#experimental gas mask

[goatsludge]

M45 Evolution (sort of)

Rejected Mold Negative

XM44 Mask (1990?)

XM45 Aircraft Mask (1992?)

XM44 Hood Assembly

XM45 CB Mask (1995)

M45 CB Mask w/ Butyl Hood, VPU, Wilcox Exhaust Valve, C420 Blower (1998-2004)

M45 CB Mask w/ Prototype AP-PPE Hood (2003)

M45 CB Mask w/ AP-PPE Hood (2010)

[rrrauschen]

Nikolai Ekk, {1935} Карнавал цветов (Carnival of Colours)

[operation-priority]

Gore CPCSU-2 Prototype Over-Garments - Jumpsuit Variant

Showcased here is a W. L. Gore & Associates prototype CPCSU-2 CBRN suit. This variant is the standalone jumpsuit variant which is one of three variants in this new CBRN family. This is a relatively new suit which uses Gore CHEMPAK material and SONICS Bio-Shell technology. Having worn both a commercial chemsuit and the current generation MOPP suit in the past, this CBRN suit is a substantial improvement in all aspects of design. The future of CBRN equipment may no longer be at odds with user comfort should the technology be pursued. At the time of writing, this is the only example of the CPCSU-2 in non-official and non-government hands. A full writeup on this suit, its variants, and overall history on the item is available here.

For those curious, the gas mask is an Avon C50 with a VPU.

[audloaso]

[ceejaykayess]

"My breath faint, I finally arrived before a wall that projected the sky. Behind it, scientists in white applauded, "Magnificent," they said- Doubt... From there I saw the town was some kind of experimental facility; "No longer necessary," a scientist said, as they calmly tossed a bomb."

[dcxdpdabbles]

Cave boy Danny just casually mentioning things that correspond with Bruce, like the time he stole an experimental power suit and shot a god corresponding with Bruce shooting Darkseid or the Infi-map being like the time Bruce was lost in the time stream, and the bats wondering how this kid can remain a civilian

Danny tried his best to not blink too quickly, as it may cause the stranger to shoot him. He honestly has no idea how he ended up here, but somehow, he was taken hostage alongside a bus full of people on his way to buy some chips.

He got tired of Alfred's instance to ban all junk food from the manor and had snuck out while the Wyanes had been busy going over plans for some big showdown with a guy named Scarecrow.

Danny doesn't know who that is and doesn't care to find out. The less he knows, the less likely he will have to deal with rouge. He's on vacation, dang it.

Or he was until the bus was taken over by a group of men wearing gas masks. They forced their way onto the bus when they stopped for some passengers, forcing the driver at gunpoint to drive them off course, and now they were heading to a wear house. People were crying, but Danny felt like screaming.

He just wanted spicy chips, and- maybe if he had the time- he would swing by the old junkyard to find a steering wheel for his ship! Fenton luck strikes again, it seemed.

"I wouldn't be so smug, Kane," One of the people in a gas mask shouts at him. He blinks up at the woman pointing her gun at his head but scoffs at her stance. His mother would throw a fit if Danny or Jazz ever placed their feet so off balance like that while wielding a weapon. "Once Dr.Crane is done with you-"

"I'm sorry did you just threaten me with myself?" Danny cuts her off. She pauses seemingly thrown before she sputters.

"No- not Kane, Crane."

He blinks at her. "You just said the same thing"

"C-R-A-N-E." She spells in a huff.

"Ohhhhh. Sorry, the mask makes it hard to understand you. Okay, so where were you? Dr. Crane is going to do what with me-?" Danny asks, leaning back in his seat, and waving his hand at her.

There is a moment of silence before she hits him across the face with her gun. "Don't you mock me!"

"Ow." He deadpans, rubbing at his cheek, and wonders if it was supposed to hurt. His healing had vanished the pain before her gun left his skin. "I thought we were having a conversation, but forgive me, I had no idea you had an inferiority complex and assumed everyone was mocking you. Let me guess, no one has ever told you they are proud of you, and now you are defensive of every action you take because-"

"Shut up!" His voice wobbles and Danny knows he hit the nail on the head.

"Does it keep you up at night? Does it freak you out that everyone can see your issues on your face as bright as day? I bet it does it. Bet it causes you to cry like a sad little confused kid who still can't figure out how to ask for help." He doesn't mock. He states it as fact because that is what it was. Fact. She does break down about it; he can tell by her reaction, and his tone makes it all the harder to swallow.

"I'll kill you!"

"Do it." He smiles. "Saves me from your boss. But will that keep you safe? Let's find out! How long will it be before he breaks you down? Ten, maybe fifteen minutes? And he will break you; you know he will. He's already halfway there."

"I-" She stumbles away from him. He doesn't have to see her face to know it's gone pale. Ha.

One of her crew hits her shoulder, having heard him speaking while the rest of the bus stares. "Stop letting him into your head!"

"Oh, what's your name?" Danny asks, blinking his large blue eyes at the man, watching his body language for clues. His eyes zero in on three belts and how they all match up at the buckle despite the fact that they are stacked on top of each other. Didn't Jazz once say that a belt with that much control hinted about attention to detail?

Hmm.

"Is the plan falling apart- can you not control it? The way life just moves on without you and that freaks you out doesn't it. The lake of control?" He asks, and the man jerks back. Bingo.

"Holy shit," A teenager whispers in the back horrified. "It's Dr. Crane jr."

"No, that's the Rabid Dog," Another answer. "Heard he made three elites cry after talking to him for more than ten minutes."

Danny is about to open his mouth when suddenly Robin crashes through the front window. Rude. There is glass everywhere now.

Hours later, Alfred franticly checks him over for injuries while the rest are freaking out. Apparently, they had feared to find Danny screaming from terrible visions but instead found him mentally breaking the hired goons with Jazz's training. "It's not like they did anything. I had a harder time stealing a super suit than those fruitloops-"

"You stole a what?" Tim cuts him off, eyes narrowed. Danny shrugs.

"I mean, haven't we all stolen a super suit?"

"Literally, no one here has done that," Steph tells him, and Danny tilts his head.

"You guys must have had boring childhoods. Surely you at least tried to organize your school into a battle-ready militia? No one can finish school without doing that at least once."

Dick raises a hand. "Brucie, how common is this in your world? Because that's alarming."

"All the kids at my school do that. My graduating class has done it three different times back in freshmen year." He shrugs. Cass makes a strange noise in the back of her throat.

"Not a lie. Brucie is strange," She tells the group, and everyone stares in bewilderment at the boy sitting on the medical table, even Bruce.

Danny smiles at them sweetly like he would at Vlad when the fruitloop is over, and he gets his parents to throw him out sooner than he wants to leave. It curves with just the right amount of innocence and mischievous nature that no one can tell if it's a positive or deadly expression.

"You are from a war-torn world?" Damian inquires, fingers under his chin with a frown. "How are you so carefree?"

"Oh no, we haven't had a war in about- eh fifty years? Give or take." He answers and once again Cass confirms the truth of his words.

This does nothing to settle their nerves.

"Every day I learn more about teenage Bruce, and every day I am more unsettled," Jason announces, and the rest of the Bats nod. Danny's smile turns broader and softer. It makes him more attractive but unsettling in a way.

Alfred sighs with a fond smile. "Oh, the memories. Master Bruce used to smile at his dates in the same way. I can picture him taking that sweet girl to the movies as if though it was yesterday."

"Bruce, how in the world did you get people to date you? That's creepy as hell. " Dick accuses the man who only shrugs.

"Oliver once told me it was part of the thrill. The idea that I could kill them."

"Why!?"

"I wish I knew chum."

Danny slips the control into his sleeve- he will rip it apart later for the Bluetooth piece. He will wait till the Waynes are too busy with Bruce's old stories about his first few dates to take apart the fear gas bomb he took from the woman earlier today. Could he use it as a fuel?

He'll have to do some tests.

[hezuart]

LITTLE NIGHTMARES 3

aaaaaaAAAAAA

DANG OKAy

So I had a premonition for Little Nightmares 3. Last night I had a dream that Mono was just growing old in a tower he chose to stay in as a hermit and just retired there. The runaway kid's real name was revealed to be "Gilbert" and he summoned UFOs that performed a wicked cool airshow over the sea, but then the USA government shot them down and captured them for experimentation. The government was also after a bunch of super powered teenagers and children. They all swam away and tried to escape. Six was amongst them. One of the teenagers took a liking to Six and used her powers to change Six's (super long???) hair a bright red. It was then revealed the government figurehead in charge of the capture raid was Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story. I should also mention every single person including the kids in my dream looked like they were from the Lorax movie. Like imagine Little Nightmares but all Onceler style. I woke up to several dozen messages of Little Nightmares 3 trailer and well... I'm very relieved it's nothing like my dream.

~~~

Anyway! I had very low, negative expectations for LN3. I didn't think it would ever come out, and if it did, it wouldn't be the same. I am SO glad to be wrong. This developer apparently also worked on Little Nightmares 2, so they had a feel for the story, concepts, atmosphere, and gameplay. Little Nightmares 3 trailer doesn't give us a ton to work with, but I see high inspiration from previously unused concepts. Like the crows and mirrors in the Little Nightmares comics, and the giant baby from Little Nightmares 2 concept art.

The crow boy looks as though he can go through mirrors and technically fly with a black-feathered umbrella he uses to float. The girl has a wrench, and at first, I thought she was wearing an ugly gas mask, but it's apparently an old-fashioned pilot hat. So I touched it up in my drawing to make it look more recognizable... and cute. Already their designs are very intriguing. Can't tell what the full story is about, but they're new characters in a new setting, I'm very excited to see the world get expanded!

It's still a somewhat different style and atmosphere to the previous two games, but this developer really seemed like they paid attention and made it as authentic as they possibly could, and for that I am so grateful, I respect them so much. I am now changed! I've got a hopeful and optimistic mindset for the future of this series.

ESPECIALLY AFTER LEARNING IT'S ACTUALLY GONNA BE CO-OP. HELLO?!

WHO WANTS TO DROP ME OFF A CLIFF?? LETS DO IT

[oliversrarebooks]

lay down on the operating table

TW: forced sedation, experimentation, restraints, struggling

Lay down on the operating table for us. I know you're upset about being experimented on and brainwashed, but it's for the greater good. You'll feel much better about it once we've sedated you. These restraints are for your own safety. Just put your arm down, and -- there we go, all secured. Just relax. There's no point in fighting. You should know that by now.

That's right, soon you'll be trapped inside a body that's too heavy and too drowsy to move, completely relaxed, unable to focus on anything but how much you want to sleep. Every fiber of your body will be relaxed. Your eyelids will become too heavy to keep open. The sedation will slowly overwhelm you until you can't fight it any more. 

And once you're asleep, no matter what is done to you, you will not resist. You won't even be aware of what is happening. You'll be completely at our mercy, sleeping so peacefully. Once the sedative starts to kick in, you won't even remember a thing.

Here, let me put the mask on you and secure it. It's only oxygen. Now breath in deeply. One deep relaxing breath for me. In and out. That's it. Another deep breath. In and out. Good.

Now I am going to start the drug that will put you to sleep. It'll take a few minutes to work, but soon it's going to make you very, very relaxed, and very, very sleepy. No use holding your breath. Just breath normally. There you go.

That's it. Relax and let the sedative work its magic on you. You'll start to feel drowsy and floaty as the drug enters your system. Your eyes will become heavy, and you'll let them drift shut. Your mind will blank, leaving you so relaxed. Do you feel it yet?

You're starting to look a bit dazed. The sedation is beginning to work, I think. You're feeling nice and relaxed, aren't you? And so sleepy. I can see your eyes blinking so slowly. No, no, it's no use to struggle against the restraints. Eventually, you'll stop fighting it and go to sleep. 

Your body is becoming heavy and your mind is growing hazy. Just lie back on the table, yes, that's good. Take another deep breath. Is that a yawn? Is the gas making you drowsy? You're starting to feel it affecting you, aren't you? Lying there, staring up at the ceiling, fighting those heavy eyelids.

I bet you feel so calm and peaceful. Like you want to let yourself drift off to sleep, right?

Your body and mind are relaxing and becoming more sedated, and there's so little you can do about it. Your eyelids want to drift shut. That tiredness is spreading all throughout your body. Is it starting to get hard to keep your eyes open? Is your head starting to feel heavy? Do you feel like you could fall asleep at any moment if you wanted to?

Yes, that's how the sedative is supposed to make you feel -- calm, relaxed, heavy, sleepy. You're fighting your body's natural urges to go to sleep. You'll lose that battle. You are going to go to sleep. 

Did you realize that you've stopped struggling against the restraints? It looks like you can barely keep your eyes open. Slowly and surely, the sedative is putting you to sleep, and there's nothing you can do about it. It's no use fighting those heavy, tired eyelids. They're shutting all on their own.

That's right, you're completely unable to fight the sedation. It's strong and powerful. It will make you feel floaty and drowsy and oh so blissful. It will override your desire to stay awake. It was all over the second we started the drug, and you knew that.

The sedation is conquering your body and soon it will conquer your mind. Your body will fall asleep soon. Let yourself stop fighting, let sleep claim your helpless body. Let sleep take you. Let the sedation claim you. Let your eyelids close. 

You're becoming drowsy, drowsier and sleepier. Soon your eyelids will close, and you will give in to the sedation, and you will be so docile and pliant and entirely at my mercy. Are you ready for that? The moment when your eyelids close will be the point of no return. A fleeting moment when you are not yet asleep and not quite awake. A moment where you know you've lost the fight, where you feel utterly helpless.

There we go. Shut those sleepy eyes for me. Don't open them again. Let the sedative put you fast asleep. There we go, fall asleep. Go to sleep, deep asleep. So deeply asleep. It feels so good to stop fighting and go to sleep. And now that you've fallen asleep, we can do whatever experiments we please.

Now, we can get to work.

[mothiir]

the watcher from the wastes

Mortarion jerks it. That’s it, that’s the fic. @moodymisty and @kit-williams to blame, specially @kit-williams since I basically stole her entire idea.

cw: wanking. self loathing, sort of. mort being a creep and having issues with bodily autonomy. self harm in a weird 40k way. did not mean it to be this gross but ended up that way because morty.

—

—

This process is deeply unpleasant, and Mortarion prefers to go through it as little as possible — and yet you, cursed thing that you are, have forced him to drastic measures.

First of all: the mask must be removed. He unhooks it from his ears, curlicues of oily smoke escaping as the suction gives way. He holds his breath, keeping the toxic fumes nestled in his lungs as long as possible, and sets the mask onto his desk. His work-chair is hewn from the sort of raw pig iron that has Horus despairing. Brother I can have something nicer made — even something with a cushion —

Mortarion does not need such frivolity. It is a chair. He can sit upon it. Thus it serves its purpose.

He can hold his breath for hours, should he need to, but that would defeat the whole purpose of this exercise. With a moment to brace himself, Mortarion exhales the last of the gas, momentarily covering his face in a rank green shadow.

It dissipates, and Mortarion waits for a few heartbeats to pass before inhaling.

He tastes his own flesh: half-cooked, and putrefying.

It is not an unfamiliar taste — it’s almost nostalgic. For a moment, he is a boy once more, nailed to the bowels of an alien planet, eyes fixed on the distant, uncaring sky.

He inhales again. Sharper now. The glutinous phlegm his sinuses produced in a vain attempt to capture the worst of the toxins is starting to thin. He coughs it out into his sleeve, then spits on the floor. Another breath. His throat is always the worst. The gas rots the tissue within, destroying the tender membranes, rendering his voice raspy and ragged.

Without the constant application of the gas, his body has time to heal. And oh how the healing hurts. He hacks up a glob of snot, and then of quivering red tissue. Inside, his cells multiply frantically, like they know that they only have a scant space of time before the mask is reapplied and the perpetual injuring begins once more.

Another burst of coughing; then a frankly revolting sneeze — again, captured into the billowing sleeves of his robe.

He inhales again — and curses, because the healing has moved faster than last time, and his sense of smell has returned with a vengeance. By the Emperor’s ballsack, the stench is overwhelming. What —

He looks down at himself: robes stiffened with effluvia from experiments and battle, fresh gobbets of snot and rancid blood dripping off the end of his sleeves. Hm. Yes, well — that would explain it.

—

By the time he has finished bathing, his body has healed as much as it will ever be able to, and he feels acutely uncomfortable. Even without the influence of the gas, his voice is still a guttural rasp, vocal cords ruined from years of experimentation. His shoulders still hunch instinctively, used to crowding through narrow corridors; his eyes — though brighter — still have sclera of sulphur yellow, polluted with broken blood vessels.

When he inhales the poison of his homeland, at least he has an excuse for how broken his body still is. Without it, his weak flesh stands in testament to the monumental failure of his youth. Not only did he fail to slay the monster who held him captive, he failed to recover from its abuses, remaining a broken-limbed mess of a Primarch.

And yet — and yet a part of him enjoys this feeling. There is no pain in his throat, or behind his eyes; he is not subject to the constant cycle of his lungs rotting into slurry and healing themselves once more. His gums are shiny and pink, not sloughing off his teeth in grey scraps.

Best of all, his senses have returned to their Primarch peak. Even constantly poisoned, and half-crippled, he can smell and taste and hear better than any baseline — pathetic little things the lot of them, no better than scurrying ants.

Apart from…well. You smiled at him You did not cower from the pallour of his flesh, or cringe from the huff and click of his respirator. You looked him full in the face and you beamed.

Lord Primarch, you called him. Lord Mortarion.

And afterwards, to your friend, where you thought he couldn’t hear you: you never said he was handsome.

He pointed you out to Typhus, a little later. Asked his eldest son why they were so desperate for staff that they were now employing defective baselines, like you, who clearly had an incredibly limited range of vision — if you weren’t blind entirely. Typhus had informed him that he didn’t think you were blind — indeed, you had cleaned his armour to perfection just this morning — but if you displeased Mortarion he could have you —

No, Moration cut in. No, that wasn’t necessary.

Not blind. Just — stupid, possibly.

Probably.

Anyway — if you are stupid then he is a fool as well. And worse: he does not have the excuse of being mortal.

Soapy and slick, white hair hanging in a curtain down his back, Mortarion sits in the deserted communal showers and stares at a little plastic sleeve in his left hand. It’s sealed tight — waterproof, preserving the object within as well as can be hoped for. He wonders if you have noticed the theft yet. Probably. Serfs aboard the Endurance do not have many possessions — they do not need them. More than likely he’s caused a little bit of grief, with you either blaming yourself for the loss, or snapping at one of your fellows, blaming them.

He cannot bring himself to care.

His clothes are long gone. The serfs will incinerate them, and bring him new ones when he sends for them. Perhaps this time, he will not go so long without cleaning them. Humans have terrible senses, but he wagers that you would probably prefer —

He amputates that thought abruptly. It does not matter what you prefer. It does not matter what anyone prefers. This is a temporary indulgence to end his madness, and then he will move on.

The plastic crinkles as he opens it, his tongue dashing out to wet his lower lip. The garment is plain cotton, with a little green bow at the front.

Garment. Fabric. So many distancing words to cover up the fact that he has stolen your underwear. He can never let Horus find out. He can never let anyone find out. Even though there is no one here to witness his shame, he feels a flush creep up his back. His cock leaps eagerly as he takes himself in hand, his toes curling on the wet floor. It has been so long since he last touched himself.

It’s pathetic. It’s revolting. And yet —

Mortarion buries his face into the gusset of your underwear, inhaling deeply as he strokes himself. Your scent is faded, but still clings to the fabric, thick and musky and sweet. He can imagine burying his face between your thighs, just inhaling. He’d bite your soft flesh, leaving bruises the exact shape of his teeth — and he would not let them heal. He’d do it every night until they scarred, and you could not change clothes without remembering exactly whose bed you were crawling into.

His breath stutters; his drool seeps into the cotton as he sucks. He’s never taken anyone to bed — there have always been more important things — but he knows what he wants to do. He knows that you would smile at him, and stroke his scars with gentle hands, and welcome him in so deeply that no one would ever be able to pry him out. You’d let him ruin your insides, stretch you so no other man would ever be able to satisfy you again. He’d fill you up to the brim, and then he’d do it again, and again, and again. He’d make you swallow him until you were coughing his seed up, he’d cum in your hair and —

His orgasm rips through him like a tempest, so abrupt that he cries out in shock, cum spurting up over his chest. His flanks heave, and he comes back to his senses in a humiliating rush — he’s chewed through your underwear, shreds of fabric stuck between his teeth. He picks them out, grimacing.

A shameful display. He cannot wait to do it again.

[phoenixcatch7]

Open up

Based on this wonderful art of @puppetmaster13u for the dollhouse au!

It had been a long day, and was destined to be even longer.

The original plan had been bad enough; the league had a media conference planned for three o'clock, one that involved foreign presence and thus required pristine presentation.

Then, as all perfectly good plans that could have been left alone by the universe did, it was derailed by a villain attack or several. He said several because it seemed almost a dozen separate villains had individually had the bright idea of sabotaging the well publicised event. Though they'd failed, the accidental collaboration had done what each alone could not, and now the league was dragging themselves to base to hurriedly patch up the thankfully minor wounds and try and rush to meet the deadline.

Each league member on the list had a formal version of their usual super suit - flash's main change had been a bowtie before it met almost unanimous disapproval, and on the other end of the effort spectrum was Bruce. Not of his own will - he quite envied Flash's staunch faith in the single black bowtie - but he not only had been raised for the fast and critical world of the upper class, but was currently in a metal plated marionette held together by glue and screws and wires, which meant changing attire was more of a debacle than it would ordinarily be.

He flipped open the toolkit with the best approximation of a sigh the doll body could manage. The chest inflated and deflated, which was in fact a rather worrying sign because it wasn't supposed to be able to do that. He grabbed a screwdriver and a pit of tar glue and approached the mirror. He'd just have to go into the globally broadcast meeting stinking of sulphur... Perhaps he could borrow perfume from one of the girls, cologne combined dreadfully.

The chest cavity opened with little tugging, and he held one side in place as he attacked the bent hinges. An odd feeling, for sure. He took a hammer to the dent, imagining it was the penguin's face and praying Clark didn't decide now was the time to approach him on his self soothing metalworking hobby. He'd been entrusted with the override code for the door and Bruce was now quietly regretting that.

The chest cavity doors creaked back into place, which enabled him to finally pull out the costume change for the evening and dump it on the side.

Now for the leg, having been crushed under a tank penguin had smuggled into Gotham. It now bent the wrong way, and hiding it under his cloak had been a pain, but at least it hadn't come off -

There it went. Batman watched, almost despondent, as it toppled free of his body and crashed to the ground. The unhappy static that raced up his spine at the sight was expected - he'd be paying for the lack of care for the Patriarch Doll in nightmares tonight.

Joy.

He tipped into the nearby stool and kicked the lost limb closer with his remaining foot, squinting. Just a cracked screw and torn spring at the knee, thank goodness. He'd have it fully attached again within the hour.

But he was pretty sure he couldn't bend that far over without his jaw falling off, so face it was.

Hood off, wires unlaced under the chin, hidden screws loosened. The gas mask came off. The velcro on top of his head took good old fashioned yanking, but eventually peeled off with reluctant crackling, revealing the unpainted grey metal beneath.

As expected, his jaw was almost entirely loose, unable to close now without the structure of the mask. The nutcracker mouth in the lower jaw fell to tap against his throat, leaving either side of the actual lower jaw to hang in the air. Experimentally, he opened and closed his mouth, and watched all three parts swing and clink like a robot body horror wind-chime.

This was going to need a finer touch, and so he stripped off his gloves to access the sharp points of his talons - capped while with the league to keep the prick of steel rending claws to a mere suggestion.

He felt bared, now, all his top layer removed and abandoned, the door to his room at his back. He feels the paranoia to double check the lock, reassures himself that even if he'd somehow forgotten in his haste to hide away none of the members were mad enough to try and get in. Outside Superman, of course, but he always knocked.

Still, he hurried through repairs, running diagnostics in the back of his mind as he daubed glue into the cracks and set about restructuring his own jaw. Ears swivelled. Neck rolled. Glider snaps curled.

The jaw pieces were setting nicely when there was a noise at the door, and batman whipped around, cloak flaring behind him. The pliers dropped from suddenly weak fingers.

Captain marvel stood in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the room, face pale as he saw Batman propped up in middle, bare of his many obfuscating layers. Black tar speckled his lap, wires hung free like veins, blank eyes glowed, his jaw gaping, skinless. Glinting claws and spikes in full view, a limb discarded on the floor like garbage. His chest a dark hole, void of organs, of machinery, of anything that could make him run. A decades old terror gripped his heart.

HE SAW!

Both froze. Time stretched interminably.

The captains chest heaved for a scream, and batman was moving before he knew it, grabbing his fallen leg and lunging.

Captain marvel fell with a crack. Batman caught himself on the door. Five seconds before short term memory entered long term, had he reacted in time?

Hm.

He considered the body of the champion of magic laid in front of him, idly rebalancing the eternal tally graph of potential energies the dolls might run on in the back of his head and as always coming up none the wiser. This was a very inconvenient place for a body. Perhaps he could nudge marvel into the hallway to wake up. He glanced up and down the empty corridor, staying out of view of the camera.

Maybe he had overreacted slightly.

Bonus:

Billy and Green Lantern sat in the monitor room, ostensibly on duty but really checking out the watchtower camera feeds of the day before. Lantern was pointing at the screen.

"Here," he said, with a glee Billy didn't honestly appreciate. "Look at that. You go down like a sack of bricks and then -" he clicked forward two frames, "- this silver hand thing appears on the door frame. Look at that, that's a proper horror movie hand curl. The claws! Just missing the glint of a blood covered axe appearing from the shadows."

Billy shuddered, but couldn't help moving closer.

"What do you think it was? Can't have been batman, right?"

"You were there, you tell me." Lantern patted him on the shoulder before he could retort. "I mean, doesn't look much like him. Doesn't really have claws and his are black anyway. Pretty sure his gloves are sewn into his skin at this point."

"I didn't need that mental image," Billy said, because he really didn't.

"Could be another Robin variant? Like that black bat thing?"

"Dunno. I mean, unlikely. Maybe it was batman. Maybe he can shapeshift a little."

"We've had that on the list of possible powers for ages, still nothing firm one way or the other."

"It probably is batman -"

"But the claws -"

They trailed off.

"We'll just add it to the list. I'll save the file, hang on. We can talk about it at the do next week - you're coming right?"

"Yeah, but I've got, uh... A diplomacy thing with the yetis at nine, so I'll have to bail then."

"You always have the weirdest personal missions. Hey, maybe you can ask them about batman, pffft. Maybe he's one of them."

[goatsludge]

XM29 Experimental Protective Mask

By the late 1970's, the U.S. Army was already looking to replace the M17/M17A1 Field Protective Mask with a mask that was compatible with the 40mm NATO Standard Canister Thread that was beginning to become more widespread at this point.

The XM29 was the initial experimental design submitted to answer this requirement, being molded single-piece out of silicone rubber, which was more comfortable and hypoallergenic.

The mask could be adapted to left or right-hand shooters with an interchangeable secondary side voice emitter, and featured the same M1 QD Drinking Adapter as the M17A1 (though some versions like this example were made without one).

It was discovered that silicone had poor resistance to blister agents, and so various special scratch-resistant coatings were tested with the lens, as well as some examples being molded from clear urethane plastic.

Neither were satisfactory, so the XM30 program would soon be initiated, which took the principles of the XM29, but used a silicone mask with a separate urethane lens.

This program would ultimately be cancelled by the Army in 1981, but re-opened by the Air Force and ultimately adopted in 1983 as the MCU-2/P while the Army had moved on to the XM40 program.

As usual, this example belongs to @bureau-of-mines

[frogblast-the-ventcore]

From clockwise right, we have:

Hellreigel 9mm submachine gun (text via IMFDB: "As of current knowledge, there was only ever one example of the Hellriegel and it did not survive the war. Its caliber, capacity, operating method, and whether or not it was even a functional weapon are conjecture based on analysis of the photographs and historical context. It is assumed to have been blowback operated with the projections at the rear being a pair of recoil springs, and the large structure over the barrel is thought to have been a leather-wrapped water or oil jacket for cooling. From what little could be known about the weapon from the three images, it appears that the Hellriegel is a large-capacity submachine gun, firing what seems to be a 9mm cartridge. It would make the Hellriegel one of the first submachine guns made in the world by definition of a submachine gun. It wouldn't be referred as a submachine gun at the time, as the term "submachine gun" was first coined in 1921 to advertise the Thompson Submachine Gun; the Hellriegel was referred to as a machine gun (Maschinengewehr) on the image caption. It could feed from straight box magazines, or from a large drum magazine which was not actually connected to the weapon and instead fed the cartridges through a flexible chute. The unusual appearance of this drum magazine led to some assumptions that it was belt fed, however this is not the case with the rounds being unconnected from one another and are propelled along the drum and feed chute by a spring in a similar manner to the Trommelmagazin snail drum used by the Luger pistol. The drum magazine is believed to be able to hold up to 160 rounds while the box mag is limited to 20 or so. It seems to be crew-served, as one image depicts an ammo bearer with a backpack for drum magazines, and its seeming intention to be used as a stationary weapon given its weighted base for the drum and its machine gun name (making it a "heavy" submachine gun of sorts). The provision for a drum but not a bipod however, means it is unclear what exactly the weapon was intended to be used for. All three pictures were taken from the right side of the gun, so what the left side looked like is a complete mystery."

Tsar tank (absolutely bonkers Russian experimental wheeled tank):

Hand-dropped bomb runs (commonplace during the war until bomb racks were invented for small aircraft):

German cavalry with pikes (note the horse gas masks).

Also this happened:

[ynscrazylife]

Feel free to ignore, this is a long one boss.

Marvel gang seeing yn gain powers almost instantly, and watching yn struggle with how to control the new powers. Watching yn, the first couple minutes, days and weeks trying not to kill any team members when they can barely control thier new found abilities.

Im imagining yn super weak at first, they fainted when they first acquired the powers. They cant walk, they can almost stand and they haven't eaten anything since it happened. Yn is scared they are going to die or kill off someone they love and all of the team members are trying to keep yn calm, safe and in control of thier body. Im imagining techies trying to find a way to dampen the powers so that yn can walk around again and everyone fighting to cuddle with the youngest member of the team.

When Sparks Fly

Summary: When you wind up with powers in the aftermath of a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission, the Avengers are determined to help you through it.

Pairings: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader (Romantic), Avengers x Stark!Reader (Platonic)

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me firstand b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

“I swear, this is almost as bad as the day I started at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” you whined, folding your arms in slight annoyance as your step-mother Pepper Potts held up her camera again. Your father, Tony Stark, was standing beside her, grinning as he proudly looked over the photos Pepper took.

“This is the first time you’re going on a mission! This warrants a couple pictures, Y/N,” Pepper retorted, before taking another picture.

“A couple? This has been, like, 100,” you sass, unable to help it. You got it from Tony, after-all.

“I’m glad you’re keeping count,” Tony sassed right back, smirking at your eye-roll that followed.

“Wait!” Peter burst in, having just finished patrol. In his haste, he still wore his Spider-Man suit, but had torn off his mask. He skidded to a halt beside you, putting a sweaty arm around your shoulders.

You softened at your boyfriend’s excitement, your frown lifting into a smile as Pepper snapped a photo of you and Peter. When it was taken, he turned to you. “You’re gonna rock this mission, babe,” he said, kissing you on the forehead.

“I appreciate your confidence, Pete,” you said, grinning lovingly.

“Oh!” Pepper exclaimed, gasping at she glanced at the clock. “Go, go, go! You’re going to be late.”

Following her gaze, you muttered a “shit!” as you scrambled to grab your bag.

“Language,” Steve scolded, wearing a smirk as he walked in with the rest of the Avengers. They had just returned from a mission and there was no way that they weren’t going to see you off today.

“Hi, thanks, bye!” You said rather quickly, throwing your bag over your shoulder before giving Pete a peck on the lips and running off.

“Good luck!” Pepper called to your retreating form.

“Kick ass!” Tony added, pumping his fist into the air.

“Don’t die!” Peter said, right before the door slammed shut. Everyone turned to the young adult, who shrugged. “What? It would really suck.”

Honestly — he wasn’t wrong.

————————————————————————

Since it was your first mission at the academy, it wasn’t meant to be difficult. Key word: meant.

Little did you know, while chasing an ex-A.I.M. agent who had set up his own research and experimentation lab, you followed him into one of his so-called testing rooms — which was a trap. You only realized this when he stopped running and grabbed a gas mask, pulling it on swiftly.

Spotting a gas quickly fill in from the vents, you whispered another “shit!” and turned around, quickly going to the door.

The intel S.H.I.E.L.D. had gotten said that the lab was devoid of any experimental substances. Wrong.

Unfortunately for you — Steve wasn’t here to scold you and the door had locked. You banged on it, frustrated, and turned back around only to see the ex-agent smirking at you.

“I didn’t expect to gain a new testing subject today, but you’ll do quite nicely,” he said.

A quick glance around told you that there were no gas masks left. Nothing to protect yourself. You couldn’t even cover your mouth with anything because your suit wasn’t made to stretch.

Knowing you didn’t have much time, you pressed down on your comms and said: “A gas is quickly filling up the room. I don’t know what it is. The guy’s going to try to escape, so be prepared to—” Your words died on your lips as you started to inhale the gas, overcome with wooziness.

You struggled to continue speaking, only making frustrated noises, and your vision blurred as the guy walked towards you. You didn’t know that he was holding a needle until it pricked your neck. Not long after, you felt your limbs grow heavy and you fell, smacking hard against the ground.

————————————————————————

When the members of the team heard your distress call over the comms, they quickly tracked your location and ran to meet you. Thankfully, they managed to stop him from escaping and taking you with him. But when they got back to the Quinjet, they knew that they had to alert the Avengers, which no-one wanted to do.

When Tony saw Coulson on his caller I.D, he assumed the man was calling him to boast about how well Y/N had done on the mission. Putting the phone to his ear, he was startled when he heard the disappointed words: “I’m so sorry.”

The billionaire stilled, his face instantly paling and altering Pepper and the Avengers that something was wrong. “What happened? Is Y/N okay?” He practically cried, gripping the phone tightly.

“Agent Stark inhaled an unknown gas during the mission. From what we know about it, the gas — and the needle Stark was pricked with — was a part of some experiment that the guy we were tracking down was conducting illegally. We don’t know too much about the experiment yet, but we know that it’s intention is to enhance its subjects somehow. We’re interrogating the guy right now,” Coulson explained, as calmly as he could.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut as he let the news pass over him, doing his best to prevent his voice from shaking. “Can I talk to Y/N?” He asked.

Coulson paused. “I’m afraid not . . . Y/N is unconscious. Has been ever since the incident. The team is en route to S.H.I.E.L.D’s medical wing now, though,” he said.

“I want Y/N transferred to the compound. We’ll have Dr. Cho — she’s the best,” Tony declared firmly.

Another slight pause, and then: “Of course, Tony.” With that, Coulson hung up, leaving Tony to reveal the news to his worried family.

It was safe to say that no one took it well, but Pepper and Peter especially were a wreck. Bruce took the initiative of informing Dr. Cho while the rest anxiously awaited your arrival. They tried to comfort each other the best they could, but with so little information on your condition, there was nothing much that they could say or believe.

When the elevator dinged and two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rolled you out on a gurney, everyone cling to your side. Peter was especially shaken when he saw you unconscious. The agents didn’t let anyone come with, saying it was imperative that they get you to Dr. Cho now.

Although difficult, your family allowed you to be rolled away alone. For the next half-hour, everyone waited for any news. The majority of the group was seated on the couch, but it seemed that everyone paced around at least once. Tony demanded updates from F.R.I.D.A.Y., only to hear that you were “stable” which wasn’t enough to calm anyone’s nerves or satisfy anyone.

When Bruce finally emerged, the group nearly pounded on him. They were barely able to keep quiet enough for him to actually say anything.

“They don’t think it’s life-threatening, but it’s not good, either,” was what Bruce first said, pausing as he gauged their reactions before continuing. Once he deemed that no-one was going to have some sort of outburst, he continued. “The gas Y/N inhaled is . . . Changing them. From what Dr. Cho can tell and the information they got out of the A.I.M. guy, the gas and the needle modifies one’s DNA to give them enhancements . . . Superpowers, of some sort. The A.I.M. guy let it slip that this will be a slow and painful process for Y/N, though. It was meant to beat down the guy’s test subjects so that by the time their powers were developed and controlled, it would be easier for him to manipulate them into doing what he wanted. It seemed he hadn’t planned on doing this to Y/N, but took the opportunity when he realized he might be able them use it against us.”

This was a lot for everyone to take in. They all held some combination of immense concern and anger. The very thought you suffering was an enraging image, and they wanted nothing more than to be able to take away the pain.

“Is-is there anyway to stop the process before the powers develop?” Pepper asked, trembling slightly. Tony wrapped an arm around her.

Bruce frowned. “Dr. Cho is looking into it. Coulson said when they asked the guy that, he claimed it would just make things worse,” he said.

No-one liked the sound of that.

“Can we see Y/N?” Tony asked next.

Bruce nodded and led the group to the medical bay, where you were lying in a bed. A ton of wires were hooked up to you and a bandage was on your head from where you hit it when falling.

Tony, Pepper, and Peter immediately went to your side and the rest of the Avengers followed. No-one said much, just using the time and the silence to digest this change. Peter and Tony both held each of your hands and Pepper pet your hair. Not long passed before Rhodey and Happy, having received the news, quickly joined.

No-one moved, or wanted to move, until Dr. Cho came in. “Unfortunately, we don’t see a way to reverse the process. We’ll just have to let it play out and help and comfort Y/N the best we can,” she explained, knowing everyone wanted to hear it. “Y/N should wake up on their own. They’re not under any sedation or anything.”

Everyone nodded and turned their attention back to you. A couple hours passed and the only movement that occurred was when someone went to go on coffee and food runs, or they got any update from S.H.I.E.L.D. However, Peter broke the silence when he suddenly jerked back. “Ow!” He said, waving his hand. Meeting the other’s confused looks, he said: “Y/N shocked me.”

“That bad?” Sam asked, a little doubtful.

Peter nodded and glanced back to you, his eyes widening. “Woah, look,” he said. Everyone inched closer, only to see electricity sparking at your fingertips. Although reluctant, Tony and Pepper had to move away at risk of getting shocked.

Seeing the commotion, Dr. Cho shuffled over and began checking your vitals and monitors. “What’s going on? Does Y/N have electricity powers or something?” Bucky asked.

Although his second question hadn’t been serious, Dr. Cho turned around and said: “It seems like it.”

This shocked everyone, but when your eyes began to open, they seemed to snap back to normal. Already in a state of daze and confusion, you got nervous seeing the crowd. “What-what’s going on?” You mumbled, pulling at the wires, only for electrical sparks to fly and interfere with the wires, making you curl up in pain.

“Unhook the monitors!” Natasha cried, while Tony did his best to soothe you.

“You’re home, honey. The gas you inhaled is changing you and giving you, what looks like, electricity powers. But it’s all going to be okay, I promise,” he tried to explain.

This, combined with seeing the worried, confused, and nervous looks on your family’s faces, only freaked you out more. Electrical sparks flew out now, and the Avengers had to dodge being hit. You let out a small scream, trembling, and trying yet failing to control it.

“Get away from me! I’ll hurt you!” You yelled, panicked, hugging yourself and attempting to get as far back on the bed as you could manage.

“No, you won’t. You just need to take some deep breaths, Y/N,” Peter tried to comfort.

But that didn’t seem like it was possible. Any attempt to slow your breaths only made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. You were desperate to regain your regular breathing, and it came out in short gasps. Not only was electrical sparks going everywhere, but it was hurting you, and you were feeling dizzy. “I can’t. It hurts!” You said, trembling, and the next thing you knew — your eyes rolled back into your head and you fainted.

Everyone was relieved as the electrical sparks disappeared, but not happy that you were unconscious again. Tony reached forward and moved some hair out of your face, sighing.

“We need Y/N to calm down. I think we should bring them to their room and reduce who sees them at first — maybe only Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, me, and Ms. Maximoff. She can help with Y/N’s powers,” Peter said, looking at the Avengers.

While the group all wanted to be with you, they understood that it was overwhelming. With a look at Dr. Cho, who said it would be okay as long as she could check on you, Tony said: “Good idea, kid.” He took it upon himself to gently lift you from your bed and carry you to your room, everyone following behind.

When they got to your room, Tony laid you down on your bed and Pepper tucked you in. Everyone sat around, trying to make the room as comfortable and calming as possible, until you started to stir. They all filed out, leaving behind your parents, Peter, and Wanda.

When you began to wake, the sparks began to fly, but Wanda quickly jumped in. “Hey, Y/N,” she said, smiling at you. You and Wanda were really close. She was like an older sister. “You’re in your room, with just me, your mom and dad, and Peter. We noticed that the electricity only seems to get uncomfortable when you’re upset, so we’re gonna try and help you. I know that this is all really sudden and scary and not what you expected or wanted. But, if anyone can tackle it, it’s you. Think you can take some deep breaths for me?”

You did your best to listen to Wanda’s words, although her powers - which was intent on relaxing you - certainly helped. Realizing you were in your bed and had the people you loved most around you, unwilling to leave and wanting to help, allowed you to feel less scared and take those deep breaths. It took a couple minutes, and Peter holding your hand, but the sparks began to lessen and lessen.

“I’m scared,” you whispered after a moment, tears in your eyes. You found yourself able to express some sadness without the sparks causing chaos, but it was draining your energy and causing pain.

“I know,” Wanda said, cupping your cheek comfortingly. “But you’ve got a whole team right behind you. We love you so, so much.”

“Yeah, we do,” Peter agreed, and your mom and dad nodded, causing you to smile. You squeezed your boyfriend’s hand. He squeezed back.

For the rest of the day, the Avengers visited you in pairs or trios, not wanting to overwhelm you with everyone again. You were disappointed about how your S.H.I.E.L.D. mission had gone, but having your dedicated family at your side helped. The sparks were no longer soaring, but when Coulson had said it would be a painful process, he was by no means exaggerating.

You hadn’t said anything, not wanting to worry anyone anymore, but it became apparent the next day. Everyone was now in the room and, after some slight stress (which Wanda and Peter helped with), the sparks calmed down. You were sick of lying in bed all day and wanted to stand up and walk around, but that proved to not go well.

The second you had risen to your feet — you were tumbling back down. Your knees hit the floor, and Peter barely managed to wrap his arms around you and prevent your head from hitting it, too. He gently pulled you against him as your head lolled against his chest, a wave of dizziness appearing.

“Are you alright?” Tony asked, him and Pepper kneeling down in front of you and Peter. The rest were close by, in case you needed anything.

The sparks came back, but this time just seemed to appear all over your body. You were concentrating hard to prevent them from escaping, and this in turn only exhausted and hurt you more. “Y-yeah,” you answered through grit teeth, but your whimper of pain betrayed you.

“I’ll get Dr. Cho,” Bruce offered, making a move for the door handle.

“No,” you forced out, although your voice was hardly strong. Enough to make Bruce pause, though. “It’s not — it’s my powers. It’s taking everything in me not to let this electricity out, and on top of that I think this whole process is taking a toll on me, like Coulson said it would.”

No-one liked hearing this. The group exchanged looks over your head, worried, and then Tony nodded at Peter, gesturing to your bed. Since your eyes were closed, Peter said, “I’m going to pick you up and put you back in bed, okay?”

When you nodded, Peter gently picked you up and laid down in bed. Your grip never left him, though, so he slid in beside you, in a cuddle. Peter and Pepper both fixed the blankets while you leaned your head against his shoulder.

Pepper and Tony sat beside you and the rest of the Avengers crowded around. Blinking your eyes open tiredly, you managed a small smile, your heart warming with your family surrounding you. Trying to get as comfortable as possible with the pain, you squirmed around and huffed lightly.

“Still hurts?” Natasha murmured, with the others watching over you in concern.

Your answer was an affirming hum, face tightly scrunched up in concentration. “I’m really trying to contain it,” you whispered, which broke everyone’s hearts. You looked exhausted and worn-out, but were still trying so hard.

Steve glanced over at everyone, frowning. “We can leave if you need to let it out,” he offered gently.

You shook your head. “No. I need to learn how to control it,” you insisted.

This had everyone more worried. “You don’t have to learn right now, hun,” Wanda said.

“I do. I can’t hurt anyone again,” you said, and then leaned forward, gasping, as a wave of pain from the electricity racked your body.

You were Tony Stark’s kid — stubbornness was in your DNA.

Peter bit his lip and rubbed your back, wanting to do anything he could to provide you with comfort. Pepper pet your hair until you leaned back, practically collapsing against your boyfriend. “Maybe a story will help distract—” Sam began, but you quickly cut him off.

“No! I can’t be distracted! I need to concentrate unless you want me to fry you!” You snapped, glaring at Sam. Everyone was surprised by your sudden outburst, but your frustration quickly dissolved into guilt and tears escaped your eyes. “I’m-I’m sorry Sam. I just can’t relax. All I can do is think about keeping the electricity in.”

You pulled your knees to your chest and Peter’s arms wrapped around you from behind. Eyes widening, Sam was quick to say: “Hey, hey, it’s alright, kid. No hard feelings.” He smiled.

“I can put you to sleep for a bit, if you’d like,” Wanda offered, also smiling.

You thought about this for a moment and then nodded. Wanda put her index fingers on her temples and, after a moment, your body relaxed and went limp. Peter gently pulled you so you were laying back against the pillow and everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. They all just watched you for a moment, glad that you were finally no longer in pain — even if only temporary.

After a couple minutes, Bruce piped up. “There has to be something we can do, Tony.”

Tony glanced over at the scientist and nodded, the wheels already turning in his head. “Can we build something that can absorb the electricity? A bracelet with an insulator like rubber or plastic that could be strong enough for Y/N to be able to let loose some of that electricity?” He pondered.

Bruce nodded, liking where the billionaire was going with this idea. “Let’s see,” he said, and then headed out the door, to their lab.

Tony was more hesitant leave Y/N, but Pepper and the others assured him that they’d be there. Smiling at his wife and then at sleeping Y/N, Tony allowed himself to trust that and followed Bruce.

You slept for most of the day with your family by your side. They only left if it was absolutely necessary. When you woke up still in pain, the Avengers took shifts. If it were up to them, they’d all be with you all the time. Unfortunately, duty called to the team and to Pepper. At any moment, though, at least one of them was always with you. Rubbing your back, keeping you updated with what was going on in the tower and with S.H.I.E.L.D, anything they could do or say that would provide even the littlest bit of comfort.

Two days later, when Fury wanted the Avengers to go out on a mission, they all ended up arguing with him and insisting that they needed to stay with you. Their love for you seemed to out-power the Director’s might. It took a lot of convincing, but Fury eventually backed down after talking to his best spies Clint and Natasha and when he saw you himself.

Later that afternoon, Bruce and Tony finally perfected the bracelets. They delivered it to you proudly, all the Avengers by their side. You gladly wore them and it helped lessen the pain some — although it did not go away entirely. Tony was adamant on going back to the lab and working on it himself, but you were able to put your father at ease. You know the pain would continue as long as your powers were still developing. Soon, your body would get used to it and you’d be in control.

Tony (and everyone else) still worried, of course, but they knew you were right. Sure enough, by the end of the week, you were up and walking around again. Your body had stopped fighting the new development and, after practicing and working with Wanda, you were able to control it with little difficulty. You surprised the group when they were in the living room, coming down the staircase with a large grin on your face.

“So . . . Does this mean I can become an Avenger now, too?” You asked.

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[stevesjockstrap]

Devil in Disguise (Steddie!My Bloody Valentine)

Part two (mind the tags)

rated E - read on ao3 - cw: blood, off-screen violence, secret identity, and all the smut

Eddie doesn’t usually hang out at the mine anymore. No one’s really supposed to hang out there, which does give him the itch to do it. And he’s inexplicably friends with the sheriff. Generally speaking he’d rather be on his couch than with the same people who couldn’t get out of the same shit town. But none of this matters because he’s here. Nursing a beer and listening to the same stories Tommy Hagan tells about high school every time he drinks. 

He’s pulled from his depressing thoughts by a shockingly familiar face. “Holy shit, it can’t be-“

Tommy beats him to it. “Fuckin’ Steve Harrington! Look who graced us with his presence!”

Steve winced as Tommy grabbed him into an enthusiastic hug and breathed in his face. Eddie held back a chuckle. 

“Well you all are on my property,” he said dryly. It would technically be a joke if it wasn’t so dark. Eddie had heard Steve’s old man had finally died and left him everything. He hadn’t known he was back to town, though. Word on the street was he was selling the mine. Eddie figured that meant he wanted to cut all ties to this place. 

It wasn’t long before Eddie was a few beers in, everyone looser and fuzzy around the edges. Something pulled him from the fog and he looked around. Groups had been filtering in and out, people usually getting dared to go further down into the mine shafts. But now everyone seemed to stop and look around all at once. A chill ran up his spine as he finally registered the screaming. The group across from him saw something behind him and ran towards the exit.

Stupidly, Eddie spun around instead and with a gasp backed against the dirt wall. A figure slowly walked towards him, in full dark coveralls and gas mask. He was dragging a pickaxe next to him, scraping noisily against the stone floor. Eddie gulped. 

It wasn’t until the miner reached him that he realized the pickaxe was dripping with blood. Eddie’s heart was beating out of his chest and even more shockingly his dick was throbbing in his pants. 

The figure came to press him against the wall, his shallow breaths echoing through the gas mask. Eddie somehow took in the fact that the man was about his height, with broad shoulders and the arms of the coveralls were stretched tight over his biceps. He couldn’t make out any features through the eye holes in the gas mask as he was stared at. 

The murderer was probably trying to figure out why he wasn’t freaking out or fighting back. Eddie was also trying to figure that out. He felt even more drunk than before, dizzy and flushed and such a large part of him wanted to tear this guy’s clothes off. A whimper escaped his lips. 

The man made an appreciative noise at him and slotted his leg between Eddie’s, pulling a shocked gasp from him as his knee met his hard cock. Eddie melted against the wall and realized too late that he’d grabbed onto the miner’s biceps to hold himself up. The man leaned in closer, pushing his own hard length against him and rasping his breath into his ear.

“Christ,” Eddie breathed. Everything else dropped away as his sole focus was on the body pressing against him. He might pass out before he got to come at this rate.

Since the man didn’t seem to be going anywhere, Eddie held onto his biceps and rocked forward into his leg experimentally. They both groaned as they got much needed friction. Eddie whimpered again as the man dropped the pickaxe from his hand, clattering next to them, bringing his arms up to cage him in and pressed their chests together. Eddie slid his hands up to settle on the other’s shoulders, using them as leverage to rock them together. His head dropped forward into the stranger’s neck, the spicy sharp scent of his cologne shockingly normal despite everything else.

The man’s thrusts became frenzied, his panting breaths rasping through the gas mask into his ear. Eddie’s eyes rolled back as he came with a harsh groan, the shock of humiliation of rutting against a stranger (and a murderer) making it that much sweeter. The stranger threw his head back and shoved his hips into Eddie’s, signaling his own release. 

As they stared at each other, panting and coming down, the wailing of a siren suddenly echoed around the walls making them both jolt. The man pulled back, grabbed his pickaxe and disappeared down into the mine.

Eddie slid down the wall, unable to keep his legs under him. Soon there was a flashlight in his face, a man asking him questions. 

“Son, hey, get the medic in here. Hey!” 

The man patted his face and he looked up. “What?” he said blearily, blinking up at him.

“Are you okay? What happened?” The man crouched down in front of him. “You’re covered in blood, man. Are you hurt?”

Eddie looked down, perplexed by this. His shirt was saturated with blood. He swiped a finger through it and it seemed like real blood, not fake corn-syrupy movie blood. He swallowed. 

Clearing his throat, he answered finally, “I’m not hurt. But there was a man. He, uh, hurt people. He was dressed like a miner… had a gas mask on. Went back down there.” He raised a hand to point in the direction he’d disappeared in.

The officer looked at him like he was crazy for a moment before his radio went off on his shoulder, “There’s five or six bodies down here, it’s a whole mess. He say anything yet?”

In the days afterwards, amidst the news reports and manhunt for a strange killer miner, the only thing that seemed strange to him was how often he ran into Steve Harrington. At the grocery store. Putting gas in his van. Once at the library returning a book for Wayne. It had started to piss him off, really. 

“Are you sticking around then? Or just trying to see all the places that’ll shut down when you sell off the mine?” He snapped at him finally in the butcher’s shop. 

Steve held his hands up. “No, man. I’m, uh- Look, okay? I promise I’m not the jackass everyone thinks I am.”

“Prove it,” Eddie countered. 

They ended up at the bar. It was early, so it wasn’t crowded but enough of the regulars were around to make it entertaining. Eddie ordered them a round and a basket of fries.

Hours later, they’d discovered Steve was slightly better at pool but Eddie could kick his ass at darts. Steve had bought shots of whiskey and it had gone downhill from there. 

Eddie wiped tears from his eyes as he leaned against him at the bar, laughing at a story about Tommy in middle school. Probably getting too close, especially as a sharp spicy scent hit his nose. He pulled back with a sharp inhale. 

Steve quirked an eyebrow at him. “What’s up?”

“I dunno,” he shook his head. It had to be a coincidence. A lot of people wore the same brands of cologne. It couldn’t. But his head was now full of strong arms and a thick thigh shoved between his legs. Blood on his shirt. His cock twitched in his jeans. Eddie shook his head around to try to clear it. “Maybe that last shot really sent me over the edge,” he tried to joke but it came out flat. 

Steve let him make a dumb excuse to get home, shop to open in the morning, something something. He nodded and they walked out to the street together. The fresh air helped, and he tried not to stare at his broad shoulders under the street light. Steve’s motel was the other way, so they shook hands a bit awkwardly and walked away. 

Eddie was not at all surprised when he heard a clatter and his floorboards squeak. He had been expecting it, actually. This was even the first night after he’d persuaded Jeff to call off the patrol car guarding him. He wasn’t hard to find. The mechanic shop downstairs and tow truck with his name plastered across it, E. Munson in the phone book. He kicked the blanket off of him and settled back into his pillows, his hands behind his head. 

Despite knowing it was coming, he did gasp as the masked miner appeared in his open doorway. Blood traveled to his dick. What was wrong with him?

“Come here to murder me?” He asked flippantly. The figure cocked his head. “Or come to finish me off in a different way?” He snaked a hand down to grasp his rapidly filling cock through his boxers. The masked man made a small noise in his throat. Eddie smirked. “You can keep the mask on while you fuck me. This whole thing has been very eye opening for me, you know?” That was an understatement. This morning he’d come twice in the shower thinking about getting fucked by this man, covered in someone else’s blood. 

The miner stepped forward, Eddie eyed him as he continued to tease his dick. He was still buzzed even after the walk home and a chugged glass of water. 

The man peeled his gloves off and Eddie whimpered, somehow seeing his big rough hands sending lightning down his spine. He needed those big hands on him, everywhere. Inside of him. 

“Fuck. Hurry up,” he hissed, cutting it off with a groan as the man pulled open his coveralls and stepped out of his boots. He squeezed around the base of his cock, eyes on the white undershirt stretched across muscled shoulders. The helmet hit the floor with a thunk that had him gasping again. 

“This is so nuts,” he breathed. He had to let go of his dick completely when he received a dark filthy chuckle in return. “Holy fuck. C’mon. Get the fuck over here already.” He’d feel weird about ordering around a killer later, right now the pickaxe was nowhere in sight and he needed to get off. Now. 

The miner stepped out of his uniform and walked up to the edge of the bed. Somehow he seemed even more imposing in just dark briefs and a tshirt. Eddie gulped. He blinked and the man was beside the bed. He turned his masked face to look at him as he opened the drawer in his bedside table. Oh fuck yes. 

Obviously finding what he was looking for, he then knee walked onto the bed between Eddie’s spread legs. He felt a quiver go through him as his hands were grasped and pulled away from his boxers. The man leaned over him to press his hands above his head, face to face with him. Eddie nodded. With a small appreciative noise the man let go and leaned back. Eddie left his hands where he’d put them. 

Big warm hands were pulling slowly at the waistband of his boxers and he whined. He silently hoped he wasn’t going to take this much time doing everything. He raised his hips and thankfully they were pulled down and off his legs. His cock begged for attention now that it was uncovered. Eddie yelped as cold lube was dumped onto it but warm calloused fingers drug it down to circle his entrance. Eddie was losing what little patience he had.

“Please. I- uh, already had fingers there today-“ The groan that punched out of the masked man had his dick twitching between them. He slid a finger in slowly and made another low noise as it met little resistance. Eddie pulled his elbow over his face, somehow ashamed even as he was so close to coming. His arm was shoved away from his face, the man between his legs giving him a short shake of the head when he looked at him. 

“Alright, I know. Okay. Unless you’re fucking huge, I’m good. Give me your cock.” The man hummed and pushed three fingers in roughly. Eddie hissed. “Fuck, okay well your fingers are fucking huge but-“

He made another dismissive noise as he scissored the fingers around, mercifully not hitting his prostate. Eddie whined again as he felt the edge of the man’s pinky also push past his rim. He couldn’t be serious with this. He rocked his hips down to try to hurry him up, fucking the fingers further into him. 

After another moment, just as Eddie was going to complain again, the fingers were slid out. The masked man backed away and stood at the side of the bed to drag his briefs off. 

Eddie stared, propping himself up on his elbows without thinking, trying to get a better look. 

The man slid his lubed hand over his impressive cock. 

It was longer and thicker than anyone or anything he’d experimented with before. Eddie’s ass clenched around nothing. He’d never wanted something inside of him so badly.

“Jesus Christ, where did you come from?” He licked his lips unconsciously and the stranger groaned. Eddie groaned, too. “C’mon big boy, I need to come with that thing in me.”

The masked man huffed at him and Eddie watched enthralled as he rolled a condom down his length and repositioned himself back between his legs. Eddie appreciated that he didn’t try to get him to turn over. He wanted to see him. 

Almost immediately the masked man hooked his legs over his shoulders and without preamble started pushing inside of him. Eddie moaned at the stretch and being basically bent in half. On an overzealous inhale he caught the spicy sharp scent of his cologne again and, what really sent him spiraling, the smoky alcohol tang of whiskey. That couldn’t be a coincidence but just then his prostate was nailed and a hand wrapped around his cock and he couldn’t form any more coherent thoughts. 

He reached up and pushed against the headboard as he was shoved up the bed, moaning loudly as he hurtled towards his orgasm. 

“Fuck, oh my god, gunna-“ he nearly screamed as every nerve ending in his body sparked. The man didn’t stop thrusting or jerking his cock and his orgasm went on forever. 

“I think you’re trying to kill me with your dick, holy fuck,” he whined as his body shook with overstimulation. The stranger chuckled darkly and he decided maybe that was fine. Eddie reached between them to pull the hand off his spent cock and shockingly the man laced their fingers together, bringing their connected hands up into the pillow next to his head. 

Their bodies came together again and again and his dick shockingly started showing signs of life. The friction between their chests and the man’s soft tshirt was delicious and he’d never been more turned on in his life. 

“Please tell me you’re close. I’m going to lose my mind.” 

He moaned again as the man changed position slightly to drag over his prostate over and over again. Clearly losing his grasp on reality, he sunk his teeth into the sliver of skin between the fabric of his mask and his shirt. The man’s hips snapped off beat and he swore under his breath. The first actual word he’d spoken to him. Eddie sucked and bit at the mark as he came again untouched between them. 

Eddie could only hang on as the other man chased his orgasm, his thrusts getting faster before he finally groaned and ground his hips into him. He rocked them together a couple more times before collapsing in a heap on top of him. Eddie tried to hold on to his own consciousness as best as he could, wanting to gain any other information about this person, but he slipped into darkness. 

He became aware of the smell of coffee first. He never set the timer on his pot, always forgetting the night before. Then he remembered the night before. He shot upright in bed and looked around. There was nothing out of place or strange in his bedroom to show from his mystery guest. 

He ran out to the kitchen. The pot was on, and his favorite Garfield mug was sat out on the counter with a note under it.

In scraggly print it said See you with a cartoony smiley face with big eyes and an x.

He chuckled to himself when he pulled next to Steve Harrington’s truck at the grocery store. As he opened his door Steve rounded the back of it holding a paper bag. 

He grinned at him. “Motel staples?”

“You know it,” Steve peered into the bag. “All the food groups: cookies, microwave popcorn, and beer.”

Steve pulled open his door and a very familiar mask fell to the ground.

@lighthousebeams

[sangoqueenkoko]

I don't want realism; I want magic

angst

MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

.

Previous, Part 1 | Part 2 | Next, Part 3

Synopsis: Being with Dottore for some time is enough to drive some insane. But what about living with him? Thick and thin. Sweet and sour. Love and hatred. Lust and chastity. It all burns passionately. Wrapped around each other's fingers.

Warnings? This is an experimental series. Also contains the mention of inner body parts, blood and gore.

He finally exploded. Combusted.

Shattered.

Finally.

All the built-up anger that led to this moment could finally escape. In an unfortunate way.

And unfortunately, this isn’t an illusion. It’s actually happening. Whatever toxic gas that could be concocted in the Hell that is his Lab hadn’t affected you to the point of changing your reality to the magic most wanted. No.

His breath was heavy—seething, in fact. He looked over his shoulder at you. At this point, he had removed his mask so you could see the anger in his eyes in all its glory. They pierced your soul.

He would turn to you before walking over. It was like he suddenly appeared in front of you, and the fast rhythm of your panicked heart may as well have been the speed at which he was walking. The closer he got, the more of his body heat you could feel and the more anger you could sense.

"Of all pathetic homo-sapiens to be this disruptive and disrespecting to my research, I never would have never expected it to be you", Dottore growled with his hands behind his back, coat nowhere to be seen again. His eyes were full of fire, no reconciliation to be seen nearby; they were alluring to some, deadly to most. Like the so-called innocence of a rosebud, to the prickly points on its stem, dealing harm even if it didn’t want to, no matter how careful. His hair is a little unkempt due to the amount of time he's spent working with no self-care. Which you always cared for even if he didn't. But he didn't seem to care about what you thought at the moment. He didn’t care what anyone thought at this point. But his mask was always perfectly in place. As if he's always trying to conceal something away from everyone he comes across.

But he isn't concealing his anger now. He's let it out.

"I-I'm sorry, Zan-" you would try to muster up an excuse he would take, but you don't know why because he can see through anyone's lies like glass. No one else’s anger made your usually composed and undeviating composure waver unless it was from Dottore.

"Do NOT call me that!" he spat, lunging forward towards you, but he caught himself at the last second and tried to hold himself back. The sudden movement from him made you move back, too; you hated being in the path of his destructive anger; he could do literally anything. But he hated that name. Zandik. It reminded him of his Akademiya days. "Never, EVER speak of that name again! I have heard that name FAR too many times over the years, and I am sick of it! Especially hearing it from you! I loathe it! You make it oh so much worse. And I. AM. FINISHED!"

What happened after that—an argument or conversation, if you even call it that—was awkward but surreal. You had never seen him so angry, especially towards yourself, especially over the measliest of things. Now you know what other people felt when The Doctor was beyond seething.

Poor you.

Pity.

Though you were used to it, it still hit close.

When he was in various moods, you knew it was better to leave him alone and let him cool off, to do whatever cacophonous activities he pleased.

In the meantime, you knew to do your own thing, be it reading, talking, walking to let your thoughts simmer and fester, or practising sparring. No one could ever separate you from your blade.

"Heh," Childe mused with his usual shit-eating grin as he put his bow away, it disappearing beside his waist in a small cloud of golden sparkles before they hurridly faded away, "remember, we've been over this, girlie. Many times. Disputes happen. Adohiro and I have them, even over the pettiest things. And it's no different for you and The Doctor either. Even if... he tends to be a loose canon sometimes," he admitted openly, because you obviously knew that already. But you wouldn't call it 'petty.'

Despite your loose friendship, as in you and Childe, you were both good at fighting. He was always looking for a fight with those who would... 'ask for it,' and you were always up to the opportunity to refine your skills and execute them perfectly. So, if someone came upon you two sparring, they would think it looks like a dance. The way both of your manoeuvres melt together creates something that flows smoother than water: perfect pars, swift flourishing, and endless energy. Flashy.

It was comfortable for both of you. Your sword, slender, dark in colour, like obsidian, yet shiny, with no stains despite your work, would collide with Childe's slick, ocean-blue Riptide blades. From time to time, it would be some friendly jabs and remarks at each other before it would work up the energy and get a little more aggressive, as it would be if you were to actually fight against a foe. More flamboyant.

You could easily tell he was enjoying it, almost like he was showing off. But the word 'petty' stuck in your mind like an adhesive; he may not have meant it to be necessary, but you didn't see it like he did. That drove you to fight for your life, so to speak. And whatever he said next would fall upon your deaf ears.

Let’s just say that no words were spoken for a while.

Nothing but the sounds of quick swoops and clangs as weapons collided. The occasional friendly jabs turned into witty quips shared between the two of you, only before more swoops and clangs would sound out more rapidly with more force. With wits at their ends, it would be a surprise if someone got hurt, right? Right?

No matter. Because how could either of you get hurt? You’re both skilled bladesman. Meaning that no matter the circumstances you shouldn’t get hurt, you should only deal damage to those that don’t matter.

That was also told to you in your line of work. Constantly. This drove you. And it drove you insane. The idea of hurting the seemingly innocent until proven til they perish. They’ve worked alongside the criminally insane without knowing? Kill them. Their family? Kill them; there can’t be any more ‘bad blood’ spared. Knowing that you were once as innocent as the genuinely innocent you have killed haunted you; it was this burden that sat and will forever sit, on your shoulders until your own death. Constantly whispering to you, reminding you every day. Without fail. Like the angels and demons on either side of you. Only that it was only the demon. The angel was still there. But it was long dead. Dead by the hands of your own being. Signifying you are no longer innocent. And haven't been for a long time

You had a quick breather between quick rounds. During this break, you protested because you wanted to keep going, but Childe persisted.

"You've gotten much better than last time, Konchina" He took a deep breath as he put his arm in front of him, stretching it as his other arm held it close to his chest before lightly shaking it, relieving the tension pent up from the sudden blade swings.

"Of course, I've gotten better, Tartaglia", you retorted, mocking his enthusiasm in the way he said your 'name' "I can only get better from here."

He shrugged after a brief silence as he let the air settle between you both. "Okay, whatever you say. Just don't push yourself. I have to keep telling you this; the more you do this, the more you push yourself to your limit, and the more likely you will get hurt and put out of commission, depending on the severity, of course. And you know that Her Majesty can't have any of her followers, especially one of her close subordinates, out of action when work needs to be done. And you know what The Do-"

He would begin to carry on but was immediately cut off by you groaning at the name, throwing your sword down as it bedded itself into the dirt, standing at an angle, "Do not bring him up now. I can't tolerate him now, and I don't think he will be able to tolerate me now after... what happened." You would rather not think about that again.

And, of course, you know what The Doctor will say; it wouldn't be the first time. He keeps you close to his lab until you get better, not until he patches you up while giving you a long lecture. Ugh. You can't stand his lectures. As knowledgeable as he is in the medical field, it doesn't help that when you want peace, he can't keep his mouth shut.

Like last time, the last time you hurt yourself was during another spar session, this time with the Captain himself, Capitano. You got too into it, pent-up emotions up to the brim as you swung your weapon a little too hard and fast and accidentally dislocated your shoulder. As uncomfortable as it was, Capitano advised you to get it fixed, against your wishes, as you still wanted to fight. Thus sending you to the lab that is Dottore's. When you walked in, and he saw the damage, even at a glance, he knew; he sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he didn't have his mask on due to what he was working on; he snapped his fingers, echoing across the room, before pointing at the chair beside his main lab desk.

He pushed your arm back into place with a resounding POP, immediately followed by you sounding in agony despite restraining yourself.

"Tut. You know full well not to throw your body weight in a fight unless it is detrimental. You should know that by now." He would say things like that, only more patronizing; at least, that's what it felt like.

"You know to leave him alone and do whatever he wants," Childe mentioned. I've heard that before, you thought. Many times. "Now. Where were we?" he smirked as he picked his weapon up again.

Reaping up your weapon out of the ground began round two.

Those memories came back and took control. What you've been told many times came back and took control. And it wanted to do some damage. Yet, it would only backfire.

CLANG. CLANG. CRASH. PING.

Was the sounds of your blades. Only the PING was when Childe managed to disarm you and accidentally pierced your right upper quadrant. He dropped his weapons once he noticed.

"(Y/N)! Oh my- I genuinely didn't mean to do that-"

"Childe! I'm fine," you said with a shaky voice, speaking through the adrenaline rush that was now coming to a close, the pain slowly yet quickly overtaking your side.

"Let's get you to the lab- and yes, we are going!" he said quickly before you could even think about protesting, "and I don't care what The Doctor thinks; he has to help."

He will.

He must.

taglist: @jqnehr • @rain-soaked-sun • @mmeatt • @leoisgayforwriting (for Childe) •

please fill out the Google form on the series masterlist if you want to be added! :3

[dimbulb0]

Sirens blared throughout the lab, but everyone in the building already knew what had happened: containment breach. The six subjects, all young women, were prisoners more than volunteers, and after months of brutal and degrading experiments, it was obvious to everyone that none of them were leaving this place alive.

Five of them were almost certainly dead already. All six were receiving the same treatments, and so an issue with one meant that all of them had to go. After the alarm sounded and the blast doors sealed off the floor, hydrogen cyanide gas flooded the halls and rooms. All of the personnel had been trained on these procedures, and most had donned their masks in time. Those who didn't? Well.

But something had gone wrong. One subject, Daniela, loomed above you and was somehow very much alive. She filled the hallway from side to side, and you estimated she had to be at least twenty-five feet tall. Her breasts jutted out several feet in front of her, capped with nipples bigger than your head. Her long red hair fell like curtains around her. She looked down at you hungrily.

Things were still getting worse: she was getting bigger. Her gigantic tits were swelling larger and larger, pressing into the walls. Her head was almost touching the ceiling, then bumping into it seconds later. Whatever experimental drugs she had been given were clearly still at work. She reached for you.

"Wait!" you shouted. "Please, I--"

Her fingers wrapped tightly around you and she brought you up to her gigantic face. Just below you, Daniela's gigantic tits creaked and burbled as she continued to grow.

"I remember you," she said, her grin growing wider. "You took notes while the doctors ran their tests, didn't you? What do you think about the new me?"

Her booming, echoing voice rang your ears. You felt her fingers grow bigger around you. You struggled in vain, wondering what the powers that be were thinking right now. If poison didn't work, what would?

"Ooh," she cooed, her eyes glazing over in ecstasy. "It's happening again . . ."

All of a sudden, her body expanded rapidly, filling every inch in the corridor. Her breasts ballooned beneath you as her face filled your vision. Metal groaned and bent. Concrete crumbled. Just before everything went dark, you could hear her laughing.

Created with NovelAI. Prompt: [giantess], size, giant woman,gigantic breasts,street, alley, cramped, prone, looking down at viewer, confined space, long red hair, torn clothing, night, grinning, reaching hand out toward viewer, nsfw