#creature commandos imagines

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can we get a doctor phosphorus X reader where the reader has power similar to Deadpool. Example of unable to die and sometimes has ability to pull things out of thin air for comedic effect

You were a curious case to most, from your inability to die, to your unique ability to seemingly pull things that people needed out of thin air as though by pure coincidence. When asked about how you did what you did, you merely shrugged your shoulders - you sipped a drink you plucked out of thin air through a silly straw- and replied with something that only left the rest of the monsters even more confused;

‘Plot convenience and comedic effect for the audience reading this fanfic that author took far too long to actually get to writing.’

Many left you alone after that, deducing you a tad mentally unstable, all but Dr Phosphorus who also thrived off of the chaos and unpredictable nature that you brought to every situation you found yourself in. He found comradery in you and your ability to piss of basically everyone by getting under their skin, even him at times but he knows when to laugh with you as while everything that came from your mouth might sound insulting, that’s just how you came across and it only takes someone with a likemindedness to understand when you were being genuine or not.

Dr Phosphorus remembered the first time you interacted with one another when you scared him by accident, making him grab your shoulder with his exposed radiated hand, thinking you’ll die a violent death but imagine his surprise when you only shrug his hand off to reveal a healing shoulder where his hand once was. ‘Is it hot in here or is it just you? Oh who am I kidding it is you because of your…yeah.’ You said as you gestured to all of him and while he couldn’t smile since he was a literal skeleton, he couldn’t help but chuckle at your words now that the initial scare was over.

‘Oh you’re the wise ass who thought it’d be funny to scare the irradiated Skelton?’ Dr phosphorus says as he crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head as he took you in and the burnt cloth at your shoulder from his touch, your skin however -now fully healed at this point- looked untouched as though he wasn’t close enough to even hurt you. ‘Who are you newbie, I would think that I would remember a person like you.’ He adds with an almost flirtatious purr.

You smiled as you offered out your hand. ‘Of course you wouldn’t as I was hauled off here just this morning, but for the sake of keeping this fanfic a reasonable length as to prevent the possibility of stretching the readers attention span too thin, I killed a bunch of bad guys and lost a couple of limbs in the process.’ You said as though it wasn’t as big of a deal as it would be to others, ‘people were screaming, I was screaming. and here I am being called a freak, monster and whatever even by people who should probably look in the mirror before saying shit. It’s like the pot calling the kettle black.’ You finished.

Dr phosphorus looked at you then back down at your hand before looking back at you once more, amused. ‘I’d take your hand sweetheart, but I don’t want to hurt you…again.’

‘Oh then take these gloves.’ You said.

‘What gloves-‘

‘These silly!’ You exclaimed as you shoved a pair of irradiation proof gloves against dr phosphorus’s chest.

‘How did you-‘ dr phosphorus tried to ask, only to then decide that logic wasn’t all that important to you when you seemingly worked outside of logic as a person, logic and sound decisions didn’t exist within you, and it shows in the most subtlest ways that one wouldn’t notice unless they were paying attention as to how you seemingly controlled an unforeseen narrative to your very will.

‘How did I what?’ You asked.

‘Pull shit out of thin air.’ Dr phosphorus replied as he slides the gloves over his hands.

‘Plot convenience and comedic effect for the them.’ You then pointed towards a part of the room, almost as though gesturing to an audience , only for there to be no one there at all but cold walls. You two were the only ones in the room and dr phosphorus thought he was the only mentally unstable one in this facility. ‘Who are we looking at sweets?’ Dr phosphorus says as he tried to see what you were seeing, but all he could see was the cold walls that he was far too familiar with then the outside of the very structure he was trapped within, which sounded sad but to his knowledge no sane mind would blink twice at the mistreatment of a monster.

‘The audience reading this very fan fic.’ You informed him with a smile before seeing that he had put on the gloves and boldly grabbed his hand, making the skeleton jolt as he then relaxed when remembering he did put on the gloves. ‘But never mind them, it’s good to meet you dr phosphorus.’ You add as though knowing his name without him telling you was all apart of your character and dr phosphorus had to say that he was liking you more and more you spoke.

‘I don’t think I disclosed that to you sweetheart, but it’s good to meet you too.’ He chuckled and in that moment he knew that your relationship was going to be unlike any other. And he was right.

There would be times where all of you were gathered in the cafeteria, where one of the monsters nudged past you rather rudely while sneering at you. You were use to this as technically while you had abilities that went beyond human comprehension, you were still the closest thing to being a human in comparison to those who had physical appearance that screamed monster.

‘Watch where you’re going human.’ They’d spit at you venomously.

You only smiled back at them while Dr Phosphorus looked between the two of you from the sidelines along with everyone else. ‘Someone who’s going to get bitchslapped by a fish says what.’

The bat like creature scrunched up their face. ‘What-‘ before they could finish their sentence, they were then smacked across the face with a fish rather violently as they were sent to the floor. They hold a hand to their cheek, clearly unaware of what had just happened along with the rest of the room, before looking at your hand that was once empty now was grasping the tail a dead fish the length of your arm; which explained the disgusting smell that soon hit their senses a second after they realised that they were hit in the face with a dead fish.

‘Where did you get that thing?!’ They’d spit exclaimed but you shrugged.

‘That’s on a need to know basis.’ You replied as you shoved the fish into the hands of a gargoyle like being as you took your place next to dr phosphorus, who had been trying to hold back his laughter but couldn’t when you were close enough if g for him to ask. ‘A fish? That’s what you come up with when insulated?!’ He wheezed. You shrugged ‘thought you would like the image of someone getting slapped with a fish and so I went with it.’ You explained as though it was something that happened on a daily basis for you.

‘Well it was definitely a sight to behold for not just me sweetheart.’ Dr phosphorus tells you as you both carried on with your day, all the while everyone else could only watch as the irradiated skeleton and you continue your conversation before being joined by weasel who had the fish firmly liked in his jaw.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

CREATURE COMMANDOS (DCU - animated)

—

“A Call To Motion” or Going to Carnival w/ The Creature Commandos (Creature Commandos x Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

CHARACTERS: FLAG, BRIDE, PHOSPHOROUS, NINA, G.I. (platonic), WEASEL (platonic).

NSFW, 18+, minors dni, mission, team dynamics, fluff, caribbean setting, dancing, referenced sex (TW: stalking, murder, animal death) - monster!reader & caribbean!reader

6k+ words (some of which are from a 900+ word mini fic w/ Phosphorus)

RICHARD “RICK” FLAG SR.

Rick should absolutely not be allowing you to do this, but he can’t take his eyes off you anyway.

There’s something mesmerizing about how you move to the music around you, the island’s atmosphere seeming to have rejuvenated you significantly. It’s like you were made of the sun, it seeps into the pretty brown of your skin like a homecoming and the way you bask in its warmth and smile takes his breath away.

Flag is old and more than a little jaded, taking his breath away — let alone getting him to start waxing fucking poetic — wasn’t easy. Why, then, you’re able to do it without so much as trying is something he can’t mentally grasp.

He can’t be too mad when you’re still clearly doing your job, though. Even with you singing loudly to every single song. Flag doesn’t even want to know how you know the newer tracks at all, let alone well enough to not be missing any words and wining your waist in time enough to be hitting every single beat.

And he is watching close enough to tell. He tells himself it’s because you’re too much of a wildcard this mission — on this island — but he’s hardly convincing himself. Feigning ignorance is his best bet anyway, even if he is kind of worried about whether he’ll have to bury your headless body in an unmarked grave because you slipped away using familiar pathways you grew up trekking he had no chance of knowing.

Regardless, even with you being covered enough to hide the monstrous parts of your appearance, very little about the way you’re dancing leaves much for his imagination to do. The way your ass pops, the freedom in your movements, the surety in your performance, it’s all like catnip to him.

Even in tactical gear you’re still working him up. Even though you were one of his goddam charges and he was too old to be acting like his love struck son did with that June Moon chick, too old to be falling for a woman who gave him nothing but shit consistently and who’d tried to claw him to death on their first mission the first time you and him fought together.

You were a lot of other things too, however: the first one to save him from an explosion, the first to earnestly ask for his help despite how begrudging you’d obviously been, someone who let him rant about shit without telling the others, who lit up so fantastically at certain things it made him feel a little lighter himself, the woman outcasted from your place of birth that talked him into (ie: verbally tore him apart) finally going to visit Rick’s grave at his, and you’re accent was like fucking silk. So really, who could blame him if he was falling a little in love?

A lot of people, but he’s choosing to ignore that.

Really, there’s better things he could be watching so closely. G.I. was one, he was always one, and Eric was unpredictable and volatile enough Flag was convinced he needed to be watched even closer than Weasel. Or maybe he could even be paying more attention to the literal mission they were on, but still it was you who’d captured his attention the most.

After he catches himself and realizes he’s been ogling you silently for the better part of five minutes he doesn’t watch you as closely as he genuinely wants to. You’re both not dancing for him and are supposed to be working, he needs to get himself under control.

Rick wants to keep his eyes on you, though, and has definitely been letting himself get dragged along in this game of push and pull that you're playing with him.

Jesus fucking Christ if Waller could see him now…

Because of you making a point to stare him down, raise a brow, and then step into the collective mass of dancing bodies to wukup and jam and sing in a shadowy part of the area — getting even closer to where their primary target was throwing back shots surrounded by a wall of women, and basically daring Rick to stop you if he thought he was big and bad enough — Rick ends up taking his frustration out on everyone else on the team.

You’re taking risks, but he can’t deny that even in between your singing the intel you're giving him is good. Plus, you didn’t want anything major going down in your home island any more than Rick did; more so than he did, even. So all he can do is redirect his frustration at you not following his instruction and potentially putting yourself in danger.

Rick wishes he could feel half of what you’re feeling. That he could enjoy the music shaking his teeth and feel the freedom you clearly do in your movements and in being surrounded, however briefly, by your people even ostracized as you now were as a “creature”.

Instead of that he’s been tasked to lead. He might not have you back under control yet — he’ll get to wrangling you back into working if you don’t do so yourself, but he wants you to enjoy the reprieve for now — but he can nitpick the hell out of everyone’s positions until he’s got a cacophony of people bitching and groaning in his ears and his lips are twitching up into less of a frown as he keeps half an eye on you.

Though nothing gets him as close to smiling as when you finally deem yourself satisfied (or as satisfied as you’re ever going to get as a imprisoned woman who’ll never be able to go anywhere uncovered lest she incite a mob) and slide up to him. You don’t do anything so transparent as laugh or cheer, but you do grin at him — your pretty brown eyes nice and wild — and for a second Rick feels himself grinning back.

THE BRIDE

The Bride is the main recipient of your uncharacteristically excited rambling (or uncharacteristically happy grumbling, depending on your personality), but that soft spot she has for you keeps her drawn in to listening to you talk yourself breathless instead of doing her usual and sleeping through the flight to Waller’s next suicide mission.

After you land and the two of you have been left more or less alone while the others stick closer to and/or bother Flag, you tell her all about your plans to slack off a little this go around. How you’re going to milk as much fun out of the Carnival experience as you can before you’re forced to wheel yourself back in.

When you ask that Bride please just let you have a little fun and not tattle, she scoffs. For one, she’s not a fucking child, she doesn’t tattle. For two, she wasn’t your keeper, so long as you kept out of trouble and didn’t get in her way she didn’t care what you got up to.

Except she’d really really hate to see you popped, actually.

The Bride is a bit flattered that you thought to consider her in your plans and that you wanted to ask her permission. She still thinks you're an absolute fucking idiot to risk yourself over something so small, though, don’t get her wrong. Even if she’s got little to stand on with her judgement there.

As far as you’re concerned there was little point in taking these missions if you weren’t going to maximize your “freedom” from Blackgate while it lasted.

Honestly it had been just your luck that this week’s mission from Waller had sent you to this part of the Caribbean during Carnival at all. Even if it wasn’t where you were from, the island and her festivities would surely be enjoyable regardless.

That your main goal for the majority of the first and second nights was recon and observation was an even better plus. Now you didn’t even need to sneak off.

It doesn’t take long for The Bride to be reminded of why she’s kept away from sandy areas in the last several decades. Sand was a bitch to get out of her stitches.

While you’re doing recon Bride just disinterestedly watches you dance around her and drinks from the almost comically small glass of spiked slushie in her hand, little green paper umbrella and all. She has like seven of these and isn't even near tipsy, and for someone who is trying to get drunk that tendency of her metabolism is really getting irritating.

The fact she lets you near her at all isn’t permission in and of itself to stay by her while you act a fool. Bride tolerates your presence just fine on a regular basis, but that was it. When she sees you vibrating where you stand, softly singing along to familiar songs you haven’t heard in years while bouncing in place to the beat, and then gestures halfheartedly in front of her where people are jamming all while raising a brow at you, though, that’s permission. Hell, it’s practically an invitation.

One that you take her up on very vigorously at that. Nina might be shaking head at the two of you, but you can see her hiding a little giggle when you start playing around while you dance regardless. And if it gets a little scoff out of Bride then that’s just a happy bonus.

You’re not going to act like coming down here to have fun wasn't your main goal. The second you’re out of Flag’s sight you start blowing the mission off. Of course you keep a passing track of your targets, but with the mission only being about observing the assholes you think it’s only fair you get to do something entertaining enough that you don’t die of boredom.

You wukup not because you have to, but because you want to. And you do it near where Bride’s leant against the counter of a pop-up bar because you want to too; want her to notice you, maybe make a move.

After all you guys were in lock up, not a nunnery.

You pull out every trick in the book that still flatters your inhuman body, letting the soca beats flow through you like a woman starved all the while, and if it weren’t for Bride’s occasional grunts in reaction to something you’ve done you’d think it wasn’t having any effect at all.

Internally Bride is a lot more invested in what you're doing than even you can tell, and definitely more than the bloody mission you're on. She just makes a good show of seeming like she isn’t.

The only bearable thing about the heat that saw Bride ditching her jacket in the vehicle Flag drove them in was the salt twinged breeze blowing through the short buildings with their colorfully tiled roofs. The fact that you were showing as much skin as you could get away with due to the heat wasn’t lost on her either.

Bride finds a beauty in you she hasn’t seen in anyone since Victor. A beauty that’s brought back to life some of the bits of her that died with her creator, and brings technicolor back to the bits of her that turned dull and grey as Eric continued his relentless pursuit of her.

She couldn’t deny you your whims or resist your draw if she wanted to.

The way her heart speeds up when you crack a joke about a song’s lyrics or a singer's entrance, and how she has to bite her tongue so she doesn’t laugh too obviously. The full on blush she sports when you start dancing with some drunk man in a way he clearly likes but only look her way as you work your waist in his hold, and how she wants to snap all of his fingers and wrench his hands off of you. All of that lets Bride know she’s in trouble and you’re liable to be caught in a crossfire that's been brewing for over a century.

She’s going to have to push you away soon, but ‘soon’ didn’t have to be tonight.

It’s one of the world’s most dangerous games of chicken, working around Eric Frankenstein’s unwanted possessiveness of The Bride. You’re fully aware he’s watching you and Bride too, you just don’t give a shit. Voyeuristic jackass.

Part of you likes antagonizing him.

Revels in the fact that he can’t kill you as easily as he’d like and the fact that you and the man both know it. That you were barely asking for Bride’s attention and she was willingly offering it when years worth of groveling for her attention yielded nothing for him but a fist to the face.

Every time Victor Frankenstein’s Monster comes into view and Bride clocks him lurking (and trying to set you in particular on fire with his gaze) she scoffs and makes a point of putting her back to him and moving you in the process.

It probably makes Eric blue vex every single time The Bride touches you just enough to nudge you from his view.

Bride is more gentle than she needs to be when she steps in closer to you and uses her knee to nudge you in the hip — she does it so softly, in fact, that you don’t fully comprehend her urging you to the side, it’s so out of character with what you’re used to from her, and just move.

Bride is quite fond of how easily you move at her prompting, reluctant as she is to admit it. Still, after she gets you to move, she backs back up to give you space again.

You mourn the way she towers over you in those scant few seconds. Like how harmless it makes you feel, how wholly encompassed by her presence you are, how much of her undivided attention is on you.

Despite everything Bride likes to watch, and it’s clear you're putting on a show for her even though she can’t indulge either of your desires.

You are most definitely not as on high alert as you should be as you’re jamming and singing along to the live band them, but with Bride specifically at your back you couldn’t find it in you to feel unprotected. Bride was quick on the response, and there’d never been a time when you two were working together that she’d been laid out by a hit for long (especially if there wasn’t magic involved).

Bride notices how forlornly you stare at the women still in their colorful Carnival gear from the earlier parades and snags you a feather that matches the only accent color on your mostly all black uniform.

When you preen at her she grumbles to herself, brushing your thanks off, but you hardly let that stop you and start talking away about the importance of the feathers as you finally slip from the crowd to get back to work. And Bride let’s you.

You might want to fuck around with Eric’s self control, but The Bride knows what will happen and that’s a lot of the reason why she won’t show any obvious interest in you. Quite frankly it’s mostly the fact that you’re a woman that’s letting her have as much contact with you (and Nina) as she has because he hasn’t figured out that was an option Bride would go for, and she’d like to keep it that way.

In the end you all survive. Although, she has picked up a few more worries, most pressing being that you seem to enjoy egging Eric on and that she thinks smug looks quite sexy on you.

Once you’re all back in your cell block and she starts complaining about there still being sand in between her damned stitches she can’t help but grow a bit more smitten with you when you pull her grumpy ass to a bench and get to meticulously ridding her of any remaining granules.

‘Soon’ would have to wait another day more to come.

DR PHOSPHORUS | ALEXANDER SARTORIUS

Phosphorus wants to touch you so badly. He’s not blind, he can see all the ways everyone else is dancing together and he wants to get up underneath you like that, to feel your hips against his; for a second, honestly, he does consider it but he already knows what will happen so he doesn’t give in to the urge.

He’s not in any particular rush to get the shit knocked out of him today, or to honestly fight you.

It’s still decidedly entertaining to think about what he’d be doing if he could touch you though, if he could plant his hands on your hips without your flesh boiling beneath his touch cause he’s too excited to temper himself— and a little entertaining to think about what would happen if he touches you in reality, but really he can’t be blamed for mere curiosity. It couldn’t be helped.

Phosphorus likes you too much to actually want to hurt you anyway, just obviously not enough to stay away from you or stop managing to share close quarters with you (yes, even when you’re asleep).

He used to be far more considerate about things like that, he knows. Everything is just too distorted now, the man he was too purposefully forgotten to drag back up.

If he can’t touch you (even when his temperature control is stable) he figures he should at least be able to watch you as much as possible. The good thing about not having visible eyes, too, was that he could keep his gaze on you all the time and no one could call him out on it.

Phosphorus loves whenever you feel his gaze on you and turn your pretty head to glance around. Loves the little twitch of unease you give when you can’t quite figure out that he’s watching you out of the corner of his eyes, and just generally being able to catalog all your reactions and micro expressions to what’s going on around you guys without you noticing.

So you can imagine how much Phosphorus takes in his visual fill when you start bouncing in place while you guys are on lookout together; keeping the perimeter secure around your group of targets, making sure no one was unaccounted for, and the like.

You always operate particularly gingerly around him (so long as the mutation that made you into a monster didn’t make you impervious to long exposure to radiation) — an effect on you Phosphorous doesn’t fail to revel in; it makes him smile a lot when you tense around him, though you obviously can’t tell — and so he completely forgets about bothering to pretend he cares about the mission you’re on when you start tapping your finger on the handle of your weapon or tapping your hand on the side of your thigh.

If the tapping took him by surprise, then the way you start bouncing on the balls of your feet in time with the beat pounding around you makes him choke on nothing. You notice, and boy does he like the way it makes you startle, but the great thing about getting turned into the absolute freak of nature that he is now is that not having expressions for people to read makes them more likely to dismiss what his opinions on little things like being caught doing something mildly embarrassing might be.

You go back to ignoring him easier than most would assume and get lost back in your head when a song you clearly recognize starts playing and you start singing along. Automatically Phosphorus pays more attention to the punchy beats and slick lyrics, but it’s not his kind of music and there’s too much about the dialect he doesn’t understand so he dismisses it quickly as a ‘you thing’ and just raises his brow, smirking as he listens to you.

Even strapped securely in gear and covered in fur or scales or whatever your body’s still killer and a sight to behold when you finally start to move your hips. And when your ass starts to circle he isn’t ashamed to say he doesn’t look away.

Although your movements are subtle he’s enraptured anyway.

Everything about the way you’ve acted since you got to the Caribbean has been telling and after such a show Phosphorus kind of wants to know more. If only because it’s you and because he is bored.

It’s…rare for him to find himself legitimately interested in anybody anymore. Let alone the way he desires you, the way he wants to keep you. A lot of him doesn’t really want to succumb to that seeming howling need — the need to find connection in you, to touch, to possess. The parts of him he’d thought completely eradicated after his “incident” weren’t giving him much of a choice in the matter, though.

—

When he leans back into the wall behind him and its peeling colorful paint, he crosses his arms, gives up any pretense of caring about his mission parameters, and stares at your ass.

Wining your waist. That’s what you're doing if the punchy instructions to the song currently blasting through the night air are to be believed, and he likes it.

Phosphorus starts bouncing one of his legs some with the beat, too. In tandem with your sway and bounce.

He clears his throat.

“So, what’s all this for anyway?”

“…what…?”

At first when you turn to him it’s rather absent, you’re still noticeably trying to keep an ear out for the live bands and bask in the lively chatter surrounding you both from below. Once you clock his leant position and the angle of his head your mood shifts entirely, however.

You stand up taller, glaring, and Phosphorus shivers at all that undivided attention of yours trying to pin him in place.

It wouldn’t work. Far more intimidating people have tried to ‘put him in his place’ or have attempted even dumber shit like trying to ‘appeal to his humanity or humility’ before and it’s yet to work out for any of them.

Wouldn’t work with you either, didn’t matter how much he couldn’t get enough of those dark eyes staring directly at him. Part of him wants to pluck those pretty brown cognacs out to wear around a chain. He won’t, but your eyes were their own type of diamonds he desperately wanted to preserve in a collection.

“…Were you just staring at my ass?”

Phosphorus gasps, jerks himself upright.

He makes a show of acting like he’s about to refute you, like he could never. Like he’s about to go ‘that’s presumptive’ and give you shit about not considering the fact that he’s visually a glow in the dark skeleton. Walking, talking, and killing, sure, but still with no discernible features.

He puts his hand over his heart for a second and everything.

Really, though, he’s just giving you a performance so you keep glaring at him.

“Spit it out already,” you snap.

The walking radiation bomb laughs. He does wave his act off still, leaning forward just to watch you jerk away in response to heat he’s only mostly keeping at bay— you could technically touch him right now if you wanted, but Phosphorus isn’t holding his breath.

“Alright alright,” he says, laughing lowly to himself as he stuffs his hands in his pockets so he can shrug. “I was totally watching, you have a nice ass.”

There’s a herculean effort that goes into you not knocking him down two stories, he can see it in your body language.

“You’re going to stop watching,” you declare, the growl in your voice prominent.

He shrugs, gives less grief to you for ordering him around than he would anyone else still currently breathing, “Fair enough.”

Phosphorus would, however, absolutely be in mourning over it.

When you close in on him, Phosphorus lets his back flatten against the wall where he wouldn’t in any other situation. Let’s himself bend for you that tiny bit more. He wants to see what you’ll do. To know how far he can push you.

He smiles. You clearly don’t notice. He doesn’t mind.

You bare your teeth— they’re sharp and he suddenly wants to feel them breaking his irradiated skin, “What is it that you want, Doctor?”

Doctor. Jesus Christ, he’d moan if he didn’t know that’d really make you throw him off the roof.

Phosphorus didn’t have much of an attachment to his old professional standing, and for good fucking reason, but something about how your voice wraps around such a respectful moniker in reference to him always makes him a little lightheaded.

Head tilting, he holds a finger up to point back to the expanse of writhing bodies beyond the roof.

“Well I did ask earlier.”

The fact that you don’t buss him upside the head is more a testament to your own patience — and no doubt your ability to bid your time — and less so Phos’s powers, especially since he’s not even using them.

You do spend the rest of the time explaining Carnival to him, but he’s not really listening. Not to your words.

He gets the vibe that you’re aware of his actual disinterest for your answers considering your monotone delivery. The whole time it’s like you’re being forced to give a middle school presentation with a gun to your head and Phosphorus doesn’t even mind because what he’s focused on is the tones of your voice, the restless shift of your body when a song comes on you’d clearly like to be paying more attention to, how you force him pettily to focus on the actual content of your words as you explain emancipation and why everything is so goddamned brightly colored.

The fact that he’s stealing your attention makes him deliciously frustrated. Phosphorus stands there for most of the night and learns more than he cares to while basically preening under your gaze the entire time. Hell, he nearly melts into a puddle when his eyes wander (his head tilting in response) to one of your targets leaving the perimeter and you grasp him by the jaw tight enough to ache. Forcing his attention back your way like you need his eyes on you just as badly as he does yours.

He wants to touch you. Wants to massage the plush of your ass, and rub you to completion until he gets tears to spring in your eyes and he aches for more. Wishes for certain nerves back for the first time in forever just so he can shove himself down your throat and come undone without burning his way through.

Subsequently, however, he’ll have to settle for your passive aggressive lecturing and relishing in the blood splatter from the way you pop the head of you two’s wayward target.

He kind of loves it.

Pain at picking back up that emotion relative to someone else again be damned.

NINA MAZURSKY | MERMAID

Even despite the fact that you’re still working, Nina keeps feeling the need to remind you to stay on task or else you could meet your impending doom from the bomb implanted in your neck.

It’s a real bummer, you tell her to live a little.

Despite her words, though, Nina both loves the more water based mission and loves listening to you talk about the place you grew up in. She hangs onto your every word and every anecdote you make about how free everything felt back when you were home and about how much you miss the smell of the sea. Nina gets missing the water, it might not be life and death for you but she still understands being homesick (and the bone deep longing for certain environments).

If there’s anyone on the team you’re roping into dancing with you, it’s Nina. She definitely expresses her concern about disappearing from the outskirts of the crowd where Flag can’t see you and into an alleyway of sorts, but you suck your teeth and toss out that there’s trackers literally implanted in your bodies as you drag her away.

She bitches the whole time but never once resists your lax hold or walks back to her post once you let her hand go.

The sea creature only occasionally bumps into anyone or is bumped into herself, and apologizes excessively all while looking at you bouncing effortlessly between people and turning back to smile at her every once in a while.

The two of you get stares, there’s no avoiding it when you resemble creatures out of a horror novel, but most everyone is far too intoxicated to dwindle on your appearances as you find someplace less crowded and with a bit more privacy.

When you finally convince Nina to dance with you — after urging her to relax with soft looks as you project your voice over the music to talk her through it and hold out your hands for her to grab — she starts off slowly, cringing at herself as she tries to find the rhythm.

It’s hard when she’s watching your hips to do it, trying to copy how you move your waist without being reduced to a stammering mess. She gulps and blushes through it, her steps stuttering as she slowly catches on to your movements and starts engaging her waist in a circular motion to wine, her eyes wide.

It’s a thing of beauty watching Nina let herself go loose. It takes what feels like forever, but once she starts shyly copying your movements — less a wine, more a sway of her hips side to side — Nina glances up to you with a wide smile, lashes fluttering as she looks for your approval, and for a moment you feel faint.

The both of you have a great time, though. Giggling and dancing and playing around over the sounds of music and people. And with Bride keeping a lookout for you, you don’t have to worry about people stumbling on your or Flag cutting your two person party short.

Only one person causes any actual problem for you both that night, actually. The culprit: some woman who thought you were eyeing her dude as they were walking past you and Nina, too drunk to realize that your tree wasn’t one she wanted to bark up.

When she turns to call you out, yelps as her eyes widen in fear and then snaps out a startled call of “freak” you’re already rolling your eyes. Once her man starts trying to start some shit too, puffing up his chest and staring at you and Nina like you’re evil you figure you’re going to end the night pissed off too. It’s not you who shuts them down, though; no, it’s Nina who tentatively pulls you behind her and then starts clumsily chewing the couple out for being stupid presumptive assholes.

Eventually you end up having to knock them out, Nina letting out a squeak of surprise as they both crash to the ground. While Nina angry is really doing it for you and you’re flattered that she’s come to your defense, if they got any louder you’d get people’s attention and that was the last thing either of you needed.

Nina’s gloved fists are balled tightly once the couple is no longer an issue and you run your hands over them until she relaxes. She apologizes profusely, flushing, but you wave her off and make her flush worse when you compliment her on her mean streak.

After having watched Nina promptly pepper they raas you’d swear your pupils had turned into hearts if you didn’t know any better. It’s like Bride can see them anyway when she snorts and rolls her eyes at you two when ayo finally emerge from the alley to get back to work.

By the end of the mission Nina’s relaxed again, has acquired plenty of beaded necklaces that she’s bunched along her arms and desperately wants to try conch after watching it be prepared for fritters through a food truck's back window. The fried food itself wasn’t necessarily what she was interested in, though you did seem to enjoy the basket you snatched. Nina more so wants to get in the sea to taste them more sashimi style (but without the rice).

Nina also has to admit that she absolutely loves the availability of sea water right off of the house that was rented for the team to recuperate in.

When you sneak out to the beach just beyond your home base you’re in a bathing suit that makes Nina stutter and fully prepared to relax in the sand with a towel until the sun comes up.

Still, you relegate an hour or so to getting into the water with Nina. Marveling some at just how sure and competent she was in the ocean.

In the cover of night you guys can just exist without having to worry about people getting in your way. Can just freely be the ‘monstrous’ creatures you now are for this short amount of time.

Eventually everyone else trickles out of the house with similar ideas of enjoying the beach, even Flag, but Nina doesn’t mind. She just stays lurking in the water, her gums itching for blood in a way she can actually satisfy for once.

There’s no judgement in your eyes when she attacks a fish, your eyes just glitter and you move easily to share some sugar apple you plucked from a tree on your way back to base with her, wiping off the trail of blood coming from her mouth.

She lets you feed her the sweet creamy fruit, looking you in the eyes without the bowl as a barrier for once as her heart pounds a mile a minute in her chest. This is one of the better days of her life, and she tells you as much.

When you smile at her you're more captivating than the stars. When you tell her you're glad and that you agree, especially because she’s here with you, while running the pad of your finger over one of the fins atop her head she shivers and aches for a press of your lips to hers that’s way softer than a bite.

G.I. ROBOT

“Friend Y/n, is visibly excited; is it because there are a lot of Nazis where we’re going?” “—No! No, definitely not. There’s no Nazis there, G.”

Or, at least, not any you knew of (anything was possible and people came from everywhere). Certainly not enough people that were gonna be in the J’ouvert and Carnival crowds to justify letting G.I. get too excited about it.

G.I. doesn’t understand your excitement but he’s not going to begrudge you it or anything either.

In fact, I think G.I. would ask you questions about everything (so long as he saw you as a friend and not just as a handler of some sort).

You’re eager to answer him, eyes bright while you talk as you look him in the face. When he scans you and all signs point to you being happy G.I. feels a small sense of satisfaction at having helped.

When a group of people shove past you to get to the nighttime Carnival activities, you grunt as you’re checked and have to bite back the urge to yell at them and draw attention to G.I. and you. Instead you settle for glaring at them and cussing them out stink under your breath. Your irritation obviously doesn’t go unnoticed by G.I. — even if he wasn’t personally bothered by the shoves — and he offers to get rid of them for you if it will make you feel better. He shifts his hand into his usual embedded gun and all.

It’s such an insane thing to offer, but so true to the robot, that you snort and are knocked out of your angry ranting entirely. You redirect him after that, reaching up to fix the hood of his hoodie where it was pushed back and concealing his head back in its shadows.

G.I.’s eyes still glow red in the shroud of darkness and you tell him it looks sick as fuck before ayo go back to monitoring the parimeter as the rest of the team calls out updates about where the targets are.

After that you start back up telling him about the islands. You miss being home, miss the food, miss feeling the wind blow through your tight curls and dressing up in your feathers and jewels to ramp up and down while wukkin’ up your waist with no abandon. Hell, even now you can’t participate in Carnival and you fucking hate that.

G.I. doesn’t like how upset you are even if he can’t quite articulate how to help. Eventually he settles on asking why you can’t just dance while you’re with him since the music is loud enough to hear from your positions.

Reluctantly, you agree. Once you start dancing as you walk with him you’re far less grumpy though, laughing to yourself as you explain your moves to him while he silently studies you.

When you take one of his hands in yours while you’re patrolling in order to bounce his hand off your own to the beat, he only stares at you. He doesn’t object though and takes to inquiring about some of the more confusing (to him) lyrics in the songs and even starts humming along to the music with you as you dance around him.

He’s got the spirit.

You guys are dragged away before you can sneak off to the food trucks and food stands by the time the first leg of the team’s recon wraps up. To your utter mortification you can feel your lip quiver in your disappointment and keep to yourself more than usual the entire way back to home base, G.I. sitting beside you in the van.

It isn’t until you guys are parked outside the house you’re renting and you two are left in the van last that G.I. shifts and holds his hand out. In it sits a little cup of pastry and jammed fruit. And, yeah, the tart he’d snatched for you just came from his hand but you giggle and eat it anyway, moving to hug him from the side before you do.

G.I. can’t smile, but he does actively lean into your embrace and you take that as expression enough.

WEASEL

Because of the flight risk you present since the Commandos’ next mission is on the island you were born on during one of the busiest tourist days of the year, you’re stuck on Weasel Duty.

Even relegated to the van with him as you are, you’re still close enough (the target was using all the cuhruckle of Carnival as cover) to the festivities that you can hear the music clearly.

Weasel is fairly pleasant company all things considered, but you still throw a fit about being left with him and toss little glares at him every time a group of excited people pass close to the vehicle you're holed up in. It feels like salt being rubbed into a wound.

You want to kill something. Preferably Flag. Then you’d go for Waller.

All that frustration eventually coalesces into the burn of unshed tears in your eyes as you plop down on the floor with gritted teeth and push the heels of your palms into your eyes.

You were not going to cry right now. What the fuck?

Weasel rouses from where he’s squeezed himself into the corner furthest from you, making a small inquiring noise that you ignore.

He whines over your sniffling though, and shuffles over to you with his body still low to the floor while you’re too busy trying to beat your emotions back to notice.

He pokes at your hand with a clawed finger and you startle so badly you knock the back of your head into the metal wall.

Instead of running away his head tilts and his eyes squint in what you interpret as (possibly) sympathy.

Weasel sniffs. You sneer at him. He’s not scared enough to back off and only chitters in response.

It’s…weird. Weasel doesn’t smell or anything, but he is still effectively a naked human man covered in fur and you can’t stop yourself from squinting wet eyes at him as he lowers himself and curls up next to your leg on the van floor.

Weasel’s claws stay retracted the entire time despite your dubious looks. He just looks up at you with those ridiculously large eyes, his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he pants due to the heat.

There were laws against leaving dogs in hot cars, weren’t there?

All it takes is him nudging you with his nose and making another little noise to have you reaching down to scratch over his head. It makes his leg twitch like a dogs and it’s as endearing as it is fucked up.

It’s calming though and the soft content sounds he makes are nice. Allows you to be able to enjoy what little of your home you can bask in right then, the music mingling with the natural ambiance around you.

You definitely crack the windows though, it was too hot for that fuck.

In thanks (after everyone’s finished for the night) you sneak out with him to feed him goat. Live goat, obviously. Though you leave it at just the one for the stable owner’s sake.

The crack of bones and squelch of blood is tolerable mostly because you snapped the animal's neck before tossing it to him (otherwise the bleats would’ve given you away). The way Weasel peeks up at you from over the dead body, lower half of his face covered in blood, is even kind of cute. You’ll admit it, he wasn’t too bad.

Weasel does try offering you some meat off the things’ carcass but, face screwed up, you decline his offer with a short laugh.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! I want to write more stuff with The Bride, she’s so cool and there’s so many interesting character beats to delve into with her. I knew I’d love her.

Also, I cannot fucking stand Frank Grillo, but Flag’s characterization is pretty fun to work with. I think Flag might just stay dead too, because in the comics “Frankenstein” (ie: Eric) is the leader of the team at times, but idk because we know Flag Sr. is supposed to appear in other shows and movies.

Also also, listen, I don’t even like Dr. Phosphorus like that but playing around with his personality like this got away from me and I just started writing. Phos’s personality is taken from the episodes that have since come out, but with the last two episodes not out yet I am inferring certain aspects of his personality with only the scarce information from the 1x06 promo. Like, I think I wrote myself into liking him because then I was retroactively forced to reconsider him more closely and actually pay attention to his character.

And the title of this is from the song “Movement” by Hozier; a decision I made after writing this and noticing how well the song fit, which is why this isn’t a lyric prompt type thing.

This fic has a series tag so if you’d like to read the other festival/carnival entries then clicking on that tag would be how you’d find them.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[yandere-wishes]

｡ ₊°༺ Pink Pony Club ༻°₊ ｡

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆Yandere! Dr Phosphorus x Reader ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

⋆.𝄞𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓟𝓸𝓷𝔂 𝓒𝓵𝓾𝓫 𝓑𝔂 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓡𝓸𝓪𝓷𝄞˚.⋆

✮★✮ Oh Mama, I'm just having fun, on the stage in my heels it's where I belong, down at the Pink Pony Club, I'm gonna keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club. ✮★✮

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He lets the music roll over him, allowing the drums to melt over his flames and bleed into the marrow of his black bones. When you dance, you have to focus on the turn out of each step, on the wave of your arms, when to stiffen when to loosen. It makes it all so easy to forget the pain of being constantly on fire. To forget the melancholy that festers inside you. When the adrenaline is this high, you can only make out the strobing neon lights and the dazed amusement of the crowd.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ It's hard to hate the music and the lights, to shy away from a crowd so easily fascinated by the gleeful macabre. It's really the most sanity-inducing thing you can cling to when your body has turned into the thing you once loved. When you've become your research after watching your old self die in a furnace at the hands of those who once wielded all the power in the world. Funny how we make our own monsters, funny how the thing that kills us, is nothing more than the very man we once tried to kill, now engulfed by his own invention. Phosphorus spins, left leg, right leg, jump, and twirl.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The dancing, the music, the clapping, the lights, it's all so perfect for melting away the terrible things that slither inside him, to burn away all those good memories until the kill and the luxury are all the remains. It's getting just too easy to forget his son's face, to forget the smile his wife gave him on their wedding day.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's a moment between moments when the world seems to stop. It's only then that he notices you, or rather notices what you're wearing. It's the dress he thinks, pink like the mushroom clouds he'd once adored, like the sunset framing devastation. Or maybe it's the way you have your hair so cruelly tied. Tight circle above your head like an atom waiting to explode. In a flash it's over, someone is handing him a drink. Another sitting on his lap. And he's thrust harshly back into reality, back to a world of trying to forget.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus is and always will be a man of logic. A man of science. He lets his fingers glide over the stack of pristine hundred-dollar bills. To think he'd spent his whole life begging for a quarter of all of this. Begging for scraps of funding to save the lives of thousands. It had all been so important once. Still, he can't help but let his mind wonder, what could he build with all of this? What could he solve, discover, create? He tells his men to lock it up in the safe, he's not ready to go back to all of that just yet.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The next time Phosphorus sees you, he's half sunken into the plush couch of the VIP lounge. It's been a long day, a long tough day. Everything had gone wrong and all so right in the same breath. This time your dress is the shade of clouds marred by the blood of a dying sun. He should know this shade from the history books he'd used to read, the shade of skylines behind ancient temples. Back then he'd been trying to understand. Understand what he's not quite sure, he'd been so desperate to pry every little answer from the world. To chew their solutions, breaking them with his teeth and spitting out his own variation, his own thesis. He'd been so utterly convinced of his own intellect, convinced that reading Saadi at the same time as the latest research paper on Nuclear decay meant understanding the world.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He watched with staunch fascination as you tried to dance. Following your friend's steps, heels stepping awkwardly completely out of tune. You bend your knees, sinking to the floor. And Phosphorus can't think of any excuses for why his cheeks feel hotter than usual. Why his eyes are permanently affixed to the sway of your arms.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He thinks you look just like nuclear fission dancing in the limelight with your friends. Like you've split your own body to create them. Little atomic nucleus dancing under his microscope. You look perfect, your toned legs amplified by the radioactive pink of your heels. Long neck he'd love to kiss decorated with a thin string of gold. You don't look a thing like the other girls at the lounge, you look like an experiment beckoning him, seducing him into cutting you open, and observing how you explode.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's been following you keenly, trying to see what happens next. It's the fourth week in a row that he's forgotten about dancing for the crowd, about the girls who used to hang off his arms. He's too devoted to this experiment. "Nuclear scientist finds atomic bomb inside ancient temple from the bronze age". Phosphorus examines the sway of your hips, the bob of your head, and the crude kicks of your legs. There's something wrong with those heels, they're too thin, too high, inviting everyone to stare at you. But he's quick to shove them away, circling you from afar. He can't let anyone tamper with his experimentation. Certain matter performs differently when it knows it's being observed. So he allows the notion of invisibility, making you feel unobserved, safe in your own ignorance.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He hasn't felt this alive in years. This ecstasy tastes utterly sweet, pure saccharine. It's the same thrill as watching your particles stabilize after days of trying to find the right frequency. Watching them organize into the right motion. And isn't that what you are? An ionized atom. After all, what is dancing if not ionization, if not trying to lose a part of yourself you can no longer bear?

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's late tonight, rivals had somehow bled in and were after the safe from Phosphorus' newest heist. He'd burned them to a crisp and danced on their ashes until they flew away. But that doesn't change the fact that he's late, too late in fact. When he rushes through the door, men nervously run behind him. His eyeless sockets fall upon an uttermost dreary sight...

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The problem with people is that they never truly appreciate beauty. They treat it as if it's something to conquer something to tame. They never bother to understand it, to study it from afar whispering prayers of gratitude for bearing witness to this new discipline. The man's body is too close to yours, head following your lips, as you awkwardly try to sidestep. The moment you try to flee he grabs your wrist. You scream, no one ever hears screaming through the bass and the rhythm.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's smoke in your eyes, sickly-sweet honey in the back of your throat. It's all too acrid but at least the hand assaulting your wrist subsides. The thing in front of you glows green, an acidic neon green that feels too familiar in shade. You watch as the skeleton seizes your shoulders, such a warm touch hearthlike in every way. He pulls you closer till all you can smell is null and all you can feel is smothering warmth.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never quite quiver under his touch, never fully shy away when he cups your jaw and tilts your head. It's like you want the radiation, want to feel his nuclear essence bleeding into you. Maybe then you'll be whole. Maybe then neither of you will need the music, and the lights, and the crowd to feel whole.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never belonged in the clubs, it was painfully obvious you could never mold to their dances, their music. Your heels never fit right. Phosphorous knows he's been trying to do the very same for all so long. Neither of you needed to kill off your electrons, to throw them away to ignorant nobodies who would sooner hurt you for their own voracious motivations. "Give me your electrons and I'll give you mine." Phosphorus tucks your head into the crux of his shoulder, "I'll fuse with you so you'll never need anyone else."

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus' hands mirror yours, swaying overhead before falling lower like the cascade of a wave. Side step, side step, stop, and bend. He thinks this is better than any club, any choreography he could do by himself. He feels so whole dancing only for your eyes. He feels so happy having you dance only for his eyes. Your palms touch as you circle slowly. Dancing like the airy rotation of electrons. There's no more dancing at the Pink Pony Club.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ What do you call a dance that feels like merging two atoms? What do you call it when your heart feels like the denotation of a bomb? He presses his lips to yours slowly, feeling the nuclei crash, a nuclear reaction, his tongue hum between your teeth endeavoring to melt away your fear. His fingers, dance across your hips heating up, leaving burning hearts and hand prints, claiming you as his, making you death just like him.

Lost the request for this but thank you so so much to the sender!! 💞💋💞💋

[reveryfics]

Look At Me

Dr. Phosphorus x Male Reader

Summary: You knew Alex before his ultimate demise, choosing to move forward instead of dwell on what happened to him. Alex however, never forgot you.

A/N: Just finished watching Creature Commandos, and it revived my obsession with DC and Dr. Phosphorus (Thank you Alan Tudyk) If this ends up doing well, I'll probably start writing some DC fics and taking requests for 'em.

A sigh escaped your lips, a weary sound that echoed the exhaustion clinging to your bones. You rubbed at your temples, the persistent throbbing a dull counterpoint to the frantic beat of your heart. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to block out the world, the relentless images that flickered behind your eyelids. You slipped your glasses from your face, the cool metal a small comfort against your overheated skin, and leaned back against the worn leather of your office chair. The harsh glow of the television screen painted the workspace in a sterile light, the same news report looping endlessly, a broken record of Gotham’s latest tragedies. Three weeks. Three agonizing weeks of the same story, the same faces, the same gnawing fear. Gotham, when was it ever not in chaos? It felt like a city perpetually teetering on the edge of some cataclysmic event. And now, this. Dr. Alexander James Sartorius, vanished without a trace. And then, the brutal, senseless murder of a crime boss, his wife, his children… the news cycle churned with death and despair, a constant reminder of the fragility of life.

Each time you heard Alex’s name, a fresh wave of grief washed over you, followed by a crushing sense of guilt. You’d worked with him, believed in his research, clung to the hope that his experiment would actually work. But it was his reckless decision, his desperate acceptance of funding from a known criminal, that had sealed his fate, or so you’d convinced yourself. Even though a small, stubborn voice whispered that something wasn’t right, that the story they were telling was incomplete. A low groan rumbled in your chest. You pushed yourself up from the chair, your muscles stiff and protesting. Your coat hung on a nearby hook, a silent promise of escape. You flicked off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, and silenced the television’s incessant drone. The quiet was a welcome relief.

As you drove home, a strange, unsettling green glow emanated from your living room window, casting an eerie light onto the quiet street. A cold dread coiled in your stomach, a primal instinct screaming at you to turn the car around, to flee from whatever – or whoever – was waiting for you in the shadows. You knew, deep down, that this wasn't good. This wasn't right. But you couldn’t run. You had to know.

Parking the car, you took a shaky breath, the cool night air doing little to calm your racing pulse. Each step towards the front door felt like a monumental effort. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by the first fat drops of rain, splattering against the pavement. Your mind raced, conjuring up a thousand terrifying scenarios. It’s just your imagination, you told yourself, a desperate attempt at self-preservation. You’re tired. That’s all.

“Frankie,” you called out, your voice trembling slightly as you stepped inside. “I’m home.” A low purr greeted you, a familiar comfort in the face of the unknown. The dim light revealed your cat, her plump figure a welcome sight as she rolled playfully on the floor. “Good girl,” you murmured, trying to ignore the nagging feeling of unease.

Moving through the house, you noticed an old photo frame lying face down on the floor. You didn’t remember knocking it over, but then again, your memory had been hazy lately, consumed by thoughts of Alex. You tried not to dwell on him, tried to convince yourself that he was nothing more than a colleague, a lab partner. But the lie felt hollow. You picked up the frame, your heart clenching at the sight of the picture. “Oh, Alex,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Why couldn’t you just listen?” You set the frame back down, a single tear tracing a path down your cheek. Turning towards your bedroom, you began to undress, the weight of the day pressing down on you.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched. The strange green glow you’d seen from the window was not a figment of your imagination. It was real, and it was moving, stalking you through the quiet house. Its eyes, or what was to be perceived as eyes, burned into your naked form as you stepped into the shower, seeking the warmth and comfort of the water.

The figure lingered in the doorway, the eerie green light casting long, distorted shadows across the bathroom. A low groan, a sound that seemed to emanate from the very depths of its being, filled the air. The heels of its shoes clicked against the tile floor, each step deliberate, until it stood just outside the shower curtain.

With a sudden, violent rip, the curtain was torn aside, a blast of icy air chilling your skin. A hand, hot and distorted, clamped over your mouth, and a searing heat enveloped your body as you were pulled back, pressed against an unfamiliar surface.

You were spun around, your eyes widening in terror as you stared at your reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall. The glow, the unsettling green light, emanated from the creature holding you captive. It was a skeletal figure, irradiated, its form both grotesque and strangely familiar. You struggled against its grip, your heart pounding in your chest, but your struggles ceased abruptly when it spoke your name.

Alex. That voice, raspy and distorted, but undeniably his, echoed in your mind. You must be dreaming, you thought frantically. This couldn’t be real. Alex was gone. He was missing, or dead. You had to accept that.

“Look at me!” he growled, his voice laced with pain. He seemed almost desperate, clinging to you as if afraid you’d disappear. You had squeezed your eyes shut, trying to retreat into the safety of unconsciousness, but his words pierced through your fear. “Look. At. Me.” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Your eyelids fluttered open, tears streaming down your face as you met your own terrified gaze in the mirror. Or was it your gaze? Behind you, reflected in the glass, was Alex. Or what was left of him.

“Alex?” you whispered, the sound muffled by the lingering pressure on your jaw.

He released his hold on your mouth, pushing you forward slightly so that you were inches from his…his new form. “In the flesh, baby,” he chuckled, but the sound was hollow, a distorted echo of the laughter you once knew.

You turned away, reaching for a towel, desperate to avoid his gaze. His hand shot out, his grip surprisingly strong, and forced your face back towards him. “Come on,” he rasped. “I ain't that hideous, am I?”

You shook your head, the burning sensation returning, spreading through your veins like wildfire. “You’re dead,” you whispered, the words barely audible. “You can’t be here.”

You sat on the sofa, Frankie curled in your lap, offering a small measure of comfort. You stared at Alex, at the…thing he had become. Everything he’d told you, the horrifying truth of what had happened, was almost too much to bear.

“You forgot me?” His voice cracked, a sound that seemed to grate against bone. He looked…hurt. But it was difficult to decipher emotions in that skeletal face.

“No, I…I tried to move on,” you admitted, the words heavy with guilt. “All I could do was think about you, about what happened…and eventually, I had to let go.” The words tasted like ash in your mouth. You hesitated, knowing that you hadn’t truly let go. There were reminders of Alex everywhere you looked, every corner of your life haunted by his memory.

“Then what is it?” he hissed, his voice laced with anger and something else…something that sounded like despair. “Why can’t you look at me?”

You finally lifted your gaze, tears streaming down your cheeks, your body shaking with sobs. “I loved you!” you cried, the raw emotion tearing through you. “I loved you, and now…now you’re a fucking walking irradiated skeleton who’s lost his fucking mind!” It was Alex, you knew it in your heart. But he was also…something else. Something changed, twisted by whatever had happened to him.

A puff of air escaped his mouth, a silent expression of pain. “You loved me?” he questioned, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

You hiccuped, focusing on stroking Frankie’s fur, finding solace in the familiar touch. “Still do,” you murmured, the words barely a whisper.

Alex rose from his chair and knelt before you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. The burning sensation returned, but this time, you didn’t flinch. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “But look at me. I’m a monster. There’s nothing to love.”

You sighed, ignoring the heat radiating from his touch. “Maybe,” you said softly, your voice thick with tears. “But even monsters deserve love.”

[ablobwhowrites]

Hi, it's me again, the Last Unicorn Anom, I forgot to add this part from the movie because I couldn't find the script, but I got it now!

"You are an idiot! Do you hear me? You've lost her! You've trapped her in a human body! She'll go mad!"

" What have you done to me? I'm a unicorn! I'm a unicorn! I'm a unicorn! I wish you had let the Red Bull take me. I wish you had left me to the harpy!- I can feel this body dying all around me!" (For context a wizard forced the Unicorn into a human body. Unicorns are immortal, forever young, never suffering. Now she feels her body aging and living all around her soul and mind. But she can't do anything about it or she'll die. This matches Vehicon Reader so much with how they/he can still feel their mortal body inside the Vehicon one. They feel both alive and dead.)

(leaping in joy rn. Also have y'all seen creature commandos by chance?)

Vehicon y/n actually did die as he was being hooked up to his new body but came back to life because this was after they learned from starscream that energon is basically what they use to live and that was basically injected into y/n's body to the point slowly y/n is becoming reliant on his new body that taking him out would kill him without the constant flowing of energon in his system and now having energon keeping him alive. His body will never age like a regular humans, he is forced this immortality as he doesn’t know that once cybertron is repaired that he’ll have to go, he doesn’t know he can’t stay because is more cybertronian than human but he feels a small part of him still connected to earth, he feels his heart ache and his human body slowly wasting away in him till he eventually is the vehicon body that he’ll live in, he’s scared and just wants someone to hold close. Similar to the last unicorn, he can feel his body dying all around him, his near death experience had let him see his mortality as now he is forced to be immortal because of Silas.

Plus I as I will say it again. You all know that scene where in Steven universe where pearl was thinking of taking Stevens gem out, thinking rose was trapped in that form. Well y/n has thought of that and he thought it was a solution so basically to tear his human body out to be free but if he did then bro. It would be like a horror movie scene.

(Also separate from transformers prime and time for a dumb yandere bayverse transformers head canon)

I like to think of yandere bayverse transformers cause like you saw how the all spark gives life to any electronic thing and I imagine just y/n's cellphone end up coming to life and y/n just stands there like "sorry, I couldn't answer your calls, my phone just jumped out of my hands to help fight the decepticons" and Sam (or Cabe) doesn't believe it and then sees y/n's fucking phone come running back and just climb into y/n's pocket and transform back into a regular phone. I really just like the dumb idea of y/n having to deal with their phone being a autobot.

(that's all for my yap session but if you guys like that please don't be shy and request your ideas for stories or y/n's. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[ferretsarefurryappendagedsnakes]

* Spoilers for Creature Commandos*

Okay so obviously Nina didn’t belong on the team, but I still think of the way Waller introduced her “get her in water it’s a different story” then called her smart and reasonable, and just-

I can only imagine a freshly grief stricken Nina fighting with all her might to escape whatever water containment they had her in at first, but just being seen as this violent but agile water creature. Waller thinking they captured exactly what they wanted.

And then, at the point when Nina tried to reason and explain and is maybe even heard out … they don’t care. Who she is and what she’s been through doesn’t matter. They’ve seen what she is capable of, that’s she’s more monster than she’s saying. And what else would Nina do but break down at that point, to return to her already meek nature because she’ll never be free again so she’s better off trying to stay out of trouble.

I bet Waller thought she hit the jackpot. A capable monster that’s smart enough not to behave like one and follows orders?

Yeah. Incorrect perception and expectations are exactly why Nina was put in a position she never belonged in.

[ronecam]

Ok so I decided to try to draw fake screenshots for Creature Commandos. Imagine season 2 episode 1 ends with Waller walking into an underground lab and DUN DUN

[playedcrowd5610]

Danny Phantom x Creature Commandos Concept

Okay, but like... hear me out. I just finished watching Creature Commandos and am so hyped about this idea.

Let's say that Danny because he is half human, may get slightly more rights than other ghosts in the anti-ecto acts. Or maybe Jazz managed to publish enough papers on ghost psychology that they are no longer experimented on. Instead of being taken by the GiW, Danny could have ended up in the non-human prison and a part of the Creature Commando program.

Like Waller said, they aren't allowed to use human prisoners, but Danny is only half-human. They would totally use an OP powerhouse like Danny for government missions. They decided that they needed someone who could fly and had similar energy powers to Circe. So they pulled him out, maybe even from a GiW lab, to bring him there. (If he didn't get those rights after all. for extra angst factor)

They also used electricity to control the Commandos, something that Danny has a known weakness to. I could totally see him fitting in with the team and being pulled into it due to his powers and experiences. and I think he would be such a chaotic addition to the team.

They act very similar to lots of the ghosts he knows, and he would totally just hang out with them and ignore any threats or insults they throw at him cause he is used to it. He would also become such quick friends with GI, and he would totally respect Weasel and not really treat him like a dog.

Imagine:

---

Dr. Phos: I was atomized; my body disintegrated before my eyes, it was the most painful thing I ever experienced.

Danny: No way, you too!? We can be disintegration buddies. :0

Dr. Phos: Uh... Sure kid.

----

Danny also would just hang out with Phos and wouldn't care about touching him because, like, the radiation wouldn't affect him. And Danny is used to hanging around glowing green skeletons all the time in the GZ. Phos is no different to him. It might be sweet to see them interact.

Rick might be torn about the fact that they have a 14-—to 16-year-old with them. He might have concerns about recruiting kids into the military and might even think about his own son, who died fighting for his country. Danny doesn't really have a choice here. Especially since he seems so human, we could have an empathy moment with him.

Danny would also be such a good friend to Nina! OMG, she needs a really good friend. Danny would be so nice and understanding with her, and he wouldn't even really care about what she looks like.

With the ghosts in the zone, he's seen so many different people and personalities that he wouldn't bat an eyelash at anyone. And as someone who looks so human, it may be very eye-opening for them. especially if they see him being treated like a freak for being a ghost, maybe even more so than them because ghosts are declared "non-sentient" by the government.

He is also totally OP, and it would be so funny to see all of their reactions if he just like took down Circe or even then just turned intangible and avoided everything, shield to protect them from a blast, something.

But legitimately, if anyone else has any fun scenarios or ideas for this, please share! I'm honestly so interested. and love this idea so much.

[caspinsoands0]

Okay wait, I might draw this but like I need an AU where GI robot killed all of the guys in that socialist (NATIONALISTS FOR GERMANY) group but he ran away before the cops could find him— and then similar to the comics the creature commandos just stumble upon GI robot. Like in the original comics the creature commandos found GI when he was swimming to a boat because he wanted to follow his friend, Sgt. Coker. Just imagine the creature commandos on their way to kill the princess or something and phosphorus is just like “not to alarm anyone but there’s something stalking us” and it’s just a very curious, very lonely GI who thinks they’re on a military based mission and has been following them… it sounds adorable af

⬆️

The comic panels that inspired this btw

[gay-dorito-dust]

hello! if you're still writing for Creature Commandos, i'd like to request some platonic headcanons for Weasel, please! just some general thoughts or scenarios on being his friend/caretaker. if you're not writing for these characters anymore then pls ignore!

Weasel was innocent in your eyes! No fucking doubt about that! You didn’t buy the whole ‘child killer’ narrative about him when you were quick to see that there was no hostile nor violent tendencies towards children in general.

So your and weasels friendship felt borderline like you were his caretaker in most cases as dr phosphorus would always tell you to rein in your ‘feral child’

To which you would smile innocently before telling Weasel to piss on the irradiated Skelton out of spite. Good times.

Many on the team had noticed that weasel was more comfortable and at ease when you were nearby, which mean that you were often teamed up together on more then one occasion as you both worked like a well oiled machine. You could understand him on a level that others couldn’t grasp and that was what made you an unlikely duo.

You weren’t seen without weasel and weasel wasn’t seen without you, so even if the rest of the team saw one without the other they’d always ask the question;

‘Where’s the rest of you?’

You would then point to the rafter above you where weasel was hanging out, looking a little sickly than usual. ‘He threw up.’

Or if weasel was asked where you were, he’d run away before coming back to with your arm in his jaw, but you were unfazed as this wasn’t the first time that weasel dragged you with your arm in his jaw, you still had the marks form the previous times he did this that you had to squint to see since he never put any pressure when dragging you at all as though he was careful to not hurt you.

Weasel does go fucking apeshit when he sees that you were hurt, his only friend and somewhat caretaker was injured and he was seeing red as he tore apart the person(s) who did it to absolute shreds. Literally he gave a new meaning to the word feral after that with a bloody muzzle, teeth and claws.

‘I’m fine.’ You’d have to tell him when he inspects your wounds, making noises of distress as he would attempt to lick your wounds like a dog would, but you were certain that wasn’t hygienic at all but you appreciate the gesture as you scratched him behind the ear, making him close his eyes and let out a noise akin to purr.

I’d like to think that now and then weasel would cuddle into your side afterwards, always being your feral protector when you were healing, always watching over you silently as you smile at your best friend. It’s a beautiful thing between the two of you as you cradled your furry friend to your chest before drifting off to sleep after a gruesome and tiresome mission.

‘You did good today weez.’ You’d praise him as you rubbed his back, only for weasel to make a soft noise like he was telling you something similar as he nuzzled himself further into you like the clingy rat that you knew he could be. And he could be clingy when he wanted to be as half of the time he was climb your back and force you to carry him back to your shared room.

Now if weasel was hurt, you’d react in kind by going ballistic before sticking by his side as he recovered. ‘You okay weez?’ You’d ask.

Weasel would make a weak noise but you’d smile and keep watch over him. ‘I’m right here weez, I’m not going anywhere.’ You’d remind him and that was enough to calm him down and go into a light slumber.

Yours and weasel’s friendship was unheard of but you wouldn’t change it for anything not anyone as weasel has become a vital part of you as you had become a vital part of him, something you’d protect until you couldn’t anymore as you didn’t know where you’d be without having your furry friend making your life that little more bearable…even if you did have to tell him to stop licking the damn windows and eating shit that he’s not meant to by forcing your hand in his jaw to get it out yourself.

‘SPIT IT OUT WEEZ! YOU’RE NOT MEANT TO EAT THAT!’ You’d yell but weasel was adamant on eating the dirty bandaid he found on the floor, much to your disappointment and everyone else’s (mainly dr phosphorus) hilarity.

Also you, weasel and dr phosphorus are like a trio of pure chaos with you being the mediator between the two, but that’s a story for another day.

[dcdreamblog]

How exactly did Supervillains in the 40s avoid being arrested as enemy agents or forced into some wartime version of Task Force X when the All Star Squadron was officially part of the US military structure

I know civilians and soldiers could get into fights and it's not like the civilian would "disappear" but that was for one off things. I can't imagine if some guy who wasn't in the military for some reason decided to go around beating up soldiers repeatedly and intentionally that the court cases would go well for him

Just a polite reminder to folks that I don't delete relevant asks, but I DO have a system in place to make sure everyone takes a turn before I do an ask from the same people. So if you've sent an ask, just be assured I saw it, I'm working on it and that I will post it when its your next turn. Just so no one gets anxious or thinks I'm ignoring anything.

Because I've already answered this in general I'm going to zero in on something I feel needs pointing out. This idea that a WWII version of the infamous "Suicide Squad" was somehow an inevitable idea SOMEONE must have thought of and therefore is an idea that must be explained away as not happening before it did. Let's get one thing straight: Task Force X's basic underpinnings, legal, moral and basically functional are fucking ridiculous and far from being an inevitable idea. The fact that the idea ever got off the ground at ALL is a mind boggling pile up of governmental corruption and incompetence.

(A "perp lineup" of the Squad's original membership, leaked when the team was first dragged into the light)

Firstly, legal. Like it or not criminals have rights. PRISONERS have rights. To conduct invasive surgery without their knowledge and hold their lives at stake so they can complete already illegal missions for an unaccountable black box of the US military is SO far beyond the line in so many different ways that the list of crimes brought up against Task Force X when it was originally sued out of existence is 47 items long. In reference to each 'member'. Individually. Without factoring the counts of each crime. That picture above, not counting their military handler represents 423 military crimes and rights violations by EXISTING.

99% of military men and women in history would have looked at this idea and thrown it out in the shredder because even BREATHING something like this was liable to get you court martialed in a sane world. The United States doesn't have any history or legal basis for penal battalions and even if they HAD it would have run smack dab into... Secondly, Moral. The All Star Squadron was TECHNICALLY made up of conscripts. And I truly cannot tell you how large I need that TECHNICALLY to be in your head. Every member of the Squadron wanted to be there, served at their own pleasure alongside men and women they trusted to fight the good fight. Had any attempt been made to introduce supervillains, much less supervillains UNDER DURESS into the Squadron's membership it would have kicked up the kind of shitstorm most politicians don't want to dream about. It, at minimum, would have meant the immediate end of the All Star Squadron as a functioning body in ANY worthwhile contact with the United States government or Allied military command. At maximum it would have created a high stakes legal crisis as the Squadron puts the coerced villains under their protection from the forces of the United States. Meaning you would be risking sparking a conflict between the Squadron and US Military Law Enforcement DURING THE MIDDLE OF THE WAR. The original Creatures Commandos were less than a half dozen otherwise unremarkable soldiers who had entire STABLES of intelligence personnel dedicated to making sure no word of their existence made it back to a single active mystery man lest they kick in the door and start demanding answers. Once you have supervillains start going missing in an era where there were only about 2 dozen notable supervillains you are going to trip the alarm bells before you get your pants on.

Thirdly, basic function. Let me make this clear. Task Force X doesn't work. Every single time the team has been reassembled under a new legal smokescreen it has lasted a couple of months MAX before something goes lethally wrong. One or more members goes violently rogue. The Squad is co-opted by a 3rd party with nefarious goals or some combination of all of the above.

Even if it did work as advertised, what it's advertised to do isn't good! It's taking thieves, murderers, assassins and maniacs. Slapping bombs in the back of their heads and putting them at the behest of the parts of the US Government everybody hates! At BEST it exists to prop up the interests of the American empire at its most cynical, toppling unfriendly governments and conducting assassinations on foreign soil. At worst it is an uncontrolled stew of the worst, controlled by the worst OF the worst for their own vision of what their military authority entails. The only other justification is using it as some kind of trump card in an undeclared cold war against the superhero community by parts of the government who hate superheroes because superheroes target them for being corrupt monsters who do shit like this! Conclusion: My point is. Supervillains were, and are, criminals. They are arrested, charged for the crimes they commit, convicted by a jury of their peers and then they go to prison for an allotted time period. This system sucks but boy oh boy is it better than whatever system Task Force X represents. You know the SECOND they thought they could get away with it they would be finding any reason to arrest young metahumans and then "drafting" them into the Squad, you KNOW they would. There was no WWII era version of Task Force X because Task Force X is a really dumb idea that no one besides the profoundly stupid would even entertain.

[multi-muse-transect]

If Nina does return unhinged and angry at the same times thanks to Khalis, I can see her taking up training and puts her smarts to good use. This grabs Waller’s attention as she and the Bride are at odds with one another. This will probably result in Nina being in charge of the team and is about to do something that’s gonna haunt her with the Bride trying to stop it. Maybe we get a fight in the rain that culminates in Bride defeating Nina and the two quietly reconcile in the osprey?

Also imagine The Bride does something that releases Nina from custody despite everything and the two share a hug. Smash cut to many years later, Nina is an author of a book called the Creature Commandos which is a smash hit with a TV show coming and she sees the Bride in the crowd.

[viridian-vidalia]

I like to think Bruce didn't do anything really special to fight Dr Phosphorus in Creature Commandos. Like I imagine that when he cut the power and all the goons fled Bruce just straight up boxed with Phosphorus until he gave up or passed out. He already has the lead in his suit(for Clark and general radiation) but he probably knew anything extra he did would just get melted.

During their fight it was just Phosphorus flaring his powers trying to cook Bruce in his suit. Followed by Bruce hitting him with the meanest haymaker Gotham's ever seen. And it's partially effective, when Bruce finally gets home after he got Phosphorus locked away, parts of his suit have been melted to almost slag. The knuckles have essentially fused into his skin, and he has to spend hours getting Alfred to help him safely peel his armor off. He realizes in hindsight that he could've gone about that in a much better way. I also like to imagine this still took place early enough in his career that he hadn't become a master of fail safes. He doesn’t make the same mistake regarding Phosphorus again, the next time he fights him he uses actual gadgets.

Tune in next time for more headcanons, maybe some Original Characters, might let y'all peek into my AO3, or might let y'all find it by yourselves. Either way, I'm eventually gonna stop DC posting, just got into one of those moods. Have nice afternoon, evening or night, all of you kind human folk.

[floragators]

Dr Phosphorus x Mother of Flies

Me when I ship my Creature Commandos OC who is just a huge ass fly monster milf and ship her with her with the radioactive skeleton everyone (including me) is normal about.

Decided to make a doodle of my gal Mother of Flies and Dr Phosphorus just cause. Nothing much they are doing here beside enjoying eachother’s presence. I’ll probably draw them kissing another day lmao.

I imagine their relationship/interaction doesn’t start off too nice. Dr Phosphorus initially did found her repulsive and wanted nothing to do with her back in Belle Reve until they became apart of Task Force M. From there, Dr Phosphorus began to tolerate her and only then did he began to realize she isn’t a mindless monster and does communicate with her. He then starts to become fond of her and her generosity. Then that fondness turns into friendship and then attraction.

Monster Lover pipeline is real. But ofc, before they even attempt to start a an official romantic or sexual relationship, they gotta work through speaking to each-other about their past at some point tehhe. Maybe this can also help with angsty ideas too.

[honeydewwho]

Okay quick warning I have not watched creature commandos I mostly have watched clips but have a general idea. I plan to literally after I write this and maybe make a fic

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧✧❁❁❁

Anyway this is more of ideas than a imagine but still works for a Dr Phosphorus x reader fic(or whatever) because he doesn’t get enough love

One idea: reader is a sorceress/hydra hybrid like possible dark magic? Chaos? Now with the dragon part you could have wings when you want to but main part is that you can turn into a hydra but im pretty sure there was no battles where they need to hydra lol

But reader yearns for touch too? Like reader can’t touch living things and the reason why is like someone killed readers 1st lover thousands of years ago and that loss maybe switched her powers from light to dark? And instead of giving the lover a proper burial reader destroyed the body.

Anyway how reader and Dr phosphorus touch some way is that since his fire isn’t living they can touch and ofc regeneration for like kissing and etc.

Another idea: Magik reader?(or however you spell her name the marvel rivals is getting to me) obvi not exactly like her but how she can tap into Darkchild reader can do something similar like that.

Doesn’t have to be a sword as a weapon in particular but maybe a double sided sythe? Or how tengen uzui’s sword is? Also reader’s “darkchild” dragon hybrid? Like looks human besides having dragon feet, long nails, etc(I like dragons). Reader was an assassin sent to collect a rare artifact and got her “Darkchild”

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I probably will make a fic but it will be updated every week cause I have school 🥲

[gars-weaponeer]

Ever since I read the first Republic Commando book I fell in love with the Gurlanin species!

It's a shame we don't have a reference of what they might look like, but I gave it a shot.

A lot of artists like to interpret them as canines, but I kind of always imagined it as a snake/weasel kind of creature.

I added elongated pupils like a Mongoose to give it a more eerie effect!