unwieldy and far too heavy.

Still, if it meant that I could put a stop to whatever was happening, I would take the opportunity offered to me.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of colour and movement to my left. I hurried towards it, weapon up. Though I did not know squat about sight-lines, the basic concept of using a gun was simple. Point and shoot. It would have to do. After all, someone needed to bring this whole thing to a close. Once and for all. Whether that was putting down the specimen or cutting down Gladstone – I couldn’t say. But the insanity that had gripped the laboratory – that had infiltrated my family and the town – needed to reach its final conclusion.

Up ahead, I caught a glimpse of one of the scientists. His name eluded me. It didn’t matter. At the sound of my approach from behind, he whirled around, gun at the ready. There was a crazed look in his eyes, one that implied alarm or panic or both. His face was deathly pale. From just a casual glance, I could see that some injury had caused his nose to bleed.

‘Name!’ he demanded. ‘Don’t lie. I’ll know. All the others…they lied because they weren’t real. Please. I need someone to be real!’ The desperation in his voice sent a chill down my spine. It niggled a part of my brain that said something wasn’t quite right.  

‘Hinds! Tom Hinds. I’m one of you. Us. And I’m real. As real as can be,’ I said, taking a cautious step forward and trying to appear as friendly as was possible. ‘Can you tell me what’s going on?’

It was as if he did not hear me. As if he were lost in his own world. That was when realisation struck me.

As soon as his finger twitched, I immediately fell prone on the ground. Bullets whizzed over my head. Fuck! I grappled to swing my gun around. Time seemed to slow. Every wasted movement seemed to bring my impending doom ever closer. The man stomped forward. He snarled at the air above me, his lips stretched over his teeth. It was animalistic and territorial.

‘You can’t run from me now. You’re one of them, aren’t you? Well, say something!’

I kept silent – unsure if any answer I provided would placate the man. It was as if he had taken some form of hallucinogenic. The symptoms were all there. He was talking and interacting with something that wasn’t real. That he was carrying a weapon made it all the more complicated.

Desperately, I tried to crawl away. Something had happened to him. I couldn’t say what. Minutes ago, he had been listening patiently to Gladstone, the next…

There was a pregnant pause and then the man cried out in alarm and something dropped to the ground. I risked a glance over my shoulder. He was cradling his arm.  Blood dripped from a new gash. And then, before he could reach for his weapon, he was thrown thirty feet away. He landed with a crunch and remained still.

I scanned the deserted beach, trying to make sense of what I had witnessed. There was no sign of his assailant. A terrible idea gripped me. What if the—No. I quickly shoved the thought to the back of my mind as I scrambled up to my feet, a sudden pounding behind my eyes.

There was no sense in trying to make sense of the impossible. It would only serve to pull me down an endless spiral – straight into the abyss. I needed to find the ‘specimen’ and put a stop to all this madness.

As I scoured the beach for Gladstone, I stumbled upon two harrowing encounters. One was Lopez. Just like the nameless scientist before him, he seemed unaware of my presence. Lost in his own world, gun cast aside, it almost looked like he was trying to settle into a domesticated life atop the rocks even as the waves threatened to knock him down. When I tried to talk to him, he knocked me aside as if I as just the buzzing of a fly in his ear.

Stunned and confused, I watched as he continued to speak in Tagalog to people that were not there. From the distress on his face, it appeared as if he was embroiled in a domestic argument. It was uncanny and disturbing.

Yet, no matter how many times I tried, I could not wake him from the delusions that gripped him. It was on my last attempt that I was pushed aside that I saw the rogue wave building up. Too late, I shouted my warning. But it was as if he did not hear a word. I watched, in mute horror, as the wave crashed into him and dragged him out to sea.

Another soul I had failed to save.

The second person I met on that lonely beach was Patricia Hastings. Though we had not worked together in the past, I knew Patricia from the work she had done on genetic modification. Her reputation proceeded her in academic circles, mired though it was in controversy. In the last few years, the media had portrayed her as an overly ambitious woman driven only by the thirst of knowledge and what could be done, ethics be damned.

With her back facing me, I had, at first, thought that she had escaped whatever ailment that had afflicted the others. But as I cautiously approached, I realised that something was wrong. Patricia stood as still as a statue. Her eyes moved from left to right and back again as if she was tracking something. In fact, she barely seemed to blink. When I waved my arm in front of her face, she did not respond.

Just as I turned to leave, Patricia uttered a low guttural moan. She took one step forward before collapsing to the ground. When I reached her, her eyes were still open – endlessly tracking whatever it was she was seeing. A cursory examination revealed that her heartbeat was slower than average and she felt a tad bit colder.

For several terrifying minutes, I debated my next actions. I could not, in good conscience, leave her unattended. What if she was suffering from a stroke or a seizure? How could I leave her here?

The other part of my brain, however, whispered that the only way to solve the problem was to track down the ‘specimen’ and kill it. There had been numerous reports from the retrieval team that many of the men had experienced both auditory and visual hallucinations. Some had even killed themselves.

While the creatures that we had experimented on in the lab had demonstrated any such abilities, it was clear that we were facing a much greater threat than Gladstone had advised us in the briefings.

In the end, cold ruthless logic won through. There was naught I could do for Patricia. For all I knew, killing the monstrosity would free the others from whatever power had ensnared their senses.

What I dared not consider was why I had not been affected.

For twenty odd minutes, I searched high and low for where Gladstone might have disappeared to. But the beach was empty of all save a few of the volunteer task force.

As I rounded the headland, the sea roaring beside me, I spotted spatters of blue on the rocks. Some of it was still wet. Bending down, I touched it with a finger. Many of the creatures that we had experimented upon had blood rich in iron. Perhaps, because, many were still humanoid in appearance. The one Gladstone had sent us to chase, however, was different. It was possible that it might share more similarities with cephalopods or certain species of fish.

For the first time in a long while, excitement thrummed through me. If this was true, then we might have stumbled upon something ground-breaking. This discovery was sure to push our understanding of the human genome. Diseases might be cured. Cancer would just be a footnote in medical history! We would finally show the naysayers the power of science. Finally, we could refine what God had created and fix the flaws in our own design!

The possibilities were endless! Gladstone was too small in his focus. If we could only uncover the secrets behind these creatures, the secrets we could uncover…

At what cost, though? If these creatures were sentient, what right did I have to take experiment on them? At what point would it be okay to cross that line? The thought gave me pause and sobered me from the grandiose ideals that gripped me. Was it worth the lives of everyone dear to me? What about my ever-slipping sanity? I could not keep doing these things. Cutting into their bodies, trying to figure out their physiology…what had any of that accomplished over the last four years?

Murderer. Butcher.

I took a deep breath and rose to my feet. Find Gladstone. Find the specimen.

~

The sun had begun to set, the chill wind biting into my bones, when I spotted the cave cut into the side of the cliff. Just outside the entrance, on the huge plateau, was a huge spray of blue. Mixed in was one set of boot prints. If I was right, that meant Gladstone had followed after the specimen. I hurried into the cave, gun at the ready. There was no telling what I would encounter inside. For all I knew, Gladstone might have killed the abomination. Or, perhaps, the reverse was true.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

One way or another, this would end.

Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I stalked into the gloom. Far ahead, I heard the drip drop of water hitting rock. As for Gladstone or the monster, there was no sign.

I continued forward, my eyes adjusting to the dim light that filtered through. A part of me worried what would happen if I did not find Gladstone or the specimen before nightfall. Foremost in my thoughts were Patria Hasting and Laura Pritchard. With a concerted effort, I shook my head to clear it of my fears. I would cross that bridge when I got there.

Distracted, I did not see that the passageway sloped downwards. I stepped into air and felt my heart lurch as I tipped forward. A frightened cry left my lips, arms pinwheeling.

As the ground rushed up towards me, I managed to catch myself on the slippery rocks. The heels of my palm barked with pain, along with my knees. I took a shuddering breath in to steady myself. Felt it leave. And then took another breath even as I began to play a familiar refrain within the confines of my brain. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. God. I had been so stupid!

If that hadn’t tipped Gladstone or the creature off…

I scrambled back to my feet and dusted myself off before taking a look at my new surroundings. The cavern was huge. Ahead, I saw the path branch into three separate openings. Centred above the crossroads a narrow shaft allowed the fading light of the afternoon in. It did little against the darkness.

Which way to go?

There was no sign or clue as to which way they had gone. But instead of trusting to luck, I waited. Closing my eyes, I strained my ears for the slightest sound. I’d look like a fool but it was my one recourse. If they had thought I had fallen, perhaps they would drop their guard and make a mistake that I could capitalise on.

Seconds bled into minutes. It was as if the entire world was holdings its breath.

Somewhere in the darkness, I heard a strange scuffling sound. A feral grin stretched across my face as I dashed towards the opening on my right. Within moments, whoever was in front realised their mistake. They broke into a run, the pitter-patter of their footsteps echoing through the cavern.

I raced after them, lungs burning and legs threatening to buckle out from beneath me. Still, I pressed on. I could not afford to lose the opportunity before me.

Movement ahead lent a burst of speed and suddenly, we emerged into another open area. The last vestiges of sunlight filtered through, casting the large lake in a rainbow of colour. At the centre of the subterranean waterway was a small platform, on which sat a forgotten shrine made of driftwood and refuse.

Ensnared by the beauty of the scene before me, I forgot, for the briefest of moments, what had led me there. Until, an elbow flew straight for my nose. There was a loud crunch and a sudden intense pain. Blood spurted. The world seemed to shift in and out of focus as I tried to stem the flow.

And then Gladstone was running down towards the lake and the shrine at the centre. He looked over his shoulder, the expression on his face was a mixture of fear and spite. The thin strands of hair on his head were dull and greasy, plastered to his scalp. His clothes were tattered. In his hands, he held a strange box-like object.

Fuelled by rage, I grabbed hold of my rifle. I aimed down the sights. I pulled the trigger and a burst of gunfire exploded from the other end. The shots went wild, missing by a wide margin. Gladstone risked another glance over his shoulder, a smirk on his smarmy face. God. How I wanted to wipe it off. Pritchard did not deserve the hell he had put her through. Nor had any of the others.

Cursing under my breath, I gave chase.

I cornered him in front of the shrine, weapon at the ready. At this range, there was no way I would miss. A stitch was forming in my side but I refused to acknowledge it as I wheezed – desperately trying to get air in my lungs.

‘It’s over, Gladstone!’ I panted, dying for a drink or a smoke or something that would take the edge off the pain. ‘I don’t know what you intended to do, but it ends now.’

Gladstone turned around. ‘Hinds,’ he sneered, slicking back his hair with one hand. ‘Why am I not surprised? You’ve been a thorn in my side since the moment you joined the team.’

‘This isn’t a negotiation. I have the gun.’ I made a show of tightening my finger on the trigger. ‘Put down the box, Gladstone. Surrender. Once we put down the creature, everything can go back to normal and—’

It began as a chuckle. Before I knew it, Gladstone was doubled over with laughter. His free hand, slapping his knee.

‘What’s so funny?’ I demanded. ‘Stop fucking laughing!’ God, I wanted to hurt him so bad. If only I could march up to him, hit him in the stomach with the butt of the rifle…

Gladstone straightened and wiped the tears from the corner of his eye. ‘Ah, Hinds. Always dreaming too small.’

‘Cut the cryptic shit, Gladstone. You were never a proper scientist. Instead, you were a small insignificant man with delusions of grandeur. A middle-management pencil pusher. That’s what you’ve always been. And what you’ll always be. The life of an academic too hard and difficult for you, eh?’

I watched as his face went red and his posture go rigid. ‘You know nothing about me,’ he snarled. ‘All the years that I poured into my research and the price I’ve paid to keep my project…this project afloat. So, don’t try and get up on that high horse of yours and preach to me.’

‘Yeah, well, this project is being shut down.’

‘You’re too late. You can’t stop what’s already in motion. The Elder Gods are coming. When they step through the veil and into our world, I’ll be waiting. Ever loyal. Along with the Herald. To be rewarded for my service and dedication to the cause.’ Madness gleamed from his eyes as he let out a low chuckle. ‘Even though you tried to pull me down, I rose. Triumphant.’

Before I could stop him, he turned and slammed the box-like object down onto a small pedestal in front of the shrine. A dark glow began to emanate from the shrine, pulsing with power and evil intent.

The air grew heavy. Oppressive. There was a sudden ringing in my ears. It was sharp and insistent, bringing me to my knees.

My finger tugged at the trigger. Before I could cut Gladstone down, the world around me warped and fell away. Suddenly, I was surrounded by four white padded walls. Orderlies banged against the sealed metal door. They wanted to get in. To stop me from what I had to do. My heart thudded in my chest. I couldn’t let them stop me. To sedate me. To drug me.

I screwed my eyes up tight, grit my teeth and forced myself to calm. It was the same old nightmare that I had experienced again and again after Morgan, June and Jasper had taken that ill-fated drive up towards the cliff. I focused on the dirt beneath my boots, the weight of the rifle in my hands, the ebb and flow of the water…

Hesitantly, I cracked open one eye. I was back in the cavern. Good. Still standing a few metres away was Gladstone. He was crouched over the box, mumbling under his breath. The glow had faded and his body language screamed thwarted ambition. I caught only a few words. Something about ancient texts and a prophecy. I gave it no heed as I squeezed the trigger and felt the impact of the stock thumping into my shoulder.

Gladstone fell.

For a single moment, it felt as if a weight was lifted from my shoulders and everything was right again with the world. But then the box began to throb once more. I watched in horror as it slowly began to float in the air and spin and spin and spin. A rip formed in the air just above the shrine. It was dark and cold and menacing. Something reached through and the mere sight of it sent a shiver down my spine.

I turned. And ran.

To stay would have only sealed my doom.

Breathless, I emerged from the cave and into a tempest. The winds raged and the sea roiled as if in answer to what Gladstone had unleashed.

There was nowhere to hide. No place that was safe from their wrath. I could not say how I knew that fact. Only that I did. Still, there was Hastings to think of. And Pritchard too. None of them had asked for this. If I could save them then perhaps there was still hope for me still.

Something struck me from behind and I was flung to the ground, the rifle flying into the water. Pain thrummed through every part of my body except for my right arm, which seemed to be non-responsive. I staggered to my feet and kept going. Death waited but I would not go into that sweet oblivion without a fight.

Each step sapped what little of my strength remained. The distance from where I was and the tents seemed to grow. I fell to my knees, exhaustion weighing down my limbs. Though I shouted at myself to move, my body refused to acknowledge my commands. I lay on the pebbles and stared up at the storm as lightning flashed and rain peppered my face.

I could not say how long I stayed there as oblivion tempted me with sweet release. It would be so easy to simply let go. After all, I had tried to do good in the world. My intentions had been for the noblest of reasons. Surely, whoever manned the pearly gates would see that and consider me worthy of entering Elysium.  

A siren song pulled me from my thoughts. I craned my neck towards the rising waves and saw what must have been a final gift. Morgan, June and Jasper – whole and without blemish. With the last remaining ounce of strength that I had, I crawled towards them. It couldn’t be. And yet, it was. Right before my very eyes.

The unshed tears that I had refused to let fall burned as I made my way into the surf.

Finally, I could be reunited with them. With that thought in mind, I allowed myself to sink into the soft embrace of the water and let it carry me away.

[emmabodt]

Jaw Titan Part 1

Ymir nervously dragged her fingertips over the rough wall of the stone passage, distracting herself with the sharp texture as she descended underground. No Shifter liked being underground; it gave them really bad claustrophobia, because transforming would mean certain death.

They had been walking for several minutes, and according to Sienna, their destination was just ahead. Not that Ymir was looking forward to it.

"Ymir?... You might wanna stop now," Sienna spoke. Ymir looked over and saw that Porco and Sienna had stopped a few feet behind her. In front of them was just plain wall, no door to be seen. Ymir gave them an annoyed look.

"Huh?"

Sienna shrugged." This door was designed to be invisible. If someone wanted to break in and got this far, we hope that they would walk right past the door and get lost in the tunnels. They go on for awhile."

Ymir watched silently as Sienna gave the wall a solid shove, pushing it backwards until it slid to the side, revealing a solid oak door. Then she fished around for something under her shirt, pulling out a pendant and a key. Sienna quickly slid the key off her head and inserted it into the lock, opening it with a loud creak.

Ymir stuck her head over Sienna's shoulder and inhaled sharply. Terror slowly snaked it's way up from her stomach and wrapped itself around her heart as she took in the sight in front of her; a large, white walled room filled with white robed people and tables strewn with papers, bottles, and God knows what.

Sienna stepped through the door and spun to look at her companions, stretching out her arms with a small smile on her face." Welcome to the T.B.R.A., a place few people get to see."

Porco huffed and brushed past Ymir through the door." This place is already giving me the creeps."

Sienna dropped her arms and nodded. " Yeah, I know. Just wait till you've got the Jaw within you; it will be a lot worse."

Porco blinked, then turned to look at the freckled girl standing right outside the door." Is that true?"

Ymir scowled." It doesn't matter what the hell is inside of me, this place is creepy enough to scare away anybody."

Sienna shrugged again as she spun around and started walking towards a door on the far end of the room." Try to keep up, you guys!"

As Porco and Ymir began to follow her, Sienna whistled and snapped her fingers.

"Leo! Lucy! Gray! Follow me! We've got work to do!"

Almost immediately, two men and a small woman fell into step behind the scientist. The woman, Lucy, who's long blonde hair swished with her every movement, fell into step beside Sienna.

"Dr. Alchuwitz? What are we doing?" she asked, twisting her hair into a neat ponytail.

"I bet it's something to do with that Titan experiment the Doc's been talking about lately," said the dark haired man.

"I think so too; see him?" said the man with the messy brown hair, jerking his thumb at Porco." He's one of the Titan candidates."

Ymir folded her arms across her chest, feeling her stomach twist. She wished more than anything that Krista was here. She would calm Ymir's nerves, help her stay strong. But she wasn't here.

"You're all right," said Sienna as she led them through the door into another room." These two are here as a test run for our theory."

The work trio nodded quietly in understanding as Sienna continued to lead them through various labs and rooms. In them, Ymir saw more white robed people, looking through those micro things, reading things from important looking papers, mixing things in glass beakers.

Finally, Sienna threw open the doors to a room that looked different than the others; it looked like a lounge of some sorts, with soft, cushy chairs place up against the wall, and small tables stacked with books scattered all around.

"Welcome to the lab, guys!" Sienna said as she walked over to a closet and flung it open, shrugging off her sweater before draping herself in a white lab coat. Without missing a beat, she pointed at Porco.

" You stay here and find something to read. Don't snoop around and stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Why would I? This place creeps me out," Porco huffed, flopping down in one of the chairs. Sienna turned to Ymir.

"Alright; are you ready?"

Ymir nodded mutely, feeling claustrophobia clawing at her stomach. Sienna smiled at her comfortingly and put an arm over her shoulder, gently pushing the freckled girl towards a door on the opposite side of the room.

"Ymir-" Sienna was cut off by a shake of Ymir's head.

"Look, I'm going in that room and going through with whatever the hell you have in store for me. You don't need to promise me anything. This whole deal is a gamble, but I wouldn't do it if I didn't trust you," the freckled girl muttered." Now take me in there and do what you gotta do."

Sienna's smile grew a bit more as they walked through the door with her three assistants behind her.

"Thank you, Ymir."

.......................................................................

The room looked like a hospital room than anything. There was a bed surrounded by tables that were filled with all sorts of medical equipment.

"Welcome to my humble abode," said Sienna as she and her assistants pulled on long white gloves." This is where I extract Zeke's spinal fluid."

Ymir nodded and sat herself on the bed." So is this bed covered in his monkey sweat?"

"Nope; we change the sheets every time he comes here," said Lucy cheerily, pulling on her own gloves." We have to keep this place as sanitary as possible so that Zeke stays healthy. Sticking an unsanitary needle that far down into the body would make someone pretty sick."

Ymir huffed as Sienna walked back over, pulling her hair back into a neat ponytail.

"Okay Ymir; do you need anything to help you relax? A backrub, a moment to breathe, or a sip of something strong?"

Ymir leaned back on her hands and smirked. " You drink on duty, doc?"

Sienna shrugged cheerily. " Well... Zeke gets a little thirsty after his appointments..."

Ymir chuckled. " Well, if that guy drinks it, it must be good stuff. Hit me."

"As you wish," said Sienna as she produced a bottle and a glass from behind one of the tables." You were right in guessing that Zeke only drinks the finest Marleyan liquor."

"Well of course; everything about that guy reeks of high quality," Ymir said as she watched Sienna poor her a glass of the "fine liquor". As soon as Sienna handed her the glass, the freckled girl drained it.

"Alright. Let's do this," she said, handing back the glass. Sienna took it and handed it to Lucy with a small nod.

"Ok, please remove your shirt and lay on your stomach; try to relax as much as possible; the looser the muscle, the easier the procedure," she said, slipping into a professional tone. Ymir removed her shirt and flopped onto her bare belly as Leo handed Sienna a freshly sanitized needle. A big one Ymir noted.

Ymir shivered. The last time a needle had touched her, the unending nightmare began. She shut her eyes and tensed instinctively as the needle got closer.

"Ymir, relax." Sienna pulled the needle away.

"I'm sorry, I can't. I can't help it."

Sienna nodded at Gray as she soothing lay ran her hand over Ymir's back.

"It's okay. I'll help you. Gray here is good with massages, he can help you loosen up."

Gray started to approach Ymir, but she shook her head." I don't like being touched."

Sienna sighed. She could tell the girl she had on the table in front of her had been through a lot of trauma.

"Ok then...can I sedate you?"

Ymir gave a silent nod.

"Alright," Sienna said as she walked away to a nearby table." I'm going to have to use a needle."

Ymir nodded again as Sienna picked up another needle and filled it with a clear liquid. The fear in her stomach intensified as Sienna turned back around, needle in hand.

"Ymir, would you stretch out your arm?"

Sienna watched as Ymir streched her arm beyond her head, palm up. Her fingers shook ever so slightly. The blonde quickly plunged in the needle and emptied it before Ymir could pull back in fear.

Almost instantly, Ymir could feel the effect from the drug now running through her veins. Everything got blurry, and she could feel her eyelids getting heavy. She could barely hear Sienna tell her to lay back down before everything went black. .......................................................... Sienna sighed as Ymir blacked out. The poor girl was traumatized from the last time she had been turned into a Titan.

Sienna turned to her assistants with a grim, determined face.

"Let us begin the procedure."

-------------------------------------------------- Word Count: 1501

I.... Owe everyone a very big apology. I haven't posted anything since august, and i feel terrible for that.

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E83 (Nov. 5, 2019)

A day late and many dollars short, but we’re here! Tonight’s preroll: minifigs & what I assume are tonight’s guests of Liam & Matt:

which is followed by lazy susan rotating the D&D minis from eldritch-foundry.com for the rest of the cast. Cute! Anyway, Dani is back and ready to rumble! Brian is briefly lambasted for only getting through mumblemumble questions last week, but it’s all smoothed over soon enough and we move right along.

Tonight’s announcements: Undeadwood finale is delayed one week due to some post-production tech issues. Should premiere Friday, Nov. 15. Brian marvels over Matt’s speech about God being just as feral as what he creates. Matt is also surprised. Marisha is apparently the living dice Snitch of both campaign 2 and Undeadwood - everyone wonders if it’s the seat, the chair, the floor, or some innate karmic sense Marisha herself creates. CR is also partnering with Operation Supply Drop for the month of November to support veterans. Matt announces (re-announces?) that they are partnering with Amazon to create a full second animated season, as well as two more episodes to the original season one. All backers will be able to still watch the full season one for free. Everyone is so excited & I’m excited for them. Good job, tiny D&D friend group. More details on the CR Kickstarter Updates page.

And now! Episode 83: Dark Bargains

CR Stats: Liam poured wine for 49 seconds. Brief sidebar as Liam expresses genuine nervousness being on the couch beside Matt; he normally talks behind his back on TM, since he’s not sure if Matt ever watches it, but now he has to watch what he says. Caleb’s smell has been mentioned 60 times. Matt acknowledges that he is clean and washed. [doubt] Nott’s death was the 60th knockout and 8th player death of C2. Half of those deaths were Frumpkin. Liam calls Frumpkin a magic fart with a weak wifi signal.

Our first question (23 minutes in, NOT THAT ANYONE’S COUNTING), reveals that Matt did design the HFB with some “big red buttons” for the characters to press, or want to press. He expected more group approval before some of them were pressed, though (the dreadnought). Liam wanted to clear all the corners of the Baldur’s Gate map. 

Caleb fears Halas because he’s one of the most powerful mages ever, he fears the lab setup/experimentation angle, he still fears the siren song, and is scared of the grains of similarity he sees between the two of them.

Liam knows they’ve continually seen fun stuff come from shitty situations, but Caleb sees the story of the HFB as “you’re not welcome here; this is going to suck for YOU! You thought you were going to have fun here? Fuck you!”

Matt loves those climactic moments though, because he loves it when the dice tell the story. Liam loves that there was a day where Matt rolled terribly in Undeadwood and played it as being embarrassed to be around all these amazing people.

Matt enjoyed getting to dig into the backstory of his world. He’s had references to pre-divergence stuff before, and it was a big joy to give more context to some of the things the M9 have been encountering.

Liam: “[Caleb] is gambling big when he thinks there’s something of worth to gain.“ He’d heard of a long-vanished mage who was messing with time stuff, and thought there might be a chance this was him. Then, once they found the gem, he started feeling this might be the real chance he needed to start messing with the crazy stuff he wants to do with time.

The bound devil was a general temptation, but in hindsight he can see why Jester was drawn to him. Matt often builds scenarios and has no idea how they will react to them (and acknowledges that the M9 did not fully read the poem that would have given them more info here), and sometimes he’s right and sometimes he’s very wrong.

Caleb is very distrustful of other arcanists and always assesses their level of threat to the group. Liam does think Caleb has come a long way since the start of the campaign. “A lot is changing for him. He’s very reactive in a lot of ways. Whatever is laid out for him in the moment that he can take advantage of, or that he cares about...I don’t know. The Betrayer Gods coming back is so much more important, and I don’t know if it’s going to make him let go of that stuff. He has to re-evaluate. He has to. He’s like an addict who has a weak day.”

Brian comments that Caleb seems to be a clinic in self-forgiveness. He wants him to do well, but at the end of the day he wants him to forgive himself. He also points out that it’s possible to get addicted to grief, and he sees that in Caleb; he’s choosing to stay in that space, and we are watching what that does to a person. Brian feels that he forms an attachment to the grief because it is the only emotional connection he has to the family he lost.

Liam nods and says these are things he’s been thinking about for months and months. He does not and did not have the answers when he created the character, and is looking forward to seeing where he ends up. He is not railroading his character; he’s letting the other players affect his character so that Caleb can remain malleable.

Matt loves how it reflects how real people inform the lives and actions of their friends in real life.

Cosplay of the Week: @suchamantis on twitter for a Caleb/spellbook cosplay. It’s gorgeous work!

Brief derailment into Liam pulling a Bane out of his mug and Matt hypersensually smelling the winner’s dice vault. I don’t even know what’s happening.

Revivify in this campaign is being used as a CPR/AED type thing. If they fail, the DC goes up and a longer-form raise dead spell must be used out of combat.

It did occur to Liam that this is the second time his bestie has been killed by a treasure box. Would Caleb make the same sacrifice? Liam says in a spooky voice that nothing is as strong as the twin bond...but when Caleb goes into full-on survival mode where all emotions are pushed to the side, he doesn’t know what would happen. He knew he was with two very magical people who could work miracles and was focused on just getting her up the steps to them. Matt was sure everyone would figure it out and was shocked when no one checked it for traps.

The effect of the diamond on Nott being different from the diamond on Cad was flavor related to the Power Word Kill trap that was on the chest. He built the revivify around that imagery in the moment. A lot of Matt’s flavor text around spells is built around the moment, the characters themselves, their gods, etc. as much as possible.

Caleb is glad to find the signs of magic that may be able to return Nott to a halfling, but was way too concerned about the gem to think about anything else at that time.

Fanart of the Week: @acemasters4 on twitter for a beautiful pastel stylized portrait of Caduceus and mushrooms.

Ashley is almost here! Brian allllmost tells us how many days but refrains. COME BACK ASHLEY.

The Angel of Irons thread has been planned since the very beginning: everything with chains and hunger was planned. He pulled it together with Yasha when he realized they would mesh well. She had created her backstory, and as the campaign proceeded he was able to marry some threads together to make story points. Liam compliments Matt’s ability to weave character & world backstory together; specifically, the crystals in Caleb’s arms were Matt’s idea after Liam sent the first draft of his backstory to Matt. Liam loved it and ran with it.

Everyone is so excited that she is coming back and Matt won’t have to plan for her to be suddenly absent again.

In a moment that shakes my world, Matt is discovered to be wrong about what class of magic Cure Wounds is in 5e. The question is about how Halas’s comment on healing being necromantic is a throwback to older editions of D&D where CW was a necromancy spell, and Dani reveals to us all that in 5e it is now Invocation. Matt chooses to accept this as a deliberate throwback to older editions to emphasize that “man out of time” feel.

Chris Perkins apparently once described BWF’s personality as “Power Word Kill for someone’s joy.” He also apparently did MMA & figure skating, because why not.

Caleb’s reference to Jester suffering in the ruby was purely coincidental regarding her mother. He didn’t realize until it popped out of his mouth.

BWF talks about how he likes where the campaign is at. He has a weird gut feeling that something exciting is about to happen. “I’m finally invested in this campaign after 83 episodes.”

Everyone pauses to talk about how beautiful Matt’s hair is blowing in the wind. BWF tells a story about how based on how they were sitting in Undeadwood filming, Matt’s hair would blow ever-so-slightly in the A/C and people thought they did it on purpose.

Matt had a good time at Blizzcon! He was glad to see people gathering for the Hong Kong protests; he understands it’s a very complicated situation where the initial punishment was way too harsh and caused a ripple effect, but he was glad to see the space where the activism was welcomed in response.

Matt enjoyed cosplaying again for the first time in a long time, both at Blizzcon and as McCree for the Halloween episode. When he was buying adhesive a shop worker upsold him on an inferior product, which is why his beard started falling off during the show. Sad times, Matt. :(

And that’s all! Is it Thursday yet?

[parvatiholcomb]

discussion of phineas’s experiments + leah’s long overdue airing of grievances, under the cut

“You don’t seem surprised,” says Phineas. He swallows sharply. “How long have you known?”

“I looked through your terminal after UDL took you. I thought you might’ve hidden a message for me somewhere, but… I found those logs instead.”

Six months. She’s known — everything — for six months. A thousand questions flood his brain, but all he manages to get out is, “You never said anything.”

Leah drops her gaze to the table. “Because I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I’m a doctor. Experimenting on patients like that…” She trails off, still not looking at him. “You want someone to forgive what you did to them, and I can’t be that someone. I’m sorry.”

It feels like falling, like walking down a familiar staircase only to find a step missing. As long as she remained unaware, there was always the possibility, remote as it was, that she might forgive him. Like quantum states in superposition. But the wave function has collapsed under observation, and only one state remains. “You have every right to feel that way,” says Phineas, through the cold tightness constricting his throat. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. I didn’t tell you because my failures are my own to bear.”

“You were hiding it. Remember what you said after I got the DMSO? You called using human test subjects ‘unthinkable.’”

“I wasn’t lying to you. Human experimentation is unthinkable to me now. When I experimented on your fellow colonists, I was one of the Board’s scientists, as corrupted as any of them. You’ve seen the Board at work. It’s a machine designed to blind its workers to the humanity of others. It turns humans into resources, into profits, into“—he grips the edge of the table, white-knuckled—“test subjects. You must have seen the bounty posters they littered around the colony? They didn’t call my crime murder. No, their official term for it was ‘destruction of Board property.’ You weren’t people to them; you were liabilities on a spreadsheet.” Phineas realizes he’s ranting, reins himself in. “I fell for their lies, but I see things clearly, now. I could never repeat those mistakes.”

Leah studies him with open confusion, head slightly tilted, as though trying to puzzle out a difficult riddle. Before long, she reaches an answer; her confusion gives way to surprise and— and fear, but that must be a trick of the light. “You really believe that, don’t you,” she says, with no rising inflection. “You honest to Law believe you didn’t do it again.”

It kicks the breath out of Phineas so thoroughly a Tartarus guard would be envious. “I didn’t. Leah, I—“

“Does the number twenty-eight percent mean anything to you?”

His first thought is that he has no idea what she could possibly mean, and his second thought is an incoherent burst of panic, like static in his ears, because he remembers. Reviving you from hibernation was my greatest accomplishment, he proudly told her, the first time she visited the lab. Your odds of survival were a mere twenty-eight percent. No, no, she can’t mean that. “Your situation was entirely different,” says Phineas, stumbling over his words in a rush to make her understand. “I tested the procedure on dozens of cystipigs before I revived you! I knew it had a chance of success.”

“A twenty-eight percent chance. You’re a genius. Do the statistics. How many colonists would’ve probably had to die before it worked on one of us?”

The question comes down to simple arithmetic, and instantly, Phineas’s brain presents him with an answer he deliberately never calculated before. “Three,“ he says, rounding to the nearest whole. “But it wouldn’t have come down to that. I used the last of my chemical supplies saving you. If it hadn’t worked, I… don’t know what I’d have done.” He truly doesn’t. He must have had a contingency plan once, long ago, but he tries to consider a scenario in which Leah’s dehibernation failed and gets no further than the mental picture of her face beginning to liquefy. It’s unthinkable. Unimaginable.

“Why didn’t you wait ‘til you had something that worked more than half the time? That’s what I can’t understand. Why did you have to revive me right then?”

“I was down to the last of my dimethyl sulfoxide. I needed your help obtaining more.”

Leah shakes her head, not believing him. “If that was all you wanted, you could’ve hired Hawthorne to do that himself. He was a smuggler who knew his way around the colony. I was a doctor from Earth who didn’t know anything. I didn’t even know how to shoot a gun! What the hell could I do that he couldn’t?”

It’s like being asked the whether the harmonic series converges: a question so obvious that Phineas has to pause, bewildered, before answering. “You’re a Hope colonist, uncorrupted by the Board. If anyone was capable of helping me save Halcyon, you were.”

Leah flinches back as though she’s been struck. “I was hoping to Law you weren’t gonna say that,” she says, more to herself than to him. She breathes, in and out. “Phineas. We’re just regular people, a long way from home, caught in a bad situation. That’s all we are.”

“Balderdash! You broke into Tartarus, for Law’s sake. Tartarus! Your fellows have pushed the nutrition crisis back by years, and they’ve only just begun. You’re saving Halcyon. You’re doing what no one else could.“

“Listen to me. You can’t keep treating us like colony-fixing machines you can take out of the box and switch on. I could handle it, when it was just me. I could handle it. But people are getting hurt, and it needs to stop.”

“‘Colony-fixing machines’? Where in the void is this nonsense coming from? Clarke?”

“You!” Leah stands so suddenly that her chair topples over behind her, clattering to the floor, and she plants her palms on the table. “It’s coming from you. You woke me up, told me my family was dead, made it my job to save every person on the Hope, and dumped me on an alien planet full of things that wanted to kill me, all in five fucking minutes. Did you ever think about what that was like for me? That was the most scared I’ve ever been in my life. Worse than getting mauled by that mantiqueen on Monarch. Worse than breaking into Tartarus.” She blinks back tears, her face thunderous. “If you know we’re people now, why the fuck don’t you act like it?”

“I never said anything about your—“ Too late, much too late, Phineas understands. Seventy years. Nearly a full human lifespan. He didn’t just tell her how long she was in stasis; he told her that everyone she knew — everyone who wasn’t a child when she left Earth — was long dead. He didn’t consider that implication, just as he didn’t consider what it would feel like to be inside that escape pod, hurtling towards an unknown destination at a thousand kilometers per hour with only the barest understanding of what was going on. The most terrifying experience of her life, and he did that to her. “I’m sorry,” says Phineas. “I’m sorry for all of it. I don’t know what else to say.”

All the anger drains from Leah’s posture, leaving only exhaustion behind, like wreckage after a flood. She sinks into the nearest upright chair, elbows on the table, head in her hands. “I know you’re sorry now. I know. But that doesn’t make it okay. What you did to me was cruel. What you did to Song in there — asking her to save Halcyon, right after she found out her mom was dead — that was cruel, too. You mean well; I know that. You’re not a bad person. You’re just... careless, and reckless, and sometimes that’s worse.”

The room’s temperature seems to drop twenty degrees. Nothing more than a psychosomatic effect, Phineas knows, but being aware that it’s all in his head doesn’t stop it from feeling real. “Emerald Vale was eight months ago,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?“

“You’re the only reason the Board didn’t kill us all. You dedicated your life to saving us.” Leah hesitates, wavering on the edge of something. “And what if I did tell you, and nothing changed? You’re my friend. I wanted to keep believing you could be better.”

Akande’s chair was less painful. “You have that little trust in me?”

“It took more than a hundred people dying for you to realize experimenting on them was wrong, and you still didn’t think twice about gambling my life on a twenty-eight percent chance. You cut my skull open, stuck a probe in my brain, gave me brain damage, and you still wanted to do the same thing to the next colonist. What am I supposed to think?”

[oosteven-universe]

Sweet Heart #1

Sweet Heart #1 Action Lab Danger Zone 2020 Written by Dillon Gilbertson Illustrated by Francesco Iaquinta Coloured by Marco Pagnotta Lettered by Saida Temofonte     Being hunted is an everyday risk in Ellicott City and the town itself is designed to make life comfortable for its citizens while being actively stalked by the eerie, insatiable creatures that live among them. But when Ben is chosen by one of the creatures near his home, his mother struggles to cope with the certainty of her son's death. Fans of horror will enjoy this all-new creator-owned pitch dark tale with a rich artistic flair.     I am not entirely sure what I was expecting with this but I am not entirely sure it lived up to whatever that was. This issue flew too quickly and I really wish that we'd have had this double sized first issue to spend more time with Ben, specially as a child growing up. Don't get me wrong I am enjoying this very much I just am not sure that it's paced correctly to start off as a first issue. I am not expecting to learn what they are and where they come from, just accepting the fact they exist does allow the reader to become more engaged in the story as they go off-script and work things out in their own minds, which is always a good thing.     Now the way that this is being told is something I touched upon but I do think we skipped over a lot, too much really. This really would have benefited from an oversized, see double sized, first issue or one more issue tacked on. As a reader I have so many questions, so many things I want to know because what we see doesn't necessarily provide them. It is a double edged sword really because on the one hand it's infuriating and on the other hand is kind mad, evil genius and it hooks the reader in ways that you don't expect. The character development is really nicely done. All in all what we see of these characters and their natural progression of how they grow is superb.     I like the premise and it's pretty different, unique and solid so that in itself it generates this great interest factor. Some won't even think twice about what I have said others will notice it it's a gamble but then again what really matters is that it doesn't detract from the quality of the storytelling here. This is what I do, I break the book down into what I see and feel, however, at no point am I saying this isn't worth reading, pretty much the opposite actually as you won't find a book like this anywhere else.     I do like the interiors here here that we see from Fancesco. The faces can be a little challenging at times but I'm okay with that. Though I would recommend you all keep an eye on the hairline of six year old and make that a little more consistent. There is something extremely interesting in the way we see the composition within the panels and how we see perspective as this creature comes more and more into focus. I am a huge fan of the way that we see backgrounds being utilised here and the attention to detail in the trees, fence, yard or anything else that you can think of as well as the creativity and imagination that we see in these creatures. The utilisation of the page layouts and how we see the angles and perspective in the panels show a solid eye for storytelling. I think the colour work is gorgeous throughout this book. The way we see the hues and tones within the colours utilised to create the shading, highlights and shadow work is sublime stuff. Whether it's a window glare or a torch pointed at the trees doesn't matter this work beautifully rendered. ​     I really like this, I want to see more and I wish it were bigger book but I really like this nonetheless. It is creative, is a twist that I hadn't seen before and it's a huge improvement on modern horror that we see all across the various mediums today.  

[areiton]

losing by degrees

Title: losing by degrees 

Prompt: R5 (Fix-it) for @tonystarkbingo​

Tag Warnings: post-apocalypse, post-Infinity War, mute Peter Parker, drinking to cope 

Word Count: 7k 

Summary: He looks around, and Strange’s grip on him tightens, so slightly he doesn’t even realize it. “Where is he?”

The Avengers are all here--Loki clasped in Thor’s shaking embrace, Sam quiet and too close to Bucky, both avoiding Cap’s gaze. Wanda is there, a gaping hole near her where Vision should be.

They got them <i>back</i>, Tony thinks, giddily, tears stinging in his eyes. And the calculations he and Bruce had played with worked, Lang got them back and brought them <i>here.</i>

So--“Where is he?” Tony demands again, shriller this time.  

A/N: I wanted to post this before Endgame released and I barely missed that but tomorrow is the official release day so here. Have a fix it, and hopefully if the movie breaks our hearts, this will ease the pain a bit.Heads up that Peter is voluntarily mute in this and Tony has (per usual) shitty coping mechanisms. There's your word of warning.

AO3 Link 

~*~ 

When they undo it, and get back everyone Thanos took--the first thing Tony does is punch Strange in the jaw.

“You bastard,” he chokes, and Strange gives him this look , like he understands, some, what Tony is feeling.

The desperate clawing panic that took him when they crumbled away, the same thing that’s kept him company in all the time since, while those left behind fought and prayed and gambled.

He looks around, and Strange’s grip on him tightens, so slightly he doesn’t even realize it. “Where is he?”

The Avengers are all here--Loki clasped in Thor’s shaking embrace, Sam quiet and too close to Bucky, both avoiding Cap’s gaze. Wanda is there, a gaping hole near her where Vision should be.

They got them back , Tony thinks, giddily, tears stinging in his eyes. And the calculations he and Bruce had played with worked, Lang got them back and brought them here.

So--

“Where is he?” Tony demands again, shriller this time, and he sees Loki stir in Thor’s arms, pull away from the god.

“Stephen--”

“Hush, Mischief,” Strange murmurs, and it registers as odd. Distantly, so distantly, it registers as odd.

Because panic is clawing in again.

They got them back.

Everyone.

Except there’s a empty space at his side, and a crumbling weight in his arms and ash choking him.

His voice sounds like a scream when he demands, once more, “Where is Peter?”

  ~*~ 

It went like this:

Thanos undid half the population of the universe.

He stole billions.

And Tony didn’t care.

He wanted it undone, wanted to drag Thanos into the dirt and beat him bloody, until he was nothing but so much crushed meat--but it wasn’t for the universe.

It wasn’t even for his team.

It was for a boy, just one, who stared at him with terrified brown eyes and begged to be saved.

He didn't want to save the world this time. He just wanted Peter back.

Now--staring at the world he almost died ( again ) to save, it feels like a cruel kind of irony, the sickest joke.

Because he did it. They did it. And Strange is looking at him, the same patient, too knowing look that he gave Tony before he crumbled away on Titan, and he knows what it means, knows.

FRIDAY has been scanning the billions they Restored since Tony came out of the sedation Cap forced on him when Tony realized that the boy wasn’t there.

“Any luck?”

“No, Boss,” she says, and he hates the distress in her voice.

Hates her for not actually feeling that distress.

“Tony,” Strange says, “you need to trust me.”

Tony laughs.

It’s the first time in longer than he can remember, and it feels like glass cutting his throat. “Last time I trusted you, he died in my arms,” he spits and takes a vindictive sort of pleasure in the flinch that Strange gives him.

“He’s not dead,” Loki says and Tony’s eyes narrow, watching the trickster approaching Strange.

“Loki,” the Sorcerer sighs. “We talked about this.”

“Yes, and I disagreed with you,” Loki snaps.

Tony, his patience, already thin and frayed, snaps, “ Explain.”

  ~*~

  The world didn’t recover from the Snap well.

There was grief, of course, but there was more than that--there was fury.

Earth was hurting, half of its inhabitants dusted into nothing and of those who weren’t, another three percent were killed immediate aftermath. Within twenty four hours, fifty three percent of the world was dead , and the remaining forty-seven were furious.

There was rage at the governments who did nothing, trusting a handful of superheros to save the world again.

Rage at the super heroes who didn’t .

Rage at the ones who lived and rage at the ones who died, and in the end--the world tore itself apart.

Thanos killed half the universe to create a utopia and Tony isn’t sure how it shook out on other planets--but by the time he and Nebula limped back to earth, the chaotic anarchy that greeted him resembled a dystopia far more than anything else.

They lost.

They were still losing, by slow degrees.

  ~*~

  Loki explains, in fits and starts, with Strange filling in gaps and snapping at him.

The dynamic is strange, something Tony recognizes but can’t really wrap his head around. Because what it boils down to is--they killed Thanos.

They did--Strange and Loki and Peter, his brave beautiful boy.

Because Thanos didn’t kill half of the universe. He stole them, tucked them in a pocket reality and spun out a life where Titan was still whole and happy and his daughter played at his feet.

He stole them and built the world he wanted, and it might have worked, if Peter and Strange and Loki had been alone.

But they weren’t.

They were together, when they died, Peter and Strange, and they woke together. They found Loki and dragged him along to kill a god.

“We had to take the stones,” Loki says. “But it wasn’t just that--we were in his reality, and we had to break that. Had to rewrite the time we were gone, and restore the souls trapped by Thanos--we couldn’t just destroy them, you understand?”

Tony stares at him, at the pleading in Loki’s eyes and the resignation in Strange’s.

“What--what are you saying?”

“Someone,” Strange says, bluntly, “had to wield the stones. Someone had to take their power, and rewrite what Thanos did, while you and the other survivors did your part to bring us back.”

“Someone,” Tony says, thickly. “Peter. You mean Peter.”

Strange nods, and Tony crumples.   

  ~*~

  It goes like this, for a long time--

Tony drinks.

He drinks because being sober means realizing that his kid, his Peter sacrificed himself for the whole goddamn universe, and that was never what Tony wanted.

He drinks because if he doesn’t, he has to watch Cap with Bucky, coaxing him back to life, has to watch the whole world coming back to life, and he can’t fucking handle that.

He likes the anarchy, likes the distrust and hate and rage that seethe just below the surface.

People don’t trust the governments and they don’t trust the Avengers, and most don’t trust him , but they’ll take his free power and his free food, they’ll take the water purifiers that Peter helped him design and they’ll survive.

After everything Peter gave to give them that chance, Tony feels like helping them is the very least he can do.

So he drinks, and he watches the newly restored to life world leaders scramble to put their shit together.

Strange searches.

Tony thinks he should probably feel guilt that he isn’t helping but then again, Tony is drunk enough that he barely registers the idea that he should feel guilty.

  ~*~

  “He wouldn’t want you to be like this,” Strange tells him one night, when he arrives in the Tower and finds Tony, messy drunk on the couch.

“You don’t get to talk about him,” Tony slurs, his glare lacking any heat and that’s the real crime here.

“You aren’t the only one who lost him, Stark,” Strange snarls, and his expression--fuck.

Even drunk, Tony recognizes that look. That look--he’s seen it in the mirror, staring helpless and fond at Peter as he clung to Tony’s back, sleepy and pliant.

He knows that look, knows what love looks like.

“You--” Tony stumbles and Strange looks away.

“I want to bring him home, too,” he says, tight and angry and Tony doesn’t have a chance to answer, before he’s stepping into nothing and away.

  ~*~

  “You’e leaving,” Tony says.

Strange is standing nearby, and he thinks it’s strange, that these two have become his near constant companions since the Restoration.

“I can’t leave him here, Stark,” Thor says, his voice soft in a way it never was, before. “Both of them, all of you--your letting Peter destroy you.”

“I won’t stop searching,” Loki snarls, and Thor tucks the raging god to his side, grief in his eyes.

“Go,” Tony says, but it’s not as angry as he expected. It’s just tired.

Thor’s eyes are sad and his grip on his brother tight, as they go.

  ~*~

  He goes back to his lab.

It’s dusty and still, the way that makes his skin crawl because his labs are never quiet, not like this. Even the bots are quiet and it aches in his gut, because this--this isn’t right.

The lab was always alive and noisy, filled with Peter’s quiet mutters and excited yelps, with Tony’s music and the whirring of the bots.

It was the place that felt most like home, the place he always knew he could do anything, and now--now it’s quiet and empty, almost tomblike and it feels like a slap in the face, like he’s given up on the boy he swore he’d never give up on.

“FRIDAY,” he breathes, and the lights come up. DUM-E whirs softly in the corner, trundling across the lab to pick at his pants inquisitively.

“Boss?” FRIDAY ask and Tony straightens his shoulders.

“Let’s create a search algorithm, ok?”  

  ~*~

  There are refugees living in the Tower now. He threw open the doors when he first got back, when he realized just how bad things had gotten in New York. Rhodey had been concerned, and Steve waa furious--but there was power and safety and food at the tower.

The lack of trust the world at large seemed to have for the Avengers and Tony didn't matter in the face of anarchy and starvation. They came in droves, glaring and cursing him and taking his food and shelter.

He couldn't blame them. He cursed himself.

Sometimes, he goes down and wanders among them. Sometimes, when he does, he sees Strange, moving through the crowded halls, passing out medicine and caring for the injured, as best he can. He never acknowledges Tony, when he does that--and Tony never acknowledges him.

There is one place, amongst the refugees, that Tony likes to go, where no one glares and spits at him, where he is met with wide smiles and trusting eyes.

The fifth floor is set aside aside for children. And sometimes, he goes and sits with them because they have no one left, and so much of the time, Tony feels the same way.

  ~*~

  Nebula is strange.

Alien and other in a way that can’t be denied and it sets others on edge. The Guardians, Restored now, and still grieving Gamora’s death, don’t trust her.

The Avengers don’t know her, and don’t care enough to get to know her, wrapped up as they are with their own world and it’s mountain of problems.

Tony watches her sometimes, sitting in his lab with DUM-E and Butterfingers, and thinks she’s the loneliest creature in the universe.

Still.

She saved him, in space, and he saved her, and they understand each other.

“Do you miss space?” he asks one day. She looks at him, her gaze curious and detached--that strange balance she does so well.

“I miss my sister,” she says, simply.

And it is, he thinks.

They are all of them defined by what they miss and cannot recover--space is there , she could have it, if she wanted. One day, she will.

Gamora--

Gamora is gone, and never coming back.

On his worst days, Tony thinks Peter is too.  

  ~*~

  He didn’t have time, really, to miss Peter. Not while they scrambled to get off Titan, and not on the mad, desperate, almost fatal rush back to earth.

Not in the months after they returned, when everything was pushed away by the need to fix it, when the world spun on, ash and dust, and an endless race to undo everything Thanos did.

But there’s time now.

And that ache, the sharp stabbing pain of his absence--it’s inescapable.

He told Peter, once, that if Peter died, it would be on him.

He didn’t mean for those words to be prophetic. He didn’t know Peter, then--not really. He knew the boy he’d dragged into his fight with the Cap, he knew the eager to please kid with a hero complex that was so like Rogers and so different--Rogers was a hero complex with a moral superiority and righteous fury. Peter--Peter just wanted to help . He was pure in a way none of them were, and brilliant.

So fucking brilliant it made Tony’s heart pound. Peter kept up with him the way only Bruce ever had, the way the little Wakanda princess can.

He misses him most, when he’s in his lab, and the bots are whirring for his attention, and FRIDAY plays his music, and there is no bright smile, no curious eyes, no chirpy hey, Mr. Stark, while he greeted the bots with affectionate pets.

He misses Peter, a constant ache that makes it hard to breath, hard to eat, hard to sleep, hard to exist.

Sometimes he thinks he shouldn’t, if Peter doesn’t.

He should be here, and he isn’t, and it sits like a rock, hard and painful, in his gut, and his throat, and his heart.

  ~*~

  “Boss, the scan is finished,” FRIDAY says one day, while he’s sitting with the orphans. He nods, and finishes the story he’s reading, before he quietly slips away. They fall on Nebula in his absence, something he knows still baffles the girl.

Still. She lets them drag her down, her stern expression melting into something soft and almost warm, and he smiles as he goes to the lab.

The scan is waiting.

It took them almost a month. It wasn’t enough, to search for Peter’s DNA signature. It needed to cover every possibility--needed to search for his spider mutation, and the signature of Titan on his body, the stones and the shadow realm.

It had to try everything because nothing they were trying was working.

He’d asked for Loki and Strange’s help, but Thor refused to let him near Loki, firm in his apologies. “It’s not good for him,” he said, almost sad.

“He’s here,” Tony had snarled, incandescent in his rage and Thor had met it levelly.

“And if your Spider was--would you risk him to find my brother?”

It stopped Tony in his tracks, just as Thor knew it would. He’d given Tony one final look of sorrow and left.

“Don’t blame him,” Strange said, and Tony choked on his laughter. “Loki only found the shadow realm because of stones. The one--it’s very fond of him.”

Tony stared at him, and Strange huffed. “Loki wasn’t killed by Thanos’ Snap. He shouldn’t have been Restored--Gamora wasn’t. The Space Stone saved him. And Thor knows his brother being alive is a miracle. You cannot ask him to risk that.”

“I am asking.”

Strange studied him. “Let me help instead.”

Tony wasn’t turning away help, not from the wizard, not from anyone. They built the scan.

“You know it might not work,” Strange says from behind him as Tony turns it on.

He does know. The scan will only find Peter if Peter is alive and on earth to be found.

“It will,” he says. It has to.

  ~*~

  FRIDAY runs the scan three times a day.

No matter where he is in the tower, he knows when it starts--the lights flicker, the massive engine powering the scan yanking hard on the power of the arc reactor.

His heart thumps, hard and uneven, in answer to those flickering lights, before he forces his attention back to whatever he’s using to occupy himself.

Sometimes it’s meetings. Sometimes, it’s the kids.

Sometimes, it’s just booze and his memories, and his open, sad lab.

Tony tries not to think too much about how much those days would disappoint Peter, or, how, as time passes and the scan finds nothing--those nights turn up more and more.

“You knew it would take time,” Strange murmurs, one night, when FRIDAY comes back with the familiar, disheartening, scan negative, boss.

“It doesn’t make it easier,” Tony says, and Strange nods.

Tony looks at him, this man who had Peter when he didn’t, who came back without him, and asks, one of two questions he’s never let himself ask. “Was he--in the other realm. Was he scared?”

I don’t wanna go. Please, Mr. Stark.

Strange shakes his head. “No. For a long time--time moved differently, there. But for a long time, he was happy. We all were. None of us realized what had happened.”

He was happy. He isn’t, not now. It burns, a brand of pain he can’t assuage, but he asks, “What changed?”

Strange stares at him, his eyes bright and intent. “He remembered you.”

  ~*~

  "We can't house them indefinitely," Steve says.

"What are you suggesting?" Tony asks, mildly. He's sober and shaved, and his eyes are bright and alert, not shadowed and searching.

Steve watches him for a long moment, and then, "We need to move them out of the city. Resettle them in the country, on land they can farm. They'll be closer to self-sustaining, if we do that."

"That works, for some of them--but what about the children."

Steve is quiet for a long time, and then, Nat says, cautiously, "We think each family sent to the farms should take one of the orphans."

Tony stops breathing. His hands clench, and for a moment, he wishes he was wearing the suit he hasn't put on since Titan. "You don't know if these families are good people, you don't know anything about them."

"Tony," Steve starts.

"No. Absolutely fucking not. The kids stay," he snaps, cutting Captain Fucked Up Ideas off cold.

"That's not sustainable," Steve says, gently.

"Fuck sustainable," Tony spits, furious. His heart is pounding and all he can think is *Peter would be one of those children. "You are not giving children to random strangers who could hurt them."

"Then what do you want to do with them?" Bucky asks, and he isn't agreeing with Steve. He's calm, quiet. Actively curious.

The problem is--Tony doesn't know.

He doesn't know what to do anymore.

  ~*~

  It's Loki who figures it out. He comes to Earth with Thor, and his eyes are almost normal, that wildness and manic fear bled away into something that's almost content. He clings to Strange, though, when the wizards steps out of a portal and opens his arms, his thin frame shaking.

"Hush, now, Mischief," Strange murmurs.

"You promised," Loki says, muffled, and Tony's heart jerks, hard, because he wants to know what that means, what Strange promised.

"I did. And I never lied to you. Trust me?"

Loki stares at him and some of the tension drains out of him.

He looks at Tony and his gaze is bright and hopeful. "Thor said something about you having a problem with too many children?"

That's how he ends up on the fifth floor, watching helplessly as Loki sits on the ground, a baby asleep against his shoulder, three children in his lap and another tucked against his side. A little girl with golden brown curls hangs on his back, her grin wide and eager and painful to watch.

"He's very good with kids," Tony says, startled. He'd never considered that Thor's power mad baby brother might have more than just that particular description hidden in his black and green depths.

"He loves them," Thor says, his voice thick. "He will be a fine mother, one day."

Tony very deliberately doesn't answer that particular rejoiner, and is ridiculously grateful when Loki walks up, the baby still sleeping against his shoulder.

"Send them to the same farm. Let them run it. There's enough older children, and you can send some of your people up for a while, until they're settled."

Tony stares at the god of mischief and wonders if it can be that easy.

  ~*~

  He finds Nebula in the cockpit of their spaceship.

It is theirs, cobbled together by desperation and bastardized tech, by nanites from his suit and parts Nebula couldn’t really give up but did.

They survived, because surviving was the only way to save the ones they loved.

He hates this fucking ship, has avoided it in all the long months since they limped off and into the arms of the remaining Avengers.

And now, Nebula is standing here, a small kit bag at her feet, her eyes shining with something Tony isn’t ready to see.

She doesn’t say anything--she doesn’t need to. He knows what it’s like, to run from your feelings, to run from what hurt.

“You can’t go,” he says, and she laughs.

It’s wet and hurt and it makes him ache, to hear.

“There’s nothing for me here, Stark.”

“There’s less for you out there,” he points out, and it’s cruel. He knows it’s cruel--he just doesn’t care.

He needs her to stay.

He already lost Peter, lost Pepper--he can’t lose Nebula too.

“Stay,” he says, his voice a whisper, and she stares at him.

“I’m leaving, one day, Stark. You know that.”

He does.

He knows.

But it doesn’t have to be today.

She sighs, and follows him off the ship and back into the Compound.

  ~*~

  Sometimes, he sits in his lab, and watches the blue and red sensor sweeping the planet.

He watches, and he aches, for what he can’t have.

Steve says Peter is gone, that the search algorithm is draining precious resources. Tony doesn’t argue with him--can’t argue with him. He’s right . They can’t afford the scans.

Tony answers that concern by building three arc reactors to power buildings around the city, and introduces Bruce’s new strain of grain DNA.

Loki and Thor arrive with food, and Quill and his Guardians bring in supplies from nearby galaxies.

It’s all a stop gap, and he knows it--but any stop gap buys him time to keep searching.

Rebuilding the world doesn’t matter, not if they can’t bring Peter home.

“Am I being selfish?” he asks Strange one night, when he’s not nearly as drunk as he wants to be.

It’s been three months since the Restoration and Peter--Peter is still gone.

He’s beginning to wonder if Steve is right.

“He sacrificed everything to save all of us and you’re trying to do the same. It’s not selfish--but I don’t know if it’ll work,” Strange says, that familiar bluntness that Tony loves and hates.

“Why him?” Tony asks, and it’s desperate, and sad, and he hates himself for asking.

Strange sighs, and shakes his head. “Because the Stones chose him.”

  ~*~

  It’s a Thursday, a quiet rainy morning five months after the Restoration. Tony is looking over reports on the Orphan’s farm, and tweaking some plans about security when the lights flicker and surge, and his heart does too.

He forces his breathing to stay steady, and finishes reviewing the plans with a hand that only barely shakes.

“Sir,” FRIDAY cuts through his concentration, and he frowns. There won’t be enough room for growth, if they don’t remove that field on the west end and build more dormitories. And growth is important, they’re--

“ Boss,” FRIDAY almost shouts, and it jerks Tony’s attention up.

The lights are dim, dimmer than they should be and FRIDAY’s voice is sharp and excited in a way he didn’t program her to be. “Scan positive.”

  ~*~

  He calls Strange who summons Loki, and they gather around the display, a creature of magic, a man of science, and a being who managed to be both.

The little red icon blinks, steady and slow, and Tony feels like his heartbeat is slowing to match it, like it knows Peter is on the other end of that blinking icon.

“Strange,” Loki whispers, his eyes locked on the icon, his hands trembling. “Tell him.”

  ~*~

  “The Stones fought Thanos,” Strange says. His eyes are wary and distant, and Tony wants to walk away from this conversation, wants to go find Peter , but Loki spelled the Tower, so he couldn’t leave and that was that. “They didn’t want him as a master. They never wanted a master. ”

“You talk about them like they’re sentient.”

Strange inclines his head. “They were.”

The stones, Strange explains in fits and starts, rebelled against Thanos, fought his control, reaching for anyone else.

They found Peter. A boy that was pure enough to pull the Soul stone, who Loki adore and Strange trusted, and Tony Stark loved--something the Stones noticed and knew. They remembered their previous masters, remembered the creatures they had been held by--and they saw a boy, a boy who sang to the Soul stone, and so many one-time masters loved, and they turned to him.

The other two followed where the four led, and when Peter reached for them--they fell into him.

“Not a weapon, Tony. Not a gauntlet, like Thanos used.”

Tony stares at Strange, at Loki. Even Loki could only wield the Stone when it was housed in the Tesseract.

“What did he use? To house them,” he demands, almost begs, and Strange looks at him, unfathomably sad.

“ Peter housed them.”

  ~*~

  Tony steps out of the portal, and he isn’t sure what he’s expecting.

He doesn’t know what it means, what Strange said. Loki said the stones were part of Peter, the way the Mind Stone had been part of Vision.

He doesn’t want to think about how that could change the boy he lost, the boy he loved.

Strange steps after him, and the portal closes, leaving them in the dim darkness of a deserted school.

“FRIDAY,” Tony calls.

“Down the hall--third room on the right, boss,” she says, immediately.

Tony sees him first.

For a moment--looking at the curve of his slumped shoulders, the shaggy familiar hair--for a moment, he thinks it’s ok.

“Pete?” he says, and Loki makes a noise, low and indistinct.

And he flares , a dazzling array of colors skating under his skin, the room almost blindingly bright.

Strange curses, and the boy throws himself through the window, and Tony--

Tony throws himself right after him.

He realizes, a moment too late, that he’s not wearing a suit.

He’s three stories up and not wearing a suit and he hears an exasperated huff, before he’s jerked up and into strong arms.

For a moment, he’s close and Peter is frowning at him, worry in his ancient, shifting eyes.

For a moment, the world is right.

“Hi, Pete,” he breathes.

  ~*~

  They take him home.

He fights it--but it’s half hearted, digging his feet in, pulling against their touch, but never with all of his strength, and Loki says something, too low for Tony to hear, and it makes all the fight drain out of him, makes Peter slump next to the god and follow along, docile at his side. He stays close to Loki, and sometimes, his gaze will flick to Strange, like he’s reassuring himself. Sometimes his fingers twitch and Tony thinks he’s a hairs breath from flinging himself away.

He is careful to avoid Tony’s gaze, to keep two or three bodies between them, and Tony tries not to let that sting.

  ~*~

  In the Tower, Strange and Loki whisk Peter away, murmuring low and quiet to him and Tony watches his shoulders slump in what looks like relief as he goes, strange and somehow not, between them.

“They’ll take care of him,” Thor says, and his brow is furrowed, worry glinting in his eyes. “Loki--he has not been the same, since he came back. Part of him was still with your Spider.”

“I don’t think any of are the same.”

Thor nods, accepting that. “It’s different, though. Loki is different. In the same way that Strange is--in the same way you are. Losing young Peter broke something in all of you.”

Tony doesn’t argue that.

He can’t.

It’s the truth.

  ~*~

  “He’s different.”

Strange is never going to sugar coat anything for him, Tony thinks and nods once. “Peter is--he won’t speak. And he is very afraid.”

“Won’t speak?” Tony echoes, not quite sure how to reconcile his Peter, with the snark and sass and babble with silence.

“He can speak, Tony,” Strange says. “When he’s ready--he will.”

Tony doesn’t ask--what if he’s never ready.

He doesn’t think he wants to hear Strange’s too blunt answer.

  ~*~

  Peter is like a ghost, haunting the Tower. There are signs of him--cups of abandoned coffee, bowls of cereal, bits of spiderwebs in the corners of the ceilings, a trace of magic in the air like ozone--but never anything Tony can see , nothing he can touch and hold and reassure himself is real.

He knows Peter is there, knows it in the smile and lightness in Loki and the way the lines around Strange’s eyes and mouth ease with every passing day.

But he never sees the boy, and he thinks maybe that is worse.

  ~*~

  He has nightmares. Most nights--but some nights, he doesn’t ever truly wake from them.

Some nights, he hovers between nightmares of Titan and ash and a high frantic begging, and here, the Tower, the quiet of his room.

Some nights, he almost feels a hand, brushing through his hair, and lips, impossibly soft, against his skin, and he thinks--this isn’t real.

But it isn’t a nightmare, either.

He hears, shh. Shh. shh. And then sleep claims him again.

  ~*~

  “He’s staying, Tony. I know you want more--”

“I want him ,” Tony snaps. “I want him back.”

“And he is. As much as he can be--Peter is back. He’s just--different.”

“I don’t mind different,” Tony says, because he doesn’t. He’s different. Losing Peter, losing , it changed him.

It changed the whole world.

“I just--I want him to come home.”

Loki shifts, draws closer to Tony and his eyes are soft, soft. “He’s here. He’s staying. Not with Strange in the Sanctum or me in New Asgard--he is here, in your tower. Because you are.”

Tony looks at him, and Loki smiles, gentle, small, and reassuring. He didn’t know Loki could smile like that. “He isn’t running from you, Tony. Trust him to come in his own time.”

  ~*~

  Sometimes, the silence in his lab thickens, and he won’t look up, but he’ll feel Peter, sitting in a corner. He doesn’t know what to do in those moments. He doesn’t want to scare him away, is almost too terrified to look at him, and he wants with a visceral fierceness, a sharpness so sudden it makes his breath catch and his eyes sting.

Peter doesn’t ever say anything. He doesn’t think Peter has said anything since they found him in that dirty hovel--certainly not to Tony.  

But he sits there, in his quiet corner, and he watches and Tony is grateful for it, so grateful he doesn’t even mind that Peter is silent.

And when he begins to speak. When he talks about Nebula and the orphans, about the months in space and the endless months trying to undo the Snap. When he whispers about his nightmares and regrets and shouts at the bots and mumbles equations and argues with Steve--Peter listens.

He stays in his corner, in his quiet, but when Tony dares to look at him--Peter stares back, a tiny smile on his lips, and he listens.

  ~*~

  Peter likes to go down to where the orphans are.

When he can be coaxed out of the penthouse and the rooms he hides away in, when he isn’t in the labs watching Tony--it’s there that he can be found. Curled in a corner of a couch, three children piled on him, his hands tucked into oversize sweatshirts Tony recognizes from his own closet. He sits there, and they play with his hair and whisper to him and he smiles, a loose familiar smile that makes Tony hope.

Sometimes, when he goes down, Tony finds Loki there, weaving stories and illusions and multi-colored lights dazzle the children while Peter watches, indulgent and happiness shining in his ancient eyes.

Sometimes, he goes and finds them all asleep, piled on him like so many puppies and the air ripples with recognition when Tony gets too close and he thinks--these are Peter’s. His lost little children, and he will protect them.

With all of his immense power, Tony knows he will protect them.

And he thinks--while Peter blinks up at him sleepily from under three toddlers, a gentle smile on his lips--he thinks, maybe he is Peter’s too. Claimed and kept and protected.

  ~*~

  The world keeps turning. The world keeps turning and Peter keeps to himself, keeps silent. He visits the orphans and watches Tony and the power of the Stones plays under his skin, untapped and unchecked and the world keeps falling apart.

Tony knows what will happen. Even before it does, because he knows Steve.

“We have to think about what we’re doing,” Steve says. “We have to think about the long game.”

Tony barely holds in his snarl at that word, the sharp spike of fury he feels at being a pawn in another game.

“He can help, Tony.”

“We aren’t using Peter,” Tony says, his voice hard and brooking no argument.

Steve’s lips are tight and Barnes touches his wrist, a light, fleeting touch that draws him away and silences the fighting for the moment.

He isn’t stupid, though. He knows it’s not the end of things.

  ~*~

  Strange is in his kitchen, making tea. It no longer even surprises him to see the wizard there. At least this time he’s in jeans and a long sleeve shirt and not that damn robe and cloak.

Peter sits nearby, hands cradling his own steaming mug, eyes unnaturally bright as he watches the Sorcerer.

“We need to talk,” Strange says and Tony frowns, glancing at Peter, who has gone still and tense.

“Rogers--”

His gut drops and rage flares in it’s place and he snarls. “ No.”

“This is bigger than you or me, or even Peter,” Strange says, and he’s tired. He sounds so tired.

They saved the world, they all did, and they gave up so fucking much to do it--when did they get to stop. When was it enough. He closes his eyes. “The world needs this,” Strange says.

“You aren’t using Peter,” Tony says, dully. Shocked he even has to say it. “Not like that. Not ever. He isn’t your fucking tool.”

“Have you even asked him, if he wants to do this?” Strange asks, and Peter sitting on the counter with his tea suddenly makes sense.

He hates Strange, a little, in that moment.

Hates him for being a manipulative bastard, and hates him for putting them both in this position.

He hates him and he knows what the answer will be.

  ~*~

  Tony remembers the first time he heard about the Infinity Stones. He was on a helicarrier with a man who should be dead, a femme fatale, a Norse god from outer space, and a timid scientist with rage problems.

He misses the days when his life was that normal.

“It’s simply a matter of remaking reality. Not all of it--just a piece.”

Peter looks at Strange, and his eyes are ancient and trusting and young, and he glances at Tony, almost like he’s looking for reassurance. Steve is there, waiting, arms crossed, hopeful. Loki leans against the counter with Thor pressed a step too close. There’s an air of hopefulness, thick waiting and anxiety, and Tony knows, he knows that even if this is the right thing for the rest of the world, it’s the wrong thing for Peter.

He puts down his coffee and steps over, steps into Peter’s space for the first time since they brought him home, and Peter’s hands--small and delicate and strong--come up to wrap in his shirt, holding him back, holding him close.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmurs and Peter’s eyes widen. “We’ll find another way. I’m working on smart seeds, baby, you don’t have to do this.”

The room is quiet, silent, tense.

Peter watches him, big beautiful eyes bright and intent, and then--he smiles.

He looks past Tony, and meets Strange’s gaze, and nods.

His grip on Tony never loosens.

  ~*~

  He has nightmares, sometimes.

More nights than he likes to think about, he wakes screaming, and all he can do is grasp at the empty bedsheets and feel the dust on his fingers, his lips, burning in his eyes.

Peter finds him some nights, finds him sitting in the dark living room with Nebula, and his eyes are gentle as he takes the Scotch and his fingers are solid as they wrap around Tony’s and his skin is warm when he curls close.

It’s not enough. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget this boy, this precious boy, turning into nothing in his arms.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever dream, and not hear his voice, panicked and terrified and begging him to fix it.

But he holds onto Peter and Nebula watches them both, and the night passes.

The sun always rises.

  ~*~

  Things don’t get better overnight.

But sometimes, Peter will go with Strange and Loki, will walk barefoot in the dusty dead fields, and FRIDAY will murmur about power spikes, and Tony will feel it, the power of the stones rippling and rewriting everything that Thanos destroyed.

“Why not do it all at once?” Steve asks once, watching Peter coming back, feet heavy and tripping as he stumbles between Lokii and Strange, and Nebula scoffs.

“That only causes new problems, Captain. Did Thanos teach you nothing?”

Steve looks at her, eyes wide and startled and she looks almost like she pities him. “You cannot fix something by destroying a part of it. Thanos destroyed half the universe to save it. And that almost destroyed what he left behind.”

“Peter--”

“Peter coaxes. He heals. The stones aren’t going to be used for destruction, not ever again,” Tony murmurs. “Peter would never allow it.”

Peter glances up at him, and he smiles.

“That’s why they chose him,” he murmurs and for the first time since before the Snap--he feels like he can breath.

  ~*~

  The world turns.

The orphans grow and Peter sits by, quiet and beautiful and watchful, and Tony thinks--maybe they can heal. He talks in the lab and Peter grins at him, shadows of the boy from before, and he realizes abruptly--he doesn’t miss that boy.

He loves Peter.

Changed and scarred and so powerful it makes him shake--he loves Peter.

  ~*~

  Peter creeps into his room the day of the third anniversary of the Snap, the first he’d spent in the Tower, and stares at Tony.

“I’m not going,” he says, softly, and Peter nods. He crawls into bed next to Tony and his hands shake and he is so slow it’s agonizing to watch.

It’s been nine months.

And Peter is still silent, still scared.

“I love you, kid,” Tony breathes and Peter freezes for a moment, before he melts into Tony’s side.

It’s comforting, and he clings to the quiet boy as the day spins and the sky darkens and another year passes.

  ~*~

  Nebula leaves.

“You don’t need me anymore, Tony,” she says, and she smiles. “I don’t think you ever needed me. ”

She flicks a glance at Peter who blushes and grins, and leans into Tony. He’s been doing that more--presing close even in the daylight, when monsters and nightmares don’t haunt them both.

Tony likes it--more than he should, he thinks.

“Where will you go?” he asks, and Nebula’s expression curls in, something lonely and sad, and she looks away, blinking hard.

Peter detangles himself from Tony and goes to her, hugs her despite her stiffness and Tony tries to bite back how much it hurts when he whispers, soft and low in her ear, too low for Tony to hear.

She smiles at him, when he pulls away and says, “Take care of him, Stone Bearer.”

Peter smiles, cocky sure and happy and winks, and she nods at Tony.

He and Nebula don’t need any more words than they’ve already shared.

She leaves, and he wonders, holding his boy close, if he’ll ever see her again.

He wonders where Peter sent her.

“I hope she’s happy,” he whispers, and Peter squeezes his hand.

  ~*~

  Peter laughs, sometimes. Most when they go to the Orphan’s Farm, and the kids pile on him, heedless and uncaring about the color skating under his skin and shifting in his eyes.

Tony misses his voice. Misses the way he stumbled over his words when he was excited or nervous or flustered. Misses the way he talks too fast and high, desperate to get out his thoughts, his eyes sparkling as he spoke.

But he laughs, and he curls into Tony’s arms when they sleep and he pets the bots, soft and affectionate, when he comes into the lab and Tony sees Strange watching, and he thinks--

They’ll be ok.

  ~*~

  The first time he kisses Peter, it’s after Loki and Thor announce the new prince of Asgard’s impending arrival.

Peter laughs, delighted and Strange smiles, small and pleased and draws Loki into a hug. “I am so happy for you, Mischief,” he murmurs and Peter hums his agreement. They whisper like that, the three of them together, heads bent towards each other, a little world that he can’t ever be a part of and he sees it, suddenly.

“Thank you,” he blurts and Strange blinks up at him. Loki is smirking and waiting and Peter--Peter watches, his head tilted and curious.

“I never--I never said that. Never said thank you. But you--both of you--protected him, when I couldn’t. I--even if this is as much of you as we get back, Pete--I am so grateful.” He stumbles over his words and shrugs. “Thank you. Thank you for loving him.”

Peter makes a low hurt noise and comes across the room to burrow in his arms and Tony lowers his head, kisses his soft soft hair. “I am so glad you’re home, baby. I missed you so much,” he says, something he’s never said before, something that’s always been assumed, known, but never spoken.

Peter whimpers and tilts his head up, and it’s easy.

So very easy.

To kiss him. Soft and gentle, like a warm wind blowing across the Tower balcony. Peter tastes like strawberries and mead and electricity. Tony moans and kisses him hard and deep, his hands impossibly gentle as they hold Peter close.

He smiles a little, and Peter blinks up at him. Dazed and happy.

His voice is low and hoarse and broken, when he speaks. It’s the most beautiful sound Tony’s ever heard.

“Tony,” Peter whispers.

  ~*~

  The world ended.

And they put it back together. Not quite right. There were broken pieces, missing pieces, sharp edges that still drew blood. But Peter is tucked in his bed, sleepy and warm and the stones shimmer under his skin, and Tony thinks--this isn’t losing.

It’s winning. They won. They win every day, a few degrees at a time.