#i did it while under the influence of medical drugs

[clown-eating-pig]

The tmagp 7&8 experience /pos

[pucksandpower]

Under the Influence

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc knows three things (1) wisdom teeth have nothing to do with being wise (2) his face looks like a chipmunk and (3) he really really really loves his girlfriend

Warnings: mention of minor medical procedure

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand. Bleary eyed, you reach for it and squint at the screen. 37 missed calls and too many texts to count, all from Charles.

It’s the big day — your boyfriend is finally getting his wisdom teeth removed this morning. You had wanted to go with him to the oral surgeon but Charles insisted he would be fine on his own.

Clearly, that was not the case.

The phone starts vibrating again and you swipe to answer. Before you can even say hello, Charles’ slurred voice comes through the speaker. “Ma choupinette! I misssss you!” He draws out the last word for several seconds. You stifle a laugh at how loopy he sounds from the painkillers.

“Hi, my love. How are you feeling?” You ask gently.

You hear some shuffling on his end of the line.

“I feel ... so good! I can’t feel my face though. Is it still there?” More shuffling noises. “Yep, still here! Wow, my cheeks are soooo big and fluffy now!” He descends into a fit of giggles.

You grin and shake your head. Your poor Charles is definitely still under the influence of the drugs. “I’m glad you’re not in any pain. Are you home already?”

“Yep! Safe and sound in my bed. But it’s so lonely without you here. You should come over and cuddle me!” His words come out muffled, no doubt because his mouth is still numb.

You glance at the clock — it’s still relatively early in the morning. “I would love to but I have a few things to take care of first. I’ll come by this afternoon to check on you though, okay?”

Charles lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiine. Hey, did you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world? And you’re so nice too! I’m the luckiest ...” He trails off into incomprehensible mumbling.

You have to press your hand to your mouth to hold in your laughter. Anesthetized Charles is even more adorable than regular Charles. “Thank you, my love. You’re very kind. Now get some rest, I’ll see you soon.”

“Okayyyy, bye bye gorgeous!” Charles singsongs before hanging up. Still chuckling, you set your phone down to start getting ready for the day. Your productivity is short lived however, as your phone immediately starts buzzing again.

Charles is calling you back.

With a mix of amusement and exasperation, you answer the call. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Charles’ cheerful voice exclaims, “I forgot to tell you I love you!”

You can’t help but laugh out loud this time. “I love you too, Charles.”

“Yay!” He cheers. In the background, you hear a woman’s voice telling Charles to stay in bed and get some rest. It must be his mother looking after him. Thank goodness for her help today.

You talk Charles into hanging up and leaving you be for now. As entertaining as loopy Charles is, you do need to run some errands. You eventually make it out the door and head into town. While perusing the aisles of the grocery store, your phone buzzes again. Expecting it to be Charles, you don’t even look at the screen before answering with an amused, “Yes, my love?”

Instead of your boyfriend’s sleepy voice, you hear numerous screams and squeals on the other end. Before you can ask what’s happening, the chaos turns into a bunch of people chanting “Say it again! Say it again! Say it again!”

Your stomach drops. You pull the phone away to look at the screen. Sure enough, Charles is broadcasting on Instagram Live and waving at an alarmingly large crowd of fans gathered below his apartment. Dreading what you’re about to witness, you bring the phone back to your ear. The chanting continues until Charles finally obliges.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I love you sooooo much! You’re the bestest, most bootiful, charming girl in the whole universe and I love you more than racing!” His confession is met with deafening squeals from his adoring devotees. You stand frozen in the cheese aisle, one hand clutching your grocery basket, cheeks flaming red. This is not exactly how you hoped your relationship would go public.

Charles is still slurring sluggishly into the phone, rambling on about how perfect and wonderful you are. You try to get a word in edgewise to stop him but his fans keep egging him on.

“Charles, honey, maybe you should get off Live and rest ...” you attempt feebly.

He gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you my girlfriend? Y/N? Is that you?”

You sigh, resigned to your fate. “Yes Charles, it’s me.”

The screams somehow increase in volume at this admission. Charles laughs with delight. “Guys, this is my girlfriend! Isn’t she the coolest? I’m the luckiest guy ever!”

Despite your embarrassment, you can’t help but melt a little at his ear-to-ear grin and heart eyes on the screen. He looks utterly smitten, even in his disoriented, post-op state. His fans seem to be eating it up too, flooding the comments with things like “My life won’t be complete until someone looks at me the way that Charles looks at Y/N” and “Charles is boyfriend of the year!”

You spend the next 15 minutes gently trying to persuade Charles to end the livestream and rest to no avail. He is having far too much fun gushing about you and interacting with his followers. You field a few questions from curious fans, keeping your answers light to avoid revealing too much. It’s clear they are enthralled by this lovestruck version of the normally private Ferrari driver.

Finally, after Charles has told the story of your first date no less than five times, his mother comes to your rescue. She appears on camera and tenderly tells Charles the “show” is over and he needs to sleep. He pouts adorably but allows her to tuck him back into bed and take away his phone. Just before the Live ends, he blows a loopy kiss to the camera and says “Love you, mon chouchou!” The fans go wild in the chat before the feed cuts out.

You slump against your shopping cart in relief. Your phone is already flooded with texts from friends and family who saw the Instagram fiasco. You shoot off some quick reassurances that you’re both fine and it was just the medication talking. Bagging the rest of your abandoned groceries, you check out as fast as possible. There’s somewhere you need to be right now.

Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on the door of Charles’ apartment. His mother opens it with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry about earlier dear, the anesthesia made him a bit out of it as I’m sure you noticed.”

Charles perks up when you enter his bedroom. “You came!” He mumbles happily, making grabby hands at you. You settle onto the bed next to him and he immediately nuzzles into you like an affectionate kitten. His mother slips out to give you two some privacy.

You run your fingers soothingly through his hair. “How are you feeling now, my love?”

“Mmm ... sleepy. And really happy you’re here." He smiles dopily up at you. “Did I do something silly earlier? I don’t really remember.”

You debate downplaying it but figure he’ll find out eventually when the internet explodes. “You may have repeatedly declared your undying love for me on an Instagram Live ...” you say sheepishly.

Charles’ eyes go wide. “No way, really? Wow ...” He blinks slowly, processing this new information. A sly grin spreads across his swollen face. “Well it’s true. I meant every word.”

You kiss his forehead tenderly. “I know you did. Now get some more rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Charles looks up at you adoringly. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you more,” you boop him on the nose.

He giggles. “No way. I love you more-er.”

“Impossible. I love you most,” you insist.

“Nuh-uh,” Charles protests. “I love you most-est.”

You laugh at his stubborn persistence. “Alright, you win. Now close your eyes.”

Charles snuggles impossibly closer into your side and soon his breathing evens out as he drifts back to sleep. You brush a few curls off his forehead and whisper “I love you most-est-est.”

You make sure the blankets are wrapped securely around him and shake your head affectionately at your adorable, clueless boyfriend. Today certainly didn’t go as expected but you wouldn’t trade your Charles for anything in the world.

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading. This chapter contains violence and sexual content.

FIVE SEVEN

SIX (+18)

A few days later, after several visits to the hospital pretending to be Steve Rogers' wife, he is finally being discharged today. His recovery has been remarkable; he no longer needs support for his arm, only a brace. Naturally, you came to pick him up from the hospital, ready for your last performance as his wife and to return his car that you've been using. Sure, you have your own car, but it doesn’t quite compare to Steve’s. As soon as you walk into the hospital, you spot your fake husband bidding farewell to the medical staff.

"My beautiful wife, light of my life. Come and thank these wonderful people with me for the excellent job they did taking care of my arm and ensuring I’ll never have financial stability again," Steve says playfully, as he bids farewell to a group of nurses escorting him to the hospital entrance. You laugh as you approach him, and he pulls you into an embrace. You nestle gently against his chest, placing his arm around your shoulder so he can lean on you for support.

"Your husband is a very kind man, we’re going to miss him; he has some great stories," one of the nurses says, sounding quite interested in Steve. You smile faintly, imagining the nonsense Steve must have shared while he was either drugged or simply bored.

"He really is great at telling stories. Thank you all for taking such good care of him, I don’t know what I’d do without my precious husband," you say, placing a lingering kiss on Rogers' cheek. He looks into your eyes, as if you were a forbidden fruit he longed to taste. After the goodbyes, you both head to the parking lot.

"Where did you leave your car?" Steve asks, his arm somehow still draped around you. You smile a bit sheepishly and point to his car, just ahead of where you stand.

"As your wife, I had to borrow something personal of yours, you know, to make it seem real," you explain, trying to justify yourself as you watch Steve pull away and rush to his car, checking it over to ensure everything’s intact.

"No one would’ve known that your car belongs exclusively to you, my dear fake wife. But since there’s no damage, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now hand over the keys," Steve says confidently, as if he's ready to drive. But you shake your head, denying him the keys.

"The doctor said yesterday that you need to rest your arm for the next few days, and that’s why I came to pick you up—to take you home. After this, I suggest you call a ride service, a taxi, or use public transport," you say, opening the passenger door for him. He gives you a reluctant look, clearly displeased with not driving. Yet something in your fierce gaze and impatient grunt convinces Steve to get into the car, and soon enough, feeling victorious, you get in as well. In no time, you’re driving toward Steve’s house.

"My house is nearby. You must be wondering how I'm already living in a place, considering I just got back to the city," Steve says, fidgeting with his fingers, his voice a little slurred as if still under the influence of painkillers. "I'm staying in Bucky's old place. He's probably furious that he can't go back there—it would’ve made a good hideout. Maybe that's why he shot me. Or maybe it was Natasha's idea." He mumbles some of his words, and you try to keep a neutral expression, knowing full well that he’s aware it was either one of them who shot him.

"How do you know it was one of them? It could've been anyone. And if you don’t mind me asking, who is Natasha?" Your award-worthy performance of feigned ignorance seems almost convincing even to yourself. You watch as Steve stops fiddling with his fingers—despite the brace—and looks at you, as if carefully considering his response. He lets out a heavy sigh before speaking.

"As for the shot, you already know. Even when I’m not all here, I can still tell when you're lying. But Natasha... she was Bucky’s partner before he started working with the wrong people. They had a pretty close partnership, you could say. It was the first time in years I thought Bucky could actually have a healthy relationship with someone. They loved avoiding unnecessary emotions, obsessed with fieldwork, and even today, they’re both still great marksmen."

Steve pauses, his frustration palpable, and continues, "Their partnership ended when Bucky took on an undercover mission that was too dangerous for Romanoff. She didn’t want to lose herself in the disguise. I’m betting he ran straight to her for help, and that pisses me off. He could’ve come to me—I would’ve helped him. Now it’s my job to bring him in for questioning." His frustration boils over as he bangs his braced arm against the car's dashboard, letting out a grunt. You can’t quite tell if it’s the pain or the possibility of a scratch on the car that bothers him more. As he speaks, you finally start piecing together the puzzle of Barnes' past life and who Natasha is to him, though only on a surface level.

"Surely he must have had a good reason for not reaching out to you. As for him being your possible shooter, it seems foolish to believe there's any justification for him to have put your well-being at risk. Maybe he’s no longer your best friend; perhaps he’s just a reckless man." You speak, carefully holding back your true thoughts. This might be the perfect moment to reveal everything you know to Steve Rogers, to make it clear that you’re aware of much more than you let on. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. You feel like a pathetic fool, unwilling to risk your crush being put in jeopardy.

"You two had a fight while I was in the hospital, didn’t you? Your words are so sincere; you must really believe Bucky is an idiot for shooting me. Well, know that he isn’t. The shot was practically perfect, it didn’t do much damage. He’s just trying to keep me away. But he’s not a cruel or reckless man." Steve says, looking at you as if searching for a reaction that confirms his suspicions. You park the car in front of the address Steve gave you and lean closer after unbuckling your seatbelt, then do the same for him.

"Mr. Rogers, understand once and for all that your friend and I have nothing. Why would a man with such a dangerous life want anything to do with a mere bakery owner? It doesn’t make sense. But I hope things get clarified between you two soon. Now let me help you to your house, and then we’ll part ways and never see each other again," you say, locking eyes with him as you undo his seatbelt.

Steve's face, which was almost smiling, turns serious. "I want another date; our last one was definitely interrupted." He leans in slightly closer, your faces mere inches apart. You’re taken by surprise, trying to fathom what Steve could possibly want from you now.

"Let's get inside your house quickly; the painkillers must be talking for you. In case you don't remember, your only interest in me is to know about your Bucky, nothing to do with wanting my company," you say firmly, noticing him staring at your lips as he contemplates his response.

"That was before you saved my life. Now my interest in you is personal. I promise to try not to expose your lies on this second date. How about I pick you up in a week when my doctor says I can start putting effort into my arm again?" Steve replies, a hint of determination in his eyes.

"You just said that whoever shot you didn't intend to kill you, Mr. Rogers. I merely took you to a hospital," you say as you exit the car, then open the passenger door and lean toward him. "And I don't understand the need for your arm's recovery. Now, put your arm around my neck, and let's go inside; it's getting cold out here." It really is getting colder since you left the hospital. He leans on you, remaining silent, likely fearing that you might let go if you get annoyed or uncomfortable with something he says. It’s only when you both enter his house with some difficulty, and you lay him down on his large, comfortable sofa, that he grabs your hand before you can step away.

“I need my good arm to be free so I can give you all the fun and pleasure a real date with me could offer. Give me that chance, and I promise I won’t bother you again,” Steve says, smiling as he looks up at you.

You contemplate his face for a few moments, considering whether you truly want to go on a date with Steve. Gently, you caress his hand before moving it away from your arm.

"Next week, make that proposal to me again—with your arm fully recovered. Let’s see what my answer will be then. For now, I'm going home. Take care of yourself, Mr. Rogers," you say as you watch him give you a victorious smile. Before leaving Steve’s house, you place his car keys on the kitchen counter.

As you hear him shout a "See you next week," you take a rideshare back to your apartment, eager to rest. However, upon arriving at your door, a sense of alertness washes over you. Given the recent events, you had decided to keep a can of pepper spray in your bag for self-defense. If some thug were to try to rummage through your things or rob you, they would certainly regret it. Without hesitation, you slowly open the door and spray pepper spray at the first figure you see in front of you. Barnes lets out a grunt of pain, murmuring "fuck, fuck, fuck" repeatedly as he covers his eyes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing? This stuff got in my eyes!” Barnes growls, writhing as he tries to rub the pepper spray out. Without hesitation, you rush to the kitchen, grabbing cold water and a cloth.

“Hold still, I’m trying to help,” you say, but he pulls back sharply, resisting your touch. Your patience snaps. Pushing him against the counter, you press your body firmly against his, taking control of the situation. You pull his hands away from his face with swift determination and begin gently wiping his eyes with the cold, damp cloth. As you carefully clean the remaining spray, his tense frame finally stills, allowing you to tend to him without further protest.

"Apparently, you must have suffered some kind of brain damage if you think trying to shoot me compares to me simply defending myself from an intruder. We're nowhere near being even, Barnes." You place the cloth down on the kitchen counter and turn to take in your apartment. Bucky had brought a bouquet of roses, most likely as a peace offering.

"I missed having you around, even when it feels like you want to hit me," Barnes says, his gaze fixed on you. You immediately turn to face him. You so dearly wish to trust his words, but lately, it seems as though he’s been toying with you.

"There’s no need to come at me with your charm, trying to use me again. I have no intention of continuing to be manipulated by you," you say with firm resolve, attempting to distance yourself from Bucky, though you don’t truly wish to. Yet, he pulls you closer, pressing you against the kitchen counter before lifting you onto it. He positions himself before you, standing between your legs. You lock eyes, both wearing expressions of seriousness.

"As if much evidence were needed to reach that conclusion. You hid in my restaurant because you had likely already noticed my little crush on you. Then, you must have used me to provoke your partner, with whom you had a relationship—so much so that she thought it necessary to nearly shoot me. And finally, you are using me to distract Steve. It's all clear now: I’m just a simple woman you decided to manipulate because I’m naïve enough." You spill your conclusions, struggling to contain the sadness welling within you. He shakes his head as if to deny everything, his body language betraying his discomfort under the weight of your accusations.

"You must think I’m a monster. If you believe I’m manipulating you because you’re an easy target, you’re sorely mistaken. You simply fail to see what’s right in front of you," he says, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. He is clearly irritated, yet there is a hint of sadness in his expression. "The day we met, you asked me how my day was going. I told you I was having a tough day. You said everything could be fixed with a cup of coffee and then handed me one. I sipped your bitter coffee and told you it was delicious. Do you know why? Your eyes—they told me you were worth the effort of pretending to enjoy it. I don’t live near your bakery; I was there while working undercover, and even then, I used my real last name because I didn’t want to lie to you. I fought against the urge to ask you out for months because I knew I would have to deceive you. But I returned almost every day to your bakery because I wanted to see you. To drink your bitter coffee and taste your new recipes. Because seeing you made me feel normal," he confesses, his face just inches from yours. For a moment, you feel a pang of guilt, realizing you may have crossed a line.

"I want to say that I don’t trust a word of what you’ve said, but the truth is, even if you’re using me, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. And if my accusations have offended you, I apologize. It’s just that you’re not sincere with me. You didn’t tell me about Natasha, and I…" You pause, contemplating your next words. Should you admit that you feel somewhat jealous? Or that you’re considering accepting a date with his best friend? At this moment, everything feels so confusing to you.

"You’ve drawn your own conclusions. I don’t blame you, but I can’t reveal more than what you already know. So, in the end, you’re right to conclude that I’m using you. What other justification could there be for all of this, right?" Bucky’s expression and tone reflect a certain weight, a gravity that hangs in the air. It’s amusing how you find yourselves engaged in this relationship discussion that doesn’t truly exist, all while so close to one another. He continues to occupy the space between your legs, positioned right beside your body, as if holding you in place. The question remains: do you want him to step back?

"If that is all you have to say, then you had best leave," you reply, unsettled by the casual way he speaks, as though he isn’t erecting a wall between you. Yet, instead of stepping away, he draws closer, a tension growing between you that had not fully existed before. His hands gently cup your face, and you close your eyes, trying your best not to give in just yet.

"Do you truly want me to leave?" Barnes asks, his fingers brushing over your cheeks, then tracing your lips. You open your eyes to meet his gaze—those blue eyes, the most beautiful you’ve ever seen, fixed intently on you. You shake your head no, still watching him, unable to look away.

"I want you to want me. But nothing suggests that we’ll cast aside reason and embrace this mutual attraction," you say softly, as though too shy to openly admit your desire for him.

"To hell with reason," Barnes replies, pulling you toward him. His lips, possessive, devour yours as though he were savoring your taste. You return the kiss, urging Barnes to press even closer to you. Your hands explore his body while he holds your face, deepening the kiss with fervor. Your hands trail down Barnes' back, when you reach his rear, you squeeze his ass. He lets out a drawn-out moan near your ear as he starts to reach for the opening in your pants. With impressive agility he manages to help you take off your pants while holding you closer to him.

"Fuck me on the couch, Barnes. I want a reminder of you every time that I sit on it," you say with your mouth still pressed against his. He immediately picks you up, carrying you to your couch. You let out a little laugh, as if you were getting nervous but at the same time excited. Which was true, she'd wanted to have this moment with him for so long her mind was almost exploding. Barnes leans you against the edge of the couch as if he wants to support you there to continue where you left off. You reach for the hem of his shirt, ripping it off his body immediately. He's definitely as ripped as you'd expect him to be. Gently, you begin to kiss his belly, from bottom to top. When you kiss near his neck, he holds your face; pulling you in for a kiss. A slow kiss, as your tongues find each other's rhythm. He only breaks the kiss when he realizes that you still have a lot of clothes on.

"I hope to make you have a pleasant memory of our time together," he kisses your neck as he removes the rest of his clothes and yours. When he lowers the strap of your bra, he places small kisses on your shoulder. While with one hand he opened the clasp of your bra, as it fell to the floor, he massaged your breast. His cold fingers made contact with the tip of her breast, pulling it lightly. Then he ended up grabbing the other breast while massaging the other. His warm tongue sucking your left breast while his cold fingers pinched your right breast. Between your moans and his grunts, you were being deliciously explored by Barnes.

"I want your cock, Bucky. Inside me, fucking me; I want to feel you," you say almost as if you were pleading. The smug smile Barnes gives you makes you almost regret what you said.

"Your wish is my command," Barnes says, stopping whatever he was doing and spreading your legs, positioning himself at the entrance to your pussy. "Tell me how much you need me, Y/N. Tell me what you want from me," Barnes whispers as he teases you by lightly thrusting his cock into your pussy. His fingers stimulating your entrance too, massaging your pussy that is already wet, by the feeling of almost having his dick there.

"I've wanted you since I laid eyes on you, I want to feel you deep inside me," you say almost as a mumble. Your fingers scratch Barnes's six-pack, making him let out a groan. His eyes light up the moment he looks at you and finally, he penetrates you. His cock is completely inside you almost as if it were throbbing with pure lust. You let out a loud sigh, grabbing his bare ass with your hands. You help him with the movements, while he thrusts into you. The feeling of grabbing his ass while he puts his dick in you, it's almost divine. Your moans increase with each thrust of his, as you feel an explosion of pleasure take over you. At this moment it doesn't matter that your ass is hurting a little, that your back is in a almost uncomfortable position. The pleasure of being fucked by James Barnes is far greater than any momentary discomfort.

"Hold on to me, princess. My body is yours to do with as you please," Bucky speaks and you grab his neck, scratching him as you feel your orgasm form as Barnes continues to thrust his cock into you. As if he notices that you are about to cum, he starts thrusting more slowly, as if he wants to prolong the moment. You hold him close to you, nibbling on his ear and then kissing him. Finally you both come, almost in sync. You melt in his arms, not feeling strong enough to pull away from him.

"How about we take a bath together and then we can go to bed?" Bucky says while you don't even have the strength to answer him.You just nod your head and let him carry you to the bathroom.

You wake up in bed, uncertain whether what happened on the sofa was reality or merely a figment of your desire. Yet, your body confirms that you and Barnes truly slept together. But the other side of the bed is empty—he left while you were still asleep. Perhaps it’s for the best; this way, you won’t foster false hopes. Maybe it will hurt less if you pretend it was just a dream. You rise, though standing proves a bit difficult, and upon seeing the time, you rush to open the bakery. After a refreshing shower, you slip into a loose dress, tie up your hair, and hurry out to open your bakery.

But something feels off—you sense that someone is following you. Perhaps it's paranoia, yet the feeling lingers. Just before grabbing the keys to open the bakery, you turn around. It turns out you weren’t paranoid after all. A strange man, wearing a cap and dark sunglasses, stands right behind you. He pulls a knife and thrusts it into your stomach. The force of the blow causes you to stagger slightly as you lock eyes with him.

"Tell Barnes he can’t hide forever. Tell him Alexander Pierce sends his regards," the man sneers, twisting the knife deeper. "Hail, Hydra!" he exclaims before yanking the blade out of you and running off.

It feels as though your world has stopped, your life flashing before your eyes. All the times you wanted something but let it slip away, all the moments you couldn’t be who you were meant to be. The mistakes made, the victories earned. Your eyes grow heavy as you clutch the wound, feeling your blood spilling from you. Then, through the haze, you see a figure rushing toward you, and you recognize him instantly. A weak smile forms on your lips.

"I knew you'd be my hero," you whisper, as the strong arm of the man holds you steady. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you," is all you hear before you lose consciousness.

[oliversrarebooks]

Augusnippets Day 30: Addiction

Augusnippets Masterlist

Human Resistance Masterlist

tw: drug withdrawal, brainwashing, restraints

"It's been almost five days."

"And I've told you before, his recovery could take months," said the medic, firmly standing her ground. "While he's recovering as well as we could expect, the withdrawal symptoms from the aliens' drugs have been very severe. He's also still very much under the influence of the enemy's conditioning. He's not in any shape to receive visitors."

"I'm not just a visitor," Jesse insisted, equally stubborn. "I've been with Zach through everything. He's seen me at my lowest god knows how many times. I need to be there for him. He'd agree, if he could."

The medic stared him down, still standing in front of the door to Zach's room, but Jesse had no intention of leaving. When Zach had been taken, Jesse had almost given up hope of seeing him again. Now, it had been five days since his rescue and two days since the surgery to remove his mind control collar. Jesse couldn't take it any longer. He had to see Zach in person, to know he was all right.

He was stronger than any alien brainwashing. Jesse knew that with his whole heart.

"I just don't think it's a good idea," said the medic.

"It's been months since I've seen him last. I have to know. He needs to know that I'm here for him. I won't be long."

The medic sighed, relenting. "Fine, but you may regret it."

As though Jesse didn't see people in awful shape each and every day. He could handle surgery aftermath and drug withdrawals.

As Jesse stepped into the room, the first thing he saw was that Zach was thoroughly restrained with arm, leg, and chest straps. There were soft mitts on his hands and a device holding his head down. Tubes and wires were attached to him everywhere. He didn't move as Jesse entered.

"Why is he restrained like that?" Jesse said softly to the medic.

"For his own safety."

"Yeah, but…"

"I did tell you that he's still under the enemy's conditioning. If we didn't restrain him, he'd try to return to them. He'll be like this for some time."

It was rare to rescue people once they were in alien clutches, and Jesse realized that he hadn't ever seen one so soon after the surgery to remove their collars. He slowly approached the bed, and Zach was staring at him with bloodshot eyes that seemed to see right through him. His head was shaved, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"Zach?" said Jesse.

Zach quivered, seeming to cower into the bed as though he were a child in trouble. "Get away from me," he muttered. "Leave me alone."

Jesse could feel his heart sinking into his stomach. "Zach," he tried again. "It's me, Jesse."

"Jesse." Those wild eyes focused on his face. "Jesse."

"Yeah," he said encouragingly. "It's me. I'm here for you."

Zach's face twitched as he looked up at Jesse, and for just a moment, he looked like himself. But it only lasted a moment. "They took my collar!" he wailed, thrashing against the restraints. "I need to report to my superior! I need to comply!"

"Zach! Zach, it's okay." Jesse pressed his shoulders back down onto the bed. "It's okay. We rescued you. You're home."

This only caused a further cry of anguish. "Home! I need to go home. I need to go home."

"You are home, Zach, you've been rescued. You're back with us. You're safe."

"He means the alien ship," said the medic curtly.

Oh. Perhaps he should have known. "Is that what you're talking about? The alien ship? You want to go back there?"

"I need to go back!" he said miserably. "My collar… my collar is missing… I need it. I need to report to my superior. That was the last message they sent me, and now they're gone and everything hurts…"

Even though he'd been warned, Jesse hadn't remotely been prepared for this. He'd expected Zach to be half out of it, delirious and sick. He hadn't truly expected to see the former commander of the human resistance, the man who'd saved his ass so many times, crying over no longer being an alien's mindless pet.

"Zach, listen to me," Jesse said firmly, hoping to snap him out of it. "You're here at the base where you belong. We're not going to let you be taken by the aliens ever again --"

Zach's bloodcurdling shriek was enough send Jesse recoiling away.

"You're agitating the patient. I think you should leave," said the medic, grabbing Jesse's elbow. He didn't resist as she pulled her away from his friend's bedside. "He really isn't prepared to see visitors."

"What happened to him?" said Jesse in a daze.

"He was captured and brainwashed by the enemy. You know that."

"I know, but…" Jesse struggled to articulate his distress. "I know he was brainwashed, and that the recovery after taking the collar off is rough, but it's Zach. He's always been the best of us, so I thought he'd…"

…be stronger than that, he thought, and hated himself for thinking it.

"It's not a matter of being the best or the worst," said the medic. "It's neuroscience and chemistry. Zach may be tough and determined, but his brain is a lump of meat, the same as any of us. He can fight a lot of things, but not a steady dose of potent neurotoxins in his system, coupled with constant brainwashing. No one can."

"No one can," said Jesse numbly. "I suppose you're right."

"I'm sorry. I did try to warn you that it might not be a good idea."

"No… I'm glad I saw this. I needed to see him. It's just… it's a lot to think about." Jessie headed for the medbay door. "Have a good night."

"You too."

As Jesse closed the door, he found himself face to face with one of the old propaganda posters for the resistance, the one where Zach was smiling and stomping on an alien tentacle. The proud, brash man on the poster couldn't look more different from the crying, begging man in the medbay.

But no one can fight a flood of neurotoxin. Not forever.

Some part of him, he supposed, really thought that Zach could do it. If anyone could hold out and resist the aliens' brainwashing, it was Zach. But now, seeing him like this, it was apparent that he'd fallen as hard as anyone.

And if that were true… what hope was there for anyone else?

Augusnippets Masterlist

Human Resistance Masterlist

@augusnippets

And that's the end of Augusnippets! Thank you very much for reading, and thank you @\sowhumpshaped for organizing!

There may be a few more Human Resistance snippets...

[bardic-tales]

Title: Healing

Pairing: Bianca Moore (f!OC) / Sephiroth

Other Characters: Vincent Valentine

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 944

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Setting: Redemption!AU.

Warnings: Abuse, body horror, child abuse, clinical detachment, control and manipulation, dehumanization, emotional trauma, experimentation, forced drugging, graphic descriptions of medical procedures, isolation, needles, psychological torture, restraint, shock collars, threats of forced breeding, trauma bonding.

Summary: Sephiroth and Bianca share memories of their traumatic past under Hojo’s experimentation, finding solace and strength in each other’s presence as they begin to heal, as Vincent Valentine serves as a guide.

Squared Filled: Healing

Created for: Sephiroth Week which is hosted by the lovely people over at @week-of-silver-winds

Author’s Note: As always, please read over my warnings, since I list the general themes, too, in case there is any content that may be uncomfortable to my reader. Also, this one is very dark as it is about healing from trauma like the kind Hojo put on Sephiroth.

AU: As this is placed in my Redemption!AU, please note it is very canon divergent. In this AU, Sephiroth and his fellow SOLDIERs broke off from Shinra and are now fighting the good fight while he battles to control Jenova's encroaching influence. Aerith and Vincent play the role of healing guides, allowing both Bianca and Sephiroth a safe space to express themselves.

EXCERPT:

He had never thought of this: of healing. The mere word seemed foreign to him, as if the word belonged to lives untouched by experimentation and the cruel scalpel and needles of Hojo. However, as he looked at Bianca and the way her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and covered the joints where her dark wings met her back, Sephiroth knew he couldn’t turn away. Not from her. Not now.

Sephiroth sat across from Bianca at the table. His hands folded in his lap as he stared at her. The light flickered, casting a shadow over their faces as if it was a protective shield. Only Vincent Valentine, a former Turk turned member of AVALANCHE, was with them — silent, watchful, and a guide on this new, unexpected journey.

He had never thought of this: of healing. The mere word seemed foreign to him, as if the word belonged to lives untouched by experimentation and the cruel scalpel and needles of Hojo. However, as he looked at Bianca and the way her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders and covered the joints where her dark wings met her back, Sephiroth knew he couldn’t turn away. Not from her. Not now.

“Memories,” Vincent began, his red eyes glinted in the faint light. As he talked, the tips of his fangs glimmered against his lips. “They hold us in ways we don’t realize, but they don’t have to keep that hold.”

Once again, Sephiroth glanced at Bianca. Her indigo eyes now softened with looked like unshed tears. Each teardrop sparkled on her thick, black lashes like the stars in the night sky. He felt that tug at the red string binding them. Emotions bled through like the remnants of a wound. Holding his gaze, she conveyed a gentle understanding without saying a word. The memory was vivid against the backdrop of his thoughts.

“It was winter,” Sephiroth began. His voice carried a tension that he rarely allowed himself to show or feel. Tension did not make a productive SOLDIER — or that was what Hojo had told Bianca and Sephiroth. These words felt foreign and very heavy, like he was sinking beneath waves in the middle of the Meridian Ocean, and yet as he looked at Bianca and Vincent, he pressed on. “I was ten. Maybe. Hojo had restrained me, always pushing with new injections. New dosages. He wasn’t just obsessed with results. Oh no. He was hungry to see how far he could drive me, how much Jenova’s cells could transform.”

His words caught, as if part of him still resisted the memory. Bianca reached over, sliding her hand on top of his. Her warmth anchored him. She intertwined her fingers with his, offering strength.

Bianca took a deep breath. The next words coming from her were as soft as the touch she held onto him with. “It was the same for me. Every new test, every fresh cut. It-It felt like a way for him to feed his hunger for control. I was just the other half of his obsession. Infusing those cells and knowing it would tear apart what I was at my core. I was only eight.”

As their memories came together, Vincent’s silent presence offered a comfortable stability. Together, they had faced an ugly, shared past. That night, they spoke of needles and restraints, of the cold sterility of metal that seeped into their bones, chilling Sephiroth even now. Most of all, they spoke of Hojo’s voice, and remembered the clinical detachment that cut into their identities as easily as his scalpel cut through their flesh and his bone saw cut through her bones. Their words filled a gap left behind by a childhood filled with fear: shock collars, dehumanization, and the threat that one day Hojo meant to breed them to create hybrids between them when they came of age. All of this to break each of them down to the perfect weapon for the Planet and his Reunion theory.

It was painful, but there was a release in that pain. Sephiroth hadn’t expected or sought for the freedom. It reminded him of wielding his Masamune in battle, a feeling of striking through something impenetrable, like a steel building. Here, instead, he was slicing through memory one shard of torment at a time.

“You’re not alone in those memories.” Vincent’s words were an indistinct murmur. “Look at each other. Remember, you’re together now. You both survived.”

Sephiroth’s hand tightened around Bianca’s. The pull on the thread of fate between them was stronger now and humming with a shared understanding. In her eyes, he saw resilience — the same tenacity that her purification aura held to keep Jenova’s influence at bay, shielding him even when it cost her everything: her home world, her afterlife, her friends, and even her own identity. She gave up everything to save him and protect the mortal she had known since she was a child.

“We’re not experiments, Sephiroth.” She leaned closer. The scent of her pumpkin spice and vanilla soap permeated the air between them. “We’re not just some subjects in Hojo’s notes or some vessels for an alien orgasm. He can’t take our soul-link and use it against us. Not anymore.”

For the first time, since he had taken Bianca from the labs and escaped with her into the slums of Sector 7 and rallied his old SOLDIER comrades to his side, he felt something within him crack. His hand rose to her cheek, the touch soft and fleeting, before he lowered it back to his lap, unconcerned about Vincent witnessing the gesture. For the first time, he allowed himself to hope. He wanted to believe it — that they were more than Hojo and Jenova’s legacy, more than mere vessels for suffering. In that quiet moment, he saw a glimmer of possibility: a possibility for healing and for redemption.

As they sat there, his hand delicately clasped with hers, Sephiroth felt the weight of his past shift. As long as he had his friends and her, it became something he could bear.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @asirensrage @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @seastarblue @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen

@chickensarentcheap

[bonny-kookoo]

Lock Me Up | Short #1

In which he realizes some things, but denies himself others.

Tags/Warnings: Detective Agust D my friends, Criminal Kitty!Reader, hybrid Yoongi, mentions of murder, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, mentions of past abuse, strangers to enemies to I don't even know, sexual tension?, dead dove do not eat

Length: Mid/short

-> Series Masterlist

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"Takehiko is under arrest currently, and is being watched until we can all agree on a court date. She's still with you, right?" The detective is being asked, as he takes a drag of his cigarette outside his apartment on the rooftop.

"She is." He agrees.

"But..?" His superior questions over the phone, knowing Yoongi well enough to realize when he's got something to say. "Don't tell me she wants to retract her statement. Tell her she's safe-"

"No, no that's not it." Yoongi denies, flicking the ash off of his cigarette while he leans his arms on the railings. "Rather.. unforseen circumstances that will probably push anything involving her back by a week or so." He explains with a sigh. "At least."

"So she's in heat." His superior chuckles, and Yoongi feels a bit irritated. Kim Seokjin might be a smart man, but he sure knows how to draw amusement from Yoongi's struggles every single time the chance is there.

"Not quite yet, but probably soon. She's medicated, but still, she won't be able to make any date you might have in mind right now." He explains, flicking away the smoked bud somewhere down to the ground while he checks your tracker- just to make sure.

Legally, any statement you make in court won't have any weight as long as you're in heat- so right now, you're pretty much holding the whole process in the air until you're no longer under the influence of any drugs or your hormones to say it bluntly. Yoongi himself entirely forgot about the possibility of this.

"Oh, I was about to ask how you wanted to handle that." Seokjin chuckles.

"Anything else would've gone against proto-"

"Ah come on Min Yoongi, everyone steps over the protocol here and there!" He laughs over the phone. "Do you not like her? She seemed cute when I met her, not going to lie."

"…" Yoongi can't answer. He wants to- but he realizes in this moment that he just.. never thought about it. Does he like you? Or has he just gotten used to you?

Well, he certainly doesn't mind you.

He neither minded going out to get your medications, nor does he mind how you sometimes reach for his hand at night when you sleep. He doesn't mind how you constantly try to rile him up or get on his nerves, and he definitely doesn't mind your presence when he works. But does he like it?

He.. kind of does, come to think of it.

"It's alright to admit it, you know." Seokjin hums over the phone. "I'm not testing you or anything."

"That would be exactly what you'd say if you were testing me." Yoongi argues back defensively. "Listen, I'll supervise her while she's on her meds, and I'll ring you up the minute she's through with it."

"Well, you do you detective blank-face." Seokjin jokes. "Have fun!" He laughs, and Yoongi rolls his eyes before ending the call and walking back into his apartment where you're laying flat on your stomach-

In the middle of the main room.

"And.. what is this?" He asks, though you just groan into floorboards in agony.

"I'm gonna die~!" You wail, and he sighs.

This is going to be the longest heat he'll probably ever have to sit through.

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"Stop- hey, slow down alright? One is enough for now." He tells you, taking away the pack of snacks from you. You immediately become teary eyed, grabbing after them- though his arm is longer, palm pressed against your sternum keeping you away.

"But I'm hungry!" You cry out. "I'll starve! You're gonna make me starve, is that it? Did I bother you so much that you want me dead now?" You ask dramatically, and he takes a deep breath.

"You're not starving." He clarifies as carefully as he can manage, putting the snacks back into the highest shelf where he keeps most of your foods at the moment since you use any moment where he's not looking to practically consume everything edible in his household. "You just feel empty, and you confuse that with hunger." He explains, and now you just look annoyed.

"Yeah well, who's fault is that?" You accuse with crossed arms. "Anyone else would've just screwed me already to get it over and done with." You say, and he looks at you with a blank face.

"I'm not anyone, however." He reminds you.

"I know.. I'm sorry- you're tryin'a be nice and I'm such a bitch for no reason.." you suddenly deflate, walking away from him to crawl underneath a blanket on your chaotic bed, hiding.

It's your medication- and he honestly feels sorry for you.

When you're not cramping and uncomfortable and most of all nauseous, you start to feel empty and hungry, not to mention the mess that's your emotions. One moment you're irritated by nothing, the next you're scared of everything. It's a little tough to handle, he won't lie.

Mostly because he wants to help as much as he can, but there's really a tough limit to what he can actually do without.. well, that.

"Here, drink something instead, that's more important right now." He offers, squatting down at the side of your bed with a bottle of water.

There's no answer.

"You're not asleep."

"How'd you know?!" You suddenly ask, throwing back the covers as you sit up, holding your heat quickly from the whiplash.

"Its not that hard to tell." He- chuckles?!- before he unscrews the cap of the water bottle. You drink eagerly- though you keep your eyes on him the entire time, as if you're thinking of something that involves him. "What?- no no no, my God..." he sighs as you try and talk without having swallowed down the last gulp of water, immediately forcing yourself to cough.

When you finally stop, he tries again. "First drink, then talk." He reminds you, and you nod.

"Can I ask how you got that scar? Like, who did that?" You wonder, finger reaching out to touch it- and he instinctively leans away from you. "Oh sorry, my bad." You apologize, and he shakes it off.

"Its not a cool story, really." He mumbles quietly. "Nothing what you might expect." He shrugs, screwing the cap back onto the bottle before he stands up to put it back into the fridge.

"..so?" You ask meekly, still wanting to know. "I mean you don't have to say-" you start, but he cuts you off as he washes some dishes in the sink.

"Me." He says, and you freeze in your spot. "You asked who did it." He says over his shoulder when he notices your silence, and at that, you watch him with an unreadable expression, before you get up. "What, you wanna look at it aga-"

But he's caught off guard when you simply quietly hug him from the back, soft purring trying to somehow get your feelings across.

And he understands.

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"What is it?" He asks when he notices you pacing again, not wanting to sit down at all it seems like. Your tail snaps upwards at the sound of his voice- but you're not answering for a moment.

"I need to go outside." You say, and he puts his pen down, ready to argue. You've already argued twice about this very specific topic- he can't let you outside like this on your own, the risks too high. And unbeknownst to you, it's not just because you're still a key witness to his case- but also because he personally doesn't want you to roam around outside while clearly still in heat, medicated or not.

He doesn't want to admit it yet, but his reasoning aren't just because he's a hybrid and therefore influenced by you.

"I know! I know you said I can't but I really need something and-" you argue instantly, standing in front of his desk with your legs pushed together suspiciously.

"I bought them already." He tells you nonchalantly, picking up his pen again to continue working. "They're in the bathroom, underneath the sink." He explains, and you stare at him for a moment, before you squint your eyes in suspicion, walking where he told you he'd pit what you need.

There's no way he actually-

He did.

It's definitely a more expensive brand you'd be using- but you won't question it for now, rather glad to be able to clean up and regain some comfort as you do your business and line your underwear with the hybrid-heat pads.

Maybe that'll help him, too.

You know he's affected by you inside his home even if he doesn't admit it- it's not hard to notice. He tends to go outside a lot more, he keeps a window open next to him when he works, he tries to keep any close contact to a minimum. You like that he stays respectful, sure- but you also feel awful about it, because you're just making his job and life so much more complicated right now. No one wants to willingly take care of a medicated hybrid in heat- it's exhausting, annoying, and most of all-

"Everything alright in there?" He asks through the door, knocking pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Y-yeah, no issues!" You call out, and he seems to leave at that, making you deflate. The detective seems to be a pretty good guy underneath that weird tough guy persona he puts up during his work- but it's clear to you that while he might tolerate you, and doesn't truly mind you, he doesn't like you either. He's still someone who despises his own genes, so it's a no-brainer that he probably doesn't like you either.

And you don't blame him at all.

Walking outside the bathroom, you rub your eye- and he immediately gets up to check on you. "What happened?" He wants to know, thinking you're crying, but you wave him off.

"..got.. something in my eye.." you mumble, making him click his tongue as he holds your face in his hands to tilt it upwards so he can see better. He's concentrated on his task, but his grip isn't rough or anything- he's awfully gentle, careful in locating and brushing the hair out ofbyour eye, before he lets go of you again. "..thanks." You mumble, and he nods, walking back to his desk.

"No problem." He simply answers, orange hue from the setting sun coloring the entire interior of his apartment.

"Hey, Detective.?" You ask, carefully pushing some things on his desk with your leg as you sit on the corner, making him furrow his brows at your antics- though he's used to them at this point. "Do you have like- hobbies?" You wonder, and he clicks something on his laptop before he closes the device, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms.

"Not really, no." He answers dryly.

"Boring." You huff. "Not even old-people-stuff like, I don't know, collecting stamps or something?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

"No." He simply answers, and you let your shoulders drop.

"Oh come on man, I'm trying to make smalltalk here!" You whine, and he chuckles- something he's been doing recently, and it fills you with happiness, in a way. "You gotta help me out!"

"Why would I?" He asks, leaning his head to the side a bit. "You're pretty entertaining like this." He shrugs.

You, in return, pull out your tongue, before jumping down to walk into the kitchen, attempting to climb on the countertop to reach your snack-stash.

"Hey- stop that!" He immediately calls out rushing to you, pulling you down but your middle before setting you back down onto the ground.

"But De-te-ctive~!" You wail dramatically. "I'm gonna-"

"You're not going to starve, I told you." He reminds you, but you simply suddenly fall limp in his grip, practically melting through his arms like liquid before you're on the ground, giggling. He sighs.

"Your life is gonna be so fucking boring when I'm gone." You joke-

And he knows, deep inside, just how right you are.

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"Pssst, Detective.!" You hiss- but he's dead asleep. "Detective!" You hiss again, but still, he's unconscious.

It's unusual for him to sleep this tightly, not even reacting to you when you're pulling on his arm. And it's freaking you out- because you know for a fact, someone's on the roof, and its a stranger.

You're just about to slap the man, when the window crashes, making you instantly try and hide- but it's no use, because his apartment isn't big at all, and gives you nowhere to truly go in the spur of the moment like this.

You notice how the detective's eyes slowly open, as if he's fighting to wake up- but he still doesn't move.

The food delivered. The young delivery guy at the door that seemed awfully nervous. The soda only he himself had drunk yesterday.

He's so fucking stupid, he thinks to himself.

You can feel Yoongi's grip trying to hold you close to him as you hold onto his hand- but he can't bring himself to do anything else as you finally slip from his fingers, a hit to your head making you go limp as you lose consciousness right in front of his eyes.

And suddenly you're gone, apartment cold and empty again.

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[asliceofteaa]

The Scorpion

▓▓▓▓ ▓▓ (E-15293362) is a female of Vietnamese origin. For 9 counts of 1st degree murder, drug possession and distribution, possession of unregistered firearms, driving under the influence, assault and battery, reckless endangerment, and contempt of court, E-15293362 was sentenced to death by lethal injection on ▓▓/▓▓/▓▓▓▓. The court also offered life imprisonment in Urbanshade Testing Facilities, which E-15293362 accepted.

E-15293362 exhibits extremely violent and disturbed behavior. At least one armed guard is to monitor its cell at all times.

Z-532 - Codename: “The Scorpion” (formerly E-15293362) is a female of Vietnamese origin, wearing an EXR-P “Template” jumpsuit. Notable differences to an average human are the presence of a large tail, about 3 ft in length, a scorpion's stinger, about 6 ft in length, and fins where its ears would be. (Z-532's actual ears are small holes behind said fins.) Under its jumpsuit are gills on the side of its waist and fins similar to the ones on its head sprouting from its hips. It produces a potent neurotoxin from its stinger, though not able to kill any human, is enough to paralyze one for up to 5 hours. Z-532 itself seems to be immune to this effect.

Z-532 was originally an EXR-P unit, being sent to the Hadal Blacksite to retrieve loose assets under the pretense of being returned to the surface if enough are secured. Upon retrieval, Dr. ▓▓▓▓▓▓ declared that Z-532 was unfit to be returned to society, and it was placed back into the Blacksite for containment.

Z-532 displays a belief that it is still a member of the EXR-P program, being reported to join other groups on their expedition to retrieve Z-1, albeit for a short time. It shows a remarkable ability to stay alive, even through massive amounts of damage inflicted to it. It is currently unknown whether this is from its mutations or overconsumption of medkits scattered throughout the Blacksite.

Z-532 is described as “really ****ing stupid” and “mostly harmless to others, at least,” so it is currently regarded as a non-issue. However, at the first sign of rebellion, its PDG will be detonated, killing it instantly.

If these documents are shown to unauthorized personnel, you'll be put up for demotion, and any cover-up fees will be sent to your relatives.

▓▓/▓▓/▓▓▓▓ [Test 1]:

Dr. Patton requested E-15293362 to his office for testing purposes. Subject was injected with the DNA of a vermillion rockfish (male). The following conversation was recorded.

E-15293362: “WHAT THE HELL? WHAT THE **** DID YOU DO TO ME? WHAT WAS THAT? I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!!”

Dr. Patton: “Calm down, ▓▓▓▓. You-”

E-15293362: “DON'T ****ING CALL ME THAT! THAT'S THE NAME MY MOTHER GAVE ME, NOT FOR SOME ****ING ***HOLE SCIENTIST TO USE!”

Dr. Patton: “Ms. ▓▓, then. Your symptoms should begin appearing in 2 to 3 days. Until then, you will be heavily sedated to prevent outlash.”

E-15293362: “DON'T YOU DARE INJECT ME WITH ANYTHING ELSE.”

Dr. Patton: “▓▓▓▓▓▓? Hold her down while I administer the sedatives.”

▓▓▓▓▓▓: “Yes, sir.”

[Note: Subject was returned to her cell after the sedatives took effect.]

[End recording.]

▓▓/▓▓/▓▓▓▓ [Interview 1]:

E-15293362 was brought back into Dr. Patton's lab for a diagnostic test and interview. Subject had become feverish, and reported feeling nauseous. Guards report unwillingness to eat any food given, as well as vomiting and screaming during the night. A growth resembling a tail had begun to sprout from subject's gluteal region. The following conversation was recorded.

Dr. Patton: “Hello again, Ms. ▓▓. How are you feeling?”

E-15293362: “Like ****. What the hell do you want from me?”

[Note: Subject seems less aggressive than in Test 1.]

Dr. Patton: “I hear you haven't been eating well?”

E-15293362: “I haven't been hungry. What does it matter to you?”

Dr. Patton: “I wanted to ask you a few questions, and then do some medical examination.”

E-15293362: “I don't have a choice, do I?”

Dr. Patton: “No, you don't. Why did you kill those people?”

E-15293362: “He told me to.”

Dr. Patton: “And who is ‘he’?”

E-15293362: “My boyfriend.”

Dr. Patton: “I see. And you killed him, too. Why?”

E-15293362: “He pissed me off. He tried to leave me. He was the only person I had.”

Dr. Patton: “And what about your family?”

E-15293362: “You ask a lot of questions, don't you?”

Dr. Patton: (laughing) “It's my job.”

E-15293362: “It's not funny.”

Dr. Patton: “Why did you sell drugs and weapons? For money?”

E-15293362: “Yes.”

Dr. Patton: “Did you ever use your own stock? Any drugs at all?”

E-15293362: “No.”

Dr. Patton: “Why didn't you get a real job?”

E-15293362: “That's none of your business.”

[Note: Subject was unresponsive to any further questioning.]

[End recording.]

▓▓/▓▓/▓▓▓▓ [Test 2]:

Dr. Patton requested E-15293362 for further testing. Subject was injected with the DNA of an indian red scorpion (male) and red mermaid-tail betta (female). Subject's tail-like growth has further developed, thickening significantly. Its outer ears had also begun regressing into its flesh. The following conversation was recorded.

E-15293362: “You.”

Dr. Patton: “Hello again, Ms. ▓▓.”

E-15293362: “Don't. Don't. Don't you ****ing dare.”

Dr. Patton: “What do you mean?”

E-15293362: “You. What the **** did you put into me? Am I not suffering enough? AM I NOT IN ENOUGH PAIN FOR YOU?!”

Dr. Patton: “Now, ▓▓▓▓-”

E-15293362: “DON'T ****ING CALL ME THAT! I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND! WHAT THE **** IS WRONG WITH YOU? DO YOU ONLY THINK ABOUT YOURSELF? I THINK I'D RATHER HAVE GOTTEN KILLED! ARE YOU ****ING INSANE?!?”

[Note: Subject began pulling against her constraints, attempting to attack Dr. Patton.]

Dr. Patton: “Ms. ▓▓, calm down.”

E-15293362: “ARE YOU ****ING KIDDING?? I'M NOT GONNA DO **** FOR YOU! **** YOU! **** YOU! YOU SHOULD ****ING DIE!! YOU SHOULD ****ING KILL YOURSELF!”

Dr. Patton: “▓▓▓▓▓▓▓, cover its mouth, please.”

E-15293362: “IT? IT?!? AM I A ****ING THING FOR YOU? A TOY TO **** AROUND WITH??? **** Y–”

[Note: Subject had its mouth covered and was injected with sedatives before being returned to its cell.]

[End recording.]

▓▓/▓▓/▓▓▓▓ [Interview 2]:

E-15293362 requested to see Dr. Patton again. Subject’s ‘tail’ has fully developed now, resembling an elongated rockfish's tail with desaturated coloring. What appear to be gills have grown from where its ears used to be, matching the color of the tail. A small scorpion stinger has begun to develop above Subject’s tail. Guards report a significant shift in behavior, claiming E-15293362 “acts drunk.” The following conversation was recorded.

E-15293362: “Hi, doctor!”

Dr. Patton: “...Hello, Ms. ▓▓. You requested to see me?”

E-15293362: “I feel loopy… What's wrong with my head..?”

[Note: Subject is slurring its words, drawing out syllables, and is speaking considerably slower than average.]

Dr. Patton: “I'm not sure I understand. Can you describe more of your symptoms?”

E-15293362: “My head feels silly… My head feels… forget-y… and I can't hear very good.”

Dr. Patton: “Interesting. Is that the only reason you wanted to see me?”

E-15293362: “It hurts.”

Dr. Patton: “Pardon?”

E-15293362: “It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT–”

[Note: Subject fell unconscious, presumably from pain.]

[End recording.]

Ending notes: Subject was administered Tylenol and returned to its cell. Dr. Patton theorizes that its change in behavior can be attributed to the neurotoxins being produced by Subject's scorpion DNA. Which organ is producing these neurotoxins is unknown, but it seems to be accumulating in its newly developing ‘stinger.’

▓▓/▓▓/▓▓▓▓ [Review]:

E-15293362's stinger has fully developed, and is roughly the same height as the subject (6’1 at the time of recording.) Subject’s production of neurotoxins will provide useful for human weaponry in the future, as observed side effects are naïveté and willingness to follow commands without question.

Addendum 1: E-15293362 has been enrolled in the EXR-P program with the promise of freedom if enough loose assets are secured. E-15293362 is fully expected to be killed in action.

Addendum 2: E-15293362 has successfully retrieved 2000 assets, unharmed. However, it is not fit to be returned to civilization. E-15293362 will be reclassified and returned to the Hadal Blacksite under pretense of its work not being complete.

[naehja]

I have had this idea but i'll not write it so i leave it there for people who could be interested =)

Feel free to take it!

Jin Zixuan survives but he is severely hurt. He spent months in bed after his wounds so he misses so much things. After that, he recovers badly, he's always so so weak so yes, he let his brother take over. Meng Yao is so nice and so caring. What he doesn't know is that his dear brother poison him to keep him weak, to keep him fragile, influenceable.

Everytime he tries/wants to speak against something that JYG decided, he's suddently so tired…and his brother is so right.

His brother does a good job as sect leader so Jin Zixuan is happy to be just a father for his son. And a uncle for JGY's son as long that this boy was alive. He was devasted by his death. And tried to be there for his brother. After all family is there for that, right?

Jin Ling is very protective of his father and doesn't understand why he's so weak. His father so so strong before and his wound recovered. So why he's so weak?

"It's because of WWX, he curses your father" people said and still say. Because of course WWX is blamed for Zixuan "sickness"

There are 2 drugs. One who affect Jin Zixuan's health and spiritual power. So he stays weak and with a fragile health. The other drug is something who make the one who drink it vulnerable to the person who make the it. It was a potion forcing people to say the truth at first but JGY modified it to make his brother vulnerable to "his" words (weak to manipulation) Those drugs are called "medications" of course. And Jin Zixuan never questionned it, even if he couldn't.

Jin Zixuan tries to be a good brother for Mo Xuanyu. Mo Xuanyu was happy to have a so nice big brother and was very concerned by his health. The real reason of Mo Xuanyu banishment was that he understood that JYG was poisoning their brother to keep him weak and under control. JYG got rid of him with rumors about the young man being gay (which was true) and was trying to do a move on him/had feelings for him (which was false).

Jin Zixuan tried to speak on his favor but he was so tired…maybe…he refused to believe what JGY said about their brother. It was a mistake. It could only be a mistake!

JGY saidyes he didn't believed it too but it was so the best, sending their brother away would be the best because of the rumors. "He could have been hurt if he stayed brother"

Mo Xuanyu told NHS about the drugs in a letter but he also wanted to save his brother, he wanted to get revange on his family. So he did the sacrifice. He didn't ask for JGY's death because he knew that even wwx couldn't do that in few hours. But he left a letter for him, explaining everything about Jin Zixuan situation. He said that he had no proofs but that he had SEEN it. "Please be careful wei wuxian, my brother is a snake who kills people who go on his way! don't speak about it to anyone until you have proofs!"

And the story go on but with Jin Zixuan alive but under JGY's control, "drugged" for 13 years to be unable to speak again his brother. NHS being our favorite chessmaster, he managed to "kidnapp" Jin Zixuan at a point, like two or four months before wwx's return, and to give him the antidote + wean him off the drugs.

Of course, JGY blames WWX for the kidnapping as soon WWX is revealed to be in Mo Xuanyu's body . Jin Ling starts to have big doubts about his uncle after this moment. Because the dates...his father has been kidnapped BEFORE wwx's return, right?

It's at this moment, while they go to save the juniors, that WWX shows Mo Xuanyu's letter to Lan Zhan. He also tell it to all the sect leaders after the fight. It happens after everyone learns about that JGY married his half-sister.

Durin the events at the temple, Jin Zuxian returns (Shortly before NMJ's death body arrival) and can finally think clearly and freely for the first time in 13 years. His brother's word don't seem so logical anymore, he sees the lies. And he's angry, so angry, his golden core so strong for the first time in so much years. but his body is still weak.

And JGY said "you should have stayed under the drugs, i didn't want to kill you brother but you forces me to do it now" Except that JGY will not kill anyone, not anymore. Because the heros will win, of course.

Jin Zixuan is free and is now Jin sect leader while recovering. Jin Ling has to accept everything JGY did. Jiang Cheng has to accept to not have realised it. LXC has to accept what JGY did too, and has also to accept to have been used by him (did he give him the drugs to manipule him too?). NHS has had his revenge (but has had to live with the fact that his brother will never rest or have the chance to reincarnate). WWX and LZ are happy together.

WWX and Jin Zixuan reconciliation too (Jin Zixuan never believed that WWX killed his wife and never blamed him for his wounds).

[lunatic-pudge]

What do you think postal dude would be like as a dad

I've technically done headcanons of Dude as a dad but I'm always down to talk about dad Dude.

Now Dude as a dad would be a little difficult, for a few reasons. One is that he had a rough childhood. Abuse and neglect was all he ever knew. The only kindness he ever received was from Doe and Uncle Dave. But that's not enough to reverse the damage his and Doe's parents made. Drugs, alcohol, sketchy people, filth, and the threats of burning in hell for eternity if they don't repent can mess a person up pretty badly, especially when as a child.

Another thing is his drug habits and mental illnesses. While Dude's mental health has gotten "better" over the years, it's still not in the best shape. It could be better if he wasn't so hopelessly addicted to drugs. This man has tried almost every drug he can get his grubby hands on. And it has a habit of making his psychosis worse than usual. This man has had some of the worst religious psychosis yet (looking at you Postal 1). So he would need to learn to quit the drugs, which will be a very tough battle for him. He's gonna have to either quit the drugs, or start using some not has harsh stuff like weed and only use it every now and then (away from the kids!)

If the kid is his biologically, the poor thing is getting that oh so beloved generational trauma and mental illness. Dude doesn't mean to pass down his problems onto his kid, but he isn't necessarily doing anything to break the cycle. And, to be honest, he might even add onto the trauma, especially if he's having an episode or attacks someone in front of his kid. If the kid is one he took under his wing, they get the same experience minus the generational trauma. How the hell did he end up with a random child? Who knows? Think of the one part in Bayonetta where the little girl claims that Bayonetta is her mom and is attached to her hip (I haven't played the game so bear with me plz)

Dude is trying, he really is. He would be protective of the little one. Refusing to let them wander out and about Paradise alone. Teaching them how to use various weapons so they're prepared in case someone tries anything. And they also get Champ as a guard dog also! He's also a pretty chill dad, not caring if his kids want tattoos or piercings, just as long as it isn't anything stupid. He's kinda a bad influence as well, but I feel like we all knew that.

He's trying, he really is. He's no where near being a perfect dad. His kid is either gonna end up like him and continuing the cycle, or they will break it by getting help to overcome everything. I'm sorry this isn't some picture perfect headcanon of Dude as a dad. This is a man who has been through Hell and back (literally) and doesn't do anything to overcome his trauma other than through self-medication (which can make it worse at times). I'd say it'd be a little better if he has a partner to help steer him in the right direction, but Dude can be overwhelming at times and things slip through the cracks.

[atimeofyourlife]

Whumptober day 18

rated: t | wc: 825 | prompt: Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.” Steve dealing with the aftermath of the Russians

"Who do you work for?"

"Scoops. I work for Scoops Ahoy!"

Steve woke up screaming, as he had almost everyday since Starcourt had happened. Unable to escape from the horror he'd experienced in those long hours that he was trapped in the Russian base. The injuries were starting to heal, but after every nightmare they felt fresh again. The pain renewed, leaving him in agony for hours until his mind cleared enough to remember it was over. His mind making him constantly relive the torture that he'd suffered at the hands of Russian soldiers, doing anything they could to get him to give up information that he didn't have.

It wasn't just the nightmares that made Steve relive the worst hours of his life. Every time he looked in the mirror and saw the slowly fading bruises, he could feel the knuckles of combat-trained soldiers cracking his cheekbone. Every time he took his shirt off, the pain flaring in his chest along with the sea of color painting his torso, reminding of how it felt to get his ribs broken under the force of a steel toe boot kicking repeatedly. Even looking at the bottle of prescription-strength pain medication that he'd been given as he was discharged from the hospital threw him back to the high of the interrogation drugs that had been forcibly administered, to what it felt like to lose control. Not wanting to experience anything like that again, he tried to care for himself using as little medication as possible. Opting for hot and cold packs held against the most painful areas, and nothing stronger than over the counter tylenol, not even considering the extra strength variety. It was the only way he could push through.

No matter how bad it was, he didn't want to talk about it. Not even to Robin. He could listen to her talking about her struggles with everything for hours. Being the friendly reassurance she needed. But he couldn't bring up everything that had happened to him. Not wanting her to feel worse, not wanting to make her relive more of the awful memories than she already did. She didn't need the reminder of how he'd almost died down there, of how she'd thought for a good ten minutes that she had been tied back-to-back with his corpse. Steve knew that suffering in silence wasn't a healthy choice, but he didn't want to put any more on the people that had already been through so much. Maybe if Hopper was around, but was it like a knife to the gut every time he remembered that Hopper had met the fate Steve had almost resigned himself to after getting captured.

But on top of the pain of the injuries, and the horror of the past weeks, there was also the fear of the future. The fear of what would happen next. Would the Russians find him, track him down and take him captive again, with or without Robin? Torture and drug him again for more information, about the Upside Down, about the monsters, about El and her powers. Or would they use the little information he let slip while under the influence of the truth serum they'd injected him with? Use it to target Dustin, to take him hostage, to harm him because of Steve's slip up.

It took Robin falling asleep on him one night when she came over to check on him for everything to come pouring out. He fell asleep quickly in her warm embrace, but it wasn't long before he was screaming and thrashing awake. Robin's gentle touch and comforting words didn't do much to bring him down from his terror. Instead, her voice threw him further into it. Making him fear that she was there with him, that she was getting hurt and drugged again too. That neither of them were safe and they'd never made it out. His mind slowly cleared, and he became more aware of his surroundings. He took one look at Robin's worried expression and broke down into the tears that he'd been holding back for far too long.

Robin held him close as he cried, letting him get it all out before asking the difficult questions. But Steve did answer honestly this time. About how every time he got any sleep he was reliving the torture, the pain, the drugging. Robin didn't push for the details, she didn't need to as she already knew how bad it had been. She had heard his screams of pain in the time that they'd been separated, then seen the damage when they were brought back together. Instead, she just got him to agree to talk to her whenever it got bad. That they would work through everything they'd been through as a pair. That they would get over the pain and the torture the only way possible when the trauma had bonded them for life. They would do it together.

[nerdieforpedro]

This baggage is heavy, can we drop it off somewhere?

Chapter two of "Do we know how to love?"

Frankie Morales x Nadia Thomas (plus size OFC)

Fanfiction 18+ MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: Nadia makes an impulsive but ultimately good decision. We found out a lot more about Frankie’s past. Nadia also decides to just let go.

Warnings: cursing, toxic relationships, angst, thoughts about sex, lengthy mentions of drugs and drug use, Addiction, pregnancy, death, mental health issues, medical issues during pregnancy, 12 step program

Notes: I kinda meant for it to be more lighthearted than it turned out.

Sitting in her driveway, Nadia studied the sticky note. She thought about throwing it away, she should not have this, shouldn’t have even taken it, but she did. Nadia had been swept away in the magnetism of meeting a man like Francisco Morales. Him speaking to her and enticing her with a few sentences was something that Eddie had never been capable of remotely doing, even when they first met years ago. Nadia felt she should just sent a text and break up with Eddie, but it still felt wrong, she preferred to be upfront with him, but it didn’t work well the first time.

“I’m in a relationship I can’t stand. What’s the harm? I’m meeting a new friend. A sexy new friend.” Nadia grinned to herself and got out of the car and went into her house, putting down her purse and hopped in the shower. She texted Kim and Katie and told them that she wasn’t coming she was tired. They texted back playfully mocking her for being a homebody, but hoped that she felt better and that they may stop by this weekend. Nadia told them that she’s working on something, and that she would tell them about it later. The nurse did add the number of her contacts under the name ‘Chocolate curls.’

“Hey hermana, thanks for coming by. I’m have a meeting tonight.” Frankie stated flatly. It was required for him to keep working as a pilot. He may not have to go as often as he once did, but he had to make sure he went and call his manager. Frankie was a hell of a pilot, he could fly a plane, helicopter, jet, anything if you let him tell it, he could also fly a blimp and hot air balloon. The woman was his best friend’s wife, Yovanna, she watched his daughter during his meetings.

The meetings were with cocaine anonymous, a program he entered the year his daughter was born. His wife at the time, Maria had put up a lot from him, with his drug use, being away for long periods of time due to work and a difficult pregnancy to boot. She had been stable on her lithium for years along with lexapro. He remembered the doctors testing her heart to make sure it was okay periodically and it was but when she became pregnant things changed. 

The OBGYN reviewed her medications and said she couldn’t take the lithium anymore, only the lexapro. Maria’s mood swings worsened and she started having high blood pressure during her second trimester. Frankie missed more of her appointments and they fought more which let to him doing more cocaine and picking up more hours while high. It was his own fault he knew, he should have talked to her more and supported her. He did not, one week before his daughter’s birth, he was fired for flying under the influence and nearly crashing a helicopter with some big wigs on it. The very least he could do was provide for Maria financially, but he couldn’t even do that. Maria had been complaining of contractions but her water hadn’t broken yet, Frankie did offer to go to the doctor with her but she didn’t want to, she had her birth plan with a planned home birth, doula and candles that he didn’t understand. 

The pilot had told his wife that he was off to work when really, he was going to snort his cocaine in an industrial parking lot, away from everyone. He received several calls, but drowned them out with the swimming high, riding the waves as he closed his eyes. By the time he was coherent enough to check his phone, there were two missed calls from his wife, two from her doula and five from the hospital. Maria passed out during the home birth after her water broke and her doula had called 911 and tried to get a hold of Frankie as well. When 911 came, it was the doula who went to the hospital with Maria. The medical staff tried contacting Frankie as well but he didn’t answer. They treated her as best they could while Maria went in and out of consciousness, she kept stating that she wanted her baby to be safe and asked if her husband was here. The staff told her that they would do their best and that he was on the way, though no one had actually spoken with him. Maria was having seizures associated with eclampsia, the baby was delivered safely, but the medical staff were having difficulty getting Maria stable post birth, they were able to slow her seizures, but her blood pressure kept increasing and making her bleed more than expected and they weren’t able to keep up with her body’s demands. When Frankie finally arrived he greeted his daughter Camilla and the body of his wife Maria.

Francisco Morales cried for the first time since finding out he was going to be a father. He mourned his wife Maria and their marriage and that he had failed not only as a husband but a father for not being there for his daughter’s birth and caring for her mother properly.

It was then that he asked for some of the biggest favors in his life and relied on his old Special Forces buddies. He needed to get clean ASAP but doing too quickly would do more harm than good. He asked his best friend Santiago and his wife Yvonne to care for Camilla while he went into inpatient rehab, meanwhile Will and Ben (who was never in Speical forces but tagged along to see what he could do, not much except some babysitting) working on talking some old commanding officers to have Frankie become a pilot again with strict requirements.

Complete inpatient rehab

Drug testing weekly

Go through a re-fresher course for non-commercial pilots

Attend meetings at least three times a week, calling his CO (commanding officer/manager) so the call could be traced to a cell tower near where the meeting was supposed to take place.

Give address of meeting for further location confirmation.

After six months of negative weekly drug testing, while switch to monthly hair testing for one year and then either testing can be done if drug use is suspected.

Morales adhiered to the rules placed on them and welcomed them, after getting the house ready and baby proofed and working out day care, he was able to care for Camilla and himself within the year while working. Now that she was six, he focused on childcare during summers but had turned things around, though he still had to deal with people mentioning his past drug use, thankfully they seemed to have enough tact outside of Ms. Shirley not to mention it mostly.

On his way to tonight’s meeting he reflected on things as he usually did, not quite feeling the urges he once had for the drug, instead it was placed elsewhere in caring for his daughter and sex. Frankie did not have an issue in that arena, more like he wanted something in addition to the sex and he hadn’t really found a woman that he could go on more that three dates with, they were all boring, some of them married. None of it was for him.

The school nurse he met today was interesting though, he was used to dealing with more confidant women, that matched his ‘let’s get it’ energy no matter if his daughter was present or not because when the feeling strikes you it’s best to say something coded so little ears don’t catch on. He did appreciate that she didn’t seem to be swayed by what he was sure Ms. Shirley had already told her, that old prune took the opportunity to badmouth him whenever she got the chance. Frankie suspected is may have to do with him not eating her dry cake that she was offering everyone. Most of the parents took a pity piece, but Ms. Shirley’s face became real twisted when he asked if she had any milk or water to go with the cake. The pilot was up for the challenge of getting the nurse, Miss Nadia, to be more honest about what she wanted with all those breathy sighs. Had his daughter not been there, he may have tried to sweet talk her onto that desk and fuck her in just that lab coat.

Taking a few deep breaths himself, Frankie steeled himself for this week’s meeting, he wouldn’t have much to say per usual. He didn’t want much to say, he preferred boring everywhere except the bedroom. He hopped out of his truck and locked it, double checking he had his keys wallet and phone. He was about to turn it off when he saw a text notification:

Hi, it’s Nadia from the school nurse’s office. I just wanted to reach out and see when we could meet up this week. My evenings and weekend are open.

Frankie chuckled, it’s pretty business like how she was at the office. He made sure not to open the notification because he didn’t want to leave her on read. He would definently have the bare minimum to say, he needs to check his schedule after this meeting. It was rare that he ever went to these meetings with a smile on his face, but tonight he did.

Elsewhere…

Nadia sat on the couch sipping her moscatio out of a 16 oz Sailor Moon tumbler with a straw. She had texted Frankie and was nervously awaiting a reply or maybe she wouldn’t get one, she wasn’t super worried about it, because she had refilled the tumbler once already. Instead, she was more concerned about the text she would send to Eddie. The wine emboldening her, she felt she could just send him a text, telling him not to come by her house any more because they were over and he can go with some basic woman elsewhere. It sounded simple, it was not want she texted Eddie. 

Nadia sent him the following text message:

Eddie, I haven’t heard from you for three days even after I tried calling you with the time difference and texting you. You’re over there doing monkey business and you can keep doing it. I don’t want to see you ever again. Everything is on your terms and I hate it. I wasted more of my life because you sucked my nipple a few times. Fuck you, or better yet, have someone else fuck you so they too can be disappointed in not being satisfied any of the times, like not even close to where I can finish the rest. Just bad. Horrible. You should watch some porn and get some pointers. Ugh.

The nurse finished her tumbler and stood up triumphantly, but then held onto her couch because she had stood up too fast. She then decided, drinking water would be best and to take some Tylenol before bed. “I gotta change the locks, I think I was dumb enough to make him a key.”

Nadia called first thing in the morning and paid a bit extra to get a locksmith in that morning. There was still a wide time window, but she would be able to be at work by noon. So far Eddie hadn’t called or responded, she was nervous, but also glad because she didn’t want to talk to him. After having the locks changed and having two spare keys in addition to the main one made, the school nurse headed on into work. Once she arrived, she got settled in her office and started reviewing her emails. Her phone pinged and a text came from Frankie exactly at 12pm:

Hey sexy nurse. This weekend sounds perfect, I know a good Italian resturant we can go to, you alright with me picking you up around 7 on Friday? I’m looking forward to finidng out what else you like besides chocolate.

Nadia could feel the smirk he likely wrote that last line with. She just read it a few times while she sat at her desk, imagining him looking down at her again. Running his hand up her arm, pulling her forward onto the desk, spreading her legs and…

“Nadia honey! Have you seen the stapler? I bet that wispy looking guidance couseler took it again and didn’t bring it back. If he can wear such big sweaters, why can’t he get his own stapler, I’m sure that sweater was more than a stapler.” Miss Shirley’s noise brought Nadia back from her daydream. She cleared her throat and realized she was hovering over her chair, leaning her body forward.

“Are those some new chair exericses? Are those any good? You look flushed dear, Maybe you should take a break from those, you just got in.” The older woman remarked before leaving her door, presumly to track down the rouge counsuler for the stapler.The nurse plopped back in her chair and closed her eyes, trying to calm down, inhaling and exhaling deeply. She then giggled becuase she remembered when Frankie had commented on her breath control. 

“I’m losing it…over a man I met once. Will I even make it through a date with him? At this rate, I should drive, becuase that’s they only way i won’t jump into his car.” She muttered to herself. Then in dawned on her, why should she? If she wants to fuck him in the car and he’s fine with it, why not? Hell, maybe they won’t make it to dinner. Nadia crossed her arms and spun around in her chair. She’s just getting out of a relationship, it doesn’t need to be serious, right? Could she do that? Be un-attached?

“I just must be firm. I can do it…I think.” Nadia finally replied to Frankie.

Good afternoon handsome. Seven sounds perfect and I love Italian. You can pick me up, I feel like being pampered a bit.

Nadia sent it and put her head on her desk. She did feel like being pampered at least one night and if she had a one-night stand, it would be icing on the cake. She just had to mentally prepare for the cake.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

June of Doom day 24

“I think I’m going to be sick” (bleeding out/illness/cold sweat)

"I–I think… 'm gonna be sick,'' were the last words Whumpee muttered before their eyes rolled to the back of their head and they fell in a dead faint. Caretaker doesn’t remember if they screamed, but they know that they’re clutching Whumpee’s limp body and shaking.

“Wake up, please just–wake up…” Caretaker moaned, clutching Whumpee to their chest.. They didn’t know what to do. Panic stole Caretaker's medical knowledge from them. They couldn't think. They didn't know what was happening to Whumpee, or how to fix it, or if they would die here, trapped in Whumper’s cell. The thought made Caretaker sick. 

"You know that's pointless, right?" Caretaker felt their entire body tense at the sound of Whumper’s voice. They turned, finding Whumper leaning on the wall just outside of the bars. Caretaker hadn’t heard them coming.

Rage, dulled somewhat by the buzzing in their head, filled Caretaker."You--you sick fuck," they tried their best to keep their voice steady, but knew they'd failed from the way Whumpee smirked. "What'd the hell did you do to them?!"

Whumper shrugged. "Not much. We’re moving tonight, and I don’t need you two awake for it,” Whumper reached for their belt, grabbing a set of keys and unlocking the cell door. Caretaker stumbled to their feet, blocking Whumpee from Wumper’s view. Whumper chucked at their attempt at protecting their unconscious cellmate. “No point in trying to wake them up. I gave them enough to knock out someone three times their size,” Whumper made a gesture towards Caretaker. “Had to make sure you both went down after all.”

“You–what?” Caretaker gasped out, fighting to keep their footing. 

The mocking look on Whumper’s face made Caretaker sick. “You’re a doctor or something, right? Can’t you feel when you’re under the influence? Do you think I was just being kind when I gave you two more than moldy bread to eat today? 

It took Caretaker a worryingly long time to recall what’d happened only an hour before. After weeks of scraps, Whumper had finally given them a proper meal. They’d both been starving, so desperate that they’d forgotten just how little they could trust what was given to them. They realized now how horrible of a mistake that had been. 

With swimming vision, Caretaker looked down at Whumpee, nearly stumbling to the ground with the movement. They hadn’t moved from where Caretaker had left them. They were so small, so much smaller than Caretaker was. It was no wonder that they’d been the first to feel the effects.

Caretaker wanted to ask what they’d been drugged with, where they were going, what was even happening, but their tongue had turned to mush in their mouth. Caretaker hit the ground, but didn’t feel the impact. They didn’t feel anything for a long while afterwards.

[avoidingcertaindoom]

Whumptober Days 2 and 3

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife’s in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster) No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you.”

~~~

Click. Click. Click click click click--

The nurse was probably going to take the PCA pump away at this rate. It wasn't like he thought the medication was endlessly draining into his IV at every button press, the nurse at the time was very clear that it was a limited dosage for a limited time. He didn't even get that much out of the analgesia, it almost made him feel worse before it did any improvement. 

But as his vision swam, skewed first by pain, then sedation, all on top of the wobbly uncertainty of having to focus from one side, something about the sound was satisfying. It also gave that hand something to do that wasn't scratching at or under the bandages tight on the right side of his face.

Click click click--

The door made its own click as it opened, and Zadkiel swung his head over to see who it was before flinching back so hard the bed jolted with him.

Why the fuck--

“Zack?”

…he should have expected it to be his father. And perhaps the revelation ought to have made him relax. Instead he tried at the button again,  only to frown and hold it up to his eye to examine.

Ezekiel sat on the right side of the bed, which may well have been back on the other side of the wall for all the visibility it gave. Zadkiel didn't know if he was more annoyed with the possibility that his father couldn't be arsed to come on the side he could be seen, or that he was putting it on Zadkiel to make the effort. “Does it hurt? Should I get someone?”

“No.” The button was stuck, or loose, or something. He tried tapping at it harder to dislodge it and only succeeded in cracking the plastic.

“Are you sure? I can--”

“It's fine.” It wasn't fine. He broke the stupid thing. He dropped it onto the scratchy blanket and stared up at the fuzzy lines on the ceiling. The heart monitor was still on an uptick from Ezekiel's arrival, alarming annoyingly. He wondered if a nurse would mute it for him if he paged to ask.

His father cleared his throat. “If you're sure you're fine, some investigators have called ahead to speak to you.”

“Speak to me?” He finally turned his head, only to focus on the wallpaper patterns instead as just looking at him made his chest tight. “About what?”

“About---it's better if they explain.” There wasn't even an attempt to meet Zadkiel's eye.

The heart monitor got even louder. “Well I'm not speaking to them.”

“Zack--”

“No. I don't even care. Ephraim can go fuck himself and so can--”

The door opened and they both glanced to see a nurse hurry in, trailing two men with badges behind her. She went straight to the monitor with a brief introduction of the investigators while they stood at the foot of the bed.

“Is he ready to speak with us?” One asked Ezekiel.

Zadkiel didn't give him a chance to reply. “Not happening. Bye now.”

“It's just a few questions,” the other tried to say reassuringly. 

The nurse tsked, examining the damaged PCA unit. “You should have given our team the heads up then, his current medications have him in no state.”

“You gave him more drugs?” The response was disbelieving.

Zadkiel blinked. “More?”

“We were told you were under the influence on arrival to the emergency department.”

“Under the-- I don't do drugs?”

The first investigator cocked an eyebrow. “So you're saying you were completely sober?”

“I--” His throat clicked and he shut his mouth, trying to process and not wanting to bother anyway. The silence was already nauseating.

“Well? The other party had reason to believe you had taken something.”

“Ephraim could have been mistaken,” Ezekiel tried, but Zadkiel had to cut him off. Had to speak before the words in his throat turned to bile.

“I had a drink or a few, I was out with friends.” Fair weather friends anyway, he didn't think they'd be keen on being sought out for bullshit like this. “What of it? I wasn't drunk.”

The nurse muttered something under her breath before shaking her head and placing a gently hand on his shoulder. “That was then, this is now.” She turned to the investigators. “Are you done? He needs his rest and none of this sounds too urgent to wait on.”

“Surely he can answer a few more--”

“I said no to start with! Piss off already.” His hands were shaky and his eyes--eye, stung. The spot where his right eye used to be didn't sting so much as burn, trying to match the other in forming tears from something that his uncle had either destroyed in the altercation being discussed or that had to be removed with the rest of the mess left behind. Even under the haze of anesthesia he felt it, like a twist of a knife. He shut the eye that remained and dug the heel of his palm into it, trying to alleviate the pressure set to crack his skull.

“Fine. You got your chance to cooperate. Zadkiel Erminio Chayyim, you are under arrest.”

“What?” 

A new click this time, and coldness around the wrist of the arm almost as torn up as the right side of his face.

His hand dropped just enough to open his fingers and gawk as the investigator closed the other end of the handcuffs around the railing of the hospital bed.

“This has got to be a mistake! Let me call Ephraim, he can--”

Ezekiel's stammering was cut off sharply. “He came down to press the charges this morning. Your boy did a real number on him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Zadkiel was breathing so hard it felt like he would either throw up or pass out. “Look at me! I should be pressing charges--”

“Self defense isn't a crime.” The investigator turned to face the nurse, who'd frozen in place while she tried to keep up with what was happening. “You'll have to let us know if he moves rooms, or when to collect him at discharge. We want no chance of flight risk.”

“This has to be a misunderstanding,” Ezekiel insisted, struggling to come up with some more reasonable explanation. “It was-was just an argument, a bad one, no one--”

“Get out.”

All eyes turned to Zadkiel. His fingers had closed again and he was pressing down as though he was trying to rid himself of that eye as well. “I'm not going anywhere, clearly, so just get the hell out of my room.”

“Please, just let me try to fix--”

“I said get the fuck out already!”

The nurse finally unfroze and proceeded to usher all visitors out of the room, promising to come back and do something about the cuffs before shutting the door.

Zadkiel stared up at the ceiling, tears leaking down his cheek on one side while the other continued to ache endlessly. “Self defense” and “just an argument”? Why was he forced to bother with honesty when no one listened? No, when no one had the sense to see and acknowledge what was right in front of them?

He couldn't turn over easily between the handcuffs and all the cuts and scrapes on his arm, so he wound up tugging a pillow into his good arm from under him. He held it over his face, blinding himself to the world, and promptly started to scream.

[multi-lefaiye]

SALVATORE INKTOBER 13. BAPTIZED IN BLOODSHED

Following the bloody death of Joseph McCartney in 1963, Seamus became a different boy. Harder, angrier, overall more cruel. While he'd never been particularly pacifistic, he became significantly more confrontational, throwing threats at anyone who sparked his ire. After that night, he defensively squared his shoulders and bared his teeth, puffing up like a furious cat to make sure the world knew not to mess with him. He began carrying a switchblade of his own, one he claimed to have pilfered from McCartney's corpse.

He'd already killed a man, and he wasn't even sixteen yet. Who knew what else he'd do if the wrong person pissed him off?

By this point, Seamus no longer felt like he had any connection to the little girl he'd been before, if he ever did to begin with. Regardless of who he was before, he'd proven himself just as much of a man as anyone. Leslie Burke was gone, and Seamus O'Neal was here to stay. He may still be young, but he was a man through and through.

This attitude quickly proved lucrative for him, and Seamus rose through the ranks of the Emerald Devils. Being Clarence's ward definitely gave him a leg up over the men around him, but he proved his mettle just fine on his own aside from that. Within a few years, he'd likely become an enforcer as well, leaving his mark on the world of organized crime.

However, in the fall of 1965, everything changed. Following a raid on a warehouse managed by the Devils, Clarence was arrested, along with several other high-ranking members and foot soldiers. Only a handful of mobsters escaped that night, including Seamus, who was able to scramble out through a back door before anyone could see him. He lost a shoe in the process, but he was otherwise undetected and unharmed.

Despite his influence in the underworld, the case against Clarence O'Malley was air-tight and damning. In the end, he and his associates were convicted of racketeering and drug trafficking, each sentenced to 25 years. Following the trial, the Emerald Devils all but dissolved, its members scattering to the wind to avoid being subject to the same fate as Clarence. Including Seamus, the bastard he'd taken in and raised as his own.

In the three months that followed, Seamus floundered, left without a purpose after the loss of his crew. He still lived with his aunt Daisy, but she became withdrawn following her husband's arrest and hardly spoke to the boy. Just as well, he supposed. He had more important business to attend to than his aunt's mourning.

For one thing, he had to find a new way to earn money for his family--not only his aunt, and his mother and siblings as well. Beth had moved back in with their mother, and Martin had recently been medically discharged following a devastating injury on the front lines. Even if he wasn't on speaking terms with his mother and siblings for the most part, he knew it was his responsibility to provide for them.

So, he began taking odd jobs, various under-the-table gigs for anyone who would hire him. He may not have been educated, but he was willing and able to work, and that certainly counted for something. Much of the work wasn't exactly legal, but it wasn't like that was much of a concern for him.

Then, in the summer of 1967, he received a phone call from his older brother Jesse. At first, it seemed Jesse just wanted to catch up, prattling on and on through the receiver, but it wasn't long before he got down to business.

How's your Italian? Jesse asked.

Bad, Seamus replied curtly. Why?

You'd better study up. Jesse's grin was audible in his voice. I might've just gotten you a job.

wow this was so much longer than i meant for it to be- anyway here's the first of the "inktober but without the art" posts i'll be doing! my goal with the rest of the prompt list is to just finish up the prompts and tell the rest of the story. whatever i gotta do to accomplish this goal, i'll do. yeehaw!

i don't think they'll all be this long, but this one had to cover a lot of ground lol. this is also forcing me to iron out details that have been pretty vague in my mind for a while, haha!! so that's good.

unofficial lil inktober taglist (ask to be + or - ): @skitzo-kero @anexor @vacantgodling @invaderskoodge @albatris @abysslll @whonsper @astral-runic @chaieyestea

[boxeboxer]

MIA HENA SAFAROVA

Origin: asalee (human facsimile)

Status: organic

Nationality/Ethnicity: British, Russian-Uzbek

Age: 61 (date of birth November 11th, 1981) (pictured above at roughly 30-40 years old)

Occupation: N/A

About:

Mia is the child of an unknown mother and Orville Mallory. She was the result of chromosomal experimentation, and is a set of fused fraternal twins known as a bicephalic chimera. Her daughter is Samya Amari.

As a bicephalic chimera, Mia is part of the conjugate family, and has a Base of 4.25. This gives her the ability to use clairvoyance, which includes mind-reading, a primitive form of hypnosis, and manipulating electric fields. She is lower in Base hierarchy than a Mallory clone, and as such is weaker in strength. Additionally, practicing clairvoyance puts an increased physical strain on her body; side effects include bloody noses, bleeding around the eyes or sclera, headaches, dizziness, or loss of consciousness. However, Mia is adept at using her clairvoyance after years of training, and can do things such as influence air pressure, conjure and use whip-thread, and induce weak magnetic fields. Since she was kept on clairvoyance-suppressants for so long, she often self medicates with alcohol and nicotine to avoid overstimulation.

Mia is outwardly sardonic and egotistical. She comes off as confident, but this is to hide her own feelings of inadequacy. She will say whatever's on her mind without filter, usually unaware of how her words impact the feelings of those around her. She understands social cues, she thinks they are stupid and largely ignores them. In rare moments, she expresses her desire to redeem herself and become a better person. Mia enjoys cooking, raw fish, anything apple flavored, and going to the beach.

Background:

Mia was created and born in the Mallory's Uzbek lab. From birth, she was raised there by various staff members as she underwent numerous tests of her clairvoyance. One particular nurse, Olma Safarova, became particularly fond of her, and acted as a mother figure to her during this time; she is the one who named her Hena, as her name up until this point had been a serial number. In actuality, Olma was her aunt investigating the disappearance of her estranged sister, Mia's mother.

When Mia was five, Olma staged an escape plan to get her out of the lab. Security, accompanied by Orville Mallory, finds them and shoots Olma, killing her. Mia becomes enraged and kills all who's present, including her father Orville. To avoid a public scandal, the lab is shut down, and Mia is adopted by Orville's adult daughter (and Mia's half sister) Cassandra Mallory. This is when she is officially renamed Mia.

Now living in Liverpool, Mia is put through more tests and experimentation. Due to her detailed insight into the brain from her clairvoyance, she is trained under Cassandra to become a neurosurgeon. Though she is passive, she is administered clairvoyance-suppressant drugs to keep her from escaping or otherwise being a threat. In the early 2000s when the Mallorys are still unable to produce another bicephalic chimera, Cassandra tasks Mia with doing research into conjugates.

After years of studies, Mia develops Base theory, and proposes that a new type of conjugate can be created. Using the egg of a bicephalic chimera (herself), Mia says that a functional clone can be created via pseudo-fertilization from electric stimulation. Though the initial findings are promising, all tests ultimately fail. Mia then discovers that only a certain type of electric stimulation can successfully produce a viable embryo: EBID, which needs to be harvested from a human brain.

While the Mallory scientists went about obtaining EBID, Oman Khurshid was hired as an equipment technician in 2009 to work in the Liverpool lab. Though they did not directly work with each other, they met by chance during Mia's smoke break. When testing equipment in her office needs repair, they form a friendship. She is especially interested in him and his life outside the lab, as she hasn't been allowed to leave Cassandra's custody.

After Cassandra decides that Oman will be a candidate for EBID harvesting and he accepts, Mia grows distant from him when he refuses to reconsider. She is forced to perform his craniotomy. Afterwards, when Cassandra gives her the option to choose which EBID donor to select for pseudo-fertilization, Mia decides to use Oman's as a result of their brief friendship. This fills her with guilt.

Over the next seven months, she takes care of and eventually carries the new conjugate, which has become known as a Mallory clone. She tries not to form an attachment to her, but eventually gives her the nickname Sam. Once she is born, she finally gains the agency to begin planning an escape. Before she can, however, Oman reappears, having been contacted by Sam, and breaks them out. He is critically wounded by Cassandra in the process, and Mia saves his life by performing emergency surgery.

While Oman is recovering, Mia takes them into the northern British countryside to hide from Cassandra. Now no longer on clairvoyance-suppressants, she uses her hypnosis to establish a living for them, notably by forging documents and stealing money. While Oman is content to stay hidden, Mia frequently travels both to keep the Mallorys off their trail, as well as experience the life she never got to live.

In 2029, Mia goes missing and is assumed dead.

[hella1975]

About the drug post you made, I also lived in a very drug heavy town and I ended up getting a medical weed card and all my friend and family wanted me to share. That is a huge crime, it gets drilled in your head as you get the card it is a Huge crime. And they all tried to pressure me into giving or selling them weed like no I will not be your drug dealer??? But on top of that I’d look for tiktoks for good strains for chronic pain or whatever right? All the videos are about recreational, even by people with medical cards. None took it seriously they’d talk about how much Fun certain strains were or how they definitely took way more than they should’ve. I had a doctor tell me she takes an edible before work, “it helps her drive and focus” she could never stay on topic in a Medical Setting, I couldn’t imagine her driving. She wasn’t even related to me getting the card she was separate from that but would encourage me to smoke or take edibles More. Like I get that it’s “just weed” but even alcohol which is legal you don’t drive or work under the influence of. I wish people would take drugs more seriously, not that I’m against them because they did help me. I ended up dropping the card just so people would leave me alone about it, it was genuinely that bad. Also encouraging people to be in a vulnerable state like that in public or at parties and things like that, like my doctors would tell me to just smoke whenever I wanted and that it didn’t matter if I drove or worked while high “everyone does,” is so fucking dangerous. I’ve known people who have been hospitalized long term because they took too much and it sent them into a spiral, but no one cares about that because you “technically can’t overdoes from weed.” I hate it

i can't even imagine how hard that is. like bc of aforementioned hometown im very nonplussed about weed now, like i know it doesnt agree with me personally but when other people do it i barely even register it as a drug bc it's just become so so normalised, and i do think it's pretty lowkey and is becoming legalised in more places and it's benefits on chronic pain are astounding, but also.... it is a drug. like i talk about weed the same way i talk about alcohol, in that it's very common and normalised and generally just a fun thing, but just like alcohol and just like MOST things let alone addictive substances, it's only safe in moderation and when done RIGHT. and there's this whole attitude particularly with weed bc it's got this real hippy Freedom culture to it, if you point out that it is a drug at the end of the day, same as alcohol in its own way, people DO NOT LIKE IT. they get arsey about it and you get called a pussy and like? even if weed itself was completely harmless, it puts you into the ring. you contact dealers. you surround yourself with people who are doing less harmless drugs. it's its own gateway and im saying all this genuinely not having a problem with weed, i just wish people could remember to be wary of these things? like you dont sound hard or grown up bc you're nonchalant about this shit. you sound like an idiot