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xysidhequeen · 7 months

Text

New Ficlet

TW: Death, Murder, Blood, Experimentation, Vivisection, Dissociation, Child Abuse

RedredredredsomuchredsomuchBLOOD.

Danny backed away, hands shaking. His foot slipped on the blood mess on the floor. He went down, a keening whimper escaping him as the fall jolted his wounds. His hands went up to grab at his chest, at the gaping wound and flapping skin. He froze, looking at the dripping red liquid coating his hands and arms like gloves.

His hands shook and he could feel a wail crawling up his throat. He didn't look up, didn't look at his…at Jack and Maddie at their…bodies. He killed them. They're dead. DEADdeaddeadhekilledthem. He didn't look at them.

Some cold part of his mind whispered to him. The voice sounded like Jazz. And– oh Ancients what would she think? What would Sam and Tucker think? They'd hate him, surely. He couldn't–

Jazz's voice in his head spoke up over his spiraling thoughts. Calm and clinical and ordering him to get up, to wash his hands. To find bandages and fishing line to sew up his wounds before their were three dead bodies in this lab.

Danny listened to Jazz's voice. She'd always been the smart one. She'd always known what to do. He stood on unsteady legs and limped to the sink in the lab, washing his hands in robotic motions, ignoring the pink water until it ran clear.

He gathered up the materials he needed, sitting on a clean stretch of ground where there was no blood mess. He stitched himself back together, not even feeling the pain of it. This was nothing compared to what his parents Jack and Maddie had done to him over the past week.

He closed up the Y shaped incision on his chest, closed up the deep, surgical cuts along his torso and arms. Covered them in spare ectoplasm lying around the lab, slathered it on like ointment on the chunks of flesh taken from his arms and legs. Then he wrapped them all in bandages.

He stood again and mechanically gathered what he'd need, Jazz's voice in his head, a calming narrator telling him what step to take next. What to grab. All the ecto-dejectos after he'd taken one and injected it into himself, giving him the energy he'd need and kickstarting his healing. More bandages, all he could grab. Fishing line, needles.

He climbed back up to his room, grabbing a worn duffle bag to shove it all in. He grabbed his phone, turned it off, and tossed it in. Clothes, the cash Sam had given him 'in case of an emergency', the thumb drive Tucker made that would grab all the data from the Fenton computers and wipe the rest. He grabbed clothes, roughly yanking off the ruined remains of his jumpsuit and tossing a hoodie and jeans on instead. His ectoplasm would replace it, eventually, but for now, he needed clothes.

He didn't turn back into his human form. It didn't feel safe. It wouldn't survive with the injuries he currently had. No matter how tired he was.

He drifted through the house, Jazz's voice his only grounding anchor as he dipped in and out of rooms. Grabbed a few things from Jazz's room, some of the emergency supplies she had left. A med-kit, cash, his fake papers, and ID. They kept it in her room, just in case his parents found out and it went badly and they combed his room.

They found out. They found out. It went so much worse than he could ever imagine. Now they're dead, and he's a MONSTER.

He dropped into his parent's room, the static in his head nearly drowning out Jazz's voice. She screamed louder, though. She always had. He took a hesitant step. It felt like moving through molasses. Then another and another, forcing himself into the room of his parents, his victims, the Fentons. He moved as quickly as he could, barely touching anything except to grab his legal papers and the money his dad squirreled away because he didn't trust banks and thought they were controlled by ghosts.

"No one can be that soulless and not be a ghost, Danno!"

He left the room, slamming the door behind him so hard it cracked. He stopped in the kitchen next, grabbing whatever wasn't currently animated and attempting to stage a coup. It wasn't much. He tossed it into the bulging duffle, struggling to zip it closed.

He paused at the stairs to the lab, the darkness yawning like a monster's maw. He wanted to run he wanted to never see it again.

But Jazz's voice was louder than his fear, so he stepped back into the lab, his prison, his cage. Each step rang too loudly in the silent house. Finally, he was back, and he kept his eyes carefully averted from the… mess. From the stains on the ground and the lumps beside a metal table covered in green ectoplasm.

He hurried to the computer, shoving the thumb drive in. Immediately, a screen popped up, denoting how long it would take to download. Danny kept his eyes locked on it, never blinking or moving as the bar slowly went up.

When it reached a hundred, Danny ripped the thumb drive out and shoved it in the duffle, deep down into it. He took a deep breath and turned his head quickly to miss the…mess. He zeroed in on the portal and forced himself to walk to it, past it. He ripped a panel off, exposing a mess of wiring.

Danny moved on autopilot, ripping wires and twisting them together. Turning h- Jack and Maddie's greatest invention into a ticking time bomb.

He couldn't afford for anyone else to get into the Ghost Zone or for anyone to get out. He needed to hide the bodies evidence. He needed for all of the Fenton inventions to be gone. This would do it. It wouldn't be a massive explosion, but it would be enough to take out the house.

Everyone would think he was dead.

Sam, Tucker and Jazz would think he was dead.

That would be for the best.

Better he die a hero to them than live as a monster.

Danny finished his work and stepped back, taking a deep breath he finally turned his head to look at Jack and Maddie. At their bodies. At his victims. He killed them. Him. He was the monster.

The monster they made him.

Invisibility and intangibility washed over him in a cooling wave. He stumbled but held his legs, his core crying from the strain. He pushed past it. He forced himself up, up, up, and out of Fenton Works.

He floated there, watched with a detatched type of curiosity as he mentally counted down the seconds until there was a rumble. Then the building just…crumpled in on itself. Imploding.

Jazz was silent in his mind.

Danny didn't wait around for the emergency services to arrive. He turned his head and flew off. He wasn't sure where, exactly, until a memory tickled his brain. A memory of a little bird, a robin he remembered Sam saying. A ghost robin that used to warn him when new ghosts were coming or his parents were getting close. A robin who used to try to distract his rogues or tug Danny out of (or occasionally into danger if someone needed help) danger.

A little robin that Danny used to just unload his woes and troubles onto because it felt like the bird could understand him. He always stayed to listen, at least.

A little bird who had only ever spoken once, the last time Danny ever saw him.

"If you ever need to run, come to Gotham. It'll keep you safe."

Well. He had nowhere else to go. He might as well go to Gotham. No one would find one singular eighteen year old kid there.

Danny turned his phone on, ignoring the hundreds of missed calls and texts, just long enough to see where Gotham was. Then he turned it off and started slowly flying in that direction, desperately hoping he got to Gotham before he passed out.

—-----------

Danny kept flying doggedly on, only pausing when he started leaking through his bandages and even then only stopping long enough to redo them in whatever bathroom he came across. He burned the old bandages once he was done, not willing to leave behind traces of his ectoplasm for someone to track him with.

He ate while flying, shoving whatever he grabbed out of the bag into his mouth. The ecto-dejectos kept him going when his vision started to go dark at the edges. He couldn't pass out here. Not where it wasn't safe. He couldn't risk it.

Danny had no idea when he'd feel safe again. Had no idea if Gotham would provide that safety, but it was the only hope he had. He had nowhere else to go. He couldn't go to the Zone, the portal was destroyed, and he couldn't risk trying to sneak past Vlad. He was too weak to open his own right now. Besides, if he came into the Zone this injured, then every ghost in a hundred mile radius would be on his ass, trying to finally End him and take the crown.

No, the living realm wasn't safe, but it was safer than the Zone right now.

He just had to get to Gotham, find a safe place to lay low for a few weeks until he healed. Then he could vanish into the Zone.

Danny kept flying, forcing his invisibility to stay up even when his core felt like it would shatter. He kept pushing and pushing. He stole a phone at one point. He couldn't risk turning his on again and having Tucker trace the signal.

He didn't spend time wondering why he'd even grabbed the phone. Why he kept it on him. The buried hope it would uncover would be the end of him.

He used it to keep him on track, getting closer and closer to Gotham until he could finally see the smog that coated the city like a dirty cloak. Could see the twinkling skyscrapers and Gothic architecture clawing at the sky.

Danny was half delirious at that point, running on fumes and ecto-dejecto. He'd run out of food days ago, and his stomach had stopped growling, instead cramping in a ball of pained agony that just joined the rest of the pain his battered body felt.

He flew over the city, past skyscrapers and ancient buildings. He ignored the thoughts of Sam that accompanied every gothic building and gargoyle. He flew deeper into the city, ignoring the crowds below. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, a sign, maybe?

A feeling tickled at his senses, at his core. It felt familiar but faint. Hidden almost under something…wrong and rancid. But it was familiar. It felt safe in a way Danny hadn't felt in two weeks.

It had been longer than that, but Danny didn't want to think about that.

Danny followed the feeling, half asleep and so delirious he could swear the buildings were warping around him as he flew haphazardly closer. The feeling grew stronger. It almost felt like a ghost. As he crossed some unseen threshold, the feeling strengthened. It was like entering an abandoned haunt, the boundary lined weak and feeble.

If there had been a ghost here, they were long gone. Probably Ended, it was one of the only ways he'd ever seen a ghost relinquish a haunt.

Danny paid it little mind. The ghost might be gone, but the sense of them remained. It felt so safe to him, even if the energy pulsate Rage/Pain/Hate/Grief/Vengeance like a heartbeat. He followed the feeling deeper into the haunt towards the center. Towards what would've been the ghost's lair.

He forced his body to go intangible when he found the building, an apartment building that was slightly less derelict than the ones around it. Not that Danny was particularly picky at the moment. This spot was as good as any, and if it had been a ghost's lair, it was unlikely there were any living people in it. They tended to naturally avoid ghost lairs, some deep instinct buried in their psyche screaming at them to stay away.

Danny dropped through the roof and through apartments until he reached the one that was positively drenched in the faded ghost's energy. There was a couch right there. And Danny didn't even have the energy to look around further.

He was tired. He was in so much pain. He just wanted to sleep.

Danny dropped his invisibility and intangibility, collapsing on the couch, his duffle bag dropped to the floor beside him. The moment his eyes closed, he was out.

---------

What. You thought I only wrote fluff? Nah.

Anyways, this is an idea that's been rattling around in my head I wanted to get out. It's rough, unedited and who knows if I'll continue it. But it exists now.

It has no name but I saved it as 'The Monster They Made' but the name is subject to change.

I'm pretty sure I got all the trigger warnings. Let me know if I missed any

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phoebepheebsphibs · 1 month

Text

And the story goes on…

Spoiler warning for Until I Found You Lore.... CW: Mentions of torture, abuse, and experimentation.

@boots-with-the-fur-club @daboyau

Prev || Next || Reference image for Mikey’s scars || illustration

Mikey couldn't stop sobbing.

The other Donnie was writhing on the floor, screaming in pain as he gripped his head tightly. Something was wrong, something was very very VERY wrong...

But Michael could only watch and cry and shout at his brother to "Open the thing, open the thing up, Donnie! OPEN THE ORB!!"

"I'm trying!" his brother yelled back. "It's a different design from my tech, I'm doing the best I can considering I don't have my tools with me and I'm using my bare hands--"

The alternate Donnie started shrieking in agony, his cries ringing through the halls and echoing mercilessly in Mikey's head. He falls to his knees, the glowing marks on his arms and legs turning that evil shade of blue.

"PLEASE, DONNIE, HE'S HURTING! I CAN'T DO ANYTHING FROM IN HERE, PLEASE--"

"WELL EITHER GET APRIL TO POOF YOU OUT OR -- GOT IT, I GOT IT, I GOT THE THING TO OPEN!" UIFY Donnie yelled back, finally hacking into the sphere and causing the shields to dissipate. Immediately the three fall forwards, with Mikey regaining his footing at once and pouncing at the quivering Donatello on the floor.

Mikey wrapped his arms around Donnie, sobbing into his shoulder as he pressed his hands against his shell and the back of his head. A soft, warm amber glow began to spread over the shaking softshell, his eyes slowly refocusing as he turned and stared down at the copy of his brother. Apparently this Mikey was also in-tune with his mystic powers. Amazing, considering the age gap between him and the other Mikey, and the fact that they'd not even known about mystic abilities until they'd met Draxum and taken his magic weapons for themselves. This one must've been practicing magic for a while... Donnie's headache ceased. He watched as the tiny, trembling version of his brave baby brother kept pressing his small and delicate hands against his shell and neck, quietly mumbling to himself - praying possibly, or perhaps reciting a magic spell. Whatever he did, it helped tons. But it seemed to exhaust the poor kid as he slumped over, his head rolling into the crook of Donnie's neck and shoulder. Michael's soft, slow breaths tickled uncomfortably against his sensitive skin, and he flinched.

"Michael, get off of him!" the other Donnie said, coming forward and pulling the kid away. "If this Donnie's anything like me, he doesn't like to be touched. Especially after... whatever the heck happened to him."

"I-it's fine, he helped, he... What exactly did he do?" Donnie asked, slowly getting to his feet.

Donatello Von Draxum picked the child up and held him close to his chest. Mikey had fainted, it seemed, though his eyes fluttered open and shut several times. His head lolled from side to side, rolling around as if he was trying to force himself to stay awake but failing utterly. He mumbled softly, muttering whispers to no one specifically before finally succumbing to the exhaustion and resting his head against his brother.

"I'm... not exactly sure," Donatello Von Draxum mumbled, slowly pulling the bandages from Mikey's arms and checking for any mystic injuries. "Best guess is... he leant you some of his strength."

"His strength?" Dee questioned.

"Whatever you needed in the moment. Strength, presence of mind, life-force, that kind of stuff. It could explain why he's so sleepy now."

"Will he be alright?!" Donnie asked, hoping he didn't just cause a version of his brother to be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life.

"He's okay. He just needs a nap. It's nothing too extreme." Donatello Von Draxum looked over Donnie with concern. "YOU on the other hand..."

"Yeah. That was not fun."

"No fun in fungus, huh?"

"Roll credits," April interjected, having gone to retrieve Donnie's tech-bō for him.

"Very clever. I suppose... we should go look for Raphael now," Dee decided as he took the staff from the Mayhem-ified April.

"Are you sure you don't want to rest?" she asked, eyeing him nervously. "Those things have a way of draining you. Physically, just as much as emotionally."

"I am fine," Donnie insisted. "But you've got some... something on your arm."

"What?" April asked, looking down at said appendage, which had a black and blue smear across it. "Oh, ew, gross. It's the goo from that hand.PNG. Yuck! I didn't even notice that..."

Mutant April wiped the sludge off onto her jacket.

"No worries, I think I'm all good."

"What about Michael?" Donnie asked, pointing to the still out-of-it box turtle in DvD's arms.

"I can carry him," he insisted. "He weighs practically nothing. We'll be coming along."

"Good, the more help we can get the better. I don't think it's safe for anyone to split up anymore. Let's go find my Raph and your brothers," Donnie said, taking the lead.

The four walked on through the hallways, Mikey mumbling or muttering and even humming in his dazy sleep as they searched for the others. Donnie kept glancing over at him to make sure he really was okay. He seemed fine. It reminded him of the time his April had gotten her wisdom teeth removed, she'd sent them a video her mom had taken of her after she'd woken up from the surgery. They guys all had a big laugh over it, how loopy and looney she'd been, constantly gibbering about nothing and then falling back asleep. The memory made him smile a little. It helped to alleviate the stress, to simply pretend that was what had happened to this Mikey. And not that he'd sacrificed some part of himself for Donnie's sake. And not even for his Donnie's sake, for a complete stranger.

It was so unbelievably awkward.

The two Donnies barely said a word to each other. Donnie kept giving glances at Mikey and DvD would catch him, and Donnie's head would snap in the opposite direction. Poor April was stuck in the middle of their silence, doing her best to lighten the mood but eventually giving up and straying ahead of them.

Donatello glanced over at Mikey again. Michael had made some small squeaking sound - a yawn maybe - and curled up into his brother's hold. The bandages on his arm were loose... That's right, DvD had checked his arms earlier for cracks -- had that meant that there might actually be some danger to whatever spell he'd used to help Donnie?! He could see the cracks right there! DvD said he was fine, but Donnie could clearly see the holes and thin lines made from --

Holes?

Mikey's overuse of ninpo didn't make holes, they made cracks like broken glass that webbed across his arms! So, where had...

"Did you... want to hold him or something?" DvD asked.

Donatello was startled from his train of thought and realized he'd been staring at Mikey for too long.

"Oh! Um, no I didn't -- unless that is, you would like a break?"

"Like I said, he's not that heavy," Donatello Von Draxum repeated flatly.

"I recall. I was just worried for him, is all, and I--"

"You were staring at him."

"Oh, was I?"

"Quite obviously so."

"Ah. I apologize for the social faux pas of staring rudely at your brother."

Silence again.

"But do you want to hold him?"

"You are... offering?"

"Your brother is gone, for the moment," DvD stated. "And I saw how you looked at my Mikey. For you, there is precious little to distinguish the two. Correct?"

"Well... I suppose they are very similar," Donnie ceded.

"And he undoubtedly considers you family as well."

"That is evident, considering what he did for me."

"That's your fault, you know."

"Excuse me?" Donnie sputtered, stopping in his tracks. "How is it my fault for saving you three from getting spored?"

"Apologies, I misspoke. I merely meant that you did something that reminded him of... of something bad that happened to us."

"Then am I to assume that's why he reacted the way he did?"

"Precisely."

"I see."

Donnie looked down at the alt. Mikey, still fast asleep. He was so much smaller than his brother. So... petite. No, Miniscule. Maybe Runty. Donnie kept searching for the right word. Not weak, or tiny, he was so...

Frail. That was the word. Thin limbs connected to a slip of a body, a tiny round face with baby cheeks so slim and slender. He was just too small.

"...I think I will carry him. If only to relieve you of duty for a short while."

"Very well," DvD relented, carefully exchanging his brother into Donnie's arms. Donnie had carried his Mikey before, and even his Leo. Heck, he'd carried all three of his brothers on more than one occasion. He'd let them grab onto his legs or arms while he flew above the city with his hover-shell. It was quite a feat, all of them clinging together like the barrel of monkeys toys from their childhood. And he'd gotten his leg dislocated from its socket for the trouble, but that was nothing too bad really, and Leo had helped fix him up. He desperately missed his brothers... All this to say he knew what to expect, to carry a slightly smaller version of his baby bro.

The alt. Mikey was placed into his hold.

Ooooooh pizza supreme in the sky this kid literally weighed nothing.

Donnie's eyes widened. He'd expected some kind of difficulty, some weight, but no -- it was like carrying air. The only weight he could feel was from the clothes, it seemed. He'd estimated this Mikey to weigh somewhere in the vicinity of 70 pounds, maybe even 65. It felt like he weighed no more than 10.

"He's... he's so light..." Donnie's voice trembled.

"I did say he weighs almost nothing," DvD smirked.

"I thought you were using hyperbole!" Donnie snapped. "When was the last time this Mikey was weighed? He should have more tone in his muscles than this!"

"Well, years of near-starvation will result in major weight loss."

"Mikey -- my Mikey -- said he told him a bit about his life... but I never imagined..."

He never imagined this kind of troubled life for him. He knew the kid had a hypoglycemic condition, too. He couldn't imagine how difficult that had to have been for him. No wonder he was so skinny, his clothes baggy and nearly falling off of him, the bandages... Donnie's attention was brought back to the little boy's arms.

"...How did he get these...?" he asked softly, pulling the bandages off and showing the other Donnie the scars and marks on his arms.

Donatello Von Draxum went pale. He almost looked sick to his stomach, as he slowly re-wrapped the bandages for Mikey.

"...Those were my fault."

"Your fault?" Donnie was astonished. His voice came out as barely a whisper.

"Partly. Some of them were from me, some were from my father-- ahem. From Draxum."

"Draxum did this?" Donnie's blood began to boil. "But... why? And why did you--"

"The story is that I had left the Baron to try and start a new family with Mikey, Leonardo, and Raphael. I'd been... planning to trick our brothers into returning to Draxum so that they could join his army of mutants against the humans, but eventually I realized I couldn't go through with it. So I left without saying a word. Draxum got wind that his other experiments survived, and started searching for them. He found Mikey first, kidnapped him, and left a calling card for me so that I would know where he was. I confronted him, only to end up in a trap. He... he wanted me to return home and help him experiment on Michael."

"Did you?" Donnie asked, drawing the small child closer to him, holding him tightly to his chest.

"I had to. He threatened to torture Mikey, to intentionally sabotage his experiments on him and hurt him if I didn't assist. I had no choice. To ensure Michael's safety... I had to do whatever Draxum ordered me to. Day after day, it was nothing but surgery after surgery after blood test after--"

"I thought you said experiments," Donnie growled. Mikey whimpered in his hold; Donnie readjusted him slightly so he could rub his head to soothe him.

"That's what he told me, initially..." DvD continued. "But on the first day... he revealed his experiments were more medically-based than he'd lead me to believe. But I couldn't say no. He was going to inspect his spine, I had to stay and make sure he didn't--!"

Donatello Von Draxum covered his mouth as he gagged at the memory. His hands trembled.

"...It... It was inhumane. Unethical. Horrible. Even Huginn and Muninn - whom I don't typically get along with well but tolerated more than Draxum - agreed that his tests were unreasonable and not meant so much to inspect Michael's state but more so to punish me for having left Draxum and kept my brothers a secret from him. And Draxum kept it up for seven whole days. Most experiments and examinations were him cutting into Mikey with a scalpel and studying his skeletal structure and veins and nervous system first-hand. The rest were to see how his body reacted to certain potions and formulas and magic spells, to test his mystic endurance. He wanted to see if he could be a strong warrior... and if not, he wanted to see if he had any mystic talent."

"All that... just to know whether or not Mikey had mystic abilities?"

"I don't have any magic ability myself," DvD explained. "I know all the spells and potion recipes, I understand how to do it, and I know how it all works but... I'm disconnected from it. Draxum was always disappointed with me over that. He hoped that Mikey would show some promise."

"What happened?"

"He took it too far. On the sixth day, Draxum told me that Michelangelo possessed the greatest capacity for mystic power and ability to date."

"He what?!" Donnie yelled, forgetting the sleeping figure in his hands. "I mean, I know my Mikey became the greatest mystic warrior in the future, but... to have surpassed everything?"

"It came as a shock to me, as well. And Draxum said... He said he was going to take Mikey's powers away from him and then set him free. But it was all a lie. He was going to kill him... I fought with Draxum. I won. I took Mikey home."

Donatello could tell he was intentionally leaving out some big parts of the story. But based off of everything, he figure it was best to leave it unsaid.

"So that's why... Mikey leapt at the chance to help me," Donnie whispered. "Why he was so upset when he saw me hurting... it reminded him of you?"

"Yes. And it is also why he wears those bandages, though the wounds have long since healed."

"Why is that?"

"Because he knows that I feel responsible for that hurt. I did that to him. I helped to cut him open and chisel into his shell. I hurt him. But I'll never let anything hurt him ever again."

Donnie nodded, understanding that protective drive. He felt the same way about his brothers.

"In that case... maybe you'll want to carry him again?" Dee offered.

Donatello Von Draxum didn't even try to politely decline. He immediately reached over and took the boy away, who at this point was slowly coming out of his sleepy stupor. DvD held Mikey on his hip, letting him rest his head against his shoulder. Mikey groggily wrapped his arms around his brother's neck in a hug, yawning once more before going back to sleep. The son of Draxum felt the deep inhale and exhale from his little brother against his chest, proof that he was alive and well and trusted him above all else. DvD smiled, the first time Donnie had seen him smile -- really smile, not just an evil grin at the mention of humanity's destruction -- since he'd first met him.

"Do you think... my Mikey is okay?" Dee asked after the silence began to return.

"I am sure he is. He has you to look out for him. You'll rescue him, and all will be well again."

Donnie smiled.

"I hope so..."

"Hey, you lazy-bones!" April shouted. She'd gained a lot more ground than them during this bonding episode. "Hurry it up! I think I found one of the guys!"

…I have failed you, master. My injuries… they impede me.

They are inconsequential, my dear disciple. Rest easy, for you are still needed. You've done well thus far. But there is still much to be done if I am to take over this realm. So many tragedies to intercede, so many traumas to feed off of, so many toys to play with and BREAK.

But what of the others? Without my work—

I shall finish my collection soon enough. You did your part, and now we have a new player. Our new deliverer of destruction. They shall lead the others to their doom.

A new...? Do you mean you have infected one of the children? They serve our cause now?

Indeed, thanks to you.

How intriguing... but who...?

Rest for now, and regain your strength. Your services are yet to be utilized.

Very well... whom shall we be expecting to join us next, my master?

...I want the big one.

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dgalerab · 1 year

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"ain how far are you on the 3rd page to be posting the 2nd one on the next day" first of all, come back with a warrant,

(part 1)(part 2)(part 3)

#rooftop agency au #bnha #erasercloudmic #aizawa shouta #tw experimentation #tw electrocution #erasermic

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scaramouche-bully · 2 years

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— ☆ Amore mio aiutami

Includes: Dottore and Omega Build Dottore.

Contains: Unhealthy relationships, co-dependency, implied stockholm syndrome, mentions of experimentation, medical phobia, slight yandere, improper medical treatment, obsessive + possessive behavior.

"You're childish, you set them all weeks behind schedule with your tantrums, and you hate him equally as much as he finds you irritable. But he bites down on his tongue with his opinions because Dottore is fond of you. Genuinely cares for you. For reasons that weren't built into him."

[ masterlist ]

I removed the anon ask attached to this fic because this is probably not what they were looking for. To be honest, I have no idea how I got here as well. I was just talking about how I wanted to be babied by the deranged war criminal doctor unconditionally despite the fact it would be entirely out of character. But since we don't know if the Dottore appearances are actually the original Dottore, I took massive liberties with his character in this one. I lost so much steam at the end hahh.

It starts the same way every time. You’ll make a mess, leave the lab, and refuse to take your medicine. Important papers are scattered all over the floor, shards of glass still have drops of fluorescent liquid dripping from them, and pieces of equipment are bent and broken. In the middle stand's Dottore as he mixes a small test tube of pale blue liquid in one hand, completely disregarding the state of the room. His bulky coat is missing but Dottore has long since removed any parts of his body that hinder efficiency, so the cold doesn't bother him anymore. Omega stands at the entrance of the lab, looking at the tornado that swept through the room displeased.

"I'm taking the girl didn't respond well to the treatment again?" Omega asks, quietly closing the door to not disturb the silence. There are only two reasons for the lab to be anything but organized and it's either the man himself has lost his temper or it's you. Seeing that Dottore is idly standing by, swirling a concoction that Omega recognizes as something specifically created for your illness, he can guess which assumption is correct.

"You know how she feels with anything medical-related," Dottore muses, finally placing the test tube down to scan his surroundings. "She made quite a mess this time."

Dottore's amusement in their situation adds to Omega's displeasure. Perhaps it's because he wasn't built as a replacement but as an extension in the name of progress, but for all Omega can do, he can not comprehend why Dottore keeps you around. You're childish, you set them all weeks behind schedule with your tantrums, and you hate him equally as much as he finds you irritable. When he was first created, he thought he may have been able to find some aspects of your charm but all he found was a leech. You constantly cling to the Doctor's side and give anyone else the nastiest attitude, even his segments. Especially to his segments. Although he may be biased because you seem to have a specific vendetta against him. At first, Omega assumed you were going to be used as another test subject and these were your last days of rebellion before inevitable silence. But after days turned into weeks and your presence was still here, he grew confused and confronted the original. That was the first and only time Dottore was ever livid at Omega, nearly dissembling him on the spot for even suggesting touching a hair on your pretty head. Thus he bites down on his tongue with his opinions because Dottore is fond of you. Genuinely cares for you. For reasons that weren't built into him.

"I'm going to search for her. Have someone clean up and replace the broken equipment immediately," Dottore waves dismissively, placing the test tube on the only clean surface and turning to leave.

"Yes sir," Omega bows as Dottore passes him, already anticipating the headache he'll have to endure in clean up. The blue test tube stands tall, patiently waiting.

---

You hear the door open behind you. That was a lot faster than you expected but given who Dottore is, he probably already knew where you would run to before you did. You bring your legs closer to your chest and bury your head further into your knees so you don't need to face him. You hear the quiet steps of his shoes against the floor, slow-paced and leisurely, as he enters the room and rounds the desk in his office. Before he can say anything you're throwing yourself against him and pressing your face against his stomach.

"I'm sorry," you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. Weak fist clinging onto him as you feel one of his hands come to the back of your head, softly playing with the strands of your hair. He only hums in reply, not in the least bit aggravated that you made another mess in his lab. You'll make another one in a month, apologize again, and the process will repeat again the month after that. He never gets angry, not with you. He always treats you carefully, as if one wrong touch and you'll crumble to dust. Truthfully he's right. You can't do anything without him even before your illness overtook your body completely. Before he arrived, you were struggling to do the simplest of tasks. In the region of Snezhnaya, if you weren't useful then you were discarded. Thus, your family had dropped you on the Fatui's doorstep and that's how you met the second harbinger. Scared, cold, and helpless. Not so different now years later.

"So this is where my coat went," he says, cupping your cheeks, the pads of his fingers rubbing small circles. Your skin is cold to the touch, paler than when you threw a fit in his lab. He readjusts his coat over his shoulders that had fallen when you threw yourself at him, bringing your form closer to him in the process. "Are you finished with your tantrum my dear?"

"It wasn't a tantrum," you frown, huffing under your breath. Dottore audibly sighs before getting down on one knee. Even kneeling, Dottore is still taller than you so he can't match your lowered eye level as you loosen your hold on his waist. From this angle, he can see just how hazy your eyes have become, how hard your body needs to work to take each breath, and how you shiver even under the heavy fabrics.

"Come now, you must take your medication or your condition will worsen,” he whispers, pushing strands of your messy hair out of your face. He’s going to have to cut your hair for you soon, he can’t see your face properly anymore.

"I don't want to. It's...scary," your frown deepens, your fist now balling tighter in your lap trying to ground yourself down further. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your forehead against his in hopes that maybe this time, he’ll have some mercy to spare.

"I know. But you must and you shall," he denies your unspoken hope as the reality of your situation comes bearing down. You know that you'll have to, willingly or not. It's easier to get this done and over with before Dottore loses his patience and sedates you until you're nothing but a drooling fish. You still remember the first time he did the procedure vividly. The feeling of helplessness as your body refused to cooperate with you while your mind remained conscious. You never want to experience that feeling ever again. So all you do is nod. You don’t need to look up to see his pleased smile as he takes your hand to guide you out from underneath his desk. You try and stand but a sharp pain pounds against your forehead and you stumble, Dottore already ready to catch you. He makes a noise of amusement, scoops you up into his arms, and walks out of his office. Your legs dangle around his waist, arm's clinging to his neck as you rest your head against his chest. While he doesn’t have a heartbeat, the back and forth sway lulls you into comfort as he takes you back to the lab. The noise of assistants running around, shards of glass being dusted, and the shuffling of papers greet your ears the closer you get back. As soon as the door opens and Dottore walks in, the temperature seems to drop as everyone stop's what they're doing like scared animals. They all bow their heads before quickly scampering out of the lab. All except for Omega who stands guarding the test tube Dottore left behind reading one of the discarded research reports.

"That was shorter than expected," he tilts his head to look past his paper to see you bundled up, Dottore’s hands rubbing small circles into your back, his chin resting on top of your head. It's almost picturesque enough for Omega to gag.

"Go away, don't you have anything better to do," you turn and glare with bitter eyes at the segment.

Omega matches your glare despite the mask over his eyes, his tone is enough, "Due to your mess, everything needs to be put on hold while we clean up after you.”

"You mean like your failure in Sumeru? Oh sorry, sore spot huh? I’ll try and refrain from hurting your feelings next time.”

"You ungrateful-"

"Enough." You both immediately quiet down at Dottore's voice. "Leave."

Omega frowns but obeys nonetheless, walking out after the rest of the staff. There’s blood sweeping into his mouth from the bite on his tongue. You wave your fingers cheekily at this retreating back and giggle when you see his frown grow deeper. Your satisfaction is short-lived when Dottore seats you down on the desk, right beside the test tube.

"Must you always agitate my segments?" he asks although you know he’s not annoyed. If anything you think he finds it funny seeing his segments get attitude from you. "Now it’s time to be a good girl and take your medicine."

Dottore picks up the test tube, swirling its contents, almost spilling over the top as he carries it over for you to hold. Your eyes follow the specks of powder that spin and dissolve as it settles in front of your face. You gingerly raise your hands up, fingers wrapping around the tube one by one, as you stare down at the reflecting blue liquid. And there’s the ball of unease clawing into your mind. You know the various things he gives you aren’t meant to heal you. After so many years of his treatment, you haven't gotten any better. Only healthy enough to walk but not run. He knows that you know and yet he still calls it medicine. But you ignore your mind screaming at you to throw it to the ground and run away again. You know this is the last one, you've broken all the other ones, and no matter how patient Dottore is with you, this is your last chance.

And yet.

"I-I can't do it. I'm scared." you whimper, tear’s beginning to form underneath your eyelids. Your fingers shake but you don’t dare let go and accidentally drop what’s in your hands. Dottore is quick to pull you into a hug, mindful of the fragile glass tube, shushing you as your body shakes harder as you try and contain your sobs. He gently cups your face to tilt your face up to him, his other hand brushing away your tears before running his thumb over your lips. He’s waiting for you to say it. He won't move until you say it.

"Please help me." His eyes narrow gleefully, his grip around you tightening to bruising. He needs you to say it.

"My love."

Dottore grin's like a madman. His sharp-pointed teeth bared. He takes the test tube out of your hands, swirls it one last time, before his other hand tips, and holds your head back. You can feel the liquid flow past your lips, down your throat, and spread through your body. You're helpless but at least you won’t be conscious enough to hate it. The feeling of drowsiness overtakes your senses, weights under your eyelids that beg you to close your eyes, until your pliant in the doctor’s hands. Dottore places the test tube back onto the desk before stepping back to observe your sleeping body. It ends the same way every time. He’ll clean up the mess, carry you back to the lab, and feed you your medicine.

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lights-on-the-ridge · 10 days

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in @pastafossa we trust

this is based on ‘Im Sending A Raven’ on Ao3!

#i love u jane hind #the alt ending made me ugly cry so i had to draw this to cope #pastafossa #the red thread #daredevil #tw blood #tw medical #tw experimentation #digital art #my art #reids art #jane hind

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 8 months

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Whump Prompt #1230

What’s worse:

Your whumpee being sedated and waking up with body modifications.

Your whumpee being kept awake while they’re being modified.

#write the fic and find out #Whump #writing #prompts #ideas #noncon body modification #tw noncon #tw experimentation

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boots-with-the-fur-club · 23 days

Note

28 and 29

I combined the two, hope you don’t mind! Also, um, I went a little far with this. Make sure to check the tags.

@daboyau

Leo thrashes around violently against the restraints keeping him to the table. The Kraang who brought him there had taken out his portaling ability the first chance they got. It feels like years since then. Maybe it has been. The Kraang aren’t exactly generous when it comes to their prisoners.

Especially not one they’re trying to break.

He stops moving as much when a certain former warring warrior scientist walks in. He was taken at the same time Leo was.

That doesn’t mean he’s also a prisoner though.

“I-I want to be mad at you, but you’re like this and Mikey isn’t….you turned into such a freaking softy. Sacrificing yourself for the greatest mystic warrior ever? He’s not even a kid anymore.” Leo scoffs.

Draxum’s half Kraang covered face doesn’t change expressions. It was worth a try. It’s not like this could get any worse. It is torture by the world’s evilest creatures after all.

He lifts up a syringe filled with a green substance.

“What….going to double mutate me? It’ll do exactly what you’re trying to avoid.” Leo insists.

The reason Leo isn’t part of the grossest shade of pink ever hive mind right now is because they want someone to infiltrate the resistance undetected. That means he can’t look like Draxum does right now.

It also means they have to get him under their control another way.

He had been kept in a cell for a long time before this. Every day, Draxum would come in and use something new on him to make sure he never got used to the torture.

Leo’s healing factor meant that it could go on for a long time. Wounds closing just to be torn open again. A fresh canvas to splash with blood.

Just recently, he’s been making a lot more serious escape attempts. He almost made it the other day. The Kraang were really pissed about it.

This is probably punishment.

Draxum injects the liquid into his vein and immediately it feels like his insides are on fire. He bites his lip so hard it bleeds. He’s shocked when it hasn’t begun to heal already.

There’s….no way he just….?

The pain throbs through his whole body and he can suddenly feel it where he hadn’t before. A broken ankle that he was able to walk on now is absolutely killing him.

His wrists burn and bleed from how much he just tried to free himself.

He really did it.

Draxum took his healing factor.

A saw appears in his line of vision that is pressed against his arm.

His cool persona starts breaking as he feels the words to beg for this not to happen on the tip of his tongue. They’re only barely held back by the fact he knows it’ll only encourage The Kraang.

Draxum begins sawing.

Slowly.

Leo feels the scream come deep from his core. The pain is completely unbearable. There’s absolutely no drug to get him through it.

He hears liquid dripping to the floor. It’s easy to imagine both the tears pouring from his face and wound mixing on the ground.

Leo starts passing out from the pain. He feels something else inject to his other arm and his brain buzzes back to life.

Adrenaline.

He’s keeping him from going to into shock. From passing out. From escaping the worst pain of his life.

It keeps going on and on. It’s so slow. He can feel when his nerves die and shut off. It’s only some.

He’s hitting bone he’s hitting bone he’s hitting bone he’s hitting bone he’s hitting bone he’s hitting bone he’s hitting bone-

Ah.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!

RAPH!! DONNIE!! MIKEY!!

DAD! GRAM-GRAM!

ANYBODY! PLEASE!

A wall blows open.

Finally, finally, something other than the sound of his flesh and tendons being torn through.

The saw stops as he’s vaguely aware of Draxum getting tossed so hard he’s not sure he’s ever going to get up again.

There’s screaming.

A lot of screaming.

Oh, he recognizes those voices.

He’s barely able to turn his head to look his family there.

His brothers and-

Ha.

Who’s letting Casey J.R. see this?

Gross!

Leo starts laughing.

His brothers all start trying to help him. Casey J.R. stays back, eyes wide and full of absolute fear.

Leo laughs more.

How awful.

#tw amputation #tw torture #tw saw #tw blood #tw needles #tw experimentation #tw surgery #tw angst #angst no comfort #rise fanfiction #rottmnt fanfiction #future leo #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #2018 tmnt #rottmnt casey jr #tw body horror

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redgryphon · 10 months

Text

A short, simple comic based on a nightmare I had. Yes, it really was like this*. Yes I have a lot of Bloodborne dreams. I also have a lot of Dark Souls dreams but I turn those into TTRPG maps.

*Full res and explanation of changes from original dream on Patreon.

#tw blood #tw gore #tw death #tw drugging #tw hostages #tw kidnapping #tw medical experimentation #tw experimentation #tw needles #tw nightmares #tw occult #tw torture #tw violence #bloodborne #dream #nightmare #fanart #art #original

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hiroshotreplica · 1 year

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rise of salmonlings

#can you tell im excited for what the dlc could be #lil judd #splatoon #splatoon fanart #splatoon au?#salmonling #salmonid #salmonids #experimentation #tw experimentation

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writingquestionsanswered · 6 months

Note

I'm writing a wingfic in which a character grows wings due to experimentation on them, so any advice for that?

Character Grows Wings Due to Experimentation

If you haven't already, you'll need to establish who is doing these experiments and why... what are they trying to achieve? How are they trying to achieve that?

How you flesh that out will depend on your story's genre and situation. For example, is this a fantasy story with magic, and is this experimentation magic-based or nature-based? Or is this story far-future science-fiction, with experiments based on science that is speculative or entirely fictional... maybe science based on alien science and technology? Or maybe the story is set in an urban fantasy/modern setting using a combination of real science and magic?

Once you know the above, you can look at what kind of experiments are being done (plus the how and why) and try to figure out how that might result in your character growing wings. Depending on whether this is more fictional than realistic, or vice versa, this is going to take either a lot of research or a lot of imagination, and maybe a combination of both.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

LEARN MORE about WQA

SEE MY ask policies

VISIT MY Master List of Top Posts

COFFEE & FEEDBACK COMMISSIONS ko-fi.com/wqa

#wqaadvice #tw experimentation

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pickleking8 · 11 months

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Adoption Isn’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be -- Chapter Two

This is chapter two to ‘that one fic idea I had’! I really enjoyed writing this one. It’s my first time writing a fic, and I’m having a lot of fun. This chapter is from Jazz’s POV. This is mostly just set up, the next chapter should be when the plot actually gets going.

Words: 1,085

Ao3 Link

First -- Next -- Masterpost

TW: blood, vivisection, neglectful/abusive parents

-- -- --

Jasmine Fenton was panicking. She was definitely, surely, without a doubt panicking. Her breathing was quickened, she was close to crying, her hands were shaking, and her baby brother was bleeding out in the back seat of her scrappy old car. Danny, her sweet, kind, dead baby brother was bleeding Christmas colors in the back seat of her car. Yeah, she was panicking.

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, I’ll protect you, I won’t let anyone hurt you again, okay, you’ll be safe - safe - okay?” She was only vaguely aware of whispering this, over and over again, throwing as many reassurances as she could at Danny, whose eyes were squeezed shut and whose breath was coming out ragged and hitched.

She needed to think. What was she going to do now? She needed a plan. Yes. A plan, that’s what she needed. Baby steps. She’s got this. Okay, first, where to go? What city has enough ectoplasm to both sustain Danny and hide his signature? In what city will no one notice, or care, if two teenagers show up and start living on their own? Gotham, of course. Dark, gloomy, and hidden. She could protect her brother there. Accelerating, she made several questionable driving choices and steeled herself for the long ride to Gotham that would surely be filled with worry and regret.

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

Jazz heaved a deep sigh as Gotham’s signature skyline came into view. Grand gothic architecture with solemn gargoyles and sweeping rooftops. It was as beautiful as she was pretty sure it was cursed. Danny’s breathing in the backseat was slow and shallow. It was much slower than a normal human’s but fairly regular for Danny. His brow was furrowed in his sleep, a perpetual grimace of pain evident on his face. Jazz quickly turned her eyes back to the plastic-littered road, both to avoid crashing in the worsening traffic and to avoid the swell of emotion that rose looking at her baby brother. Her baby brother, whom she had sworn to protect, and whom she had failed so miserably. She shook her head, trying to dispel those thoughts before they overtook her. She failed at this too, the images of Danny sprawled out on a clinical metal table, his chest dominated by a gaping incision and the rest of his skin mottled with bruises, swam in front of her eyes like persistent flies. The way his blood reflected the fluorescent green light from those buzzing (so, so much buzzing. Everything seemed to buzz) light bulbs in the basement. She never wants to look at that shade of green again.

It’s too neon, she thinks, too bright, too green, too much of it in her brother’s blood that was not inside his body, where it really should be.

She’s in shock, she thinks. Yes, she’s in shock. She remembers the psychology books she’s read describing trauma response. She’s in shock. She has all the symptoms. This is bad, though. If she’s in shock then she can’t think straight and if she can’t think straight then she can't protect Danny! She needs to protect Danny. She needs to. Jazz swears, she won’t let anything bad happen to her brother ever again. Never, ever, ever, ever. He’ll be safe, she’ll make sure of it, she’ll protect him, she’ll do better, she’ll be everything he needs, and she will damn well rain destruction on anyone who tries to hurt her sweet, precious Danny who’s already been so broken by the world. She’ll do anything.

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

Jazz pulls up to a hotel with a flickering neon sign (not neon, anything but neon, she can’t handle neon) and a door that squeals in protest when asked, even politely, to open. The clerk, a tired and raggedy looking young man, doesn’t question Jazz’s request for their most out of the way (and cheapest) room. Doesn’t question Jazz’s poor attempts to hide Danny and the alarming amount of blood he’s covered in. Doesn’t even question finding Jazz in the employee break room, holding their only first aid kit behind her back with a desperate look on her face. Simply raises an eyebrow and turns back around. Jazz is grateful.

Back in their foul-smelling room about half an hour later, Jazz ties off the bandages now cocooning Danny’s chest and finally allows herself to breathe a sigh of relief. It’s okay, they’re safe, Danny will be okay, she will be okay. She can figure this out. They can stay in this hotel for a couple of days, maybe a week, before she can find some cheap apartment to stay in. She can get a job. She… won’t be able to go to college. Get her degree in psychology, like she always dreamed. She can’t. She’ll need the money she saved up just to survive, to take care of Danny, and anyway, enrolling in university would let the Fentons know exactly where they were.

Only nineteen and your dreams are already in the toilet. Her thoughts continue to scream at her, and she smiles bitterly, but it’s really more of a grimace that makes her tired eyes seem even more hollow.

She shouldn’t be thinking like that. Danny’s hurt, Danny’s more important. She’ll figure it out. She’ll change her name. Talk it over with Danny first, see what he likes, but they’ll change their name. She certainly doesn’t want to be a Fenton anymore, and she doubts Danny does either. She can take online classes. Eventually. Yeah, she can do this. Running a hand through her carrot-orange hair, she sighs for what must have been the thousandth time that day.

It is only when she feels her tears dripping off her chin that she realizes she is crying. They start as silent tears dribbling down her face, and then morph into hiccups and little hitches in her breath and the tears begin to fall more steadily, and before she knows it she is doubled over heaving big, gut-wrenching sobs. She cries, for herself, for her broken dreams, for her broken life. She cries for Danny and how small he looks, curled up on a dirty, bare mattress. She cries for the bandages around his chest and for the pain they’ve both known. And she cries for a very long time. Eventually, the tears stop and her cheeks dry, and she is left sitting in the corner of a shitty hotel room, hair askew and head in her hands, deafened by the silence and quieted by the rasping breaths she and her brother draw.

---------

I would appreciate constructive criticism, thank you for reading!

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Next -- Masterpost

#Danny Phantom #jazz fenton #BatFam #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Batman #Tw blood #Tw vivisection #Tw experimentation #Yayyyy second chapter!#i'm proud of myself #please give me constructive criticism #dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc crossover

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starstruck-flames · 9 months

Text

The Room - Overhaul

Trapped. Your mentality draining, maybe he’s… not so bad?

A/N: I haven’t… been doing so well. Paranoia and dissociation but it’s nice to use it as some inspiration in my writing. Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed indulging in my feelings.

Content includes: descriptions of dissociation, implied Stockholm syndrome, reader has been experimented on, reader has had their quirk removed from them, it’s overhaul it’s OVERHAUL, manipulation, once again it is overhaul.

Song for your mood?

The room is blank, white. The only stimulus being the clean sanitised tiles that surround a small, helpless form. Your eyes flicker between the walls, begging for something, anything new. There was no passage of time, no day, no night; only fluorescent lighting and a slightly warm room. A small door off to the side for your bathroom needs, a small privilege allowed to you by Overhaul.

You sit, simply, quietly with your legs crossed. Basic clothing covers you, a slightly uncomfortable texture. Well. It was actually unbearable, but your skin had settled with it. It’s grating, only white noise in your skull. A bleak reminder that you’re still existing, despite the little amount of life you were living.

Is it even life?

What life is this?

You don’t feel in control of this body, everything felt disconnected and lagging. The body moved practically on its own as it took to a more self soothing position. The only sound in your vicinity was your own pulse against your ears, and even that almost felt like a lie. Feeling… uncomfortable. Like something is wrong, like everything is wrong. Living in this blank room had become second nature but there was always an impending sense of anxiety.

The only time you felt alive in any regard was-

The door quietly clicks, head whipping behind you to see who intruded your pure silence.

“…Good morning,” Comes a bored tone, Overhaul’s head tilting slightly as he takes a slow stride towards your wilting husk. “How are we feeling today?”

You remained silent, simply watching him quietly. Knowing full well that even if he asked, he more than likely didn’t care to acknowledge an answer.

A moment of silence before Overhaul looks over his shoulder to one of his men by the door. “Make a note: Subject has become mute. Most likely by choice,” Piercing gaze returning to you. “You’re not a fast learner but you learn. That’s more than most who’ve been here.”

A blink.

A nervous exhale.

He can read you perfectly, but that’s because you’ve put your psyche on display for him at this point.

Overhaul. The one to fear, the one who holds your life in the balance. That uncomfortable feeling? It becomes screaming fear in his presence.

However, it’s time for the same daily interaction you’d always done. Time for the one piece of a routine you had.

He extends a hand, reaching for you. “Now…”

There had been an established dynamic so far, on his visits you’d practically leapt away from his touch. It’s understandable really, considering how long he’d kept you captive, how long Overhaul had been running tests on every single part of you. However, he couldn’t help but test that line on these days. The days he’d left you waiting, fearing what he’d do next. It was all an experiment realistically, and he had many plans for you.

Quirkless, helpless, and weak; you’re his to poke, prod, and cut, and most importantly? His to observe.

However, today, something new happened.

His hand makes contact with your chin. No flinching, no crying. Just… hesitant obedience.

There’s nothing between the two of you. Pure silence as your face grows unsure, had he wanted a response?

Unable to read his expression, you can only pray you made the right choice. His gloved thumb absentmindedly pressing against the skin.

“Hm. You’ve grown to be…” Tilting his head in thought, he can’t seem to find the word. “Not trusting. Certainly not trusting, I can see your doubt. There’s a change either way.”

He holds it, waiting patiently for anything to change.

Constant.

Your hesitant lack of resistance persists.

His hand moves, the soft texture of white gloves running over your cheek and up to moving a lock from your hair. He’d made sure that out of everything, you’d be cleaned. You’d have a clean space.

Not for your own sake of course.

“You know…” Overhaul’s tone suddenly turns soft, his hand a reminder of that even now? You’re in his hands. For better or worse. “You’ve been very brave. You know this, yes? Your sacrifice, losing that quirk of yours? It’s all to help everyone.”

Remaining silent, your eyes widen, just a little. So simple, just like clay.

“You’re one of my best test subjects.” A small coo as his hand caresses the hair he took care of. “It’d be a shame if I were to ever lose you. I need you. I need you to make a safer world for everyone.”

With that he stands, smiling to himself under the intimidating plague doctor mask. “You’re a smart one, I’m sure you understand.”

The disconnected body… reacted with something new. A harder thud, a new chill running up the arms as Overhaul tilted his head with interest. What is this? A new response? A new interesting development for Overhaul to look into.

He silently decided to keep you around. For now.

If only to discover what he could do to keep more of his experiments around and… capable.

#overhaul #mha overhaul #overhaul x reader #kai chisaki #kai chisaki x reader #tw dissociation #tw kidnapping #tw experimentation #tw manipulation #tw stockholm syndrome #stockhom syndrome #manipulative #manipulation #kidnapping cw #dissociation #Spotify

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