❝ and suddenly i'm an angel on the cutting room floor, wearing gore, a blank stare, not much more.❞
-daphne gottlieb
STRANGER THINGS SEASONS 2 - 4
。° fem oc x steve harrington
。° fem oc x robin buckley
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"DO IT, NINE."
The words hung harshly within those four walls. They were closing in on the young girl whose weight fell through her palms upon a cold metal table. Just over her shoulder, the man stood in tall and thin stature. His sharp nose painted him like the villain of a fairytale. That was, of the original, untouched tales ending in grim tragedy.
Under her rich, dark brown eyes gone bloodshot, the girl's cheeks were blotchy with moisture. Long black locks hung down across her face in messy tendrils matted down by a cap of webbing on her head. On the other side of the table sat a boy no older than twelve. The blue-tinted light washed his olive skin gray, flushing the faded evidence of a black eye. His hair was buzzed to the scalp. In the everything of his eyes was the same glint of fear as all the other children.
He watched the younger girl with the hatred breaking from behind those flecked hazel eyes.
"I said do it, Nine. I won't ask again," The man spoke, behind her. His voice could freeze the whole room over, even more so than before. It jabbed her with a pain that almost felt physical and sent a tear to catch in her eyelashes.
She winced. Then, bridged a link between his mind and hers, and found a narrow pathway inside. Her eyelids fluttered shut. And so she dipped into his memory as though one would stretch a hand into a bath of blackened water and pond scum. Strained and apprehensive.
The boy's mind was a winding maze of intricacies. His memories were sprinkled loosely within the twists and turns. At first, they were of nothing but his life in the lab, hitting the girl in monochrome, until she strained further with a sharp ache to dig to the depths. And as she detached from her own consciousness into everything that his was, she was met with a growth of vibrant color. A feeling of warmth, of security.
