Book: Cacoethes

The Ones You Save [1]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 4,735

Warnings: Mentions of murder, death, and blood.

Summary: The one where you are given a new mission and you follow through with the orders you have found.

prologue | part 1 | part 2

“You can find your mission.”

You don’t flinch as you easily allow the barrier in your mind to fall down, immediately reaching out past yourself to delve into the mind of Alexander Pierce. It’s slightly difficult for your muddled mind to recall just exactly who he is - but the name had popped in almost without hesitation when you gave yourself the brief reminder that forgetting could result in something worse than the dreaded machine, something worse than the highly praised cryogenic chamber.

You don’t have to search far into his psychotic, masochist brain to find what you need. The man has learned by now to keep the mission on the forefront of his mind after you have been prodded to find your mission. If he doesn’t think of it while you’re searching, you’re forced to burrow deeper into his mind - and there’s no telling what disturbing things you’d find if you did that. Not that any of it would have much effect on your broken encephalon.

As you’re discovering details about your new targets, the scientists in the room move to suit you up. You weren’t wearing much when you had come in - just the pants to your suit and the sports bra that they have you wear underneath your suit. Your suit itself is a complex mess of zippers and buttons; a design purposely created with the lightweight tactical suit to remind you how much control you lack. The uniform is constructed from Kevlar fiber and Nomex thread; produced for advanced flexibility and resistance to small bullets. It’s incredibly close to the apparel that the Winter Soldier once wore - but the design has been updated to restrict you from removing the clothing yourself. There is a tight muzzle wrapped around your nose and mouth, but they have abandoned the goggles you were once forced to wear. You don’t have to worry about your hair; the ratty, rough fibers are constantly pulled back into double dutch braids that stretch down to your middle back.

You barely recognize at this point when your brain kicks in to autopilot. With all the damage that’s been inflicted on the organ, you hardly remember telling yourself to walk to the hangar. All you comprehend is that you are suddenly in a different room, that you are strikingly alone. The silence is almost welcoming to a small, quiet part of your mind - but you shove that down. You don’t like the lack of loud voices, lack of chaos - the void of screaming, crying. You are so used to screeching HYDRA agents and sobbing victims; the silence distracts you from your complete-your-mission-and-get-it-over-with attitude. It comforts you, even; it allows you to take a break from the life that you know ( incredibly deep down ) you hate.

You make your way to your designated plane. You go through the motions of buckling yourself in, placing a comm into your ear before you pull on the noise cancelling headphones. With the powers you have, the decibels given off by the plane are too much. Even the small carrier plane you are allowed to pilot is too much. You hate loud noises, but your powers make it easier for you to cancel everything out - to focus on small details that rest inside the minds of others.

If your memories hadn’t been so toyed with, you would’ve been able to reminisce over how your old partner never got the privilege of learning to fly the passenger plane. You would’ve remembered that the scientists trusted you more than him, that you always were allowed more freedoms than him. But he only comes in fragmented bits. He only shows up in your mind at random instances, bringing a mix of strong emotions that have no reason. You can’t conjure up a full mental picture of him most of the time - but you might be able to recognize him if you saw him. You two were the best duo that HYDRA had ever seen; you always had the others back, never left the other to fight alone. But, he had managed to escape without you. You would be able to understand if you could just think about how hard he tried to get you out too.

But you don’t remember any of that. You don’t even think about it. When you do, it’s not by choice - and Alexander Pierce makes sure that you forget as soon as it happens.

You’re barely off the ground before your comm ignites with static. There’s a wince that you hold back as your hands keep the plane steady. This is something that comes naturally to you, the one thing that makes you feel weightless when the blood stained on your hands gets to be too much. It’s almost like an extension of yourself; as easy to control as your actions in hand-to-hand combat.

“You have the directions and the target. Make sure that the target is dead. Don’t worry about any other casualties; you know what will happen if your compassion suddenly rears its head.” The shrieking voice of Pierce fills your ear.

You don’t answer. And you never do. That’s one of the things that they seem to like most about you. You’re obedient; you’re easy to control, you listen without complaint. They’re at the point where they no longer have to toy with your fears to make you carry out their commands, they’ve already made you believe that you cannot survive on your own. They’ve taken care of you for so long, even though it hasn’t been anywhere near what living should be like. Deep down, the person who you used to be knows that you could take care of yourself if you were given the chance. You could treat yourself better, kinder, than any of those people you work for. If you cared for yourself, if you were given the chance to disappear from HYDRA - maybe you could stop spilling so much innocent crimson.

The plane touches down with precision and shuts off a moment after. You don’t need to take time to compose yourself before you’re pulling off the headphones. There’s a multitude of weapons that you move to strap onto your body; it seems that there’s a weapon for every occasion. HYDRA wants you to be prepared. Even with your abilities.

You shut the door behind you, but make no immediate move to walk away. Now is when you need to compose yourself. You force yourself to relax and close your eyes. You envision yourself standing near the edge of the forest; you look at your surroundings through your mind, see yourself slowly fade from view. And it works. When you open your eyes, you know your body is invisible to any prying eyes.

You were created with this in mind, to be an agent of stealth - to be able to control things with your mind. When Arnim Zola found Bucky, found you - he had the perfect duo in mind. He had two different serums; one that was previously made for the highly regarded hero dubbed as Captain America, the other that he had carefully and intricately made just for you. He had it planned; the body and the mind. Bucky was the body; he had the super strength, the undeniable agility, the striking silver arm. And you, you were the brilliant mind. You had the ability to infiltrate minds, the disappearing act, the genius plans. You also had the unexpected onyx arm and the metal parts replacing the fragmented bones in your legs. Zola’s beautiful, entrancing duo had both taken falls from high distances - but it was the perfect way to take you both into their custody.

And now, decades after your personal fall, you are standing at the edge of the forest. Your Glock 17 is now loosely resting in your left hand. It’s not the perfect time to use it and you have left the safety on. In a few mere seconds, you could have the safety off and the gun positioned perfectly. Your constant, extreme training has allowed you to perfect such motions. The guns aren’t your favorite weapon; those were always reserved for the partner you can’t remember. Your favorites are the knives - the ones your brain so easily calculates the trajectory for. Knives are like another extension of yourself, the perfect weapon for the perfect brain. But knives can’t penetrate through tinted windows of armored vehicles. You know that the bullets in your gun can’t either, which is why it’s your job to get into the car and execute your target.

The comm once again ignites with an irritating voice. “The car has been spotted heading your way. Get in position.”

Your eyes dart through the dense traffic that lies a few feet in front of you. The cars are so close together, so crowded that they can’t move. You know that it’s typical of this area during this time of day to be so packed. That makes it perfect for your job. It creates less casualties, makes it easier for you to spot the right target and take care of them without hassle.

You carefully begin to weave through the mess of stopped cars. It’s not the hardest thing that you have to do, but sometimes it’s difficult to squeeze between the vehicles and avoid hitting them. You like to stay invisible and it’s hard when the people in the cars can feel you bump into them. It destroys your stealth, confuses the people in the cars, and makes you want to panic. You don’t want to mess up; HYDRA could come up with extreme consequences for any slight error in your plans.

They want you to cause chaos in the process of your mission. That’s the reason why you aren’t using a knife, why your hand is slowly tightening its grip on your gun. They want the people around you to panic, to cause a commotion. They want you to cause as much chaos as you can with your missions so they can one day introduce you as the savior the world needs; the one person alone who can stop all these random killings, who has all the means to save the world without destroying cities upon cities in the process.

And you hate the idea. You know that it is stupid, that it’s useless - but the people who control you don’t care about your opinion. They haven’t cared since they locked Arnim Zola’s mind in a bunker far below the surface of the Earth. Zola was the one person who always wanted your opinion in missions, the one person who always knew how clever you really were. You wish that you had just messed around a bit more in Pierce’s mind and convinced him to let you use a knife. Your mission would run a lot more smoothly if you had done that.

“Your tracker is nearly on top of the car. Make sure you’re paying attention.” His voice is scolding this time, trying to find fault in your actions. You know exactly where the car is; you can see it plain as day. You’re not stupid and you know that you haven’t passed it yet. “Keep it simple, yet create chaos.”

You finally let your eyes roll in response. They can’t see your eyes roll when you’re hidden, and you’re far enough away from them that you aren’t absolutely terrified to react in that manner. You swear that they get on your nerves, though you’d never admit it out loud. Their instructions are always ingrained in your brain from how much they tell you them.

You let your bionic arm bang against the passenger window of the armored vehicle. There’s a quick pause and then you hit the window again - but this time you have moved closer to the front windshield. It goes on like that as you slowly begin to circle the car; all you are doing is luring out the driver of the car. You barely make it around to the back of the car before the guy is scrambling out of the car, moving to where you are. It’s easy for you to sidestep the man and slip into the car. You slam the door shut before you press down on the lock button. You can nearly feel the panic radiating off of the passengers in the car, A small smile tugs on your lips because you know for a fact that Pierce would be proud of you. When he’s proud, no one’s allowed to punish you for small mistakes.

You feel the urge to flip the car into drive and slam on the gas, but you brush it off. You’re not looking to get hurt in the process of giving Pierce the chaos that he craves. All you want is to invoke panic and fear, which you can do by firing the gun more than once. But you wait a beat. You allow your hammering heart a moment to calm down, allow yourself to keep your cover as you move to roll down the back window.

The driver is moving towards the window as soon as he sees that it is being lowered. You can see the panic and terror written across his face. You wonder, for a split second, how long the man must have been working for SHIELD. You know that if he was HYDRA he wouldn’t have let his emotions play out across his face. SHIELD has never properly trained their agents.

You watch as the driver attempts to pull your target out of the car. You don’t act out of panic, nor do you jump at the chance to fire the gun. He tries to pull the woman out, but the seat belt proves to be an issue. You move your gun into the proper position as he pleads with her to unbuckle and let him get her out alive; which makes you want to scoff. There’s no possible way that this could go that would have her getting out alive.

But you still wait. Your eyes follow the woman as she unbuckles herself, watch as the man tries once more to pull her out of the window. You busy yourself with rolling down the other windows, making the two of them pause for a moment in their efforts. It’s almost humorous to you, to watch as they finally realize they can open the door and safely pull her out.

Then you move. You’re pulling yourself out of the window, curling your body through the small surface. Instead of hopping onto the ground, you lift your body on top of the car. It doesn’t dent under your weight and your feet don’t leave any prints, for which you’re thankful for. You squat down and watch as the driver begins to look around frantically. It’s also humorous to watch him try to see you.

The driver is telling the woman to move, to stick close to him. You let one of your fingers move to click the safety off and you raise the gun, carefully pointing it at the two of them. But you don’t shoot. Not yet. You know exactly how you want to cause a little bit of chaos.

They start moving away from the car, leaving the other two passengers to scramble out after them. You quietly drop onto the ground, taking a quick moment to observe that traffic has begun to move a bit. It’s not hard for you to begin to follow behind the four SHIELD agents; your footsteps are too light to reveal your location to them. You want to move to tap into their minds, but your comm quietly comes to life before you can.

“Now’s the time, Ghost.”

You move your gun up, easily pointing it to your main target - the woman. You take a moment to breathe before you fire, watching as the bullet lodges itself into the back of her right knee. She almost falls to the ground in slow motion. The driver moves to bend down in front of her. You take another breath before you fire again, focusing on the bullet as it passes through the woman’s neck and lodges itself in the man’s torso. It is with swift ease that you take out the other two SHIELD agents who followed them, not sparing a second to watch as their bodies collapse onto the ground.

You put the safety on before you tuck the gun into the holster around your thigh. Though you do not watch the life leave the woman’s body, you do watch as people begin to jump out of their cars - running over to the four people. You make a face as you see some of them pulling out their phones, taking pictures and videos. You have to think about how stupid the human race has gotten, how eager they are to show everything that happens to the rest of the world. Their ignorance is bliss, in your situation, and you know that it will one day be the death of them. Just like it was to those four SHIELD agents whose blood is now crawling along the blazing hot asphalt.

Your feet begin to move you away from the area, trying to get back to the small passenger plane you had been permitted to take. You know that the scene isn’t as bloody as Pierce would have liked, but you know that he will be satisfied with the end results. Four SHIELD agents dead, with more on the list for your future endeavors.

As you finally disappear into the trees, you drop your invisibility facade. You can feel the blood begin to trickle down from your noise as you suddenly cease using your powers. You easily wipe it off with your gloves. It was always a side effect that you had after using them; Zola would always chalk it up to happening because of where they originated from. You were using your brain in a way that no other human could and this was always the way that you had reacted.

You pause mid-step as you pick up on the crunching of leaves underneath someone’s boot. Your mind immediately kicks into action and you disappear from sight, quietly turning around to see if you can find the source of the noise. Unlike the stranger, you tread carefully - your boots making barely any noise as you move amidst the fallen leaves and sticks. Your hand automatically moves to turn your comm off; eliminating all chances of Pierce revealing your location to the possible enemy. You have no clue who it could be or how many of them there are, but you know how you can find out.

You lean your body against a tree, letting your head relax against the rough bark as you close your eyes. You wish for a second that you had your headphones with you, but know that the noises of the nearby traffic will have to do as your distraction. You focus on the soft hum of the cars and the sound of tires on the road, not allowing the occasional horn honk to scare you.

You travel out of your mind - your powers quietly reaching out amidst the gentle sound of the wind pulling through the trees. You act as though you are flying through the forest, spotting out any possible threat. And it doesn’t take you long to see what has made the noise. On the outer edge of the forest, you spot three people. There are two men and one woman; you easily recognize Captain America and Black Widow, two ‘high-held’ SHIELD agents. The other man, though, isn’t as easily recognizable. You know that his face and build is familiar, that you have seen him before - but you cannot place him. All you know is that this man, the one with long brown hair and matching facial hair, looks concerned. And you decide to allow your brain to connect with his, to see out of his own eyes and to hear out of his ears.

“Buck, I don’t think she’s here. Not anymore, at least.” Captain America speaks up, sending the man a frown.

“I know she’s here, Steve. I can feel her.” The deep vibrations that left ‘Buck’ seemed to send a shock of pain through your system, and you automatically fight to shove the memories down.

“I don’t necessarily think that you can feel when a person is around, Barnes.” Black Widow pitches in - you watch as Steve nods in agreement.

“It’s a long story, Romanoff. Her and I have always been connected. That’s how Zola wanted it to be. I know she’s here. She’s watching us right now.”

You quickly let go of your hold on his brain and push yourself away from the tree with a jolt, putting your comms back on.

“Take off your mask and tell us what’s going on, Ghost.” The growl that escapes Pierce’s side of the comm makes your eyes narrow. “You won’t get in trouble.”

You quietly and hesitantly peel the muzzle off of your face, pressing your flesh hand down on the comm. “Captain America and Black Widow are here with a man they called ‘Buck’ and ‘Barnes’.”

You can’t help but wince at the rough, scratchy voice that falls out of your lips.You haven’t talked in so long and it’s easy to tell that it’s been months. The thought of them punishing you for doing what you’re told sends a shock of fear through your system, but you’re more concerned with the memories that are threatening to push past your mental barrier. A part of you wants to remember who that man is, but the rest of you knows that you need to forget about him. He’s not important. The important thing is finding a way to get back to your base undetected.

Without being told to, you quickly place the mask back around your face. You know that they can’t see you, but the fear of being punished for having it off overrides that fact. You want that punishment as much as you want the memories that are fighting against your brain. You have scars across your body from the last time it was taken off, which was when you had fought to get out - and the thought of disobeying by trying to get away sets your whole body aflame. The memory that coincides with the scars is red hot; it’s setting fire to that mental barrier as it fights to get past.

You can feel it start to crumble and you’re forced to lean down, to cradle your head between your hands.The pain that comes with the memories is overwhelming, overbearing. It’s hard for you to fight through it. But you know that you have to get away from where you are, you know that you have to evacuate to a safe place - somewhere HYDRA can rescue you. The sooner that they rescue you, the sooner they can fix your crumbling mental state.

But the pain is agonizing. It’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt and you aren’t sure how you can quiet the blazing white pain pounding throughout your brain. HYDRA should have known better than sending you out in the field when you were previously so unstable, but you know that no one thought that there would be a trigger out here. None of them had planned for this man called Buck to show up, to be here. And no one would have been able to tell how big of a trigger the unkempt male would be.

You can hardly feel your knees hit the hard ground, but you can feel the dry grass pressing into your arms. The dirt is cool against your burning forehead. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze and you are fighting the urge to cry out. Everything around you sounds muffled, like you have been plunged into a giant pool of water. You strain to hear the three agents, strain to find their location in relation to you. But it’s overloading your brain - you can feel the blood begin to seep out of your nose. You know immediately that you have lost your hold on your invisibility.

“Get out of there!” You hardly manage to hear Pierce scream into the ear piece, but the panic in his voice makes your head hurt even more.

Your force yourself to get up to your feet, staggering as you take a few steps to catch your balance. The world around you is spinning relentlessly; it feels like you are stuck in a snow globe that is continuously being rolled across the floor. It’s difficult for you to stay on your feet as you move forwards. You think that you’re moving away from the three people, but your sense of direction is incredibly messed up. You feel like up is down and right is left. You aren’t sure how you can fix the mixed up directions.

You stumble forward and your stomach seems to twist more with every step. The pounding in your head only seems to get worse as memories begin to pile on top of each other. You’re seeing bits and pieces of a past that you don’t remember; you’re being overloaded with unknown events and it’s hard to keep the little bit of food you had today in your stomach. You barely make it to a tree before you’re leaning against it. Your body is bending over and you’re losing what feels like the entire contents of your stomach. The acid from your belly has scorched the entire length of your esophagus and you are left dry heaving.

You can’t keep up with your mind. There’s flashes of a man, the same man you just saw, and he’s fighting alongside you. You see bursts of doctors injecting you with serums and you see bits of agents torturing you. Then there was a man - one who you didn’t recognize, in so many different moments that you couldn’t comprehend. There he was, placing a ring gently on your finger. There’s a big smile after, then you’re sitting under the stars on a blanket. But then it seems to turn sour and suddenly he’s lying on the ground - his lifeless eyes staring up at the stars. You feel a hand grab onto your arm and you think you’re being dragged back to that cliff, the cliff that that man died on and then you’re screaming.

You’re screaming with all your might, and you feel like you’re falling. You feel like you’re tumbling towards the bottom of the cliff; you see that it’s getting closer and you don’t seem to be slowing down. You’re panicking because you know that you’re going to die, you know that this isn’t going to end well. And you wish, you wish with everything in you that you could have been better, that you could have hurt less people - that you could have caused less casualties.

And you’re closing your eyes tightly - so tight, waiting for the impact. Then you hit the ground. But you don’t hit hard. You don’t feel any bones break and you don’t feel the agony of your body bending in ways it never should have. You don’t feel flesh and muscle being torn away from your shoulder, you don’t feel your legs being shattered beyond repair.

Even though you’re terrified, though you feel like you’re frozen from shock - you slowly start to test out your appendages. You keep your eyes closed because you’re scared to see the damage, you’re afraid to see where you are. For a split second, you wonder if you have died. You lay and hope that maybe, finally, you’re free from HYDRA.

You decide, no matter what you’ll find, that you have the courage to open your eyes. You slowly pry your eyes open and the sky above you is bright blue. There’s barely any clouds littering the big expanse of cerulean. The sun is shining brightly, warming the body that you thought would be cold from the shallow lake that was sitting at the bottom of the cliff.

And there is a pair of shining blue eyes staring down at you.

tag list: @verygraphicink

Choose your fighter partner

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Talking To The Moon

Summary:

Fury decides to send Peter, Tony, and Steve on a mission to a HYDRA warehouse. In their attempts to retrieve requested files, Peter stumbles upon a nauseating sight. You have been strapped to a table, face down - and there are gaping wounds covering every part of your body. Steve and Tony soon join him; deciding that they cannot leave you here alone. They bring you back to the Avengers tower in hope that they can save you from the damage that HYDRA has inflicted.

Chapters:

Chapter 1 (coming soon)

Extra Scenes:

Inspired Works:

writing fanfiction is just. i’m being so creative and original. i’m plagiarizing everyone by accident. i’m a genius. i’m cringe. i’m too angsty. i’m too cheesy. this is not in character. it doesn’t matter that it’s not in character because these are my characters now. i love my hobby. this is the worst possible use of my time. i’m seeking validation. i’m projecting my own personal problems onto this story and i’m barely hiding it. i know so many words and i’m using all of them wrong. im on tumblr posting about it instead of writing it.

The amount of effort ficwriter does in order to write a fic. "nah the story doesn't need to be that accurate it's just a fic I'm not getting any money out of it" and then as they keep writing and posting their browse history is something like "moon calendar in 1981"

The Ones You Save [Prologue]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1,759

Summary: The one where your chaotic mind is reset.

prologue | part 1 | part 2

There is a part of you that believes you used to know what life was like before you were stuck; stuck in whatever chaotic mess this was. A mess of what you could barely recognize as an endless cycle  ― one that Alexander Pierce constantly thought of; one that involved strange, sickly liquids being pumped into your system; one that had parts of your brain constantly being erased. The endless cycle of you searching for orders in the brains of agents who were deemed superior to you, completing the orders  ― going through with horrendous actions that would leave your hands more blood-stained than before.

Your superiors don’t care about that, though. They don’t care about the amount of blood that tarnishes your hands. They don’t care about the screams and pleas that echo in your head. They don’t care about how unclean you feel; how wrong, how disgusting, how tainted. They only care that you can complete your missions, that you can pave their way in the messy world. As long as you’re a determined, dangerous tool  ― they don’t need to look into your mental state.

There’s an urge in your brain  ― an urge to dig through the mess of barriers and fragments that the electricity from the machine has left behind. But you shove the urge down; trying to hide it deep among the broken, shattered parts of what you once were able to recognize as a person with free will. There’s another urge right alongside that one. It’s telling you to escape from this room, the compound. It’s telling you to get out before the doctor can bother to mess with your mind again. It’s the again part that catches you off guard. You can’t remember another time that you were in this room  ― a cloth shoved between your clenched jaw, metal bonds holding down your arms and legs. You can’t remember anything, actually. Except in uncontrollable spurts. But the thought of trying to conjure up a past memory sends a shockwave of pain through your frontal lobes.

Your eyes focus around the room and you let go of the guard that you had yanked up on your mind. Your eyes are quick to close as every single thought in the room hits you at once. You can tell that your mind and your control have become unstable  ― everything is so loud and you can’t concentrate on a single thought. You’re only able to catch a few keywords, ones that add up to a splintered sentence: seventh time in, looming cryogenic chamber, a mess. The fragmented sentence seems to match your mind and your emotions, making you feel like you have been tossed into a never-ending vortex that happily holds you captive. It seems dead-set on tearing you down.

An extreme pain explodes throughout your head and you immediately realize that your brain is trying to push back your mental barriers. You know that a memory is trying to be brought up, one that you don’t want to recall. You thrust it back down. You thrust it as far down as you can, pretending that you are locking it away in a hidden chamber  ― chucking the key to the opposing side of a very long, very deep ocean. The memory disappears and your eyes lock with a man who is kneeling in front of you. The cold, empty look in his bright green eyes throw you off. You instantly recognize him as your primary doctor.

"Ghost, if you don't get your shit together soon ― we're tossing you in the chamber."

You know that already. You gathered that much from the mess of a sentence that your mind inherited. You’re thinking, though, that you wouldn’t mind the chamber. Your body yearns for a break. You don’t sleep much outside of it. Maybe being chucked into the cryogenic chamber would fix you, maybe it would soothe your aching mind. Maybe you could get some answers for why your mind is so mangled. But you know that it wouldn’t work in the long run. You’d be thrown back into the dreaded chair and your mind would be wrecked even further.

"We're using a different drug today." The doctor speaks again, easily catching your attention. You hadn’t noticed before but the protective barrier in your mind has been pulled back down, everything has become increasingly quiet. You barely acknowledge that you enjoy the silence.

The doctor moves and you’re focusing on his face again; observing the concentration that has sprung up on his facial features. Your eyes flicker over to the IV and you watch as the substance begins to flow down from the bag. Your gaze is forced away from the substance as your head is moved forward. You try not to tense as your head is secured with the headpieces of the chair, the pressure mainly on your frontal lobes. You settle with curling your hands into fists ― your eyes closing as the chair is slammed back. You’re not ready for the procedure to begin, but they don't care that you’re not ready.

You can almost feel the liquid moving through your body ― a freezing cold sensation taking over every inch of your being. There's a quick, fleeting memory that whirls around in your brain; reminding you of the month that you were stuck out in the Russian wilderness, a strange man accompanying you. The machine you are hooked to gives a soft whirl and pain erupts throughout your brain, yanking the memory out of your grasp.

The pain itself is unbearable. It is searing and bright; spreading quickly throughout every inch of your body. It seems to fill every nook and cranny within a split second. In response, you shove yourself up ― your body beginning to convulse against the bonds that chain you down. Your jaw is incredibly tense, tenser than it has been in a while, and you want to scream. You want to scream and cry and thrash, but you fight the urge. It will give the sick minds around here some sort of satisfaction and you refuse to give it to them.

The pain is suddenly disappearing, but it leaves behind an electric feeling. It's a muddled type of electric, though. The pain is still slightly buzzing about your body, lessened by the murky black medicine that's still sluggishly crawling around in your veins. The freezing effect of the strange drug has worn off. In your mind, it's probably due to the electricity that has just bombarded every single cell in your body. You don’t yearn for the cold, though, because the medicine has made you feel numb ― like you’re unreachable to the world around you.

You don’t feel when the needle is pulled from your skin, barely registering what is happening as you are being pulled to your feel. The numbness you feel is intoxicating and, in a way, you yearn for more of it. Your dangerously trained mind would recognize it as a danger if you were fully functioning  ― you’re too apathetic to really care.

Your instincts have kicked in to give you a helping hand. Your back is as straight as it can go and your eyes are void of emotion; like a robot waiting patiently to be programmed. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the doctor's eyes, but you are more confused by the look on his face. It is filled with humor. You are puzzled by it; if you were sobered up, you could take his tall build down without effort.

"Longing." Your eyes blankly focus on a man standing behind the doctor. His eyes seemed so dark that they were nearly back. His voice seemed to penetrate through the numbness; your skull exploding with a dull ache. You want to curl into a tight ball and press your hands tightly against your ears. You want to do whatever you could do block out his voice, to preserve the sweet numbness ― you don’t want to know what the punishment would be.

"Rusted. Furnace."

The second and third words seemed to roll off his tongue effortlessly. Your conscious mind begins to slip out of your grasp. It was becoming increasingly difficult for you to fight to hold on to your self-control. Usually, it was easier for you to cling to what broken bits of free will that you had. The drugs in your system were making it easier for them to brainwash you. Clinging to control would be an extremely hard predicament for anyone in your situation, though. It didn't matter how many cc's of the drugs were in your system when the words officially took hold. You would become dangerous.

"Daybreak. Seventeen. Benign. "

The ache in your skull seemed to be getting worse with every word that slipped out of his mouth. Your whole being seemed to be screaming at you to resist the words ― to block him out, to run far away from this place. But you couldn't. There was no way for you to resist the words.

"Nine. Homecoming."

The words had begun to echo around in your brain. It didn't matter what anyone else was saying or thinking at this point. All that mattered to you was the right words that had already been spewed out of his lips. They seemed to be booming among your skull, reverberating among the soft tissue and harsh bone. They began to take away every thought you had about the drugs in your system; instead shattering the identity that you once thought that you still had a tight hold on.

"One."

You let your eyes flutter close. The darkness you were met with was almost welcoming. It was far more easy to deal with than the agents that were in the room ― entranced by the process that the lead doctor was in the process of completing. Many of them had seen the process before, had watched the transformation that took place after your mind was scrambled like eggs. But they were repeatedly astounded by the process, almost like it was a strange fetish of theirs. Your muscles relaxed against your will, losing all the tension you had been holding on to.

"Freight car."

Your eyelids snapped open, eyes focusing on the black orbs in front of you. You recognized the glint in them, but you didn't acknowledge it. You had no reason to question the malice that the dark orbs held. 

You instead spoke, your tone matching his cold heart, "I am ready to comply."

Repeat after me.

Marc Spector deserves the same love as Steven and Jake.

[Just look at him, he is literally 🥺]

Marc Spector deserves the same love as Steven and Jake.

Marc Spector deserves the same love as Steven and Jake.

Marc Spector deserves the same love as Steven and Jake.

Marc Spector deserves the same love as Steven and Jake.

Marc Spector deserves the same love as Steven and Jake.

gifs credit

I actually like it when ships hurt each other in long lasting and unforgiveable ways. I like it when they leave vicious, glaring scars. I like when they leave traumas. I like when they stab each other and torture each other and ruin each other’s lives and violate every inch of each other’s values. and I like it when they fucking kill each other permanently dead. 

khonsu: BE MY AVATAR OR PERISH!

Taweret: So, anyway, I made you this special costume so you can fight the baddies. I did my best so I hope you like it, you’re gonna look so beautiful on this…

jeez khonsu, I wonder why no one wants to be your avatar