Thought I should make one of these now I'm writing properly :D
So! Here’s my original story, named The Fallout.
Contains: Cyberpunk setting, sci-fi, found family, military whump, lab whump (mentioned), living weapon, queer relationships, trans and gender nonconforming ocs, poc ocs, disabled and neurodivergent ocs, mentally ill ocs (assume that all OCs will be a whumpee at some point, main whumpee is non binary)
CW - MAY CONTAIN: Self harm, suicidal thoughts/attempt, torture, graphic depictions of violence, minor whump, homelessness, panic attacks, lots of swearing, dysphoria, mentions of eating disorder, rape, mentions of child abuse, drug use (con and non con), death
EVERYTHING WILL BE PROPERLY TAGGED AT THE BEGINNING OF THE POST WITH CONTENT WARNINGS
Well looks like my MC finally had enough of not being a proud Aerin (🤡) Stan or a Nia babe and joined the darkside. (Let me just apologize in advance I'm so sorry Tyril bby 😔 I really am)
(Also sorry if it sucks I'm trying to improve 😖🤗😶😶😶)
Dark crashed to the ground in a heap, every single one of the wounds littering their body flaring up even more, but they ignored the pain, drinking in great gasps of air, chest heaving, spitting out as much dirt and muck as they could between breaths. They had no time to recover, however, as two pairs of hands reached for them, seizing their arms and dragging them towards the door. Dark squirmed weakly, but they couldn’t even find their footing, let alone fight off the iron grips. They tripped over their own feet, knees striking the stone floor and sending a tremor of pain through their bad leg before they were hauled up again.
The soldiers lugged them through the main complex and into a small white room that smelled sharply of disinfectant. They were dumped unceremoniously onto the freezing linoleum, wrists still trapped behind their back, their boots, socks and trousers tugged off. Gloved hands poked and prodded at them, forcing open their mouth, pulling out their remaining piercing and checking every inch of skin. Then something slid under their brace, and Dark screamed as metal grated at raw nerve endings. Despite their agony, the intrusion didn’t stop, in fact it all but sped up, tweaking and unscrewing and finally ripping the thing out of their knee. Dark screwed their eye shut, unable to suppress the sobs that tore through them — then suddenly a blast of ice-cold water hit them in the chest, seeping into their wounds and pushing its way down their throat. They choked and gagged on the onslaught as it washed the mud and gore and bodily fluids down a drain in the middle of the room, all while the excruciating pain shredded their nerves.
The water switched off as unexpectedly as it had switched on, leaving Dark face-down, vulnerable and even more disoriented than before. Someone grabbed the back of their neck and they twitched in fear, but their grip on reality was too tenuous for them to do much else as they were hauled back up and into a chair. They tilted, off-balance, nearly falling before the hands caught them, securing a leather strap over their chest and pulling it tight, restricting their rib cage painfully and compressing their arms between their spine and the chair. They heard a buzzing noise behind them, but didn’t register the clippers until chunks of hair started falling onto their shoulders.
Once their curly purple locks were fully shaved, they were given a baggy pair of trousers and led — or rather shoved — into a dingy cell smelling of mould and decay. The soldiers that had brought them in forced them to their knees and they screamed again as bones that were not supposed to be like that ground against each other in their knee. The soldiers shoved their head towards the stone floor, locking a thick metal collar around their neck that connected to the floor by about a foot of chain, leaving Dark bowed over on the ground. Once satisfied the chain was secure by yanking it down a few times, the men cut off the zip tie binding their hands, each grabbing an arm and pulling it out and behind them, stretching their arms painfully and rendering them immobile. As they chained Dark’s wrists to the wall, the door behind them opened, and Dark head Edge’s voice ring out.
“Nice job, boys,” he chuckled. “And now for the finishing touch.”
Alarms went off in Dark’s head and they forced themself to look up, and was then harshly reminded that they couldn’t as the chain around their neck pulled taut. They were too late to react as Edge stood behind them and forced a metal bit between their lips, filling their mouth and pressing down on their tongue. They had no time to even move to spit it out as the metal muzzled attached pressed over their face, forcing their teeth to close around the bit and putting more pressure on their broken nose. A strap came up over their head, and two more on each side around their ears, Edge buckling them tightly as they met at the base of Dark’s skull.
Once satisfied, he stood up and kicked them in the spine, laughing in their face when the chains rattled and they flinched, then all three men left, the door closing and leaving them in darkness.
They spent the day not doing much, but doing it together.
They went down to the store and stocked up on food. They cleaned up the house as it had been getting steadily more cluttered over the last month or so. They had dinner in comfortable silence, appreciating the time without arguments or interruptions. By the time the pair settled down in the living room to watch a movie, Dark had almost forgotten about the cuts under their hoodie sleeves. Almost.
They found themself leaning against her on the sofa, more comfortable than they had been in a long, long time. She looked at them, surprised. “Hey, you okay?”
They sat up abruptly, their face growing hot. “Sorry, yeah, just… I don’t know,” they muttered, embarrassed.
She nudged them gently, scooting closer to them. “Hey, it’s fine, I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean I wanted you to stop.”
Dark looked up at her, their heart doing its damned somersaults again. They were suddenly incredibly aware of how close she was — they could count every freckle on her cheeks, see the twinkle in those starry grey eyes, feel her breath on their face. She smelled like vanilla and pine… and she looked a little nervous, though Dark thought they must be imagining it. She smiled a little. “Hey,” she said quietly. Dark’s pulse beat faster. “Uh, hi,” they murmured. She breathed in slowly, deliberately. “Dark?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I…” She hesitated. “Can I try something?”
Dark found themself nodding. “Sure, what?”
Her eyes slid down for a split second… “This.”
And she kissed them. Dark’s eyes widened, they panicked, they pulled back, frozen. Raven’s expression fell. “Sorry… stupid of me, I shouldn’t have—“
She was cut off as Dark pressed their lips to hers, desperate for another taste of that slight vanilla scent. They withdrew again, suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions crashing down on them.
“I…. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” They whispered. Raven smiled softly. “So have I.”
Dark smiled then, properly, their eyes meeting Raven’s. Raven ran a hand through their hair again, not snatching it away this time but pulling them close to meet their lips once more. Dark’s smile didn’t falter as she did, the movie forgotten among freed emotions. They leaned into her touch as her hand trailed down their shoulder, tracing their hands as if reminding herself that this was real. Dark shifted to get closer to her, and Raven’s fingers circled their wrists, brushing over their pulse points, following the line of their arms — and meeting with jagged edges.
Dark jumped back as if shot, yanking their sleeves down over their hands. Fuck, fuck, this couldn’t be happening. But Raven’s horrified expression told them this was painfully, terrifyingly real. They looked at her speechlessly, desperately wishing they could rewind the last few minutes, back to when everything was perfect.
“D-…Dark?” Raven stuttered, eyes locked onto the blood on her hand. They looked down, refusing to meet her gaze for fear that she would see straight through them. She took a deep breath and leaned forward, reaching towards them. They tensed, hugging themself tightly, but all she did was reach an arm up and cup their face. “Dark? Look at me?”
They slowly looked up, expecting a whole host of emotions to be written over her face — disgust, anger, fear — but all they saw was concern. And it was the worst thing they could see. “I’m sorry.” They whispered. “I’m so sorry, I know it’s awful and ugly and—“
She stopped them in their tracks with a rushed kiss, nothing like the tentative exploration before, but like she was desperate to tell them, to let them feel how she felt. “Don’t you dare,” She said after, her voice cracking unexpectedly, “don’t you dare apologise. You’re not ugly… no part of you could ever be ugly.”
Dark shook their head almost imperceptibly, their vision blurring with unshed tears. She was wrong, she just was. She hadn’t even seen the scars, hadn’t seen them, she didn’t know how broken they were—
Raven took Dark’s face in both her hands and tilted it up to meet her tear-filled gaze. “Listen to me, you stubborn idiot. You’re brave, and reckless, and stupid, and beautiful, and I love you, okay? I love you so, so much, and I wish I’d told you sooner, because it kills me to think you’ve hidden… this for so long.”
Dark looked at her then, properly looked at her, their own voice breaking. “I love you too Raven. It’s you. It’s always been you, since… since that day on the bridge. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Raven smiled again, tears falling down her cheeks. “Always.”
CW: Hunger, thirst, sensory deprivation, blood, broken nose, muzzled, chained, stress position, dehumanisation, electrocuted, beaten, verbal abuse mention, gunpoint, execution, major character death implied
Time passed. Nothing but pain attacking their senses. Seeing nothing, no idea of how long they’d really been down here. Hunger had wrapped itself around their abdomen, but it was the thirst that was making them crack. Throat raw, lips dry, the disgusting taste of metal and blood and their own spit filling their mouth. Their nose had started bleeding sluggishly again, dripping down their face and getting trapped behind the muzzle, making it even harder to breathe; Dark was forced to take shallower and shallower breaths lest their nose and airways get blocked further.
Their only visitor was Edge, the light from the doorway sudden stimulation for their exhausted mind. He pulled on the chains, kicked them in the stomach, spat abuse in their ear. He even brought in a cattle prod one time, electricity coursing through them and making them whine against the muzzle as their muscles seized up in pain, much to his enjoyment. He’d then leave them to another few hours in blackness. Only once, the door opened and no pain came. Dark summoned all their strength and glanced up at the figure standing over them — Achilles. He met their eye, expressionless as stone, not moving, not doing anything, just watching them silently. They held his gaze, not breaking eye contact until he moved, making them flinch. But he just turned and walked away from them, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Edge came by a few more times to torment them, then they were left alone for longer than before. Dark was sure it must have been at least a day since the door had opened when they heard the familiar click of it unlocking and the unfamiliar sound of multiple soldiers’ boots on the ground. Rough hands held them in place as their wrists were unchained and cuffed behind them, then their ankles. The collar was unlocked, allowing their stiff and aching neck to move around again — though they were thrown back down with a blow to the head when they tried to look up. The muzzle stayed on.
They were taken through the complex and into the Hall, a place in which they themself had trained and learned and made companions but was now yet another instrument in their torture. There was a small staging area at one end of the long room, where Carson and Achilles were stood waiting. By the time they got to the stairs up to the stage they’d seen the gun in Achilles’ hand. They stopped involuntarily, but were dragged up the stairs, hauled back upright when their feet caught in the chains around their ankles. They were suddenly face to face with Achilles, who shoved them to their knees and pushed their head down roughly. They let out a muffled cry as they landed on their knee, but it was cut short as the barrel of the gun pressed into the back of their head. It was then they noticed the camera trained on the stage, red light blinking ominously. Carson appeared at their side, bending down to murmur in their ear,
“You should have stayed dead the first time.”
Dark met his gaze, pure hatred burning in their eye despite their bloodied and battered state. The corner of his mouth twitched and he sniffed derisively, before turning his back to them and addressing the camera. Dark trained their gaze on the unblinking glass eye, determined to remain unbroken, blocking out everything Carson was saying. Cold metal pressed to their skin, blood rushing in their ears. They ignored Carson, ignored the ruckus that had started outside, focusing only on the slow in and out of their breaths. Carson finished whatever he’d been saying and turned to Dark. This was it. Dark shut their eye, a stillness washing over them. Everything that hurt, every little humiliation over the last few days diminished a little, everything narrowing to this point. The commotion outside was getting louder, but Dark pushed it from their mind. They’re safe. Dark repeated it over as they heard the click of the gun’s safety. They’re safe. Their shoulders relaxed slightly, and—
The door burst open, “DARK!”
Dark’s head whipped up at the sound of Raven’s voice, meeting her eye across the room as soldiers rushed towards her—
Ohh shittt here we go some backstory angst for y’all... Adair is 13 in this, Edge is 15 and Carson is around 44
CW: Gunshot wound, blood, minor whump, intimate whumper
“Fucking, shitting…. fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Adair tuned out Edge’s pained cursing and focused on getting to the van parked in the alley around the corner. They had one hand round his waist and one holding his arm over their shoulders, and were trying to ignore the sound of blood dripping onto the wet tarmac.
“Come on, Edge, just a little further…”
Edge groaned as they leaned him against the alley wall, clamping a hand around the wound in his side while Adair pounded on the window for the driver to open the doors. The pair piled into the back seats, and only then did Adair let out the breath they’d been holding. Edge chuckled weakly as Adair started wrapping bandages tightly around his abdomen. “We’re so dead.”
Adair did not return his grim smile, and they remained in stony silence until they got to the entrance of the base.
“Boss wants to see you.” the driver muttered to Adair as the two handed her their rifles. She stopped Edge as he moved to follow. “Not you. Get yourself to medical, then back to the barracks. Boss’s orders.”
Adair exchanged a glance with Edge, who shrugged and limped slowly off, clutching his side. They adjusted their uniform and headed in the direction of the office, but they were distracted by the rising dread in their stomach, and walked straight through the door without thinking— fuck, fuck, fuck. They were picking up Edge’s swearing habit. More importantly, they had forgotten to knock. They were now in the office, without permission, with their boss’s cold gaze burning into them. They opened their mouth, but nothing came out, not that it would have helped. Carson stood from behind his desk, his imposing figure casting a shadow over Adair, those black, unfeeling eyes seeming to strip away any defences they may have had.
“Sit.”
Adair hesitated, but closed the door behind them and took a seat in front of the desk, gripping the arms with coiled muscles. Carson walked out from behind the desk and circled the chair steadily, deliberately, before starting to speak in that low, flat voice that made Adair feel like… well, like prey.
“What instructions were given to you in tonight’s assignment?”
Adair swallowed. “Locate… locate the target, and take them out without anyone else seeing,” they stammered.
“In that case, tell me,” Carson continued, “why did I get a call half an hour ago telling me that a certain very-much-not-dead journalist is right now telling the whole city, on national television, about the attempt on their life earlier tonight, followed by a grievously injured lieutenant and you crawling back in here, and, after all of that, you have the nerve to waltz into my office without even knocking?”
Adair’s throat constricted, they felt like all the air had been snatched from their lungs. “I- I……”
Carson stood behind them, waiting; they didn’t dare turn to look.
“He had.. precautions in place that we were not warned about. A sniper on the roof opposite.”
Carson stilled behind them, his presence bearing down on the back of their neck. “Precautions that you weren’t warned about. Is it not your job to anticipate such unexpected events? Is it not your job to finish the assignment, instead of running at the slightest interference? Is it not your job to complete the task given to you without almost getting your partner killed and compromising our entire operation?”
Adair’s impulses got the better of them. “Wait, there was no way we could have known—“
Their jaw snapped shut as they realised what they were saying, but a gloved hand had already clamped down on their neck, thumb pressing into their airway, rings digging into their flesh. They were suddenly acutely aware of how easily he could break them.
“How dare you.” He said evenly. “I gave you this task because you convinced me you were up to it. I trusted you to do as you were trained and follow orders. Yet you failed. You allowed a target to walk free, and still you slithered back here, stuttering excuses and having the audacity to disrespect me on top of it all. I could have you put down for failing like this. I should. Would you like that?”
Adair sucked in a shallow breath, nerves wound tight as a spring as they responded, their words barely audible. “N…no, s-sir.”
Carson didn’t move. “No? What would you suggest then?”
A cold sweat crept down their spine. “I-I don’t know, sir.”
Carson’s breath washed over Adair’s cheek. “You don’t know? You forget your place, Adair.”
Goosebumps attacked their flesh at the sound of their name in his mouth, fighting desperately against the urge to shiver even after he released his grip on their throat.
“I suggest you come with me so we can remedy this little… predicament.”
aaaa writing this has turned Carson from a vague description to a fully solid character whom I hate very much. Yay!
Achilles walked up to the entrance of Carson’s complex, a limp body slung over his shoulders, hands zip tied behind it and head covered with a bag. He buzzed the intercom, once, twice, and waited. Before long it beeped and a tinny voice came through, “What’s the weather like tomorrow?”
“Raining grains of sand, I’d say,” he responded flatly. He heard a noise of approval from the other side, then, “wait. Is that them?”
Achilles nodded, knowing whoever was manning the intercom was watching and scanning him closely. “You gonna let me in or what?” He snapped. The heavy iron doors creaked open slowly, and Achilles strode straight through. The guard on the other side of the doors touched a finger to her ear, then said, “take ‘em through to the barracks. The Boss is waiting there.”
Achilles barely slowed, marching through the complex without missing a beat. He didn’t stop until he got to the barracks, rapping briskly on the door.
“Enter,” came the familiar response. Achilles walked into the wide room to find Carson standing waiting; along with Achilles’ fellow operatives, including (he noticed) Edge, who were all craning their necks to get a look at the figure draped over his shoulders. He stood to attention, dropping the body at Carson’s feet with a thud and waiting for him to respond.
The man leant forward and pulled the bag off, revealing a head of purple curls and a face with an eyepatch, the remaining green eye closed. Achilles felt a wave of excitement ripple through the small crowd, though they remained silent.
Carson let out a small hum of interest, and looked up at Achilles.
“Good work.” He said. “I knew you would pull through, de Caine.”
“Thank you sir,” Achilles replied, “Just glad to be of service.”
Carson nodded, but looked down as just then the unconscious body at his feet let out a groan, shifting slightly. Achilles felt an anticipatory shiver run through the room as Dark slowly came to.
“Wha…” they mumbled, “What ha…pn’d…”
Their eye widened as they saw Carson stood over them, fear striking deep into their heart. He watched them, impassive. “The prodigal son returns.” He murmured. “Or should I say, the traitor.”
Dark gritted their teeth from their place on the ground, and spat directly onto Carson’s shoe. Everything froze. Not one sound could be heard… until Carson brought back his leg and drove his steel-toed boot straight into Dark’s face. Their head snapped back, their body following suite, blood immediately pouring from their broken nose as they failed to suppress a wail of pain. Carson looked back at Achilles, stepping over Dark’s body and leading him out of the barracks — and leaving Dark at the mercy of the soldiers.
Dark tucked their new lighter into their pocket alongside the three magazines they’d just haggled over. Well. They’d haggled over two. And the seller had given them one. He really did have a beautiful lighter.
They wandered out of the stall, not looking back as they headed home. They were a little further east than usual, and the difference was clear. Gothic detailing on some of the older houses. Bigger alleys and roads. And, of course, uptight sellers who didn’t think anyone below their (still limited) pay grade was worth their time. Idiots. They could pretend they were better than Dark all they wanted, they were all in the same boat at the end of the day. Scraping by however they could.
Dark strolled down the streets, unbothered by the contrast their weathered black boots made against the pale stone pavement. They turned a corner and knocked into some guy with earphones in — or would have, had they not dodged at the last second.
“Sorry, mate,” they murmured as they kept walking. Only the guy stopped, pulling out his earphones. “You’re new,” he muttered under his breath, and Dark could hear the smile in his voice.
“Excuse me?” they replied, turning to face him. He was tall, nearly a head taller than them, with black hair and blue bangs falling into his dark eyes, and a self-satisfied smirk playing about his lips as he looked them up and down.
“I said,” he repeated, voice low, “You’re new. Haven’t seen you around before. I’m Jet,” he added, holding out a hand.
Dark’s finger tapped against the side of their holster through their pocket, and they watched him carefully.
“Nice to meet you, Jet,” they said diplomatically, “But I have to get back—“
They were cut off as the extended hand in front of them hit the wall next to their head, boxing them in as Jet stepped forward.
“Shame,” he muttered, his smirk turning hungry, “I was hoping I could get to know you a bit.”
His eyes trailed down their face, his other hand coming up to follow the line of their scar.
“Nice,” he murmured mock-appreciatively.
Dark raised an eyebrow, moving their head away from his touch. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Wasn’t a request, sweetheart.” His gaze became predatory, like a wolf catching the scent of blood, and stepped forward in an attempt to trap them, his face millimetres from theirs.
“I’m gonna tell you one more time.” Dark replied, an edge sliding almost seamlessly into their voice. “Piss off, creep.”
Jet’s fingers traced their jaw before gripping it tight. “No, I don’t think I will, pretty boy,” he smirked, pushing forward—
Dark twisted out of his grip, their boot connecting with the side of his knee. He cursed, stumbling to the side, and swung back, ringed fingers just clipping their jaw. Dark didn’t let that stop them as they grabbed his collar, shoving him up against the wall.
“I said I wouldn’t repeat myself. Back. Off.” They growled. Jet’s smirk was still fixed on his smug face.
“You’re out of your league here, sweetheart,” he purred, then he lunged, shoving hard against Dark’s waist and shoulder, but they used the force to rebound back, pulling their gun out of the holster and shoving it up under his ribs. Jet froze, glaring at Dark.
“Out of my league, am I, sweetheart?” Dark muttered in his ear. “Now, I suggest you fuck off back to the hovel you crawled from and don’t bother me again if you want to stay in one piece, because next time, I won’t be so forgiving. Understand?”
Jet snarled at them, but lifted his hands slightly. “Alright, alright. Leave off, dipshit.”
Dark stepped back slowly, not lowering the gun. Jet took one last look at them with a scowl before skulking away back into the shadows.
