#experimentation tw

[yanderemommabean]

Hey Momma!

I like butterflies, ya got any Yandere Alien Butterfly scenario for me? Or everyone? Cause I'm sure we'd like a nice Yandere Alien Butterfly~ 🦋

“P-Please! Please you have to-Ahh!” You sob, wincing and jerking as more of their invasive fingers inspect your body. It wasn’t a sob of pain either, oh anything but. You’ve been handed over for these insect aliens to inspect as a sort of treaty and well, they’re being /very/ thorough with you. 

Their wings flutter here and there as they murmur and whisper to one another, you assume to speak about notes and what they’ve learned but you can’t help but notice the clipboards and tablets have been set aside for over an hour now, and they simply haven’t bothered to test anything more than your limits on pleasure. 

Weren’t you supposed to be tested on with other items too? Wasn’t this more or less a death sentence from your oh so cowardly government? 

“They react nicely when you press right here-” The one on the left states a bit louder, something you can actually comprehend, but you’re focus is cut off as they demonstrate what they mean-curling their fingers inside you just right and making your body pulse with pleasure once again, your eyes watering as they begin to more or less abuse that spot and make your muscles tense and shake. 

You can’t even catch your breath as the one on the right nods their head, but moves to grab something off of the table beside them. “Yes but do you think their anatomy could handle someone of our size? I think this mating tool is about as large as one of us, shall we try it?” 

Oh god you can’t even bring yourself to look up. You try to catch your breath while you can, laying back on the cold table bringing you back to your senses even if just slightly. You aren’t sure you want to know just how big that toy could be, your mind would simply break. 

“Oh not to worry! They’re quite resilient creatures! But we do have to be careful, I like this one” one says, amused as they grab the item and flick the switch. “We have to be slow, humans can handle sizes better when relaxed and sedated. Our little specimen here should be able to take at least half before we run into any issues”. 

Your walls flutter and pulse once again, and you hate your body for being so eager to start after finally catching your breath. It’s as if your instincts are trying to tell you to just lay back and give in, and really, you can’t fight that urge much longer. That buzzing sound only makes your legs want to squeeze together tighter, but not out of fear this time. 

Oh you’re slowly becoming a mindless toy yourself aren’t you?  

When the head of that large toy enters you, your breath catches and it can’t be helped when you arch up and brokenly cry, that stretch seemingly both painful and blissful. That vibration was only making your fingers and toes curl as the two aliens watched with rapt attention, slowly pressing the toy in deeper and deeper, listening to your feeble noises and adorable moans almost nonchalantly. 

If it wasn’t for the heady scent in the air and the fact you could see their own members sliding out in arousal, you’d think they were genuinely bored with experimenting with you. You catch a glimpse between weak twists of your body, and those dangerous eyes hold something more primal than they did when you first entered the room. 

They were doing this for more than just research, that’s for sure. You’re at their mercy until they get bored, if they even do. 

“Go ahead. Climax. We know you have more in you, we’ve studied your vitals and liquids, you aren’t dehydrated yet” the one on the right bites out, eager and needy as he leans forward to turn the toys vibrations up. “You look so good like this, human. Stuffed and needy, begging to be bred and made into the perfect mate. You must feel so neglected if you’re this sensitive to what we use” 

You can only manage a whimper, eyes rolling back as your breath catches and that thick, pulsing toy hammers inside of you. It’s no use in fighting it, you couldn’t fight the multiple other attempts either. You cave, body lurching and head lolling back as you cry out and loudly gasp for air, feeling your hole clenching down and trying to make sure that large toy doesn’t leave, milking it for all its worth as you rock your hips to ride out the fifth intense orgasm of the day. 

The two butterflies coo and croon in your ear, you think they’re praising you even but everythings so blurry and sounds like it's underwater, you can’t make any of it out. 

“Good job human, such a good job. That’s it, deep breaths…When your breathing is back to a stable condition let’s see if we can’t fit in the rest of the device. I’m sure you won’t disappoint us”.

(-Mommabean, hiya! Sorry for any typos! Anyway I hope you enjoyed, feel free to tell me what you thought!)

#yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere exophilia #mommabean #yandere noncon #yandere dubcon #yandere smut #yandere alien bugs #yandere alien butterflies #yandere aliens #yandere butterflies #experimentation tw #experimental torture tw

[hmshermitcraft]

The Hermits found Grian in the season 6 world after being abandoned by his hoard, all feral and scared. So, naturally, they keep him. Hermitcraft is known for taking in strays, after all— though, some of the hermits are a bit weary, unsure of how safe a wild dragon-hybrid could be.

That is to say, when they found a feral Pearl and Gem in the season 8 world, on the run from a hybrid-testing facility, Grian was the biggest advocate for keeping them as well. If the Hermits could decide he was safe, then he can decide as well, especially considering he knows Pearl from Evo.

It takes significantly more time and effort to help them; they paired up and would fight and growl and hiss if they got split apart for even a second. It helps that Pearl is comfortable around Grian, carefully pressing herself against him in his nest, which makes getting Gem more passive and docile; Pearl can trust at least one of them, then so can Gem.

It takes a while for them to be trusting completely, well into season 9. But to see them happily running around, building with other Hermits and giddily setting up pranks, it was well worth the effort.

It was a rocky start, and the hermits are so grateful for Grian's patience. They make sure to praise him lots as well. It's important he knows what he means to them, and how much he's helped.

(Grian blushes hard, squeaking and trying to wave them away unsuccessfully before they can compliment him more.)

All three of them are additions they never knew they were missing, and additions they couldn't imagine being without. It was prickly at first, and the trio still want alone time occasionally (Grian likes alone time, Gem and Pearl have 'only people we want in our nest' time.) But, so do a lot of the hermits. None of them are perfect, and they've all had difficulties in their pasts.

It's why they all fit together so well.

#hermitshipping #ask #grian tag #gem tag #pearl tag #gripearlgem #mod 🎀 #kidnapping tw #experimentation tw #polyhermits

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 30: Lab Rat + Examination

Continuation of Day 11

Read it on Ao3

- Legend & Hyrule

- Summary: Legend finds himself in the clutches of a mad scientist

CW for torture, experimentation, dehumanization, blood and injury, captivity, mentions of death, and a character briefly wishing for death

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

Someone is talking.

Legend registers their voice dimly, through a fog he can’t make heads or tails of. It drags heavily at him when he tries to surface, oppressive and thick. Memories drift past – sensations of pain, feelings of fear.

There is danger here, they murmur.  

What danger? He asks. But they flit away like fleeting phantoms, leaving his question unanswered.

And so he falls again, drifting on darkness as though it is the waves of the sea, awaiting the moment when everything will come once more into dizzying, blinding focus.

When it does, he almost wishes it hadn’t.

He awakens to the assault of bright lights. They glare down on him from above, glinting off the metal of the table he is strapped to. The rough fabric of the restraints grates at his exposed skin. Something hard and metallic encases his neck, uncomfortably tight when he swallows. 

His eyes widen. The memories come rushing back, now, in a torrent of terror and discomfort. 

Falling from a portal. Trying and failing to save Hyrule. The men on the boat, inspecting him, touching him, hands and breath hot and clammy. His promise…

“Ah, wonderful. You’re awake at last.”

Legend jolts at the voice and tries to sit up. But the restraints hold fast and he ends up only getting a glimpse of a familiar gray-haired man before collapsing back down. His head swims and he blinks a few times, trying to clear it.

“Oh, great,” he says, drily, voice cracking painfully. “It’s you.”

The man chuckles, the sound almost warm. “Indeed. We’re about to get started on something that could be monumental.”

There is a clattering of metallic objects near his head. Legend swallows hard.

“I do hope you are as excited as I am.”

“Oh, yeah I’m real excited. Can’t wait to get poked and prodded by some sadistic creep,” Legend retorts. Panic is rising fast within him, despite his attempts to suppress it. 

“Oh come. Don’t be too quick to judge.” The man moves slightly into his line of sight again, something that looks disturbingly like a knife in his hand. “You are contributing to my research. And that’s a worthwhile thing, I assure you. The information I glean from you can be used for years to come.”

Glean. Legend feels bile rise in his throat at the word. For some unpleasant reason, it brings to mind gutted fish, fit for dissection; dead bugs with their bodies pinned.

“Now, tell me” —The man is facing him now, eagerness in his eyes. Legend fights not to squirm beneath his gaze — “what makes you transform? Is it a curse? A spell? Can you control it?”

Legend glares at him. “If you think I’m just gonna explain everything to you you’re even more of an idiot than I thought.”

“It will help this all go faster if you do.” 

Yes, Legend realizes, he is definitely holding a knife. It glints in that cursed painful light. Slowly, he lowers it toward Legend’s legs. 

“It will bring us to the important part of this examination. And most importantly it will ensure that your friend keeps his life.”

Legend jolts upward at that, fighting against the straps that pin him down.

“What do you mean?” There is an edge of harsh panic in his voice and all his strength isn’t enough to hide it. “What do you mean it'll keep my friend alive?! You said he would be safe if I came with you! You said you’d leave him on the shore! I saw you do it! I saw—”

He breaks off with a choked gasp. He is shaking, from cold, from adrenaline, from the fear coursing through him in waves. Then, a door he hadn’t seen before slides open and Hyrule stumbles through, bound and gagged and blindfolded, arm held tightly in the clutches of one of the men from the boat. And he is certain he is going to break right then and there.

“Rulie,” he breathes and Hyrule lifts his head. 

He gives a muffled cry, struggling to try and break free. But his captor wrenches him back with a growl.

“You saw correctly,” the man says, with a calm that belies everything Legend feels. “I kept my promise to you. I left your friend on the shore as you requested. But somehow, he escaped his bonds and found us here. He brought this upon himself. Though, it never hurts to have a bit more leverage.”

The air feels tighter than ever now. Legend struggles to draw a full breath. 

Hyrule, you idiot. Why’d you come here?

He sags back against the table, wincing at the bite of cold metal against his skin. If he wasn’t cornered between a rock and a hard place before, he certainly is now. 

“What causes you to turn?” The man asks, leaning forward. Still, he holds the knife, situating it so close it almost presses into Legend’s knee. Legend doesn’t doubt that as soon as he transforms, it will plunge into his tail, searching out the gory mysteries of it. “Tell me or your friend will pay.”

His voice still embodies the calm of someone who has this entire situation perfectly controlled. And hell, maybe he does. It certainly seems that way.

Legend hates it.

He swallows. His mouth is terribly dry, panic situated in a hard, little ball in his gut. But he forces the words out anyway.

“It’s a curse. I thought it was just a magically-infused tool at first. But after I used it a few times, it became a part of me.” 

His gaze flits from the man’s face to Hyrule, standing rigid, still in his captor’s grip. He is obviously listening — Legend doesn’t know how he wouldn’t be. Of all the ways he had wanted him to find out about his ability, this definitely isn’t one of them. 

I’m so sorry, traveler.

“You cannot control it, then?”

“No.”

The man’s eyes are alight with that hunger again, the one that sends shivers crawling up Legend’s spine and makes him feel ill.

“Perhaps, we can do something about that.”

He motions to someone behind Legend. Footsteps sound and then the next thing the veteran knows, water is pouring down on him from above. He gasps at the icy chill of it, fingernails digging into his palms. It pools on the table, held there by its raised edges. And in response to its touch, Legend’s body begins to transform. 

It is sheer agony.

Usually, the transformation is at least a little painful. His body is morphing, after all, fitting into a form it was not created to take the shape of. But this, this is like nothing he has ever known. It is like the magic within him is a trickle that wants to be a stream, a wave held back by a steadfast barrier.

The collar. It must be suppressing my magic.

He grits his teeth, seeing white. He wishes he could stop it, this onward march of the curse, but he is helpless. All he can do as his legs seal together and gills and fins grow upon him is try not to scream.

Even that is a losing battle.

It comes out as his tail forms – a strangled, almost inhuman sound. It fills his ears, mingling with the pounding of his head and the sounds of Hyrule fighting to get free. And it only tapers off when breathing becomes immensely difficult. 

Though there is enough water to activate the curse, it is not nearly enough for proper airflow. And the collar around his neck covers his gills, restricting it further. Suddenly, Legend is suffocating.

His eyes blow wide and he struggles, gasping vainly for breath. 

“Fascinating. Your biology becomes that of a mer.”

The man comes into view, leaning over him. Roughly, he turns his head this way and that, inspecting him. 

“Please,” Legend croaks, desperately, “can’t–I can’t…”

“Ah, yes of course. Can’t have you dying, can we?”

More water cascades down upon him. Hands grip the collar, loosening it slightly. Legend goes boneless, dragging in large breaths that make him dizzy. 

It’s a bitter mercy, but one nonetheless. At this point, he’ll take what he can get.

“Now, to do something about the uncontrollable nature of this curse.”

Someone is touching his tail now, but Legend doesn’t have the strength to lift his head and see who it is. 

“All things can be brought into submission, you see, with a bit of effort. But first, I must study the makeup of this new body. The changes cannot be fully ascertained from the outside.”

Danger, his mind shouts again. Get out before it finds you.

Still, Legend cannot make sense of it. After the onslaught of pain and near-suffocation, everything feels sluggish and distant. He just wants to sleep. 

But then, Hyrule screams something that sounds awfully like the word “no,” and his tail explodes with pain. The exhaustion flees, replaced by crippling, terrifying agony. Someone is slicing him open, he realizes as he thrashes, choking on blood. They’re cutting into his tail with all the careful precision of a scientist…and without the merciful use of a sedative. Or death.

Aren’t things that are dissected usually dead?

The thought isn’t comforting. Nor is it enough to distract him from the endless pain. He is buffeted by it, suffocated. Everything is on fire, everything too harsh, too bright. Wordlessly, he begs for the sweet release of oblivion. But it doesn’t come. Instead, blurry forms surround him, holding him down as he continues to fight back, tightening his bonds, digging their nails into his skin.

“Remain still,” comes the man’s voice. “If you’re not careful you will cause me to cut something vital.” 

He is moving things around now, from the feel of it. Inspecting his insides, Legend guesses. He doesn’t know for certain. He doesn’t care to. He just wants it all to stop. 

“Please,” he tries to beg, “please stop this.”

But blood gurgles in his throat and he chokes on it, every cough sending sharp aches splintering through him.

“Stay still, brat.”

A sharp slap stings the side of his face. Tears burn hot in Legend’s eyes. His head snaps sideways and he can see him now – Hyrule – fighting desperately against his captor’s restraining grip. The blindfold has fallen as a result of his efforts and his eyes meet Legend’s, large and filled with fury and terror.

He yells something incoherent – perhaps a protest, perhaps a promise. Legend can’t tell. All he knows is that his heart is splitting open along with the rest of his body, the ache of it unbearable. Hyrule shouldn't have to see this. He was never even supposed to be here. 

I failed.

A hiccupped sob tears out of him. Legend shuts his eyes. He is so weak, so helpless. 

Curse this stupid power, curse the people who seek to exploit it, curse the shadowy monster who sent them hurtling through that portal…curse himself for being so foolish. 

He would tear this place apart if he could. He tries, tries to call his magic to his fingertips. Pain is the only thing he gets, pain and the sound of someone yelling at him, chastising him. 

It only adds to everything else. The man comments on how fascinating this form is. Hyrule cries out. Legend screams and screams until his throat is so ruined and hoarse he can’t anymore. 

And then, abruptly, there is no sound at all. Finally, darkness swoops up and swallows him. --------------------------

Everything is a blur after that. A blur of pain and fear, a nauseating rush of color and sound and sensation. Nothing changes and yet everything does. 

Sometimes he is lying on the table, strapped down and held down and thrashing like a wild animal caught in a cage. Others, he floats in what he thinks is a kind of fish tank, cramped and aching, watching rivulets of crimson dance and twirl on blue waters. 

The collar cuts and chokes him. His gills ache from struggling against it. His fins are cut, his scales picked at, some peeled off for examination. His tail hardly even feels like a functional extension of him anymore. It is nothing more than a limp, useless thing made of muscles and nerves, crippled by pain, torn apart by the hungry hands of some mad scientist. He doesn’t even want to know what his legs look like. Not that he could tell anyway. He hasn’t transformed back into a Hylian since the curse took ahold of him here.

They have no use for a Hylian. But apparently, they have every use for a mer.

Legend doesn’t even remember what they wanted with him, or why he is here. He only knows two things now and they are all he really needs to. One, that he can’t escape, no matter how badly he wants to. And two, that being here, enduring all of this, somehow, inexplicably keeps Hyrule alive. 

Even if the traveler’s eyes are bright with pain and tears every time Legend finds them, even if he bears marks from resisting his captors, he is alive. That is all Legend can hope for. He doesn’t have the strength to move beyond that.

So, he hangs on for Rulie’s sake. He hangs on even as he loses everything. Because he can’t lose his brother. He would rather be ripped to shreds and discarded, poked and prodded into oblivion, than watch him die. 

The man has made it quite clear that that is the only alternative. The few times Legend had resisted after the first, he had described the methods in which he would murder Hyrule in intricate, excruciating detail. 

“I will make it painful,” he had said, with that same infuriating calm that made Legend want to rip his head off. “Much more painful than what you’re enduring. And I will make it slow. He will be begging for death by the time I finish.”

Legend had given him a glare that could make Ganondorf quiver. But he hadn’t fought any more after that. 

No. His fight is all internal now, a battle to hang on to the shreds of life he still has. He is stubborn to a fault, that’s for certain. But sometimes he wishes he wasn’t. Sometimes he wishes he would simply allow himself to fade away.

In the end, though, he is glad that he doesn’t.

There is nothing to herald an unexpected rescue. Nothing at all. He has been dunked in the tank today, barely holding on to consciousness, drifting in a sea of pain. Hylia only knows how much blood he has lost, or if he is trapped in this form forever, or if his tail will ever work again, his wounds ever heal. It hurts so badly. But he has no tears left to cry.

When a flash of familiar blue streaks through the room, however, he nearly sobs anyway.

The one thing these monsters haven’t tried is making him believe in a false reality. But the sounds of his captors hitting the ground, the sight of Warriors’ face next to the glass, his hand pressed to it as he asks him questions Legend lacks the energy to understand…it all seems like a dream. 

Then, someone is lifting him from the water, gently, carefully, and voices are swelling around him. The voices of his brothers. He curls into the arms that embrace him. A vibrant blue scarf is draped over his shoulders and he grasps it, fingers fisting in the soft fabric.

He must have changed back not long after leaving the water, body undoubtedly eager to revert to its natural state. Because for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he can feel air filtering in through his nostrils.

Legend sinks further into Warriors’ embrace, nestling into his scarf. Everything aches and his skin feels raw, almost stretched. But he is safe, secure in the arms of the people he loves. And they will take care of him. They always do.

Sure enough, their voices begin to become clearer, all familiar, all reassuring.

“I’ve got you, vet.”

“You’re safe now. We won’t let those creeps touch you again.”

“We need to get this collar off him…”

“We will. Let’s get these wounds taken care of first.”

“We’re gonna take care of you, Ledge. Just you wait. Hyrule’s spell will work. It always does.”

Hyrule…

Legend drags open his eyes, peeking out from his cocoon of warmth. 

“R-rule…where…”

“I’m right here, Ledge. Don’t worry.”

Hazel eyes meet his own. A calloused hand cups his cheek. There is so much guilt in Hyrule’s expression, so much pain that Legend’s heart aches from it. 

It’s not your fault. None of it is, he wants to say, but all that comes out is a groan as magic begins to flow into his body. It is equal parts pain and relief. His eyes flutter closed again as it seeks his wounds, mending them little by little. 

“I’ll heal everything I can,” Hyrule continues. “You’ll have scars and…and I can’t promise your mer form will be the same it used to be. But…I’ll do my best.”

Legend hums, only distantly aware of the sound rumbling in his throat. Hyule’s magic grows stronger, more determined, rushing like waves through him, and he loses himself in it. It wraps around him, envelops him in warmth and safety and a fire that is all Rulie’s own. He is safe in it, wounds soothed, agony growing dimmer.

Then, abruptly, it stops. 

Legend gasps at the suddenness of its retraction, eyes shooting open, panic lighting up within him. 

“What…”

He doesn’t have to find the strength to finish the question. He can see him through the forms of his brothers situated protectively around him – the man who had torn him apart. He stands a short distance away, eyes snapping with anger, a strange, little device in his hands. 

Legend has a nagging feeling that he has seen it before, somewhere in those memories that are little more than a horrifying haze of agony. But he can’t recall what it is used for…or if he has ever even seen it in action. If it caused him pain, it was likely lumped in with everything else. Too much pain, he has learned, quickly becomes one, single, incomprehensible blur.

“Give him back!” he demands, sounding angrier and more fearful than Legend has ever heard before. “Give my research back or I'll use this!”

“He is not your research and we will not return him to you,” Time growls, his voice a thunderclap. “Stand back or we will make you.”

He levels his claymore at him, but the man doesn’t budge.

“You haven’t been able to get that collar off yet, have you? Well, with just one push of a button” – He holds up the device, fingering one of the many, small buttons upon it – “it will cut off his magic completely. I don’t know if you know this, given that you are not experts like myself, but he is so intricately linked with his magic now that he needs it to survive. It can be twisted and turned if one can find out how. But it cannot be ripped from him, or torn away.”

Legend’s grip of Warriors’ scarf tightens. He exhales a shuddering breath. 

He doesn’t doubt what the man says. To be deprived of his magic…well, he doesn’t even know what that feels like. He doesn’t want to know.

“You won’t kill him,” the captain says, eerily calm. “You need him. You can’t work with someone who is already dead.”

“I can make do,” the man replies. “A dead subject is better than none at all.”

He lifts the device a little higher, finger almost pressing the button. “Now, give him to me or I’ll do it.”

Legend tenses. But then he feels Warriors hand, traveling upward as though to cup his head. His fingers swiftly change direction, playing along the collar instead, searching out a way to remove it. After a moment, they catch on a small latch. He pulls and with a streak of relief, Legend feels the collar loosen.

Hyrule glances back at him from where he had risen, a human barrier between Legend and the scientist. Something unspoken passes between them and suddenly, Hyrule’s fingertips crackle with energy.

Time steps forward. “We would never give our brother to a monster.”

The man scowls. “So be it.”

He presses the button. Warriors pushes down on the latch, hard, and the collar slips from Legend’s neck. It clatters to the ground, reverberating with an unsettling energy. Wind kicks it away.

At the same time, Hyrule leaps forward, arm outstretched. Magic courses through him, hitting the man with such force he flies back and into the wall. He collides with it with a sharp crack and slides down, limp and almost lifeless. 

“Well done, traveler,” Time says, already stalking toward the figure. “I’ll make sure he is secured.”

“Then we can get out of this place,” Wild says. “I’ll bet our vet is more than ready to get back to camp.”

Legend nods, choking out the breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. He curls into Warriors, trembling slightly, and the captain tightens his grip on him in return. 

“They’re all gone,” he assures him, softly. He cards a hand through his hair and Legend shudders, slightly, eyes going half-lidded. It has been so long since he was touched in this way, since the hands that held him were gentle and trustworthy and kind rather than rough, vengeful, and agonizing.

“That scientist was the last one.”

Thank the gods.

Hyrule kneels before him again, fire in his gaze, emerald magic glowing in the palms of his hands.

“We’ll be out of here soon, vet. But for now, let me heal you properly. It’s the least I can do.”

The magic comes again like the wind on a warm, summer day. Legend closes his eyes and lets it envelop him.

#whumptober 2023 #no.30 #lab rat #examination #linkeduniverse #fic #torture tw #blood tw #injury tw #experimentation tw #dehumanisation tw #mentions of death #captivity tw #trin writes #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu chain #wheeee this one's a doozy #big and whumpy XD #poor legend #i really put him through it this month

[devilisinthedeinos]

Experiment 008 Target Pokemon: Deino Status: SUCCESS Notes: Time of transformation slower than projected, subject woke up and was able to seek help before fully transformed. Future subjects should be kept within facility until completely transformed, then released to the wild to prevent attention from general populace. Different form of tracking device to be considered. It's also important to note that the subject still seems to retain some of their human instincts... This is not ideal for the world we wish to create. Subject scheduled to be recaptured for instinct adjustments.

....what?

#pkmn irl #pokemon irl #rotomblr #eebydeeby irl #rotumblr #details in the deino #asks #experimentation tw

[pridepoisoned]

@turnecoat / from here

Eris merely smirks as John blusters away, her hungry eyes studying the detective's reactions, her pen scratching new observations into the fresh paper. After an excruciating minute, the pen pauses in the researcher's grip, the dripping nib hovering over her notes like a venomous fang.

"...Mad at you?" She laughs--so innocent, yet so sinister--and her gaze dances with amusement. "Not a chance. I'm very happy to see you again after all this time, Detective Looker."

"I'm surprised that you can still speak, honestly..." Eris murmurs, pacing around the reeling officer like a hunter, studying him from all angles. "This particular blend of poisons is extremely potent. A typical subject would be catatonic by now, but you've always been quite hardheaded, hm? Interesting, interesting..."

"As much as I'd like to test your resilience further, that's not exactly why you're here," the scientist hums, smiling as she strides over to pat the lab chair. "Why don't you take a seat, Mr. Beladonis? I hear that you've been on many...adventures following Galactic's downfall, and I want to hear all about them. If you cooperate with me, I'll send for dinner and fresh water to help offset some of your symptoms. If not..."

Eris's eyes wander over to the dark recesses of the lab room. Completely cloaked in darkness, a serpentine hiss can be heard from something hidden in the shadows. Threatening.

"...well, I would just hate to use a heavier hand."

#kidnapping tw #experimentation tw #(ask to tag!!) #(happy reunion!!) #turnecoat #(v. eris evans)

[untitledswanna]

Fear the Reaper [for profsilverleaf]

With the help of her small crew Leinwen had quickly found someone's face she could borrow. A bit of making her feel nauseous and disoriented later and she was able to get the girl to hand over her ID card and pick up the knowledge she needed to sell the con. She wasn't thrilled about going into a laboratory again but she needed to go. She planned on keeping it simple: grab any relevant information she could find to send to local authorities, attempt to sabotage in a manner that didn't hurt the pokemon, and free whomever she could grab before being noticed.

It was frightening to her how easily she could slip back into designation enigma-37; like putting on an old coat that had been gathering dust at the back of her closet. At least she wouldn't have to kill anyone, though she was prepared to if necessary. Thankfully it seemed her plans aligned with Professor Silverleaf's well.

"If you can keep everyone busy I'll handle getting incriminating files and nabbing what pokemon I can," she said as they walked. "Don't worry I'm a professional. I usually have a telepathic tether to my teammates so they can give a quick tug if something goes wrong and they need help. Don't worry if you'd rather not I'll be keeping an eye out anyway."

#pokeblogging #pokeblog rp #high stakes pokeblogging #off rotumblr rp #tw: experimentation #experimentation tw #tw experimentation #tw animal abuse #animal abuse tw #tw: animal abuse

[gildead]

Subject is prepared for testing. Commence experimentation.

#NO LONGER GLISTENS. gold. #MEMORIES OF GOLD AND RED. musings. #MUN ART. #gore tw #medical tw #experimentation tw #scopophobia tw #[[there's an alt version of this where gold is bald so you could see the electrodes attached to his head]] #[[but it didn't look like gold so alas i gave him hair]]

[defectivexfragmented]

@ifyoucatchacriminal liked for a dark verse starter with Clint

What was supposed two weeks away on a mission to help Steve hunt down Bucky in Europe turned into three months in the hands of the enemy. Three months of endless torture. Of gut wrenching screams until his voice broke and gave out from the fire in his veins. Whenever the fire began to burn out, there would be another prick to his skin and it returned raging worse than ever before. After awhile, the voices speaking to him from the darkness surrounding the table he was strapped down to began to make sense. Another needle prick and the pain was threatening to consume him whole, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue as a scream was ripped from his raw throat. Suddenly it all came to a simmering halt and the straps holding him down were released, allowing him to sit up for the first time since he had been captured.

His mission under hydra was to kill a Congressman. It was just another walk in the park for the archer, having done similar assignments countless times before without fail. This one would be no different. A single arrow to end the man who was unknowingly making it hard for hydra to find a foothold in the government again. Once he was removed, there would be room for one of their own to move in.

But things had gone horribly wrong. The FBI had been there and expecting him. In the fight to escape, a car explosion had thrown him into a wall and knocked him out, his handler and team ultimately leaving him behind once the FBI agents began to advance on him.

Clint woke slowly with a groan, pounding head rolling lazily on his shoulders as he began to come around and eyes opened. Pale skin only made the circles under his dead yet eerily bright eyes all that much darker, a hint to the hell he had been through, and the bruises on his temple all that more apparent. His gaze moved between the two men standing in front of him, clearly unimpressed.

"Who the fuck are you?" Disdain dripped heavily from every word, daring them to try something.

#ifyoucatchacriminal #muse: clint - the human disaster - barton #v: dark!clint #torture tw #experimentation tw #kidnapping tw #manipulation tw #hope this is okay #let me know if you need me to change anything

[xdraonarts]

New sonic design!

Felt he was too cutesy in the last design and wanted to at least re-proportion him to fit better with the designs of the other hogs. Also entirely reconsidered the whole torture aspect to the design since I didn't think I leaned into the experimentation idea I had with the first design hard enough.

This particular prosthetic was given by Eggman during the 6 months of torture Sonic goes through in Forces after suffering a broken leg from the Infinite/Ruby Clones beatdown, but Tails will be building a better, more balanced prosthetic later on just gotta design it. He also now sports a tracking chip which may or may not lead to a ambush waaaaay later down the line :3c

#art #sonic #sth #fanart #sonic fanart #sonic the hedgehog #sonic art #sth art #injury tw #torture tw #experimentation tw #Clinging Shades AU #< title for my main sonc au yayyyyyyyyyy

[bravevolunteer]

okay, i didn't think i was going to have to do this but recent developments have unfortunately also made it my problem, so

i don't fully incorporate any of the books into my portrayals— my understanding of all the books, INCLUDING t.ftpp, is that they are meant to introduce ideas and stories that influence the content of the games without directly translating their exact events into them. this has always been how they functioned and there isn't sufficient reason to prove otherwise, so that's how i'll treat them

while i am OPEN to discussing different possibilities for the events of f.naf 4, i don't default to the nights we see being michael's nightmares. of course, michael CAN have guilt-induced nightmares, and only under plotted circumstances will i be entertaining the idea that they're illusions / induced hallucinations / etc. i don't write it off necessarily, it's just not by default as that's always more flexible for myself and others!

f.naf 1 takes place after s.ister location in my timeline, full stop. that's it

aaand under the cut is just me ranting about my main issues with this— tw for mentions of child experimentation and hallucinations

so................. the IDEA of william conducting experiments on the fear levels of multiple children is not that out there for me? it actually really aligns with how i interpret the purpose of the funtimes— we've KNOWN they were built to capture kids and collect remnant, which... since we really don't know much about it, this experimentation could easily connect to his pursuit of remnant, immortality, etc. my PROBLEM with claiming this has "solved f.naf 4" or whatever is that it doesn't make sense with the timeline. WHY exactly would william BE conducting experiments on children before the death of his youngest? before the missing childrens incident? before he found out about remnant?

it seems like people who insist the books are one-to-one canon are debunking this question by saying "well of course william is an awful person he built robots to kill kids" and YES. he has ALWAYS been a terrible person from the start. he could've always ended up killing whether cc died or not. but i don't think it's sanitizing or excusing his actions to ask HOW he got from point A to point B— spur of the moment murder and carefully planned child kidnapping/experimentation is a HUGE leap, just like the discovery of remnant and immortality is more likely to be a gradual descent. if a situation like this were to happen it would make more sense around the time that the funtimes were made than it would in 1983. THAT is my main issue with claiming this is what was going on during fnaf 4.

i'll save any other thoughts for when the book actually comes out ( and i can see it for myself without relying on vague tweets claiming things without evidence ), but that's only just the biggest question of Multiple tbh.

again, i'm not fully against the general idea of this and i'm willing to plot about it in certain circumstances ( which is how i believe the books should be interpreted anyway! ), but that's the only way i'll be talking about any of it for now.

#god i'm sorry i just had to get this out #why are the PIZZAPLEX books making the lore MY fucking problem again I THOUGHT I WAS FREE #WHY IS THIS EVEN IN A PIZZAPLEX BOOK?? #anyway just bc 'they're being clear about the lore' it doesn't mean i have to think it's a good writing decision lmao #⁂ ･ﾟ: i was looking for a job‚ and then i found a job‚ and heaven knows i’m miserable now ➛ ooc #child experimentation tw #experimentation tw #hallucinations tw

[rainbowmuses]

Was that [NATALIE DORMER]? Oh no no, that was just [MARIANNE BARCLAY], a [ORIGINAL CHARACTER] from [X MEN]. They are [THIRTY FIVE] years old, use [SHE/HER], and [ARE] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

HOW LONG HAS YOUR CHARACTER BEEN HERE?

Five years

WHAT IS YOUR CHARACTER’S JOB?

Model

WHERE HAS YOUR CHARACTER BEEN PULLED FROM IN THEIR FANDOM?

After she regained her powers.

HAS ANY MAGIC AFFECTED YOUR CHARACTER?

No, she remembers everything.

ANY OTHER INFORMATION

Marianne "Marina" Clara Barclay was born in Yorkshire, England on the 6th of November 1989 to parents Maggie & Steve Barclay. She was an only child and her childhood was filled with love, joy and warmth. It all changed when she turned thirteen and a group of mutants came and convinced her parents to send her to their "special school". But what they did not know was that the leader was collecting children in order to try a serum that would grant them all different mutant abilities. The experiments failed time and time again and they were all about to give up until it was Marina's turn. For some reason it stuck, the powers found a home in her heart. She was under the guardianship of the leader until she at the age of fifteen ran away. She couldn't handle being in his presence anymore, couldn't handle being treated as nothing more than a successful experiment. She tried to find her parents but they had left their home town a year after her kidnapping, believing her to be dead. Not wanting to give them a fright, she decided to stay away. She moved to London and tried to make a life for herself. It wasn't easy but she found a job at a bar that paid pretty well and she put all of the money aside so that she could go back to school. At the age of twenty five she became a model after she graduated fashion school. She realised that making clothes wasn't for her, being in them was. Slowly but steadily she made a name for herself. But the powers were still there, the powers that monster had given her. She can manipulate other people's bodies and she can read minds. After years of training she is pretty good at controlling her powers but for years it was like the powers controlled her. Everything was going well. She had a career she loved and a beautiful apartment that she had paid from her own hard earned money. But then one morning she woke up in a place she did not recognise and in a town she had never been in. Why was she in Washington D.C of all places and why couldn't she leave? A year after she ended up in D.C she met Dale Cooper and fell madly in love. They are now living together and are planning a future. But her fear of her powers taking over is always there, residing in the back of her mind. And her fear is that her powers would one day harm the man she loved above all else.

#hw: intro #tw: experimentation #experimentation tw

[hmshermitcraft]

Gem is the head scientist of a famous lab. Pearl is a mythical creature they found on the moon. And Impulse is a dwarf, Gem didn't know dwarves still existed! So needless to say the two are very special. The other scientists are fascinated by them! Though, they aren't very kind to them. Often doing experiments without caring if they'll get hurt. When Gem found out, she was furious and fired the other scientists. And then, she went to care for the wounds the two might've acquired.

This is exactly the kind of organisation she didn't want to create. They want to better understand other species and protect them, not hurt them. It doesn't matter if it gives 'valuable information', they can get that information in other ways.

She feels like she spends hours solely apologising. She's so grateful that they help her create new policies - because it turns out being head scientist involves a whole lot of paperwork.

And maybe she's going to have to test those policies soon, because after spending so much time with the two of them she... Wants some very inappropriate things for their relationship.

#hermitshipping #ask #gem tag #pearl tag #impulse tag #impearlgem #mod 🎀 #experimentation tw #fantasy discrimination tw

[distinctlywhumpthing]

two truth serum questions for aiden bby, curious what he’ll say vs. think:

do you remember your ‚past-you‘ and if yes, what do you miss about him?

if you could design a day for yourself, full control of everything, what would you do?

Unintentional 20

Previous — Masterlist — Next

As always, beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

CW: BBU, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language. Trauma. Surgical/medical whump/experimentation. Emeto/vomiting. Wanting death to end torture. Drugging mention.

He had the length of two squeaking strides after whatever door slam or key jangle had woken him before Harrison slapped him across the face. “Wake up.” 

“Fuck off,” he growled. “You don’t need me conscious for your depraved game of operation.”

“I miss the delightful company, even if you are at your best drooling all over yourself.” 

He opened his eyes to glare at Harrison, ignoring the uptick of the heart monitor, but he wasn’t in his line of sight. Turning his head to look was out of the question with the head frame on. The anchor points had only just stopped hurting. There was a lot of space behind where he lay strapped to the table in the middle of the room anyway. The clang of surgical steel was unmistakable though. 

Inhale, exhale, smooth and steady. The monitor slowed its alarm and he tried to keep himself calm while waiting.

Harrison was never quiet for very long anyway. “We’re placing the electrodes today.” 

So much for controlling his pulse. “What? I thought—”

“I can’t lose a day just for the Drip. We’ll do it at the same time.” Harrison was at his side now, adding another bag to the IV pole. The lines clacked lightly as they were rattled, movement echoed in whispered tugs to the needle inserted beneath his collarbone. 

He curled his hands into fists. The restraints became too tight around his tensed muscles, edges suddenly harsher against his skin. “Let me guess, mad scientist extra credit activities aren’t getting you onto honor roll like you wanted?”

“I’d show you my grades but…” Harrison didn’t even look to see if he’d forced a reaction, just went on tying a band above his elbow, another needle in hand for the Drip. 

Tiny prick and a beat later cool liquid ran into his bloodstream. He doubled down. “It’s not about impressing the teachers with your grades though. You want to be fucking valedictorian and stand up in front of everyone else so they know you’re smarter, you’re better.” 

“You’re certainly no expert. Don’t worry, I’m sure you didn’t miss much at your high school graduation.”

He grit his teeth. “Do they tease you? I bet they tease everyone, it’s just what they do. They’re all idiots. But you know it’s different when it’s aimed at you.” 

Harrison met his eyes. “What exactly happened with the last friendship you had? Sweet Mira, was it?”

The air left his lungs but he sucked in a breath and kept pushing. “You’ve never been one of them, have you? And that’s why you’re down here every day with me, trying to prove something. But you know what? They will never see you, they’ll never accept you for who you really are. You’re not one of them and you never will be.”

There was a clang beside him, just beyond his line of vision. Instruments being fumbled. “That’s enough.”

He smirked. “You’re—”

“Do you want to find out what it’s like to have a scalpel as an eleventh fucking finger?” Harrison stepped into view holding one up, face and tone as stoic as ever. 

He swallowed.

Harrison raised his eyebrows.

“No, doctor.” 

“Enough then.” 

“Yes, doctor.” 

Harrison nodded absently before returning to the preparations outside his field of vision. 

His palms were damp as he curled his hands back into fists. One was weaker than the other, arm full of WRU’s proprietary cocktail. God, fuck he could feel it starting. This was the fourth—fifth?—time, and each one brought a fresh dimension of suffering. Like there wasn’t actually anything formulaic at all about what went into that blue liquid. For all he knew, there could be another lab even deeper than this one where someone even more depraved than Harrison was just tossing together random combinations of chemicals for shits and giggles. 

Harrison had rambled his ‘best theory’ off one time, in a monologue that had clearly been designed to impress an audience more coveted than his surgical guinea pig. A bit of something toxic but not lethal, just to do some baseline damage; a bunch of -aites and -ines; definitely something that made you a little high but not high enough that it could ever be mistaken for a pleasant trip. 

The first time had been unyielding as it blacked out everything he had, everything he was. Condensing it into a nothingness with enough weight and mass to become his new center of gravity. It was drowning in frigid, oppressive, infinite water and being hung out to dry in aching, blinding heat. It was having everything at once with absolutely no control. 

He had no memory of the second time, when they’d brought him back. It had been before Harrison intervened, he thought. There’d been less than two years to eradicate instead of seventeen and he hadn’t even noticed. 

Not until the third time. That was when the reliability—or was it validity maybe…

God, he could remember the stupid yellow index card he’d written in eleventh grade to differentiate the two before an exam. 

Instead of giving Harrison another clean slate, it drew things out. He’d cried the entire time. It was like each fragment of memory had to be peeled from whatever inanimate, lifeless form it had been reduced to. Except somehow it was his brain being scraped against a cheese grater. Each little shaving of his former self painfully extracted.

Except he’d never be able to make that comparison work, in any reality where the stupid Drip didn’t fucking work like it was supposed to. Not since the time that Harrison had taken him by the wrist. Sanitized his hand so that his raw cuticles stung. Brought his fingertips to prod his own parietal lobe.

And he’d thought it was weird that some of his friends had to touch their eyes every day to put contacts in.

He’d vomited and passed out.

Woke up to Harrison still puppeteering his index finger to trace the oblong circle of the craniotomy. His stomach had been empty that time but it had tried its damndest. If you think this is bad, we should see how you do holding your own intestines. He’d bit straight through the inside of his right cheek that day but he’d managed to stay quiet until Harrison was finished. 

Anyway, that third time on the Drip, it was clearly not right. Within the first ten minutes, Harrison had left him alone, couldn’t work with him “weeping like a fucking widow”. He’d remembered exactly what had happened to bring him back to this place. Exactly what sins he’d committed, why he deserved to be returned, to be sent for refurbishment, and to wind up with Harrison completely unmissed. 

He’d lost his voice crying and screaming like he could scare it all away with words or volume alone. He hated to have it back. To have her back—himself with her, back. He didn’t want to know that person. He didn’t want to feel that life.

Harrison didn’t seem to care that it wasn’t rendering him devoid and malleable anymore. On the outside he was the number-less, name-less, Nothing being cut apart. Inside, he was anything but Nothing. He was Bo, who had been Beau, who used to be 359. Each time more pieces of an even greater life coming to light. He didn’t want to remember more. He couldn’t handle more. The memories, the grief, the anger—the entire life that had been signed away to this place. The hopes and dreams and promises.  

He hated that real person fiercely, along with all the lesser ones. He hoped every time that the Drip would work again and deliver him back into ignorant bliss. Nothing Harrison did had anything on this. At least with the physical pain, he’d eventually pass out or there’d be drugs or it would fade to something else. This was relentless and it was overwhelming and he just wanted it to stop.

A whine escaped his throat and he wrestled against the restraints. 

“Do you have somewhere you’d rather be?” 

It took some effort to string together a retort. “Under your scalpel already,” he managed to grit out. 

“You can’t rush perfection.”

His hands were throbbing from how much he was cutting off his own circulation by pulling against the restraints. “I hope you kill me.” 

“Sadly, that’s not on the menu today. No drugs either, I need you conscious to make sure the electrodes are in the correct positions.” He held out a square of folded blue fabric. “Bite down on this.”

“But it’s going to happen sooner or later.” He was erring on the side of desperation but he didn’t care. “You’re not that good or you wouldn’t be some fucking outcast basement Dr. Jekyll.” He paused but Harrison just waited, holding out the towel. “It’s going to be even worse than before when you have some botched Frankenstein. Just—”

“Enough. I applaud the dedication to your newfound death wish.” Harrison reached out to blot his cheek with the corner of the towel. He hadn’t realized he was crying. “I really love this journey for you.”

“Fuck—”

“Shut up and reconsider my offer—that I am generously extending a second time—before I just let you bite your fucking tongue off. Something I’m sure we’ll both regret tomorrow when you sound like a romantic reciting the WRU commandments around a handler’s cock.” 

He swallowed and opened his mouth to let Harrison place the square of folded blue fabric between his teeth. 

Harrison didn’t waste any time and started cutting through some of the sutures in his scalp. Releasing them one by one. 

“It’s true, eventually I might kill you, by accident or on purpose.” 

Percussion of the scissors being dropped onto the tray beside his head.

“But you’re already nothing. Your life is nothing, your pain is nothing.”

Scalpel biting into his flesh to reopen what had healed. Suction to keep the incision clear.

“You are Nothing. So it really doesn’t matter.” 

Whir of the drill.

He blinked through tears but it didn’t seem to do anything to improve his field of vision so he just kept his eyes closed. Tried to focus on breathing evenly through his nose. This wasn’t anything worthy of really screaming for but it was still nice to have something to bite down on. He’d definitely done a number grinding his teeth enough already. 

“Alright, come on. You can cry over your haunted past on your own time.” Harrison tugged the cloth out of his mouth. 

His tongue felt too dry and too thick. He didn’t feel the tears anymore but his vision was still blurry. “I thought I was Nothing and had nothing?” 

“You’re such a good listener. Keep talking while I place these electrodes.” 

“I’m out of ideas.” 

“Bullshit. You’re just being a little stick in the mud.” 

“Really,” he insisted. 

He couldn’t control anything in his head. It was just images and faces and feelings rushing past in a blur. Peeling back layers of obfuscation from his memories like onion skin, crinkling along with the sanitary medical packaging Harrison was opening next to him like this was any other day. Procedural, methodical, predictable. He wasn't sure how many packages Harrison had opened or if he was somehow just stuck in a loop of replaying the sound again and again for something simple to hold onto over the torrents raging in his head. 

Thankfully, Harrison never kept his mouth shut for very long. “I need you talking. Why don’t you describe your perfect, ideal day?” 

“Impossible,” he slurred. “It’s still happening.” 

Previous — Masterlist — Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings @peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @jadeocean46910 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @local-cawcaw @leyswhumpdump @aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus

#BBU #bbu whump #box boy whump #box boy universe #WRU #clinical whump #medical whump #surgical whump #defiant whumpee #sadistic whumper #medical trauma tw #surgical whump tw #emeto tw #death wish tw #surgery tw #experimentation tw #torture tw #drugging mention tw #so if you also sent in an ask #expect a very long wait #and a non-direct answer #or some other buffoonery #thank you for your time and consideration

[devilisinthedeinos]

Experiment 133

[Accessing Experiment 133's file...]

[...]

[File Found.]

Experiment 133:

Target species: Eevee

Status: Alive

Notes: After several false starts with a new administration technique, we have begun experiment 133. To avoid the problems with other experiments, we have quarantined the subject in a cell, and will be continuing observation throughout their development.

Subject has yet to show any traits of their target species.

#pkmn irl #pokemon irl #rotomblr #rotumblr #asks #details in the deino #welcome back #file 133 #experimentation tw

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 04: I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes

Shock + "You in there?"

3220 Words; Rewired AU

TW for isolation, memory loss, experimentation, electrical torture

AO3 ver

This sucks.

Dion glared at the locked door, arms crossed. All of his attempts to force it open had proven futile, leaving him nothing to do but lean against the wall and glare at it.

The room he was in—if it could even be called a room, when there was just barely enough space to lie down—was small, four plain stone walls with a single metal door. There was a single… cot was too generous a word, honestly. It was a slab of metal just barely big enough to lie on, held up by two diagonal metal struts braced against the wall underneath it. There was a drain in the center of the floor; Dion refused to touch it if he could help it. By bracing himself against the walls of the corner, he could climb up high enough to get at the ceiling. But the panel over the single small light refused to budge, no matter how hard Dion tried to pry it off. Spots still danced across his eyes from his efforts.

The only ventilation came in the form of four small slits in the door. There was a slot at the bottom of the door, as well, but the panel covering it wouldn’t budge. If Dion were more resourceful, if he had a better idea of what was going on—

But he wasn’t, and he had no idea. He’d been handling groceries out in town, on his way back to camp—

And then he was in here, in this barren room, with no way out. The jacket he’d gotten for his seventeenth birthday was missing, as was his wallet, pocket knife, and compact. Whoever had taken him and put him here had gone through his pockets, and the knowledge left Dion feeling violated.

But there was nothing he could do about it, and that, more than anything, crawled under his skin like so many wriggly spiders. The inaction grated against him, his leg bouncing in agitation. He needed to move, to get up and do something—

But he couldn’t do anything. Not yet. Not until the door opened, or he found out what the hell was going on, or—something, he didn’t know.

This sucked. Dion glared at the door from where he was sitting on the slab.

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

Bright light danced in front of his eyes, and his vision swam worse than it already was.. He didn’t recognize the voice speaking to him, the words spinning through his head uselessly. He swallowed, but the nausea remained.

Still, he spoke. “Dion Aquato.” Son of Donatella and Augustus Aquato. Eldest of five siblings. Dion Aquato. I’m Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

Meals came in through the slot at the bottom of the door—gross. Even if it was on a tray, it was still being slid along a floor that had been exposed to god knew what. Dion didn’t eat, the first few times, fear of poison and disdain for invisible concrete floor grime holding him back.

But the hunger pricked at his stomach. It was impossible to sleep well on the slab or the floor. He needed to keep his strength up however he could, if he ever wanted out of here.

The meals were simple. A plastic spork came on the equally plastic tray. Neither the utensil nor the tray could be used to escape, as far as Dion could tell, so he left them by the slot when he finished. The food was…

He didn’t know how long he’d been in here, but he was already homesick. Truth be told, he’d been homesick the moment he’d finished inspecting the room, but the feeling had only built over time. He missed his mother’s cooking. He missed cooking. He missed food that wasn’t bland unseasoned drivel. He’d had his fill of dry chicken and plain mashed potatoes and sad greens. He wanted to eat food, real food with actual flavor that he wasn’t shoving down his throat just for the nutritional value.

How many days had it been? Three? Four? Dion wondered if his birthday had passed already, if he had turned 18 in this cell, away from his friends and family. It had only been a week off, when he’d found himself in this tiny stone hell.

Ugh. This sucked. The food was awful. He had no idea what he was even here for, or where here even was. He wanted to go home. He wasn’t smart enough or strong enough to figure a way out of this cell.

Dion was clean, at least, his hair hanging loose around his face and on his shoulders. He couldn’t remember when the grease had been rinsed out—but he really didn’t want to think about that. So he didn’t.

“An explanation would be nice.” He grumbled. “Wouldn’t mind some fucking answers.”

The door had no answer for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion woke up to a bright light right in his eyes. Where—

He was lying back on a hard surface, at an angle. There was pressure across his legs and chest. Attempts to move were thwarted—oh. He was strapped down.

Dion turned his head to the side to avoid the light shining down on him, cool metal pressing against his cheek. He scrunched his eyes shut, spots dancing across his vision. His head was pounding—probably because of the light.

He heard footsteps to his left. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

There was a woman standing there with a clipboard in hand, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Dion blinked.

Nope, she was still there, still regarding the clipboard in her hand through cat eye glasses. A pen floated over the clipboard.

Dion turned his head to look to the right. The room he was in had… six walls? No, wait, it was eight, wasn’t it? Yeah. Eight. Eight plain white walls that went up to… he couldn’t tell, with the bright light looming above him. He scrunched his eyes shut and turned his head back to his left, opening them as the woman walked over to a shelf taking up three of the walls.

The room gave him an uneasy feeling. The bright light reminded him of dentists; the lady’s labcoat and the sanitized room reminded him of hospitals. There was even a counter back to his right that took up three of the walls, with a sink and cabinets.

A binder floated off the shelf and opened in front of the woman. She flipped through the pages inside for a moment before the binder returned to the shelf.

Dion opened his mouth. He was so done with his stupid little cell, with this bright light searing down into his eyes—but most of all, he was so done with not knowing what the hell was going on. He wanted answers, dammit, so he opened his mouth and spoke.

“What do you want from me?”

The woman’s head snapped around so fast that Dion almost thought it might fall off. She was regarding him, now, and Dion snapped his mouth shut. He felt like a bug under her gaze, like a number on her clipboard that wasn’t what she expected.

She walked over to him, lips pursed.

“At least say something!” His mouth moved before his brain could process what he was saying. Her brow furrowed, and Dion tensed.

“You,” she loomed over him, close enough that he could see the gold of her eyes, “should not be up.” She held something small in her hands, and Dion strained to make out what was surely going to be used to hurt him—

One click. Two clicks.

Dion never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

His head swam. His mouth opened, then closed. He tried again. “Dion Aquato.” Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion Aquato I’m an acrobat I’m a brother I’m Dion Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

There were holes in his memory.

Dion almost didn’t notice them, at first. Day and night blurred together in his cell, with nothing to mark the passage of time. How long had he been here? How many days? Had he turned 18, here in this cell, away from his friends and family?

All of his street clothes had been missing when he’d woken up here—he was dressed in a simple shirt and pants made of a rough fabric he couldn’t identify, the light gray seeming to melt into the stone around him.

(But hadn’t he searched his pockets when he’d first woken up here? He remembered them being empty of his things—)

That was the first clue. The second was the collection of plastic sporks in the corner of his room—he was sure he’d put them there, but he couldn’t remember eating that many meals. The third clue was that he still didn’t know how he was clean, despite being in his cell long enough to start to smell.

There were holes in his memory. Once he finally realized this, he realized the danger he was in. Panic spiraled in his brain. What if he forgot everything? What if he forgot his family? His home?

But what could he do? He’d never even left this cell.

(Had he?)

Still, he needed to remember. He thought back to his life outside, to home—

He could remember his mother’s face, at least. Could still remember every member of his family, from his parents to his Nona to his siblings. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Raz. Tala. Queepie. Could remember the circus, the blue and green stripes of the Aquatodome.

He glared reproachfully at the door of his cell. His name was Dionysus Aquato. He was the eldest of five. He was 17—no, he was probably 18 already—and he refused to forget his home and family. He’d die before he let that happen.

“You’re not keeping me here forever.” He whispered. “I’ll get out eventually.”

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion woke up strapped to a table.

There was a bright light overhead. His head swam, a pounding headache behind his eyes. His mouth had that awful taste that it always got when he overslept.

This wasn’t his tent or the caravan, though. This was an octagonal room, the ceiling obscured by the light bearing down on him. There was something familiar about the room, but he couldn’t fathom why.

He turned his head to his left. There was a woman standing there, regarding a binder floating in front of her through cat eye glasses, hair pulled back into a bun. There was someone next to her in… a pantsuit? The woman was wearing a lab coat, which some part of Dion felt was far more appropriate for the sterile setting.

Dion didn’t recognize her, though. But hadn’t he seen her before?

And the guy standing next to her—Dion had never seen them before. But he knew their face. Didn’t he? He didn’t know.

“Why is it conscious?” They asked. It took Dion a moment to realize that they were talking about him. That… that didn’t bode well.

Her lips pursed. “Because I’m investigating a problem.” She pressed something—

Pain! Dion yelped, his body jerking against the straps. It arced up his legs and arms, through his chest, into his head—

Just as quick as it came, it was gone. His shoulders heaved.

A problem. She’d called him a problem. That couldn’t be good.

Remember. He needed to remember. His name was Dion, Dion—

Dion Something. He tried to remember, searching his mind—

Another scream was ripped from his throat as a fresh wave of electricity burst through him. He spasmed, the straps pinning him down. His wrists and ankles were starting to ache—were they going to bruise?

The pain left again. Dion’s thoughts chased each other in circles. His head spun. He needed to—he needed to—

Remember. His name was Dion, Dion—

Dion Aquato!

His name was Dion Aquato. He was the eldest of four—no, five. He came from the Aquato family circus.

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie Mom Dad Nona—

He screamed as another wave of pain rushed through him. The electricity didn’t stop, even as his voice cut out, even as he continued to spasm. His head swam, pain pounding his brain to bits—

All at once, the pain stopped. He shook, and turned towards the pair.

The woman’s binder had fallen to the ground. Her nose had bled, a red smear on her upper lip.

“Well.” She said, “That’s… interesting.”

Dion didn’t have the energy to question it. He needed to remember, anyway. Mom Dad Nona Frazie—

Something clicked. Once, twice—

He never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

It sounded disappointed in him. He couldn’t fathom why.

“Dion Aquato.” He was answering the question, right? He was Dion Aquato. It was his name, his identity—he was Dion Aquato eldest son acrobat 17 years old Dion Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion I’m Dion Aquato—

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

The pile of sporks in the corner was gone. If it had ever been there at all—he had probably just imagined it.

He didn’t know when he’d gotten here. Didn’t know how long he’d been here. Had a week passed? Was he 18, now, had he missed his birthday in this stupid little cell?

His old clothes were gone, replaced with a dull blue shirt and pants the same gray as the stone around him. It was weird, to look down at his legs and see nothing but gray, gray like the walls, gray like he was just another fixture in the room, just another setpiece—

(Hadn’t his shirt been gray? Hadn’t he been wearing his street clothes when he first woke up in this cell?)

His head swam. Lights danced behind his vision.

His name was Dion Aquato. He had a family and a home. His name was Dion Aquato.

(Was it?)

He looked at the door. Metal, like the—well, cot was too generous. More like a slab, really—slab sticking out from the wall, held up by diagonal metal struts. Metal, like the ring around his neck.

(He couldn’t remember when it was put on. He couldn’t get it off. Maybe it had always been there.)

“How much longer?” He asked. How much longer would he be stuck in here? He wanted to go home. He wasn’t even sure where home was.

The door had no response for him.

+=+=+=+=+

He came to strapped to a chair. The room he was in was familiar, octagonal-shape tickling some corner of his brain. But every attempt to recall if he had been here before resulted in fog filling his head. But he needed to remember, right?

There was a woman standing at a control panel-like structure to his left, her mouth moving. He couldn’t hear what she was saying through the panel of glass between him and her. 

Remember. He needed to remember. His name was Dion Aquato. He was 17 (18? 16?). He didn’t know where he was. Home was Mom Dad Nona Frazie Pooter Tala Queepie, it was blue and green tents and a towering caravan. He needed to remember.

He muttered their names under his breath, pushing at the straps wrapped around his arms and chest. As usual, they refused to yield.

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie

Dion Dion Dion my name is Dion my name is Dion

Mom Dad Nona Frazie Raz Tala Queepie—

Pain shot through him, electricity coursing through his body until his head spun. Even when it stopped, the room continued to spin, the bright light above him leaving spots in his vision.

He needed—he needed—

Remember!

His name was Dion Aquato. Home was green and blue and Mom and Dad and Nona and Raz and Queepie—

He was missing something. He needed to remember it.

“Shut up.”

Another bolt of electricity. Another scream that left his throat raw.

He didn’t even realize he’d been muttering. But he needed to remember, he couldn’t shut up, he needed to hold onto everything that he had for as long as he could, needed to hold himself together no matter what. He mumbled their names, his brain struggling through the haze of pain and light dancing behind his eyes. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Tala. Queepie. Mom. Dad. Raz. Tala. Mom. Dad. Nona. Frazie. Mom. Dad. Nona—

“I said shut up.” Something clicked—

Dion’s body convulsed against the straps again. His throat hurt too much to scream, the electricity seizing through him.

The electricity stopped. He twitched. The taste of copper filled his mouth.

Remember. He needed to remember. Mom. Dad. Frazie. Queepie. Mom. Nona. Raz. Queepie. Dad. Nona. Tala. Mom. Dad. Mom—

“Fine, then. If you can’t shut up, then you won’t speak at all.”

Something clicked. Once. Twice—

He never heard the third.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

He wasn’t sure. “Dion.” That… sounded right.

“Who are you?”

They sounded frustrated. He wasn’t sure why.

“Dion.” He was Dion, wasn’t he?

“No, you’re not.”

+=+=+=+=+

Gray walls stared back at him. He tried to remember any place other than this, tried to remember being anywhere but these walls—

Nothing. Just gray.

He knew he had come from somewhere, though. He had a mother and a father out there, somewhere—somewhere that wasn’t here.

But what did his mother’s face even look like? How did her voice sound? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember, and she seemed all the less real because of it.

How many siblings did he have? Did he even have siblings at all?

His head hurt. Lights danced behind his eyes. He clutched his face in his hands, massaging his temples. Nausea threatened to spill out of his mouth and onto the floor below. He choked it down.

His name was Dion. He had a mother and a father. He couldn’t remember their faces. He needed to remember.

Did he? He couldn’t remember. His head swam.

He pitched forward, his hands hitting the concrete floor as he fell off the slab. His name was—he was—

He retched.

Shoulders shaking, he leaned back. He rubbed his mouth, not caring about the bile and spit on his arm. He looked at the door.

“I’m—” He needed to remember. His head was swimming. “Where am I?” Who am I?

The door had no answers for him.

+=+=+=+=+

Bright light loomed above him, searing his eyes.

Exhaustion weighed him down more than the straps holding him still. A bitter taste lingered in the back of his throat.

A woman’s voice floated over to him. “Shutdown, Test 24-2.” The light was blinding, he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from—

Pain arced through his limbs. Something in him clicked. His head pounded, pressure like a vice—

Something clattered on the floor.

“Stop now.” The pressure receded at the woman’s voice. He couldn’t fathom why. He was too exhausted to care, his eyes slipping closed. Light danced behind them.

Click.

Click.

Click.

+=+=+=+=+

“Who are you?”

He had no answer.

“Who are you?”

Why were they asking? He wasn’t anybody.

“Who are you?”

The voice was starting to grate against his head. Nausea danced in his throat.

“Who are you?”

“I—” Who was he? Was he anything?

“Who are you?”

Bright light danced in front of his eyes. At once, the answer came to him.

“Who are you?”

“Nobody.”

“Yes, you are.”

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #shock #''you in there?'' #psychonauts #zaz writes #isolation tw #memory loss tw #memory alteration tw #electrical torture tw #experimentation tw #rewired au #dion aquato #aranka naumann #well. maybe. #i don't really want to come up with a new scientist oc though so we're goign with my girl aranka for now #this was so so fun to write #but now i'm rushing to post this so i can catch the bus home LMAO #anyway 💅 four days in and i'm FINALLY writing about dion suffering

[crimsonscloud]

au idea that might inspire someone: krane experimented on douglas during their partnership. douglas doesn’t know. ( maybe it was done while he was unconscious / asleep, drugged, his memories were wiped afterwards, etc. ) it could be part of some sort of contingency plan krane had for if / when douglas turned on him, similar to the virus he created to activate in the event of his death.

later, douglas finds out about it ( or has to be told by someone else who knows / realizes it ) and, obviously, he does not handle it well.

#douglas davenport #victor krane #lab rats #lab rats bionic island #lab rats elite force #au idea #experimentation tw #medical experimentation tw #non consensual body modification tw #drugging tw #if anyone writes something based on this tag me #this is kind of barebones mostly because i want to see what others come up with