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minzart · 2 months ago

Text

Beggars can't be choosers

Ao3 - Next

Decepticons & Reader(GN), Megatron & Reader(GN)

You find an "automatic" tank busted in the middle of the night, and as the good millitar Mechanic that you are, you fix it.

Or, the Decepticons don't have a trained doctor(yet), and you just volunteered as a substitute by their leaders' logic and standards

The sky turned purple as the sun set behind the mountains of the lonely isolated drylandscape, almost like a pure desert, the millitar base of operations growing ever small as you turned your bike gear to 6, letting go of the handle and sitting straight, enjoying the fresh wind around you and the adrenalin of steering the fast motorcycle with only your hips and balance

Some people would call you crazy to accept working at a job from 2 hours of your apartment, in the middle of nowhere, from morning to evening, but you weren't some people and it was a one life time opportunity, after all, how many people can say they work directly in fixing military tanks and jets

Exhausting as the journey to work and back was, you enjoyed your job immensely. Working with machines was your passion since small, from the radios you fiddled with to the second-hand car you first bought, to this bike you saved so much money to have, and finally to all the machinery you could fiddle with at work, some are even experimental builds, those always gave you a headache, the manuals were always so shitty, to build a machine is not the same as to fix it and the engineer seems to always forget this, but also a sense of pride, you were the first to work on them after test release, you were the first to write a good manual for them, a pioneer even

It's not like your superiors would allow an idiot to use said experiments out of training cam- a trail of smoke catches your eyes out of the main road, blending with the night sky, if you weren't so used to watching for signals of a broken engine you wouldn't have notice the fine line twirling with the wind

Now, it's in the middle of the desert, far away from any civilization, anyone with a brain would just call a tow truck... if they had a signal... wich is very unlikely, you would know, and there is a possibility to be a work colleague... ah fuck it, you grab your bikes handle with purpose and drive out of the road, ready to lend a hand, or a ride, to the poor idiot that didn't check their car before coming to the middle of nowhere

It was in fact not a car

It is worse, it's like you asked the universe when you thought about it earlier actualy, like a curse and a goddamed blessing

It was a tank, silver and black, with hints of purple, beaten all around like someone ran it over mud or a very small tunnel, so small it made scratches and dents all over, imposing, really big, one of the biggest tanks you have seem... still not the biggerst tho, with an exasperated sigh you get out of your bike and immediately pull your entry card out

"Alright, get out there, rookie who let you get out of camp in the middle of the night," you say loudly as you use the small flashlight in your keys to light the warmachine "with this unfinished beauty right here eh?!"

The top lid does not move an inch, you get closer and knock the vehicle "anyone in there?"

"I'm a mechanic buddy not an officer, if you don't show me whats wrong I can't help you" you circle around the silver tank, looking for sighs of humans foot steps, maybe the dumbass tried to walk back to camp and left this here-

A high piched sound startles you, looking around franticly until you see it came from the warmachine, the commander's hatch now open

"Oh thank fuck I though you went back to camp by foot do you know how far we are from civilization right now?!" You shout to the open lid, waiting for someone to get out...

No-one does

You look around ankwardly, noticing how alone you truly are in the middle of the night, only you, your bike and the silver tank...

"What the hell..." You wisper and start climbing the machine, noticing how it doesn't have ladders, one thing to put in its reports when you get back to work, one maneuver after another you get to the lift finally looking inside it's hull... no-one was there "what?"

You drop in, looking around, it is the inside of a tank alright, down bellow the drive seat, around valves and pistons and... oh wow, this tank did not have a gun handle, which means it's probably automated linked to a computer, the drivers seat or remotely, you have heard of tests being made for those

"Remote controlled..." You breath out, reaching for the drives seat, looking around for a radio

"And they decided to take you for a ride this hour of the night big guy?" You tap the metal wall gently and chuckles "whose idea was this..."

Finding exactly what you hoped for, you get the radio off the handle and press the signal button, a red lamp lights up, you wait for the signal to pick something... static comes through and you state your name and ID as a greeting, repeating until someone answers

"I hear you loud and clear mechanic..." a gruff voice answers, not your superiors voice, probably the night shift guard "what is your... problem... and how did you found this line?"

The voice seems to think over his words carefully, you sigh softly, a new recruit then "reporting from inside a test tank for the new automatic build, it seems to be busted, awayting orders"

"Ah..." the voice answer amused "I see the problem, due to an... incident, we are not able to send a retrieve crew immediately, would you be able to repair... it... enough to move?"

You roll your eyes, taking the radio far from you briefly, and groaning annoyed at having to work past your hours because you though someone needed help, bringing it back you answer politely and professionally before ending the transmission "I'll do my best"

You sigh again, this is going to be a long night "better start then"

You look around the hull for a tool box, and found out it doesn't exists, another thing to add to the ever growing list of notes of this model, you huff and take out your back pack "fine I'll make do with what I have"

First, the outside, lucky the road weels and track were in good conditions, if slightly damaged, but nothing that a smooth road would break, the motor tho, off that looked nasty, how did it get that bad in the first place, all dented and tubes twisted, with your hammer you did your best to put it in working function again, sometimes you hit it so hard it felt like the whole tank trembled

Untwisthing wires and mending tubes, you spend an hour only on the outside and finally go back to the hull, and there goes another hour checking the other side of the machines engines, and there you find it, along the way a piece of metal broke and is dangerously close to a fuel tube, that was already pierced and dripping a large amount of blue fuel, whatever were the tests they were performing in this thing it looked brutal

"Shit..." You crawl closer, tentatively poking the blue fuel "and even experimental fuel too... well, you didn't explode till now"

First you hammer the pointy dislocated piece back into place and away from your face and the tube, then you can finally crawl all the way in and sit properly, assessing the damage, you grab the piece of metal that pierced the pipe, breathing deeply you ready yourself and with one powerful pull you get the thing out, you hear what sounds like compression pipes working and in a panic you rapidly envolve the leaking pipe in duct tape and scrambles out back to the crew hull

The lights around you start working properly, giving a faint purple hue to the place, you feel the tank moving, and quickly, you pick up the radio forsaking formality for the sake of your mensage "wait! Wait! I have my own bike! I can follow you back to base, stop the tank!"

Then, the weirdest shit happened

"Oh I know human" came the gruff voice, but not from the radio

"But you see, I have other plans for you, little medic" it came from all around you

Like the tank itself was alive... you scream"no, no! NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

Trying to climb up you twist the valve to open the lid, but it doesn't bulge "this is not happening"

You slam your fist in the metal "let me out!"

"I suggest you take a seat and rest" the voice says "we still have 3 arcs untill our arrival"

"Were are you taking me? what the fuck is this? Who are you?" you glare at the radio

"You will see" and he cackle in amusement of your despair "as for me, human, call me Megatron, and soon your Lord and superior"

You buff and tremble, as much of fear as anger, you were trapped, kidnapped even, all because you wanted to help someone else, what a great way to end the night... AND A FRIDAY NIGHT AT THAT TOO, shit... how long would it take for anyone to notice you are gone... two business day maybe? Hopefully? After all you don't have anyone waiting for you, and it's not like you have actual friends in the city or even in your neighborhood... oh you are fucked fucked

As the time passes and realization sinks in you coil in yourself, trying to keep your panic at minimum, you still had yet to meet your kidnapper and you didn't knew what was worse, if this is a matter of war or just a very good hacker

..................

Megatron was livid, absolutely fuming with anger, at the Autobots first and foremost from destroying yet another potential energon extraction mission, at himself from not calling retreat sooner, at Starscream for... every Primus-forsaken thing, honestly

This all boils down to the seekers attempt at killing him in the middle of the battle, one good shot and the warlord could feel the Crack it made inside his frame, and yet he stubbornly chose to keep fighting, if only to show his second in comand he would never fall down so easily, but his pride has yet again show its consequences in the worst way possible

Now stuck all alone in his transformation mode, energon leaking from Primus knows where, without energy to make a COMM signal nor move, the leader of the Deceptcons can only wait for anyone to find him, and he knows someone will, if not Lazerbeak then autobots, either way he knows death is not waitting for him, he still has a mission, a war, to win, he will get out of this as he did many other, worse, times

And find him someone does, a human, stupid little squishy thing, but oh so convenient it even gives him perfect covers, a rookie in the middle of the night, he waits and the thing persists it's attempts at coaching "whoever" was inside him to come out, that's when realization hits the silver mech, of course, mechanics... human mechanics are how vehicle fixers were called by your race, you, to him, were a glimmer of hope, a medic

He had to be careful, this was his chance, if only he convinces you to work him out his worse damage he could crush you after and go back to his makeshift central tower Soundwave and his surviving soldiers were working on not that far from here

He opens his lid, ignores the weird feeling of a moving thing climbing and walking inside of him, and holds a booming laugh as you, yet again, creates the perfect cover for the tyrant, to redirect his voice to only the small radio device in your hands was rookies play for him

And so he waits and watches you work your magic, holding screams of pain from your indelicate work, all in proll of him being able to move again, all a means to an end, and when you finaly gets out the part that had him critically stuck? Oh, the relief, he couldn't hold back the sigh, wich startle the little medic, but your dedication pleased the warlord, you bandaged his energon tube directly connected to his transformation cog, he was finaly able to move and transform

He though about it, transforming right now, crushing the little human inside, destroying their backwaters vehicle, and going back to his Decepticons like nothing had changed... however... the more he thought about it, about your work, your adaptability, your words

Experimental tank, you had called him, you worked with new human technology then, and was versatile enought to work in this mix of human looking but actualy Cybertronian engines, with a basic understanding you would probably be able to work wonders in his cybertronian mode or even outside the vehicle modes

The truth is... it's been two months since his awakening in this strange planet, resources were limited, his soldiers were not even close to top shape, no doctor was in his crew when they crashed into this Primus-forsaken planet, but the Autobots, oh they had their ship, every fight they could be beaten to almost scrap and would be back in perfect condition for another round, it may be not a working ship but it still had Cybertronian parts and halls, and also, they have a doctor

His Decepticons need a doctor, he needs a doctor, there is just so much vague memories and basic instruction can get you by, not one of his surviving soldiers were trained in the arts of surgery or medicine, they were no were near in finishing this second attempt of a base and building a teleportation bridge was out of question while the base was not finished, he had engineers and a spy crew not healers

But you... you were an opportunity, a better chance of survival, a first contact with the potential that humans had for servitude, the Silver warlord locked his lid, taking amusement in your despair, oh this would be his worse and yet brilliant plan yet, if he didn't know better he would think it was proposed by his own second in comand by it's insanity... however, for more that he hates it... beggars can't be chosers

#transformers #tf g1 #<- bc its the main inspiration tbh #transformers x reader #megatron x reader #gender neutral reader #who had beta going on about how long it woudk take me to write an x reader to rhia fandom speek now and go colect your prize #this one i dont even think i can call platonic bc you barely interact. however it will be fairly platonic as moat fics i do start #and the. one day at 3am i go ham on the romance and apice byt thats not today #human reader #decepticons x reader #transformers bcbc fic

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redflagshipwriter · 1 year ago

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Mamabat 10 part 1/2

Chapter 10 : Calling from Hell just to say the demons are suspiciously absent, is that fine?

masterpost

“Fucking Batman,” Val said under her breath. Her Red Huntress mask muffled the words and made them come out even meaner than she probably meant them. “Years late and too little, even if he’s not working with the GIW.”

Sam hefted her requisitioned Fenton bazooka and pressed her lips even further together. None of them liked this at all. It stank. It was suspicious. Danny hadn’t sounded distressed, but he’d been out of contact too long for such a short conversation to put her at ease. There hadn’t even been time to update him on what had gone on in Amity Park.

“There.” Sam followed Val’s pointer finger to see the nearly invisible outline of a jet in the faint light. It was landing in the right field.

“It’s them or it’s a trap,” Sam muttered.

Val let out a mean laugh. “If it’s someone we don’t expect, they’re the ones in trouble.”

Sam huffed and said nothing. She couldn’t disagree, but Val seemed too confident for her comfort. They waited in tense silence to see the jet come to a landing. Not long after, a hatch popped open and the distinctive ears of Batman himself were the first out into the cold night air of a January night in Amity Park.

He was quickly followed by smaller figures- 1, 2, 3 of them. Sam felt nerves churning in her gut. She tried to channel them into aggression. She had to be tough, tougher than usual. There was no cavalry waiting to help out.

Well, there was Tucker, but he was probably going to be more useful in the wings to feed them information. He was pretty good aim with a thermos but that wouldn’t do jack about Batman and a small flock of, what, junior associates?

“Does Batman work with children?” Sam asked under her breath. One of them was genuinely small.

Tucker snickered on the other end of the line. “Uh, there’s supposed to be a Robin. Guy in yellow, green, and red I guess? Aside from that, there’s debatably like, 6 former Robins associated with him. But there’s also the Justice League’s junior varsity team, so it’s hard to say.”

She frowned at the lineup. She saw purple, black, and red. There was- yeah, okay, there was quite a bit of yellow when the little guy faced them, but she didn’t see any green.

“Showtime,” Val said. Sam crouched further behind cover as the other girl zoomed out on her hoverboard, effortlessly drawing Batman’s eye. She adjusted the dial on her sound settings to hear Val’s feed just a little louder.

“Batman.”

“You have me at a disadvantage.” Sam cringed at the gravely voice over her sound system. Batman sounded like he smoked a pack a day. She turned the volume down just a hint.

“Not really, there’s four of you,” Val said breezily. Sam suppressed a snort at the dodge. “You wanna meet Jazz Fenton? You’re going to have to prove that you’re not a plant. There’s a GIW facility-”

“Two miles west of here, yes,” Batman interrupted. “I researched.”

“Great. Do you have ground transport?”

“Of course. What is it that you expect me to prove?”

“That you’re not with them.” The subtle whine of Valerie’s weapons started up. Sam only heard it because she was hooked up to the helmet. “They do experimentation and keep prisoners. Show me that you’re not a cop.”

“The police would not support the capture and abuse of people.”

Valerie made a skeptical sound in the back of her throat. Sam couldn’t blame her. “Yeah, but they do.” Her hoverboard’s jet whooshed up in power. “Meet me there, outside the main gate.” She was off like a shot in the dark.

The four out of towners didn’t take long to get four silent motorcycles out and dash down the lane. Sam thought about what she’d heard as she cut a more direct route on Valerie’s spare hoverboard, taken from Vlad’s deserted mechanics lab.

Either Batman was a liar, naive, or he was exactly what they were worried he might be. The Justice League was famously affiliated with governments. Wonder Woman was even a member of the United Nations! If someone accepted the claim that Infinite Realms Residents weren’t really people, then they’d say just what Batman had. It wasn’t lying if you didn’t think the people you were hurting were really people.

Sam watched from a distance as the group reached the gated facility. One of Batman's people did something that unlatched the electronic security system. It swung open.

“Not shabby,” Tucker said quietly. “I coulda done it faster.”

“Not unless it goes off the rails,” Sam reminded him. She clenched a fist against her thigh. They needed to see Batman's real colors before they risked him knowing about their group. It was hard to outplan what you didn't know about, and they'd need every advantage they could get.

She let them all go ahead before she followed onto the property. It was eerily deserted, tire tracks where dozens of white Vans ought to have been.

The GIW had deserted Amity Park weeks ago. They were pretty sure there was a skeleton crew stationed out here, but no one came and left anymore. They only occasionally saw an agent wander across the path of a security camera, which were sparse inside the building.

But that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous to be here. Even now, a camera swiveled over the lawn, blinking a clear light that was easy to miss during the day. There was a reason that they hadn't risked a second raid after Danny had barely made it out last time.

Sam swallowed, hard. The bitterness in her mouth felt a lot like guilt. Who knew what the GIW had been doing? They could have someone else held captive. It was a big building. Danny might have missed someone when he was breaking Vlad out.

‘We did what we could, and we are making a move now.’

She repositioned her weapon and waited, tense with nerves. All she was meant to do now was follow along via what she heard on Val's comms and be in the wings to facilitate an escape, if needed.

“Left,” said Batman quietly. The comms were quiet for a long moment, then- “clear. Clear. Clear.”

Sam shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Red Robin.”

“Got it,” came a response, barely audible. Val must have been hanging close to Batman, then.

“You think now's a good time to try their computers?” Val said helpfully.

Tucker snorted. “Could just ask,” he sang to himself, cocky as hell. “I know all.”

Sam rolled her eyes. He didn't know all. About half of the property was disconnected from the security system, meaning they had no eyes on whatever was down there.

“Six stationed here.”

That had to be Red Robin’s voice. Sam cocked her head and focused on it, frowning slightly. Did it sound young?

Tucker's computer chair made a click when he sat up too fast. “Wait, what? How'd-” His end of the line devolved into rapid typing.

“Did you find a schedule?”

“No, it's not in the system. They're on paper, I suppose.” Seconds passed. “My bet is that labs would be in this wing.”

“Be my guest,” Val drawled. Sam could all but see her crossing her arms across her chest.

The line went silent for a while. Then, faintly, there came the sound of a metal door opening.

“Fu-” A GIW blaster went off. “Intru-”

The alarm was cut off before the GIW goon got out a full word, but odds were good he'd been heard anyway. Sam flexed her hands. Sitting this out sucked. She wanted to see what was happening. How many agents were there?

“Robin!” Batman snapped.

‘The little one?’

Sam felt vaguely ill. They had to be okay. This was Batman’s team.

#red mama bat #dp x dc #dc x dp

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the-90s-music-colosseum · 2 years ago

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Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

#most attractive 90s musician #poll #polls #lauryn hill #fugees #damon albarn #blur #90s music #tournament

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ivystoryweaver · 8 months ago

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Cosmic - Poe Dameron

Episode 1: A Space Odyssey next

Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Happy Poevember!

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader

Summary: In 1981, in rural America, Poe crash lands to earth and you have to show him everything (set in America but reader is not necessarily American)

Content: some minor injuries and blood, not beta'd

Word Count: 2.4k

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

A deafening crash obliterated peaceful sleep on a silent, country night. You sat up in bed, abruptly, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Heart pounding and ears alert, you listened, hoping to convince yourself it was nothing - a dream, or maybe even a distant car crash.

Willing yourself to climb out of bed, you crept to the window, trying desperately to calm your breathing before drawing back the curtains.

That's when you saw it. A fire - distant, but definitely on your property. Maybe someone did crash. Or...was there some sort of electrical or gas explosion? As far as you could tell, the fire wasn't near your barn, or any of your sheds or buildings.

Scrubbing a hand over your face, you decided you better go check it out. Pulling your nightgown over your head, you grabbed the nearest pair of sweats - a crewneck gray top with matching bottoms. Taking the stairs two at a time, you headed for the back door, slipping into your boots and lifting your coat off the hook. Twisting the lock, you yanked open the door, but paused. You turned back and rummaged around in the drawer for a flashlight.

It flickered once before powering on, bright enough to lead you to the laundry room where you found a more useful spotlight flashlight and a fire extinguisher. Pushing open the screen door, you tried to estimate how far the fire was. This prompted you to grab your truck keys and drive.

The familiar creak of the your father's old truck door reminded you that this thing was probably on its last leg. You put the key in the ignition, impatiently bouncing on the bench seat.

"Come on, girl, not tonight. Come on."

After a few more sputters, the old thing cranked, a puff of smoke its only protest. With your high beams illuminating the path, you made your way to the mysterious flames.

In the few minutes it took you to drive across your property, bouncing over the uneven ground in the old truck, you started to realize how big the fire was...and that you probably should've called the fire department before you charged at it with a mere fire extinguisher.

Twisted hunks of metal had ravaged your farmland. Something huge had crashed here. An airplane or jet of some sort. Maybe experimental aircraft. Or a UFO. The musical motif from 2001: A Space Odyssey drifted through your mind. The government was sure to be here soon, probably setting up camp on your property and kicking you out of your own home on grounds of national security.

You were at a complete loss, heart racing as the smoke began to burn your lungs. Pulling your shirt collar up over your nose as a makeshift mask, you began to walk the perimeter of the crash, deciding to take a look before calling the authorities.

Rounding the corner of what appeared to be a black and orange metal wing, you heard a groan.

"Oh my god," you gasped, easing closer, braving the heat and the smoke to see what you assumed was the pilot. Something welled up inside you - adrenaline, probably, but your legs carried you forward to a man, half strapped into his seat, bloodied and unconscious.

"Oh god. Hold on. Hold on, I'm gonna get you out."

Racing back to your truck, you climbed into the truck bed, looking for a tool - anything to help you. Thankfully, you found a pair of work gloves, a wrench and a pair of pliers in the back, and a utility knife normally kept in the glove box.

You scrambled back to the man, praying to anything listening that he was not dead. After using the fire extinguisher to put out the fire immediately surrounding him, you used the knife. You cut him free of the straps holding him to the aircraft seat, grateful for gloves around such hot metal. Thankfully he wasn't a big person - not overly tall or heavy, so you were able to drag him all the way back to your truck.

It took all your strength and then some to get him all the way into the truck. You quickly examined him for obvious injuries, hoping he wasn't bleeding out or hadn't broken his back. He seemed generally okay, aside from some scrapes and cuts and minor burns.

Gingerly, you buckled him into the seat and slowly removed his helmet. He was bleeding from his temple, but the cut didn't seem deep. Blood and dirt covered his cheeks and was matted into his thick, dark curls.

"Gotta get you to a hospital." Cranking the truck, you glanced over at his orange flight suit, wondering who he could possibly work for.

You drove to the end of your property, wondering if you should drive the closest medical center, which was ten miles away, and closed, or if you should drive a hour to the closest city hospital. Either option was a gamble with your somewhat unreliable truck. What if you got stuck?

You decided against it, heading back to your house to call the fire department. They could take this man wherever he needed to go in an ambulance.

You pulled up to the house and switched off the engine, exhaling heavily before unbuckling both yourself and the pilot. You walked around the truck, opened the passenger door and jumped back with a scream as his head lolled over and his eyes blinked open.

"Where am I?" He croaked out. "Which system?"

"Hey, it's okay," you tried to soothe both him and yourself simultaneously. "You're at my farm. I think your jet crashed. I'm going to call for some help."

He tried to climb out of the truck, but flopped back into the seat with a groan. "The f...the First Order. Is the First Order here?"

You shook your head. "I-I don't know what you mean. I think you need a hospital."

Slinging one leg out the door, he gripped the truck door with his gloved hand, hauling himself to his feet.

"Careful," you instructed, reaching out to help steady him.

Deep brown eyes locked onto yours. "Thank you."

"Of course. Come on, let's get you inside."

He nodded, arm resting heavily around your shoulders. "Kriffing hell," he choked, limping with difficulty.

"Hey, I've got you. Just lean on me."

The two of you made it through the back door, into the kitchen, where you helped the pilot ease down onto a chair.

"You okay?" You asked, trying to steady him. "Is your leg broken?"

"I-I don't know. I don't think so." He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

"Hold on. Let me get you some water. I need to call for help."

"Wait!" He protested, stopping you with a strong grip on your arm. "Wait, who are you calling? The First Order can't know."

You shook your head. "I don't know what that is. I was just going to call an ambulance to help you and the fire department to take care of your jet out there."

"I'm fine," he waved you off, attempting to push himself up on the chair. "Believe me, I've been in tougher scrapes than this. I just need to get back to my ship, to my transceiver. Where's your satellite?"

"My satellite? I don't have a satellite," you explained. "I have a telephone. And a couple of CB radios. That's it. No satellite."

"Damn it," he huffed, seeming to grow more agitated by the moment. Yanking off his gloves, he pushed his hands through his hair, wincing as he grazed the cut on his temple.

"Let me get you some help," you insisted, opening the cupboard to get a glass, which you filled with water from the tap. "Drink this."

His eyes met yours and he nodded once, downing the glass in one gulp. You took it from him and refilled it, collecting the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink. "Here," you said, handing the glass back to him. "Drink some more. Let me look at your head. Then I'm calling an ambulance."

Without answering, he slowly accepted the glass of water, waiting patiently while you dabbed the cut on his temple, hissing as you cleansed it.

"You need to hold this gauze here for a minute. I don't think a bandage will stick in your hair," you explained. "I don't think you need stitches, but I would rather a doctor look at you."

Reaching for your arm, he stopped you, his calloused fingers circling your wrist. "Please don't call anyone. You're very kind but...please. Not until I'm sure."

With trembling breath, you swallowed down a growing sense of dread. Was this man some sort of spy? Maybe he was Russian? "Not until you're sure of what?"

"Of where I am," he emphatically explained. "And who's in control of this system. Noticing you shudder, he released your wrists. "Please, can we take your...speeder back to my ship? I won't bother you anymore."

Slowly nodding, you stood, flabbergasted as he used the table to help him climb out of his chair, standing with difficulty.

"Here, I'll help you," you found yourself offering, despite your concern about who this man could be.

Soon enough, you drove him back out to the crash site, wondering if you would somehow get into trouble with the government if this man communicated with an enemy of the state. But, not sure of what else to do, you watched as he climbed out of your truck, limped around the perimeter of the crash and did something with the ship that made the fire go out pretty quickly.

You weren't even sure if he wanted you to stay and wait for him.

After a few minutes, however, he made his way back to the truck.

"Comms are busted. My droid is a pile of wires. Glad it wasn't BB." Shaking his head, he sighed in frustration. "This whole thing is too hot to look at tonight. Do you think anyone will come looking?" He glanced over at you.

"Uhm, the nearest neighbor is five miles. Maybe no one saw," you told him. "They might see the smoke in the morning."

He nodded curtly, running a gloved hand over his face. "Would it be okay if I waited here for a little while? Maybe let my ship cool off and..." With a groan of pain, he turned to peer through the window behind him. "Do you think we could use your speeder to haul away some of the wreckage?"

You stared at him for almost a full minute. "Who are you?"

With a sardonic, exhausted half-chuckle, he shook his head. "Sorry. I...I can't tell you until I know where I am."

Chewing on your lip, you tried to decide what to do. "I'll tell you where we are. But you have to tell me where you're from too. Deal?"

He nodded, so you unbuckled your seatbelt and shifted to face him, one leg drawn up to your chest.

"We're in Iowa. But you must have known that. You must have been flying over us, maybe to the closest base, when you crashed."

"Iowa," he slowly repeated. "What system are we in?"

"You keep saying 'system' - I don't know what that means," you insistently explained. "We're in Iowa. In the United States. Are you not from here?"

"Uh, no," he quickly answered. "I have no idea where we are. Who's in charge of your United States? Are you occupied by the First Order?"

"I don't know what that is! We're the United States. Do you seriously not know the United States of America? Maybe the most powerful nation in the world? Or one of them, anyway. There's no one occupying this country. I've never even heard of something called a First Order."

"Good. That's good." Removing his gloves again, the man stroked his chin. It seemed to be a habit of his. "You said 'this world'. What planet is this?"

Without meaning to, you looked at him like he was crazy. "You must have a concussion. I definitely should've called an ambulance."

"Just - please, answer me. Please." His eyes found yours, dark eyebrows shifting pleadingly. True, deep concern radiated from his gaze as a shimmer brimmed along his lower lashes. "Please tell me. I don't understand. I don't know where I am."

"Okay, okay," you quickly reassured him. "I'll answer anything you ask. And...remember, you're going to tell me where you're from too. And a name."

He nodded quickly, scooting a little closer as if he were hanging on to your every word.

This poor man. He seemed really out of it. "We're on Earth. This is planet Earth. In North America. United States. In Iowa. On my farm. That's it, that's where we are. And you can call me Trix." You shrugged one shoulder. Not your real name, but your dad called you Trix when you were really young.

"Trix," he slowly repeated. "Trix...from Earth." He sighed, worriedly. "Earth. I've never heard of it. And you don't know the system?"

You shrugged. "I mean...Earth is in the solar system? In the Milky Way galaxy? Is that what you mean?"

"Milky Way," he gasped, staring at you in disbelief. "The Milky Way galaxy? Oh my...I've...I've never left our galaxy. I've never..."

His breathing grew shallow as his head hit the headrest with a thud.

"Oh, god, I think you're having anxiety or...just breathe." Reaching across him, you rolled down the truck window to give him fresh air, which didn't help much, because the air smelled like smoke. It seemed to help, however as he slowly began to calm down.

"Are you okay?" You finally asked after several tense moments.

"I think so. I must've. I think..." He trailed off, something in his eyes so forlorn.

You had to ask. "Are you...a spy? Are you Russian?"

Turning to face you, he frowned in confusion. "What's Russian?"

Okay. So either this man was completely mental, or...no. It couldn't be. You had watched too many science fiction films. He must have amnesia or something.

"Where are you from? You promised," you reminded him.

He swallowed hard, sitting up a bit straighter. Then he looked right into your eyes, again. There was something so honest and slightly unnerving when he did that.

"My name is Poe," he finally declared. "I'm from Yavin 4. It's in the Yavin System, in the Gordian Reach sector, in the Outer Rim Territories." Glancing down at his lap, he exhaled shakily. "It's definitely not in the Milky Way Galaxy."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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five-rivers · 3 days ago

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Polychrome Pronoia

This is the first entry of the first of my two experimental audience participation fics. Participation instructions are below the fic segment.

Warning tags: none so far!

The creation of a ghostly lair has certain requirements.

Firstly, a ghost must linger there, making it their exclusive home.

Secondly, the ghost must stake their claim to the area, defending it against other ghosts or otherwise marking it.

Thirdly, the area must be sufficiently saturated in ectoplasm. Indeed, the ratio of saturation must be several times higher than that of so-called haunts, which are as close as ghosts can get to a lair in the real world.

Usually.

It should be said that there was nothing usual about the city of Amity Park, or the ghost that lived there.

Danny liked to stargaze from the top of the Ops Center.

When he was younger, it hadn’t been a very good spot to see anything except the moon. Light pollution bad enough to defeat the moon would have been bad for other reasons. Like imminent blindness. Even so, the neon Fentonworks sign and the lights from the city made seeing anything except the moon, the brightest stars, and sometimes the planets impossible.

But once he’d died, that changed.

The stars didn’t get brighter, and the light pollution didn’t get less bad, but ghosts, as it turned out, had better low-light vision than humans, and saw colors just slightly differently. It still wasn’t as good as some of the pictures from dark-sky areas Danny had seen, but he could make out constellations, and, with his telescope, even some Messier objects. And his vision seemed to get better over time, growing with his power levels.

Sam and Tucker came with him, sometimes. He knew that they probably couldn’t see anything, past the glare of the Fentonworks sign and the lights on in the house, but it was very nice of them to humor him, to do this when he wanted to hang out but didn’t want to go out. It filled him with a sense of bubbly companionship.

“What are you talking about?” asked Tucker, laying next to Danny on the blanket. “I can see stuff just fine.”

“I mean, other than, like, Vega,” said Danny, pointing. “Vega’s pretty bright.”

“No,” said Sam, slowly. She was on the other side of Danny. “I don’t know about Tucker, but I can see constellations and stuff. The ones you pointed out to us before. Cassiopeia, the Big Dipper, and all that.”

“The Big Dipper is technically an asterism,” corrected Danny automatically. “Not a constellation. But you… I thought the light pollution would be too bad for you to see anything.”

Sam shrugged, her shoulders pulling slightly at the blanket. “The light pollution has gotten better since we started doing this, but I just figured that the city put in those anti-light pollution shades on the street lights or something.” She made a face. “I haven’t been keeping up with that kind of thing as well as I’d like.”

“They haven’t,” said Danny. “I used to send letters before Vlad took over. After that, there didn’t seem to be a point.”

“Yeah, he sucks at his job,” agreed Sam. “Did you know, some people went through and tallied up all his appearances at his businesses and stuff, and he only barely meets the residency requirement for being mayor? He’s probably here even less than they think because of the ghost stuff. Running around cloning people has to take up a lot of time.”

“Well, I mean,” said Danny, distracted, “he might be here more than they think, too, since he can just… fly home.”

“I don’t know,” said Tucker. “Does that sound like something he’d do when he’s got a comfy private jet?”

“Probably not.”

Thank you for reading this far! If you would like to participate, please reply to this post with what you want to happen or want to see in the fic next. This can be an event (e.g. the lab suddenly explodes), a character appearing (e.g. Wes, Sam, Undergrowth), a headcanon being added to the story (e.g. ghost hunger), a POV switch (e.g. switch to Jazz), a setting element (e.g. the year is 2104), a ship (e.g. Everlasting Trio), or something else I've forgotten to list here. You can even just say to continue the scene as is!

To be used in the poll, your suggestions must:

Fit in a poll option (80 charaters or less)

Not include crossover elements

Not include minor/adult ships

Be compatible with already established story elements

Other feedback is also welcome! Feel free to send me an ask!

#danny phantom #dponly #poll fic #experiment: polychrome pronoia #experimental fic #audience participation #reader choice

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kk095 · 2 months ago

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The Clinical Trial

The sterile, sleek white walls of the research facility gleam under recessed lighting, giving the space an ultramodern, almost futuristic vibe. Everything is clean, clinical, and controlled. The faint hum of machines and the soft tap of footsteps on polished floors echo in the otherwise hushed corridor.

Dr Lindsay Wilkes steps through the frosted glass entryway doors with a small smile tugging at her lips. Dressed in a fitted gray blazer over a white casual top, dark jeans, and her usual quiet confidence, she looks more like a visiting speaker than a test subject. Her light brown hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail, and a thin silver necklace rests just above her collarbones.

Waiting for her near the intake desk are the trio running the clinical trial.

Dr Anna- early 40s, commanding presence, jet black hair pinned in a French twist, is the first to greet her. “Dr Wilkes” she begins, voice smooth and welcoming. “We’re honored to have you here. Your impressive background makes you a perfect candidate.” Dr Anna compliments.

Next to her is Dr Olivia, younger- in her early 30s, and a touch more energetic, all sharp cheekbones and quick glances, followed by Nurse Ashley – blonde, polished, clipboard in hand, her smile just a little too wide. “We’re big fans of yours. ER doctors make the most interesting subjects.” Ashley adds. Lindsay laughs lightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, I’m just excited to be a part of this. I’ve been reading up on your work- it’s absolutely fascinating.” Lindsay replies enthusiastically.

“Oh, Cardexor has the potential to change the game.” Dr Anna replies, referencing her experimental medication without hesitation. “Performance enhancement, cardiac precision, stamina… all by gently modulating ion flow. You’re going to be part of history!” Dr Anna boasts.

The trio guides Dr Lindsay down a pristine hallway to a large, open exam room. Inside, the air smells faintly of antiseptic and ozone. A sleek white bed sits beneath a wall mounted monitor.

“Alright, Lindsay.” Nurse Ashley says, setting her clipboard down on a nearby countertop “we’ll have you get out of your clothes now. You can leave your personal items on the tray beside the bed.” The nurse instructs Lindsay.

The ER doc nods and starts to remove her blazer and shoes, then peels off her jeans, folding them neatly. Within moments, she’s barefoot on the cool tile floor, clad only in a gray sports bra and compression shorts. The silver necklace still rests around her neck- a small piece of personal flair amid the clinical setting.

Lindsay hops onto the exam table, sitting upright as sticky ECG leads are applied across her chest and torso. The monitor lights up with a steady rhythm- normal sinus. IV lines are started, her blood pressure is taken. Everything checks out. Everything’s good to go. Dr Olivia studies the monitor. “Vitals are solid. Baseline EKG is clean. You’re textbook, Dr Lindsay.”

Lindsay grins. “Let’s hope I stay that way!”

Dr Anna offers a nod, though her expression doesn’t quite match the enthusiasm. “We’ll begin the first infusion shortly. Just relax. If anything feels off at any point, speak up. This is cutting-edge science, but you’re still in control.” Anna tells Lindsay.

The team exits momentarily to prepare the first dose, leaving Lindsay alone on the table, feet dangling slightly, watching the quiet green blips on the monitor. She seems calm and confident. She has no idea that her name will soon be the third entry in a growing list.

Dr Lindsay reclines slightly on the padded exam table, IV already in place. The ultramodern room remains relatively calm, with faint mechanical beeps from the heart monitor and the subtle hiss of the air conditioning from a vent in the ceiling. A flat-panel screen nearby glows with her live vitals- all still perfectly normal. Her blazer is neatly folded on a nearby chair. Barefoot, dressed down to a charcoal gray sports bra and black compression shorts, she looks more like a training athlete than an ER physician about to become a patient.

Dr Anna re-enters the room and steps up with a small vial of clear liquid, hooking it to the IV line, careful and precise in her movements. “This is it- Cardexor, the newest evolution in cardiac modulation.” she tells Lindsay with an excited smile, though there’s a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. “You’re officially our tenth volunteer in the trial!”

“Great, double digits. Glad I get to be a part of this!” Lindsay says lightly, giving a small smile, eyes flicking toward the monitor, her vitals still normal.

Dr Olivia adjusts the infusion pump. “We’ll be starting with a conservative dose and monitoring for about twenty minutes. Most of the pharmacokinetics are pretty quick. You should start noticing some sensations within a few minutes.” Dr Olivia explains.

“Side effects?” Lindsay asks, watching the clear liquid drip down the line into her vein. “Tingling, maybe some lightheadedness. Nothing to be worried about.” Dr Olivia answers too quickly. Nurse Ashley, standing at the foot of the table, gives a practiced smile but avoids eye contact with Lindsay.

A few minutes pass. The room is quiet except for casual small talk and monitor beeps. Then…

“Hmm… I’m… feeling something…” Lindsay murmurs, brow furrowing slightly. “There’s a little tingling in my chest. Like pins and needles.” Continues Lindsay. Dr Anna nods, jotting something on a digital tablet. “That’s totally expected. That’s just the Cardexor fine-tuning those ion channels, nudging the signal transmission. All part of the process.” Dr Anna dismisses Lindsay’s symptoms. Lindsay shifts a little. “My head’s kind of floaty too, almost like I got up too fast.” Complains Lindsay. “You’re doing great, this is all normal.” Nurse Ashley says with gentle encouragement, though her eyes flick quickly to the monitor. Lindsay’s heart rate has crept up from 100bpm into the low 120s- just high enough to be noticeable, but not necessarily alarming.

Dr Olivia presses the back of her hand to Lindsay’s forehead. “No fever. Any tightness in your chest?” she asks. “No… just… pins and needles.” Lindsay breathes in slowly, and though she’s still calm, there’s a subtle tension in her voice now. “We’re right on track.” Dr Anna smiles, a little too tightly.

Lindsay closes her eyes for a moment, her brows raising ever so slightly as she took a slow, steadying breath. She was still trying to convince herself it was nothing- just her body adjusting, just nerves, perhaps. The fluttering in her chest lingered like an aftershock, faint but persistent.

A soft beep drew Ashley’s eyes to the monitor. Lindsay’s heart rate had climbed again- nothing dramatic, just a little higher than before. But it stayed there, holding steady at the new pace like it had found a rhythm it wasn’t supposed to. None of the women said anything. For a moment, the room was filled with an unnatural stillness, like the quiet just before a storm.

An hour or so passes since the infusion started. Lindsay sits upright on the exam table, legs extended and crossed at the ankles, her bare heel resting on the padded surface. She rubs her sternum with the heel of her hand, the gesture casual at first, then more deliberate. “There’s this weird tightness now…” she tells the team, her tone light, but her eyes searching. “I also feel a pinch. Right in the center.” Continues Lindsay, gesturing to the location on her chest. Dr Olivia steps in with her usual serene smile. “That’s not uncommon. Some participants report transient chest sensations while the ion modulation stabilizes.” Olivia explains. “Transient?” Lindsay replies. Nurse Ashley adjusts the IV line, her movements smooth and practiced. The telemetry monitor gives a soft beep, a little quicker than it was earlier. Lindsay glances at the screen, noting the climb: heart rate hovering in the low 130s now. “Still sinus.” Anna informs, peering at the readout and tapping a few notes into the tablet. “We’ll push a little metoprolol just to keep things where we want them.” Instructs Dr Anna. Lindsay nods, overhearing them, breathing through another round of pins and needles. She shifts her shoulders and tries to relax, but the rhythm feels off inside her chest- like something ticking out of sync.

Then, just for a second, Lindsay catches a look. Olivia’s eyes flick to Anna, subtle, concerned, but enough to tighten something low in Lindsay’s gut. She offers a half-smile to cut the tension. “Okay… what was that look all about? I’m not gonna be toes up in the morgue anytime soon, am I?” Lindsay half-jokes. Anna chuckles. “God, no! You’re doing great. These are just fine-tuning effects. Your body’s just adapting. It means the compound is working.” Anna explains away.

Lindsay leans back a little, not totally convinced, but willing to believe it for now. “Alright. Just don’t let me die half naked in my compression shorts.” Quips Lindsay. They all laugh, perhaps a little too quickly.

Ashley hangs another saline flush, and the monitor continues its steady beep… beep… beep, like a ticking clock. Lindsay closes her eyes briefly, exhales, and rests her hand against her chest again. Something’s not right. But she doesn’t know just how wrong it’s about to get.

The clinical room, once sterile and composed, now buzzes with a subtle but unmistakable undercurrent of tension. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor had sped up, edging into a range that triggered the machine’s soft warning tones. Lindsay sat upright on the exam table, eyeing the monitors. A sheen of sweat began to form across her collarbones, and her breathing, while controlled, speeds up.

She presses the palm of her hand against her chest, fingertips trembling slightly. “I’m still feeling it…it’s worse…” she utters quietly. “It’s much sharper now- like a pinch just behind my sternum.” Adds Dr Lindsay, concern in her voice. Anna glances up from the monitor with a tight smile. “That’s probably the beta stimulation- it can happen at this stage.” Anna downplays Lindsay’s symptoms. Olivia stands beside her, cross-checking a second monitor. “Heart rate’s up, but still within protocol range.” She informs. “Still in protocol? That’s good.” Lindsay repeats, her voice flat, lips twitching into a weak half-smile.

She exhales and glances around the room. “Have you guys ever tested this on ER docs before? Or am I your guinea pig with a stethoscope?” jokes Dr Lindsay. Ashley chuckles softly from the IV station. “Nah, you’re our star subject! Clean vitals, athletic background- you’re ideal.” Ashley responds. But Lindsay wasn’t buying the reassurance this time. Her eyes flick over to the monitor again. The QRS complexes had widened. Her trained gaze pick up on it, even before the machine sounded another beep, this one more insistent.

She narrows her eyes. “Wait, that’s… V-tach.” Lindsay looks to Anna. “You’re seeing it too, right?” asks Lindsay. Anna hesitates for half a second- just long enough for Lindsay to catch it. “It’s a nonsustained run. We’re monitoring. You’re still stable.” Anna brushes it off. “Stable? That’s a curious word choice for this rhythm.” Lindsay firmly replies, her voice tighter now. Olivia busied herself at the bedside, adjusting the telemetry leads. “You’re still perfusing well. BP’s solid. Let’s get some fluids in, maybe push a touch of lidocaine.” Olivia chimes in.

Ashley moves efficiently, drawing up meds. The quiet hiss of saline through the IV port was almost drowned out by the monitor’s quickening beeps. Lindsay’s heart rate hovers just over 160- still with a pulse, still conscious, but each beat seemed more jagged than the last. “I’m not trying to be dramatic, but if this keeps up much longer, someone’s going to need the crash cart.” Lindsay murmurs to the team. Anna’s voice was gentle. “It’s ok. We have a protocol for situations like this.” Anna was clearly running out of things to say to dismiss Lindsay. Dr Lindsay turns her head slightly toward her. “You answered that a little too fast, Anna. What’s really going on here?!” Lindsay knows something’s off.

Another glance passes between Anna and Olivia- brief but tight.

“What was that look?! You did it again!” Lindsay shouts, more nervous this time. Olivia leaned closer, offering a steadying hand on Lindsay’s shoulder. “You’re fine. This is what the close monitoring is for. You’re in good hands.” Olivia tries to reassure. Lindsay gave a single nod, but her gaze drifted back to the monitor. The screen now showed a classic wide-complex tachycardia, consistent with sustained V-tach. Her expression remained composed, but her breathing had deepened, a thin tremor in her arms now visible. “Okay… stay strong, Linds…” she whispers, mostly to herself.

Several minutes pass, and the EKG monitor let out a steady whine as her heart continued to race inside her chest. Her breathing came in shallow, focused puffs. “I’m still with you…” she murmurs, glancing from one face to the next. “This is still manageable… right?” asks Lindsay, growing increasingly uneasy. Dr Anna didn’t answer immediately. She was at the head of the bed, eyes locked on the monitor. “V-tach, still with a pulse.” Anna confirms, more to Olivia and Ashley than to Lindsay. Dr Olivia steps to Lindsay’s side, readying the crash cart. “We need to cardiovert you. Now.” States Olivia. Lindsay’s eyes shift to the defibrillators, then back to Olivia. “Oh…” Lindsay utters. “Yep. We’re going to get this handled for you.” Ashley said, voice quick and clipped as she peels open a fresh pack of defib pads. “Synchronized. It won’t be fun.” Ashley adds.

“Are you sedating me?” Lindsay asks. A beat of silence passes. Dr Anna shook her head. “We can’t in your case. And you’re still responsive. It’ll hurt- but it’s absolutely necessary.” Anna explains, her tone more stern. Lindsay swallows hard, a flicker of fear behind her eyes, but she nods. “Do it.”

Ashley places the pads quickly- sternum and apex, while Olivia set the charge. Dr Anna presses gently but firmly on Lindsay’s shoulder to keep her still. “Lindsay, we’re going to shock you now, ok?” Informs Dr Anna. Lindsay just nods in response, her stare blank.

“Defibrillator is charged to 150 joules. Everyone stand clear for me.” Olivia calls out.

The first shock is delivered, and hits her like a freight train.

Lindsay’s chest shoots forward, her back bending a bit. A strangled cry exits from her throat- pure reflex. Her heel scraped along the thin mattress, toes curling hard, showing off the fresh white nail polish on her toes along with the thin, wavy wrinkles throughout the soles of her size 12 feet. The monitor responds with a blink… but the rhythm held steady in V-tach.

“Still in VT.” Ashley mouths, frowning at the screen. “Olivia, charge again to 150.” Anna instructs, already reaching to steady Lindsay again. Lindsay’s breath caught. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes- glassy now, fixed on the ceiling like she was bracing herself for a wave.

“Defibrillator is charged to 150 joules. Everyone stand clear for me.” Olivia calls out.

The second shock came, feeling harder than the first. This time, Lindsay screamed. It wasn’t theatrical- just a raw, involuntary sound that erupted from somewhere deep in her chest as the electricity races through her. Lindsay’s necklace swung against her collarbone with the motion. Her face contorted in pain, eyebrows raised, forehead crinkling, and for a moment, she didn’t seem to breathe at all. “Still no change, everyone.” Ashley informs.

Olivia’s hands were already moving. “Charging defibrillator to 200 joules.” She calls out. Lindsay blinked slowly, chest rising in shaky bursts. “Do it…” Lindsay rasped, through gritted teeth. The third shock landed like thunder.

Her entire body tenses up hard, shoulders shrugging forwards, both her hands making loose fists. Lindsay let out a pained moan, feeling the quick jolt of electricity work its way through every square inch of her 6’1 body.

Then, there was quiet. The monitor let out a softer tone. It was still fast, but regular. “Sinus tach.” Ashley confirms. A small breath of relief escaped her lips. “She’s back.” Anna smiles, feeling relieved. Lindsay let her head fall to the side, breathing fast and shallow, face pale, lashes wet. “Jesus. Never again!” she blurts out . Anna gives her a tight nod. “You’re stable for now. That’s what matters. We’ll let you rest for a bit.”

Over the coming little while, Lindsay remains in sinus tachycardia. Lindsay lay back against the inclined bed, a sheen of sweat still clinging to her collarbones. Her chest rose and fell with steady rhythm now, the erratic pounding finally tamed into something bearable. Electrodes remain stuck to her skin, telemetry still beeping softly nearby, but the atmosphere in the room had shifted.

Dr Anna stood at the foot of the bed with her arms crossed, watching the monitor with clinical focus but no urgency. Olivia leans on the nearby counter, half-sipping from a water bottle, while Nurse Ashley updates a chart on the tablet in her hand.

“You’re doing great, vitals improving.” Anna told Dr Lindsay with a smile that, for the first time, didn’t feel rehearsed. “HR’s holding steady in the 120s- definitely an improvement from earlier.” Adds Anna. Lindsay let out a breath through her nose, almost a laugh. “As an ER doctor, I’ve shocked plenty of people in my day. I never thought I’d be on the receiving end.” she jokes, reaching up to rub where the defib pad still sits.

“You took it like a champ.” Olivia chuckles. “Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” Lindsay replies, managing a grin. “You all decided I was the world’s best science experiment.” Lindsay quips. Ashley offers her a bottle of water and a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Hang in there, Doctor. You’re helping us learn something important.” Encourages Nurse Ashley.

Lindsay takes the water and sips, but her fingers tremble faintly around the plastic bottle. It was subtle. Easily missed. And maybe she was just a little out of it, considering she was just shocked three times.

The heart monitor beeped at a calm, consistent pace.

Still, she noticed the way Dr Olivia’s eyes flicked to the screen just a second too long. How Anna’s posture stiffened just slightly when Lindsay shifted in the bed. How Ashley’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Lindsay caught it just barely. “You all okay?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. Anna laughs nervously. “The worst part is over. You’re doing just fine.”

Olivia added, “We’ve got eyes on everything. You’re in good hands.”

Lindsay leans back, letting the water bottle rest on her lap. She wasn’t sure if the creeping unease was just her imagination or the return of something real. But for now, she chose to believe them. The lights dimmed slightly as the sun began to set outside the high windows. Machines hummed softly. Monitors blinked. Everything was fine.

Another twenty minutes had passed. The room had grown still again, except for the soft beeps of the heart monitor. Lindsay sat upright, her color a touch better, a thin blanket drawn across her lap. Her breathing had evened out. Olivia had just made a quiet note in the chart, and Ashley was adjusting an IV pump when it hit.

Lindsay flinched. It was sudden and sharp. Her hand shot to her chest, pressing just beneath her left collarbone. Her brow creased, forehead crinkled, as she leaned forward, lips parting in a shallow gasp. “Oh god… something’s wrong.” Lindsay murmured. The heart monitor confirmed it a second or so later, the steady rhythm giving way to a rapid, fluttering series of beeps.

Ashley’s head snapped toward the screen. “Telemetry just jumped, she’s spiking again.” Informs Ashley. Anna crossed the room in three strides. “Lindsay, talk to me. What are you feeling?” Dr Anna asks, her tone clipped and stern. “chest pain… palpitations… Something’s really really wrong…” answers Lindsay. She sucked in a breath. Her eyes darted to the monitor and back to Anna. Her composure was crumbling now- still holding, but fraying at the edges. “Rate’s climbing. 160 and rising.” Olivia informs. Anna’s voice stayed even. “We’ve got it. You’re still in a rhythm we can manage.” Anna reassures. But even as she said it, she was pulling on a pair of gloves, and Ashley was already prepping another IV med. The room had taken on a charge- quiet, but tense.

Lindsay’s grip tightened on the edge of the bed. Her breaths came faster and more shallow. “I thought we fixed this! Why is it happening?!” Lindsay shouts. Ashley and Olivia exchanged a quick glance. Nothing overt, just enough to register. Lindsay caught it. “Okay. That look? I know that look.” Lindsay shook her head. “You’re okay, Lindsay.” Anna said, but it was too quick. Lindsay looked up at her, face pale, lips slightly parted. “Don’t lie to me!” Lindsay snapped. “We’re not. We’re on top of this.” Anna replied softly. The monitor beeped louder, faster. A warning tone now. 165. 170.

Lindsay slumped back slightly, wincing, her voice more fragile this time. “I feel like my heart’s trying to leap out of my chest…” Lindsay groans. Olivia moves closer to the crash cart- still calm, but with new urgency in her step. Ashley hovered by the meds, ready. “We’re staying ahead of it. Just hang with us.” Anna places a hand gently on Lindsay’s shoulder. Dr Lindsay nodded, but her eyes didn’t leave the monitor.

The sharp, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was suddenly replaced by a blaring, erratic wail. Lindsay’s body shifted uncomfortably for a split second, her hand clutched tightly to her chest. “OH GOD…” she winced, her voice tight, barely audible. Her eyes went WIDE, pupils dilating as her body slumped.

“Lindsay?!” Dr Anna was already moving with a pep in her step. The monitor blared. Pulseless ventricular tachycardia. “Code blue!” Olivia shouted, her hand slamming the red button on the wall. Ashley lunged for the crash cart, tearing open drawers with trembling precision. Anna took lead, her voice cutting clean through the chaos. “Get the pads ready. Ashley- bag her. We need to intubate.” Anna commanded.

The air in the room thickened. Olivia snipped off Lindsay’s sports bra and began deep, strong chest compressions. Lindsay’s chest rocked beneath each forceful push. Her face, once full of quiet strength, now lay pale and motionless. “Pads ready. Charging to 200,” Ashley called out. “Hold on! Hold on! I’m intubating!” Anna pressed the laryngoscope into Lindsay’s mouth, hands steady as she passed the 8.0 ET tube down her trachea. “Tube’s in. Confirm with bag.” Anna barked. “Good rise. Tube’s good.” Ashley confirms, already squeezing the ambu bag rhythmically. “Alright, I’m going to go ahead and shock her now. Everyone stand clear!” Olivia announced. Everyone backed away.

The shock hit Lindsay. Her back arched violently, chest shot up, her hands making weak fists, plopping back down a second or two later.

“No change, resume compressions.” Anna ordered, jaw tight. “Ashley, push epi, one milligram IV.” Olivia called out, hands back on Lindsay’s chest, pushing hard and fast. Ashley administered the meds without a word.

The seconds bled together. Another round of compressions, and the meds were pushed. “Charging again- 300 this time.” Ashley took over the defibs. “Clear!!!”

Lindsay’s body twitched sharply in response. Another rush of electrical current through her tall, athletic body, but she devolved into v-fib.

“Still no pulse, looks like maybe v-fib on the monitors” Olivia observed softly, her voice starting to fray. Anna’s expression didn’t shift. “Another amp of epi. Get ready for amiodarone- 300 milligrams, push.” Commanded Anna.

The meds were pushed. CPR continued. The monitor continued to shriek.

“Charging to 360. Stand clear, everyone!” Ashley called out.

The third shock caused Lindsay’s feet to kick up an inch or so above the table, slamming back down with an ungracious THUD, showing off the thin, prominent, wavy wrinkles throughout the soles of her size 12 feet.

Anna’s gloved hands reached towards Lindsay’s neck, feeling for a carotid. “still no pulse, v-fib on the monitors.” Dr Anna shook her head.

The code continued. And Lindsay? She lay still, on the receiving end of deep, violent chest compressions. Her chest caving in, recoiling rhythmically, her toned belly with abs rippling out. The room, once full of optimism, was now silent except for the rhythmic thud of chest compressions and the hiss of forced ventilation.

The room was still bathed in harsh fluorescent light, sterile and too bright for what was unfolding. Alarms blared in their usual chaotic rhythm, but everyone had long since stopped reacting to them. On the monitor, the jagged, erratic waves of ventricular fibrillation darted across the screen. Lindsay’s body lay still on the table, her chest rising and falling only with the force of chest compressions.

“Charging again to 200. Everyone stand back for me.” Olivia announced, her voice flat from repetition. The shock hit Lindsay’s body with a jolt. Her 6’1 frame was tossed around effortlessly, arms slightly flinching outward, as the energy surged through her lifeless heart. The monitor stuttered. For a half-second, something vaguely organized sparked across the screen, then back to v-fib.

Ashley didn’t stop compressions. Her brow was damp with sweat, jaw clenched tightly as she counted under her breath. “Twenty-one… twenty-two…”

“Charging again. 250 this time.” Olivia called out. Anna just nodded, her eyes locked on the monitor, watching with clinical intensity. There was a subtle weight behind her expression now- grim acceptance beginning to settle in her bones.

The next shock was delivered. Lindsay’s body jerked once more. Another violent convulsion that looked nothing like life. Still v-fib.

“Still no pulse.” Ashley informed, pausing just briefly before going back in with compressions, her palms hitting harder than before. “We can keep going” Ashley suggests, almost pleading, her voice cracking.

Anna shook her head. “Nope. We lost her.” she said firmly, stepping back from the foot of the bed. Her voice was calm, almost too calm. “The trial drug caused mass dysfunction of the cardiac conduction system. Her heart’s no longer conductive, so we’re going to have to stop here and call time of death.” Anna explained, cold and matter of fact.

Ashley froze mid-compression. Her hands hovered above Lindsay’s chest for a second or so before she finally withdrew them. Dr Olivia didn’t say anything. She just reached over and pressed the power button for the heart monitor, which still displayed refractory v-fib. “Alright, everyone. Time of death, 18:45.” Anna broke the silence.

The room was eerily quiet now. No more beeping monitors. No more shouted commands. Just the stillness that followed the end of a code.

Lindsay’s body lay motionless on the table, chest rising no more, her head slightly turned to one side, eyes wide open, staring somewhere no one else could follow.

Nobody moved at first. Anna, Olivia, and Ashley just stood there, still in their gloves, gowns, and masks. A heaviness pressed down on the room, like it was holding its breath with them. Finally, Ashley stepped forward, reaching for the ambu bag still attached to the endotracheal tube. She unhooked it slowly, the rubber disconnect giving a soft click that echoed far louder than it should have. Olivia followed, gently peeling the defib pads from Lindsay’s chest. Anna moved in closer, hands steady as she carefully removed the EKG wires from Lindsay’s torso, one by one. No one spoke, but everyone did their part.

Ashley unwound the IV tubing from Lindsay’s arm, slipping the catheter free with an almost reverent gentleness. A soft trickle of blood followed, quickly wiped with gauze. Then, with quiet care, Olivia reached up and used her fingertips to gently close Lindsay’s wide open eyes. That blank, unblinking stare was gone.

Anna reached down, pulled a toe tag from the drawer, and began to fill it out. Her handwriting was neat and quick: “Lindsay Wilkes, MD. Time of death: 18:45.” She slipped the tag over Lindsay’s left big toe and fastened it in place, letting it dangle against the wrinkled soles of her feet.

“She’s the third one this week.” Anna spoke finally, her voice low and flat, shaking her head. “Yeah, back to the drawing board, I guess.” Olivia murmured, folding her arms across her chest. No one added anything. There was nothing left to say at that point.

Ashley stepped forward again and drew the white sheet up, first over Lindsay’s torso, then her face, tucking it in gently like she was putting someone to bed. For a long moment, the three of them stood in silence. At the end of the table, the toe tag swayed slightly, brushing softly against the soles of Lindsay’s feet, forever symbolizing Lindsay’s tragic end in what was originally supposed to be a positive experience.

#resus writing #resus community #cpr resus #resus #cpr #cpr female #dark cardiophilia #medfet #defib #defibs

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ria-coolgirl · 13 days ago

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Sugar N Spice

Chapter 1

Sorry for the long wait, but I'm finally done with the first chapter!

Contain: meeting oc, implied magic power, love at first sight, implied killing

Summary: After going hunting, Marko gets hungry on the boardwalk and finds something more than just food.

Enjoy ^^

To say that being a vampire is fun would be an understatement. There are great perks to it like being able to fly, immortality, super strength, casting illusion, etc. The only downsides to this are not being able to go outside during the day, holy water, silver and wooden stakes, But the one thing that truly sucks being a vampire is not being able to eat anything without consuming blood first which wasn’t a problem, but tonight they crave something more… appetizing.

“I’m hungry!” Marko groaned wrapping his arms around his growling stomach, it’s been an hour since they went on a hunt and yet he was still hungry. “Well then, what do you want?” David asked with a last drag of his cigarette. The boardwalk had plenty of food vendors, shops and little stands to grab a quick bite to eat from, plenty of different things that you can choose from. Tell that to the littlest one’s stomach Marko pondered for a bit looking around for anything good, when his nose caught an alluring scent.

Marko gave chase to the smell like a bloodhound, the others not so far as they followed him to a small pink corner bakery that was on the left side of the boardwalk. The bakery had the name Sweet Petals Bakery written in cursive with painted vines and a neon open sign underneath. Just the sight of the building made Marko even more hungry. To no one's surprise the inside had more pink and more pastel colors which clash with their punk aesthetic with its pink and white checkerboard floor, floral wallpaper, dusty pink and sage green tables and booths. The sight of seeing all these colors made David feel like he was looking directly into the sun, because of how bright and frilly it all was.

The summer night breeze set the mood as tourist season was at an all-time high. People came and went as the scent of fresh baked goods filled the air in an aroma that was completely impossible to resist. Darla was prepping her shop as the crowds died down, a new batch of sweets just begging to be unveiled. She wasn’t afraid to get experimental. After all, she came to realize the taste of this coastal town was very unique.

As she hummed an upbeat tune, she smiled when she heard the hanging bell. In sauntered four boys with confidence of rockstars. Darla, of course, greeted them with a glowing smile. Without a lot to say, they strolled around the store front, keeping their attention on the vast assortment of pastries, cookies, and cakes for the most part, but they weren’t very subtle about sending glances Darla’s way as she moved around behind the counter.

They circled around in a precise, deliberate fashion. As if they were deep in thought about their next moves. Darla retained her big glowing smile.

“Good evening” her voice pierced the seemingly empty store. The boys turned to the source of the voice to find a young lady, well she looked young, about in her early 20s she stood behind the store counter; she wore a white apron embroidered with the bakery’s name in pink thread on the front. Underneath her apron was a pink t-shirt, a pink jean jacket and a long pink skirt that reached down to her knees, she had jet black hair in an afro that covered her ears and round-framed glasses. From her appearance alone she looked like a cartoon character from care bears or even strawberry shortcake. She had a warm smile on her face, which was a bit uncanny for someone to be happy to see them.

“Hello, my name is Darla Stanley and welcome to the sweet petals bakery.” “How may I help you today?” She asked gleefully, her voice was soft with a southern drawl to it saying smooth as honey. The boys looked at each other for a moment, smirking “Well, we’re wondering if you have anything special for us?” Marko asked with a toothy grin. They looked at her up and down like a lamb among a pack of wolves, flirting with women was easy for them thanks in part to their good looks and charms they can make any girl swoon for them. “This was going to be easy.” thought David. Without skipping a beat, Darla cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I have cakes, brownies, cupcakes, cookies, donuts, pies, tarts, cheesecakes, jelly rolls, cake pops and even tiramisu!” “Oh! And in the mornings I make bread, bagels, muffins, croissants, different pastries and danishes.” She said in a single breath with a chipper expression on her face.

The boys looked at each other puzzled, was this girl serious? Did she really not understand what they were trying to say? This was supposed to be easy, she was supposed to be easy! “I can’t believe this girl!” “I thought I had it in the bag with that one?” Marko grunted in frustration turning his head only to find David, Dwayne and Paul looking just as dumbfounded as he was. Paul realized that in fact she was quite serious knowing how many times they have been banned by most places on the boardwalk, even banned from the amusement park! So having another store on the banning list was not something he was looking forward to.

Paul grabbed Marko’s shoulder, looking at him like a disappointed parent trying to stop their child from throwing a tantrum. “Look, man I know that you're hungry right now, but this might be the only store we are welcomed at!” “So, if you keep trying to make her your midnight snack don’t.” Paul telepathy warned him, sending the message to David and Dwayne, who nodded in agreement not to try everything to potentially frighten the young lady into calling the cops on them. “Excuse my friend, he's just a little hangry aren’t you bud?” Paul said while pinching Marko’s cheek playfully. Marko pushed Paul’s hand away from his cheek. “Yeah, just hungry is all.” “And there are many things to choose from.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem, if you guys want, I can help you guys pick a dessert.” Darla explained. “Sure” Marko replied with a grin eager to find out what kind of treat they were going to get. Darla pondered for a moment looking at them individually knowing that simply guessing wasn’t going to work. She needed to know about these guys to get a clear intent from them and what better to do than using her powers. She used her powers before with helping customers with their love problems and giving them advice, so this wasn't a major issue for her.

With that she took a deep breath and glanced over to the one who was dressed head to toe in black that reminded her of Johnny Cash with his black trench coat, an earring that looked like a string of leather and a loop of wire, black pants, leather gloves and of course cowboy boots. His hair was platinum blonde, and his eyes were icy blue. From what she can tell he seems to be distant and reserved then the others not as outlanders fashion wise but still possessing that mysterious charm to him.

Given the context of him, something with a rich flavor would work well for him. “I feel like you don’t really care for sweet, but you prefer things with richness and bitterness to it like dark chocolate, so I believe you would love my mocha cream puffs.” Darla said to David, who had a surprised look, yet a cunning smirk on his face as she went to package the pastries in a small container.

She puts the container next to her by the register then turns her gaze to one with raven-black hair. To be honest she was a bit afraid to even look at him because of how intimidating he looked, but continued to search for context clues about him. He wears a leather jacket with a jaguar painted on the right side of his jacket, a fung earring, a necklace that seemed to be made out of various things, black jeans with what seem to be a red flag on the belt loops of the jeans, black tennis shoes, brown eyes and no shirt on. She ignored that last part about him and focused on what he was like. He seems to be on the quieter side, more stoic than anything else.

Even though he looked kind of rugged he was still intimidating, he had a reserved kind of personality like the first guy, but had a hint of wildness to him. He seemed like the savory type of guy more salty than sweet like caramel, so something with a savory edge would work well for him. “You seem like the type who likes salty things rather than sweets, so I think my salted caramel pretzel brownies would be perfect for you.” Darla said to Dwayne who simply nodded to her in response as she put on disposable gloves to grab the brownies from the countertop case.

“What about me?” Marko asked, whining impatiently, his lips into a pout. Darla chuckled at the sight of his appearance. His colorful jacket reminds her of magazine collage art, a white crop top,leather chaps, blue jeans, fingerless gloves, a black skull earring with red eyes and brown biker boots. His blond curly reach down to his back almost made him look like a stray cat from a certain angle. His eyes would be that of a light green, maybe blue, but looking clear. He seems to be a mix between savory and sour, a hybrid of wildness and zest warp into a person. Kind of like a tart, so something with a fruity taste would work for him. “You seem to be the one, who’s a mix between savory and sour, so I think my raspberry custard buns would work well for you.” Darla says to Marko whose mouth was practically drooling at the sight of the buns being packed in front of him. Everything was going smoothly with them and their desserts all except one.

The last one with wild blonde hair, a skull charm earring with a dagger, a tuxedo jacket with a gold metal chain belt, what seems to be safety pins on the left side collar of his jacket with a metal drawer handle, a fishnet top, an eye ring, bracelets, black belt with o-rings plus suspenders, white football pants with boots and leather gaiters. With all the accessories he had on, he looked like a real dedicated fan of glam rock or probably was in a band himself. Darla was puzzled by his appearance. What kind of dessert would he be?

Is he sweet? Savory? Bitter? Salty?

It was hard to get a real grasp on who this guy was. So unable to tell just by a single look at him, she decided to get his full attention by staring at him, taking another deep breath and staring at him intently. Her light brown eyes that were now rosey pink meeting his baby blue, not moving, not even blinking for a second. Paul took this opportunity to lean forward onto the counter resting his elbows putting his hands on his chin as they continued to stare. Darla tiled her hand slightly, her eyebrows furrow. Paul copied her movement ever so slightly while still having his eyes set on her. It felt like a staring contest not wanting to blink but wanting to find out more about the other and Darla was determined to find.

Slowly, careful she leaned more toward him, the space between them almost being gone at this point, tiling her hand to the other side with Paul following suit. She looked deeper into his eyes when she saw something, glitter beginning to fall as she saw a vision taking shape. It started with her and him walking together side by side laughing and smiling, then another image of them going on dates, holding hands, having arguments, but always finding solutions and finally sharing a kiss and–

Darla shook her head shaking off the rapid thoughts in her mind, but the one thing that stood out to her in the vision was his endless kindness toward her that made him surprisingly sweet. “Hey, are you okay?” Paul asked, smiling gently at her. Darla blinked for a second regaining her eye color and found her cheeks beginning to blush unsure on what to do. “Oh-um yes-yes I'm fine I was just … thinking.” Darla replied, stuttering while clearing her throat and fixing her glasses. “While you have a glam rockstar aesthetic, you seem oddly sweet and full of energy always moving around, yet still good, kind of like a cupcake, so I believe a strawberry trifle would work well for you.” Darla said with a soft tone almost in a shy whisper as she grabbed the strawberry trifle that was in a plastic cup with a lid on it from the display case and grabbed a plastic spoon from one of the drawers behind her placing them next to the other desserts near the register.

“Impressive you manage to pick out some great treats for us. How much do we owe you?” asked David, going through his pockets for any spare dollars. “It’s fine, you don’t gotta pay me, it's on the house.” Darla clarified. The boys shared eager smiles as they grabbed their desserts from the counter, happy with what they got. Satisfied with everything going smoothly with them. Opening the stable door from the counter to walk them to the front door when she had a realization. “Oh dear! I just realized that I don't know your names.” Darla chuckles nervously. “It’s okay doll, I’m Paul.” “That’s Dwayne, Marko and David.” Paul said introducing the others one by one. “Dwayne, Marko,” Darla repeated, each of them nodded as their names were called, except for David whose arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Darla with suspicion; with a light smirk Darla mimicked him “OH~ You must be David.” She said in a low tone while the others chuckled David growled lightly with a disgruntled expression. “Thanks for the sweets, let's go guys.” David interjected, commanding the others to follow him out the door. Darla goes around them opening the door for them and says they’re goodbyes to her.

Darla waved them goodbye still wearing her warm smile as she closed the door behind her. Her heart was rushing and her cheeks flushed. “Maybe there are more things to like about this town.” She whispered softly.

Tag list: @brahms-and-lances-wife @adams-fav-roach @ravens-all @popironrye @anxiouslittleweirdkid @walmart-icarus @persephone-s-moon (And anyone else who wants to be tagged)

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #sugar n spice #fanfic #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #tlb Darla 💖#oc x canon

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imawreck · 4 months ago

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Heaven Scent

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Returning to a Coven was the last thing Bucky wanted to do. Especially a young one. But when duty calls, and he’s sent out to help eradicate it, he has no choice but to power through the sent of blood and desire to consume even when the sweetest temptation appears to be just within his reach…

Warnings: Mentions of blood, kidnapping, canonic MCU violence, gory detailing, hostages

Word Count: 2,948

“Any luck?” Steve entered the compound, his uniform freshly pressed and boots shined.

Doctor Banner shook his head with a sigh, “None, like always. And I think with the way he’s been acting, Barnes isn’t going to be able to rely on the blood substitutes for much longer. Maybe a month or two.”

Steve blew out a frustrated breath. “Great… we'll have to figure something out soon then. SHIELD won’t keep him around if he becomes more of a danger than an advantage.”

SHIELD was a secret underground government agency sworn to protect the world from supernatural forces and outstanding threats. Steve and his best pal Bucky Barnes, being two of the oldest and most elite agents, had been used as experimental super soldiers during the 40s. He and his best friend, had been on a mission to eradicate a coven of vampires when Sergeant Barnes had been severely injured and turned. Steve had somehow managed to escape only to crash land while flying through fighter jet territory. He’d been lost in the war, having frozen in the ocean for years, only to have been recovered and more than willing to continue his service to the agency.

A few years after his return to the Agency, Steve had discovered that his best pal was still alive and wreaking havoc on a small town just outside of Brooklyn, New York. He set out to hunt him down, but instead of killing Bucky, he managed to break through his bloodlust and convince him to come back to the agency so that Steve could sort something out.

Steve wouldn’t kill him, he couldn’t do such a thing.

So, after months of negotiations and tests to even see if it was possible to control Bucky’s vampiric nature, they had come to the conclusion that Steve would become Bucky’s handler. He would be in charge of execution if Bucky was to go AWOL. He would also be in charge of managing Bucky’s dietary needs and escorting him on missions and lab tests.

Basically, he was Bucky’s designated babysitter and coworker in one.

It had been several years since their return and Bucky’s recovery. He’d lost an arm the night he was turned, and SHIELD had given him an advanced prosthetic and a fresh start. Bucky had trained endlessly to control his thirst for blood. Exposing himself to it, fasting to ensure he could handle the extended periods with no food if needed. Banner had even created a substitute so he wouldn’t have to feel the guilt of carrying around blood bags. He’d been doing well for years, but Doctor Banner had discovered his treatments with blood substitutes were a temporary fix.

Which meant that eventually, Bucky would either relapse or he’d need a Donor. And those weren’t exactly easy to find, or tolerated under SHIELD law.

And SHIELD would much rather kill him than give him any options.

Steve pressed his fingers into his brows, taking another deep breath of frustration. “He’s not going to like this.”

Banner shook his head, “No, he’s really not.”

“Not going to like what?” Bucky’s voice reached them as the glass door opened and shut behind him.

Steve straightened, plastering on a smile. “That we’ve got a mission tonight. 20:00, vampire coven.”

Bucky’s dark brows dropped into a frown, his lips pursing. “Yeah, definitely not a fan.”

“It’s a newer nest, so it shouldn’t have any older or even mature vampires yet.

Shouldn’t be an issue.” Steve knew that Bucky always got a little anxious when they took on vampire covens because of his turning.

That, and they always had blood around. Bucky was significantly more controlled in his actions when it came to blood. Not like when Steve had found him in Brooklyn covered in his latest victims’ blood with wild hungry eyes.

Now, when blood was near, he managed to keep his reaction minimized down to just the black veins under his eyes. It had taken years of practice and effort, but he had managed it. That alone was the only reason keeping him alive under SHIELD’s watchful eyes.

Banner cleared his throat, “Your provisions for dinner are in the fridge, Sergeant.”

Bucky gave Dr. Banner a flat smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He really did, it was just that Bucky despised being what he was. Needing what he did. He missed being human.

Now, he was viewed as a bloodthirsty monster. He supposed he once was, and those memories burned him every time he thought of that time.

Bucky went over to the fridge and discreetly stuffed the blood substitutes into one of the various pockets on his utility belt and gave Steve a nod, “Gonna stock the weapons and check the jet inventory for the mission.”

Steve nodded, “Alright, Buck. See you soon.”

With that, Bucky quickly exited the lab.

Steve signed, turning back to Banner. “Increase the substitute stock. If what you say is true, he’ll need more than normal until we come up with another option. Get another order on those scent blockers too.”

“Sure thing, Cap.” Banner went back to his computer and Steve headed out the doors.

Steve had this gut feeling that life was going to get way more complicated soon.

—————

The stealth jet touched down just outside of the mission red zone, and Bucky and Steve finalized their plans for infiltration.

“Alright, so you’ll go in the west entrance and take out the guards. They won’t put up much of a fight, coven’s not that big.” Steve pointed to the blueprints of the old warehouse as he spoke, popping a scent neutralizer into his mouth.

Bucky nodded, strapping the muzzle cover he was required to wear outside the compound onto his face as he listened. They would more than likely have victims in the building. Being a young coven, they were more bloodthirsty and less likely to keep hostages because of their lack of control. That meant it would be a bloodbath, and it put Bucky on edge. He could smell the faint scent of blood in the air even from inside the jet.

The familiar telltale feeling of the veins crawling under his eyes washed over him. The black veins rushed under the skin and reddened his vision just the slightest. There was lots of blood outside.

“Gonna be good, Buck?”

Steve’s question drew his gaze, and Bucky nodded silently. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Alright,” a few clips and zips later, and Steve was geared up and ready to go. “Let’s get this taken care of.”

Bucky followed him out and onto the dampened grass. Fog hovered just over the ground and plumed up into the air, clouding their vision a good six feet in front of them. With his heightened senses, Bucky could see further and more clearly than Steve, but the fog was thick enough that even he had issues.

“Keep right,” Bucky mumbled, voice muffled slightly from his mask, “The warehouse is that way. I can smell it.”

And God was it horrid.

The scent of blood assaulted his senses, bombarding him with its intensity and making his fangs ache. It was everywhere. He couldn’t see it, but its stench lingered heavily on the grass where it had seeped into the dirt.

He had to clench his jaw to keep the rumble of hunger from clawing up his throat. Bucky hated that his body craved blood, hated that he needed it to live. He detested everything that he was, but he couldn’t deny the effects the sweet scent had on him.

“It’s everywhere, Steve.” Bucky swallowed hard, his vision deepening in its burgundy haze. “It’s all around us, all over the place. The amount of it… there has to be multiple bodies.”

Steve, who’d been carefully creeping forward through the fog, stopped to observe his partner. “Can you tell if any of the victims are alive?”

With furrowed brows, Bucky tried to push his mind past the scent of blood and find something— anything— that would indicate that someone had survived this. His eyes fell closed as he willed his senses to extend, searching…

A heartbeat pounded from somewhere beyond the metal walls. Strong, hard, and panicked.

Alive.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, black veins crawling further towards his eyes. “One. There's one still in there.”

Steve’s expression hardened and he nodded curtly. “Rescuing is the priority now. We get them out, and then we wipe these guys out.”

With a nod, Bucky turned his attention back to the warehouse. The scent of blood drew him like a moth to a flame, and he followed it willingly. The stronger it got, the more his mouth watered and the harder it got to contain himself.

But he would. He always did.

With every step, the aroma of it all grew stronger and the thundering heart inside grew more erratic. Fear seeped into the air, twisting itself with the sweetness of blood. But fear was prominent, and the bitterness of it turned Bucky’s stomach.

The soldier rounded the corner, his gun loaded with UV rounds and aimed at the only exit on his side of the building. Blood was painted on the side of the building in spatters, some of it dry while some of it still remained wet and glossy in the dim light of the moon. The door was cracked, and his ears picking up the faintest sounds of fast footsteps and growls of hunger. The disgusting sounds of blood being consumed.

Sounds of impending death.

With a shallow breath, he swallowed thickly and breached the door. With his heightened senses, he guided himself through the dark halls devoid of light. Every turn he took strengthened the scent of blood, nearly enough to make his knees weak.

God did it make him hungry.

Bucky could feel the veins under his eyes writhing, his vision growing more and more shrouded in red. Still, he moved forward, intent on completing the mission at hand. He wouldn’t break, he wouldn’t give in, he wouldn’t—

His body stilled, muscles locking in place. Bucky’s jaw slackened as his eyes widened, pupils blowing wide to better see as they scoured the darkness.

For whatever possessed that scent.

For whomever smelled so painstakingly delicious that it nearly brought him to his knees.

Hunger reared its ugly head inside of him as it perfumed the air, at each breath he dragged deep into his lungs like a man drowning and they were the last breaths of air he’d ever get. Steve radioed in his ear, but Bucky couldn’t hear it through the ringing that drowned him out. Ringing that silenced everything but that thumping heartbeat on the other side of the wall.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Like a beast on a warpath, Bucky clawed at the locked door with his metal hand. His fingers dragging deep scores into the frail wood as he reached for the lock. With a jerk of his hand, the lock crumbled in his grasp, and his boot dislodged the hinges from the force of his kick.

Bucky tore into the room with his gun already trained on the closest target. A squeeze later, and the vampire is writhing on the floor. Blue rivulets of light drip from its mouth as it screams, the poison from the bullet doing the dirty work as it burns through its system. It would be dead in minutes. The next two bullets find their homes in two more, and they join the corpse on the floor.

His teeth ached from the force of clenching his jaw, grounding him in the haze of barely contained bloodlust. The aroma in the air was driving him closer and closer to madness, tempting him in ways he hadn’t felt in many, many years.

Perhaps he had yet to feel such intensity ever.

Something inside of himself was drawn by it. Pushed to seek it out in the bloodied room like a hound on a trail. Killing the targets had quickly become just a means to finding it.

Steve was still droning in his ear, his voice a thousand miles away behind the ringing and screams of the felled bloodsuckers. Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to be concerned he couldn’t hear his friend, too caught up in the moment as a vampire gouged a hole in his vest. He made quick work of it, metal hand reaching back and clamping down on its throat before squeezing until he felt the crunch between his fingers. Another bullet sunk into its heart to ensure it didn't come back.

A few more rounds to those of the coven that tried to flea, and the room was empty save for himself and the thundering sound of that beating heart.

The rhythm sang to him, a siren in the darkness that he drudged towards. Bucky’s hands shook with adrenaline and he was sure he looked every bit of the beast he felt himself to be in that moment. He could feel his carefully crafted restraint snapping with each step, each inhalation of that ambrosial scent.

He'd never wanted something so badly in all the years he’d been alive.

Turningthe corner, wide shoulders filling the too-small door frame, he heard a soft whimper. It bounced off the metal walls as did the scuffling of limbs shoving across the dirt floor.

He’d found it.

And it was a her.

She was pale, and Bucky couldn't tell if it was from blood loss or lack of light. Her hair was dark and caked in mud and debris, too dirty to see what truly lay beneath it all.

She was beautiful nonetheless. Absolutely captivating. And afraid.

Her fear bored down on him with each breath, putrid to his sensitive nose even woven in with the sweetness of her. Bucky was sure that it was the only thing keeping that final thread of control within his grasp. He didn’t want to harm her. It was his job to help her, to rescue her.

“Hey, you’re—“ He swallowed thickly, breathing shakily as a wave of hunger washed through him. “It’s alright now.”

Bucky felt the veins under his eyes surge only seconds before she screamed.

He winced, the volume of it enhanced by the walls and confined space. With his hands raised he knelt in front of her, placating. “I’m here to help. Please, just—“

“Get away from me!” She kicked out, dirt spraying his shins as she pressed more into the corner.

He had to get her out. For her own safety, and to get some goddamned distance from her intoxicating scent before it drove him any closer to losing it.

“Just stay still, I’m going to get you out of the building.” Bucky tried to reach for her again, doing his best to ensure his body language remained as unthreatening as possible.

She wasn’t having it.

As soon as he got close enough, she kicked him in the chest, smearing mud on his Kevlar vest. Her arms flew out to shove at his shoulders, uselessly clawing at the material in an attempt to deter him. He hardly moved a centimeter, and her desperation only increased.

She grabbed at the walls, trying to press herself further from him. Her hand must’ve gotten cut on a loose nail or a rough edge, because the next time it flew up to bombard him with shoves and scratching fingers, Bucky was overwhelmed by the potent scent of blood.

And then he felt it smear his face as her shove glanced off his shoulder pad. Felt it warm his cold skin, blanketing his senses entirely. All he could smell was her, all he could feel was that smear of delicate warmth. All he could hear was the pounding of her heart in his ears as it pumped lifeblood through her body. He could only see her within the red haze clouding his peripheral vision, the sole source of his every desire.

Then he tasted it.

For a moment, time slowed. He could feel his body lock up, his mind numbing as the flavor of her passed over his tongue.

Never in his long life had he ever tasted something so divine.

He groaned, unable to resist the urge to lick the drop that had managed to slip past his mask. Lapping it up like a starved dog.

Bucky’s chest heaved, eyes locked on the poor girl in front of him as the hunger swept through him like a hurricane. His fingers clawed at the mask in an attempt to dislodge it as he stumbled towards her with a growl.

In the back of his mind, Bucky was screaming at himself to stop. He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted to end up like this again; utterly trapped in the bloodlust. But his body betrayed him, drowning in the need for her.

“Buck!” He hardly heard Steve’s bellow over the thundering of the girl's heart before the cuffs of his uniform magnetized. They slammed his wrists together and forced them against his chest as a bolt of electricity was sent skittering over his body.

Confined, he snarled towards the girl. Steve’s heavy arms locked around his head and a vibranium needle was plunged into his neck.

Sedation. That’s what the protocol was. It was either that, or death for him.

The sedative slugged through him, clearing his vision of the red haze and loosening his muscles. Bucky’s vision grew muddled as his body numbed, the hunger dulled to the ache in his fangs.

His eyes found the girl once more, regret washing over him at the fear on her lovely face. He’d never forget that look. Utterly terrified.

And it was the last thing he saw before he succumbed to sleep.

Tags<3

@savannahrilee-blog

#vampire bucky #vampire #halloween #angst #bucky barnes #fluff #drama #x reader #fanfic #mcu #marvel #original character #smut #the avengers #fanfics

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ruinedholograms · 1 year ago

Photo

(1990-1996)

Nirvana - Come As You Are

Pearl Jam - Ten

My Bloody Valentine - Tremelo, and Loveless

Massive Attack - Unfinished Sympathy

Sonic Youth - Experimental Jet Set, Trash And No Star

Björk - Big Time Sensuality

V/A - Hackers

Björk - Venus As A Boy

Nine Inch Nails - March Of The Pigs

Nirvana - Nevermind

V/A - Batman: The Animated Series

Drew Neuumann - Æon Flux

Brad Fiedel - T2: Judgment Day

Tom Petty - Wildflowers

V/A - Teenage Muntant Ninja Turtles

Kurt Harland - X-Men 2: Clone Wars

Ambience - X-Men: The Animated Series (Japan)

Autechre - Amber

Aphex Twin - Selected Ambient Works II

Shirley Walker - Mask Of The Phantasm

Slowdive - Souvlaki

Björk - Violently Happy

Nine Inch Nails - Further Down The Spiral

Aphex Twin - ...I Care Because You Do

Nirvana - All Apologies

David Bowie - The Hearts Filthy Lesson

Nine Inch Nails - Closer To God

Beck - Mellow Gold

V/A - Batman: The Animated Series

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sweeter-innocence-fics · 20 days ago

Text

Surviving New York - Chapter Ten

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Work Summary:

Sequel to Surviving Sokovia. You survived the destruction of your home country of Sokovia, but the Avengers compound presents its own set of challenges.

Series Masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1684

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @mcximffs @noz4a2 @rottenstyx @starmansirius @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @lanemarvels @marrigold-2002 @kathrinchek @alternativeprincess @annocaprosmaloka @thrutheburnout @idkman5335 @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Taglist info

Previous Chapter

Notes:

big warnings for child abuse and hydra experimentation stuff in this one, as well as a lot of blood and injury and medical stuff, and PTSD

---

One moment you had been standing in the room where Olek had been held captive, and the next, you were on the jet. Pietro had his arms wrapped tightly around you, with Olek sandwiched between you. You expected your husband to step back, but he didn’t. Olek was crying. You could feel his hot tears against your neck as he took shuddery breaths.

“{Pietro, baby, he needs to breathe},” you said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Pietro released you. “{Sorry. I just… Sorry}.”

You held Olek out in front of you to look into his eyes again. He seemed a little more focused now. He met your gaze, and sniffled.

“{What’s wrong with him?}” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Maximoff,” came a voice from the side of you, and you almost leapt out of your skin. It was one of the SHIELD agents. “You’re needed. The infiltration team need an extraction.”

Pietro nodded, resolute. He turned to you. “{I will be right back. You should sit down}.” Then he looked back at the SHIELD agent. “My wife needs a medic. My son too. Please make sure that they are seen to.”

“Of course, sir. Right this way, ma’am.”

Pietro kissed your temple, and then he was gone. There were a couple of stretchers in the corner that the agent was pointing you towards. Without Pietro’s steady hands on you, your knees felt weak. You took two steps before you began to sway dangerously. You probably would have fallen if someone hadn’t grabbed you by the waist and held you upright.

For a moment, you thought your husband was back already, but this wasn’t Pietro’s familiar touch. It was more rigid, more reserved. You turned to see Steve Rogers.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to speak, but instead of words, all that came out was a quiet sob. Your vision blurred.

“Right, stupid question,” he said. “Can you walk?” You tried to put weight on your legs but they wouldn’t hold you up, so you shook your head. “Alright, here we go. Just lean on me.”

Slumping against him, you felt tears running down your cheeks. Olek was still held tightly against your chest, but Steve had a hand hovering nearby, just in case. You couldn’t breathe.

Steve managed to manoeuvre you to sit on one of the stretchers, but when the medic tried to take Olek from your grip, you let out an inhuman shriek.

“You can’t take him. You can’t take him.” You repeated yourself over and over, until your speech garbled. Blood was soaking through your costume. Lightheaded, all you could hear over your own voice was the sound of Olek crying.

“We need to restrain her,” said the medic. You felt bile rising up in your throat. Not that. Anything but that.

“No.” To your immense, bone-crushing relief, Pietro was in front of you again. “You’re not restraining her. She just needs to breathe, you’re crowding her.”

“She won’t let go of the baby,” said the medic.

“Can you blame her?” Wanda snapped, pushing her way past Steve and the medic. Steve had taken a respectful step back, but was lingering nearby, uncertain. “{Sweet girl, look at me}.”

You couldn’t do it. Your eyes stayed fix on the floor. “{They did something to him},” you said in a small voice. “{They hurt him}.” Somewhere in the distance, you heard the jet’s engines humming to life.

“{You’re bleeding. You need to let the medic take a look at you, and at Olek. You know that me and Pietro won’t let anything happen to either of you. The jet’s taking off now. They can’t get to him}.”

“{…You can take him}.” You didn’t have the strength to pass him over at that moment, but Wanda took him from your arms and you didn’t stop her.

As Olek passed in front of your line of sight, you saw that he was covered in blood. The anxiety hit you like a bolt of lightning.

“{He’s bleeding!}” you gasped. The world was spinning, and the sudden motion of the jet wasn’t helping.

“{No, my love, you’re bleeding}.” Pietro’s hand was around your shoulders, helping you lie back. “{It’s your blood}.”

“{My blood},” you said distantly.

The medic approached you cautiously. “This will hurt. She’s hysterical. It would be best to restrain her.”

“I told you bringing her along was a bad idea. She’s basically a civilian,” Clint muttered to Natasha, but in the quiet of the jet, you heard it. Your face burned with shame. He was right. You were a liability. The medic should’ve been looking at Olek right now but instead, they were wasting time trying to calm you down.

“We were ambushed,” Pietro snapped. “They got the jump on me, and she took down two agents by herself while I was incapacitated. I would be dead, or worse, without her.”

The room was quiet again. You looked up at the ceiling, head swimming.

The medic said, “It really would be best to restrain her.”

Pietro straightened up, glaring at him. “What part of no don’t you understand? If she needs to be held still, I will hold her. But I will not let you strap her down.”

You had never been more grateful for Pietro. Your mind was on the leather straps that Hydra had used to hold you down while they poked and prodded at you with their needles. If they tried to strap you down right now, you would probably have a full-on breakdown.

Instead of the uncomfortable, impersonal straps, you had Pietro’s warm, kind hands holding you steady as the medic checked your wounds. He helped peel off the top half of your suit. Underneath you were only wearing a sports bra.

The rest of the Avengers gave you your privacy, and a curtain was pulled across to screen you from view. There was another stretcher a few feet from you where a second medic was checking on Olek under Wanda’s watchful gaze. He seemed concerned as he shone a bright light into your son’s eyes.

“I think he’s been drugged,” said the medic. “We won’t know with what until we get back. We’ll have to send blood samples back to the lab.”

You continued to weep. Pietro’s hands stroked your face and hair gently. Blood was still seeping from the wound in your shoulder but, at the medic’s behest, Pietro was pressing a piece of gauze firmly to it. The weight of his hand on you was painful, but grounding. Your eyes drifted shut.

When you reopened them, you were being wheeled across the tarmac in the compound. Your shoulder had been bandaged tightly, so Pietro’s hands were free to hold yours.

“Pietro?” Your voice came back as little more than a hoarse whisper, but you supposed that was too be expected. Your throat was raw from being strangled and your body felt so weak. He heard you anyway. He always did.

“{You’re awake},” he murmured to you.

“{Where’s Olek?}”

“{Wanda has him. They’ve gone up ahead to run some tests on him}.” At your concerned face, he grimaced. “{Wanda is watching over him. It’s okay, my love. He’s going to be okay}.”

Your eyes were leaking tears again. It was making your head hurt. You must’ve been dehydrated.

For the next few hours, you drifted in and out of consciousness. They gave you an IV. A doctor stitched up your wounded shoulder. And Pietro bounced between your bedside and Olek’s, trying to be there for you while staying abreast of your son’s condition.

You awoke, an unknown number of hours later, to Pietro’s face anxiously hovering over yours, one hand cupping your cheek. He looked surprised to see you awaken.

“Piet?”

He breathed your name. “{I was so worried about you, sweet girl}.”

“{I’m… okay}.” You tried to sit up, but Pietro guided your hand to the button on the bed that lifted your upper body. You held it down until you were mostly upright. “{Where is Olek?}”

Pietro grimaced. “{Resting. Wanda is with him. He’s recovering from surgery}.”

“{What?}”

He put a placating hand on your forearm. “{They found a tracking device embedded in his arm and they needed to remove it. They said that it’s a very safe procedure. But they had to wait until they got his blood tests back to find out what Hydra drugged him with}.”

“{They drugged him?}”

“{Just a sedative. No long-term damage. They did a full medical check-up on him. Other than the bruises, there were no signs of abuse or assault. And they think the bruises were a byproduct of injecting him with drugs and implanting the tracker}.”

You exhaled. Your chest was hurting. “{He’s okay?}” you asked.

“{He’s okay}.”

You were crying again. “{When can I see him?}”

“{They said tomorrow morning. The doctors said that you both need to recover}.”

Rubbing at your eyes with the heel of your hand, you said, “{He’s my baby. I want to see him}.”

Pietro looked at you, lips downturned. “{I will ask}.” He kissed your forehead and then disappeared from the room.

You waited. And waited. Too wired to sleep but too tired to do anything else, you stared at the door, listening the distant sounds of footsteps and conversations in other rooms.

Eventually, the door opened. Pietro stepped in, holding your baby boy swaddled in blankets. Wanda followed close behind him.

“Olek,” you breathed.

Wanda shushed you gently. “{He’s sleeping}.” Pietro walked around to your good side and passed him into your arms. Your injured arm was pretty useless right now, so you held him with one arm. Pietro sat beside you, supporting Olek’s body with one hand of his own so that you didn’t have to take his entire weight by yourself.

Wanda sat on your other side, stroking your hair soothingly.

Olek looked peaceful. You kissed his face. His eyes flickered open for a moment, and you saw recognition in them. He knew you. Whatever drugs they’d given him must’ve worn off. He snuggled closer to you and went back to sleep.

Next Chapter

#pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff x you

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