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astroboots · 9 months

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EYEM #12

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel has to face his worst nightmare, again and again.

Word count: 8,600

Content: body horror, violence, angst. please come in prepared.

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Everything is gone.

It's pitch black in here, and it's the only thing he can see in this cramped and confined darkness that's pressing in on him.

There's no air in this congested space. Everything tastes of sulfur and it burns in his lungs. His heart is pounding. Alarm gripping the base of his spine.

He's afraid, but he doesn't even know why. He shouldn't be.

Miguel hasn't been afraid of the dark for a very long time.

With his optical photo-sensitivity, he's more at home here in the twilight than he is in the light.

So why is every inch of him screaming out that something isn’t right?

He moves, trying to make his way forward, but all there is to navigate him is more seemingly infinite darkness.

The only sound in here is a loud beat of a drum that crowds his ears and he can't pinpoint its source. Everything is obscured and he is trapped in this endless eclipse.

There’s no noise that accompanies his footfall in this space. With each step his feet sink into the mire of unsteady ground. If he stops to rest, it would bring him under and swallow him whole. Even a second of delay here is going to cost him.

The thumping noise is still there... It comes harder and faster now, refusing to leave him.

Taking another step, there is something from the dark that tugs at him from behind. It feels like a grip. An unseen hand that he cannot make out in the thick inky shadows trying to grab onto his limbs.

Gritting his teeth, Miguel pushes back against the force holding him, but it’s not letting go. His claws extend, primed for a fight

The loud thrashing beats pulsing in his ears isn't stopping. He knows this panicked rhythm, will never forget it for as long as he lives. It's the sound of your heartbeat as you fell...

He turns in the darkness, and the sight that greets him makes him freeze.

It’s you.

His heart stops.

Your body is wrong, sprawled against the ground, mangled and broken as your arm reaches out trying to clutch at him.

"Don’t go,” you say.

His lungs drop to his stomach. He can’t breathe. Bile floods his throat. He doesn’t understand what is happening.

“Save me,” your voice calls out to him, this time coming somewhere from his left.

He turns towards the second voice to see another you. You are covered in blood. Dried and crusted on your bruised and ruptured skin.

All the fight bleeds out of him. His hands fall limply to his sides.

"Why didn’t you help me?" you repeat.

Your voice echoes in the blank empty space. It ricochets and bounces off the nothingness and returns back to him with a sharp strike to his ribs.

"You promised," you say and the accusation is repeated and threaded into the next, as he hears your voice again, this time from behind him.

"You let me die," a third of you says.

This you is missing an arm. The space where your right eye is supposed to be is hollowed out.

He falls to his knees, but he can’t feel the ground beneath. He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to help or how to save you.

He can lift a 25,000 pound bus filled with school children barehanded. Can incapacitate a genetically mutated rhino-man in ten minutes flat. But he doesn’t know how to do this again. He’s already failed once and he is powerless in a way that a man gifted with superstrength shouldn’t be.

What are superpowers good for, if it doesn’t let him protect the one person he needs to.

Your voice is small and you sound terrified as you look up at him with those wide eyes of yours that will haunt him forever. "I don't want to die."

"It hurts," another you says. It's gargled and pained. Like there are bruises inside your throat.

"Please."

“Save me”

The voices come in a chorus. They swarm him in a cacophony of sobbing pleas and angry accusations. He squeezes his eyes tight, trying to hide from the black void but the only thing that greets him is more darkness. There is no escape from this.

A thick tar rises from the ground and covers him in it, sealing off his mouth and nose. It fills his lungs with a cold viscous liquid until he can no longer breathe.

This is going to drown him, collapse his lungs with the weight of it, and there’s a part of him, if he’s being honest to himself, that wants it to. At least that would make it stop.

This grief in his chest that refuses to leave him. The sound of your heartbeat that fills his every waking moment. It would all finally stop... right?

The darkness swallows him whole. But it doesn't end. It never does.

The weight eases from his chest. Instead of an end, he re-emerges through the heavy muck and grime and slimy darkness, and there is nothing.

Everything is white. A blank empty void of space where nothing else exists.

You’re gone. Every single one of you. And that is so much worse.

Panic rises in him and he calls your name. There is no response, only the echo of his own feeble voice.

He calls and he calls until his throat is sore and raw, but there’s nothing here. Slumping down, he shuts his eyes, trying to forget how he has somehow managed to fail you all over again.

Then he hears your voice calling him. Soft and singular from all the rest.

"Miggy."

He opens his eyes again, and all he sees are your familiar eyes. Warm and loving and the only comfort he’s ever known.

“Nena?” he whispers.

He reaches up until you’re within his safe reach. He holds you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you closely to every inch of him, trying to make sure you’re real.

You’re warm in his arms. Soft and precious. He presses his face into the soft crook of your neck, and you smell like the ridiculously expensive shampoo you get from that hipster store in Tribeca and it makes the homesickness he’s buried deep inside of him all this time crawl up through his chest to the surface.

He will always know you. This you. The you imprinted in his memory for the rest of time. The you that he wakes up every morning missing. The you he misses so much it hurts him to breathe when he thinks of you.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Nena, I’m so–”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, your arm curls around his neck as you pull him down closer to you. “Stay with me here.”

He nods into your neck where he’s buried. Because why would he ever want to be somewhere you’re not?

“I’m sorry. I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to –”

You shush him before he can finish the rest of his sentence. “That doesn’t matter, you don’t have to do that anymore.”

Your fingers thread through his hair, and it tingles pleasantly as you press a soft kiss above his ear. “Just stay with me here. Forget about her.”

Forget?

He freezes in your arms, trying to process your words.

He can’t do that.

Miguel made a promise to you, the other you. The you that is fighting your hardest to survive and live back in New York. The absolutely mad and crazy you that jumped off the Chrysler building and fell from the sky just to lure him out. The you who makes weird sour faces while staring at excel spreadsheets all day long. The you that makes him feel something again. Who makes it feel like everything is going to be okay after all, every time you smile.

He can’t just abandon you.

“No, I can’t. I–I can’t stay here. I still need to protect her,” he murmurs into your skin.

“Stop, Miguel.” The arms around his neck squeezes down around him harder, and to his surprise he can’t get free.

This isn’t right. He tries to move away, gently prying himself off. He needs to save you. Has to help you. Needs to–

“Nena, please, I need to–”

One hard hand cups his jaw, tilting his head until he meets pitched dark eyes he doesn't recognize that are nothing like yours. “You can’t save me, Miggy. You never could. Don’t you understand? It’s your fault I keep dying.”

The voice is cold and unforgiving, and the grip tightens on him until it’s painful.

“You’re just gonna make it worse.”

Sharp nails digs into his forearm until it ruptures the skin. “How many more of me do you have to kill before you stop?”

“I didn’t, I–”

He didn't... right? Is it his fault? Is it–

"Miguel!"

He hears his name. It’s muffled and far away. Like someone is calling him from the outside.

Distracted, he looks up into the void, easing his grip. The warmth and weight pressed against him fades. He looks down to see the outline of a torso and arms crumbling in his arms. The features of your face fading before him into nothingness against the infinite blank white.

No, no. no. Tears and panic wells up in his throat and pushes against the corner of his eyes.

Why does this keep happening? He shouldn’t have let go. Shouldn’t have–

“Miguel, wake up.” It’s soft and familiar and he hears it again. There’s no anger in the voice this time. No pain.

The whiteness fades away back into darkness. It’s warm here, wherever it is.

Blinking slowly, he opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is your face. The warmth of your eyes, the soft curve of your lips.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare again," you say.

You are here right in front of him, real and solid and alive.

He shoots upright in bed, arms reaching out before he can stop himself from grabbing you as he drags you into his arms, clutching you hard to him.

"Miguel–" you yelp.

Too hard, and he knows it, he can hear the small squeak of surprise as your breath is squeezed right out of you.

He’s such an idiot.

He should let you go. At this rate he's going to crush you. He’s a big clumsy oaf that doesn’t know how to handle you carefully, but he can't make himself let go. Can't risk that you'll start to crumble into dust the moment he eases up, or that the universe won't find some way to rip you from him again.

“Are you okay?” you ask breathlessly.

Bile of anxiety pushes against the sides of his throat, but he swallows it down. Forces himself to relax his grip on you and let you out of his arms.

“Yeah,” he answers, but it doesn’t sound anything like his own voice. When has his voice ever sounded that weak? When has it ever trembled like this? Why are his hands shaking?

You observe him with worry, then you reach up, resting one hand on the crown of his head, patting gently. Warmth spreads down to his chest and lingers.

It feels good... nice.

All he wants is to lean in and linger in it.

Instead his mind refuses to let go. A thousands thoughts pushes its way to the front.

How did this happen? Did he fall asleep? He was supposed to watch over you while you slept. How did he end up being the one falling asleep?

"I won't let anything happen to you,” you say. Your hand slide down to cup his cheek, searching for his eyes.

“Anyone messes with you, you let me know. I'll beat them up for you.”

He blinks down at you dumbfounded. The absurd image of you, with balled up fist trying to fight a supervillain flashes before his eyes. Then he bursts into laughter. It's so sudden he surprises even himself and the tremor in his hand stops somehow.

You pull your lips into a soft and playful smile.

“What? You don’t think I can?” you lean in closer to his face, as you continue. “Yeah, maybe you’re right, but I know this spider-guy, he'll beat them up for you. He's really grouchy and mean and he bites.”

The smile on your face is so bright it’s radiant even in this dimly lit room. You’re beaming from it and his heart starts to swell, chest feeling full and warm at the sight of you.

He wishes he could hold onto this moment and make it last forever. You look like a polaroid picture the way you’re bent over in front of him, framed by the window behind you and the pink glow of light around you like a halo.

Pink sky.

His smile freezes. He turns his head to look back at the eerie sky behind you. The fractured cityscape of cracked purple and pink, with its warped gravity and jagged skyscrapers that signals the end of the world. The universe is calling time up and it’s going to try to take you with it.

It wasn’t just a dream.

Shit! He’s not gonna let this happen to you. He can’t lose this. He’s not going to fail you. Not again. Never again.

The smile on your face falters. “Where did you go?” you ask and your eyes track his, trying to re-establish contact. “Did I lose you again?”

He shakes his head, putting on a smile to reassure you.

“I’m fine. Just groggy. Slept too long.” His eyes flicker away from the window, and glances at the clock: 7 A.M. the two of you better get going.

There is no more time to lose. He was never supposed to fall asleep in the first place. He’d only wanted for you to get some sleep last night after the broken sky appeared to calm your nerves. The plan was for you to rest for an hour, max two, while he watched over you, before the two of you would check out of this hotel and be gone for good. He hadn’t counted on his streak of sleepless nights finally catching up to him.

“Go pack, Cielito. We better get going soon.”

You hop onto your feet, shoving the handful of your surviving clothes into your backpack in minutes.

His eyes roam over the hotel suite. As pompous and luxuriously decorated as it is, it’s altogether temporary. It’s just a showroom, nothing in here is lived in. It’s nothing like your tiny cramped little apartment in the Heights that is now just a pile of rubble.

He misses your apartment.

The place you call your home, and in another time and another place, it is near identical to the one he used to come home to every night.

The one with janky second hand furniture you picked up from Craigslist adverts. With a table that has uneven legs that you have to prop up with books so things don’t slide off its tilted surface. Or the surprisingly nice sofa you found on the side of the street one summer which led to the infamous bedbugs wars you so dramatically retell.

In front of him, he sees you stop and scan the room and Miguel knows damned well it’s because you’re considering pilfering any free stuff you can fit inside that tiny bag. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he sees you duck into the bathroom.

Then he can hear the clang and clutter of you shoveling everything that isn’t attached to the wall into the backpack.

Miguel doesn’t have anything to pack. There’s no point, he’s been doing this for years now by himself without hoarding belongings. If he needs clothes or personal hygiene products, Lyla always takes care of it for him. Easier than lugging things around with him from dimension to dimension.

The only thing he’s ever kept is his wedding ring that hangs around his neck.

He eyes the small crumpled up ball of paper, that is your poor attempt at practicing origami, perched on the bedside table.

God, the thing looks messed up and ugly.

Reaching out to pick it up in his palms, he stares at it for a long suspended moment, at its warped folded lines and squashed head. Doesn’t understand how you manage to still be so bad at this even with all the time you spend at it. Origami isn’t hard.

He smiles as he continues to stare at it, before pocketing the sad looking Frankenstein-frog.

It’ll be okay to keep one more thing won’t it? A piece of paper doesn’t weigh much.

From beyond the windows, the sky has cracked open, with a menacing glowing splinter positioned right above the hotel. It’s like a billboard sign, pointing right at your location. It feels purposeful.

“You ready?” you ask, as you pop out of the bathroom with an expectant look on your face. “We better hurry up. We don’t want to stick around when the Avengers come by.”

You say it lightheartedly as a joke, but he can see the unease in your smile, the way your eyes flicker towards the window with traces of fear.

His hands curl into fists at his side against the sheets, and whatever smile was on his face slips away at the sight of you like this.

His fangs itch. Screw the Avengers. They are not going to come close to you. He won’t let them.

"Cielo, it's okay. You have nothing to worry about. If they become a threat to you, I'll take care of them," Miguel says.

You scoff with a small laugh, as you try to zip up the overfull backpack, but the fancy complimentary soaps keep spilling from the top.

"What do you mean "take care" of them? What are you Michael Corleone, what're you going to–" You stop mid sentence.

The playful smile drops from your face. Your hands come to a halt above the flap of your bag, and Miguel watches the realization sink into your eyes.

“No. Don’t be silly,” you say empathetically, shaking your head. “You can’t fight the Avengers.”

“I’ll eliminate them if I have to.”

You drop your bag to the floor, where it lands with a thud and you stare at him in disbelief.

"No. No you're not. We're not killing any Avengers. Jesus! That’s some textbook supervillain shit, Miguel. They’re earth’s mightiest heroes!”

Your fingers wrap around your wrist, fiddling with the smooth surface of the device, as you turn back around and look out over the sky.

"I don’t understand. Why aren’t we just using the watch? You said you were done fixing it. Why do we need to be on the run? I thought that so long as I leave this dimension that will solve everything right?"

A flash of endless white invades his mind. The blank infinite void and your face crumbling underneath his fingers.

Fear grips his spine, and he feels sick at the thought. Has to grind down on his jaw to swallow the bile pressing up against his throat.

"No," he grits out.

"Miguel, what do you mean ‘no’?"

He shakes his head, and his lips itch with irritation, “We can’t use it, Not until we know it’s safe. It’s still untested.”

“Well, yeah? But the only way to test if it works, is to actually use it.”

“Not on you,” he grits out.

“Okay,” you sigh, clearly frustrated with him. “What do you suggest then?”

“We need to test it on someone.”

You tilt your head, brows drawn together in deep thought. “What, like… animal testing? Are we going to find a rabbit or something?”

“No, not a rabbit. Their physiological and genetic make-up is too different. Even if they make it through, it doesn’t give us an indication it’s safe for you. We’d need to test it on someone human.”

Your eyes widen at his answer, and he can see the moment it clicks for you. You take a step back away from him, seemingly without conscious thought, as if some remnant survival instinct is telling you to keep your distance.

“We can’t just grab an innocent person off the street.”

Miguel snaps, veins flashing with heat as his hands curl into fists at his sides, and a blinding white crowds his vision. “You wanna go back to the void!? Is that what you want?”

“No, but what if it doesn’t work? What if they get hurt? Or worse, what if they die and disappear?”

Something cold drips through his chest and he feels strangely numb and devoid of empathy for the thought of those other people.

“Better them than you,” he says.

Your mouth drops with an expression of disbelief as you run up to him.

“No, that’s not right, and you know it! Let’s just use the watch Miguel, we’re running out of time.”

There is a faint phantom sound of a beating pulse burrowed in his brain that won’t stop. He tries to bite down against his teeth to make it stop but it does nothing to mute it.

Fuck, fuck. His head hurts, streaks of white pain lashing against his temple. “We’re not taking any risks,” he grits out.

Something touches his cheek, and the suddenness of it makes him flinch until he realizes it’s you.

You and your soft hand splayed across his face as you tilt him down to meet your gaze.

“The world is literally ending outside because of me. People are going to die if I don’t do this. It’s not up for debate.”

He doesn’t understand.

Why don't you see that none of that is important. That's not where your focus should be. After everything that’s happened. After everything you’ve been through, you need to be prioritizing yourself. It’s the only way you’ll make it out of this alive. Why can’t you see that?

“People are always going to die,” he tells you. “I can’t save them all. But I can save you. You’re the only one I care about.”

Your hand slips from his face and he walks across the room, picking up your discarded backpack from the floor and stretches out his hand towards you.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he says.

You don’t take his hand. Your eyes are glued to the floor, and he can’t read your expression. The jarring beating noise in his head is getting louder now. It aches and threatens to split his skull apart with it.

“I’m not going to leave,” you say, without moving.

A bitter sound crawls out of his throat and it tastes like mud. “I thought you said you wanted to live. You asked me to protect you, remember?”

“I know, but not like this. Not at the expense of other people’s lives.”

God this is ridiculous.

“Let them die! This world would turn on you in a second!” he snaps.

It already did once, and he doesn’t know why you would care about the lives of people who never did the same for you.

You bite down on your lower lip as if gathering courage before you meet his eyes again.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me so far,” you say.

Miguel can feel his own brows draw tight in confusion. You sound so formal and unlike you, like he’s a stranger to you. You’ve never spoken to him like that, even back when he first met you and you didn’t even know him.

“What are you talking about?” he sneers. Some part of him doesn’t want to understand what he’s hearing even as you’re saying the words.

You smile, sad and disingenuous and it breaks his heart all over again, cause he’s seen this smile on you before and it nearly killed him.

“You only promised me three months until the universe collapsed. It’s happening now, so our time is up.”

His heart sinks at your words. So this is how it ends up again huh? You’re not going to let him save you.

He can’t even imagine it. Or rather, he can. Can imagine all too well the myriad of ways you could die. All the ways that he could fail to save you again. Knows he wouldn’t survive holding your broken body in his arms a second time.

“Cielito,” he says quietly, tipping your face up to his with his fingers on your jaw. “Please.”

The unease in your eyes is still there and he has to look away. Drop his own eyes, and just stand there feeling like his chest is caving in and taking the universe with it because…. because….

“I can’t… do this.” The words come out in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t lose you again”.

“Then let’s use the watch. Now. No test bunnies,” you try again, eyes sparking with something like a glimpse of hope.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he knows you’re doing your best to convince him. Because up until now, everytime you’ve asked him something he’s always said yes.

He's never known how to say no to you.

“You might die.”

You give him a strained smile, as you look up at him and his chest aches at the sight of how sad and scared this one is compared to every other one you’ve thrown his way up until now.

“That’s a risk we’ll just have to take,” you say.

Images of you flash before his eyes, crowding his vision. Of your body, broken and mangled and wrong. Your lip split open and blood trickling down your nose. Of your broken bones and missing eye.

No.

Not this time.

Sadness gives into anger. It burns and simmers in his veins until it roars with an unquenchable flame.

“I’m not gonna let that happen.”

He steps forward towards you and at his advance, you retreat, walking backwards until your back hits the wall. You jolt in surprise at the contact, too focused on him that you’re not paying attention to your surroundings.

You have no survival instincts. You wouldn’t survive two minutes out there alone without him.

“Wait! Wait. Miguel, what are you–”

Your arms raise in self defense to fend him off before he so much as touches you. But it’s no use. It doesn’t matter that you’re using everything in you to try to push him away. Doesn’t matter that you’re summoning every ounce of force against him. It doesn’t make any difference.

He barely exerts any effort, circling one hand around both your wrists, and locks them there against the wall to hold you in place.

If you refuse to let him protect you, he’ll have no other choice but to make you. He parts his mouth, holding you firm against him as he bares your throat to him.

One bite. That’s all it’d take. He could keep you safe while he does what’s necessary, you wouldn’t even know what happened by the time you fully wake. It’d be so simple.

Would be.

But there's a familiar sound that invades his ears. The rhythm of your heart pounding painfully hard and fast. The very same sound that haunts him when he's awake and into his sleep.

He looks down at you, your eyes are wide, brimming with tears. There’s fear there.

You’re scared... of him.

His stomach sinks. This wasn’t supposed to be the way it goes.

He just wanted you safe. Happy. Alive. Why won’t the universe let him keep you alive.

“Miguel, please.” Your voice is small, trembling on the words as you barely get them out. “Don’t do this.”

He stops.

Releasing his hold on you, he lets your hand slide back down against the wall.

Fuck, what was he thinking? What was he doing?

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I–”

He stands in front of you, unsure of what to do or what to say as he gazes down on your frightened expression.

There’s a tremor in your shoulder and the wet sheen of tears threatening to spill from your eyes. All he wants is to draw you into his arms, to hold and comfort you to make it better. But how can he do that when he’s the cause of it.

He keeps his distance, staring down at you. He doesn't know what to do.

"Miguel–" you start.

Before he hears the rest of your sentence, there’s a strange sound that Miguel picks up from a distance breaking his attention.

A low hum of an engine, that makes his entire back tense. It’s the sound of something flying through the air. Not large enough to be another helicopter. But whatever it is, it’s moving at the speed of a fighter jet and approaching your hotel.

Everything in him roars to attention as he tears his eyes towards the window.

There is a small silhouette that grows larger as it approaches in the distance against the broken skyline.

Then it's here.

A plated armor of shiny gold and metallic red that hovers in the middle of the sky against your city view of 62 floors up.

A man covered in alloyed iron from head to toe.

Guess that’s why he calls himself Iron Man. Not very imaginative is he.

Miguel can feel you tense up next to him. Before you have a chance to get any funny ideas (like give yourself up) he puts a hand on your shoulder, cautiously nudging you back to stand behind him. He steps forward until his body blocks you entirely from view.

In front of him, Stark enters through the open balcony door moving forward until he’s standing some 10 feet away from you. It is entirely too close for Miguel’s liking.

There’s a crackle in the air as a distorted voice sounds through the speakers of the armor. “Step away from the lady, Big Blue,” the quippy voice that is unmistakably Stark’s says.

Miguel throws a glance at the Iron Man, the way he’s tracking dirt and scraping his clanky metal feet across your hotel room floors.

“I’ve been told by an old friend that these strange occurrences and the looming end of the world are related to our lovely Disney princess over here. So we’re gonna have to take her in.”

“Miguel,” you start from behind him, nudging at his wrist. “It’s okay, I should–”

He cuts you off. “And what are you planning on doing to her if I did?”

Even behind an expressionless steel mask, Stark averts his gaze. A reflexive gesture of guilt.

Yeah, that’s what Miguel thought.

At least the man has the decency to feel ashamed.

Adrenaline buzzes through Miguel’s veins, and he feels the heady rush of it as he unsheaths his claws, primed for a fight. “You’re not laying a fucking finger on her.”

“Wait,” you shout trying to push your way past him, but Miguel blocks and drags you back behind him.

“Don’t hurt him,” you shout above his shoulder.

Christ!Miguel can’t believe you’re still trying to argue Stark’s case when the man admitted he's planning on executing you.

“We’ve built a device that lets us leave this dimension. Things will go back to normal when I’m gone,” you continue trying desperately to negotiate with the bastard.

Stark shakes his head. He takes another step closer, and Miguel feels fire and brimstone crackle in his chest.

“I’m afraid we’re out of time” Stark says, taking yet another step. “We can’t take the risk. We have no reassurance the universe will just reset when you leave.”

You finally stop struggling against Miguel at those words.

“Sorry, Sparkles. No hard feelings. But it’s you versus the fate of the entire universe. I hope you understand.”

Miguel wants to laugh. He's heard that sentiment before.

There is a hellish whirring sound of an engine gearing up in warning, Stark raises his hand as the reactor in the metal armor goes glaringly bright. Aimed in your direction.

Miguel leaps, grabbing you by the waist with one arm and curling his other behind your head for protection. The first blast hits the wall not two inches from where your face would have been.

He pivots midair, crashing into the nearest wall of glass, making sure his shoulder connects with the window for impact to make your escape. Glass shatters around you both as he leaps from the 62nd floor.

The cold evening air lashes punishingly against his face at the descent. Your arms tighten around his neck, and the two of you fall through the sky, in the way you two have twice before.

Miguel cuts through air and gravity, soaring downwards.

He has to get you out of here. Has to throw them off and lose them.

Something sharp whizzes through his side, with a whiny little noise.

Arrows, he realizes. His fangs practically itch with annoyance.

What kind of idiot brings arrows to a superhero fight?

He tears through the air, intending to dodge them, but an invisible force wraps around his limbs with a punishing force.

The only thing he can see is a thin red fog infiltrating the nearby air surrounding him. Some kind of weird, dark magic. Miguel doesn’t linger on the thought for long.

There’s more of them, the stupid arrows. One after another, all aimed with uncanny precision despite the increasing velocity the two of you are falling with.

Miguel should be able to easily dodge them, but with his restrained mobility he can’t guarantee it wouldn’t leave you exposed. At this angle and trajectory, they’d pierce right through your femur.

Shit! He can't risk it.

Twisting in the air, it’s all Miguel can do to press you closer and cover every exposed inch of you that he can. One arrow pierces right through his ankle, another his side between his sixth and seventh ribs.

Fuck!

Kicking out his feet, against the cladding of the building, he tries to break his fall as best as he can as he sinks his claws into the concrete for leverage to climb upwards.

But he misjudges the angle. Miscalculates the weight. Gets everything wrong.

Sharp pain streaks through his leg as he tries to gain traction one last time, gripping with the claws of his feet. It doesn’t work. He falls.

All he can do is brace your fall with his body so you don’t get hurt.

He lands with a nauseating thud against the hard roof below. Back first, absorbing all the impact, and the white blinding pain spears through the length of his entire spine.

Fuck, everything hurts.

He tries to get up, but his shoulder is fucked. The muscles burn, and he can’t seem to move properly, must’ve dislocated it on his way down.

“Miguel, are you–”

“I'm fine,” he interrupts, biting down hard to stem the agonized groan that wants to erupt. “It's fine. We’re okay.”

He takes hold of the sloping roof tiles beneath his claws, the building seems tilted at an impossible angle. It must be the after effects of this dimension warping.

Gripping tight, he uses it to leverage himself upright, ignoring the painful sensation shooting through the nerves of his back.

He hooks his claws into the crevice of the cement and begins to climb. It's excruciating, but he manages it, laboriously dragging the both of you up the short length of wall to settle you on a ledge, where you at least have the questionable safety of steady ground beneath your feet.

Fuck, you’re shaking, obviously terrified. He pulls you to him until he can cradle you in his arms and between his legs, and wrap himself around you, hoping to comfort you.

This is so stupid. He should’ve just listened to you from the start. Should have had Lyla transport you out of here.

Shouldn’t have let it go this far. He just couldn’t do it. Wasn’t willing to take the risk. Couldn’t live with himself if his miscalculation would be what took your life.

He didn’t want to risk it.

But he’s running out of options.

Because he needs you to live. This version of you. This you who drives him mad and makes him smile and makes him want to live again. Singular and unique, and he’s going to love you until his dying breath. Just as surely as he loves the other you.

“Lyla,” he calls out and from your wrist, the familiar amber glow springs up and Lyla appears. “Calculate the location for a dimension jump.”

“What destination?” she asks, simple and straight to the point. For once there’s no sass. Even Lyla must understand the severity of their situation. That more than everything else that preceded this moment makes Miguel worry about just how fucked the two of you are.

He takes a second to think about it. Where could he safely bring you? Somewhere you could be safe without a doubt. A dimension without Avengers or interlopers or mad crazy shit like this that would put you at risk. A place that he knows like the back of his hand.

“Earth 928-C,” Miguel orders.

He watches you, tucked to his side, eyes wide and afraid and guilt grips at his lungs. How has he managed to fuck it up this badly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, gripping firmer around your shoulders. “You were right. I’m sorry. We should’ve just done it your way from the start.”

“Mig.” Your eyes soften, the worry and alarm melting from your eyes.

It doesn’t last for very long. The scent of sulfur singes the evening air. Then there's a bright flash of red lightning against the sky.

Miguel only gets a split second to catch it in the corner of his eyes, then it’s already flying towards you.

He leaps in front of you, pushing you back and out of the way.

Whatever it is, hits him with the force of a tank, catapulting him into the air. He doesn’t have time to react but his latent survival instinct reacts for him, webbing shoots out of his wrist by reflex, sticking to a nearby wall. It’s the only thing that holds him suspended in the air so he doesn’t drop some several hundred feet below.

There’s a high pitched whistle echoing between his ear drums. He feels discombobulated. Like he doesn’t know left from right and when Miguel pulls himself upright, everything spins. He is sure that he is going to be sick and vomit.

Reaching down to his stomach, it’s strangely wet. Must be the fucking rain, which is… odd, because the material of the suit is supposed to be hydrophobic.

He brings up his fingers into view, and instead of the shin gray of water, his hand is soaked in red.

Well fuck.

There’s gashes in his suit. Deep cuts that’s broken through the skin. He’s bleeding. Heavily.

Shit, he doesn’t have time for this.

Where are you?

He grits his teeth, ignoring the sharp and searing pain as he grabs hold of the cold metal of a nearby banister and pulls himself back up to the rooftop. A groan escapes him before he can swallow it back down.

It’s fine. It hurts. But it’ll heal.

It doesn’t matter. He scans his surroundings, searching for you. What matters is you.

On the far side of the next building, he spots your colorful bright shirt. You’re sitting upright, which means you’re still conscious.

Still alive. Thank god.

Relief floods him until he spots the looming shape of shiny metal above you. Stark.

Your mouth is moving as you look up at the man and even with his super hearing Miguel can barely make out the words you’re saying above the chaotic noises surrounding him.

“Promise me you won’t hurt him, please.”

A cold sliver runs up his spine when he hears you. The realization lances through him painfully. You weren’t arguing for Stark’s case before.

Why is he always such an idiot?

Stark extends one hand towards you, raising the repulsor gauntlet. The blazing reactor in his palm blinds Miguel’s retinas with a sharp pain.

“I won’t,” Stark promises.

No. nononono.

Miguel leaps before he can think. There is no thought or tactics. His brain is wiped blank, driven by pure impulse and instincts: to protect you. Keep you safe. Keep you alive.

He tears through the air, feet stomping down on the hard iron torso and Miguel grabs the hard metallic throat under his hand, putting his entire body-weight into it as he slams down until there’s a satisfying crunch beneath. Can feel the hard alloy skull hit the concrete with a heavy and unforgiving thud.

A blast goes off, and there’s sharp and bright searing pain that burns along his entire side, but he ignores it.

He slams down again, blindly and without aim. Until the force pushing back against him from underneath stops and goes slack.

The light on the eye sockets flicker. Then the robot suit slumps and powers down in his grip. Miguel lets go, letting the heavy suit fall to the ground, before pulling away.

His feet wobble on the ground beneath as he takes a step back. His line of vision askew and tilted. He can feel his consciousness slipping, and he has to shake his head hard, to snap himself out of it.

He needs to find you and get you out of here.

Everything spins. The skyline seems to swim in swirly lines, and he can’t tell if it’s his consciousness failing him or the reality around him is warping.

From a distance he sees your small silhouette, running up towards him, and all he feels is relief spreading through his chest.

“Miguel,” You reach for him, pulling off your cardigan and shoving the fabric of it onto him, pressing it up against his stomach to slow down the bleeding.

“It’s fine. Leave it.”

“No, it’s not fine! Nothing is fine! You’re hurt, bleeding and–” your voice is trembling, and he can hear the tears pushing up against the surface as your shaking hands fumble in your attempt to try to keep the pressure on him to stem the bleeding.

You’re in tears over worry for him.

You care too much. Always did, and he doesn’t deserve it.

To his left the arc reactor engine whirrs as it reboots and starts back up.

Stark is conscious again.

From a distance, Miguel can hear the faint sound of more jet engines whizzing through the air.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see the silhouette of a woman rising in the sky, bathed in a menacing crimson halo of an aura.

Bastard is calling for backup. The two of you have only a handful of seconds left at best.

You're surrounded.

There isn’t enough time. Lyla is probably not even done with the calculations. There may still be errors. God knows where the two of you will end up this time.

But it’s now or never.

“Cielito.”

At the nickname your eyes dart up to his. The fear in your eyes calms when you hear his voice, and he can’t help the faint smile tugging on his lips despite the situation the two of you are in.

Even though he hasn’t earned it after everything he’s put you through tonight, there’s still trust left in there for him. It is more than he would have dared to wish for.

Miguel cups your cheeks, cradling it in his hands. They're damp, stained with tears that he wipes away with his thumb.

He wished he had some perfect words that could make them stop. Wished he could have done something that prevented them from happening in the first place.

"I'm not going to let you die." He leans down until his forehead rests on yours.

"I love you," he says, and he just wished he'd said it to you sooner. Wished he'd gotten to say it more than once.

There's a lot that Miguel wishes he could have done differently.

“Lyla.” His hand finds your wrist and the familiar cool metal of the device. Then he presses the button and all he can do is hope for the best.

“Get us out,” he commands.

A burst of light erupts all around him. Bright and blinding.

Please let it work this time.

You wake to darkness. Everything is washed in a hue of moody blue.

There’s no one here besides you. Miguel isn’t here.

Your gaze darts to your left and to your right, but you can’t make out anything.

You can’t find him anywhere. Didn’t you two go through the portal together? Why isn’t he here?

Panic climbs up your chest and claws into your lungs, you feel like your chest is collapsing in on itself and you can’t breathe. Did something happen to Miguel?

Miguel was hurt. He was bleeding a lot. It comes to you in scattered fragments. The sharp smell of iron filling your nostrils. Slick viscous liquid, sticky on your fingers. The sound of his choked and bitten off pain as he tried to protect you.

You can’t do this. Can’t sit here and wallow in your fear when there is so little time. You bite down on your tongue, stifling the pathetic sob that wants to climb out of your throat. You make yourself swallow it back down as you force yourself to stand up on wobbly legs, and observe your surroundings.

There’s nothing here. Just this dim muted darkness. Just more empty space. There’s no wind here. You’re not exposed to the environment, which means you’re definitely inside a building somewhere. Craning your head upwards, the ceiling stretches high over 20 feet at least and you can barely see where the walls begin or end.

Where the hell are you?

Bringing your wrist up, you press the power button of the watch. “Lyla?”

Nothing.

Oh fuck, you’re all by yourself.

You mash the button with your thumb, pressing a little bit too hard, as you call for her again.

There’s a pinging sound, as the holographic image floats above your wrist.

“Sorry, sorry! That was a rough ride,” she says as she straightens her heart shaped glasses that are crooked on her nose.

Immediate relief fills you at her familiar face. “Lyla, where are we?”

She makes a face. “I’m not entirely sure. I didn’t have time to finish my calculations before Miggy had me pull you through.”

“Where’s Miguel,” you ask, and your voice is sharp and shrill even to your own ears.

Lyla peers up at you, eyes filled with something that looks like concern. “Your heart rate is very elevated. You might be in shock. Do you want me to show you edited photos of Miguel in a bunny suit to make you feel better?”

From a distance you can see a door left slanted. There’s a flicker of blue and amber light from beyond it, and you start to walk towards it.

“Is that a door?”

“Uhm, boss-girl I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t know where we are.”

Despite Lyla’s warnings, you keep going, because whatever danger waits behind that door, it’s still better than the alternative of sitting like a lame duck, wasting precious time when Miguel is hurt and in need of help.

You reach the door and peer into the next room. There are holographic screens in the middle of the space raised on a podium.

In the center of it you see him. His familiar broad back hunched over the screens. Dark-blue fabric that stretches wide over his shoulders. You’d recognize him anywhere.

Miguel.

He’s here. He’s okay.

You run up towards him, nearly skidding on your unsteady feet as you begin to full on sprint. “Miguel!”

At your voice, the whole of his back stiffens and straightens up until he slowly turns towards you.

You run up the podium and you feel like you can finally breathe again as you reach him, flinging your arms around his neck as soon as he is within reach. You want to cry with the overwhelming relief that fills up the whole of your chest as his arms come up and wrap around you like a protective cocoon.

“I woke up and you weren’t here, and I thought, I thought…” you’re rambling, words clogged up with the tears you had held back before. Now though, in his arms, the floodgates have opened and there's no stopping them.

“I’m here,” he says.

One hand soothingly strokes the small of your back while his other gently stroke your face, fingers sliding down your throat and shoulder, assessing you.

“You’re bleeding,” he says.

His voice turns cold, gritted out with anger between his teeth that makes your spine breaks out in shivers. “Who did this to you?”

You raise your head from his embrace, looking up at him in confusion.

No, you’re not the one bleeding, the blood is his. What does he mean who did this to you?

“What do you mean?” you sniffle. “I’m not– The Avengers they– It’s your bloo–” your words come out stuttering and scrambled. You can barely think. Your heart is beating so hard you think it’s going to burst out of your chest.

Lyla said this didn’t she? You’re in shock.

His eyes soften at your distress, and he gently shushes you as he strokes your cheeks, guiding you back to his chest. His hand rests on the top of your head as he keeps you there pressed up against him, locked in the protective space of his embrace.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says quietly into your ear. His voice is so soft and gentle, in complete contrast to the iron grip of his arms locked around your chest and back.

It feels different.

You stiffen in his arms, and his hold on you tightens. Your blood freezes in your veins. Something is wrong.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna let anything hurt you, Nena.”

Huh?

No, you’re not–

Miguel doesn’t call you that.

He buries his face into your collarbone, mouth pressing to your skin.

You try to resist, try to anchor your hand that’s trapped between your bodies to wedge and push him away, but he only holds you to him firmer.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs into your neck, and you can feel his warm breath gust over the goosebumped skin. The hint of his sharp fangs scraping across your flesh.

Wait, wait–

“You’re not Mig–”

The rest of it is lost in a pained gasp. His teeth sink into your neck. Bright sharp whiteness blinds your vision and excruciating pain sears through your nervous system. Every ounce of strength in you goes with it, your muscles turn slack as you lose control over your own body.

Everything goes dark again.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my most beloved and bestest of clown @thirstworldproblemss. I love you dearly and I am running out of ways to tell you just how much. You're so special to me and I'm so grateful to have you as a friend and collaborator and muse and everything in between.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse #marvel mcu #marvel #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #spiderverse fanfiction

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alicerosejensen · 1 year

Text

Just angst written for a sad composition. I'm too depressed to write something funny😔

I've been crying a lot lately, so I pour out my pain in text.

warning: angst; reader's death; Leon suffers again; No happy ending; fem/reader

I am a delicate gentle nature. Physically weak, so the reader is anyone but not a DSO agent. It does not say the cause of death, so everyone invents for himself.

English is not my native language, but if you liked the test, let me know that everything is not so bad with my translation. It looks different in the original, but I spend too much time looking for the right words in English.

You were always beautiful. But now, to the disgusting gnashing in his chest, twisting the most cruel pain out of his lungs, Leon did not want to see your dead beauty. This bomb in Washington where his entire squad was killed, and then... you. All his precious love, which he so cherished and protected, lies before him. His cumin, sandalwood, spring rose that withered too quickly. An angel who decided to return to heaven...

All white and silk. The long sleeves of the dress would completely cover your velvet arms, if they were not placed on your stomach, and you are all surrounded by fragrant flowers - roses and lilies. Hair, combed and loose, neatly laid on the pillow, perfectly complements the look. Soon you will be sleeping in the dry earth, and not walking around his apartment in lace. You won't wake up in his bed anymore and Leon won't pull you in for a teasing kiss.

What is left for him now? Remember your facial features until strong alcohol erases them from his memory? And it's almost obscene to die so young...

"My sweet girl... you too cruel to me"

If you knew how much pain your leaving brings him, you would have stayed with him longer. Dear angel given to the desecration of a cruel fate. Leon touches a cold palm, but it seems warm to him, his eyes are attentively following your face, hoping to catch a spark of emotion in this lifeless powdered marble, but you continue to sleep soundly. There is no pulse. trembling fingers wrap around your thin wrist, searching for the gold chain of your bracelet, making Leon's heart creak uncomfortably.

Your light was his strength. As if a long presence in his life helped the gentle sprouts of trust and a calm life to break through the stones of lived horrors.

Leon is still holding on to your hand like a drowning man holding onto a lifeline, but what's the point of holding on to someone who will never return? In fact, he is so tired ... flecks of tears shine in the corners of his eyes, but no one notices them. A new wave of despair covers him, pulling him into the deep sea to the very depths, from where it is already impossible to get out. Being non-religious, Leon now remembers all those angels that his mother once told him about as a child. A barely living echo of childhood slips through the mind, echoing back to real life. It seems that you really were one of those whom he so wanted to see when you were a boy, and now you are just a sleeping beauty who will not be awakened by any kiss from a handsome prince.

But the worst thing is not your dead body in front of him, but these dreams that will torment him at night not letting him forget about you, constantly returning on black wings and slowly pecking at the soul like vultures.

"Come on, princess, have pity on me..."

But you don't get up. If he had the strength, he would have pulled you out of that wooden box, but what's the point? Leon is tired of scrubbing the shit out of himself, but something inside is always breaking. Constantly he loses those he values most in the world, as if everything he touches turns to ashes. He want to get back in the car, open the glove compartment and come back to you only to put a bullet in temple and fall on your chest. Something inside Leon dies again with such new strength that his own body can not stand it. Leon doesn't cry, though a scream of hatred constricts his throat. Why are you lying here and not in your common house?! Why are you silent instead of laughing?! Why, despite all the vows given to him … left him. All emotions are completely destroyed, only you are in front of him like a nameless statue of a talented sculptor. He found refuge in your heart, listened to his beating at night, and now there is only a faint smell of your things that will soon completely disappear and everything that now reminds you of you will also leave him. Leon strokes your hair - it is no longer so silky and shiny and kisses each finger, clasping your thin palm with both hands.

For a second it seemed to him that your eyelashes trembled. Just one moment before someone puts a hand on his shoulder, causing him to grit his teeth. He had your unfinished books at home, a list of films that you planned to watch together, but instead he preferred to get drunk in a bar and feel sorry for himself. Now he will have enough time for this activity.

Leon feels like a nobody. A walking shadow with a heart pierced through and through, from where blood flows in an inexhaustible stream. He lied to you chewing the words "I love you" soaking them with caustic poison and lost meaning. Because if he loved you… he would never let that happen. Idiot … he would now be lying next to you, inhaling your scent and kissing every inch of skin, every mole, every small scar.

Your death killed two, but they mourn you, they sing a serene dirge, seeing you off, as it were, from this dirty and ugly world to another. Cleaner and brighter where you are and a place where you do not need to worry about the safety of life.

This suit he's wearing: black - Leon hates black - buttoned up, pulled tight to strangle himself, and deep despair.

In his memory you are always warm, joyful, beating in euphoria from your small victories. Always beautiful, with a beautiful voice and beautiful dreams that Leon didn't deserve. He will have only a marble headstone, from which he will shake off fallen leaves, bringing you fresh flowers..

He didn't deserve you. But no other woman, not even Ada, can take your place. You left, but his love for you remained, something that supported him in all his missions.

Bitter irony, today is the day of your funeral, and Leon has not yet drunk, although there is already a drunken fog in his head. All he's afraid of right now is that you won't be waiting for him on the other side. He removes the other hand from his shoulder, pulls out of his pocket a small, completely unremarkable silver ring - it's more like a belated request to share the rest of his disgusting life with him, making her a little happier - and puts it on your ring finger, then carefully puts his hand back on the stomach.

You will not share your life with him. And he really shouldn't have put the ring on you because Leon didn't have time to propose. He bought the simplest immediately after returning from New York, deciding that later you yourself would choose what you like best in the jewelry store and already wanted to return home when the bell rang, once again crossed out all his hopes.

"Always a bride and never a wife."

Cruel, but you did worse to him. Three days ago, he would have killed anyone who would cause you to cry, and now you yourself have become the cause of his tears. Him and many others who mourned you.

However, you really looked like a bride. Leon can't help but smile before he says goodbye to you forever. No, you did not take pity on him, did not open your eyes, but he could never be angry with you for a long time. Even now, when everything is tearing him apart, Leon just touches your cheek.

He loved you... so even if your scent starts to fade from pillows and clothes, he will still have your picture. A little reminder of who has always been waiting for him. The bitter amber liquid in a glass may drown out your voice in his head, the image of you, but this shabby photo will always be with him, no matter how much time passes before a new scar appears on his heart.

So the lid of the coffin is forever closed. You disappear into the darkness, although Leon knows (or just wants to believe) that you have long been somewhere beyond the sun. Therefore, today it is not raining and there are no clouds. Streaks of light fall on Leon's face and hair as you go underground, and he thinks you're next to him, resting his chin on his shoulder, the way you always liked to do when he was busy with paperwork. That crystalline hope is the last thing he has left, so he doesn't stay behind to make a moving speech. He doesn't have to say anything, and there's no point in muttering apologies anymore, so...

"Sleep well princess. Maybe I'll go to bed with you soon too."

Because Leon no longer knows how much strength he will have to fight all this.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #reader #angst #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy resident evil #leon scott kennedy x reader #vendetta leon #Spotify

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thebearmage · 1 year

Note

we NEED a part 2 of mindless please 😭

Obedient

Five Hargreeves x GN!Hypnotist!Reader

Part 2 of Mindless

Part Three

Summary: You take Five to complete a mission. He will always obey you. He loves to obey you. And now he has a chance to prove it.

Warnings: Hypnosis, Mind Control, Angst, Gore, Blood, Violence.

Five and Reader are both 18+

Masterlist

You and Five appeared in 1982, you kept your hand tight on your briefcase even though you knew Five wouldn't attempt to steal it. You two were standing in a parking lot, watching as vibrantly dressed people prepared for their get-together.

You wince at the outfits, "God, can you ever imagine wearing something like that?"

Five doesn't answer as his blank gaze slowly takes in the view around him. The glow in his eyes had dimmed to hide his hypnotized state but the once green orbs were now a dark purple.

You sigh cheerfully and point to a building, "The Commission's Board of Directors is meeting there. Go inside and...deal with them,"

Five turns to you, "You want me to kill them, master?"

You smile. You adore his emotionless, monotone voice. You giggle and nod, "Yes, Five. I want you to kill them, and anyone else that gets in your way,"

Five dips his head once, "Yes, master,"

Five leaves and you watch him go, smiling softly.

Five's POV

Five opens the door to the lobby and walks in. He looks around before seeing an attendant. He walks up to her.

"Excuse me,"

"Oh!" She smiles, "You snuck up on me there. If you're looking for the cookies we don't put them out until three,"

Five only blinks, not saying a word. The attendant looks uncomfortable.

"Did you need anything, sweetie?"

"Where is the Midwest Soybean Society meeting?" Five questions, purple eyes never leaving the attendant.

"M-Muskellunge Banquet Hall,"

Five turns on his heel and walks away, the attendant's eyes follow him.

"Something is wrong with that child," she mumbles,

Five slowly makes his way down the hall. He stops abruptly in front of a vending machine, his head turned robotically to look at it.

Five stares at the machine, never blinking, for a few moments before he smashes the glass in a quick burst of movement. He takes a Fudge Nutter bar out of the machine and tears into it. Eating quickly.

He can't get distracted for too long. Master wouldn't like that.

Five grabs an Ax off the wall and stalks into the meeting. Five faintly hears the fish say something but his foggy mind is too focused on his master's voice, ringing in his head like a tuning fork.

Kill. Them. All.

Five leaps into action, cutting off a woman's hand as she reaches for the phone. Everyone gasps in horror as a bloodthirsty smile slowly crosses Five's face.

With that smile and his blank eyes, everyone in the room cowered in fear. Five blinks and the next member drops dead, all dismembered.

Five blinks back and forth, slowly moving up the table. He chops each member into little bits, laughing as he does so.

When he finally reaches AJ, the fish looks up at him in fear.

"She sent you, didn't she?"

"No," Five's bloody face slowly grows blank again, "My master sent me,"

"...No," AJ whispers. It sounded like sympathy, "The Hypnotist got to you!?"

"You have defied my Master," Five drawls, "And now you will face the consequences,"

Five raises the Ax, but before he can bring it down, the attendant from earlier slams into him, knocking him off the table.

As Five tries to free himself, AJ runs.

"You're going to pay for that vending machine, little mister!"

Five elbows her and stands, "Get out of my way,"

"I ain't scared of you, you little pus ball!"

Five takes the ax and swings down, cutting off her leg. She screams in pain and terror.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"

Five blinks, "My master has given me an order, so now I must obey! You have gotten in my way, and thus have threatened my master,"

The attendant looks horrified before Five swings the ax again and ends her life.

Five looks around and sees that AJ is gone. He grabs another weapon off the wall and blinks after him.

AJ was panting as he ran. When Five appears ahead of him, he shrieks.

"Okay, okay. Five, you're Five right?" AJ holds his hands out, "Please listen to me. The Hypnotist has gotten into your head! They're controlling you,"

Five blinks, a curious look on his face, "Huh?"

"Yes, yes!" AJ smiles. Well, as best as a goldfish could, "Y/N L/N has mind control powers, like your sister Allison! They've hypnotized you!"

Five's face goes cold, he holds the weapon up, and AJ yelps again.

"Wait wait! Please! You've gotta snap outta it! There's no telling what they'll make you do,"

Five swings the weapon, hitting AJ's legs. Once the fish's body has fallen to his knees, Five shattered his head.

Bring AJ to me.

Five blinks a few times as he receives the new orders. He obeys quickly, finding a bag and filling it with water, placing AJ inside.

The fish gulps and backs as far away from Five as he could.

He walks out to you, ignoring the looks he gets.

Y/N's POV

You smile when you see Five, bag in his hand. You watch as he stalks up to you.

"Well done, my slave," you purr, stroking his chin. He smiles at the praise.

"Thank you, Master,"

You hold out your hand, "Let's go,"

He takes it and you two blink back into the alleyway Five had first appeared in.

The Handler was waiting for you two, "Well?"

"Go on, Five. Show The Handler what you did for me," You hum, folding your hands behind your back.

Five holds out the bag to The Handler, who gasps happily,

"AJ!" She takes the bag and holds it up, cackling.

You watch her, smiling. She turns to you.

"Well, I think that was a very good test run,"

You nod, "It was. Have I proven my abilities?"

The Handler beams, "You have," she looks at Five, "He'll obey you?"

You turn to Five, "Will you?"

Five nods, "I would never even think about disobeying you, Master,"

You hold a hand out, "See? Completely under my control," You snicker, "With Five working with the commission again, we'll be unstoppable,"

The Handler nods, "Yes, with my daughter and now Five, The Commission is now a force to be reckoned with,"

The Handler holds out her hand, "Let's go," You and Five take it and the three of you vanish without a trace.

———————❖———————

Hello everybody! I hope you enjoyed part two of the Hypnosis Arc! There is more coming you keep your eyes peeled! Also, requests are still open so feel free to send them in if you have any ideas.

Thank you so much for reading! Hope a good day!

Tags: @batknot and @deceasedream69

#five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagines #five hargreaves #tua five #five x you #five x reader #five hargreeves x you #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreaves x reader #number five #tua five hargreeves #angst #hypnosis #mind control #the umbrella academy fanfiction #five hargreeves imagine

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raayllum · 9 months

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I'm torn with Claudia. The humane part of me wants her to stop walking her dark path before she destroys herself completely and find some measure of peace. The fucked-up part of me wants to watch her to lose it and go on the warpath and cause lots of chaos. Is that last one wrong to hope for?

Not at all! I do think we'll see her warpath arc next season, since as Ezran stated/foreshadowed

We all want peace and we all want love. But violence tests us. In a twisted way, it converts us to its cause. Because pain and loss feel so terrible inside, you want to hate. You want to hurt someone else.

Given that Rayla cut off her leg and the trio cost her the chance to save her father's life (since if/when Viren survives, I don't think Claudia will know for a while), I think she'll start chasing Revenge. (Which may lead to even more fracturing with Terry, as "I always believed in you because you had a reason" but we shall see...) And then maybe Soren and Viren will work together to try and bring her home, but maybe only in s7 - so who knows?

But yeah, I don't think ever wanting characters to go through "negative character development" or "fail" means we don't like them or don't understand/sympathize with them. Too often, I think, fandoms can have a tendency to moralize, well, everything, but in this case the choices writers make regarding their favourite characters, i.e. "This Bad Thing happened to Character A so therefore the writers hate them / are punishing them."

And don't get me wrong, I've definitely seen shows where a writing team just did not know what to do with a character, so they just heaped tons of pain on them and/or under utilized them, and who is shown on screen with discussed/processed trauma vs who isn't is definitely a discussion worth having, because none of that exists in an apolitical or aracial space.

However... by no means is the "punishing" angle what's happening all the time, either. What I think it comes from is like, some base assumptions and also a lack of literary understanding for some key aspects I'm gonna do my best at articulating clearly:

1) Operating under an assumption that if you like a character you should only want 'good' things for them, and for them to be a 'good' person, because you are also a 'good' person. This doesn't seem super moralized on the surface, but it explains a lot about "how could anyone like that villain" or offense to "how could anyone want that character to fail" and it's like, idk how to explain that failure and therefore conflict and tragic figures are Just Interesting, Brenda, even if they aren't your personal cup of tea. (I say, as a diehard Macbeth and literary Judas enjoyer lmao.)

2) Ignores catharsis and tragedy as elements of storytelling / as its own desirable genre. Sometimes, you want to watch a thing where you know the whole time everything is going to go horribly wrong for certain characters, or all the characters, and that's what's fun about it. The desirable outcome for every story or character is not a happy ending, nor are all characters or stories built for a happy ending, either. It can be upsetting, of course, when a character we like doesn't get the (happy) ending we hoped for, but that isn't necessarily always the same as a bad ending, y'know? Substantially bad things happening to a character doesn't always mean a narrative hates them; a focus on them is still a focus.

All of this to say: I don't think it's wrong at all to want, or be interested in, Terrible Things happening to a character. It's a thought experiment like any other, and pushing characters to their limits, revealing how they respond under intense or painful experiences - whether than pain is physical, emotional, or something else entirely - is fun and interesting. There's a reason there's are entire genres for Horror and Drama and tearjerker films after all.

Like I've been waiting and wanting for Claudia to snap and become a fully fledged villain since S2 because it was very clear to me just how much she was already Skewed in S1 and S2 made it clear to me that, unlike her brother, she would not be getting on a better path any time soon. Sometimes mess and hurt and mistakes is more interesting than healing, and sometimes it's the opposite (and those things aren't mutually exclusive either).

Like going into S6, I want everyone to Fail so badly (except, arguably, Claudia - who still isn't going to be getting what she actually Needs - and Aaravos, who's going to get exactly what he wants). Watching how characters and their relationships can fall apart, how their own consistent flaws and patterns, can lead them to make awful but understandable mistakes? That's my shit. And getting to see how they do, or don't, come back from that in the season, and in season 7? Chomping at the bit, I'm so excited.

I also don't think that hoping for another end, though, is worse than being excited for a tragic end, because while tragedies are about sadness, they are also - at their core - about Hope that maybe it won't end badly this time. If a tragedy cannot provide catharsis to a viewer, for some reason, then they are still fulfilling their purpose in nurturing hope and indignation in the face of perceived unfairness - that a character could try so hard and still be doomed; that we ourselves often take on tasks that feel insurmountable, that we can take on what looks like a losing battle and still, somehow, win. And maybe we don't - maybe they don't. But tragedies, if nothing else, teach us resilience and the merit of telling a story when you already know how it ends, and the skill of it lies therefore entirely in the execution (sometimes literally).

Basically: hope for whatever you want for whatever character you want, even, or especially, when it's 'bad'. It's what we've always done for a reason.

#thanks for asking #tdp claudia #the english major strikes again #lordjarman #tragedy enjoyer #tdp #the dragon prince

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 2 years

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Too Much is Never Enough || Day Eighteen || Chris Redfield

A/n: welcome to day 18. The theme is sex pollen; I’ve been looking forward to this one.

Warning(s): sex pollen, oral (m), gender neutral reader, cum leaking from the nose.

No Minors Allowed!!

"What in the hell is that?"

"I've never seen anything like it," Canine mentions.

You lower your rifle and lean down to inspect the specimen, but Chris grabs you by the arm and shakes his head in disagreement. It's foolish on your part; a rookie mistake. You have no idea what it is, but it's fascinating. It looks like a plant, one covered in the mold with a pod on the top.

Perhaps it's undiscovered. The child in you wants to know more about it.

He waves in front of his face, sniffing the air.

"It smells kind of nice."

"Doesn't it?" You agree.

Like nothing you've ever smelled before. You can't even describe it; vanilla perhaps. Or pumpkin and cinnamon. Whatever it is makes your mouth water. For such an ugly plant, its scent is heavenly.

A low sudden growl causes you to jerk in fear and from above you, a Lycan drops down. You jump out of the way as it lands on the ground, opening fire on it. As you are distracted, another bursts from the forest behind you, but Chris knocks you aside and on your ass, taking the entire force of the creature as it slams into him.

"Captain!" You shout.

Black spores suddenly fill the air as the pod breaks, having been stepped on by Chris once the creature slams into him. You cover your face in horror as you watch them cling to Chris as he stabs the creature in the head with a knife, killing it. You fear the worst.

But as the spores turn to ash and float away, Chris seems to be fine, albeit a little distant. He grunts and brushes the remnants from his uniform.

"Are you alright, Captain?" Canine asks in concern.

"I think so," Chris answers. "I don't feel––"

Suddenly he grabs his head in pain and doubles over. You rush to his side but it's too late; he passes out cold.

"Did that fucking plant do something to him?" Canine asks.

You have no idea.

"I don't–– What do we do?"

"We need to set up a camp and isolate him, at least until we know what the hell is going on," Canine answers.

You are scared, but you quickly agree.

Hours into the observation, nothing seems to be amiss.

Please let him be OK.

Chris had come to not long after he fainted and upon explanation, he agreed to rest for a while. Canine set out to gather the other unit members who had set up camps across the village, leaving you to watch Chris. It was long and boring.

Humming to yourself, you stare at your captain as he paces inside the isolation zone. He looks fine, though every time he stops to groan, you ask him what's wrong. All he replies is that he's hot; too hot.

After another moment of concerned questioning, Chris turns to you.

"Bring me some water. My mouth feels dry."

You have no idea if it's to do with the plant, but you bring him a bottle and look him over; you have to admit, he smells nice. Your mouth waters at the thought.

"Are you certain you're OK?" You ask him.

Chris drinks down the bottle and tosses it onto the ground.

"I feel a little strange, but I'm fine."

"Strange how?" You ask with a brow raised.

Chris averts his eyes. His face looks flustered for some reason.

"Like... Maybe I'm aroused."

What now? Did you hear him right?

"Aroused, sir?"

"Don't do that," Chris orders with a groan.

Now you are wholly confused.

"Do what?" You ask.

"Call me sir," Chris answers. "Your tone is making it worse."

Is he turned on by you? Peeking down, you notice that he has a boner; your stomach flutters.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Chris glares at you.

"This might not have happened if you would have stayed aware of your surroundings. I stepped on that thing saving you."

"No one asked you to, Captain," you mention. He's mad, but you know it's not his fault; the plant is heightening his aggression. And his libido it seems.

A sudden sensation rouses in you and an idea comes to mind. Perhaps you too were infected a little.

"I can suck your cock if that helps."

"That's out of–– Fuck!"

Chris pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. You can tell the idea is driving him crazy.

"You saved me after all. It's the least I can do," you mention.

"We need to have a word after this is over," Chris states.

Your eyes widen and a grin pulls at your lips. So, he's interested. The plant must be affecting him at a higher rate than you. Too bad you didn't get a sample.

Motioning you over, Chris unbuttons his pants and lets them drop to his knees. His cock makes you lick your lips in anticipation and without a word, you walk over and sink, taking it into your hand. He's warm and so fucking thick.

You flick your tongue across the head, tasting the pre cum. And he's delicious. Taking him in, you bob your head to coat the shaft in saliva. You have no idea what possesses you to want him like this, but you ignore your thoughts to focus on the task at hand. At a slow pace, you consume him, getting used to the size before you speed up; the lewd sounds coming from your mouth nearly drive you insane.

Chris groans and buries his fingers into your hair.

"I'm not going to lie, your mouth feels amazing."

You know he'll never last at this rate. And it's fine. You want him to come undone; this moment is to help him unwind. Who knows how he'd react if the plant took him over completely; a sex-drunk fiend.

Feeling his cock twitch in your mouth, you know he's about to orgasm, but as soon as he does, he yanks your head down and bottoms out into your throat. Cum pours into your mouth, but something is strange. The amount is too much. It overflows from your mouth and splashes onto your knees and the ground.

How is this possible? There shouldn't be so much. You choke, sputtering the warm liquid and to your horror, it comes out your nose. You cover it in embarrassment. The mess in your mouth drips down your chin and stains your uniform. There is no way in hell you are going to be able to hide this. And as Chris removes his cock from your mouth, a rope of warm cum splashes against your nose and cheek.

"That's... Never happened to me before," Chris mentions with wide eyes.

It must be the pollen.

You swallow as much as you can, spitting the rest onto the ground. You imagine you look like a character from a bad porno.

"I feel no different," Chris states in annoyance.

Is he serious? You glance up and notice that his cock is still hard. Fuck! Standing you undo your pants and expose your eager hole to him.

"Maybe this way will help. I'm going to drown if you fuck my mouth again."

"Are you sure? I don't know how long this will last."

Neither do you, but you are eager to find out.

There's no doubt in your mind that tomorrow you aren't going to be able to move. And you don't mind at all.

#resident evil fanfiction #chris redfield #residentevilkinktober2022 #chris redfield x reader #gender neutral reader #resident evil kinktober 2022

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levmada · 1 year

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//graphic death, blood

Levi is in his sights—rather his form, so small and crumpled in the bloody mud like a kicked dog. Harder and quicker, Erwin bears down on his horse, and rides faster than he ever has in his life.

Every other squad has gathered to regroup miles away. When all Eld had to tell Erwin was that Levi volunteered to exterminate the last of the Titans in the area, Erwin wasn't worried. He has always had faith in Levi to do his duty, and he was strong. Unfaltering, superior, ironclad.

But then, the pain. The poisonous tendrils feel as unreal as they very well are, felt seemingly under several layers of skin. If he peeled his shirt up or felt the back of his head, Erwin knows there would be no open wound; if he attempted to walk, it would be effortless despite the pain screeching down the nerves in his leg, because pains of this nature have always been Levi's. They have shared pain and pleasure alike for a long time.

The once-beautiful meadow is a trampled, muddy battlefield. Grasses crushed, steam still lifting off the nodding flowers. Whatever happened here, every Titan is indeed gone.

Erwin comes up on Levi's mangled form fast, and leaps off his horse with no preamble. There is nothing else left in the world except for this.

He collapses to his knees beside him, and calls his name for the nth time—many enough for the two syllables of his name to have lost meaning.

He is in pain, so he must be alive. His hand hovers over Levi's still back while Erwin thinks fast of how to go about this. Whatever he chooses, he must not injury Levi further.

His wings—his cape—lays halfway off one shoulder. Blood oiling his hair creates a red night. Crumpled on his side. Shoulders rise and fall with his stiff breaths, but. So much blood—beyond his hair, soaked into his side and his muddy pants. He undoubetedly sustained a concussion... and... who knows.

"Levi. I used a flare. Medics will be here soon," he says in a flurry, and Erwin realizes he's debriefing him. He doesn't know how to approach this—he has never seen Levi like this.

Erwin cringes as pain lambasts him and speaks Levi's name like a demand once again. "Levi, Captain Levi, wake up and look at me—that's an order."

Levi groans thickly as arms maneuver him onto his back, not allowing him to lie flat, but to quiver in his arms. An enormous sigh of relief leaves him, only for him to suck in a swift, frightened breath. His silver eyes are open, but instead of that silver, all Erwin sees is the whites, the irises rolled back. His skin is pallid and clammy, like a sick man. A stream of aged, thick blood follows down from his nostrils, caking his untidy cravat.

Breaths leave Levi in thick rattles. "Erv'...'vin? You're here."

"Yes. That's it, that's it." Erwin makes a meager attempt to straighten it—he doesn't know why, but that that's what Levi would want—and scoops up the back of his head, cringing at the wet feeling. He's gentle. Gentle as he brings Levi's muddy hand to his side. "I'm here. Use pressure."

"Fuck."

They feel the blunt agony at the same time, but Levi of course suffers the most. His thick rasps dissolve into the weakest coughing despite what Levi appears to be choking on. That something soon spatters Erwin's face and oozes from the sides of Levi's cracked lips.

God, it’s Levi’s blood.

"Sorry. I failed."

"You did not. That's the furthest thing from my mind," Erwin breathes. He runs his fingers through his damp bangs, brushing them off his forehead. He whispers, "I order you to look at me. Don't fall asleep. Help will be here soon. Love, do you understand?"

One thing they have always each agreed on was keeping their relationship inside the Walls. It has no place in battle. In the horrors beyond the Walls. But.

Levi whimpers as his glazed eyes crack open again. "Tired."

He doesn't look, or sound like Levi, Erwin realizes. Let it be possible he somehow mixed this fallen soldier up with Levi. This is a dream. Dreams don't make sense.

Erwin's abdomen is wet with blood. The blossoming red is growing, and Levi is fading. He feels his strength seeping away as it happens. Erwin feels it in his own bones.

Levi is dying, Erwin realizes, his stomach plummeting. In his arms. My Levi.

"You can sleep in the injured wagon, so you must hold on a while longer. This is nothing but a setback. I could not, be happier with what you've done here." He whispers these brittle reassurances through the echoes of Levi's pain.

Levi utters a low moan of pain. "Talkin' like. I'm."

Erwin keels over, carding his bangs back rapidly. He cradles him in his arms, holding on while he loses him more and more. "I am not. I simply, could not have more love for you. Levi." He touches his pasty cheek.

And more and more. "Levi?" Wet sobs increasingly infect Erwin's voice. He brings their joined hands over Levi's heart and strokes, as if that will help.

"Stupid Blondie..." He coughs. "Blondie boy."

"Ha... Yes, that's me, my love. I'm... I'm right here with you."

Levi's eyes flutter. "Tired." They seem heavier than steel. "Erwin," he says, quiet, broken and so meek.

Bluish-silver fogs, and dulls as the light behind them turns vacant. His eyes are opened into slits, but they don't see—they will never see again. His lips parted open, but will never again speak. The full weight of Levi's head sags down on his palm.

A random sob shoots up in Erwin's chest. An agonized shout is torn out. Pain of loss, a loss like this, goes beyond description. It's impossible to name and define. It is like being possessed by demons, torn by the gnashing of teeth. For seconds on end, the sensation of ripping and tearing is Erwin's entire life.

Wet tears bleed against Levi's neck. He is still here, but he is no longer present. When he calls his name, there will never be an answer. His demure and disgruntled remarks and teases and the way his eyes light up, and hover shut in passion, and quirk when he's suspicious, all these moments and times over days, hours spent, in years.

No longer.

🏷️: @sparkywrites25 | @mrsackermannx | @youre-ackermine @lovolee3 | @spouse-of-the-rulers-of-hell + link to be added

#hey. the consequences of being a tv girl listener #erwin x levi #eruri fic #eruri fanfic #aot angst #eruri angst #eruri is canon #aot imagines #attack on titan angst #levi x erwin

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kira-the-whump-enthusiast · 10 months

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Day 6 - Deprived

Synopsis: Direct sequel to Day 3 - Stitches and Bandages! Isaac doesn't get a break! He gets to be interrogated on his past crimes with a piece of glass stuck inside him :)

Content: Stress position, hanging by wrists, dislocation, I don't know if there's like a term for this but there is a glass shard literally embedded in Isaac, also there is gore here, organs go outside the body, immortal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, implied past murder and cannibalism, past vivisection, very informal interrogation, delirious whumpee, sleep deprivation, some rough like wound stitching

Tagging: @whump-in-the-closet @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @eric-the-bmo @befuddled-calico-whump

—

The blanket sat crumpled in the corner, unused and abandoned.

Not that Isaac wanted to leave it that way. It was just a little hard to use it when he was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling.

He couldn't feel his hands. His muscles ached, and his shoulders had dislocated… when? He couldn't tell how long it'd been.

He was so goddamn tired.

And yet he couldn't even fall into blissful unconsciousness, on account of the shard of glass lodged in his abdomen. The smallest movement pushed it deeper into his liver or his stomach, overtaking his world with bright pain. Isaac wanted to scream, but he had no energy left for that.

He hadn't got a moment of sleep since he was strung up.

So he was awake when Kasumi sauntered into the cell with that smile Isaac had come to despise. He wanted to do something, anything, to make her feel even a fraction of the pain he was feeling right now—but he was the one chained to the ceiling, and she was the one with the key.

And he needed to convince her to let him down. Let him rest.

He'd kill for an hour of sleep.

“Please… I’m sorry…" Isaac croaked in despair. "What did I do wrong?”

Kasumi stroked his cheek with a patronizing smile and he flinched away as far as he could muster.

“Well, where to start…?” She mused.

“Hm. That ring. The one I found on you. There was something engraved inside.” She stared at him straight in the eyes like she was expecting an answer. Isaac was… confused, to say the least.

Getting closer, so close he could hear her breath, she asked him, “So what does the name Marcelina mean to you?”

Isaac winced. There went his hopes of ever being let down.

This isn’t going to end well.

“Just a friend I had,” he quickly lied.

She grabbed his jaw and gripped it tightly. “Oh, really?” She breathed into his ear.

Isaac strained to get away. “Yes,” he whispered in a small voice.

A punch landed on his chest, sudden and violent, right where the shard of glass was lodged in his torso. His world exploded into pain, bright colors flashing, obscuring his vision, and he screamed until it turned into sobs.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Kasumi whispered.

Isaac nodded frantically, breaths ragged and torn.

A finger pressed into the skin above the glass, not enough to really hurt, but enough to send a jolt of vibrant fear through his body. He couldn’t stop shaking, his muscles were giving out, he couldn’t—

“So,” Kasumi started, and Isaac was listening.

“Who was Marcelina, and what did you do to her?” Her smile was gone, her eyes cold and grave.

Isaac tried his best to not remember the nights before he woke up in this latest basement cell. Because in the darkness lurked endless amounts of guilt. Guilt over what he’d done and the blood he spilled. And horror that, despite everything, he’d do it all again.

Marcelina was a wonderful memory, one now tainted by whips and shock collars and endless starvation.

He still remembered what it felt like to rip and tear and devour and eat. And it felt good, it felt right, like everything was falling into place. And he wanted to do it again.

He couldn’t bring himself to admit that to the one person who’d destroy him for what he’d done.

Fingers brushed his throat, gripped, and started to squeeze. Isaac bit back a scream—he couldn’t waste air—and stared at Kasumi with a pleading look and tears in his eyes. I’m sorry. Don’t do this.

Kasumi returned his gaze, unrelenting. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

Isaac nodded and closed his eyes.

"Desecrated her body too, hm?"

He nodded again, more slowly this time.

“And that’s why I do this.” She let go, and Isaac only had a moment to breathe before she kicked him in the ribs.

He swung from his wrists and he cried, desperate and broken, as the shard of glass inside him jolted and cut through his stomach.

She turned to leave, and Isaac’s mind overfilled with blank panic.

“Wait, wait—please! I’m so tired—please, I’m sorry, let me down, please—”

Tears blurred his vision and it was getting hard to breathe. “I can’t, I can’t take it anymore, just take the glass out at least?”

Kasumi stopped in her tracks, and Isaac breathed a silent sigh of relief.

It shattered as soon as he saw her smile, cold and hungry like a predator catching easy prey.

“Oh, well, if you insist.”

She unsheathed a knife, one that glinted and shined in the bright fluorescent lights.

—

His thoughts had long since melted away, dripping to the ground like the blood pouring from his chest.

Kasumi cut the shard out.

She didn't bother to sew him back together.

His guts were spilling to the floor—god, that was fucking disgusting—and he wanted to vomit but he had nothing in his stomach to throw up.

Isaac coughed violently, and his vision turned white for a second, his broken ribs crying in pain.

He just wanted to sleep, but this? This just felt like dying.

He was sweating from the warmth, yet paradoxically he felt much too cold. Vaguely, Isaac remembered the blanket in the corner.

All this for a stupid fucking piece of fabric.

He should have never tried to get it back in the first place.

—

Isaac was released from the chains eventually—he knew because he crumpled to the floor the moment they were loosened and hit his head on the concrete. The world was blurry, all the sound drowned out by the pounding in his head. And he didn't know what was happening—frankly, he was surprised he ever was let down at all.

Someone—Kasumi, he supposed—was sewing him up. Little pricks in his skin, pulling it back together.

It felt too much like when he was on that table, and he squirmed and tried to get away—but a hand roughly pushed him to the floor, adding another bruise to his skull. He managed a weak cry of pain. Stop it. Please.

She hummed as she worked, ignoring Isaac's muffled whimpers and fever-hot temperature.

Eventually, she tied off the last stitch, and Isaac wanted to cry in relief. He didn't get any chance to. She forced his arms back into their sockets, quickly and brutally, disregarding his screams.

Leaving him on the floor, she exited the cell without a word. He relaxed the smallest bit. A break. That was all he wanted.

He could finally breathe a little easier.

The abandoned blanket laid in the corner of his gaze, and with what little strength he had, Isaac reached for it. He had no energy to drape it over himself, instead hugging it tightly to his chest.

He gave everything to have it.

And it wasn't worth it. Not at all. But as he drifted off to sleep for the first time in ages, he realized just how much he had missed its warmth.

—

AN: I love being mean and evil to Isaac and oh man this isn't even the worst thing that's happened to him in this plotline

#whump #whump writing #immortal whumpee #stress position #gore #tw gore #whumper turned whumpee #wij23day6 #whumpmasinjuly2023 #oc isaac #oc kasumi #my ocs <2 #my writing

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themagnusbane · 1 year

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GAP The Series Episode 10 Thoughts

Knowing where we left off: some joy, some gay and a topping of pain, I'm hoping that we get a resolution to Mon's "Khun Sam deserves better than me" derailment, so we can get more of our beloved sapphics, before the wicked witch of a grandmother shows up to, like my people would say "pour sand inside their garri." If you're not Nigerian, that probably flew right over your head. Sorry.

I love the irony in just how much I love Mon's love pajamas! It's soooo cute!!! I want!!!!!!

2. But on a side note though. Every single time they wake up with a face full of makeup, I cackle at how unrealistic it is. Like sure, if Idol Factory wants to convince me (which they absolutely CANNOT because I have eyes!!!) that Mon wakes up every morning with her lips soft and dewy and just that smattering of the right blush on her cheeks, and her eyes that pop, one question still remains... WHAT ABOUT THE BED HEAD? WHERE IS THE BED HEAD GAP THE SERIES???

3. Awwwwww. Look at Sam smiling at her beloved. MY HEART!!!!!! But also. Are we just going to ignore the fact that they had a fight with Sam walking away, just the previous episode? Did they think we forgot? Or is Sam just so hopelessly in love that she can't stay mad at the sight of Mon's gorgeous face. Which...

4. The hug from behind. The "Good mornings". That kiss on her cheek. Them walking hand-in-hand. They're killing me your honor. They're killing me with all that sweetness and I AM DYING A VERY VERY HAPPY WOMAN!!!

5. Ah!!! So they started from before-the-fight. Okay, that makes sense. Cuz I was worried for a moment that the show wasn't going to address it. Which now that I think about it... GAP honey. I'm so sorry I doubted you for a minute there. I know you are not that kind of girl. I can't believe I briefly forgot that. Please forgive me!!

6. Ooooof. The fight is still as painful the second time around. Mon sweetheart, we really need to get your self-esteem up. Sure you're a "commoner" [I really REALLY hate that term!!!], but you're a commoner that Sam loves. Why can't you believe that? I would understand if her reservations are around whether or not Sam's grandmother would be accepting of her, considering her gender AND her commoner status, but she's coming from this from a place of "I don't deserve Khun Sam", which urgh!!! I really hope Sam sets her straight and is clear in how perfect Mon is, and how in fact it is Sam who is underserving of her, and not the other way round.

7. Gghghghjgjhghj. Cher complimenting the colour of Sam's car is like that cliche of "I a gay man, likes sports" and I am cackling because this is so fucking hilarious and I love how they're giving my sapphics ALL the cliches. Yes!!! Feed them to me. Shoot them directly into my veins!!!

8. Cher being all "of course the weird girl will give her car a weird name" is SENDING ME!!!! But... she's not wrong though. The only thing is, we and Mon, love Sam just the way she is. Hehehehehehe.

9. Mon Sweetheart, I know you want to get something nice and expensive for your girl. But Sam doesn't want that. The only thing she wants from you, is you. Your love, your goodness, that big, big heart of yours. Why would you feel bad about not being able to buy the woman who has everything, something lavish. Look at Kirk! He could do all of that. But is she with him? No!!! You are the one she wants! Let that sink in. PLEASE!!!!

10. See!!! I knew the minute I saw Cher, there was a connection between us!! I just knew that this was a lesbian who could wreck me, an acerbic tongue, with a sense of style and common sense to boot! Tee is still my goddess, Nita would destroy me, and for Cher I would risk everything. GAP is making me even more happy that I am polyamorous. BRING ME ALL THE SAPPHICS!!! I want to collect them like Pokémon cards!! But also, MON ARE YOU LISTENING TO THE OLDER SAPPHICS!!! Money can't buy love!! Sam knows this. She recognizes this. I hope after this conversation, you would too!!!

11. Romance. Comedy. Drama. Horror. Would you look at that Mon. Risa and Cher's story has the same elements as yours and Sam's. Even down to the wealth and the family that hopefully Sam cuts off because fuck that evil witch of the West masquerading as her grandmother!!! But yeah. Listen to the slightly older and much happier lesbians Mon. Grab your happiness and your girl by your hands and don't let go. Cuz her grandmother would do enough objecting of you both's relationship anyway.

12. Aaaaaaaand... Speak of the witch and she doth appears. Urgh!!! Why do I have the feeling that she probably knows that Sam isn't with her friends, and this passive aggressive phone call with the "is Kirk not with you", is just her testing her granddaughter to see if Sam would lie to her. Urgh. This woman gives me anxiety!!!!

13. I knew it!!! Look at that look in her eyes. She totally knows!

14. Kirk. You piece of trash with your ghost-looking face!!! You know that telling her "you should hear it from Sam" would confirm evil grandmother's suspicions. But you want to keep up the facade that you are a good person, whilst nudging her in the direction where she will confirm everything. You shady bastard. Urgh!!!!

15. And of course evil grandmother is all "I'll handle it" with that conniving look on her face. You see what you did there Kirk? You set her in that direction. Let her see the hesitation in your eyes, indirectly confirmed that you know Sam's with someone else, and have therefore set off the snowball that would seemingly get you what you want, even though it would make Sam miserable. I really, really don't like you!

16. Awwwwww. Look at that sweet apology. Look at Sam being honest about her being hurt, and why she is hurt, and what her fears are. You see that Mon? You're not the only one with fears and doubts. Sure both your concerns have different faces, but the key to solving them is COMMUNICATION!!! Glad you both are finally doing just that!

17. OMG!!!! It's Tee and Yuki, on their couple's retreat as well!!! Look at all my favourite sapphics, gathered under one roof!!!!

18. Sam's "you must have been sent by grandmother, you a spy!!!" talk is sending me!!! And Tee's being able to guess that Sam's grumpy reception is because she and Mon are fighting???? Chef's kiss. I LOVE THIS WOMAN EVERYONE!!! I WOULD DIE FOR HER!!! Tee, I love you. I will make you the main interest in my harem of women. Be mine!

19. Risa and Cher flirting in front of my single salad is making me feel even more single.

20. Awwwww. Look how quickly Sam ran to Mon's side, when she thought she was hurt. Even whilst angry, she's still like "Mon, you come first!" My darling. My baby. My precious.

21. Of course she's not angry anymore. She can't stay mad at you for long. It's why she's so precious. How adorable!!!!

22. Hehehehehe. Cher and Sam have such similar personalities, watching them clash makes me cackle so hard. You can basically see both their Persian cat furs bristling at each other, with Mon and Risa having to work extra hard to calm their women down. This is glorious. Look at them fighting over festivals. Ha!

23. Yo! Why am I only seeing two couples and two lanterns? Where are Tee and Yuki??? Where's their lanterns???? Are they helping with Mon's surprise???? I have questions!!!

24. OMG!!! They are!!! Ha!!!! Is she proposing??? OMG! OMG! OMG!!!! They're totally doing a proposal/marriage thing right now. I am not crying! I am not crying. These are not tears! It's my allergies acting up! OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

25. That was so sweet! THE SWEETEST PROPOSAL!! My heart!! I can't stop grinning. That was sooo good, and so beautiful. I love love y'all!! I LOVE LOVE!!!!!!

26. I swear, I think these two became even more radiant after Mon's proposal. It's like them settling into the knowledge that they love each other and want to spend the rest of their lives together, filled them with the honeymoon glow and I AM LIVING FOR IT!!!!

27. Hold up! HOLD THE FUCK UP!!! Isn't that her elder sister??? The oldest, who wanted to become an artist and witchy grandmother burned all her things??? OMG!!! It is her!!!! Look at that glow!! Look at that radiance!!! She is incandescent!!! That is what happens when you get out from under the roof of the wicked grandmother of the West! Sam!! Take a cue from your oldest sister and bounce. Tap into the radiance you deserve. Cuz your shitty grandmother doesn't deserve a modicum of goodness from you.

28. See. I understand what she is saying. And somewhere buried beneath all that, is the truth of what I want Sam to realize (she will never be happy living with her grandmother and she needs to cut the woman off and never look back), but there is a decent way to make that statement, and calling your younger sister, who you abandoned (because she is the oldest, and she basically left her two younger siblings in the hands of an abusive and toxic relative, without trying to create a situation where they can come to her and rely on her and ask her for help), who died trying to get away from the evil witch, weak, is so not cool, and is in fact very cruel.

29. Aaaaaand of course, the witch of a homophobe that is her grandmother now knows the truth. I am bracing myself for carnage because we all know that the person who's going to get the brunt of the disaster that is about to go down is poor, innocent Mon.

30. Urgh!!! It's already here. I don't want to see this. She's about to manipulate her in some way isn't she? Poor Mon. You don't deserve this.

31. See? She's starting things off by establishing that she knows everything there is to know about Mon. That she knows her family. Her friends. Her history. Before outrightly stating that Mon planned everything, and set things up to be close to Sam. And of course she's going to bring Kirk and his "feelings" into this. Which FUCK YOU GRANDMOTHER! Mon sweetheart, just because he was good to you, doesn't mean that you have to sacrifice your happiness for him. Because trust me, if the tables were turned, his entitled ass won't do shit.

32. And of course they are double-tagging to try and break Sam and Mon up. Fuck you and your apologies Kirk. I hope you fucking choke, you lying, backstabbing piece of shit. We already know that her grandmother is going to rot in all the nine hells. But you? You piece of shit who pretended to be a good person, until you weren't able to get the girl... You are so much worse!

33. He really fired Chin and Yha???? And we all know it's a set-up to whatever it is that evil grandmother of the West has set in motion to get Sam and Mon to break up, to to have Sam do what she wants. Which urgh!!! Please tell me Yha wouldn't out of anger at getting fired, want to pull Mon down, because she also knows their secret! Urgh, this is a mess!!!!

34. On one hand, I'm cheering Sam on for being all "I am going to fire Mon. And date her outside of the office. Thank you for opening my eyes to that possibility". But on the other hand, I don't think Kirk is done with his stupid plan and I'm anxious about what he and that grandmother witch have planned.

35. I can't believe I'm saying this but Nop... You are a good egg. You have sense. Who would have thought that between you and Kirk, you would be the one with the backbone and the cool head on your shoulders. Yes please! Call out trash grandmother for her trash ways. Fuck the bourgeoisie. FUCK HER!!!! And thank you for encouraging Mon to pick up Sam's calls and talk to her. You see that Kirk? YOU SEE YOUR MATE?!!! Just like you, he too was interested in Mon. He wanted to be in a relationship with her. And when she said no, he backed away. When he discovered her relationship with Sam, he supported her. And now, he's encouraging her to be with the woman she loves. Nop's baby finger is better than your entire ass put together Kirk! Infinitely better!!!

36. Urgh Mon. Just tell her the truth already!!! None of this "I miss home" nonsense. If y'all's relationship is going to survive, you need to tell her that her grandmother came over, and tell her all the trash things, that witchy vampire of a grandmother said.

37. Atta girl. You did good. And Sam's immediate 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you face this" has me bawling. My precious babies. I want only happiness for you both!! You need to walk away from your grandmother Sam. But knowing Mon, she would feel extra guilty if she felt that it's because of her that you walked away from your witch of a grandmother which urgh!!!! Toxic family relationships are the worst!!!

38. Her grandmother's house really is stunning. But it's cold. So fucking cold. Fitting for a witch in her soulless castle. I swear if this conversation doesn't end with "Grandmother. If you love Kirk so much, then YOU marry him," I am screaming at my TV.

So yeah. We get happiness and sapphics in love, and proposals. But we also get this nonsense with Kirk teaming up with Sam's grandmother which urgh!! This will probably be our lives for the next two episodes until the end of the series. But you know what? The fact that I only have to hang in there for two more weeks, until they kick Kirk to the cub, and hopefully break the bonds with grandmother witch? I can hang in there. I just want to see my babies get their happy ending. And I'm willing to do anything to make that happen for them!!! Including praying and hoping that dishonorable witchy grandmother croaks. Cuz that's the one solution I see to all of this.

#gap #gap yuri #gap the series #sammon #monsam #sam x mon #mon x sam #becky armstrong #freen sarocha #beckyfreen #freenbecky #gap the series episode 10 #gap the series thoughts #noria watches gap

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fanartalchemist · 1 year

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Lucid decapitation

WARNING: body horror, mention of decapitation and gore.

what would happen if snorpy never went in to save their sibling? maybe it would work for the better... or worse.

also, spoilers for the game, especially Floofty's side quest.

P.S. this is my first time writing a story, so I like to hear how well I did or how I can do better.

"I cant believe this is taking Me more than 24 hours to set up this contraption. Its literally the middle of the night by the time I got it set up." Floofty mumbled to themselves as they made some finishing touches to the recycled machine. " Why should I be complaining? At least the journalist is doing the difficult part of catching a Bugsnack for the experiment. Not only that, Snorpy decided to bring Chandlo along with checking out the disturbance up on frosted peak. At least my anxious sibling wouldn't sabotage my work again."

Deep down, Floofty was a little bothered that their brother wouldn't be there to see their success, or at least be there when something goes wrong. What were they talking about? If the journalist doesn't back out on their plan, they're the only help Floofty needs.

Speaking of which, Buddy came back with a Strabby in their paw. "Ah, you've got the perfect Bugsnax for the contraption. Excellent." Floofty spoke excitedly. "And in a perfect time too, because I happen to be done with setting the device up."

Buddy stared at the machine Floofty was in front of, with terror forming in their face. "What in the grump is that thing?" shouted the journalist. Its clear to floofty that they never saw snorpy's other prototype inventions, despite how close they were as friends.

"I borrowed one of my brothers patented 'Grumpinati traps' and made some modifications." Floofty informed as they stepped into the machine. Once on the device, the machine already strapped them in. "Once the device is activated, snacks will flow into my open mouth, thus triggering my regeneration."

Buddy stared at it for a few more seconds before they finally spoke "This is terrifying.".

"Yes, I surmise that is why I'm in inside the device and you are not." Floofty responded. They couldn't see the journalist while laying on the cold piece of metal they were strapped in, but could easily hear how distressed Buddy was from their shaky voice.

"How do you know this will work?" Buddy questioned once more. To be honest, Floofty a little distressed about it themselves. Why should they? They came so far, they shouldn't stop now. It should work, since they sucessfuly regrown their leg. They've researched Bugsnax for almost a year. Why would that journalist question what they do when they haven't been on the island for even a month yet?

"I don't. that is what the experiment is for!" they told the journalist. "I need you to load the funnel at the back and then we can begin.".

It was silent for a moment, with Cobhoppers chirping in the background and leaves rustling in the wind. Floofty hoped that the journalist isn't backing out on their project the second they could finally see the results. Finally, they hear Buddy' footsteps going toward where the funnel gets loaded. They heard the Strabby's cry before Buddy shut the door of the funnel device. Once they did so, the blade of the machine automatically started spinning.

There was no turning back. Floofty tried to remain calm as the blade came closer to their head. Thats when they realized how painfull the process is going to be. They never took anything to numb the pain, because they want to have a clear mind when they need to take notes. They started to regret not taking anything to help with the pain that they were about to face.

Before they could think further, the funnel loaded the strabby into their mouth. As much as Floofty wanted to savor the delectable creature, they had to swallow it before the blade came down on them. That was officially their one final meal.

The blade finally punctured into their flesh. Floofty screamed in agony as the blade dug further, only to be silenced when it cut through their vocal cord. Floofty could hardly breath as blood fills their lungs, only to no longer breath when it finally cut through their throat and their wind pipes. When it finally cut through the spine, the feeling of intense agony, along with the feeling of cold metal they were being restrained by, has disappeared from the chest down. Once the blade has completely cut through their body and quickly went back in place, some sort of unknown force pushed their decapitated head off of the device and onto the soft, grass-covered ground beneath them.

"I...I'm still alive?" floofty thought to themselves, no longer being able to speak. "I supose this is the result of lucid decapitation: when the head is still cautious even after being removed from the body." luckily for floofty, they landed facing Buddy and their body laying on the machine. They could easily see the journalist, finally removing their paws from their eyes to look at the final result. As for their own body, its difficult to see since its in the shadows of the huts. Once the restraints were removed, it took only a few seconds before they could see movement in their paws. Flooftys body has sat up, showing that their head has been replaced by another one. It looked like their head from the darkness, but without their goggles on their head.

It was a success. Floofty was right about the regeneration of bugsnax. As proud as they were, they soon realized that their body now has a conscience of that of a strabby. Floofty assumed that the only thing that creature would do was scamper and wonder around like simple creatures they are.

They looked at the journalist, seeing their shocked expression. " Wow, it really worked" Buddy said to the still alive head of floofty. The creature, now hosting floofty's body, face towards the journalist. That grabbed both of their attention. The creature hopped off of the restraint platform and started creeping towards buddy. The journalist's face towards the creature, with their expression changing from surprised to genuine fear.

"Wait a minute. Stop! What are y..." Buddy pleaded before they were interrupted by the creature pouncing onto them. The monstrosity went at them with their teeth in their throat, and tore it off from their neck. Blood dripped from the monsters maw as life disappeared from the journalist's body.

Flooftie's eyes started flooding with tears as they saw the corpse of their friend. They never expected the bugsnax to commit a murder this barbaric, not even a strabby. Was this the hidden nature of bugsnax this whole time? Was this the price they have to pay for messing with the forces of nature?

The creature quickly turned toward Flooftie's decapitated head from across the contraption. It slowly walked from the corpse next to the funnel to the severed head. It picked them up and held it to the point where Floofty could finally see the face of the monster. Its eyes were that of the bugsnax, with its head being that of a rotting strawberry. Its hair are made of leaves in the same style as flooftie's, and the teeth are that of stems of strawberries. looking deep into the monsters pupils, they see themselves in its reflection.

As the creature removed the goggles from floofty, it spoke. Its voice was that of flooftie's, but distorted. "You were very helpful, but we have no use for you anymore". Flooftie's vision started going dark as the creature brought its head towards its mouth, and gobbled it up.

____________________________________________________________

"Wait. Stop!" Floofty shouted as they sit up from their bed, breathing heavily. They woke up with cold sweat soaking their bed of their brother's apartment. They looked at themselves, and felt their chest and head to see if its still attached. It was all a dream, or a nightmare in this case.

They gave themselves time to calm down and recall the current events. Floofty is still alive, everyone escaped snaktooth thanks to Lizbert and Eggabell (assuming they are the queen of bugsnax) as the volcano went off, and now they are seeking temporary refuge in an apartment with their brother snorpy, and his boyfriend chandlo, as the bugsnax wear off. That pretty sums up what happened. that, and the Bugsnax are parasites that use your insecurities to make you crave more. They were relieved that the danger is over.

Floofty leaned towards the nightstand on the side of the bed to drink some water. When they did, they studently feel something strange under the sheets. There was a red stain bleeding through the blanket, but the aroma wasnt that of blood, but a fruit. When they removed the covers, they saw what remains of their regenerated leg: nothing but decomposed snack matter. When the bugsnax wore off from where they removed their leg, it seemed to turn to mush instead of disappearing like the rest of the snakification. Now floofty only has one foot to stand on now.

Having one leg is not what bothered floofty, but the fact that they were also gonna decapitate their head after that. Floofty was filled with dread thinking of the aftermath. Even if the possibility of that nightmare becoming a real outcome, but the fact that they wouldn't be able to grow back their head after the bugsnax wear off, and the body was the first thing that would desnakify. The thought of it made them feel nauseous, making them fall to the floor to get to the trash can to hurl in when they do.

Snorpy came in with a wrench at hand as if there was an intruder, with half-awake chandlo by his side. "Floofty! are you okay?" questioned Snorpy in a concerned tone. "were you attacked? did the frumpinati..." He saw floofty on the floor next to the bed, holding on to the trach can. They looked pale and was trembling like they witnessed a Gruesome demise. Snoopy then darted his eyes to where their one leg use to be.

"Should I call someone to check if they are alright?" chandlo added.

"could you get some medicine for nausea my love?" Snorpy replied. Chandlo left the room to find what he requested, while Snorpy comforts their sibling.

"Don't fret Floofty. I already made a prosthetic for you. I just need to..."

"thats not whats bothering me!" Floofty interrupted. Snorpy realized it was bad to assume what was wrong.

"I apologize. what has been bothering you?"

Floofty let out a quick sigh. "its complicated to explain"

"Ill give you a moment then. Ill be here when your ready to talk to me."

Chandlo came back with the bottle of pills. "will this work?" he asked. Chandlo passed the bottle to Snorpy so he could examine it.

"This is good enough. could you give us a moment?"

Chandlo nodded, and left the room. Snorpy put the medication aside for later. Thats when floofy finally had the courage to answer.

"I regret trying to experimenting with Bugsnax. I should've known how harmful those parasites really are in the first place. I was blinded by my own pride experimenting with Bugsnax, when I should've had suspicion when lizbert was onto them. I should've listen to Shielda's warnings, even when they are speaking like some horoscope! I shouldn't have put Poor Eggabell so close to death!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself." Snorpy replied. "You were just trying to help the expedition, right?"

"I tried removing my own head snorpington! I was going to ruin my own life, and those I'm close to, just to help a billion!". Floofty pointed at what was left of their snakified limb on the bead, all nothing but mush. "Even if I successfully regenerate my own head, either the Bugsnax itself will have my body and use it for its sinister plot, or I have to live with the parasites for the rest of my life" floofty put their hands on their own throat, remembering the feeling of consuming those parasites. "even if I'm still myself after decapitation, I would have to keep eating them so the snakification won't wear off and kill me, and not eat too frequent so I don't become them. I may have to keep risking my own life just to find out. Its like if a rodent has eaten poison, not knowing when it will be its last day."

Snorpy sees that their sibling is trying to hold back their tears. He wanted to comfort them with words, but thought it would be better to hear more of what they have to say.

"If you haven't stopped that machine, I would end up living with that for the rest of the life I have left. You wouldn't have a sibling anymore, and I haven't realized how important it was to you until now. I'm sorry for everything I have done on that island, and before that".

That was the most sincere apology Floofty has given him. they looked into each others eyes, Floofties eyes glisten with tears. Snorpy gave them the least uncomfortable hug he can give with his short arms.

"thank you for telling me Floofty." their brother calmly responded.

They huged back, finally sheding a few tears they've been holding back. it took them a minute to finally relax, no longer queasy from fear.

"thank you for everything you've done for me Snorpy."

He was glad to finally hear that from their older sibling. He helped Floofty back into bed after Chandlo replaced the Strabby-stained sheets with fresh clean ones.

"You go ahead and get a bit more sleep while I put the finishing touches on your new prosthetic." Snorpy told their sibling. "After all, we wouldn't want to miss our chum Filbo getting elected as mayor."

______________________________________________

Title pic without text:

#bugsnax #bugsnax floofty #floofty fizzlebean #the journalist #snorpy fizzlebean #chandlo funkbun #bugsnax snorpy #bugsnax chandlo #fanartalchemist stories #fanartalchemist art

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wolfsperdition · 8 months

Text

The Woods Pt. 1

cw: cnc, knifeplay, stalking, kidnapping This won't be my best work but these ideas were floating in my head. 10 a.m. First day of fall. You are your girlfriends are going to go shopping downtown to get ready for Halloween. The day starts out as it always does, a quick text to the boyfriend to wish him a good morning, he doesn't respond. Usually he's awake by now. You suppose he must've had a rough night at work yesterday. You grab something small to eat so you don't spoil your appetite for lunch with the ladies. Time to get dressed. It's still somewhat warm out so you decide on a pair of thigh high leggings, a ruffled skirt and a crop top. Now for the shoes, it's just a day out with the girls. Nothing special, the black boots will suffice.

As you lace them up you think to yourself, "Why isn't he awake yet? Well I'll send him a picture. He'll enjoy that when he wakes up." It's now nearly noon. The ladies are ready to meet up. As you drive yourself to the mall, the scent of the freshly fallen leaves permeates the air. It's sweet and comforting. As you arrive to the mall you notice Halloween decorations in the windows. The retail season always starts early. Skulls and bats, the normal. Witches and ghouls adorn the walls by the doors. It's adorable, not even the least bit scary. Out of the corner of your eye you notice the girls waving you down, they saved you a spot to park so you'd all be next to each other. After the hugs and pleasantries you all head inside. First stop? Hot Topic, not that it's the same anymore. Too much pop influence these days but they still have the cute clothes you enjoy. But with this time of the year they bring out the horror icons. Ghostface being your favorite, you look for anything you don't already have. There's a POP! Figure of your favorite slasher. "Oh I'm definitely getting this. He's gonna want one too. What should i get him?" You see a Tokyo Ghoul figure he doesn't have. As you head over to it your stomach drops.. this overwhelming uneasiness hits you. You look around and your friends are checking out. Behind them, outside the store you see a shadowy figure. You can't make it out. Your vision is a bit blurry. You walk up to them to buy your items, looking outside again the figure you saw is gone. Maybe it was nothing you think, "I'm hungry girls, i didn't eat much this morning. Where should we go?" You all agree on Chinese food. As you all sit in the Food Court that uneasy feeling persists but you're unsure why. As you look around you don't see anything out of the ordinary. There's some children and teenagers dressed up for the Halloween event they're having later at the mall. As you eat, your phone vibrates. It's a text but you don't recognize the number. "Enjoying yourself?" Weird. You ignore it and go back to talking and laughing with your friends. Another vibration... it's that same number. "Don't you dare ignore me slut." "What the fuck?!" the sudden outburst causes your friends to stop and look at you, they're curious what's going on. "I don't know, this random number is texting me, I have no idea who it is." They question if it's your boyfriend, "No he's still sleeping." They tell you to just ignore, it's probably just some guy pulling a prank. It's a believable excuse. But that feeling in your stomach is getting worse, even after eating. "I'm sorry girls, I think I'm going to head home. I don't feel good and this is just making it worse." You say your goodbyes, grab your things and head back to where you all parked. As you exit the mall, the sun is beating down like it's still summer. The kind of heat that makes you start sweating instantly. This makes you feel worse. "I have to hurry home, maybe I'll stop by his place. It's shorter." The car is just ahead, you look down and start rifling through your clutch to find your car keys. A flash of pain... something hit your head... no that's wrong.. your head was pushed into your car. as you crumple to the ground your body twists to see the sky. Your consciousness wavers. You're about to pass out.. just before everything goes dark you see a figure. A tall figure, wearing all black. A mask covers his face, a demon. Black. Horns. "ᵢ ₜₒₗd yₒᵤ ₙₒₜ ₜₒ ᵢgₙₒᵣₑ ₘₑ, yₒᵤ ₚₐₜₕₑₜᵢc ₛₗᵤₜ" You can't make out the voice. You're too far gone. Everything fades. What now? Part 2 later????? If you want me to continue this, please, reblog it, like it. Tell me. It's not often I write stuff like this so I'm not the greatest but I hope you all enjoy it none the less.

#cnc cw #cnc stalking #cnc k!nk #rough cnc #knifeplay #knife kink #breeding k1nk #cvmdump #cnc free use

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thricedead · 4 days

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Hi Clari! Do you still have your slow damage essay/post? I've been meaning to reread it because I really loved your analysis of the subject

Yesss!!! Here it is under the cut, I edited it a little bit!

Slow Damage is a story about the cyclic nature of abuse and its consequences. Abuse sticks its claws into you and rakes down, leaving behind four ditches - orderly in some cases, and more chaotic in others. Either way, even as the skin and flesh heal, there is now a generous amount of empty space in you, and Slow Damage poses a question - what will you fill it up with?

I went into this VN knowing only that Towa enjoys rather extreme forms of self-harm, and I have to admit that this was precisely what captivated my attention at first - the promise of a severely damaged protagonist, and the hope that he is more than a run-of-the-mill masochist. I was not disappointed.

The extent to which Towa relates injury to sex and pain to pleasure immediately made me suspect the sort of trauma he must have endured in the past. For a moment, I thought: Isn't the solution to this mystery a little too obvious? Looking back at the lack of subtlety, though, I don't think that Towa being a CSA victim was supposed to be some kind of a grand reveal. The point wasn't in cracking the mystery, in understanding motivations and getting concrete answers - the point was observing one case of the consequences of abuse that will tell us - no, ASK us - something about all of them. How does the thing that happened to Towa keep happening over and over, and in silence too? What mechanisms allow it to happen, and to stay hidden? What all sorts of people, some of them generally good and kind, participate in these mechanisms?

Let us retrace our steps.

Maya forced her own son into violent prostitution from a very young age, all the while teaching him how to use charms to his advantage, how to manipulate people and fulfill their desires in order to gain control over them. The way she taught those things methodically seems to insinuate that this was something she herself had been taught at a young age and passed on; the art of assuming the exact persona you need to prod into people's insides. This isn't to say that her actions classify as excusable - in fact, isn't the fact that she's putting her child through the horrors she experienced herself even more disgusting? I wonder if her lessons in human psychology were all for the self-obsessed purpose of turning her son into a copy of herself... or was she, in a twisted way, thinking it would help him endure and rise the way that she had? I am going to let that question hang in the air - after all, the point of Surodame isn't to review individual motivations, but to ask questions about the grander scheme of things. That is precisely why I cried together with Towa upon reading the strangely frail account of Maya's diary: I just can't make [parenthood] work... realizing that the slow-growing disease had spread beyond that mother-son duo, beyond the walls of Euphoria, beyond Shinkoumi... in every corner of the world, there are hundreds of Mayas and Towas, and millions upon millions of Silent Takus wondering what they could have done differently.

For starters, I want to focus on Towa himself. When I think about him, the first phrase that comes to mind is 'a void filled with the dregs of abuse'. Though he himself doesn't remember his abuse throughout the first three routes, his every move is a reflection of it: every sexual encounter both a self-inflicted wound and an attempt to affirm: IT'S ME WHO CHOSE TO DO THIS TO MYSELF, which is why Towa's breakdown upon realizing that not even his scars belong to himself was especially painful. I like the choice of stating that Maya did not like nor understand art. She couldn’t bring herself to understand it. Though the penchant for uncovering people's dark desires and the ability to read them were all influenced by Maya, the instinct to paint those is Towa's. The art that almost died together with him was the one thing that belonged to him alone - and yet, there is comfort in the fact that the true route ends with him saying that he doesn't know whether he'll paint anymore or not. What matters is that he quit performing euphoric episodes, closed the cycle of abuse and perpetuating Maya's ideals. The sight of the atelier in the main menu all clean and bright upon Towa's vision returning to normal made me strangely emotional; the reveal that the chosen painting was never dark and muddy, that the atelier was never all that dark and scary... the final tour around Shinkoumi with everyone telling Towa that he looks like something good had happened to him... at the end of a very painful road, Towa still found some comfort in existing.

But what of Fujieda? Of Madarame, of Rei, Taku? For a BLVN, isn't it strange to go 6 paragraphs deep without mentioning any of the love interests?

I will preface this by saying that, to me, the very point of Surodame lies in the fact that none of them are ultimately good boyfriends to Towa. I really wanted to interpret the actions of the three sans Madarame more charitably than I do now, but in reasoning with myself, I failed at every single attempt. They are, to varying degrees and each in their own way, a dead end.

Let's go route by route.

Murase Takuma is a kind man in a way Towa is not - this is driven into our heads from the start. He is a doctor. He cares for children, workers and the elderly. He even lends an ear to them outside of his responsibilities as their physician, overworking himself to the brink of death. His role as the caretaker of a hopeless, bleak person like Towa, an addict who is destructive towards both himself and others, can certainly be perceived as saintly. Even his actions of keeping Towa's past from him, burning letters and throwing away packages, were all for the sake of preserving Towa's sanity! However, though Taku's intentions are pure, I can't read them as benign. Well - he is probably the most benign of the four men Towa involves himself with, being the only one who never physically lashed out at him. Neither abuser nor victim, Taku is a third thing entirely - an observer. A hider, a savior, a carer... and at his core, though not intentionally, an enabler. I do agree that there was nothing Taku could have done to save Towa as a child. There just wasn't a way to take Towa away from Euphoria while Maya lived. I do believe that he did the best he could, patching Towa up time after time... staying throughout the years, changing the bedding, throwing out the liquor bottles. Eat something, Towa. Smoke less, Towa. Once Towa got a lot older, Taku grew to love him romantically. Though I find it unsavory, Towa is over twenty-five at this point so it's not really some big deal. The much more dreadful power imbalance than that in age is the fact that Taku is holding the entirety of Towa's past, his abuse, and his identity over his head. Once again, I'm not calling Taku out as a gaslighter here - not in this route, at least, since Towa had no interest in his true identity at this point anyway. But you can't deny that their happy ending - embracing under the cherry blossoms with a calmer, more mature looking Towa, his hair a clean black, an orderly cardigan billowing behind him - is a sort of a quiet misery. Taku loves the man he saved (raised?), the man who presumably quit painful sex for his sake… but Towa doesn't even know what it is that he's being saved from. Towa is a hole. I really might not have interpreted this ending so negatively if it wasn't for the scene of Taku showing Towa a photograph of him as a little child in a restaurant with his mother. This smiling child prostitute in an orderly little boys' getup, dining with his pimp mother and his future lover. It felt to me like a means of truly driving into our brains the extent of Taku's helplessness, delusion, failure, and LIES. The photograph is a fabricated reality, a fabricated happy past that he feeds to Towa. In this route, this is what Towa filled the ditch with - a daydream, and sweet gentle sex that doesn't scratch his itch. I can't give them more than five years before Towa falls back into his old habits. The end.

Now we get to Rei. Rei is also a sort of a carer to Towa, though a more casual one and closer to him in age. Let us review Rei's situation with gender - due to his toxic, abusive father (who was also a child sex trafficker, might I add!) degrading him for his homosexuality and saying it made him less of a man, Rei developed an aversion to masculinity, speaking in onee-kotoba and growing out his hair and such. At some point he attempted to cut off his own penis in Towa's presence, but ended up hesitating and not going through. All in all, he decided to drop all things associated with traditional masculinity other than street fighting, which he uses to vent out his frustration. This is the key word here – FRUSTRATION, which all of Rei’s pretenses fail to rid him of. Rei's frustration grows to hundred percent when he is forced to enter to-the-death matches to get his deadbeat father out of debt. Killing opponent after opponent, Rei grows more frustrated and less and less like his friendly effeminate self. I think the key solution to the question of 'how is the writing of rei's gender handled?' Is the fact that Rei rediscovered his masculinity through violence. And Slow Damage is not a game that... likes violence, encourages it, or overall relates it to anything remotely positive. I don't think that Rei reconnected to his masculinity in a healthy way, and I don't think it's meant to be read as a cool arc about finding the lost self. Most of all, it's not his or Towa's happy ending. Speaking of Towa... the thing is that Rei only realized a sexual attraction to Towa once the amount of violence in his life amplified to the max. As his level of 'manliness' grew. Their sex scene is very frank about this - after he and Towa beat each other into bloody pulp, he says something along the lines of 'I'm a man and I want to fuck you.' I think it drives the point further that he was the only virginal love interest to that point - when he perceived himself as a woman, he had no violent sexual appetites, or at least didn't see a way towards realizing them. Once he 'reverted' into a man though, he could fuck Towa. He could claim his prize - who has no objections, given that it feeds perfectly into his own penchant that I described at the start. And their ending, showing us a casually manly Rei biking with Towa? We have no proof that he's in any way abusive, nor that they're unhappy, but... this 'new gender' of his, he built it up with bricks made of blood, some of it Towa's. I don't think Rei reached a happy ending. I think Rei is a feminine person, or at the very least a gender nonconforming man who retreated back into the closet within the violent festival that his father brought upon him... many will disagree, but this is how I read it - a manhood built up on violence equals unhapiness for two. I think Towa and Rei might stay together longer than Towa and Taku would, but it won't bring either of them any healing. The end.

Madarame's route is the simplest, since Madarame does not hide himself behind any masks. He is a violent, shameless rapist who gladly continues paving the road of self-destruction that Maya had left off half-finished. I think that placing this ending behind Taku and Rei's serves as a bit of a wake-up call to those who felt pacified by the former two - um, hey, hello? Did you forget? This is not a 'happy story'. For some three hours you watch Madarame break Towa psychologically, repeatedly rape and torture him - only to release him back to Taku and Rei for Towa to find that he can't truly fit in among them anymore. What purpose does it serve? Well, I think it just shows us that there never was any long-term happiness waiting for Towa with either of those men. I think the purpose of the Madarame route, beyond preparing us for the true route, is to totally nullify the effect of the first two. A 'forget what you thought you knew' type of detail. Broken into obedience, a wild blond Towa kissed Madarame after a boxing match. The end.

Fujieda.

He perplexes me the most, and I'm still not entirely certain in the answer I arrived at. Why would the author who penned this painfully real story about abuse have Towa end up with a man who - midway through the route - raped him? I tried to work wonders to explain this to myself, try to interpret it differently, but the truth is concrete. Fujieda raped Towa in a fit of rage, and then with a sober mind continued acting like everything was normal between them. Why would this be in a 'painfully real story about abuse?'

...precisely because it's painfully real. It happened to Towa. It happened to a million others. It might happen to you. When you hit your knee, do your fingers not venture to fondle the bruise, press down for a small reminder of what the pain felt like? The fingers are usually kind, but once in a while, they press down.

And again - Fujieda does not consistently abuse Towa. In fact, he gives him his first taste of truly pleasurable sex in a scene that pushed me to the brink of tears in its sad honesty. When Fujieda has a good day, he gently washes the remnants of assault out of Towa. But when he had an extremely bad way, he was the perpetrator of the assault. I think it's 'painfully real' for Towa to end up with such a man. After coming to terms with his past, this was the best he could do. This was as much as he could save himself. The VN ends on such a note - don't be too happy for him, and don't be too sad. I do believe that Fujieda brought Towa some comfort and clarity, but I can't say that this isn't a dead end, too. Just a more peaceful one in the light. In the ocean.

What's the point then, if Towa ends up stranded no matter what choices you make? Let's return to the beginning, to the ditch abuse made in you. Sometimes you fill it in with fantasies, sometimes with violence, sometimes with the 'next best thing', a 'he's a good man you know, he's only rough when he drinks' type of marriage... no matter what, fact is that all abused kids seek to fill it in with something familiar. Something they know and recognize. It yearns to be filled, it aches for it - whatever you're ready to dish out, just put it in! I think this merry-go-round of victims and perpetrators is what Surodame is trying to turn our eyes towards, or at least force us to stop averting them. So that you may not scorn the Towa in your life, so that if you are a Towa yourself, you may find comfort in knowing that someone somewhere dreamed you up, empathized with you and lead your hand along the path. Why, then, do we not see our Towa free?

Well, the future is long. He was in an ocean. Maybe he walked out.

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