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hiroshotreplica · 1 year ago

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About Agent 3's Sanitation Scars

aka, agent oc lore post

this is a bit long, sorry about that! ill place it all under a cut so no one has to scroll through it all if they dont want to read, note there's some colored text + some drawings

ever since alister (3) and josh (8) were rescued from the deepsea metro and tartar was defeated, callie and marie have been very worried. josh has his own host of issues, but alister's are much more... visible. doctors have no idea how to treat alister's condition, and have just been monitoring his healing process. alister doesnt remember a thing about the sanitation, despite having been only partially sanitized. all witnesses referred to it as a form of mind control.

marie had asked zara (4) about what she had seen first, she seemed much more approachable about the subject. this was under a week after the rescue:

zara: i rescued him and josh from the blender, yeah. though he got ambushed by a strange telephone as soon as we tried to follow josh through the escape route. i managed to dodge the telephone's attacks, but... yeah, alister wasn't as lucky.

marie: do you remember his appearance?

zara: that strange.. i dont even know, goop? just- that strange stuff wrapped around his head. it looked like it was digging into the back of his head. i remember... before he got completely taken over by the strange.. thing and tied me up... he looked at me with.. fear. fear ive never seen before, it had so much.. pain and certainty in it. like he was thinking "im going to die"

marie: oh... that sounds terrifying. was there anything else...?

zara: he... he said one thing. while the goopy stuff was being planted onto him. i dont remember it completely, he whispered it, but he said "so this is it. it... hurts" it... scared me. marie, you know ive been working with him on agent stuff for the past year! he's never sounded so... so... you know.

she didn't have any further comments.

when he could handle the question, marie had asked josh as well. this took place a month after the incident:

marie: so... are you sure you're ready to think about what happened again? i know it's still very recent, even if some time has passed.

josh: y.. yes. i am sure. it is the less painful parts, so i do not mind as much, i think.

marie: alright... what do you remember?

josh: alister, he... he looks like he was in pain. a lot of pain. during the battle, he missed lots of attacks due to it, im sure. his hands had shaking the whole time then.

josh: once we reach the surface and.. things were better again, he was no longer being controlled. and the sight... i dont know the word in inklish, the closest would be scary, i believe. it was... deep scar. everything around the scar had a greenish color to it. he could not see well when he woke up, and he mentioned being in so much pain...

marie: oh, oh jeez... i can see why the bandage was put on it now.

josh: it was the best we have at the time. the one he has now is... much better.

marie: yeah... do you want to stop? you look uncomfortable..

josh: ...yes. thinking of it again... i-it is making me upset more than i realize it could. i am sorry

he couldn't make any further comments.

extra visual of how alister looked at this time:

extra info: his eyesight improved over the first couple of months, though it stopped eventually. he has blurred vision. he has glasses that do slightly correct it, but he never wears them. i imagine he shows some symptoms that would correlate to right hemisphere brain damage. but i need to put more research into that first

#was super experimental about this. plus theres some details that i havent mentioned yet #the only super important fact is that capn cuttlefish is not present at all and alister was with josh instead #im so autistic about my agents you guys have no idea #oc: alister #oc: zara #oc: josh #long post #cw scar #cw injury #just in case #splatoon #agent 3 oc #feeling a lil confident today with the tags #sorry for the rough drawings.. my drawing tablet is struggling to function lol

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 6 months ago

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Multitudes Chapter Six ... And Prodded, And Poked.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Nat shows compliance in her treatment plan - but is she really as pliable as the team is led to believe?

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 3295

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) injury detail and SH, discussions of weight gain and treatment plans, unhealthy exercise habits

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. Check it out below, or on AO3 here!

This snazzy divider comes from @firefly-graphics and I love it <3

<- Previous Chapter (5/72) Next Chapter (7/72) ->

I stirred against the beginnings of light, rolling my stiff jaw from having ground my teeth in my sleep, and bolting upright at the semi-familiar, but distinctly not-mine, surroundings.

Clint groaned under me, and I fought to calm my ragged breath as awareness dawned, flashes of images from the night before flickering before my eyes.

That’s right – I agree with your horrified revelation, The Voice noted, almost gleeful at the panic coursing through my veins. You took the coward’s way out, because you knew you weren’t strong enough to meet their standards.

I just wanted help, I argued weakly, dispassionately.

You wanted an excuse to stop pushing yourself, it sneered. You knew you’d never be good enough, so you quit. Coward. Fucking useless.

I’m not a coward.

Prove it. Punish yourself – three new lines in that dirty flesh – and then run. Get rid of everything you stuffed in your fat face yesterday.

I don’t want to… I whined, but it felt more like courtesy than protest, and it knew that.

Move. Now.

With a bone weary sigh, I slid from the spot where I’d passed out on the sofa, nestled against Clint’s chest to the background of an animated movie, letting the steady, unflappable rhythm of his heart act as my lullaby.

The archer stirred again, flopping an arm back over his eyes to shield the worst of the sunlight from his gaze, his other hand reaching for me blindly. “Nat?” he mumbled, and I caught his fingers with mine as I straightened, thumb brushing his palm reassuringly. He lowered his arm just enough to glance at me, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Where are you going?”

Shower. Change. I smell like a gym sock, I added, a fake sniff and the curl of a lip employed to sell my act. He nodded tiredly, jaw creaking in an impressive yawn.

“Ok. I’ll do the same, and see you in a little while.”

I ducked from his quarters on the balls of my feet, his soft snores quickly punctuating the silence once more, and a grin graced my lips. In his exhaustion, he had seemingly forgotten that I wasn’t exactly trusted to be alone, and I found myself taking advantage of the situation with very little guilt.

A good start. But you have a lot to make up for, and likely not a lot of time to do it in. Get moving.

I bypassed my own rooms in favour of the armoury, disconnected from the main building and with less chance of being caught when Clint realised his blunder.

Luckily, I’d been doing this for a long time without getting caught.

My own blades were sharpened to perfection, and there was a constant supply of first aid that I could utilise without suspicion. It’s always good to have a back-up option, I mused, sliding a dagger from its sheath with a whispered hush of metal on leather.

Are you proud of this? The Voice snapped, and I winced as I pulled my sweatshirt over my head.

I- No, I-

Four. An extra one for your insolence. Who do you think you are? You are nothing. I nodded, dropping to my knees and pressing the blade to the soft skin between my ribs – even I knew that my arms were not an option anymore. Say it.

“I’m nothing,” I whispered, beads of blood bubbling around the sharp steel.

Deep. Long. No mercy. You’ve got to be stronger now. Harder.

I nodded again, strengthening my resolve, the tremble fading from my fingers as adrenaline zinged.

Tell me why.

“Bruce is disgusted by me,” I gasped, the knife slipping between the spaces in my ribs as I dragged it forward. “Everyone is disgusted by me.”

Correct.

“Clint. He… He remembers. He remembers everything, and he pities me. I told him about you – about wanting to go home. I shouldn’t have done that.” I hissed as the blade bit muscle in the second space, slicing through as easily as butter.

Correct.

“I-I was insolent. I shouldn’t have – ah! – been proud of myself. I’m only as good as you make me!” My voice was almost a cry now, the third cut deeper than its predecessors.

Correct. And your fourth failure, Widow Romanova?

My head pulsated in pain, breaths coming in short, sharp pants. “I-I… I should never have thought you were wrong. You know best, I see that now. Only you want what’s best for me.” My uninjured hand was slick with blood and aching from pressing in as I finished the fourth cut, crimson rivers carving tracks down my side and settling into the waistband of my jogging bottoms.

Incorrect. Again.

I whimpered, arms heavy. “I… Should not have refused to speak. Widows obey orders.” It was a shot in the dark, and I held my breath painfully after the fifth slice – further, unspoken punishment for my wrongdoing.

If I can’t even tell where I’m fucking up, what hope do I have?

Incorrect. Again.

I sobbed once, shaking hands fighting against contracting muscles as I struggled to raise the knife. “I-I… I sh-shouldn’t have cursed at you. W-Widows are supposed to be w-women of class!” The last words came as a yowl as I jerked my arms forward, the blade grating bone in an agonising explosion of stars, the slick handle spilling from my fingers as they moved desperately to attempt to stem the flow.

Correct. Now, Natalia… Are you ready to train?

By the time I stumbled into my shower, tears flowing freely down my face, the world was spinning under my feet from exhaustion and blood loss. I’d been denied medical care, and I could see the darkness tunnelling my vision, but I pushed myself through a bout of one-handed boxing regardless. The Voice chastised me mercilessly, repeating the drill over and over until my muscles were screaming as sweat mixed with the blood staining my clothes. I’d been forced to duck back through the compound, avoiding both cameras and Avengers in my bid to not get caught in such a state; if I had, it would surely be over for me.

The water burnt my exposed muscles, but fear held me still, shaking despite the heat. I didn’t dare move away without a direct order, for fear of more punishment. If there were any consequences to come of getting so much water in my wounds, then so be it; no effect could be worse than the reparations of The Voice.

I regret ever opening my mouth.

That’s good, it replied smoothly, something akin to a smile laced into its words. You’re learning.

I nodded once, my clenched jaw beginning to ache in an effort to suppress my trembles of pain, but too afraid to ask to leave. … Good, Romanova. Now go and dress. It wouldn’t do to have you caught again.

I was covered only on my top half as the remnants of the door slammed against the wall, almost sending me sprawling as I fought to one-handedly wriggle my way into some sweatpants.

Show no fear. You are better than these so-called ‘heroes’.

I straightened immediately, barely supressing a whimper and a wince at the pain that blazed across my ribcage.

Clint met my gaze, his eyes wide and wild with concern. “I-I… I looked everywhere for you. When I realised. I should never have…”

A polite smile graced my lips, and I tipped my head slightly. “I went to the kitchen first. I was hungry, so I got a snack before I showered. I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

Good.

Briefly, a doubtful furrow creased his brow, until he shook his head, replacing the expression with a broad grin. “That’s fine, Nat. I’m so proud of you. What did you have?"

I panicked at that, scanning internally through the contents of the kitchen – but it had been a long time since I’d actively sought out food.

Faster.

“Cereal,” I offered quickly, my smile only marginally slipping as I blurted out the first answer that came to my mind.

He nodded encouragingly, moving closer. “That’s amazing, Natasha. Well done.”

I pretended to gush under his gaze, ducking my head shyly. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to start strongly.”

Very good, Natalia. His emotions will make him weak.

“Do you want a hand with that?” he offered suddenly, gesturing at the sweatpants still halfway up my bare thighs.

Let him do as he wishes.

It felt cruel, and I didn’t understand – wasn’t it only yesterday that The Voice had been telling me how dangerous Clint was? – but I nodded obligingly, permitting my partner to step forward, dropping to his knees before me.

He hands brushed my flesh gently as he aided me, resting lightly on one hipbone as he straightened. His warm touch made my skin burn with terror and arousal in equal measure.

“… There,” he murmured, stepping back, my blood mourning the loss of him. “All situated.”

I nodded again, inclining my head politely. “Thank you, Clint.”

He grinned in response, reaching up to tousle my damp hair, before his face grew serious. “Bruce dropped off the treatment plan this morning. Shall we take a look?”

Agree. You must seem compliant. You have made them suspicious, and you need to neutralise that threat.

“Of course,” I agreed smoothly, despite my heart beating faster in terror. “I can’t wait to get started.”

I found myself sat once more on Clint’s sofa before I acknowledged the movement, lost in listening to The Voice as we traversed the halls, only offering light grunts of affirmation in response to my partner’s chatter. I was receiving a rapid crash course in how to proceed as we made our way, but The Voice fell silent as I sat.

This is your test. It would do you well to succeed, it instructed simply, before the words stopped flowing, and I knew that I would hear nothing more until this harrowing experience was over.

Clint tapped the slender, magnolia file with a single finger, watching me carefully. “This… This is likely going to be difficult to hear, Nat. But everything is for your own good, I promise.”

I simply nodded in response, unwilling to act until the path before me was evident.

I can’t afford to fail again, I noted, the spaces between my ribs burning and oozing with every breath. I may not survive it.

The file opened, and Clint cleared his throat in preparation. “Would you rather read it yourself, or I can do it for you?”

“It’s okay, you can read it,” I answered easily, forcing a light and casual tone. His eyebrow twitched in suspicion, and I cursed myself internally. Don’t be too light-hearted. He’ll know you’re faking it.

His gaze flicked back down, tongue touching his lip before he began. “’Most conditions herein are dependent upon several metrics of progress. Natasha will be weighed daily, in only a gown, after being subjected to a pat-down to ensure there is no added weight. Blood tests will be done weekly to analyse important levels and clarify any improvements found. There will also be body checks to monitor self-injury.’”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from retorting, furious at the invasive measures – but The Voice had indicated that such things were to be expected. “I understand,” I ground out after a moment, my inflection a perfect mask of indifference.

Clint watched me closer, shuffling nearer until our knees touched. “Is that ok with you? It seems like signs of improvement means increased privilege, though… That’s good, right?”

I nodded again, my body stilling as his hand found my knee. We haven’t covered this. What do I do?

There was no response – of course there wasn’t – and so I simply stayed still, following The Voice’s last teachings on the matter. ‘Let him do as he wishes.’

“I’ll, uh… I’ll just read the highlights, okay? A lot of it is about levels and moving forward, but… I guess that’s not quite where we are yet, right?” he chuckled uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, glancing at me when I offered no verbal response and finding me nodding. “Okay, uh… Basically, it seems like you can’t exercise, or be alone, until you’re off what Bruce has called ‘level one’. In this level, you’ll not be allowed to eat alone, and you’ll be searched after eating. You, um… Yeah. You also need to share accommodation, and attend therapy once a week. But it’s only 5 pounds, and a week without self-harm, until you can move up to level two. Then you can start to exercise a little, make some of your own meals, and spend the night in your own bed. That’ll be nice, huh?”

Clint met my gaze with a hopeful smile, and I buried the subtle urge to tell him everything that had happened during the course of the morning. I can’t. I won’t… It’s not worth it. “That sounds okay,” I responded at a mumble, scuffing my bare toes against the rug. Nothing about bathrooms. Purging is still an option. It’s not ideal, but… Depending on how closely they watch me, it might be my only choice.

“Bruce has already removed all sharp objects and scales from the common areas, and your room,” Clint added, and I couldn’t help the flash of anger that shone in my eyes as they jerked to him in annoyance, causing him to bring his hands up defensively. “I know. I tried to tell him it wouldn’t be necessary – you’re already making steps toward talking about things, and I have all the faith in the world that you’ll make it through this. But he insisted,” he noted, rolling his eyes with a sigh, “so I guess we’ll just have to go with it for now.”

I shrugged one shoulder in irritation, but nodded again. I had several blades stashes; it was unlikely that the doctor had found them all. I could probably find some scales somewhere – but if I couldn’t, measurements would suffice as a metric.

“Does that all sound okay?” Clint prompted.

“It sounds… Manageable,” I replied hesitantly, still reluctant to lie to my long-time partner but unable to tell him the whole truth. He grinned reassuringly, nudging me with his shoulder.

“I’m so proud you, Nat. You’re doing so well.”

I found myself once more in Bruce’s medical room, shivering in a paper gown as the doctor examined my arms and legs uncertainly.

“No evidence of further injury,” he murmured, making a note on a chart. I resisted the urge to grin, profoundly aware of the throbbing of my ribs under the thin weave. “You ready to pop on the scales?”

I nodded, sliding to my feet. Today was the only day in which I wouldn’t have to worry about my weight; they wouldn’t be expecting much to change in one day, right? I went to cross to where he weighed me last time, but Bruce’s hand, gentle on my wrist, stopped me. “We… You need to be patted down first. Weights, and so on.”

Or you’re not so disgusted anymore, huh, Doc? I quipped internally. But on the outside, I smiled.

“No problem, Bruce,” I replied smoothly, raising my hands to the back of my head compliantly, revelling in the searing of my ribcage as the wounds gaped. The only thing I could find enough effort to be concerned about would be the risk of bleeding; the thin fabric would offer no reprieve. His throat bobbed uncertainly, and I offered him a reassuring smile. “Are you sure you’re able to do this, Doc?”

His jaw set and he nodded once, moving to stand before me; starting easily, his hands slid their way across my shoulders, the firm pressure reducing slightly as he brushed his fingers over my bandage. I resisted the urge to flinch, and he apologised under his breath, meeting my eyes briefly.

His hands probed under the edges of my sleeves, checking for straps or tape, before beginning to skim down my sides, and I couldn’t help but shift slightly in discomfort as the ridges of his fingers found the canyons between my ribs. He paused at my motion, waiting for me to still once more before gently probing the area. I fought to remain impassive, struggling against the scream building in my throat, and the tears building in my eyes. Another hesitation, then he mercifully moved on, palms catching on the edge of my hipbone, smoothing the skin he found there to clarify that it was an organic bump, before working his way to the lower hem of my gown.

He cleared his throat, evidently uncomfortable. “Do you give consent for me to check your thighs?” he asked, looking away, a flush crawling up his throat. “I can fetch someone else if you would prefer.”

I chuckled fondly, shaking my head – safe now, without his hands on my cuts. “Go ahead, Bruce.”

His palms were softer than I expected as they trailed up the soft skin, taking each thigh in turn, moving past the soft swell of fat and pausing where they started to taper once more.

He straightened with a jerk, his face aflame. “Good. Thank you. You can step onto the scales now. Facing away, please,” he added, making my feet stutter, teeth gritting as I rotated on the spot.

“Why?” I probed, fighting to keep the venom from my voice. “There was nothing about this in my treatment plan.”

Bruce cocked his head, brow furrowed. “I informed Clint that I had removed all scales, barring my own, from the compound, and the reasoning behind this. Did he not explain?”

I shook my head fiercely. “How am I supposed to track my improvement if I don’t know what I weigh?”

“I’ll have it right here,” he replied, his voice a false attempt at reassurance as he tapped his clipboard gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know when you get more privileges.”

Unless they lie, to keep you fat and docile.

I winced as The Voice spoke again, sudden in the silence I’d begun to grow used to.

“If I know when I meet the thresholds anyway, it doesn’t make sense to keep the information from me,” I argued vehemently. He simply shrugged, moving to glance at the screen behind me.

“We thought it best this way. That way, you won’t be influenced by the number.”

No, we’ll just continue to aim toward weight loss. The number doesn’t matter – the effect does. I thought you were smarter than that, Bruce. What do you see in him?

I don’t know, I replied reluctantly, giving the answer I knew it expected, pushing away thoughts of the doctor’s kind eyes and kinder actions. And, crucically, the fact that he saw something in me.

I shrugged in response to Bruce’s comment, stepping off the scale when he motioned me forward. “Okay… We don’t need bloods again yet – yesterday’s will be your baseline. So that’s it for today.”

“I’m free to go? I clarified, shimming my legs into my sweatpants without waiting for an answer. He nodded as he turned obligingly, leaving me free to strip off the paper gown and reapply my bra and sweatshirt, wincing as I pulled the latter over my head.

“Clint is outside. He’s the first of your companions for today.”

I stilled as I was straightening my hem, looking up in alarm.

“My companions?”

Bruce nodded again, still looking away. “Yes, Natasha. The treatment plan clearly states that while you are on level one, you aren’t to be alone. The team have assembled a rota for the next couple of weeks, to start with.”

“Пиздец,” I muttered under my breath, cursing this ridiculous turn of events. “Fine. Whatever.”

Bruce began to turn as I stomped away, the lab door slamming in my wake.

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