#cod bell oc

[pl4stiche4rt]

Haven't posted here in a while <33

[mistyhazebloom]

Sketch of Stitch & Adler

The Price of the Game

A laboratory. The stench of chemicals. The veins in his brain pulled taut.

Everything felt familiar. Only, this time, he was the subject.

The ambient hum of murmuring voices... He was no different from canned goods packed away in a shipping container. Complete darkness and solitude, but at certain moments, a dazzling light, and the sensation of being moved somewhere. A few times, it felt as though they were deliberately taking the long way around, just to keep him from guessing where they were headed.

And then, what revealed itself was...

"Did you play hide-and-seek, Adler...?"

A man with a distinct, peculiar tone spoke to him.

As Adler's eyes adjusted to the light, Stitch stared at his prize in sheer admiration.

"Peekaboo."

Soon, as his vision cleared enough to take in the man's full appearance, Adler shuddered at the memory of his past. That exact sensation when a sharp blade had helplessly sliced around Stitch's eye as he lay bound. To Adler, that memory was a blade of vengeance, but at the same time, a faint, metallic trace of euphoria oddly lingered within it.

"We always give and take, Adler," Stitch's voice sounded somewhat amused, almost excited. "As you can see, I suppose it's my turn this time. But this time, it comes with a little extra problem. If there's nothing wrong with your memory, do you remember? That entity... who used to be your 'Bell'?"

The more Stitch ran his mouth, the deeper the creases on Adler's brow became. It was the existence he had been trying to forget for a while, but could never truly erase... the one he had lost in a single split second.

...Bell.

Adler instinctively hurled a curse at Stitch. Perhaps out of a sense of self-defense. It was because a flood of memories from his brief time with Bell came rushing in all at once.

Certainly, those weren't pleasant memories.

He had to mold a completely independent individual with entirely different ideals into a docile, loyal puppet.

The greatest, and worst, project in his history.

"Don't act like you don't know me..." Adler took a moment to catch his breath, his demeanor making it perfectly clear that he had already seen right through Stitch's intentions.

And they both knew, implicitly, that Stitch was just like him... someone capable of absolutely anything.

Stitch let out a short laugh, slowly pacing around Adler like a predator circling its prey. "If we wanted to make things even 'formally,' I suppose I could give you another pretty scar on your face. Just like mine." His tone was casual, as if he were merely going out for a light stroll.

Stitch turned a bottle of chemicals sitting on a nearby table, making sure the label faced forward. Catching sight of the label for a brief second, Adler felt a sudden bitter taste coat the inside of his mouth the moment he recognized it.

...Because the eyes of Bell, who had looked up at him right before that very drug was injected, flashed back into his mind.

"But I'm going to take it a step further. For this to work, it's much better if your eyes stay intact. ...You're going to end up helping us after all, Adler."

[Creator's Note]

It's been a while since I've doodled Stitch so I just wanted to draw him again.

PC friendly ver. (Cut in 3 parts)↓

[imjustsocute]

You’re not ready to face the truth. Leave…

[decodingcipher]

I was gifted, as part of Secret Santa, this absolutely beautiful piece of art by @sleepyconfusedpotato and I cannot express my thanks enough. It captures Frank and Jodie exceptionally well and they would have themselves a little dance next to firelight and the Christmas Tree.

Sleepy, this is brilliant, I don’t think I can explain any more than I have just how much I love this and it was a wonderful surprise for Christmas 💖

Pretty sure I only made excited noises when I first saw it 😂

ANYWAY, my many thanks and Christmas wishes to you Sleepy, and everyone this year!!

[efingart]

Tan Lines

Hybrid anime art of my girl. I drew this about a month ago? I wanted to play with some old school anime style and colors. I may do more we'll see. It was fun.

[hamletsleftball]

asphixa // staring

— in which he drowns, in her presence and in her absence

CONTENT WARNING: graphic, vivid descriptions. adler's pov / 3rd person limited. mentions of a toxic co-dependency between him and fem!bell/reader (think of hannigram sort of dynamic?).

author's note: he really can't win, no matter what. and good. may he suffer. i love making adler suffer, gods. the song i listened to is Tonight (demo) by Amira Elfeky for this piece.

———

It doesn’t feel right.

Something engulfs his flesh, fills his spongy organs with a clinging film that smothers his every breath. Something fills every cavity in his body, and all he can smell is her, her, her—

Yet the scent he is soused in is fading.

This is…wrong. Just wrong.

A staccato exhale slips from his lips, and there’s a slight tremor in his hands as he watches on with a clenched jaw, how she converses with Hudson not too far from the aircraft hangar. The cigarette between his fingers burns on, sifting into ashes on the asphalt, until it burns dangerously close to his skin.

He stares at her.

Slung over her shoulder are her bags, in her hand the duffel she keeps her small amount of belongings in. Not far off from where they stand is the aircraft ready to ferry her across the country to D.C..

Frustration builds in him, clawing at the inner linings of his throat until the flesh burns from torn layers of the epidermis. It sets off a deeply uncomfortable sear in his chest, but all he can do is stand there, drowning in his air of bitterness.

She stands there, gaze so emotionless and cold and dead, like how she once was back in ‘82. The death he tried so dearly to resuscitate her from triumphs and looms over his conscience like a taunt. A slap, even. Like a rude awakening that he never once had truly been what he thought he was to her — a presence to replace her Death, her once-companion.

It shouldn’t sting, yet it does. The frustration that burned his throat now settles into something akin to sharp stings of disappointment.

“Russ,” Hudson calls. Flickering away the cooled ashes from his fingertips, he steps closer.

It’s a standard debrief. He can’t focus, not when his eyes are drawn to the stoic soldier that stands by his side, whose presence he will soon lose.

“Are you really going?”

The question leaves his lips before he can stop himself, as she’s hitching the bags on her shoulder. He’d asked if she required help, to which her expected answer of ‘no’ had come. Part of him wants to grab her shoulders and shake her until he gets his points across. Yet even that, he fears, is not enough.

His jaw is clenched, his teeth gritted. Each word leaving his lips is something he’s spat out like it’s utterly distasteful to even think about. It tastes bitter, and off, and so utterly full of despair. He hates it. Perhaps his reluctance is petulant and child-like. He can’t give a damn. Not when she drowns him with each stifling moment of her silence, when she refuses to turn around and face him. Like the damned coward she is at times—

He’s bitter. He sees it now.

She straightens up, facing him fully.

Oh.

A part of him curdles at how he is acting. The moment she turns, the slight modicum of her attention on him is enough to quell the bubbling, rising spats that crowds his throat.

“Where else would I go?” She asks, in her usual detached tone.

It sickens him. She used to smile. He’s seen her smile. He’s seen every inch of her, he’s tasted her, his hands memorised every part of her.

Why has she changed? What has changed? Why does it warrant her change?

She bared herself to him. They carved and etched viscera and their hands were stained. Yet now he is left alone with this visceral, bloody thing they had between them— Did this mean nothing to her?

He hesitates. A grimace curls on his face. “I’m sure there's stuff on the market you’ll like.” A pause. “I’ll figure something out.”

Something for us. The unspoken words linger.

Oh he might as well have been on his knees begging until his legs grew raw and sore from kneeling on the harsh asphalt. But for her, he would have, he could…

His fingers itch by his side. Itching to reach out, itching to grab her arm, her shoulders. To relish the feeling of the warmth of her flesh against his hands once more at the very least. To know her embers, the spark in her eyes (when she laughed at his banter, oh her smiles…) he witnessed were not a mirage but in fact the god-honest truth. To know he had fulfilled what he had once vowed to do, and to know he still holds a goddamn chance because he just needs a chance, a slim possibility—

He can’t do this. Not without her. Not anymore.

Not when he’s already tasted the salty tang of the ichor. Not when he’s already fallen down her depths and embraced her as Death once did. Not when he vowed to replace the constant companion Death she once held so dearly, and he thought, he thought he had managed to.

Ah.

As he stares at her, through the shield of his shades, his heart plummets. She knows.

Of course she knows.

“I’m not interested.”

He just needs to reach out, he just needs to pull her closer to him, to ask her to reconsider. He needs to know, just know what all of that meant to her, if they even meant anything to her as they did for him. He needs to know, he fights the urge to claw at his chest to dig out his heart and place its beating, pulsating form in her hands where it belongs, where it can beat freely. It pulses far too suffocatingly in his thoracic cavity, he can’t take it, he can’t take it anymore—

He stays.

Staring as she leaves.

———

fin. | do not plagarize, steal, modify or translate my works without my explicit permission.

[callmelitlesunshine]

my babygirl i miss her so much

[venusnobivac]

Kseniya A. Amanzholova

Bell stuff before she was Bell and actually had some sun time

Yes that's a Doll Divine picrew I used for clothing reference. The picrew itself does use clothing from the era!! Still no idea what hairstyle fits her more whatever hair changes every now and then.

The scar lifts their lip btw, added two moles

Also whenever I say my Bell's nonbinary. No I don't think anyone knew what was back then and neither Nisha did back then but on modern lens. She would be or identity with that label. But considering her timeline she'd be more like " I kinda feel weird about this body but I have a job and governments to overthrow so I really dgaf rn"- coming from OP that is non-binary. There's definitely more historic and cultural sensitivities to consider when it comes to this take for Bell but I'll ramble about that another day pls don't stone me