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vvatchword · 7 months

Text

Sleeper

The last nightmare Delta had was also the worst, probably because it felt so real.

Usually, dreaming was great. In dreams, passersby were as small as children and he tramped through the halls in full diving regalia. Nobody bothered him. In fact, passersby usually sprinted off in the other direction. Then he’d laugh, although it came out in slow motion. Lasted for hours sometimes. His throat hadn’t been right for ages. He’d had a bad cold since… well, he couldn’t remember, but it had to be months at this point.

It was hard to tell where he was dreaming. Most of the time he dreamed he was in a city under the sea, skyscrapers and everything. The floors were patterned in repeating geometric flower motifs, and brass fish arced up against ceilings, and everywhere was green, green, green, a deep fishy green. Past the city lights was the solid blackness and the distant neon flickers of abyssal life.

He liked it. It was quiet. It was dark.

Sometimes he thought he might be escaping in these dreams, although he couldn’t think of where he wanted to go or why it was so important to leave. While he saw bathysphere stations and airlocks, he never seemed to reach them. He would remember: he couldn’t leave yet because he needed to take something with him.

He’d lumber off to find whatever-it-was. He hadn’t ever found it that he could recall.

The worst dreams were when the lights had all gone out and he heard far-off popping sounds. Holes blown in the floor. Fires burning in a clothing store. A mannequin melting. Horrible raspy screams that went up forever.

Fewer of those pretty dreams anymore.

But there was one good thing that never let him down:

Sister.

Whenever he craved cigarettes, she appeared. It never really made sense, but dreams didn’t have to make sense. He’d start to see her, first faintly and in blips. Then he could see her crawling on her hands and knees through the wall, like a faint impression in TV static, and his heart would lift. When no one was looking, he’d knock on the wall. This was how he told her that the coast was clear.

The vents here were huge. Cartoonishly enormous. Big gusts of fresh air blasted out and fogged his viewplate. When the technicians fucked up the seal on his helmet—which they often did, they were harried these days—he could smell fresh earth. Somewhere, there were forests.

Eyes flickered in the vent like burning coals.

“Daddy,” whispered Sister.

“Ohhhh,” he said, and reached out. His voice came out deep, sonorous, strange.

The nightmares usually started when she tumbled into his arms, all stick limbs and scraped knees. She was the only good thing about them—they were together—they were complete. For at least a few moments, everything was fine.

“Look! Look!” she said, flinging her arms up. “It’s you!”

She plopped a yarn doll up against his faceplate. It had a baseball for the head and a broken wristwatch for a face. The second hand flicked, flicked, flicked, at a second to midnight.

“I made it!” Sister said, smearing it against the glass. “It took me days and days and daaays.”

He groaned appreciatively. Granted, he would have made the same sound if she had held up a rock or a tin can.

For a minute, he would hold her up, feel as though something had locked into place—something was correct—but he was missing an ingredient. Worst part of the nightmares was feeling like they had to go somewhere, and not remembering the location.

“Come on, Daddy!” she said, sliding down his arm. “ADAM!”

She stuffed the doll underneath her arm, yanked her syringe out of her sash, and grabbed his hand with both of hers. He took a step, rumbling, his tone a question.

“Fa-ster,” she said. “Fa-a-aster! Slowpoke! I can smell the ADAM!”

ADAM.

Get ADAM. That’s right.

He followed at a slow trot. He was always slowest and heaviest in nightmares. He couldn’t drag his gaze away from the little brown head bobbing ahead of him. His hand swallowed hers, but he held it with inestimable gentleness.

There was a flicker of movement in the hallway just ahead.

His thumb pressed tightly over the back of Sister’s hand.

It had been there just a moment. A fish’s shadow? A man’s trousered leg? Whatever it was, it was gone.

Didn’t care. He swung up his drill. It was longer than Sister was tall, originally meant for hollowing stone and boring holes in hulls. He never took it off.

Sister’s hand slipped from his. She pattered away as quickly as a cat.

He staggered after her, lowing.

“Hurry uuup,” said Sister, stamping at the top of the stairs. “There’s an Angel!”

A beam of light from an emergency bulb threw her shadow against the wall. She was waxy white, her eyes so bright he couldn’t even see the shadows of her pupils.

For a second, he remembered her standing against the glass in the day lighting, bottom lip sucked under her teeth, pinafore balled up in her fists. She had freckles. He remembered her eyes being blue and her hair being all mussed up. Covered in grime from sliding on her belly through cracks all the goddamn time, and bruises and scrapes all over. Cute fucking kid. Not a good kid, obviously, but that had always reminded him of himself.

Then he tried to remember what he was like as a kid and the whole kit and caboodle slipped away, and all he had was Sister, white and glowing and alone.

Fear tingled all the way to his fingers. He felt distressingly heavy. If she would only stay close… everything would return to normal. Everything would feel better.

“Angel is this way! Come on!” She pattered into the blackness.

He took the stairs three at a time, fingers resting on the lever inside the drill. Jogged through circles of light and deep pools of shadow. He thought he saw movement just ahead. Could have been her.

No.

It wasn’t her little padding feet. These were heavy plastic soles, big pounding scrapes.

He charged down the hall and skidded around the corner.

Sister was alone, kneeling beneath a tilted street lamp. An Angel sprawled below her. She plunged her needle deep into the Angel’s liver and waggled it one way, then the other. Stabbed again, plunged straight through the muscle. Rich red liquid flowed into her bottle; she hummed.

Lowering his drill, he breathed in.

Held the breath.

Breathed out.

“Lily-poppies,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Li-lies. Po-ppies. Sca-bbies.”

Shoulders sinking, he plodded to her side. The Angel rocked beneath her ministrations. A whisper started in the back of his mind.

Bad.

The Angel was fresh. Looked like someone had shot it point blank in the forehead. And this one was nicely dressed, too; nice tuxedo, pressed white shirt, carnation in the buttonhole. His wallet lay beside his upturned hand, the clean bills peeking out of it. He lay on a tarp that stank of fish.

From down the hall, ghosts whispered.

“Is that the one? Is that it?”

“Gotta be. That’s an Alpha. I haven’t seen one of those in ages.”

“Don’t jump the gun. What’s the symbol?”

“Triangle! That’s it! We got ’em.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. Now get out there.”

“No, you do it. You’re the big assassin here.”

“Buddy, you’re the one with the grenades. You don’t even have to get close.”

“I… I can’t. Grenades just… they don’t do shit, man. You saw Joseph. He was in four parts. Four parts.”

“That’s the difference, you idiot. Joseph went alone. We have the Family.”

“Fuck the Family. I’m not suicidal, man!”

“Shhh!”

“Fuck it! You do it yourself!”

Footsteps rushed away down the hall.

“Hey! Hey! Asshole! Come back here!”

Three sets of footsteps, a slammed door…

Delta had already flicked the lamp on his helmet. Nothing. He and Sister were standing in a hub where four tunnels converged. A statue of a man lifting a sunburst leaned against the wall, glittering with glass. He had been felled at the shins; rebar twisted out of the base like dead stalks. All the lights had been blown out except for three emergency bulbs still glowing palely against the ocean.

Sister tilted the bottle back and sucked busily, her doll leaning against her hip. She was sitting. He wished she wasn’t sitting. They might need to start running.

“Hrrrrup,” he said.

She sucked down the dregs, burped, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Syrupy stuff streaked across her cheek.

“Come on, Daddy,” she said, and bounded up to her feet and across the room.

He groaned and charged after her. The doll lay lonely behind them.

“Hurry!” she called. “More Angels!”

She took a tunnel that sloped toward the seabed. On either side, the buildings flew up, a thousand walls and neon signs, shoals of mackerel shifting sluggishly. A Greenland shark drifted by, so dark and still that it might have been dead. For a few minutes, Sister and Delta sprinted alone through the pale green light.

The tunnel terminated at another hub. This one was remarkably clean. The sister statue to the previous hub’s still stood upright, with floodlights throwing dramatic colors over its shoulders in oranges and reds. The plants around its feet still lived, and the fountain still trickled. Fresh water. No rubble. Shining tile. Delta��s boots squeaked on the floor. Through the glass, long rectangles of yellow light; dancers in bright colors wavered.

Maybe this would end up a good dream after all.

Sister raced straight ahead.

“This way!” she said.

She was making a beeline for a door framed by neon. Over it, an animated sign: “NARCISSUS.” The frame flashed from white to red to white again, and gaudy flowers opened over and over and over. Inside the petals were grinning faces. He couldn’t read it; he knew that he should be able to, somewhere in his mind; but the letters were like hieroglyphics, acknowledged, colorful, bright, but meaningless.

Sister threw the door open. Light flooded the corridor, blew out the contrast, hazed everything in gold and white. But he did not hesitate. He charged over the threshold, from tile to carpet. Thick carpet, plush carpet.

“Wipe your feet,” said someone far away.

Delta snarled. Busy.

Two men with guns framed the door. Big, broad-shouldered boys in turtlenecks and black trenchcoats.

“Big Daddy coming through!” one yelled, and dropped his gun, raised his hands, flattened back against the wall.

His friend did the same, but not fast enough. Delta shouldered past him. One elbow was all it took. The trenchcoat hit the floor, hard, and the gun’s stock cracked on the wall. A woman screamed.

The music squawked off. A room full of tuxedos and silks turned as one. Women with ivory barrettes in their hair. Bright red lipsticks. Roses, mums, forget-me-nots. The band, standing on an alabaster dais, with a mirror behind them. Delta saw himself then, hemmed in by scarlet carpet and golden ceiling, stirring up the cigarette smoke. At his feet, party-goers in all the colors of the rainbow, small and perfect and pretty, and Delta like some hulking astronaut from another planet, the uniform color of shit. But Delta only had eyes for one person. He could feel her presence flying ahead of him. He plunged through the crowd, past the marble bar, the waiters in matching vests. Sharp gasps; a soft cry.

The closest partygoer turned, making a face.

“What is that god-awful stench?” he said.

Delta brushed by. The man slammed so hard against the bar that he threw his martini over his shoulder and baptized the bartender.

“Just a Big Daddy, folks!” someone was shouting. “Just a Big Daddy! Don’t touch the Little Sister. Careful. Careful. They’re just passing through.”

“Can’t wait until this war is over,” someone slurred. “Can’t even go for a drink…”

Door marked “Exit.” Delta could see it closing slowly, and there were two more trenchcoat men with their hands up against the wall.

Delta banged through the door. Behind him, startled chatter rose up, as did the ragged upswell of swing. He had entered a utility hallway leading to restrooms. Only a handful of people lingered here—smoke-breakers and hangovers. The carpet surrendered to tile. A trash can with a polished cap.

The dark mouth into another hub.

He could vaguely see his Sister through the dream-sight then. She’d found an Angel, all right. Another one, lying on a tarp, this one scruffy, no wallet, hadn’t shaved. Shot point-blank between the eyes. In his hazy other-vision, he could almost feel the dimple in the skull.

Sudden color against the checkered tile.

Sister screamed.

An electrical jolt flashed through Delta; his heart missed a beat.

“Give it here, you brat!” a man said.

Delta roared and charged down the hallway. He shoved one half-drunk man out of his way and the hapless fellow jabbed an elbow through the wall. Far behind him, the party went silent again; pretty heads peeped out.

Delta slid to a stop on a balcony. Just below, lit up as though on a stage, was Sister, circled by four pacing ne’er-do-wells in threadbare pants and patched jackets. Worst of all was the bulky man who struggled to yank her needle from her hands. He flung her back and forth—back and forth and back and…

Delta’s heart throbbed—another electrical jolt sizzled through his chest, this one twice as painful as the last—

Hang on, kid!

Delta flung himself over the balcony. Moment of weightless glory, then the full brunt of all 1,500 pounds came crashing down. He smashed the first man under his boots like a beetle. Yanked the lever in the drill and it roared to life, rattled his bones all the way up and down his spine. The attackers spun back, dipping, ducking, like hyenas around a rogue lion.

“The bigger they are!” cried a man on Delta’s left, and lunged, swinging.

His pipe clanged off of Delta’s shoulder. The next second, Delta’s drill bored him a second navel. The man gurgled, a kittenish sound, before his ribcage split open like the leaves of a book.

At the same time, the only woman in the pack leaped on Delta’s shoulder, pounding him with her wrench until his head felt like the clapper in a bell. She was screaming something, but hell if he cared what it was. Spinning, flinging the legs and trunk of the first man into the air, he hurled her against the tile. She bounced, leg cracking beneath her, and slid over her partner’s blood. It was no getaway. One good uppercut, a solid strike beneath her chin, and Delta launched her across the room. She cracked against the wall and flopped wetly to the floor, her leg bent at an awkward angle and her head torn half off.

Glaring at him from the foot of the stairs was the final attacker, the thickset man with small eyes. He had curled his elbow around Sister’s neck with his left arm, jammed her needle into his right, pumping the ADAM-rich slurry into his body. Blue light chased the outlines of his veins, glazed his fingers in crackling light.

“Want some, big guy?” the asshole hissed.

Screaming with rage, blind with terror that was half his and half his Sister’s, Delta flung himself up the stairs.

He didn’t even see the flick of the wrist; all he saw was the beam of lightning. The impact boomed against his breast. He reeled, slid, staggered through the banister, somehow didn’t go over. Lights and dials sputtered. Liquid fire roiled beneath his skin, and every muscle tightened in his arms and legs, and his chest seemed to be bound with iron. His heart seized up again. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe.

“Da-ddy!” Sister wailed.

All he could see was Sister’s face, twisted up in horror. Everything else around her faded. The thickset asshole backpedaled, dragged her further toward the doors at the top of the stairs. Sister kicked and bit and clawed, stretching out her arm, like she could pull Delta back up onto his feet by will alone…

Groaning, reaching toward her, Delta jabbed the point of his drill into the floor and lifted. He took one staggering step forward. Then another. And another. Faster, and faster. This time, when the asshole flicked his hand, Delta ducked—thunder boomed over his shoulder—and in two swift steps Delta clenched him around the throat.

Hacking, eyes bulging, the man dropped Sister and her needle and his hands flew to Delta’s arm. He flashed with light just as Delta’s thumb punched into his windpipe. The explosion blasted them apart. Delta skidded, tumbled, crashed on the staircase. Above, the light-spangled ceiling slipped sideways.

The thickset man hadn’t fared much better. He rolled over the ground, spasming.

Little pattering footsteps.

Sister threw her arms around Daddy’s elbow. Delta patted her on the back. His hands were still quaking. The stairs shuddered beneath his formidable weight.

Twitching, moaning, Delta heaved himself to his feet. Sister scrabbled up his side and snuggled up against his helmet. Delta whirled to face the thickset man again, raising his drill.

“Unzip him, Daddy,” Sister whispered in his ear.

Panting, spitting blood, the thickset man dragged himself to his knees, snapping his fingers. The electricity on his palms faded quickly; he folded his hands together, and when he raised his palm again, there was a dripping green polyp balanced on his hand.

“Go to hell,” he rasped, and pitched.

A pop like a water balloon. Wet green flesh burst all over Delta’s faceplate. A wave of confusion swept through him, tingled down his spine. It was far more disorienting than the electricity. His muscles seized up, one after another.

Groaning, Delta dragged to a stop. The point of his drill hovered at the attacker’s throbbing throat.

“Unzip him, Daddy! Unzip him!” Sister said. “What are you waiting for?”

Delta commanded his arm to move, but it wouldn’t. Could not fold his fingers. Couldn’t even make a sound. He labored to breathe. Fear billowed up in the pit of his stomach.

The attacker reached up slowly, pushed the drill away with the flat of his hand.

“Hold your breath,” he whispered.

Delta hacked. His throat seized. A wondering groan started in the pit of his belly.

“Bad man!” screamed Sister.

She sprang off of Delta’s back and onto the thickset man, stabbing him in the shoulder with her needle. Screaming, he threw her off, and she rolled down the steps. The thickset man charged after her, wrenched her to her feet.

“Brat!” he said, backhanding her.

“Da-addy!” Sister cried, her voice strangled.

Delta choked, coughed. He sucked each breath down with effort, and turned — it was like trying to move through molasses. He stretched his arm out — his drill sputtered to life. But the thickset man flung his hand out and splayed his fingers wide. Delta released the lever and the drill wound down again with a disappointing whine.

“That’s right, big guy,” the asshole whispered. “Wait right there.”

A door opened at the head of the stairs.

“Told you, right he… oh my god!” said a man.

“Eleanor?” said a woman with a British accent. “And Louie.”

The thickset man whirled around. Sister squirmed in his hand.

“Doctor Lamb!” he sputtered. “This isn’t what it looks like!”

He dropped Sister. She stamped on his foot — he hissed, leaning over his knee. With a squeal, Sister raced to Delta’s side.

“Daddy!” she said, tugging on his hand. “We’ve got to go, Daddy!”

Delta managed a gurgling sound.

Sister swung on his leaden arm, wailing. “Wake up! Wake up!”

“Eleanor,” said the lady, stepping down toward them. “Eleanor. Come here.”

Sister and Delta locked eyes with each other. An unspoken question ran between them.

“What happened?” asked the man behind Doctor Lamb. His voice was strangled.

“Knuckles, you cunt,” rasped Louie. “Doctor Lamb, this fucker is worse than useless. The minute he saw the mark, he ran. Of course he took the grenades and fucked up the entire plan and now everybody else is dead.”

The little man cringed. “I’m… I’m sor…”

“Fuck off.”

“Louie, Knuckles, please.” Dr. Lamb gripped Sister’s hands and pried the tiny fingers free. The girl stared up at the woman, slack-jawed, as though she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Dr. Lamb’s face was severe—high cheekbones, sharp chin, shark eyes. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in her suit.

“She don’t recognize you, doc,” said Louie. “They never do.”

“What was wrought with these methods can also be unwrought,” said Dr. Lamb, prying the tiny hands free.

Delta swayed on his feet, and his strained gurgling grew frantic. His heart felt like it would wrench itself out of his chest. Lamb looked him in the eye in the same way one might examine a statue.

His fingers itched.

Dr. Lamb dragged Sister to the base of the stairs. She kicked, wailed, screamed. Dr. Lamb’s knuckles were white and tensed, her arm stiff, but the way she pressed her hand to her breast was with the same unhurried emphasis as an actor on a TV screen.

“This is not your daughter,” she said. “Do you understand? Her name is Eleanor. And she is mine.”

“Doc, he’s an automaton,” said Louie. “He can’t…”

She held one long finger up. Louie sighed and fell silent.

“Now. Kneel, please.” The lady extended a hand to her side. Knuckles, small and shivering, handed her a pistol.

Delta dropped to his knees. His arms relaxed.

“Remove your helmet,” she said.

He reached up to his helmet and patted around for the wingnuts. Every time he’d gone in for maintenance, the techs had started stealing them for other projects, and he had been left with just two—one on his right shoulder, the other on his left. They were loose enough; he tossed them to the floor with trembling hands, then pressed the hilt of his drill against his helm and twisted it free. The pressure within equalized with the room, and his eyes and ears popped. With some effort, he lifted the helmet off and laid it beside his drill. The air burned against his eyes, but he did not blink; his eyes were still locked with Sister’s. Her face was even more ashen than before.

Knuckles gasped.

“Woof,” said Louie, and whistled.

Dr. Lamb did not blink. If she were horrified, she didn’t show it.

“Now. Take this pistol,” she said, holding it out.

With agonizing slowness, Delta folded his hand around the stock. Could everyone hear how fast his heart was going? Fuck, he still couldn’t breathe.

“Hold it to your head.”

He fought the impulse with all his might. But slowly, inexorably, he raised the muzzle to his temple. Sister covered her mouth.

Dr. Lamb folded her hands across her lap. “Fire.”

For a second, his heart beat in tandem with Sister’s, and he knew that she understood. In that single moment, when all he could see was her terrified face, he could hear her voice in his head—a stream of terrified gibberish, something he had only heard once before.

Don’t leave me Daddy please don’t leave me please oh please

He pulled the trigger.

All he felt was the impact. He did not hear the shot, only her voice, a scream that surged up from both of their hearts at once. He never heard it end.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

This Chapter on AO3

#bioshock #bioshock 2 #subject delta #eleanor lamb #sofia lamb #fanfiction #writing #uprising #only man #my oldest chapter circa March or April 2010 #heavily edited of course #more notes on AO3

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fallenwhumpee · 1 year

Text

“You don’t want to do that.”

June 1: Collapse | Locked Door | Fear • Masterlist •

Warnings: Captivity, Superpower whump, Creepy whumper, syringe, referenced torture.

Leader jerked awake, still feeling the last hit at their neck. Normally, they would not do that. They knew better than doing anything in the enemy territory before picking up their surroundings, but they were feeling too tired to resist their body.

They waited until the pain faded to a tolerable degree. They were in a cell, with only a door and basic bathroom present. The door was like a metal block rather than bars.

They were probably at one of the detonation cells at the lower levels of the abandoned jail, specifically designed for people with superpowers.

They sighed, cursing the location choice, and stood up.

They collapsed back to the cot, dizziness washing over them.

They struggled to keep themselves upright even while sitting. Their head was spinning, and dark spots were dancing around their vision. They took deep breaths, or at least tried, but the air filling their lungs was never enough, and their chest was too heavy.

They stood up again, trying to push through with their willpower just like they always did when everything else failed.

"You don't want to do that." Whumper's voice filled the speakers.

They ignored Whumper and limped towards the door. Testing it with their heavy limbs, they threw themselves at the door once. It should've broken under their strength. The cell shouldn't have affected them because, unlike the other superhumans, their power was coming from sheer potential and hard work to fill their potential. But they felt so weak. The door was locked and harder than they could handle, just perfect. They tumbled with the impact, hitting their back to the floor.

They rose back to their feet, limbs trembling as they tried to stay on foot.

"Wha- what h-have you done t-to me?" They stuttered as they couldnt breathe, their body too heavy to carry.

"Always stubborn. I told you that you didn't want to do that," Whumper sounded like they were enjoying this. "I just modified the cell. Instead of preventing you from using your powers, the cell will drain them." Whumper explained, delight clear in their voice.

"But you're looking well, and I can't have you bumping yourself into the door every time. I need to find a way to increase the power." They stopped, and Leader gritted their teeth. "I didn't need that before. You never fail to amaze me, my dear Leader."

Leader trembled. Whumper never failed to creep them out. They held themselves together for some more, but something began to howl. It was probably a generator.

Leader, as if that was possible, felt worse than before. They gasped and clutched the side of the cot as they felt their knees buckle beneath them. They tried to stay awake, but thinking was too hard, keeping their eyes open too tiring. They leaned their head to the cold edges of the cot, hoping to get enough strength to straighten themselves.

They fell to the ground completely, not aware of the time or anything happenings around them.

They certainly didn't remember climbing back to the cot. They groaned, their whole body was achy and sore. They felt too heavy, their limbs not cooperating as they tried to move.

"One hour. You held longer than the others."

They flinched. Whumper was standing right beside them, holding their right wrist with one hand and a syringe with the other.

"You woke up quite later than the most, though, but you're still better if we consider you nearly got your whole life essence drained, not just weakened."

They struggled against Whumper's hold, but Whumper just kept pressuring their wrist, and they screamed with a loud crack. They trashed, pain calming down momentarily when Whumper let go of their hand and held their palm over Leader’s wrist.

Then, it burned. Leader could feel their bones melt back into one.

But before they could let out the painful cry bubbling under their skin, Whumper hit their chest, a yelp escaping with the pressure.

"Save your lovely screams for your team now, I wouldn't enjoy it if you kept defying me like the last time."

"Looking from the good side, I will get to practice my healing powers and on a perfect subject, no less!" Whumper's voice hitched with joy towards the end.

"In your dreams." Leader spat, less sure than they wanted to sound, but not felt.

Leader's breaths faltered.

"You're excited too. That's good. But I want to be a bit more... experimental this time."

Fear burned their veins before the unknown liquid in the syringe.

#juneofdoom #whump #whump writing #captivity #collapse #superpower whump #creepy whumper #tw syringe #leader whump #leader whumpee #referenced torture

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blot-squisher · 6 months

Note

SFW Alphabet for Blight

This was also requested by @lauramayelle! Sorry for the delay! Thank you for your patience! ❤️❤️❤️

SFW Alphabet Ask Meme for Surviving the Game for Blight!

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) He can be a little creepy about it at times. Lurking around, watching you, creeping closer only to grab you with his gnarled hands and coo about what a cute little thing you are...

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) Talbot doesn't really do 'friends'. Although he might often come across like his brain melted along with his face, he's still highly intelligent and prefers to use others who can keep up with his experiments and plans. Helping him further his work is the only use he has for you, but if you can't do it intellectually... how would you feel about being a test subject?

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?) Talbot really isn't much of a cuddler, although he might pet your hair and call you a good little test subject... if he's started to feel soft towards you anyway.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) Blight has never considered 'settling down'. The best he can do on that front is becoming so embroiled in his research and experiments he forgets to leave his lab for several weeks...

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) Come here, he just wants to talk! Don't mind the rather large syringe full of bright yellow fluid behind his back! Hahaha, that- that's not for you! It's just... just stop asking questions and hold still.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Talbot will turn on you for a klondike bar if he thinks it'll help him further his research. Marriage? Laughable. He doesn't have time for that.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Some of his work requires an incredibly delicate and precise touch. That doesn't mean he'll use it on his test subjects, whether or not you're his favorite one...

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?) Talbot is not a hugger. Hugging him will most likely cause him to go stiff as a board.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) He can occasionally be heard crooning such sentiments at his pustula flowers. It's... weird. It's very weird.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) The only thing that really makes him jealous is when someone makes a breakthrough he himself was attempting to reach before he does.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss their partner? Where do they like to be kissed?) .......Considering his jaw has melted, he doesn't really kiss. He doesn't particularly like to be touched either, so receiving kisses is a rare allowance.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) He isn't fond of them. They're small and far too fragile. They make awful test subjects.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) Did he even sleep? Probably not. But your morning will be spent being studied, poked, prodded, and eventually fed if you do a good job.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) See how mornings are spent with him. It's pretty much the same thing, unless he actually makes time for himself to sleep... or he gets high on opium and passes out somewhere.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Talbot talks to himself very regularly, as well as writes extensive detailed notes about everything. If you can decipher any of it, chances are you'll be able to start piecing together his life's story. Don't expect him to actually tell you anything though.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) Talbot has a very strong distaste for people he thinks are stupid (everyone), people who question his ideas and plans, and people who don't get his vision, and people who touch his equipment. In short, it's not hard to make him mad.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about their partner? Do they remember every little detail they mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) His notes are meticulous to the extreme. It doesn't matter if it's something seemingly insignificant or not. If he's heard it, he's going to write it down. That doesn't necessarily mean he'll remember it off the top of his head, but he can check his notes if he feels like he's forgetting something.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in their relationship?) When you didn't die after the first injection! Good job, test subject! You're already well on your way to becoming the favorite around here!

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect their partner? How would they like to be protected?) The only thing he's protective of is his work. Depending on how much data he would lose if you die will severely affect the effort he puts into protecting you. Now, he may throw you out there to fight whoever comes after him as a test to see just how effective his latest serum is. Don't die.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) Happy one year as a test subject! You get a cupcake for not dying! Of course it isn't laced with experimental drugs! Don't be silly... Now, how do you feel? Hmmm, that's not expected...

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) His blatant disregard for human life, ethics, and safety are all pretty bad.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) Before becoming an insane deranged servant of the Entity, he did try to keep up a professional appearance. He had investors whose pockets needed lightened, and looking like a ruffian would be a step in the wrong direction. Now that he's... what he is, he no longer cares about looks or money.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without their partner?) Bah, he can find another test subject easily enough... Whether or not they manage to spark the same underlying affection he held for his past test subject is to be seen. Assuming they survive long enough to get that far...

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) Grimes has never really believed in any from of animal testing. Not because he really cares one way or another for the well being of the animals, but because it seems pointless to waste time developing something that's intended for humans without testing it on humans. Cut out the middle man, and achieve success that much faster!

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) He has lots of tests to run and many questionable drugs to test on you, so don't go dying on him. That's so inconsiderate.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?) He will sleep only when he reaches a decent stopping point in whatever he's doing... So, probably not for a while.

#sfw alphabet #the blight #talbot grimes #surviving the game fic #writing thoughts #character study #q&a

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chaoticcat32 · 1 year

Text

This is Naga Steve🐍🐍🐍

Steve was sitting, tied to a chair, face all bloody, drugged, and surrounded by angry Russians. Robin was tied to a chair behind him, right against his back, both still in their Scoops Ahoy uniforms. They’d been there for what seemed like hours, the Russians uselessly trying to get nonexistent information out of them. They had literally nothing to say. One of the Russians smiled at him, getting close to his face. He barked some order at the others, and they quickly scrambled off. He giggled a bit, being high out of his mind, and asked the man what he was saying.

“We have something special, experimental, to try in you.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to think about that.

“What kind of experiment.”

The man just smiled, standing back up straight, and backing up from him. The other Russians came back into the room, grabbing Steve’s chair and beginning to drag him out. He freaked out a bit, trying to plant his feet on the ground, Robin asking where he was going, giggling the whole time. She clearly had a bit more than he did.

Steve was taken into a separate room, still tied to the chair. It was pretty empty, other than a single light bulb on the ceiling, a small camera in the corner, and a window to another room, seemingly to watch him through. All the Russians left, leaving him alone to think about what they were going to do to him. Not that he could think much, anyways, the drugs they injected into him clouding his brain. He waited in the room for at least an hour. They sure were taking their sweet time, weren’t they?

Soon enough, however, they were back. They looked to have protective gear on, some with masks covering their faces. He looked nervously to their hands, one in particular holding a rather large needle filled with a deep green liquid. Or swirled around in the syringe, almost taunting him. He immediately knew that was going into him, though he had no idea what it was going to do. He would soon find out, he guessed.

They grabbed his head, jerking it to the side and prepping a spot on his neck, wiping it with a little sterilization pad. They then spoke to each other. In Russian, of course, so Steve had absolutely no clue what the hell they were saying, which he thought was funny for some reason. He giggled, causing the others to also laugh, but at his expense. The one holding the needle placed it against his neck, waiting to push it in. A final order was given, and the cool, sharp metal was plunged into his neck, piercing his skin.

He cried out, it didn’t feel good, of course, but soon whatever liquid had been in there was slowly spreading throughout his veins. It started off as a warm, dull numbing sensation, growing warmer and warmer as it spread. First it was warm, then hot, then burning. He squealed, writhing around in his chair, the ropes burning his wrists and ankles. By now all the Russians had left, leaving Steve alone. His eyes were squeezed shut, so he couldn’t see if there was anyone in the room with the window, but he would bet that there were.

While the burning was going on, he could feel other things happening in his body as well, or more specifically, happening to his body. His fingers ached, fingernails almost pushing out of the tips. He felt the same feeling in his jaws, teeth piercing through his gums. His ears were stretching as well, but those things were the least of his problems. He felt his legs, which were already tied together, becoming one, almost melting into one another. They also stretched and grew, getting longer and longer. Steve was hyperventilating as he felt a pricking sensation across his entire body, like needles trying to burrow their way out of him. They were trapped, and needed to get out.

It went on for Steve doesn’t even know how long. It was probably only a few minutes at most, but to him it felt like hours. Then the pain faded, he wasn’t burning, there weren’t any needles, and no more stretching. He opened his eyes, and found that he could now pretty easily wriggle his way out of the ropes. After he was free, he actually looked down at himself, eyes bugging out when he did. It was… a snake?! Why was there a snake in here?! He flowed it from the end of the tail, trailing up and up until he got to the… there was no head. It connected to his torso! Was he a snake?! He was still wearing his uniform, albeit without shorts. He looked down to his hands, only to see claws. His skin was also brown and scaley, all of it, not just the tail.

While normally he’d probably be freaking the hell out, right now he just thought it was hilarious. He giggled, inspecting himself. He looked to the window to see a few of the Russians looking at him through the glass, and he waved at them, a dumb grin on his face. Then they left. Soon after they were in his room, many with more protective gear, reinforced this time. They grabbed him, two for his upper half, and a lot for the snake part. He was dragged to another room. The same room he was in prior, actually. Robin was still in there, now untied, and he waved at her. She looked at him with wide eyes.

“Whoa, that’s a big snake, why’s there a big snake in here?”

“It’s me, Rob! It’s Sssteeeeve.”

“Steeeve?! Why are you a snake?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “they injected some stuff in me.”

The Russians left the room, allowing them to interact. Steve’s stomach growled.

“Hey, hey Robiiin, I’m gonna hide youuu.”

“You’re gonna hide me?“

“Yeah, from the Russians.”

“How’re you gonna do that?”

“Well come here.“

Robin did as she was told, approaching the snake and giggling. Steve placed his newly clawed hands on the girl’s shoulders and began to open his mouth wide. His jaw unhinged with a little snap and a pop, larger than a normal person’s would. Robin just looked in awe, staring into his open maw.

“Whoaaa, your mouth is sooo biiiiig.”

Steve started bringing it down gently onto Robin’s head, muscles stretching to envelop her. She giggled the whole time, Steve moving his mouth side to side like a snake would. He took his first swallow, sending Robin’s head down his throat.

“This feels weeeird.” She laughed.

He giggled around her as well, gulping once more, sending the top half of her torso into his gullet. Swallow by swallow, little by little, she sank into his body. He felt her enter into his first stomach, sighing as she did so. The muscles worked to pull her in, then pushed her into the opening tunnel on the other side. She was going further into his snake half. He swallowed again, letting the combination of both gravity and his internal muscles do their job. One last gulp and her feet were sent down. He let out a satisfied sigh, feeling Robin start to enter his second stomach. She pooled into his snake belly, a warmth settling inside.

He was giggling, thinking he hid his friend from trouble. He could hear her giggling inside as well, because apparently getting eaten by her friend turned snake was hilarious. One of the Russians came back in, smiling.

“Well well well, have a good meal?”

“What do you mean? I’m hiding her, shhhh.” He put a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone.” He whispered.

“You ready to talk now?” He asked.

“About what?”

“Who you work for? Who else knows?“

“Uhhh Dustin! Yeah, Dustin knows, and he’s telling Hopper, Hoppers gonna tell the US army or some shit, and you are gonna get your asses kicked all the way back to Russia.” He said, laughing.

“Is that so?” He asked, getting close but not too close to the snakes face.

Then an alarm blared. A loud wailing accompanied by red flashing lights.

“Told you.” He said, smiling.

He angrily left, rushing out of the room to see what was happening. That’s when both Dustin and Erica rushed in, looking around the room.

“Jesus Christ!” Screamed Dustin, immediately flinching back when he saw the snake man in front of him.

“Hendersssson! That’s really funny, actually, I was jusssst talking about you.”

The curly haired kid looked on in disbelief, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Steve!? What the hell?!”

“What?”

“What- why are you a goddamn snake!?”

“I dunno. They injected me with ssssome green shit and now I'm a ssssnake.”

Dustin gave him a look.

“And where’s Robin?”

“Shhhhhh. I’m hiding her.”

“Hiding her where?”

Then Dustin saw movement in his snake half. It was bulged out a bit, like a snake that’s just had something to eat…

“What the fuck did you eat?!”

Steve giggled.

“Rooobin.”

“What?!“

“Listen!” Erica broke the silence.

“We should all probably be getting out of here while we still have time.”

“But-“

“No buts.”

She grabbed Dustin’s arm, pulling him forwards, then looked over at Steve.

“Come on, snake boy.“

Steve slithered after them, following the two down a long corridor and into the back of a truck.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Asked Dustin.

“What?“

“First of all, spit Robin out!”

“Noo!” He yelled, hugging the lump in his coils. “My Robin! My friend Robin!”

“She’s not going to be able to be your friend much longer if you don’t spit her out.“

Steve frowned at that, considering spitting her out. But somehow, deep down, he knew she would be fine. He stuck his forked tongue out at Dustin, flicking it a bit.

“Nnno my Robin.”

Dustin just looked at Steve’s determined expression in disbelief. He couldn’t seem to convince Steve, so he eventually dropped it. For now.

They made it to the elevator and quickly got inside, getting it to go back up. There, Dustin prodded Steve even more to let Robin out, wondering what the hell was wrong with him, and why the hell he looked like that.

“What do you think is wrong with them?” He asked, turning to Erica.

“I dunno, maybe he’s drugged or something.”

He turned back to Steve.

“Did the Russians drug you Steve, are you drugged?”

Steve laughed a bit, then slithered closer, leaning into Dustin’s face.

“Hehe, I don’t do drugsss dad, itsss only marijuana.”

He then reached out and booped Dustin’s nose with a clawed finger. Dustin stepped back, shaking his head.

“Just… spit Robin out, okay?”

“Whyyy.”

“Just do it!” He shouted at the snake.

Steve refused.

They reached the top of the elevator, bursting out into the warm summer air, to which Steve flicked his tongue out, seemingly tasting it.

“Whoa, can you guys taste the air?” He asked.

Dustin and Erica rolled their eyes, then they heard a bang and voices speaking in Russian. They jumped, hurrying and hushing Steve as they rushed into the mall. It was closed by now, and they led the snake into the movie theater. Erica stayed with them as Dustin fiddled with the projector, turning a movie on to keep the man busy. They then left him, only for a bit, so they could try and find the others.

“H-hey.” Steve said to Robin after about twenty minutes.

“What.”

“I’m bored. And I don’t understand the movie.”

“Well I can’t see the movie from in here.”

“Oh. Well I gotta hide you. I’m gonna go do something else.”

“Okay!”

Steve slithered out of his seat, making his way out of the theater. He looked around, then spotted a water fountain, suddenly realizing he was thirsty. He quickly rushed over to it, drinking in the cool water as it touched his lips.

“Hey, that’s cold!” Yelled Robin.

“I was thirsty… whoa. The ceiling is shiny. Glittery like a buncha stars…”

Steve suddenly didn’t feel as great as he had before. He slumped a bit, then shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He then felt like he was gonna puke. He rushed to the nearest bathroom, leaning over one of the toilets in the open stalls, but nothing came out. He sat there for maybe five minutes, sweating and breathing heavily.

He then slithered out of the stall, leaning over the sinks. He turned the water on and splashed some of it onto his face, looking up and into the mirror. As soon as he did, he yelped, flinching back. His eyes widened, and he reached out to touch his reflection, looking at it in horror. He saw the claws on his hands, and let out a choked sob.

“S-Steve…?”

His eyes widened even more, and he looked down at his snake half, a section of it bulging out and moving a slight bit. He mentally freaked out seeing the snake attached to him, tears running down his face. But he had to get Robin out.

“Oh, oh god… Robin!”

He felt sick. Sick with how he looked, sick with what he did, sick with himself in general. He felt his stomach turn, his snake stomach, and his friend began to move up in the coils, to his torso, until he puked her up onto the bathroom floor. He then immediately flinched away from her, curling up in the far corner, looking over himself. His skin was replaced by scaly flesh, different colors of brown forming patterns on him. His hands were tipped with black claws and they too were scaly. He looked down at the tattered remains of his scoops ahoy uniform shirt, the pants nothing but a waistband with a few scraps of fabric still clinging to it. And it was because of his snake half. Oh god, the snake! His legs were gone, replaced by this ugly scaly tail that was currently curled up and wrapped around itself. He let out another sob.

“S-Steve?”

He looked up to her, tears flowing out of his eyes, immediately hurt by her fearful expression.

“Oh god, Robs, look at me! I- I’m so ugly, I’m a fucking monster.”

He broke down into uncontrollable sobs, nothing coherent being able to be deciphered for a while, just heavy hyperventilating and choked sounds coming out of his mouth. Robin softened a bit, seeing how hurt her friend was. Yes, her friend. This wasn’t some monster, it was still the same ol’ Steve. She reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder, causing him to flinch and look at her.

“Hey, you’ve still got your best feature.” She said, looking up.

Steve raised his hands to his hair, yes, thank god, his hair! He turned and looked in the mirror.

“Oh, oh thank god… but… the rest of me, I’m, I’m horrible, Robin. I’m a-a- monster, I- I- ate you!” His eyes widened as if just now realizing that fact.

“Yeah… but I’m okay, aren’t I? You were high… and you didn’t hurt me.”

Steve contemplated a bit. Yeah, he had been high, and she was okay. But he wasn’t high now. And he couldn't ignore the hunger in his gut, somehow, deep down, knowing she’d be safe if he put her in there again.

“But… I’m not high now… and I still want to eat you.”

“You what?!”

Robin looked at him in somewhat horror, not knowing what to make of that statement. Steve flinched back, almost as if he couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth either. He immediately backtracked, starting to cry again.

“No, no I- I’m sorry I’m a monster, I won’t-“

“H-hey.” She said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, you- you can… just- like, do what you did last time, okay? Can you do that?”

“I-I think so.”

“I’m gonna need more than an ‘I think so’ Steve. I need to know you’re not gonna kill me in there.”

“I won’t, I won’t. I can do it again, you’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

Steve slithered a bit closer, placing his hands on her shoulders. He instinctively started to wrap around her a bit, his tail grabbing her legs and working up her waist. She shivered a bit, but let him keep going. Steve’s tongue flicked out a bit at her before he began to open his mouth. With a small pop, his bottom jaw dislocated, allowing him to start sliding his mouth over her head. She stood still and allowed him to do so, closing her eyes tight. Steve sighed happily and took his first swallow, bringing more of the girl into his mouth. He kept gulping and swallowing, sending her into his throat, the tube of flesh eagerly accepting her, pulling her deeper. She went right past his human stomach, and deeper into his second one, Robin beginning to pool into his snake stomach. She was soon fully inside, Steve sighing in relief. The snake curled up a bit, resting his head on the small bump, feeling his friend inside.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s warm…”

“You’re warm too.”

They chatted for a bit, before Robin asked another question.

“You still in love with Nancy?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I think I found someone a bit better for me. It’s someone I never even talked to in school, and I dunno why. I guess because I’d get made fun of? It’s stupid, I know.”

Robin was silent, growing a bit nervous in his stomach. She had an idea of where this was going…

“Shoulda been hanging out with her the whole time, I mean first of all, she’s hilarious. I feel like this summer, I’ve laughed harder than I have in a long time.”

More silence.

“She’s smart… way smarter than me, but that’s not really hard, huh? She can crack top secret Russian codes, and she’s honestly different from anyone I’ve ever been with before.”

Robin didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

“Robs? You okay I’m there?”

“Y-yeah, yeah. I’m alive.”

“Well, what’d you think? Of this girl?”

“She sounds awesome…”

“She is. And the guy?”

“I think he’s on drugs. And not thinking straight.”

“Really? I think he is.”

“He’s not. He doesn’t even know this girl, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t even want to be friends with her.”

“That’s not true.”

“Steve, listen.” She sighed.

“You know when I was complaining about Mrs. Click’s class? It wasn’t because I was jealous of you. It’s because she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Mrs. Click?” Steve asked, confused.

“Tammy Thomson. She wouldn’t stop looking at you and your perfect hair. Even though you got bagel crumbs everywhere and asked dumb questions. I wanted her to look at me. And I’d go home at night, screaming into my pillow.”

Steve thought for a minute, confused.

“But… Tammy Thomson’s a girl…”

“Steve.”

…

“Oh.” He said, softly.

He sat for a minute, silently. And so did Robin. Then the stomach walls started closing in on her.

“Oh God… Steve?! I-I’m sorry, please don’t kill me!”

“What?! I’m not! You’re, you like girls! That’s fine, that’s cool!”

“You- but your stomach…”

“Its okay, I’m not going to hurt you. What’d I do?”

“The walls were closing in, I thought you were going to get rid of me…”

“They were? No, I’m not.” The walls relaxed.

“Okay…”

It was silent for a few seconds.

“Steve?”

“Tammy Thomson… I mean, she looks good, sure, but she's a total dud!”

“She is not!”

“She wants to be a singer, move to Nashville or whatever.”

“She has dreams!”

“She can’t even hold a tune! Practically tone deaf, have you heard her?”

Robin giggled a bit, and Steve started to sing, mimicking the girl. It was terrible.

“She does not sound like that!” Robin said, laughing.

“She sounds exactly like that! Perfect impression!”

“You sound like a muppet.”

“She sounds like a muppet! A muppet giving birth!”

They started singing, both in muppet voices together. Then it devolved into laughter, Robin a bit muffled from inside of Steve, though they both seemed fine with the situation. The door to the bathroom burst open.

“Okay, what the hell!” Shouted Dustin.

They both just laughed hysterically again, both Dustin and Erica looking at them in disbelief.

“And you still have Robin in there!?”

“It’s fine, see? She let me. She’s fine in there.”

“Yeah! I’m fine!”

Dustin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Just please spit her out.”

Steve grumbled a bit but sat up, getting ready to get her out. He focused, moving the muscles in reverse, pulling the girl up and into the tube of flesh leading up to his mouth. The bulge in his snake half moved up, into his human stomach and then his esophagus, Robin beginning to poke out of his mouth, his jaw unhinging to let her through. She was spit out onto the floor once more, and Dustin looked a little grossed out when Steve looked up at him.

“There. You happy?”

The two kids got them up and pushed them out of the bathroom door, rushing to get out of the mall. They got up to the doors and froze. They were blocked. Russian guards were posted at the exit, seemingly waiting for them. They began to scramble back and they heard shouting behind them, accompanied by loud footsteps.

They ran to the main center of the mall, ducking behind a store counter to hide from the bullets being shot. They were all silently freaking out, trying to keep quiet so the Russians didn’t hear. It seemed they were about to be discovered, Steve getting ready to defend everyone when a car horn activated, alarming the men. Then there was a crash, and all four listened as something large was flung across the area, along with screams.

They all peeked over the counter, seeing all the men dead on the ground. They then looked over to a car, smashed into the wall and banged up on its side. They slowly looked up at the top railing to see El with her arm stretched out, breathing heavily. She was soon accompanied by the rest of the kids, along with Nancy and Johnathan. They waited there until the others came down, Erica reuniting with Lucas and Dustin with the others. Steve slowly slithered forwards, until he was noticed by someone with a scream.

“W-what is that?!” Asked Nancy.

Steve flinched.

Everyone zeroed in on him, mixed reactions from the group.

“Hey, hey. It’s just Steve guys!” Shouted Dustin.

“Steve?! What the hell happened to him?!” Asked Mike.

Steve flinched again, looking down. He supposed he couldn’t blame them. He was a monster.

“The Russians did it to him, but El took them out with the car!“

“Wait, those were Russians?”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“I couldn’t make anything out!”

Everyone yelled out questions and answers, explaining from both sides. Steve had to do a lot of his own explaining too, and some visibly relaxed when they realized it was just him, only his appearance had changed. Though Nancy was still a bit wary, which stung. But then Mike noticed El, and the girl wasn’t looking good.

They all rushed over to her, asking what was wrong. They saw something under her skin, moving around. Some looked like they were going to be sick, but it was clearly causing the girl pain, and they had to get it out. Johnathan rushed off to one of the restaurants, finding a sharp knife and a wooden spoon. He heated up the knife with a lighter and handed El the spoon.

“Here, bite down on this.”

She did, and Johnathan plunged the knife into her leg, causing her to scream silently as it made a large gash. Many gagged and looked away as he stuck his fingers inside, trying desperately to fish the thing out. El stopped him, crying.

“Stop! I- I can do it.”

She cried, holding her hand out over the thing and seeming to focus. Steve watched as a little tiny piece of fleshy grossness was dragged out and flung away, it scrambling off as El sighed in relief.

It was immediately squished by a boot, the group looking up to see Hopper, followed by Joyce and who Steve assumed was Murray judging by the description he’d heard from Nancy and Johnathan. Then the three adults froze, eyes in Steve. Joyce yelped, hiding a bit behind Hopper and said man drew his gun, pointing it directly at him. Steve’s eyes widened, staring at the firearm.

“Hey, hey stop! It’s Steve!” Shouted Dustin, getting in front of the snake.

Hopper's eyes widened but still seemed wary, gun still up. That was until both Will and El stood in front of him as well, making Joyce and Hopper waver a bit. The man sighed and put his gun down, and Joyce stepped out from behind him. Will rushed forward to her, and the two hugged. Hopper approached Steve, Murray behind him and just looked at him.

“That really you?”

Steve looked down.

“Y-yeah. Yeah it’s me…”

“What happened?”

“The Russians. They got me and did some sort of experiment and…” he gestured to himself.

Hopper sighed.

“I see.”

After they all explained about Steve and what they’d all been doing and going through with the Russians and whatnot, they all got together to form a plan. The adults were arguing with the kids, while Steve and Robin were mostly off to the side talking to each other.

It ended with Steve being called over, Hopper asking if he could still drive so he could take both Dustin and Erica up to the hill that the kid apparently had a super powerful radio set up that could reach all across Hawkins. He shrugged, saying he’d give it a shot, but he didn’t have his keys as the Russians had taken them. Hopper tossed him a key that apparently went to a car he had outside, so Steve took the two kids plus Robin who wanted to tag along.

“Oh yea, this is what I’m talking about!” Steve exclaimed at seeing the sick car parked outside.

“Toddfather?” Robin remarked.

“Screw Todd, Steve’s her daddy now!”

“Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?” Asked Robin.

“Did he just call himself Daddy?” Asked Erica.

Steve slithered into the driver’s seat, looking below him to see if he could figure this out. He figured he could just use the tip of his tail - which he still couldn’t believe he had - to press on the gas and break like his foot used to. He started the car and tested it out, and it worked! So he quickly peeled out of the parking lot, Dustin directing him on where to go.

Steve didn’t last long on the hill, the walkie spilling not so great news, and they sounded like they all needed help at the mall. So he left the two kids on the top of the hill and fled back to the car with Robin, Dustin shouting from behind them. At least he got them there, right? They’d need him more at the mall. So that’s exactly where he went, driving full speed back to Starcourt. His eyes went wide as he peeled into the parking lot, seeing a car that definitely belonged to Billy Hargrove headed straight towards Nancy, who was standing in front of a car with Lucas, Will, and Johnathan inside. He sped up, ramming directly into the side of the mustang, making it scrape across the concrete and bursting into flames.

Johnathan screamed at them to hop into the car as a huge fleshy monster climbed atop the mall, roaring angrily. Billy seemed to be unconscious, so Steve did just that, hopping inside along with Nancy and Robin. Johnathan stepped on the gas and got onto the road, the monster taking off after them. He looked out the window at it, face twisting in disgust.

“What is that?” He asked.

“It’s the mind flayer.” Answered Will with a grim voice.

They drove for a while, watching the thing when it suddenly turned around.

“Wait, why’s it turning around?”

“Shit, it must’ve found out El was still back at the mall.”

“What?!”

They turned the car around, though they weren’t sure how they could possibly help, even with Steve’s new attributes. That’s when Lucas piped up.

“The fireworks!”

“What?” Asked Steve.

“The thing hates heat, right? Plus, who wouldn’t get hurt by a bunch of fireworks being thrown at them?”

The adults looked to one another before nodding, deciding to make a pit stop to stick up on the improvised weapons before following the beast again.

When they got back to the mall, they were met with a terrible sight. Billy was hunched over, dragging El to the center of the mall, the mind flayer thing directly over them. Seeing it up close, Steve could see the flesh pulsing and wriggling, the wet mass of melted humans moving in sync. He almost vomited. But then the first firework was thrown and it screeched, pulling back to face them. They all shouted and jeered at the thing, Steve throwing his own colorful explosives. But then he could see El still struggling with Billy. He was holding her down, and she couldn’t get up. Steve would absolutely not stand for that.

He shouted to the others before quickly making his way down to the first floor while the mind flayer was distracted. He got to the two and shoved Billy, El scrambling back. Billy shouted with rage, getting up to see his assailant before spotting him. He looked confused, but then it went back to anger.

He scoffed.

“Is that you, Harrington? Damn, you really let yourself go, huh?” He smirked wickedly.

Steve’s mind almost clouded in anger, but he was hurt by the comment. He tried to calm himself, reminding himself that this wasn’t really him all the way, that the mind flayer had influence. He was still a dick though. Steve hissed, approaching the other man.

“Wow, you’re really just an animal now, huh? A stupid fucking snake.”

He charged, fists at the ready, but his eyes were locked onto El. Steve ducked under the punch thrown at him, using his tail to grab the man, quickly wrapping around his body. Billy struggled wildly, making almost animalistic snarls and shouts. Steve squeezed. Billy gasped, closing his eyes and trying to get his arms free. The more he struggled, however, the tighter the coils around him got. Steve still made sure he could breathe, but barely.

“Billy!” Shouted a voice, Steve snapping his head to the source.

Max stood there, eyes wide.

“Please don’t, Steve. Don’t kill him. I know he’s a dick, but…”

“I’m not.” Steve said, looking down at him.”

“I won’t kill him, but he needs to be taken out of this for a little while.”

Steve started to unhinge his jaw with a snap and pop, opening his mouth wide. Billy still struggled but looked up in horror as Steve’s maw descended onto him. Max shouted and took a few steps forward, eyes wide in shock. Steve continued, taking his first swallow of the man, pulling him in farther.

“H-hey! Steve, you- you said you wouldn’t kill him.”

“It’s fine!” Shouted Robin from above, chucking a firework.

“He did it to me when he was first turned, and I was perfectly fine!”

“W-what?”

“I don’t know how it works, but trust me, he’ll be fine!”

Max turned back to Steve, now up to the man’s waist, her brother’s legs hanging out. She could see him thrashing within Steve, the half-snake wincing occasionally. He slurped down the rest of Billy as quickly as he could, one last heavy gulp sealing him inside.

“Is- is he really okay in there?”

“Yeah,” Steve winced at a particularly hard punch to his stomach walls, “he’ll be okay, not sure if my guts will be though.”

“How do you know?”

“I honestly have no idea, but something in my mind tells me I can eat people and they’ll be okay, almost like an instinct.” He winced again. “I did it with Robin, as she was in there for a while actually, she was fine.”

Max looked at the frantic wriggling form within Steve’s snake half, watching as punches and kicks pushed out the flesh periodically. She then looked back up at Steve and nodded.

“O-okay. I trust you.”

Steve smiled, though it was more of a grimace from the abuse his insides were being subject to at the moment.

“Shit, we’re almost out!” Yelled a voice from above.

Steve yelled to Dustin through the walkie who then yelled at the people underneath the mall to hurry up and close the gate. It wasn’t long before they actually ran out of fireworks, the monster shaking itself off and going to get El, but she wasn’t there. It whipped its head around, looking all over for the girl, and it shrieked in rage when it couldn’t see her. It could sense her though. It extended its sharp tentacle-like appendages to where she was, as well as one at Steve, probably because it knew he had Billy, the man still fighting.

Then, suddenly, the thing shrieked. It took back its tentacles, the things writhing and shrieking in pain. It slammed into the railings of the top floor before letting out one last shriek and falling to the ground. It didn’t get back up. Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief, then they all hollered in victory. Billy was still inside of Steve, a fact both the snake and Max noticed.

“Billy? Is- is he okay!?” She yelped, running to the man.

“Yeah, he’s still breathing, but I think the mind flayer’s gone now, so that probably took some strength out of him.”

Max pressed her ear to the slight bulge in Steve’s snake half, hearing Billy breathing heavily inside.

“Billy?”

“Get me the fuck outta here!”

She leapt back at the new round of struggles, though they were significantly weaker this time.

“He’s fine.” She said, sighing and meeting up with the rest of the group.

Nancy looked to him, then to the bulge in his snake half, face a bit pale but she tried to give him a little smile. Steve smiled back at her, slithering over.

“Uhh, so, I didn’t know you could do that…” she said, a little unnerved. “I mean I know Billy was an asshole but-“

“What?! No, he’s not gonna die in there!”

“What?” Two voices answered, one outside and one from inside his stomach.

Steve looked down.

“Yeah, Billy’s fine. I’ll let him out later though…”

“Let me out now, asshole! Stupid thing’s gone.” He mumbled that last part so Nancy didn’t hear, but Steve heard it.

“I’ll let you out when you calm the hell down in there, yeah?” Steve said, wanting to abuse on his stomach to stop.

Billy was still.

“Can you let him out?” Asked a voice from behind him, seeing Max. “Not that I don’t trust you, but… you know…”

Steve sighed, but began to pull Billy back up. Max watched as he moved up Steve’s body, though Nancy couldn’t, looking away. She watched as her brother began pulling himself out faster once his arms were free, Steve making a small sound of protest at the hand on his face. Billy landed on the ground and immediately got up, backing away from Steve a bit.

“You can’t tell anyone.” Said the half-snake.

Billy glared at him, but Steve could tell he’d been defeated, even if he’d never show or admit it.

“Yeah, whatever.”

They all got out of the mall, meeting up with the adults back up top, though noticeably without Hopper. Will ran to his mother immediately, El soon joining them when she realized her father wouldn’t be coming back up.

Steve had hidden away, leaving the mall and parking lot so the paramedics and especially the government wouldn’t see him.

A few months later, and the Byers were all packing, getting ready to move. El was coming with them as well, having lost her powers and with nowhere else to go. They’d also found an old abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere for Steve to hide in, setting up things like a mattress, walkie talkie for contact, and getting some electricity to the barn for a TV and whatnot. He didn’t really like being so alone, but it’s not like he had a choice, looking the way he did. Besides, the kids visited him occasionally. He wished he had a roommate though.

—————————————

One Year Later

—————————————

Eddie Munson was hiding, the town of Hawkins thinking he was some kind of murderer. What he saw happen to Chrissy really fucked him up, and he couldn’t believe they thought he, or any man for that matter, was capable of doing something like that. He shivered within the little boat, a large blue tarp over him. He heard footsteps enter the boathouse and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting.

Soon enough, the person outside was close to him, and he struck. He flew out from his hiding place, throwing the tarp aside and grabbing a broken glass bottle to threaten his assailant. He held it up to their neck, only when he looked up to their face, he realized it was…

“Henderson!?”

“Whoa, whoa, look, Eddie. It’s just me! It’s Dustin.”

The metalhead sighed in relief, letting go of the kid’s shirt and lowering the bottle, slumping back. He looked over to his left, spotting two others with him. One was tall with red-brown hair and the other looked to be about Dustin’s age, fiery red hair and a smattering of freckles.

“Who’re your friends?” He asked, gesturing to the two.

“Oh! This is Robin, and this is Max,” he then turned to the girls, “and guys, this is Eddie.”

Max nodded at him and Robin gave him a shy little wave. He nodded his head at them.

“So, Henderson, come to turn me in, or what?”

“What?! No!”

Eddie laughed.

“I know, I know. But what are you three here for?”

Dustin explained, asking his own questions which Eddie hesitantly answered. They exchanged information and how Dustin believed him and everything. Honestly? The whole thing was crazy, but after what he’d seen, he wasn’t too sure it was that much of a stretch.

“So, we wanna help you, and we think we have a better place for you to hide than this little boathouse.”

“Oh? What glorious keep do you have planned for me then?” He asked with a grin.

“It’s… an abandoned barn…”

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry! It’s super safe, and is definitely better than staying here. No one will find you there.”

“Hmm. Well then, let’s go.”

Robin baulked.

“Already? That fast?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Don’t really have much of a choice, do I? So how we gonna get me there?“

They told Eddie about their plan, how the barn wasn’t too far and they could get there through woods and backroads. If anyone saw them, they’d always make sure there was a place for him to hide. Turns out they actually didn’t need to hide him at all. The path they took was extremely untraveled, and they didn’t encounter anyone on the way there. Lucky them. But Eddie’s luck, it seemed, was about to change.

They quickly got to the barn, Dustin promising him a grocery run soon so he had some food. Before Eddie could go in and inspect his new home for the time being, Dustin put a hand out, stopping him from entering.

“Hey, uh… before you go in there, you’re gonna have a… roommate.”

“A roommate? What, you got a cat in there or something?” He asked. He didn’t mind an animal, as long as it was really as safe as the kid said.

“Uhh, no. Not a cat.”

“Dog?”

“No”

“Chickens?“

“No?” He said, confused.

“Well it’s a barn, I dunno!”

“Just… keep an open mind.”

“Okaaaay…” Eddie was now a little nervous.

Dustin slowly pushed open the door, looking around before heading inside, motioning for Eddie and the others to do so as well. Max and Robin entered quickly, seemingly unafraid but Eddie walked in slowly, looking around cautiously. He saw nothing.

“So, they not here now or…” he snapped his head up when he saw movement from above.

Eddie yelped, seeing a large, moving mass of coils slithering over themselves up in the rafters. He gulped.

“Uh, normally I don’t mind snakes, but that one’s a bit large, don’t you-“

He was cut off by another yelp when he heard a voice.

“Ugh, Dustin, I asked you to tell me when you were bringing him over. I was napping here.”

Eddie looked over to the new voice, eyes wide ring and him stepping back when he saw the snake was attached to a distinctly human torso and head, albeit with the snake pattern on his skin.

“Sorry, Steve. We just found him and you must’ve already been sleeping when I walkied you.”

Eddie grabbed Dustin by the front of his shirt, looking at the kid.

“Steve?! As in Steve Harrington?! King Steve?!” He shouted.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

He whipped around to see the man…standing? Whatever he was doing, right behind him. He screamed, backing up away from him. Great, this was just amazing. Not only was the kid gonna feed him to a snake, but said snake was Steve Harrington.

“You, I thought you believed me, Henderson?!”

“What? I do!”

“Then why the hell are you feeding me to Steve Harrington?! Who’s apparently half snake now!”

Steve rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. The fear and commentary stung a bit, both in his appearance and who he used to be.

“I’m not! Steve’s harmless! He’s not gonna hurt you, he’s nice!“

“You’re telling me King Steve is nice?”

“He’s changed… I know he used to not be the nicest, but he’s good now, I swear.”

Eddie looked over to the clearly pissed off snake man, looking over him.

“You sure?“

“Yeah, he’s my friend and I trust him.”

Eddie stood there, staring at the snake, watching as he pulled himself back up a bit. Dustin and the others left the barn, Eddie watching them go. As soon as the door shut, Eddie turned back around to look at Steve. He began screaming.

“What the hell, Munson?” He asked angrily.

Eddie kept screaming.

“Shut up, dude, you’re going to get us caught!” He slithered over to the man, which made him start to scream louder.

Steve put his hands on his shoulders, looking even angrier.

“Dude, stop!” He was starting to look a little panicked. “You’ll get us caught, and I wanna go back to my nap.”

Eddie wouldn’t stop, so Steve sighed, then looked into his face. He unhinged his jaw with a pop, opening his mouth wide. Eddie looked up in horror, screaming louder at the sight. Steve quickly engulfed the man’s head in his maw, shoving him in. He swallowed, muffling the screams which were now growing desperate. Eddie struggled, trying to pull his head out but the snake had wrapped his coils around his arms, pinning them to his side. Steve gulped again, pushing him in with his tail while his throat muscles pulled him in. A few more swallows and all that was left was the bottom half of the metalhead’s legs, Steve easily slurping them up and sealing them in with a final gulp. He sighed, feeling the man travel down his body and into his snake stomach.

Eddie was still screaming, but it was heavily muffled. No one but him would hear, meaning they wouldn’t be caught. Satisfied, the half-snake slithered back up to the rafters, hanging the part Eddie was in over them, sort of like a fleshy hammock. He wanted to get back to sleep, but he wasn’t sure he could due to the screams.

“Hey, calm down, okay? You’re fine I’m there, I just needed you to quiet so we would get caught.”

“Fine?! You ate me!“

Steve sighed.

“I can’t digest living things, they have to be dead. And since you are very much alive, you’ll be fine.”

He could tell Eddie absolutely didn’t believe him, but the screaming was quieting, his voice growing horse. The man must’ve been exhausted, because he seemed to be getting tired. Steve sighed, getting comfortable. He might be able to get back to his nap. He didn’t quite know what to think about his new roommate, but at least he wouldn’t be so alone all the time, right?

#eddie munson #safe vore #soft vore #steve harrington #stranger things vore #stranger things #steddie #naga pred #naga #robin buckley #dustin henderson

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 1 year

Text

@out-grid Here’s another one-shot for the alien au! This one takes place between returning from investigating a strange signal and before Ligur dies.

Warning: alien biology, acid blood

On with the fic!

Aziraphale, in all his years of medical training, had never seen anything like this before. Hours later, he would come to hate how absolutely fascinated he had been about this when Ligur was first brought into the medical bay.

The poor man was somehow still alive, even after his helmet was damaged and his face exposed to the cold vacuum of a low-atmosphere planet or moon, they still weren’t sure what it was. Aziraphale suspected it had to be because of whatever this strange, ugly little thing that was attached to his face. He spoke aloud as he did his examination, his words recorded for the research logs.

He couldn’t tear it off, he noted, when he quickly discovered that the creature seemed to have an acidic blood. Captain Archer demanded that Aziraphale figure out how to remove it soon, or they would have to kill the engineer. To which their second engineer, Hastur, threatened to gut Aziraphale like a fish if he let Ligur die.

And then there was their science officer, Crowley, who had gone down to the surface for curiosity and research sake with the other three, who had witnessed what had happened. Yet he wasn’t talking, too shaken up. Aziraphale paused in his narration to look over at Crowley, who was typing away at a computer.

“Dear?” He called out to Crowley, who stopped, turning to look at him. “If you’re more comfortable, you could return to your quarters, you don’t have to be here while I do this.”

“I’d... I’d rather be here.” Crowley replied after a moment’s hesitation. “I want to make sure Ligur is alright.”

His vital signs said he was, even though there was something terrifying clamped on his face right now.

Aziraphale sighed softly. “You’re shaken up, I’d rather you not have to witness me being all... cold and scientific about one of our crew mates.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, I want to be here. It’s my fault anyway...”

“What?”

“I... when we...” Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “When we found the chamber, where these... weird egg things were, Ligur told me to go and check them out. I refused, I didn’t trust them, something seemed so wrong about them and I didn’t want to get close. Well, he tried to shove me into the chamber, and I fought back. He fell in instead.”

Captain Archer and Hastur hadn’t witnessed it, they had been examining something else, from what both had told Aziraphale. They only came to the chamber when Crowley screamed for help, and they had found Ligur writhing on the floor, his helmet’s screen shattered, and this fleshy, bony thing latched onto his face.

Hastur was prepared to murder Crowley when they got back onto the ship, but Dagon was quick to stop him. Crowley had been in a state of shell shock for a while now, it was amazing he was even typing at the computer, let alone talking. But then again, he was always most relaxed when he was around Aziraphale.

The medical officer frowned, shaking his head. “Anthony, it’s not your fault. I’m sure if this was reversed, Ligur would be just as upset about this happening to you as you are of it happening to him.”

“No, he hates me, he’d probably have left me to die.”

“Gabriel would never have allowed it.”

“He hates me too.”

“You are a valued member of this team, and one of the only people aboard who can fly this stupid ship, I think they’d save you despite their hatred.”

Crowley scoffed, but smiled just a little bit. “Thanks, angel.” He rose from his seat and carefully approached, looking at the pale, spider-like alien. “Ugly fucker.”

“Tell me about it.” Aziraphale grabbed a syringe and carefully pushed the needle in, maybe he could take a blood sample, see if he could-

“Shit!” He rarely cursed, but he couldn’t help it when the glass of the vial bubbled and melted just seconds after he removed the needle. He dropped it to the floor, watching as it burned at the floor. “That’s...”

“Extremely corrosive.” Crowley hissed. “What the fuck sorta alien has acidic blood?”

“Whatever this thing is, apparently.” Aziraphale tisked, staring at the alien, before they watched in horror as it seemed to move. “Get away!”

Crowley and Aziraphale both moved away from the table and watched as the alien shuddered, moved, before falling to the side and onto the floor. It didn’t move, it didn’t make a sound. Ligur gagged, coughing hard, but appeared to be sleeping still. His vitals had spiked for a moment when the little beast had moved, but now they returned to normal.

The room was quiet, except for the sound of the heart monitor and the ship’s gentle groans of metal. Aziraphale wheezed through his teeth. “Good lord...”

Crowley was the first to move, approaching carefully, then gently kicked the thing with his foot. It didn’t respond, it was clearly dead.

“Maybe it... can’t handle oxygen?” Aziraphale asked, trying to figure out what happened. “Or-or it couldn’t survive whatever it had been doing to Ligur?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. It’s dead.”

“Let’s hope that’s that then. We don’t need anymore trouble right now.”

Sadly, it was not the end of their troubles, more were to come in just a few hours time.

Fun fact: did you know that the director of Alien, Ridley Scott, used to work on the first era of Doctor Who and was originally going to be the designer of the Daleks, but Terry Nation did it instead?

Just thought that’d be a fun Doctor Who-Alien fact for you guys, even though this is a Good Omens fic.

#john's drabbles #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #crowlien au

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liliallowed · 4 months

Note

Since Crimson's "blood" is their will power and determination in physical form, if a monster absorbed the determination in Crimson's blood could they become fallen down due to their bodies not having enough physical mass to handle the determination? Or on the other side of the coin, could Crimson's own blood make Amalgamates, and bring the fallen down back to life in a horrific way? Would the determination in their "blood" be too powerful and kill what ever monster it touches? Has their "blood" effected sans?

I would really like to put the many questions I have to test, so could I have a few syringes full of Crimsons blood? I would really like to do tests on it.

Lab Coat anon

gaster is that you 🤨

well, like I said they DO Have biological normal blood. having THAT kinda blood on him doesn't hurt or affect dust.

but after bleeding so much they run out of it and their body becomes stiff so their soul makes up for it.

in THAT state they WON'T bleed when they're cut. determination just flows around their soul forcefully keeping their veins open and pumping determination and will all over the body, that should be dead but simply isn't.

(William afton style minus the bodily decay. their skin is warm and their artificial pulse is there. but no physical blood.)

so if you were expecting them to weaponize that dt... they NEED to to keep their body moving lol.

unless someone pulls a syringe on their soul and EXTRACTS it you won't be getting liquid determination OUTSIDE their body because their body may be influenced by it... but it's not PHYSICALLY there. it's like the after effect/extension of their DT.

like an invisible force just... commanding the body's cells not to die. in some aspects they're close to how monsters work... but with an organic body.

cut off an arm? it can still move. the determination is sill in the arm. it doesn't spill out.

but if someone SEVERS the determination link with RED MAGIC. yeah that might cause the stored determination to destabilize and gush out... it would render crimson permanently immobile and possibly melt whatever monster touches it like acid... washing away their identity, twist their memories and they COMPLETELY lose themselves.

that determination is EXTREMELY condensed and dangerous. it's FIVE times more effective than a normal human soul. so like... one drop can just melt your entire arm as a monster.. and you don't want that to spread to your soul so you'd probably have to amputate it.

they're a walking biohazard for monsters with red magic... but so are the red attacks for crimson. it's a double weakness.

#headcanons #dusttale player #crimson #tw gore #tw blood mention #weirdass possessed biology

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prodbionic · 1 year

Text

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Secret Revealed

Mark My Sins

Alternate title: Getting Shot 101

Fandom: Prodigal Son

Word count: 3640

Summary:

Closing cases is Malcolm’s specialty. Getting injured in the process is par for the course. Ditching a hospital run afterwards is his modus operandi. But not this time, not on Gil’s watch.

After putting the perp in handcuffs, Gil catches up with the injured, run-away Malcolm at the latter’s loft. The Lieutenant is in for a shift in perspective.

Warnings: implied and referenced self harm, off screen self harm.

Read on ao3

"Malcolm!"

Gil’s bellow rang in tandem with the loud bang of the loft’s door meeting its frame. He pocketed the keys and stomped inside, following the trail of blood. It was more visible on the floor of the semi lit apartment than it had been on the staircase, and the sidewalk outside of the building. Drops and smears, smudged in places by shoe imprints, patterned the floor in a path towards the closed bathroom; and not a straight path at that. Gil’s experienced eye picked up how the trail swerved away at least twice, distinctively, and straightened back, before disappearing through the gap beneath the bathroom door.

Goddamnit, the kid was fucking swaying!

"Malcolm, open the door or so help me god, you’re off the team!" Gil's threat was equal portions of concern and fury. Both feelings clashed, he could not tell one from the other with the intensity of his adrenaline-fueled frustration.

Gil pounded the bathroom door. His patience had long since ended, two blocks into his drive over here, when he’d realized, helplessly, that Malcolm was not going to answer his phone. He'd thrown the phone on the dashboard and floored the gas pedal.

“Are you decent? If you don’t reply, I’m gonna barge in, even if you aren’t, fair warning.”

The older man gave it another two seconds, the absolute extent of his restraint, and that’s only because the sound of Malcolm's breathing through the door placated his panic to a certain degree.

Twisting the door knob, Gil entered.

A medical supplies box sat open, looking like it had a small hurricane ravage its contents. Bottles of alcohol and iodine, packages of gauze rolls and cotton balls, different looking syringes and many other aids he couldn't identify at a glance— all scattered on the bloody floor. Malcolm sat in his boxers in the middle of the room, back resting on the wall, a suture needle in his right, blood-slicked hand. His left held a patch of cotton dressing—soaked red and completely useless by this point—pressed against his thigh where the bullet had hit him. The suit jacket and pants were tossed and forgotten beside the sink, the light gray shirt, now wet and red, bunched under the knee, supporting his injured leg.

While Gil made his assessing once-over of the stifling room, Malcolm was looking up bleary eyed, head tipped back against the wall. He sat there, not moving, not speaking, the needle in his hand forgotten, probably never seen any action in the first place, for all the blood still seeping.

With the faint, but constant, tremor running in Malcolm’s hand, Gil doubted he'd achieved much suturing.

“Hey there, kid,” Gil murmured, all his recent fury melting like butter; there, but no longer solid. He crouched beside Malcolm’s injured side.

Malcolm blinked. “Hey,” he rasped. Gil doubted he would’ve heard it if they weren’t so close.

“I'm gonna take that now,” Gil said as he reached to take the needle out of Malcolm's weak grasp.

Surprisingly, the kid tightened his two fingers around it —insofar as a corpse would tighten two fingers around something— and dragged his hand away from Gil, breathing, “I need it.”

More awareness seemed to flutter into him as he self consciously pulled the bunched shirt from under his thigh and spread it on his lap, wincing in pain all the while.

Gil clenched his jaw, and prayed for even more patience. “What you need is an ER.”

Looking intently at his wound, Malcolm attempted to work the needle into it. “I won’t go to one. I got this”

“Then why are you sitting there donating blood to the bathroom floor?” Gil challenged, exasperation elevating his tone. In his periphery, the trembling intensified in Malcolm’s hand.

“I was just resting for a second. You can go, I can do this.” The dismissal was weak enough that Gil didn't bother elaborating all the ways that the kid, in fact, could not do this. Maybe if he was in a better shape, physically, or mentally. Stubborness wasn’t a new territory for Gil to knock doors on, every now and then—But there was stubborn, and there was down right stupid.

“... Malcolm–”

“Please just go, Gil. Just go.” Malcolm’s request-order surged in urgency and distress.

Gil must have missed something. Something vital.

The case they’ve been handling had dragged on for over a couple of weeks, and although they managed to capture the perp, it wasn’t until three more bodies dropped. Malcolm's mood seemed to drop significantly with each new victim, understandably, just like the rest of them. But he also was the one to figure out the pattern, the profile, and they wouldn’t have been able to put an end to these crimes without the profiler's imperative input. So why would he hit rock bottom when they’d finally put the son of a bitch in cuffs?

Under the constant barrage of ‘go-just go’ , Gil stood up and took a step back to appease the younger man and put the brakes on the Spiral Express. Malcolm removed the soaked dressing, uncovering the oozing gash, and Gil gritted his teeth, feeling in a front seat to the insides of that leg. Blood isn’t an unusual sight to him, but on people he cares about, on Malcolm? It was taking a lot of effort to hold himself back from calling dispatch, out of respect to the kid's desperation. But now Malcolm was making pathetic attempts at pressing the needle to his flesh, only to wince, stop, and try again.

“Would you at least let me help you, for God’s sake?” Gil finally exclaimed when he had enough of this second-hand torture.

Malcolm looked up and Gil tamped down the roil of emotion in his chest at the kid’s look of uncertainty and fear, giving a kicked puppy a run for its money. Gil ripped the plastic packaging of a sterile dressing and handed it to malcolm.

“Here, press this on the wound, and throw that one away. It fits better in the trash.”

Malcolm did as told. The saturated cotton piece made a squelch as it met with the floor, missing the waste basket by a couple of feet. Figuring they’re going to use it a lot tonight, Gil pulled the plastic lined bin, and plucked the dripping dressing to drop it inside. He stood to wash his hands.

“Did you take something for the pain?”

The kid shook his head no , to which Gil shook his head in surrender. Of course. Leave it to Bright to go about this process ass-backwards. Grabbing the discarded suit jacket from the floor, Gil maneuvered Malcolm to hang the jacket around his shoulders, then gave one a gentle squeeze. Hopefully it would warm him up enough to stop his morphing into a popsicle.

“I’ll be right back.”

At the kitchen, the lieutenant took off his own coat in a haste so it could survive the night intact, and placed it on the counter housing the meds. After rolling his shirt sleeves to his elbows, he rifled through the med containers until he found his target. He then took a plastic water bottle from the fridge, and after a second of deliberation he also took a lone juice bottle tucked away at the back of the fridge. Like the kid that gets chosen last for team games or projects at school, though it was cranberry, so Gil understood the aversion.

Back at the bathroom, Malcolm was staring at the shower wall, head miles away it seemed. Gil leaned across him to put the juice on the nonbloody part of the floor, and gently nudged that free hand—the other still pressed weakly on the wound—with the water bottle. “Hey, Bright.”

Malcolm shifted his gaze to the chilly condensation touching his skin, and robotically clutched the opened bottle. He opened his mouth dutifully when prompted, for Gil to place the couple of pills, then chased them down with the water. Now Gil shifted his attention to the —actually pretty impressive— medical kit, and its contents. He secured a new suture kit, an iodine bottle, a couple of latex gloves and set to work.

It was only when he grabbed the rumpled bloody shirt to remove it from Malcolm's lap, that more awareness shot through the kid again. He held on to the shirt, firmly covering his thighs to the knees. Gil, though perplexed, decided to choose his battles and merely pushed it an inch upwards, to clear an area around the laceration on the lateral side of the left thigh.

“Permission to be blunt?” Gil asked, and made sure his tone brooked no argument. He was going to be blunt whether Malcolm liked it or not, who was side-eying him while resting his head backwards and sipping lazily at his bottle. "This is fucking stupid," Gil said, even as he threw away the newly soaked gauze pad, put the gloves on, dumped half the iodine on Bright’s leg and prepared the thread.

Malcolm shook his head ruefully. "Gil–"

"It is. Look me in the eye and tell me this isn't stupid. I wave for the paramedics and you bolt like it’s Death coming to get you? Since when was ‘running home to patch yourself up’ the one-oh-one of Getting Shot?"

"That’s the new update. And I wouldn’t bolt if it was Death, I don’t think…" Malcolm trailed off under the intensity of Gil's withering glare, the raised corner of his mouth gained sudden weight and fell off, erasing his smirk. Despondence took place instead as he continued, somber, "I couldn't let them–… Gil, I–

Gil waited for him to continue, busying himself in the stitches. And waited. And waited. Nothing came. The only sounds made were the slight hitch in his drawn breaths with every press of the needle at his flesh. Gil finished off another stitch and raised his head to finally look at Malcolm, but he averted his gaze.

Gently, so gently, like treading on water, "What aren't you telling me, Bright?"

A shuddering breath, a thick swallow, a still averted gaze later and Gil gave up on a response. He looked back down at the almost closed gash, but before he started another stitch he couldn't help but notice how Malcolm had both his hands in fists protectively over the bunched shirt covering his thighs. Gil frowned. He swiftly finished the last two stitches, took off his gloves and pitched them into the trash. Then got comfortable beside Malcolm, but opposite so he can easily look at him.

"You know you can trust me."

No response.

Gil actually felt unsure, and like he was wading into a stranger territory. "When did that stop being the case?"

One translucent drop trailed down the kid's cheek, sailed down from his chin to land in a soft splat on his stomach.

“I… trust you,” Malcolm mumbled. He sounded unsure, himself. Like he was iterating a fact he had, a fact burrowed inside for so long that it was rusty upon retrieval.

“I'm sorry if I ever gave you a reason to doubt it, kid,” Gil said, wholly meaning it. “I'm not set out to guilt trip you.”

Malcolm shook his head, more tears leaking from under closed lids. “It's not what this is. I…”

When he got stuck on words again, Gil was resolute to bypass this hiccup.

“Look, it doesn't matter right this second. You look more white than your normal white boy white. Wanna avoid a hospital tour? I expect those two bottles to be empty before I stand to wash my hands.”

A huff of expelled air with a corner of mouth slanted upward in a soundless, wet laugh, Malcolm looked beside him then made a face. “It's cranberry, Gil.”

Gil silently cheered at the aggrieved whine, while Malcolm swiped at his wet cheek.

“Not my problem. It's in your fridge, it's not past expiration date, you're not allergic. Drink.”

He drained the last of his water first then grabbed the offensive juice to twist the cap. “It’s mother, always sending piles of groceries.”

“Good. Left to your own devices, I doubt you’d see the inside of a grocery store.”

“Debatable.”

They share a silent minute; Malcolm sipping juice with an occasionally scrunched up face, and Gil cleaning around the stitches before covering them up in adhesive gauze.

“You got people in your life who look out for you, kid. Don’t shut us out when you need help.”

Malcolm stared at him, clearly weighing something on his mind that Gil would pay to know, but wisely chose to stare back and wait.

“Help me up?”

Not exactly what he had in mind but Gil would gladly take it. With a hand clasped with the younger man’s and another under his armpit, Gil hauled —an entirely too heavy for Gil’s old bones— Malcolm on his swaying feet, two steps backwards, where the latter plopped on the toilet lid.

They both panted after that little exercise before Malcolm was first to break the silence in a tired mumble, "That was too exhausting. I don't know if I can manage a shower."

Gil eyed the bloody shirt on the floor. Malcolm had held it over his legs like a lifeline, but he didn't seem to notice it falling during the shift in their position.

"I can help clean you off where you're sitting."

Studiously avoiding looking at what the shirt had been hiding, Gil ran warm water with soap in the sink. He collected some face towels from a cabin and soaked them.

Malcolm looked like he wanted nothing more than to doze off, which was understandable; the kid lost what could amount to two bags of blood. His eyelids drooping, his arms and shoulders slack, the back of the toilet the only thing propping him up.

"I uh– I'm tired, Gil," he whispered, and Gil had the suspicion that what he meant was beyond the physical sense of right then. He was at a loss on how to comfort him. Being here, cleaning his kid’s skin enough that he could sleep the night as comfortably as possible, and staying with him, showing him how he cared and understood; other than that, Gil didn’t have any options. ‘You can lead a horse to water’, and all.

And so Gil did exactly that. “I’m right here, Bright,” he said. Then, methodically, wordlessly cleaned him of all the blood. The creases and divots in his palm and between his fingers, his arms, neck, and torso. He reached the part with the larger mess; his legs. Gil did not stop, or stare at all the slash marks patterning the inside and the front of his thighs. Gil did not flinch in sympathy as he wiped over them with another fresh soapy wet towel. He definitely did not look up at Malcolm as he finished with that part, and moved on to his calves and shins. He held himself together because it was what Malcolm needed of him.

The marks were different degrees of healed, some as fresh as just this morning, some as old as a week. That was how long Malcolm had needed him, needed someone, and no one had had a clue.

All done, Gil stood up. “I’ll get you some clean underwear. Stay put.”

Outside of the bathroom, Gil drew a deep breath of fresher air; no blood or antiseptics smells, no suffocation under the pressure of words unsaid. But all too soon, he was back with the clean clothes. Malcolm was exactly how Gil left him, but his hooded eyes bore into Gil with a knowing look. An apprehensive look. He knew Gil now knew what he'd kept tight under guard. What broke Gil's heart was that the kid seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop, like Gil would somehow berate him.

He handed him the clothes and yet another clean wet towel to clean anything that was missed. “I’m here if you need a hand, buddy.”

He faced the other way and crouched to gather the mess on the floor, frequently eying the shelf harboring all the shaving paraphernalia, including an open and half empty box of razors. Keeping himself busy cleaning, he also kept an ear attuned behind him for any possible slips, resisting offering assistance again when he heard the grunts of exertion. Gil was right here, and Malcolm asking for help had to start somewhere.

He would never have berated the kid. Not for something like this. His initial fury was so damningly misplaced and all he felt now was floodgates of guilt that threatened to sweep him off. What would've happened had his tirade went on a little bit longer? Or if it had more bite, more intensity than Malcolm could handle in such a delicate state? Kid could've shut off completely or worse—

His morose line of thought got interrupted out of imagining exaggerated worst case scenarios, by his name being called in a pleading tone. He twisted to find the kid somehow tangled in his own t-shirt amid the process of wearing it. Gil chuckled and swiftly washed his hands before going to the rescue.

“Can I sleep ‘ere?” Malcolm mumbled, sleepy and limp as Gil helped him put his arm and head through their right slots.

“No can do, champ. Up you go.”

They made their way slowly—Gil bearing most of Malcolm’s weight who participated by shuffling his feet in the right directions, thankfully— out of the bathroom, through the living room, and over to the bed where Gil sat him, back propped on the headboard.

“Don’t sleep yet. You gotta get something else in you.”

He didn’t expect or wait for an answer, before hurrying to the kitchen again. Retrieving a miraculously still standing lemon from the fridge, a generous heaping dollop of honey for the sweet toothed kid, and warm water from the tea kettle, Gil thought to order some groceries first thing in the morning. The state of this kitchen could not stand. While preparing the drink he kept an eye on Malcolm, who only moved to drag a blanket from the foot of the bed and furled it around himself. Gil went back to hand him the glass—the largest one and full to the brim—under the kid’s unwavering eye-contact. It seemed like he was expecting the scolding to start any second now. Tough, for none was coming.

“Drink.”

A tentative sip, eye-contact unbroken, before, ”Why didn’t you panic?”

“I remember it differently. I very well remember panicking. You got shot and fled the scene.”

“It’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. You’re a responsible adult, despite the fact that I like to call you ‘kid’ half the time. A few shallow cuts that you have all the control over are significantly less panic-inducing than a bullet that was meant to kill you but still managed to hit you.

Malcolm rolled the glass between his hands for a minute. “Mom used to panic.”

“I bet she did,” Gil said with a rueful chuckle. Jessica had had the unenviable position of raising a very struggling teen. It had taken her years to get accustomed to rolling with the blows. He shook himself out of the memories. “I was more concerned about the fact that you were struggling that much. And that you didn’t have a healthier outlet.”

“Gil…”

“I’m not blaming you. I just wish that you’d reached out.”

“This case. It was dragging you, all of you, down enough. You didn’t need to worry about me on top of everything else. I’d stopped doing this for almost a decade but I guess my stress has been building up for some time. Don’t really remember making the decision to grab the… uhm… I just, maybe… sort of lost myself for a minute, dissociated probably. I remember coming out of it relieved. Horrified that I failed my clean streak, but relieved. So I did it again and again.”

“Why run?” And this was the pinnacle of the situation.

“Because the medics would’ve seen. And at the hospital. I didn’t want it added to some report in my file or worse,” his hands waved, his demeanor became so animated, even some of the liquid sloshed out of the glass, “that I would get a psych eval or whatever. And I don’t have a great track record with medical personnel respecting my demands, and I could've panicked and they could’ve sedated me and I hate hospitals for a reason, Gil! Multiple reasons. And, to be completely honest with you, some of these reasonings are pure paranoia. I can recognize it but I can't help it, I just… ran to take care of myself, myself.” He didn’t stop to take a breath it seemed, his tirade a steam train, blowing out at full speed. Gil absorbed all of it. He let it percolate in his mind as the kid caught his breath and gulped down the last of the glass’ contents. He stared out the window for a minute, composed himself, before continuing, “but I’m glad you came.”

“...I’ll always come, Bright.”

Gil took the empty glass from Malcolm’s too-cold hands. The kid still looked too pale for comfort. Exhaustion was finally winning out so Gil prompted him to slide down the bed.

“Next time you’re stressed, we can hit the gym. I need an excuse and a motivation to put in more exercise.”

“You getting old, Lieutenant Arroyo?” Malcolm teased with a sly half-smile.

Gil chuckled and lightly slapped him on the top of his head, before ruffling his hair.

“Never too old to knock you on your ass on the gym’s mat, kid.”

Gil knew it wasn’t true but the laugh he drew from Malcolm was his win for the night.

#prodigal son #malcolm bright #gil arroyo #whump #whump fic #bad things happen bingo #bthb #i forgot how to tag on tumblr im very rusty #my writing #fanfiction

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cinisemperium · 1 year

Text

@shootstyled liked ☽ for a starter @quirkbeat

She tapped the syringe in her hand against the brick wall as she watched.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He was gorgeous, he always was. She loved watching him go about his daily routine which was actually about as far from a set routine as you could get, but that's what made it fun. It was always a surprise, and he never slowed down. Her favourite hobby was disguising herself as a citizen and 'getting in trouble' when he was nearby so he would save her. It was the only way he would talk to her without trying to kill her.

Okay, maybe he wasn't literally trying to kill her, but she was up to twelve 'rescues' so far, and he had never failed her. Of course he hadn't, how could he? He was probably as close to a 'true' hero as any pro could claim.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small vial, the blood of a woman she had met on the subway. It had been so easy to get her plasma, just a small bump against someone in the crowd and they rarely ever even notice the pinch when she drains them. Not her preferred method, but it was the easiest. She pops the top and drains the vial. Her flesh melts away, replaced quickly by Subway Woman's skin. She shudders once the transformation is done, wishing it was someone else's skin wrapped around her own.

She checked her watch before stepping out from the alley and onto the sidewalk. The bombs she had planted in the grocer across the street would go off in five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

#( toga || aim pull the trigger feel the pain getting bigger. go insane from the bitter feeling. trippin' super psycho love )#shootstyled #quirkbeat #\\ hope this is okay!

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wolferine · 3 years

Text

Heart Eyes

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Set after my “Heart Skips a Beat” story, Natasha visits the reader after surgery.

Warnings: Mentions of violence

Word count: 1261

Tags: @yeetus-thyself

AN: This is a one-shot stand alone and you do not have to read the previous story to understand this one! But you can if you want. :)

You’re the only one who needs surgery after the mission due to the extensive damage to your leg, so while the others return to their rooms to shower and change, Natasha stays by your side in the medical bay while the doctors make their preparations.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting kind of tired of this,” you say. It would be your second surgery in the span of less than ten days, a record even by Avengers’ standards.

“It’s all part of the job, right?” She smiles and holds your hand.

“I haven’t seen you on a hospital bed yet,” you tease, although that’s something you never want to see.

“Well, I know what I’m doing,” she says, laughing at your frown. “Besides, you know I couldn’t pull off one of these gowns like you do.” She reaches out and crinkles the sleeve of your unflattering paper gown between her fingers.

“I think I look a lot better without it,” you say with a wink.

“Can’t argue with that.” Natasha leans over and kisses you.

A nurse in blue scrubs come into the room with a massive syringe. “We’re all ready for you, Y/N,” he says.

“Please tell me you’re not sticking that in my butt,” you say, eyeing the obscenely long needle on the end.

“It’s supposed to go in your arm, but if you’d rather it go elsewhere…”

“No, no, my arm is fine.”

“Try not to give the doctors a hard time, okay? I’ll be right here when you’re done.” Natasha stands and puts her hand on your shoulder. The nurse comes to your other side and you offer him your arm. He pokes the needle through your skin and injects you with a double dose of anesthesia.

You feel the effects instantly. Your eyelids feel like they’re attached to sandbags and your anxious breathing steadies. You don’t even feel Natasha’s kiss to your forehead, your head rolling back on the pillows as the nurse wheels you out of the room.

***********************************************************************

After the surgery, the doctors return you to your hospital room to let you wake up naturally from the anesthesia. Unfortunately, the super soldier serum made it difficult for them to calculate an accurate dosage to keep you asleep during the surgery, so they pumped you with anesthesia until you were smelling colors.

Your entire right leg is wrapped in a cast and elevated in a sling. You’re still completely knocked out when Natasha comes back, cleaned up and changed out of her uniform.

“The surgery went very well,” the nurse tells Natasha. “It will be a while until the anesthesia fully wears off, so Y/N will probably be loopy in the beginning, but it’ll pass. You know how it goes.”

“I do,” Natasha says, although she is a little uncomfortable that you’re caught up in the medical bay so frequently and wishes you weren’t such a magnet for trouble.

“Give me a call if you need anything, okay?” the nurse says.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He leaves to give you two some privacy.

Natasha pulls up a chair to wait in until you wake. She picks a magazine from your bedside table and opens it up.

About ten minutes later, your eyes flutter open and you gauge your surroundings blearily, having no idea where you are. The first thing you see is the gorgeous redhead with stunning green eyes sitting by your side, flipping through a magazine. Her hair is tied in a loose braid that rests across her left shoulder. She wears a gray short-sleeve shirt that fits her form nicely and a pair of jeans.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she says. How she noticed you ogling at her without even looking at you blows your mind.

“Who…Who are you?” You tongue feels fat and floppy in your mouth.

Natasha grins when she realizes you’re so out of it you don’t even recognize her. She is tempted to record your reaction, but remembers she left her phone upstairs in your room. She puts the magazine down. “I’m Natasha,” she says, reaching for the water cup on your bedside and holding the straw to your lips.

“That’s a…pretty name,” you say, trying to direct the straw into your mouth and failing miserably. Natasha struggles to hold back a laugh but waits patiently for you to catch the straw and take a sip. “I’m…Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. How are you feeling?” she asks, setting the cup back on the table.

“I don’t…really feel anything,” you admit.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Not really…”

“Someone broke your leg, so the doctors had to do surgery to make sure everything was set properly,” Natasha explains.

“Well, that was nice of them,” you slur. “Not the idiot who broke my leg, though.”

“He was taken care of,” she says.

“Good, good.” You close your eyes, already exhausted from the simple conversation. “Well, in case I fall back asleep again…I just wanted to say you that you are the most beautiful human being I have ever seen in my life. And I’ve seen…a lot of people.”

Natasha blushes scarlet and she laughs. “Aw, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say. “Your parents should be…very proud.”

“I’d like to think they are,” Natasha says.

“Are you dating anyone?” you ask, opening your eyes again.

“I am.” She smiles.

“Aw.” You sigh. “The hot ones are always taken.”

“You’re not too bad-looking yourself,” she comments.

“If you think I look good like this…” You look down at yourself, wondering where in the world your clothes went and why you’re wearing the equivalent of an artist’s smock, “…you should see me on a good day.”

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that.” Natasha’s eyes shine with amusement.

“I don’t know if your partner would like that very much,” you say.

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” she trails off, fighting a laugh.

You can’t help yourself and reach out to touch her face, completely taken by her jawline that looks like it was sculpted by angels. Her skin is soft and flawless, and she lets you trace your thumb over the contour of her cheek. “You’re so pretty,” you whisper, in awe that someone could look so perfect. “I hope your partner takes good care of you.”

Natasha leans into your hand. “Very much,” she says.

“What do they do for a living?” you ask.

“What I do,” Natasha says.

“And what do you do?”

“I’m an Avenger.”

You try to whistle, but your lips are too numb and you end up spitting all over yourself. “Okay, that’s pretty hard to top,” you say, trying to wipe drool off your chin.

“I wouldn’t stress about it.”

You notice that she hasn’t stopped smiling at you. “Well, if you ever get bored and want to come hang out with me, I think I can show you a good time,” you offer. “We would definitely make a cute couple.”

“I don’t know about that, Y/N,” Natasha says, to your disappointment. Maybe you came on too strongly. “You might make your girlfriend jealous.”

“Girlfriend? I have a girlfriend?” This is news to you. And now you feel guilty, trying to flirt with Natasha when you’re already committed to someone else.

“Yeah.” Natasha takes your hand into hers. “It’s me, you idiot.”

Your jaw drops as you try to process this. “I’m…an Avenger?”

“Mhmm.”

“And I’m dating you?”

“Yep.” She nods.

“Wow.” You grin. “Well, someone’s winning at life.”

“That makes two of us.” Natasha finally kisses you and you melt against her.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Ah, these two are so cute. Here is my taglist for future stories if you’re interested. I’ve got some good stuff coming, so hopefully you’ll stick around for those. Story fun fact time:

-This piece was inspired by a viral video of a woman flirting with her nurse while on anesthesia. -Natasha “blushes scarlet” at one point in this story, which is obviously a reference to—okay, do I really need to say it?

Until next time!

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff fanfic #marvel imagine

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mochamamii · 3 years

Text

yandere!nct: his muse.

▹ a/n : hello there loves, hope you’re doing well. sorry if this very bad, I wrote it in like thirty minutes.

▹ triggers : yandere!au, stockholm syndrome?, kidnapping, renjun is cray cray.

▹ pairing : huang renjun x reader

▹ synopsis : yandere!renjun is a artist and you’re his latest muse.

••

“If you don’t quit wiggling around like that you’re going to rub your wrists raw.”

Renjun sighed as he watched you struggle against your restraints, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And then you’ll get your blood all over the ribbons...Settle down before I have to sedate you again.” Renjun threatened as he climbed on the bed to grab your wrists in one hand and cup your cheek with the other.

You immediately halted your movements, absolutely terrified by the thought of him poking you with another syringe again.

Renjun smiled down at you, using his thumb to gently brush away a tear that started to roll down your cheek.

It all made you feel so nauseous.

You hated how he confused your mind this way. One minute he was threatening you and the very next he was comforting you, looking down at you with gentle loving eyes. It made you sick to your stomach, the urge to vomit creeping up the back of your throat.

You also knew it mostly had to do with the rancid smell of paint that seemed to be permanently embedded in your brain. The smell was everywhere. It clung to your clothes, hair, even the sheets on the bed, you constantly were finding smudges of paint all over your skin.

And it especially seemed to stay splattered nearly all over Renjun’s hands and fingers, painting them with irregular dots of color. The smell filled your nostrils, giving you a migraine in the process whenever he touched you.

You had never been more repulsed by paint in your whole entire life.

You could even feel the dried up paint still left behind on his thumb as he brushed away your tears.

Renjun had been particularly mean and short with you lately, you remember him mumbling something about being stressed over his next upcoming gallery. You happened to be the one he always seemed to take his stress out on, his personal punching bag.

Not literally, he always promised that he’d never physically harm you.

You were his muse after all and he could never damage something so precious to him.

It made you feel horrible inside, horrible and disgusted with yourself. You hated when Renjun was mean to you because you couldn’t help but nearly melt into his touch during the few small windows of time in which he was sweet to you again.

Like now, Renjun was the reason you were bound on his bed with ribbons of silk as he painted your quivering figure. He was the reason you were in this predicament and yet he was also trying to comfort you and make you feel better. He had so much power over your emotions. He could make you feel low and worthless when he wanted to, and he could also make you feel beautiful and special, someone worthy of being his muse.

The inspiration for all of his recent paintings.

“That’s a good girl. Keep staying still like that.” Renjun said once your tears had stopped and your breathing had steadied, he leant down to peck your lips once before shuffling off the bed to return back to his canvas.

You stared off into space, only glancing over at him every now and then when you grew tired of staring at the same spot.

Renjun’s hands worked quickly, moving along the canvas with a paintbrush in his left hand, a messy palette of paint in his right.

You hated when it got too quiet like this. You didn’t have anything to distract yourself with, leaving your mind to race with all kinds of different thoughts.

Usually, you thought about how long Renjun would be able to keep this up. He had painted you over and over, probably exceeding more than a few hundred times at least. Surely, he’d get tired of painting the same thing over and over again right?

You were always too afraid to ask him for fear of him lashing out at you but you weren’t blind and you took notice of some of his older paintings that he kept stored towards the corner of his art studio. Those paintings were clearly of another person, his former muse perhaps?

What would become of you once you no longer fueled his drive to paint?

What would happen once he grew tired of painting you over and over, and you were no longer his muse?

#yandere kpop #nct yandere reactions #yandere nct dream #nct dream blurb #nct drabbles #nct drabble #yandere renjun #huang renjun #nct x reader

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saabbi · 3 years

Text

Regret part 7

Warmth in the freezing snow

Genshin Impact Adeptus!reader au

warnings: light angst?, mentions of drugging and syringes, probably messy, crappy quality

words: ~2.8k

Notes: series is resuming after the hiatus. I had a hard time writing this chapter (because I suck at writing) so I really hope this chapter didn't turn out to be too messy and confusing. ao3 series link

[previous] [next]

Stepping out the ship, you’re immediately greeted by the harsh and nostalgic icy cold breeze. Pure white snowflakes that dance around your vision and the pile of soft snow beneath your feet tells you that you’re back in Snezhnaya.

You asked a subordinate to help you deliver the lantern you had bought for Teucer and obediently followed another Fatui member, who guided you to the chamber where the Tsarista is patiently waiting for your arrival.

“Your highness, I have returned.” You kneeled down on one knee, head lowering to pay your respects. The Tsarista’s ice cold gaze pierces you, making you anxious on why she summoned you.

“My loyal subject.” a voice so calm and quiet, barely to be heard, yet crystal clear and reverberates around the shallow and empty hall, sending a chill down your spine. You look up upon her call, acknowledging that she remains ever so strikingly breath-taking, as resplendent as the most exquisite flower, as elegant as Snezhnaya’s never-melting snow.

“Dottore has found a way to further enhance the capabilities of Fatui, and your aid is needed to achieve it.” She walks closer to you with each step, stopping just before your kneeled figure.

“To achieve it, your aid is necessary. I trust that you will provide all the help Dottore needs dutifully, yes?” A simple question, but her tone indicates that she does not accept rejection as an answer.

“Yes, of course.” The Tsarista seems delighted at your answer, resting her chilly hand on your cheeks and lightly caressing it with her thumb. The subtle intimate gesture however, was nothing resembling that of affection. The Tsarista’s sharp gaze remains fixated on you, yet it doesn’t feel like she’s properly looking at you at all. Her gaze has always been like that, as if she’s looking for something deeper in your soul, but not your existence.

“Dottore, come in. The final mission of our primeval harbinger shall now be performed.” The coldness on your cheeks is replaced by the sudden gushes of wind, the words leaving the Tsarista’s mouth leaving you off guard as you abruptly shot your head up.

“...Your highness? What does that-” Cut off by a harsh slam of the door, you turn to the entrance only to reveal a masked man with curly blue locks- Dottore. The condescending smirk spreading on his face as he meets your wary eyes sets off alarms in your head, screaming that this man is up to no good.

Your hand immediately reaches towards the hilt of your sword resting on your hips, ready to draw it out if he makes any suspicious movements. Furrowing your eyebrows and eyeing Dottore’s every move, unsure of what he would do.

“Relax, relax. This is all under the Tsarista’s orders, doesn’t do too much harm...I guess?” Dottore, now casually twirling a syringe filled with a dangerous-looking fluid, puts his hands up in the air in a placating manner, but his halfhearted response only makes you glare at him cautiously.

“I will have to question you on what you’re about to do, Dottore.” It’s all under the Tsarista’s orders, and you thought it would just be something about training new Fatui recruits, but Dottore’s behaviour insinuates that there is much more than that, and seems like the syringe is to be used on you.

“Oh this? Haha! I’m not quite sure, maybe knock you out for a bit? Y’know, draw out your adeptal powers to the maximum potential, I weaponise it, and voila! Fatui gets a new upgrade! Wonderful plan right?”

Dottore sure made it sound like no big deal, but you know that’s not all the catch. Because if it’s about your adeptal powers, then surely, the Tsarista’s intention is to-

“You’d better not do any stupid movements with your sword, yeah? It would be bad if you were to go against her highness’ orders, after all, you are her most loyal subordinate. Unless… you plan to commit treachery?” Dottore leered as your grip on the sword tightens, conflicted on what to do.

Reluctantly, you peered over to the Tsarista, who has not said a word at the impasse and tense situation between you and Dottore, silently watching everything unfold before her. The Tsarista’s glacial smile never fades as she meets your gaze, not giving you a definite response, but perhaps acknowledging Dottore’s words.

“That’s… not all there is to this, is it?” Despite your loyalty to the Tsarista, this question must be raised for your own sake. Adeptal energy has always been a rather sensitive subject to both you and the Tsarista, with you knowing that she has always wanted to utilise your mysterious powers to help her achieve her goals.

“Quite the sharp one huh? Well I suppose there’s no use beating around the bush, I’ll do you the favour in telling you this- Your adeptal energy is to be drained completely for us to use, ahahaha!” A fit of manical laughter jolted through him, his atrocious appearance matching his abhorrent personality.

“And that would leave me...vulnerable and powerless?” The appalling smirk that makes you want to throw up, the messed up plan that makes you want to run away from the Tsarista’s chambers.

“B i n g o! You neither have a vision nor delusion, so without those powers, you’re pretty much useless.” Dottore approaches you, barely stopping in front of you. Lowering his voice, he mumbled into your ears, “and you’ll be thrown away by the Tsarista, officially being useless to her. I’m sure you know by now, that all her highness cares about is that adeptal energy of yours, and not you yourself?” even at such a low volume, his mockery towards you can clearly be heard.

Of course you knew, that all the Tsarista’s interested in is your mysterious powers. It doesn’t take a detective to figure out her intentions in bringing you to her nation. Even after millennia of you serving her with your utmost loyalty, all she has taken interest in is your powers.

The cold Tsarista that requested you like an object from Morax as a trade of peace, and never paid you much attention. The Tsarista who only shows you some form of affection and addresses your name when she needs you to carry out her plans. To her, it was obvious that you are a mere chess piece, for her to attain her grand goals.

Despite knowing this, you still turned your head once more towards the Tsarista, locking gazes with her, searching for something that even you yourself wasn’t sure what you’re looking for in her eyes, but to no avail, the same empty eyes with no any sort of emotion returning your disappointment. That is how little you meant to her.

It has always been, a foolish hope of yours, to believe that one day, if you stay by her side long enough, you would become a figure that holds much more place in her heart. But that has never been the case, her icy heart never had space for you, locking you out. She has enough love for all the other harbingers, all except you.

The best course of action right now, is to draw out your blade and resist against the Tsarista. You have to defend yourself, you have to get out alive and well, because you promised Zhongli, Xiao, and Ganyu to return. You have to unsheathe your sword right this instant.

But your hands remain frozen, disobeying your commands and desperate internal cries. It should be simple, to protect yourself against those who could not care less about your existence and never acknowledging you, and flee to Liyue. So why can’t you bring yourself to do so?

Because it would mean that you’re defying the person whom your loyalty is dedicated to, denying the Tsarista’s ambitions.

The same Tsarista who ripped you apart from your family, but also the one who gave you a new identity, and a new place to call home, giving you a reason to live on by serving her.

And you who watched over her carefully throughout your lifetime; when she became obsessed with the idea of bringing down celestia, to the point where delusions are invented just for the sole purpose of resisting against the sacred land where gods are rumoured to reside.

You never found out the reason behind her obstinacy in bringing down celestia, but you stayed beside her long enough to witness her desire for power and authority to continue to expand into a bottomless abyss, and the times when she struggled.

Times when her immature plans backfired, times she felt livid and Snezhnaya would be in raging blizzards for weeks, times when she doubted her own decisions. You were always there, by her side and ready to jump into action whenever she needed you to.

Through trial and error, she learned to develop well thought-out plans after calculations and taking precautionary measures, and recruited talented individuals. The harder she falls, the higher she bounces. She was undeniably a dazzling existence to you.

The Tsarista is a blinding lone star that continues to glisten even if other stars have faded, showing its resistance towards the devouring night sky. Someone so cruel and brutal, yet ever so resplendent, that you couldn’t peel your eyes off her.

A star that defies the night sky.

And you, who only knew how to live under orders and pretty much lived a tedious life besides carrying out Fatui duties, are dull and have long succumbed to darkness.

So how could you deny her? The one who never faltered, the flames of ambition that refuses to die out no matter what? You couldn’t bring yourself to betray her even at this very moment, because you have watched over her for far too long.

“This turned out to be rather...disappointing.” Seeing you loosening your grip on the sword and putting down your defenses, Dottore scoffs.

You take a sharp inhale, making up your mind. Regretfully, your decision is to stay loyal to the Tsarista and faithfully do as she wishes up until the very end. A very foolish decision even you are aware of, and one that makes your heart scream in agony knowing that you’re once again being thrown away. Even so, this is the path you have chosen.

Drained, you felt. It felt as if your powers erupted all at once, and got sucked dry by a vacuum cleaner and left to die on the road. Your role as the twelfth harbinger has been dismissed, now just an identity-less wanderer. The Tsarista truly is a cruel person, you thought, to just throw you out and let you crawl away all by your own whilst surrounded by nothing but coldness and snow, knowing that you right now are incredibly weak and vulnerable. She didn’t even have someone to escort you to a shelter, simply took away your harbinger identification with the usual eerie smile.

But archons do you feel horrible, dizzy and nauseous, on the verge of passing out. Now that you’ve lost your place, where would you go? Tired, cold and nowhere to go, you lean on a nearby bark to grab a hold of yourself, trying figure out what to do from now on.

Slumping down and shutting your eyes, you are forced to face your own emotions that you have repressed in the Tsarista’s chambers. Your heart aches so much, the strong pulsations being the only thing resounding in your ears, it hurts more than how your body is right now.

What a pathetic destiny you face, to be thrown away whom you trusted and served twice in your lifetime. It hurts so much, your heart continuously screams to you, not forgiving the way you hurt it so severely. So pathetic, you are so pathetic, you thought.

Even after millennia, you still never found a place you truly belonged to, your miserable and pathetic self was not accepted anywhere. You know very well the Tsarista has always been using you, yet facing the harsh reality is not as easy as you thought.

Wouldn’t it be better if the abyss consumed you? To be embraced by darkness and vanish, not having to face pointless emotions and drama? If only your eyes never opened back from the first time you dirtied your own hands, and instead swallow by the cold and hungry arms of demise- if you only died back then, would you still have to face such circumstances?

“...Hey, comrade.” a light whisper of a familiar voice enters your ears, dragging you back from your thoughts. You looked up at the one who called for you, only to find your vision blurry and cheeks feeling wet and cold. You didn’t even realise droplets of tears had trickled down your cheeks, you are even surprised that you’re capable of crying, you hadn’t shed a tear, let alone cry out loud for so long that you had forgotten how it felt.

Childe crawls closer, slowly wrapping you into a warm hug and gently strokes you on the head like how he has treats his siblings. You feel embarrassed to be comforted by someone much younger than you and being treated like a child, but returned the hug nonetheless. Not knowing how much you needed a hug, you find his embrace to be pleasant and safe.

“There’s a ship heading to Liyue, so let’s get you home to where it’s warm and safe, yeah?” Home, Childe said, you wanted to retort, but somehow ‘home’ and ‘Liyue’ just sounded right. Is it okay if you return there? To seek asylum?

“Come on comrade, it’d be devastating if you missed the ride!” slumping your weak arms over his shoulders and a hand on your waist to support you, lifting you onto your feet to lead you to the harbour.

“I-I’m sorry for what happened, and that I...I couldn’t help you. If I had known what Dottore was scheming, I would have talked to the Tsarista and convince her not to adopt such a brutal method.” His cheery voice is replaced by one with remorse, avoiding your eyes.

“I didn’t know Dottore came up with such an outrageous method, the Tsarista didn’t inform us of her plan! I- I should’ve known Dottore was up to no good! I could’ve done something-” Getting agitated, his speech hastens and stumbles over his own words.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, you know it’s not your fault.” You cut him off, giving him a soft slap on the back. “The Tsarista had such plans a long time ago, she just...never found the right methods until today, I guess.”

Somehow, it only made Childe feel even worse, guilt and sympathy all shown on his face.

“Come on, where’s your usual jolly self? A gloomy expression doesn't suit you at all. Teucer and Tonia will be worried for their #1 toymaker of Snezhnaya.” you mustered a feeble smile, assuring him that you’re fine.

“Well, never thought I’d hear you crack a joke after all these years…” Childe’s lips curve into a relieved and playful smile. Although, you have to admit, it does makes you feel better knowing that he’s worried for you.

“This is the Crux, you might’ve seen their crew around Liyue before. I spoke with the captain, and it’s a huge relief that she accepted our request!” You and Childe stumbled into the guest room that is kindly lent to you, with Childe immediately helping you get on the bed and wrapping you in blankets.

“You had a not-so-pleasant eventful day, it’s best if you warm up and rest now. I can’t go back with you, but I’ve contacted Zhongli, he should be there to pick you up when you arrive.” with a soft tone, Childe picks up your hand and gently strokes your palms, taking a note of your pale complexion, you remind him of his siblings when they were sick. He turns to leave you alone, about to close the door.

“Hey, Childe?” He abruptly stops and turns back to you with a concerned look, worried if you’re still feeling unwell and perhaps he could help.

“Thank you.” but only two simple words came out of your mouth. So simple and short, but more than enough to convey the gratitude and respect you held for him.

Childe breaks into a beaming smile, “Of course! We’re friends after all, right comrade? I think I’m even your best friend!” to which you chuckled. Yeah, you suppose he isn’t wrong on that.

Just before he closes the door completely, he halts and opens his mouth, “Teucer adored your gift, he and Tonia wanted to prepare something in return… I’ll bring it to you next time, yeah? And perhaps drink tea too at Zhongli’s?”

“Yes, I shall look forward to dear Teucer and Tonia’s gift then, it’s a promise.” You feel your consciousness slip away, closing your eyes and replying to Childe with a light smile on your face.

“It’s a promise!” He enthusiastically replied, only to realise he should tone it down to let you sleep in peace. “Sweet dreams, comrade.” Just before passing out on your bed, you hear Childe’s almost inaudible reply and a click on the door shutting close.

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#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli #zhongli x reader #ganyu #ganyu x reader #xiao #xiao x reader #genshin impact ganyu #genshin impact xiao #genshin #genshin x you #adeptus reader

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Note

Hiii! For the Bad Things Happen bingo, may I request Branding with a side serving of ✨ fierce agnst✨? I totally understand if not! Thank you🌸

I can do that I think. I think I understand the definition of angst. I think. Well I hope I did the ask justice 😂.

Tyrannical Current

@badthingshappenbingo

Warnings: mind control, branding, feeling betrayed, a bit of low self esteem, forced drugging, panic attack, angst (supposed to be), restrained, pet names, needles, creepy whumper

"No, no, no, stop please," Hero begged as she thrashed against her restraints. "Supervillain, stop!"

Supervillain grinned, walking up to the hero like he owned the world. "Why would I stop when I have only just begun?" He asked, tracing a finger over Hero's cheek. She ducked away, fuming.

"Don't touch me!" She growled.

But Supervillain put his hand back on top of Hero's ginger hair. "Sweetie, don't worry. When you wake up you will be absolutely mortified."

He grabbed her head. Hero froze, awaiting the darkness about to come.

But instead of black, her world turned red and all thoughts drifted away.

《~~》

Villain scurried throughout the bathroom, lathering deodorant on and spraying cologne all over his body. He ran his hand through hair, admiring the good looks about it, and brushed his teeth for two minutes, mouthwashed, then grabbed a packet of breathstrips. He pulled a shirt over himself, a gray t-shirt, nothing too fancy because the date was casual at the local pizza diner. He shrugged his leather jacket on, smoothing that out, checked his smile and headed towards the door to slip on his newly polished black boots.

Perfection.

Any minute now, Villain looked at his watch, thinking about having second thoughts. But before he had a moment to even consider canceling, the door rang.

Villain smiled and grabbed the bouquet of red and white flowers from the base, mentally prepared himself, and opened the door.

Only for something cold to slip beneath his skin, and for the world to melt away.

Villain woke up with a gasp, head pounding. The world around him blurred before it cleared, revealing the gray walls of his bedroom.

He was on his bed, still in his date clothes. Vaguely, he recalled passing out in the middle of the door, just vaguely as if the memory was from years in the past.

"Glad you're awake."

Villain shot bolt up, hands supporting him as he looked around for the source of the voice.

Then, she stepped through the shadows.

Clothed in the most gorgeous green dress, following the curves of her muscles, and topped with a half-up, half-down of braided red mane, Hero stepped into Villain's field of vision. Villain was stunned. This woman, this beautiful, breathtaking woman, was going to be his date.

"What happened?" Villain asked, rubbing his head as if that would get the dizziness out.

The woman tutted, smirking her painted red lips, and stepping into the blinding light.

Now Villain could see her face.

His date, Hero, had a very pale complexion and the white light made it even lighter. She reached down and plucked out a syringe from her boots.

Oh. Oh.

"You drugged me?" Villain asked, more astounded than angry, but he felt so utterly betrayed nonetheless.

Hero cocked her head, smiling down at the man lounging on his bed against his will. Villain's heart sunk as his thoughts filled with one word: why?

"Just getting the job done sweetheart," Hero said lazily, sauntering over. She pulled up the bedsheets to reveal a long, metal stick with the shape of a circle on its end. This was planned, Villain realized. She never meant it.

She never meant it when she agreed to go on the date. How could Villain be so stupid? She probably just wanted the opportunity to make a scene about his capture, mentally wound him. It wouldn't be all heartbreaking if she imprisoned him during a fight, wound it?

"Are you curious about this?" Hero asked, tossing the rod in the air and catching it nimbly.

Villain shook his head. He didn't care what it was. No stun gun or club could ever be the equivalent to the pain of a betrayed and broken heart.

Hero grinned and waved her hand over it. Her eyes lit orange, then dimmed back to their greenish gray hue, as the circle of the rod started to light on fire. Then it sunk into the metal, making a perfectly hot iron.

Villain watched it, knowing exactly what was going to happen. Hero wanted some fun before he would be locked away for life.

Why did he ever think that someone would love him? Why did he ever think that someone like Hero would love him?

He was naïve.

Hero approached with the iron and without warning, she charged it into his stomach.

He screamed, feeling his shirt lit on fire and melt away. Pain illuminated his torso with evil intentions, causing him to fall back into the mattress.

Then she brought the into to his neck, right below his jaw. Another scream, more pain. She did this to almost every part of his body, ripping off his boots and burning his soles. She grabbed each of his hand, burning them, branding them, until his skin waxed away, leaving tender flesh behind.

"Stop," he pleaded the whole time, kicking out by instinct. "Stop! Stop!" He started to cry, but Hero just smirked and laid the iron over his eye.

And boy did he scream.

He screamed until his throat was raw, and even after that. Fists pounded the mattress, body tried to roll over, but Hero just used the rod to burn him and he reflexively rolled back.

He could smell the burning skin, feel it, and even see it. Red welts, some deep to the bone, started to form, blistering painfully.

"Okay, that's enough my pet," another voice spoke. Masculine and also horrifyingly familiar.

Villain cracked open his one good eye and stared at the new person in front of him. He was tall, much taller than Hero, with thick black hair and bushy eyebrows. Brown eyes.

He was Supervillain.

Supervillain wrapped an arm around Hero's waist. She leaned into him, resting her body against his chest.

Supervillain brought his hand to her head and suddenly jabbed it. Hero seized up and fell forward, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Supervillain and Villain waited for a few, long seconds before Hero peeled herself from the bed and looked up at Villain.

"Oh my gosh!" She screamed, standing up and running towards him. But she stopped a foot before him and tentatively extended a hand.

Villain flinched, whimpering. That hand, poisoned with disloyalty, pain, and distress. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his usable fingers. Adrenaline kept him from feeling the full go of his pain, he knew, and kept him awake. He could feel it, rushing through his ears.

"Villain? I am so, so sorry," Hero pulled her hand back, clasping it into her other. "I had no control. I-i-"

Villain grimaced as a wave of agony coursed through him, interrupting Hero's apology.

"Hmm," Supervillain spoke again. "Don't even try dear, you scared him for life. And scarred him too. But go ahead, try. See you later." Then he left, walking leisurely out the room and through the frontdoor.

"Villain?" Hero pleaded. "Oh please look at me. I am so sorry. He-he mind controlled me; I couldn't help it."

Villain felt his breaths speed up. No, she wasn't sorry. She betrayed him. She hurt him. Don't trust her. Don't trust her...

Villain shuddered as he tried to breathe, panic gripping every part of his being.

If only he knew how utterly horrible Hero felt, for hurting him and being unable to calm him down as he started to hyperventilate.

#bad things happen bingo #villain whumpee #hero whumper #hero whumpee #supervillain whumpee #heros and villains #branding #tw drugging #forced drugging #drugged villain #betrayal #heartbroken villain #hero x villain #mind control

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barnesandco · 3 years

Text

Little Hands (II)

Series Masterlist

You, Bucky, and Anastasia pay Bruce Banner a visit.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 1836. Square filled: “You don’t wanna know.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: More Sad Child. Needles, fear of. So much overthinking.

A/N: Gosh, I’m so glad I got this chapter edited in time. I hope you like it and I’m sorry for skipping out on y’all last week! To make up for it, there’ll be two updates this weekend, so look out for the next chapter tomorrow! Lmk what you thinkkkk

The Avengers Compound is every bit as spectacular as you could have possibly hoped, and yet you’re unable to fully appreciate it because of the sheer absurdity of the situation. Your hand is in the vice-tight grip of the supposed daughter of your neighbor, who happens to be an Avenger.

Said neighbor is pacing back and forth in front of you as you sit in Bruce Banner’s laboratory, with Anastasia beside you while you wait for Bruce to arrive. Ana is remarkably calm, her young features – the round cheeks, still-wet eyes – made mature by her abnormal silence. Something about her makes you think she’s used to this kind of tension. Something about her screams war-child. Perhaps this grip she has on you is the first demand she has made in a long time, the only tantrum she has ever been allowed to throw.

While you aren’t particularly experienced with children, you think you want her to feel safe with you, because it seems she hasn’t been elsewhere. Ana’s eyes flit around the room in the only behavioral indication of her youth – a childlike curiosity, shining in the face of this fancy, new place that gleams like a toy store. Every now and then, her gaze jumps back from the alien appearance of the lab to her father (?) who seems intent on wearing a hole in the tiles with his pacing.

It is beginning to wear on you: both Bucky’s pacing and Ana’s steadily increasing anxiety. He hasn’t said a word to her since he opened the envelope, only asked that you accompany him to the Compound seeing as Ana won’t go alone with him (You would have gone with him even if that hadn’t been so. Though the nature of your relationship is ambiguous at times, the strength of your friendship is not. You’ll figure this out. You won’t leave him alone). Clearly, there is some unspoken memory that has him convinced the claim in the letter is plausible. Neither of you would be here if it wasn’t.

Bucky doesn’t talk too much about his past. He has offered a few of the shattered shards of his past reflection to you in the few night-caped moments you have hammered on his door upon hearing shouts across the hall. Between that, and what you know thanks to Black Widow’s file dump, the big Avengers’ in-fight in Europe last summer, the consequent resolution to the Accords, and Bucky’s publicized pardon, you can guess at the traumas that lurk in the depths of him.

They’re traumas that are closer to the surface of his eyes now, pulled forth by this new life, this little soul that has no business with such dark things, and the implication that this holds. Ana, innocent as she may be, is an insinuation of what else might have been unwillingly torn from Bucky.

You don’t want to think about it, because it hurts to do so, because you care for him, in many, many ways. It seems that Anastasia is also starting to tire of it. With every step Bucky takes, her hand tightens on yours. Fortunately, soon, the door to your left opens, and Bruce Banner enters his lab.

He's appropriately disheveled for this hour in the morning. Under his pristine lab coat, one of his shirt buttons is done into the wrong buttonhole, but his eyes are alert, frantic even, though you get the feeling that this is a man always on the edge of escape.

Bucky lets out a breath he seems to have been holding at the same time as his shoulders tense. “Thanks for coming so early, Doctor Banner. I wouldn’t have called if—”

“You never call, so I know it must have been important. But it looks like I’ve kept you waiting anyways,” Banner says, his eyes widening as they move from Bucky, to you, to the little girl at your side. “What’s the matter? You know I’m not a medical doctor, right?” He asks, putting a work bench between himself and his visitors.

Bucky clears his throat, and doesn’t quite know how to say what he needs to. After a few more seconds of hesitation, in which Banner waits patiently, Bucky extracts the envelope containing the fateful letter from his pocket, and hands it over.

The furrows in Doctor Banner’s brow multiply spontaneously, and when he looks up, Bucky gestures with a subtle nod of his head to Ana. He has yet to explain your presence, but you think Doctor Banner is a smart man. It won’t take more than Anastasia’s tight hold on you for him to put two and two together. Sometimes, a scared child is just that, no matter how unusual.

Most of their ensuing conversation is held at a lowered volume, set by Bucky, probably out of courtesy for Ana. You can hear snatches and phrases, most of them confirmations of things you had expected and some, not so much. Lobby security cam footage… fingerprints… paternity test… serum… blood sample…

By the end of it, some facsimile of a plan seems to have evolved between the two men, because Doctor Banner turns away with a smile and you, taking it as a welcome, stand and approach him. He rounds his desk and shakes your hand, exchange introductions though he hardly needs one, and then, he crouches, the way Bucky had, and offers Ana his hand.

“Hi, I’m Bruce.”

“Ana.”

Bucky steps forward. “Anastasia—” the name is clumsy on his tongue, because he’s scared. You can see it, and you hope he knows you are, too, but you’ll stand with him regardless, “—Bruce is going to check that you aren’t sick.”

“I’m okay.”

“We need to be sure.”

“Okay.”

Banner pulls out a chair, and you’re about to sit Ana down on it, when she pushes you gently into it, and sits on your lap. You can do nothing but wrap your arms gently around her, so she doesn’t fall. The apology in Bucky’s eyes is melted with a sympathetic smile. It’s alright. A child developing an inexplicable affection for you is not the worst thing to ever happen to you.

Ana is warm and a comfortable weight on you, and you hold her as loosely as you can, feel the movement of her chest against your arms with each breath. Her hair is a mix of wool-thick and silk-soft against your chin, smelling faintly of the sugar-sweet strawberry scent found in children’s shampoos. Someone took care of her.

Someone she isn’t asking for. What kind of child doesn’t ask for their mother, past the initial, momentary heartbreak? How has she come to terms with the apparent change in custody, when the new custodian hasn’t?

Whether Bucky is to be the new guardian has yet to be determined. You can see Bruce pulling out a syringe and preparing a vial. You wonder if she’s scared of needles. Bucky flinches at the sight of them, even now. He’s said that his disdain for the cold clinicism of medicine dates back to long before Hydra. Medical equipment reminds him of worrying that his best friend was going to die. It’s the fear he has harbored longest, longer than his fear of war, of gunshots in the dark, of blood on his hands.

Ana shares it. When she sees the needle, she screams, and Bucky lunges forward to help you hold her in place. She’s so, so much stronger than you thought and while you can hold her limbs, her head thrashes about, and so does her torso, making it impossible for Bruce to get to the inside of her elbow.

In the chaos, your eye lands on a trinket on a nearby desk, sitting there like a peace offering, literally beckoning to you. “Hey, Ana,” you whisper-yell, trying not to get hit in the jaw by her head. “Do you like animals? Cats? I have a friend who has lots and lots of cats, and I could take you to see them.” It’s working. You’re out of breath, but she’s quieting. Most little kids love cats. You love cats. “I think Bruce has a toy cat. See, over there?” You dare to lift an arm to point at the maneki-neko on the table. Ana stills. Her eyes follow the hypnotic movement, and the syringe at Ana’s elbow does its job.

When the bandage is put on, you and Bucky let go with twin nervous chuckles of relief and disbelief, and Bruce puts the vial in a machine. Ana hops off to approach the desk, and bats at the paw waving at her like a mirror of it.

“We should have the results soon. I think the others are starting to wake up, if you want to say hi,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses and wiping them on the corner of his lab coat.

“Maybe later,” you say, seeing that Bucky is hardly in any position to converse casually with his teammates right now. Not to mention, it’d be a lot of work to explain Ana, especially before having any sort of confirmation of who she is.

Bucky pulls out a chair next to you while Bruce opens a laptop a few counters away, and an x-ray machine lifts its head behind Ana, who has moved on from the lucky cat, and is stroking the leaves of a flowering plant.

“Peace lily,” Bucky says, startling you. You look at him, the bags under his eyes, the way he almost looks his age right now, and fight the urge to hold his hand. “It’s the first flower I bought for my apartment. I put it in a community garden after a nightmare about the war. Didn’t feel right for me to have it.”

He's talking about the Second World War. The war always refers to his first war. You think he’s talking about peace, and not the lily, after what he’s done. After what he was forced to do.

“It’s not your fault,” is an automatic response, and never enough, especially for the war, because at least he was in his own senses, even if he was drafted. It always elicits a self-deprecating laugh, but right now, he’s too tired for even that.

Right now, he can only watch as the x-ray camera follows Ana around the room, from the peace lilies, to an Amazon elephant’s ear, to a strange sculpture made from Coca-Cola cans glued together by what looks like spider-webs.

Too soon, Bruce calls you over to his work station. You follow Bucky, one eye on Ana.

“She’s yours,” Bruce says, and Bucky inhales sharply. Now, you do take his hand, stroke the metal ridges with your calloused thumb. “But she has disproportionately more of your DNA than her mother’s.”

“What does that mean?”

Bruce wrings his hands. “She’s not a complete clone, but nearly a genetic copy. 80% of a clone, if you will.”

Bucky is growing increasingly uncomfortable, shifting next to you. “How’s that possible?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

#SSB2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #reader insert #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel #mcu #fanfic

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butwhyduh · 3 years

Note

Hello! idk whether requests r open, but hope they r. just feel like reading a random damian wayne x reader where reader is his best friend. Any horror will do. Thx!!

In the Darkness

Damian Wayne x BFF!reader

Warning: scary stuff, blood, horror

It was a dark stormy night in Gotham. That terrible temperature that hovered just above freezing until almost morning where it dipped just enough to make an awful icy morning commute. Normally you would be bracing yourself for your next morning trip to school. And forget about being warm, your apartment could barely keep up with being above freezing.

But this night you sat on plush velvet with a roaring fire in a gigantic stone fireplace at one of the Wayne’s penthouses in the city. The wall sized windows showed Gotham through streaming water. It almost looked peaceful.

Breaking you from your revery was a bowl of popcorn being plopped in your lap. You looked up to see Damian with a half grin before he sat down beside you. Titus sat down on his other side.

“We have that film you wanted to watch in theatre,” he said grabbing the remote.

“D, it’s still in theatres,” you said surprised. “How did you get it?”

“A, my father is Bruce Wayne. I could probably buy it. And B, I saved a certain theatre from being robbed and they owed me one and they lent me the film. You’re welcome,” he said, still looking at the screen. For Damian, that was practically the biggest compliment, that he thought about you.

“Thanks. Yeah, I usually just block out the fact that your dad is Bruce Wayne to be honest,” you said eating the popcorn.

“Be less honest,” he said with a gentle shoulder shove. “Let’s watch the film. I have to train tomorrow.”

It was a good movie. Scary with a bit of gore, though you weren’t prepared for Damian to tell you how blood patterns worked differently.

But with only 10 minutes left and the killer almost revealed, the power went out. You groaned and moved to grab your phone. Damian stiffened and looked around.

“Great, my phone is dead,” you said rolling your eyes. Damian quickly looked at his, dead too. At this point he was tense and Titus was on alert.

“Nothing should be out,” he said quietly.

“It’s a big storm, dude,” you said about to ask about flashlights.

“We have 2 main power supplies and 3 back ups. There should be no outage. And my phone was fully charged before the movie. There was a power pulse. This is a Wayne Enterprise owned building and we are in the penthouse. This could be an attack or coop,” he said standing. Titus stood by him and you couldn’t help but stand.

“There’s 2 ways to this floor. The main elevator and the service elevator that is in the guest bathroom,” Damian said. Knowing your location could save your life.

“You think someone is coming up here,” you said quietly. He nodded and moved over to the wall and grabbed a sword from a stand on the wall. You had thought it was decorative. Of course it was real. It was Damian’s.

“Here,” Damian said, reaching in his pocket to grab a large pocket knife. You blanched. “Worst case scenario only. You could hurt yourself before someone else because you aren’t trained. But if your cornered, this could save your life. Only open it if you really need it. Got it?”

“Yeah, D,” you said with frown. He stood a few feet in front of you and Titus was a safe distance away on alert. Your heart was pounding. You really regretted not taking Damian up on the offer to teach you some self defense. At the time the idea of bruises all over your body was the last thing you wanted.

The elevator dinged. It shouldn’t have. You needed a passcode and finger print to operate it. Not to mention, the power was supposed to be out. The door opened and a green mist wafted out and Damian stepped back to avoid it. Gotham villains loved toxins and he didn’t want to be under the power of fear toxin or pheromones or something. Titus got a dose and began barking wildly.

Damian pushed you back with his arm not holding the sword. “Try not to breath it,” he said as the mist filled the apartment. He could make out the shape of a person but couldn’t identify them. Within a minute, Damian realized that they were just some poor victim of whoever set up the toxin. They were screaming silently while their eyes darted around the room. Great, it was probably fear toxin.

Damian pushed a panic button he kept in his jacket pocket at pretty much all times. Hopefully the energy pulse didn’t affect the button. You shoved your shirt over your nose but it was futile. Damian stood in front of you looking around wildly. His eyes were dilated and his breathing was rough.

“Don’t move. It’s all fake! Don’t fall for it. It’s all fake!” He yelled and swung his sword away from you at nothing. Your vision blurred.

Damian and Titus fought some invisible monster in front of you. You turned to see the windows melting. You gasped loudly as the glass slid down like wet gelatin. The floor grew heavy. You weren’t even facing the same direction as Damian any more. You heart thumped painfully in a hard slow rhythm.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You heard screaming laughter. Was the fucking Joker here?? You looked around to see no one.

“It’s in your head,” Damian yelled. He was still fighting an invisible foe. “It’s fake!”

The wall began to cave in. You could feel your body slide slowly towards the gaping window. You grasped at the couch but it too began to slide towards the edge of the wall. You were 50 floors up. There was no way to survive it. You shrieked and grabbed at the slick tile floor. The cold marble bit at your hands.

You could see your blood stick to the floor before defying gravity and floating to the ceiling. It pulsed with your heartbeat. You could hear the laughter in your head. It was so loud. You grasped at your skull. Your bloodied fingers left little streaks of blood all over your face.

Damian was calling you but he was the most dangerous one in the room. He was wildly swinging a sword and he and Titus were furiously fighting a battle. Was he fighting a past foe? The man in the elevator picked the wrong moment to move because Damian came closer and closer to him.

You watched as Damian killed him. His sword sliced the man’s arm first and he barred his teeth before growling at Damian. His eyes were wild and movement was more like an animal over human. Damian slashed him, this time in the abdomen. Dark red blood pooled from the wound and the man bellowed in pain. You cried and rocked. The world was collapsing.

The man was like a wounded beast and he tried to gnarl and slash his hands at Damian. Damian jabbed quickly, almost faster than you could see, and the man breathed his last breath as Damian’s sword pierced his heart. Blood pooled out almost lazily post death. The man’s eyes froze wide and terrible. You cried freely. Damian didn’t stop. He clearly was fighting another foe in his mind.

You balance turned on you and you almost threw up as you gripped the floor. “Stop! Stop!” You yelled as Damian and Titus both continued their battle with nothing.

The floor was turning again. This time, it became sticky as the ceiling melted down towards you. Little bits of melted plaster burned the floor. You rolled away as a large chunk hit the ground. The laughter sounded again and you saw a flash of white face pulled tight in a chaotic laugh.

The second elevator sounded and you scampered away and to behind the couch. Your fingers were white as they gripped the fabric to keep from falling out of the window. Monsters, beasts, men in black suits hurried towards you. Damian screamed and slashed at the air between him and the attacker.

“Don’t touch her! Don’t fucking touch her,” he bellowed. But it was too late. A monster in red grabbed you. You screamed and fought, landing a hit to their chest and a bite to their hand.

“She fucking bit me! Goddamn,” the big man groaned. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and you bucked but it was useless. He had you and you couldn’t escape. A man in black and blue shot Damian with a taser. This was how you were going to die, in a melting building with men as monsters grabbing you. How could you possibly fight them when they took Damian down? He’s the son of Batman.

A monster with a shifting face, once a man and another a beast, came towards you with a syringe. His mouth gaped and swallowed blackness. “No! No,” you moaned. Your throat was raw from screaming. He quickly jabbed you in the neck. Before you passed out, you saw the screaming laughing face of the Joker.

—————————————

12 hours later you woke up. You sat up quickly only to see Damian’s bedroom in the manor. Your head spun for a moment before stopping. His crisp white sheets and blue blanket and red ornamental rug laid on wooden floor. You were alone. You felt a small bandage on your neck and your fingers had small scabs along the nail lines on both hands. One of your fingernails was cut jagged to the quick. You grimaced as you touched the injured skin.

The walk from his bed into the hallway showed you two things: the floor was really cold and that you were wearing Damian’s clothing. A simple grey sweatpants rolled up and black Superman shirt was not enough in the chilly manor. You opened the door to an empty hallway. The floor had a thick soft rug that covered the sounds of your feet. You heard the sound of voices from the library at the end of the hall.

“I almost killed her,” you heard Damian say. His voice sounded pained and raw.

“It was the fear toxin. You didn’t do anything,” said one of his brothers. You couldn’t tell who yet but probably the oldest.

“I almost eviserated her, Grayson,” Damian said flatly. “The fear toxin made her cry in the corner and I almost cut her in 2.”

“She managed to bite me,” said another deeper voice.

“You left yourself open to be attacked,” said a third voice.

“Enough. She’s awake,” said a final voice that you definitely recognized as Damian’s father. “Come in.”

Damian sat on the edge of a wooden desk. Bruce sat in the desk chair behind the desk. Dick sat on a chair in the corner. Jason stood by Dick’s chair and Tim paced by a bookshelf. The other bat kids must have been out working.

“Hey,” Damian said searching your face and body for injury. He almost looked... vulnerable. His eyes stared at the bandage on your neck.

“Hi,” you said and your voice felt raw and painful. You rubbed your throat.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked. Damian quickly got you a chair. You sat down slowly. Your head still throbbed.

“Okay I guess. What happened?” You asked.

“Someone got ahold of a new street drug that uses a certain variety of fear toxin that is fast acting but short term and they atomized it and released it into the tower. They did it through a vent from the top down so you both got the largest dose. Luckily the security guard on the bottom floor only had some anxiety and a racing heartbeat and was able to recognize the situation. Damian’s tracker was activated and we got you both out as fast as we could,” Tim said.

You rubbed your temple. That didn’t sound right. What about the elevator? The man?

“Does your head hurt? We can get you something for that,” Damian said.

“I’m okay. Thanks. How long was I out?” You said trying to put things together.

“12 hours, give or take. You should probably get back in bed until tomorrow. Your mind and body need a break,” Bruce said. You nodded. Your head did hurt and you were tired but you couldn’t relax. There was just something off about everything. Maybe a side effect of the toxin. Damian offered to walk you back into your room.

“I’ll give you some medication to help with your headache. It might make you sleepy, okay?” He said pulling a syringe from a drawer in the room.

“Okay, I guess. My head does hurt,” you said climbing back in bed. Damian smiled and injected your arm.

His face. He smiled widely. Wider than he ever had before. Wide enough to have a gaping blackness. You went to scream but you were too tired. You tried to grab him to find you were tied in place. The manor’s neat clean walls faded to dirty dingy peeling mess and you could smell must and mildew. Your vision blurred.

The sound of a screaming laugh from a pulled back face was the only thing you could hear.

Let me know what you guys think 😀

It’s a part 1 of 2. The second part might be out Friday or next Friday depending on my schedule.

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