#writing: after infection

[fairyfortalliance]

the imagery of no health regen…… wounded skin that doesn’t heal…. torn clothes….. burns…. scorch marks….. bite marks….. blood everywhere…… unraveling bandages…… oh…….

[thetomorrowshow]

response

empires superpowers au masterlist (not up to date)

this takes place about 10 months after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, flashbacks, heavy dissociation, blood & injury

~

It’s on the news before it’s anywhere else, which is to say, everyone knows before Jimmy.

Lizzie texts him to ask him if he needs anything, and while it’s an odd message to receive out of the blue, Jimmy doesn’t mind it at all. Lizzie checks in occasionally, particularly after big life events, and it’s just nice to hear from her.

Then Joel texts the same thing, and Jimmy starts to feel that something’s wrong.

He only finds out by chance, though—he turns on the TV and it happens to be on the news, and just before he switches away, he sees the scrolling headline.

MAJOR DISAPPEARS AFTER FIGHT WITH THE ORACLE.

His stomach drops.

The clip starts playing moments later, some newscaster narrating it like a sports game, not like his partner’s life is on the line.

“So here we can see the Oracle grab Major—it’s barely contact, but anything goes with that villain—and then, while Major’s disoriented, he slams him into the ground.”

Jimmy watches, mouth slightly open, as Scott indeed is shoved into the asphalt with enough force to knock a few teeth out. He winces, old injuries twinging in sympathy. It doesn’t stop there, though—as Scott is grabbing at the Oracle’s legs, doing anything to pull himself back up, he goes suddenly limp, and the Oracle lands a terrible hit to Scott’s nose, sending blood spurting everywhere.

The Oracle grasps Scott by the hair, then, Scott’s arms flailing out, and slams his head into the road. Jimmy gasps, reaches out as if he can grab Scott through the screen. This is bad. Scott hasn’t had such a bad fight since Xornoth. The Oracle must be getting more powerful, or gotten more training recently or something, because last Jimmy knew he was a local menace, not actually a danger.

Jimmy almost can’t watch. His hands are up at his mouth, and he can’t tear his eyes from the screen as Scott stops trying to fight back and just tries to crawl away. He almost makes it—the Oracle grabs him by the cape, pulls him back as his fingers scrabble for purchase.

The Oracle drags him up, has him in a chokehold—it’s the perfect position to just kill him, he’s already too weak to do much and the Oracle could easily slip a knife from the folds of his clothing and slash Scott’s throat, but he doesn’t. He just holds him as Scott struggles, whacking at his grip with steadily clumsier arms. Scott stops moving after a moment, and Jimmy’s moving forward, toward the TV, he has to help—

Scott’s only gathering strength though, and moments later he manages to buck backward and throw the Oracle’s arms from around his neck. With a spray of ice on the road, Scott collapses and penguin slides down the hill and past the news van, throwing up a curved wall of ice to make a sharp turn to the right. He disappears from view entirely, and when the camera turns back to the Oracle, he’s gone.

It’s barely a minute-long clip, but it leaves Jimmy breathless in the worst way possible. He needs to find Scott, he needs to help him—he’s opening the front door before he even puts his mask on, only in socks and his gym clothes, he’s got to find him—

His phone buzzes, and without even thinking he answers, everything in him tensing at the thought that it could be Scott, it has to be Scott—

“Jimmy, where are you right now?”

Lizzie. His heart utterly sinks. “I’m—do you know where he is? I’m going out to find him—”

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah, yes, but I’m leaving—”

“Do not leave,” she tells him sternly. For the first time, Jimmy registers feedback from her end—as if she’s outside on a windy day, or standing on the pier. “Stay at home.”

“I have to find him,” says Jimmy, and he needs to grab his key—where is his key, it’s usually right on the hook by the door—

“Joel and I are sweeping the city, all right? You need to stay home.”

“I’m not scared,” Jimmy retorts. “I can fight, I will fight, I’ll kill the Oracle if I have to—”

“Jimmy.”

He stops, reluctantly, at her tone.

“You need to stay home right now, because if Scott is his usual stubborn self and doesn’t check himself into a hospital, he’s going to come to you,” she explains. “Now I need you to listen to me, all right?”

He sighs. He’s still burning with a need to get out there, find Scott, but she’s right. Unfortunately. He slams the front door shut, sighs even louder. “Yeah, fine. What is it.”

“Get towels you don’t care about,” she instructs. “I know you have a pack of rubber gloves somewhere, so get those and your first aid kit. Disinfect wherever you’re going to help him—I’d think the dining room table, but it’s your choice. Got all that?”

Jimmy’s already halfway to the closet for the first aid kit, grabbing some bleach-stained hand towels from the bathroom on the way. “Yeah. What else?”

“We’re most worried about a concussion here, so he might be confused—especially after fighting the Oracle. Help him know he’s safe and cared for. Maybe get something he’s familiar with to have near, to ground him?”

“Treat it like a flashback, got it.” Jimmy sets the first aid kit down on the table, runs back to their bedroom. He and Scott had gone on a Build-A-Bear date recently, and Scott had gotten the Frozen’s Elsa bear. That should do for grounding, hopefully.

He brings the bear (and after a thought, his own, a brown bear with roller skates) back to the dining room, then cracks open the rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit and starts rubbing down the table and one of the chairs.

“Take care of him, all right?” Lizzie says, sounding almost far away. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you with more updates. Text me if he shows up.”

Before he can even say goodbye, she hangs up.

Great. He just has to deal with this situation alone, then. Scott’s never been that badly injured since Jimmy’s been dating him—sure, there was the broken arm incident, but Scott had still won that fight. He’s never been so badly injured that he had to flee.

What if he doesn’t remember how to get home? It’s not like he’s lived here his whole life, it’s entirely possible that he gets lost on the way back. Jimmy needs to go looking for him, has to be out there to help—

From the office comes the sound of a window sliding open.

Jimmy drops the rag he’d been using to wipe down the table and sprints for the office.

Sure enough, Scott is there, one leg in the window, and looking absolutely awful.

He looks worse than he had on TV. The collar of his costume is drenched in blood, most of which seems to be stemming from his nose but there’s blood in his bright blue hair and dripping from his mouth and all over—

Blood, there’s so much blood and Jimmy’s not sure if its his own or his opponent’s but as he stares at it he feels nothing, nothing but hope that his master will reward him for being so good—

Scott grunts and Jimmy’s back in the present, but his feelings of detachment remain. He crosses the office to the window and wraps an arm under Scott’s armpit to pull him the rest of the way in (Scott cries out, but Jimmy ignores it), then puts his other arm at his knees and fully lifts his boyfriend up.

Scott’s almost too heavy to carry—sure, Jimmy’s been working out, but the deadweight of a muscular, six foot human isn’t anything that he’s used to. So he gathers all of his strength and hurries down the hallway before his arms can give out, carrying Scott to the dining room and settling him in the chair he’s prepared before cracking open the first aid kit.

Jimmy strips off his mask first, grimacing at the bruises already beginning to ring his eyes. Luckily, Jimmy’s set quite a few broken noses in his time, and he mutters a warning before jerking it back into place. Scott lets out another cry, muffled by Jimmy shoving a wad of cotton under his nose.

He holds it there for a few moments while he categorizes the other wounds. The head wound is probably most important—or rather, most dangerous. There’s scrapes and bruises in various places all over his body, visible through the tears in his costume. Red stains his lips, so Jimmy pries his mouth open—yep, missing tooth and bitten tongue. He knows Scott’s already got an implanted molar, but this is one of his front teeth, leaving a gaping hole in his mouth. That’s going to need some cosmetic surgery.

It’s not really a huge concern at the moment, though, so Jimmy moves on, rolling down the neck of Scott’s costume.

Sure enough, bruises are already blossoming around his throat. That’s not something Jimmy can take care of himself—he needs an x-ray to make sure nothing’s broken, probably. In fact, it would be better just to take Scott to the hospital right now.

One last thing to check—across the room, on the hook where he usually leaves it, is his key, a pocket flashlight attached to the key ring. Jimmy retrieves it, shines it in Scott’s eyes.

His pupils don’t dilate smoothly, and the left eye is slower than the right. That’s never good.

“Are you feeling disoriented?”

Scott blinks. “. . . yeah,” he rasps. Jimmy hands him his glass of water, gives him a napkin when he chokes on it.

“We’re going to the hospital,” he announces, clicking off the flashlight. “Put your mask back on, I’ll carry you to the car.”

Scott complies, hands moving slowly and shakily. “I—Jimmy?” he asks, voice small.

“Yeah?”

Scott sniffles. “I don’t feel well.” “That’s why we’re going to the hospital,” Jimmy tells him, voice utterly lacking emotion. He doesn’t feel much of anything, right now. “Do you want to bring anything?”

Scott looks around, blinking slowly. He points to the Elsa bear on the table. Jimmy nods, glances around for a moment before finding a reusable plastic grocery bag and stuffing the bear in it.

“You’ll have to leave it in the car, but that’s fine. Let’s go.”

Scott is, for the most part, complacent as Jimmy picks him up, wrapping his arm around Jimmy’s neck. Jimmy carries him out of the house and into the backseat of the car as quickly as possible, then ducks back inside to look for Scott’s thin work wallet, eventually finding it just outside the office window. He grabs it—it identifies Scott as Major, has his SuperInsurance card, and other necessary cards—then heads back out to the car, swinging into the driver’s seat and snapping a mask over his face. He tosses the bag with the bear in the backseat with Scott, then pulls out of the driveway.

The hands on the steering wheel don’t look like his, and it takes until Jimmy clicks on the turn signal at a stoplight to realize that he’s dissociated. In fact, he thinks he’s been out of it since he helped Scott inside. Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember doing anything to comfort Scott, calm instincts taking over to keep him from panicking.

A glance in his rearview mirror shows that Scott barely looks conscious. “Don’t fall asleep,” Jimmy snaps, and Scott jolts up, gasping, one hand clutching at his other arm. His other arm that looks mysteriously swollen, held carefully close to Scott’s body.

How had he focused so hard on the head wound that he hadn’t even noticed an injured arm? It’s clearly hurting Scott, and he had done nothing—

“Stay awake, okay? Talk to me. What are you feeling?”

“My arm hurts,” Scott manages. “I think—Jimmy, I think it’s broken again. I don’t—where are we going?”

“The hospital. Just hang tight, we’ll be there soon.”

They won’t be there soon. They’re still at least twenty minutes away. Scott had actually been closer to the hospital before he’d headed home, so he could’ve saved them both some time and gone straight there.

The hands that are definitely his but don’t look it tighten on the wheel. None of that matters right now. Right now he just needs to get Scott to somewhere for treatment.

It’s a tense drive, but Jimmy manages to stay levelheaded. He knows he’s speeding, so every cop car he passes he sends a burst of power out toward, hoping whatever accident it causes won’t be very dangerous.

He sees the signs for the hospital and cuts across three lanes of traffic to get into it. Once there, he pulls into a parking spot and looks up.

At the hospital.

The dissociation hits full-force.

It’s not the hospital, not the one where he was taken right after, but it’s still a hospital. It’s still tied to needles and blood and long hours on an exam table and distress and pain, and just looking at it makes his head all woozy.

His head presses against something hard. His hands go slack. He’s not sure where he is. He’s not sure what’s real.

It’s easier to believe that he’s asleep, easier to accept that none of this is real. He doesn’t even know what he doesn’t want to be real.

He’s not sure how long he floats there, feeling nothing but anxiety about how he’s feeling nothing. He doesn’t even register that there’s any sort of outside stimulation until he hears words, tinny and staticky.

“Jimmy? Hey, Jim, what’s happening? Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” he thinks he says. “What’s happening?”

A sigh. “Scott says you just sort of zoned out. Do you know why?”

He’s not sure how to answer, so he doesn’t.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No,” he admits, because he doesn’t. He has no clue where he is or how he got here, and now that he’s realized that, the anxiety develops into panic.

“Look around, Jim. Tell me five things you can see.”

Five things—that’s a grounding exercise. Jimmy knows that’s a grounding exercise. He glances around. “There’s a steering wheel. Radio. A seat. I’m in the car.” It hits him like a train, the understanding that he was driving, and he can’t remember that he was driving, and he can’t remember why he was driving, but he’s in the car behind the steering wheel. “Um, asphalt. Parking lines.”

“Cool, four things you can touch?”

The hands in front of him don’t exactly look like his own. One of them lays itself on the steering wheel, and he’s not sure if it’s by his own instruction or not.

He’s sitting in the car, though, so he can assume some certain things. “The seat. The armrest. Um.”

“That’s good. Anything else?”

The voice sounds rushed. Jimmy cringes. He can’t really feel much, other than the awareness that a thing is touching him. Another sigh.

“Right, hand the phone back to Scott, okay? Scott, where are you?”

Is he holding something? He’s holding a phone, and that’s where the voice is coming from. Jimmy stares at it, not quite sure what he can do with it. “Hand it back to Scott,” he echoes.

“Jim’s really out of it, Scott, so can you just look out the window and tell us which hospital it is? Then Lizzie and I’ll be over.”

“It’s . . . United. You guys are coming here?”

“Yeah, well, it sounds like you two are being a bit dysfunctional right now. I’ll escort you and Lizzie’ll stay with Jimmy, and that way all bases are covered. Sound good?”

“I guess?”

It’s warm, Jimmy thinks. Like he’s lying next to a heater. At least it’s feeling something. He feels so detached, so out of his body, that he’s not sure of anything anymore.

He doesn’t hear any more speaking, and he’s not sure if that’s good or not. He just sort of . . . exists, less-than-present but not nonexistent.

At least, until there’s someone grabbing his arm.

He’s not exactly snapped back into his body, but he can see it now—someone heaving him out of the car, someone with pink hair, wrapping an arm around him and walking him to the other side of the car. It feels like he’s observing from above, knowing that it’s his body being moved but feeling no real attachment to it.

It all becomes foggy again as he’s set down in the passenger seat, but he manages to register something clicking and then the car moving. He doesn’t know how long the car moves, but at some point, there’s someone talking to him.

“Scott’s all right, you’re all right, everything is fine. Jimmy, are you with me?”

He tries to nod. He’s not sure if he does it properly.

“No, you’re not. Can you hold this?”

Something’s put in his hand. He doesn’t know what it is.

“Smell that, all right?”

He lifts it up to his nose. It smells sharp, citrus-y.

“What’s that smell like?”

“Oranges,” he answers dutifully.

“Keep your hand up, keep smelling it. Can you describe it?”

He sniffs it again. “Nice,” he eventually says. “Clean. Oranges, and lemons.”

“What does an orange taste like?”

He puts the thing in his mouth.

“No—! No, Jimmy, don’t eat that! That’s—that’s an air freshener, it’s not an orange! Please take it out of your mouth!”

It’s bitter, he thinks, as he obeys. Not like how oranges usually taste. Oranges usually taste sweet, a bit sour, and have all those stringy bits that you have to get off otherwise eating the segments aren’t worth it. It’s one of his favorite tastes, though; the fridge always has orange juice in it and there’s usually oranges on the table. Not just because they taste good, but because they’re decent tools for grounding. The peel has a strong smell and texture, and when you’re done peeling you can taste it.

This isn’t an orange. But it feels suspiciously like a grounding exercise. Why would he be doing grounding?

He blinks, looks up at Lizzie. She’s here. He doesn’t remember her getting here. “Am I dissociating?” he asks.

She laughs a little. “Yeah, I think you might be. Can you smell the air freshener again?”

It’s wet with his own saliva in his hand, but he raises it to his nose anyway. “I’m smelling the air freshener.”

“Good job. Don’t eat it.”

“Don’t eat the air freshener.”

“Smell it.”

“Smell it.”

“Yes.”

“It smells like orange.”

“Mhm.”

Jimmy closes his eyes and breathes in deep. It smells like orange, but not quite. More bitter than an actual orange. Like the way it tasted bitter. “Did I put an air freshener in my mouth?”

Lizzie laughs again. “You very much did. Are you back?”

“No,” he tells her, then goes back to smelling. He can smell something else on his hands, something just as familiar as an orange. Something clean, yet bad. Something that hurts.

“Jimmy, you’re crying. Can you keep smelling the air freshener? Lift your hand back up. What’s it smell like?”

He smells it. “Orange.”

“That’s right. Do you like it?”

“Do I like it.”

“Yes. Do you like it?”

Jimmy likes oranges, so it only makes sense for him to like this scent, right? But in the same way it tastes bad, he’s not sure that the smell of it can hold a candle to real oranges.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly.

“All right. What do you know?”

He sniffs the air freshener. “It smells like oranges. I’m holding it. It tastes bad. You’re here.”

“I’m here,” agrees Lizzie. “Do you want me to hold your hand?”

Jimmy frowns. “Holding the air freshener.”

“You have two hands.”

Oh. Right. He extends his other hand, Lizzie taking it in hers. Her hands are cool, but not nearly as cool as Scott’s. Her nails are pointy, brushing against his skin. The skin. Of the hand. It doesn’t look like his.

“I’m dissociating real bad, I think,” he murmurs. Lizzie’s hand grips his tighter.

“That’s all right. I’m here until you feel better.”

It’s a long time until Jimmy feels more like himself. When he fully becomes aware again, he’s sitting on his couch next to Lizzie, sharing some leftover pasta between them. He blinks at it, vaguely remembering the process it had taken to get him to eat it at all.

“I’m back, I think,” he says, blinking a couple of times. He licks his lips, tastes the pasta sauce there. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Lizzie sighs in relief. “I was just going to try getting you to nap next, I was completely out of ideas.”

Jimmy laughs a little, thoughts still somewhat out of order from all the fog settled around his brain. “Norman usually helps. Did you get him?”

“Check your feet.”

He looks down. Sure enough, Norman is curled up on his feet, purring loudly.

Jimmy doesn’t remember much from the past—however long it’s been. He has bits and pieces of the drive home from the hospital, but he has no idea when Lizzie turned up or what happened to Scott.

Scott.

He jolts up, almost knocking his plate of pasta to the floor. “Scott,” he gasps out, “is he—did—”

“Scott’s fine,” Lizzie says placatingly, gesturing for him to relax. “Joel just texted me a few minutes ago. He got some stitches and they just finished his scans, they’re waiting on the results. They got him on some pretty good pain meds, I heard, so he’s doing fine.”

Reluctantly, Jimmy sits back, wringing his hands. Sure, Lizzie can tell him that Scott’s fine. But he hasn’t seen that, he doesn’t know for sure, all he knows is that he barely did anything to treat Scott’s wounds and then couldn’t even walk him into the hospital.

His head hurts.

“We can call him, maybe?” suggests Lizzie. Jimmy nods after a moment. That might help.

He sits in silence as she fiddles with her phone, doing who knows what. Every second that passes is another second that Jimmy doesn’t know how Scott’s doing.

Then Lizzie’s phone rings.

She answers, grimaces at the screen, then hands it over to Jimmy.

It’s a video call, and Scott’s there. His nose is properly bandaged, now, and Jimmy can see through the eyeholes in his mask that his eyes are puffy and bloodshot. There’s a large bandage along his jawline, and his split lip is actively bleeding. The ring of bruises around his throat is stark against the hospital gown.

He looks absolutely beautiful.

“Jimmy!” Scott cries, delighted, then sheepishly ducks his head when Joel shushes him offscreen. “Joel—sorry, the King says I can’t say your name.”

Jimmy chuckles, nerves quieting as he gazes at Scott. “That’s fine, Major. How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Scott admits. He shrugs. “My head hurts, but they put some good drugs in my arm and I can’t really feel it so that’s good!” He tips the screen to show an IV. Jimmy shudders and looks away.

When he looks back, Scott’s turned it back to his face, concern written all over it. “Are you okay? You were . . . uh, what’s the word. . . .”

“Dissociating,” Jimmy finishes.

“Yeah. That. Lizzie said it got really bad, but when we got to United, you just sorta . . . blanked out.”

Jimmy bites back a retort. He doesn’t actually want to be mean to Scott, especially not when he’s floating on pain drugs. He’s just exhausted and foggy from the dissociation. “I’m good, just worried about you. And maybe don’t say real names, yeah?”

“Oh. Right. Joel, how much longer?”

A sigh from offscreen. “Probably half an hour, maybe more. Done talking to your man?”

“J—the King wants his phone back,” Scott whispers. “Are you really okay? Do you need a nap?”

Jimmy can’t help but laugh. “I’ll go rest if you rest, yeah? Love you, keep annoying the Mad King.”

“I love you so much,” Scott says seriously. “I wanna kiss you right now, but I don’t wish you were here because that would be bad for you. So I can wait until we go home.”

Suddenly choked up, Jimmy manages a wave, which Scott sets the phone down to return. Then Jimmy passes it back to Lizzie, who exchanges a few words with Joel before hanging up.

Jimmy doesn’t go to bed. He curls up on the couch and turns on some episode of a 90s sitcom to watch in silence.

“You didn’t fail him,” Lizzie says during a commercial. “You did good.”

Jimmy sighs. “Lizzie, I was dissociating before I even helped him into the house. I didn’t call you, I didn’t actually do anything to help him, and I couldn’t even go into the hospital with him. I freaked out and couldn’t help when he needed me.”

“You fought a trauma response to assess your boyfriend’s injuries and were able to drive him to the hospital,” Lizzie counters. “You set his broken nose and kept your head, despite having triggers all around you. Not to mention, driving him to the hospital was probably the best choice you could’ve made—I don’t have a car, and Joel was halfway across the city. There was no way we could get him to help. You did everything you could.”

Jimmy doesn’t argue. He’s too tired. He just turns his attention back to the TV as the commercial break ends.

When Joel helps Scott in the house several hours later, Lizzie’s made pancakes for them all, and Jimmy’s set out plates and spreads. Scott eats a single pancake, eyelids heavy, before limping off for bed. Jimmy follows him, rearranges the pillows so that Scott’s newly-casted arm can be elevated.

“You’re gonna be here a while, mister,” Jimmy tells him, handing him an ice pack. “Doctor’s orders. A week of bed rest, all for you.”

“At least I can give you kisses,” Scott slurs, smiling the best he can with a split lip and swollen mouth. Jimmy giggles, stripping off his shirt and climbing into bed next to him.

“I think even kisses are gonna hurt, baby. It’s okay, though. You’ll be okay.”

Scott nods sleepily, eyes already closed. “Yeah. We both will be.”

[silverthelovebug]

((CW: Mentions of decapitation

Darling thought Cupid would’ve transferred back home as soon as the news of what happened to Apple spread, and people began to contract the Kindness Blindness Virus. So when she saw the cherub approach the small camp she had set up, she was understandably startled. The camp was full of supplies borrowed (stolen) from the Chemythstry and Potion Making Class-ics, Ginger was busy with a flask observing its color, while Darling had to go greet the cherub. “Stop right where you are.” Darling spoke, aiming her sword at the demigoddess.

Cupid tilted her head, seemingly observing the camp before putting her hands up. “This good?” She asked, unsure of what the proper procedure was.

Darling said nothing as she looked for any anomalies on the girl’s face; which, she had no obvious signs. No frothing of the mouth; no glass. Still, she might’ve just recently gotten infected— they would need a microscope lens. Cupid still had her arms raised, so Darling gave her the *all-clear*. “I’m fine, if you’re wondering.” The cherub said, “I got the Athenian Flu last year, but I took all my vaccines.”

Darling gave her look.

“Right, that also means I’m not affected by—“ Cupid rolled her wrist as she was thinking, “Mere mortal viruses.”

“We can never be too sure.” Darling mumbled, urging Cupid to follow her into the camp.

Ginger looked up from her work to give Cupid a small wave before shrieking. Darling unsheathed her sword once more, looking around to what could have startled the witch. Cupid looked down at her hip, giving a small “Oh!” Before lifting up what appeared to be a decapitated head.

No. Blondie’s decapitated head

“I’m gonna vomit…” She heard Ginger mumble, turning away from the demigoddess, while all Darling could do was stare in horror — which she found herself doing more often than not recently. One of Blondie’s eyes was obstructed by glass, while the other seemed okay, drool vaguely coated her lips, and she seemed to be looking around.

Cupid waved her hand in front of the reporter’s face, and Blondie seemed to have come to. “Are we there yet?” She mumbled, seeming grumpy as if the only thing Cupid had done was woke her up from a nap. “Yes, we made it Honey; but it would’ve been faster if you had let me fly over here.” The cherub cooed and Blondie rolled her available eye. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.” The blonde mumbled.

“Don’t mind her.” Cupid waved dismissively.

Darling was looking at the girl as if she were insane — no — that was far too nice for what she thought of Cupid at the moment. She was desperate for answers, Blondie was clearly infected but was acting like her usual self— Blondie was just a head. How was she alive? Why was Cupid so calm about all of this? The cherub was holding her as if she were some doll, carefully pushing back her blonde ringlets away from the protruding glass. “Right! You probably want answers.” The demigoddess began, placing Blondie’s head down on the table Ginger was working at (said girl looked faint).

“Briar was the one who infected Blondie, did you know it transfers through saliva too?” She said, wiping the corner of Blondie’s mouth with her thumb, “Anyways, it was getting to the point where Blondie was starting to get aggressive with other people and she kept on thinking I was saying such awful things to her— so I immobilized her!”

“Y—“ Darling stuttered, “You decapitated her. Where is her body? How is she alive?” She questioned, suddenly becoming all too aware of what Cupid was truly capable of.

The cherub just smiled, “Family secret; my Grandpa has this one guy on a mountain whose liver regenerates every time an eagle eats it. Prometheus was it?” She questioned as if recalling a funny memory. “Once you guys find a cure, I’ll make her good as new!”

Darling staggered backward, holding on to a nearby chair. Cupid was a psychopath. Blondie couldn’t have wanted this. Surely, she didn’t ask Cupid to amputate her body.

[dark-side-blog3]

You ever think about how the effects on the body that Purple Haze's virus has can lead to over a ton of body horror imagery in a Pannacotta Fugo route?

I do indeed.

++++++++++++++

While Fugo is very fearful of his stand, and he tries his best to keep it repressed, he does have moments even he can't get out of without its help. He tries to avoid those moments as much as possible, as the rabid apparition could kill its owner easily; Fugo is not immune to the virus he creates with his stand. Should his manifestation turn towards him in ire, Fugo needs to act fast to repress the spirit again, before buboes of phlegm swell his throat, cutting off air while splatters of blood and plasma erupt from a rash of blisters on his skin, the torn flesh melting and merging with itself as it gets covered in new blisters, each layer covering itself in torn shreds of skin from the previous layer that only emerged seconds before.

If Fugo is unlucky enough to be "saved" by a healer stand before he dies, after suppressing the stand, his skin will carry the scars, stretching and straining under the evergrowing disease under his skin. The disease never left, always mutating at an incredibly fast rate inside of himself.

In mere hours, his body is bloated, and cumbersome, unable to lift parts of himself off the ground and instead dragging them behind, tearing gently at the skin that gets raked over the concrete, oozing viscous strings of colgulated blood and dotted with white, shaving-foam consistency pus. His face is obscured under bulging, beating bulbs of flesh, with thin blue veins visibly trailing clots of blood through his body like threading a bead on a string slowly, and with great difficulty as his cancerous arteries lead back into each other, enough times that some of his- at one time- extremities turn a sickly necrotic purple and black.

You'd barely recognize the shambling mound of flesh as Fugo if it weren't for the fact you'd seen him get attacked by his stand after trying to deter it from you.

And if it weren't for the fact you'd seen birds and dogs die from the same disease as he got close to them, you'd be tempted to offer comfort to the former man. Despite lasting this long with the disease unable to kill him, it seems he's still a carrier for the original death Purple Haze entails.

You'd been running from him for hours now-- though he's not particularly fast, his persistence despite what must be agony is what keeps you moving. Resting in any place for too long will only let him close the distance. The blisters and swelling have no doubt gotten to his brain, killing whatever could have been left in him, causing him to act irrationally and chase you in the open, undeterred by pain, threats, bribes, empty promises, or gunfire. He's not Fugo anymore, unable to call upon his Stand, or even understand his old name (and you've tried to use it to escape before, attempting bargaining with the creature). He's just... A monster. Determined to follow you wherever you go, until it can absorb you with bubbling stomach acid, or infect and fuse with your melted, blistering, corpse.

[summertimemusician]

Linktober Shadow Day 7

Gloom Hands

This goes out to the way I cackled hysterically once seeing these things in TOTK, well done Zelda Team. They're a terrifying concept and I really feel exploring that could be fun, even if this prompt gave me a headache and a half.

Bit late today because we've been pelted by way too many storms/lightning and writing on mobile with lightning shaking your house is generally a bad idea, so I spent most of the time writing this and the Linktober prompt by hand, then transcribing it back onto mobile as soon as I could touch eletronics without the major risk of being zapped and picking a god and praying that my internet wouldn't be too funky so I could get it out on time. Short one again though because I still need to finish the Linktober prompt so it should come out later today or fully tomorrow, sorry folks.

Anyway, as always can be read as romantic or platonic, also Sage is here both because of the prompt and because the mental image of Wild Reader and Sage trauma bonding over the extremely twisted nature Gloom/the Malice have compared to just dark magic in general in LoZ was too funny to resist, if Nintendo won't talk about the many variations of Dark Magic in LOZ and how it affects any who come in contact with it then lord darn it I guess I'll just have to do it myself (or as much as I can without breaking out the companion essay to the Realm of Darkness and Realm of Light essay which I'm already having trouble digging out).

TW:

Technically graphic descriptions of decay, gore and eldritch horror, and Reader just not having a good day in general, don't recommend reading I'd you're highly squeamish.

When you’ve first met Sage, as the Chain temporarily dubbed him, you and Wild didn’t miss the way he looked so, so haunted. Emotions warring like a storm as he looked Wild over in a mix of disbelief and the weariness of a wounded fox getting ready to bite just to escape, at the Chain with such longing ache that made one’s heart break, the way the first time he met Wolfie he didn’t hesitate to throw himself atop the canine and hug him so close like he was trying to melt into the fur, and looking at you like he didn’t know wether to cry, scream or to shut down before he buried it under the mask you knew your resident Champion could use when trying so desperately to keep it together, hands shaky as he signed in a way that set your teeth on edge and felt like you had taken a dozen of ice arrows to the back, urgent, 'It’s not safe. None of you should be here. You need to leave. Now.'

Needless to say it was alarming, even as you all knew just how ferociously untamed his and Wild’s Hyrule could be, with being overrun with so, so many types of divinity through each crack, root, drop and flesh of it’s beings. From Hylia’s cold calculating care, the Three Goddesses blood, tears and breath of life, to the Malice’s howling self sustaining fury, The Lost Woods ever overgrowing freedom and even the remnants of the Fierce Deity’s hunt in Satori’s and Malaniya's savage display of cyclic eternity, it wasn’t any surprised that apart from the Traveler’s Hyrule it was the most aggressive one with the smorgasbord of energy so thick it made even you choke on it everytime you stepped foot in it. Beautiful and free in an echo of it’s once untamed state in the age of myth even before Sky.

Over time, you and the Chain learned how to adapt to it. To listen to the warnings Wild gave about the Guardians and about the remains of Malice in his monsters, of how the moon had been forever tainted with it and how, until Sheikah tech was fully repurposed it would be best to avoid the castle all together it was difficult but manageable, and even if Sage’s reaction was alarming (and he seemed even more troubled once Wild passed onto him from Sky that, while he wasn’t to come with them yet due to how things were apparently ‘fated’ to happen, there was no way you all could leave quite yet, distantly sticking by Wild and Twilight when possible and checking on everyone’s health when not doing so), you’d though it would be much the same for his own, and in parts you were right as the Chain had taken to the new environment like fishes to water even if it took some adjustments.

Though you were quickly proven wrong, and you could have laughed at your past self’s naivety.

It was meant to be a quick run to clear a black blooded monster camp, and while decently challenging, it was over quickly between the Chain getting more apt at fighting the enemy, Sage’s addition as the man fought as ruthlessly and ferociously as Wild, switching between deadly marksmanship and feral combat on a dime and the absence of the unnaturally inteligent black scales lizalfos, you’d rest and be on your way quickly. Or so you all thought.

Twilight had been the first to smell it, the bubbling of dark but distinctively twisted magic, even more so than Zant’s brand of madness. Wild the one to spot it, the rot black and blood crimson building up at the edges of camp from his vantage point but it was Sage who had tensed, eyes snapping to the faint glow the Master Sword emmited just as the sky darkned before his frantic, alarmed howl swept over the Chain, the sheer desperate, protective panic making all of your boys still, because Sage never used his voice unless he absolutely had to, “IT'S NOT OVER! MOVE!”

It was all the warning any of you got before reality twisted, straining, and then finally screaming, the heavens staining with crimson as if gutted open, the eyes of a sin against nature itself cutting through your relief and infecting your veins with terror. It shakes you to the core, freezing with indecisive flight or fight as you spotted the tide. Heart in your throat as you tried to comprehend what you saw.

“WHAT THE-“, Legend cursed, looking ashen as his grip on his fire rod tightened. Really, all of your heroes look disturbed and you can’t blame them.

“Get to high ground if you want to live! We can’t fight these things.”, snapped Sage, much more composed, but no less frenzied.

None of you hesitate to listen.

(There were some unspoken rules, when in Wild’s Hyrule the first time around. If there is something the Champion, the most reckless of all Links, wasn’t willing to fight head on or said wasn’t worth it, the best course of action was to listen, specially if the group was vulnerable.)

The hands screech, the tide rolling over the land with an reality splitting clamoring, a sound so filled with fury and so, so twisted it made your Hylian’s ears friends bleed and you lift a hand to your head in pain as Wild pulled you along, Sage leading the charge for the nearest cliff face as Warrior’s threw Wind over his shoulders and Twilight didn’t hesitate before doing the same to Four, the frost from Legend and bomb arrows from Time and Sky barely doing nothing to slow it’s relentless charge, merely taking from it a distorted, pitched crescendoing belt of pure rage and the overlaying of many tortured souls screaming all at once, of Hyrule rejecting this existence from the world but wounded at being unable to vanquish it, the sound it makes as it spreads and drags itself across the ground with uncanny speed with it’s many, many arms like something in between sludge and smacking, wet, rotten flesh.

Sage switches between shooting arrows to helping the other Links up the cliff and shooting at it’s eyes with the strongest bow he has,making as many arrow fusions on the spot as he dares. The others quickly taking as many ranged weapons from their sides to do the same. You help Hyrule up the clifface, while Wild swipes Cryonis over the field, climbing up himself, being hauled to Sage’s side.

You are almost there when one of the hands latch onto your ankle, and you go down with a scream, Sage all but dropping the bow in his hand in favor to latching onto your hand with snarl. And

It.

Is.

Agony.

(It burns through you like your very atoms have been set on fire,bthe hands take the opportunity to sink into you, long long unnatural fingers sinking into your flesh in a unhurried blanket of darkness, the Demon King’s will is roaring, growling with abyssal rage, if it cannot rule Hyrule, it would kill everything in it instead. Gloom sinks into your cells, raptures the membranes and makes the skin slip, frantically invading, you taste rotten flesh on the back of your throat and the scent of wither and ash choke you as it sinks into your flesh, marrow, breaks down your bones bit by bit, cracking and infecting and breaking down your very essence with the fury of a dead deity which refused die, decay on an accelerated rate all over where the hands clutched like a vice as the Links trunfo pull you out or attack it and it is painful and it’s excruciatingly wretched and make it STOPCEASEITHURTS-)

A well aimed Skyward Strike severs the connection, the pain stops and you fall into Sage, breathing hard and unevenly, grasping at him like a lifeline, clawing and counting at Wild’s arm on your other side like a wounded animal, your taste blood on your throat from the screams that were ripped from it, Hyrule falling to his knees on your side as healing magic washes over you like a shroud, trying to get you to respond.

Reality howls along with you, before all is silent.

It barely took a second.

“... Just what were those things?”, rasps Sky, horrified, a sentiment echoed through the Chain, though you can’t focus on it, trying not to choke on your own blood and to pull yourself together, Wild’s hand unconsciously settling on your pulse, shaking, and Sage’s tense tone cuts through the air as he scans the area. Still tense, tone hoarse.

“... The reason why I wanted you to leave.”

Later, much, much later, before you all leave, you learn they are called Gloom Hands.

It’s unanimously agreed that all you hold loathing for those abominations, even long after you’re forced to leave Sage.

He whispers something to Wild on the way out, hugging him close, trembling. Your Champion nods, you can’t make out the words, but you make sure to hold him as close as you can before you go, indulge him in checking for your pulse even long after you’re healed.

You hope he’ll be safe, he hopes that the next time you all see each other again, it’ll be under better circumstances.

[maddieandangel]

Had a weird Hollow Knight-related dream a couple days ago, so I decided to draw a major scene I remembered from it dgsgshf

More context will be in the tags, for those interested!

[ventiswampwater]

miss ambrose

lester sinclair x afab!reader (with mentioned/implied bo x reader)

rating: explicit 

word count: 6.5k

“I been figurin’.” He picks at his teeth, flicking a stray piece of food into the brush. “He thinks ‘cuz he was the first one to see ya’ that he’s got some kinda claim on ya’.”

You begin accompanying Lester on his ventures to collect roadkill. Hijinks ensue. 

sorta fluffy, full of tomfoolery and humor, pretty disgusting n revolting!!

idk it’s about nasty handjobs and make-out sessions!! and roadkill!!! kinda infidelity/cheating vibes but it’s on bo??? so does it even count. he deserves it lmao. can fit in with my other fics or can be read as a standalone if u don’t want 2 slog thru me barking like a dog for bo!!!

read it here

also if ur down bad enough, I made a playlist for songs to listen 2 while u collect roadkill with this loser (affectionate)

ALSO this fic is sincerly dedicated to 

@raccoonspooky​, @ajarofpickledtears, @slutforguts, @darklylucid, @visceravalentines, @bric-a-brac-brooke, and @allthingsblood​ for commenting on this post n givin me the motivation to finish this narsty garbage

oh also this anon mwah

luv all of u wonderful critters. consider this my slutty halloween gift to u 

[typewriter-worries]

journal entry - 8.29.22

[thegreenhordes]

The loud sounds of more and more Growlers set a fire in Null's head, the aching turns to throbbing as he leans down and rubs his temple hard with the side of his leg. There's too many, the sounds too loud. With the number of Ponies he knows are encamped within the Friendship Castle he is certain most of these Growlers are wanderers from elsewhere. Unfortunate souls who thought traveling would keep them safe. Now they smell him, hear his pained groaning, and they are so very, very hungry.

He hears the voice of a stranger, the sound less odd on his ears than that of the ghostly apparitions that have thus far haunted him. Null forces his head up, vision swimming as he locks eyes with a monster.

Null: There... There's

The throbbing in his skull nearly sends him to the ground. The barrier wavers.

Null: A Watcher... If I try the usual methods... They mean nothing if that- THING- can see me.

It stares at him, menacing and dripping blood from its maw. Sclera stained black and irises a green so bright it hurts to look at. The mouth, affixed in what looks much like a grin, widens as its lips twitch. Another voice reaches his ears as the Infected Pony stalks forward.

Null: Not Enough... My- Nngh- 'Talents' won't defend me in any real way. Not here. My skills are... let's call them forensic based. If it isn't dead already, or- or something small like a- rabbit, flower, anything fragile, my magic either doesn't work or it causes negligible damage.

He rubs his head again, harder this time and with the points of his cloven hoof.

Null: I- I'm sweating, so the Growlers can smell me... The. . . W-Watcher. . . Sees me... And I- I-

Suddenly his world tilts and he thuds to the ground. The pain reaches a crescendo and the barrier cracks through. For the moment it stays standing. But it is oh so fragile. Null: I'm seeing double...

[Fear not, this is too early for the end. Strain your ears, hear what comes.]

[lemonyinks]

I'm just. so grateful for LOSH

[fangsandfeels]

Caught myself reminiscing about the Justice League (animated series) "Only a Dream" episode, where the crew got attacked by a Freddy Krueger-esque villain in their sleep, except for the Martian Manhunter and Batman (who is on the verge of falling asleep) who now have to find the culprit and stop him before he tortures their friends to death.

Of course, I got hit with the plot idea where during their Shadow-cursed lands exploration (pre-Moonrise Towers and stuff) the party gets affected by a modified curse that traps them in their nightmares as soon as they fall asleep and will kill them unless the source of the curse is found and dealt with.

Featuring:

Jerra who is tired to the point of falling over but now has to overcome her exhaustion to do the job. Also gets pinched, poked, and stirred awake a lot by the pale elf.

Astarion, who avoided getting nightmare-ed because he chose to trance that night, and now has to accompany Jerra because it's either this or play nurse over his fallen allies. At least, if he goes with Jerra he possibly gets to stab someone.

Halsin who keeps everybody alive even though their bodies tell them they're literally dying.

Lae'zel, who didn't get affected by the curse because it was her turn to keep watch, using her people's experience with psionic communication and to tap into the tadpole connection, go into other's nightmares either bisect them or aggressively encouraging her companions to fight the horrors. Because, let's face it, when Lae'zel believes in you, she gives you the best pep talks, and nightmares can't stand a chance.

Also:

Jerra, whenever Astarion diligently pinches her awake: ...Thank you. But also fuck you.

Astarion, not wanting to be left alone with his mess on his hands (and certainly NOT worried about anyone AT ALL): Oh, definitely. After we are done here. Also, if I see those eyelids going down one more time, I'll start using my knife. (*with muffled sound of a failed Deception check in the background*)

Lae'zel, trying to rally her terror-tortured teammates and realizing she starts thinking of her group as, well, HER group: THIS FEEBLE ILLUSION CANNOT TRULY HARM YOU. I THOUGHT YOU TO BE STRONGER. THINK ISTIK THINK.

Halsin, whenever any of the dream-trapped companions nearly flatlines:

Lae'zel barging into Gale's, Shadowheart's, Wyll's, and Karlach's nightmares like:

[the-implications]

Thoughts on infected!Paul x Wiley? I just wanna hear someone else talk about them.

they r just. sooo unhinged couple vibes. everyone is scared of them but thats ok because they do not care what u think of them. THE ultimate power couple. i can imagine them scheming up their silly little evil shenanigans. they r little pranksters hehe !! they r just going to cause many fatalities that's all !! no biggie. and they can make out while they do it too !!

but also the angst possibilities r there. they kinda only have each other... their old lives merely a faded memory of the past... its like they're on an extremely fast moving vehicle and there are NO brakes. they'll either thrive or die but neither of them know which is more plausible. so they just hold on to e/o for now

i think i just need to know more about them in canon but otherwise they get an 8/10 from me 🙏 the Possibilities are There

[danidoesathing]

I agonized over which to pick because I just want to ask about all your fics in progress!! I narrowed it down to two and that's just going to have to be ok

the world is staged and the script is set (you cannot change the ending)

Jukeboxes and Maple Syrup

its very funny you pick those two because those like. two of the only three on that list that ISNT lord huron related lmao. those are both hatchetfield fics ive started in secret. regardless those are the main ones im working on right now SO

the world is staged and the script is set (you cannot change the ending) is a fic based on the ending of TGWDLM where like. you know how in the credits where Emma starts begging the audience for help? and like. you know how in TTO how the audience is also referred to by Bliklotep's title? soooo the fic is the ending but i throw him in the mix and ramp the already existing horror of "begging for help and being ignored a cheering crowd" by going "realizing said crowd has been treating your suffering and death as a source of amusement right before you die". only fun times in hatchetfield

"She stumbles to the edge of the stage. The stitches in her leg have come undone and there’s blood seeping through the bandage. That is real. Emma is real, and she needs to help right now."

Jukeboxes and Maple Syrup is a fic that takes place directly after the end of Yellow Jacket that focuses on Daniel and Sophia like. right after the ending. we dont really see them after the Otho fight and we still have no clue is Sophia is even ALIVE and also i miss them dearly. the fic mostly focuses on Daniel trying not to have a panic attack in Miss Retros because one friend is missing after almost dying and the other is in the hospital after also almost maybe dying and he doesn't really know what to do. Not a whole lot of plot it's mostly him trying to deal with that whole. mess. luckily he's got Miss Holloway and Duke to make things a bit easier (responsible adults? in MY hatchetfield? its honestly only these two but its better than nothing)

"He feels so stupid. Sophia is in the hospital and she might never wake up. Hannah is missing and could be kidnapped or dead or worse. And he’s just sitting here in a cozy diner with pancakes and orange juice, and Hannah’s Jacket but not Hannah and not Sophia."

[simplykaren]

Had another weird dream last night, this one some unholy mix of sci-fi and horror.

It starts off with a crew exploring deep space and stumbling upon a city ship/station, but far larger than any they'd seen before and a model they didn't recognize. It looked like someone had taken a city, encased it within a dome, and launched it into space wholesale. Except...the dome (partially retracted, not broken) was open, and the city sat dark and drifting. No response when they hailed, no distress beacon or signs of life when they run their scanners, no signs of struggle or damage when they circle the vessel.

Of course, they send a party to investigate. The buildings were all sealed. After following the "outdoor" pathways for a time, the party decided to split up. One team stayed on the surface, and the other went into the maintenance tunnels to see about restoring power.

Through dream logic, the underground team finds a flooded section of tunnels, and their space suits are apparently rated for diving too (again, dream logic), so they go in. They manage to restart the city's power after finding a flooded room with a lot of controls, but they also activated a defense turret. They do not have clearance to be down there, so they end up dodging bullets. Thankfully, the turret doesn't seem as smooth and quick as it should be.

Meanwhile, the aboveground team takes advantage of the restored power to enter what looks like a medical center. Once the airlock door closed behind them, their suits pinged with an alert that the atmosphere was breathable. Sick of breathing recycled air, they take their helmets off. They're in the pediatric ward when people start appearing: nurses, receptionists, patients, all walking around as if they've always been there, and the away team's presence isn't anything out of the ordinary. One woman (non-human species, but somehow they know she's a she) approaches them and asks if they're lost. In perfectly understandable English.

Back with the underground team, one of the bullet dodgers surfaces, looking for some sort of controls to turn off the turret that works underwater. Upon getting the "breathable atmosphere" alert, the man pops their helmet to better see. Something in the water had grimed up the helmet's visor. As he's scrambling to figure out the foreign control system, a person walks soundlessly up behind him and asks him if he can be of assistance (again non-human and again totally understandable). The man yells/explains about his team being shot at, and the alien points out which screen and command will deactivate the security turret. The turret shuts down, and the rest of the underground team surface and take their helmets off. No major injuries, thankfully.

The two teams reconvene at the engineer and nurse's home (the teams managed to run into two halves of the same couple) and talk with their hosts. This was a colony ship, meant to carry tens of thousands, now abandoned, mostly. The male alien mentioned that there were other ships in their fleet, but this one was the biggest and the most expensive to keep operational. There is some old grudge there about certain people wanting the ship decommissioned due to the cost. It was finally abandoned when an illness broke out. No treatments worked to slow the progression, and a large number of the ship's inhabitants died. Since they couldn't find a cause or cure, the dead were cremated and vented into space. Those infected were left behind in quarantine to die while the healthy evacuated to other ships. The rest of the fleet left them behind.

Somehow, the majority of those left behind recovered.

Something went wrong with the ship's power about the time the last sick person recovered, and everything just shut down. They hadn't been able to fix it (no one left behind knew how), until the away party did something that caused the system to reboot.

The away party hailed their ship to land inside the still-open dome, so everyone else could get a break from their own ship's recycled air too. The aliens' air system seemed far superior, and while the "outdoors" was still a vacuum, inside the buildings was perfectly safe.

They even brought the 2 ship's cats to let them stretch their legs and explore.

Things start taking a turn when they get to asking about the mysterious disease that hit the colony. It seemed to start respiratory then startlingly quickly become a systemic infection. What the infectious agent was, they never did find out. Cultures didn't grow anything by the time the entire colony was compromised. The male alien grumbled about the "disease" being set loose on purpose to push for the ship's abandonment.

At some point one of the away team bumps into one of the aliens...and passes right through them. They quickly come to the realization there weren't truly any survivors. Conversation shifts to other topics including wondering why they stayed as ghosts when their daughter (one of the earliest to die) and so many others didn't.

The cats by this point are comfortable to make nuisances of themselves, so I (I think I was in the aboveground team, but I perspective hopped a few times) closed them in the alien couple's daughter's room. As soon as put them in the room, Meili has a sneezing fit and bolted further into the room. Paisli just looked back at me and meowed. That didn't get them out of their banishment.

I walked back into the central room of the house to the female alien describing their daughter's symptoms. Now, while alien biology was undoubtedly different, the description they gave was eerily similar to some I'd heard before. Fungal infections. The dread set in as I recalled Meili sneezing in the daughter's room, the daughter who died first of the family. Then Meili came trotting into the room and hopped onto the alien male's lap to demand pets.

The door to the daughter's room was still shut.

And then I woke up.

[fckyaas]

Princess Tutu had a surprisingly great ending. It's almost cathartic for a story that's about stories and endings to stories to have a pretty good ending itself.

[sydmarch]

one interpretation of everything that happens with jupe i don't necessarily think is Correct but that's inch resting to consider is jupe surviving gordy's rampage but not jean jacket has to do with how he's "switched sides" so to speak. in gordy's home both jupe and gordy were in a similar position wrt exploitation, being a child star and a trained animal. by going on to create the star lasso experience jupe finds himself on the other side as the one responsible for the exploitation. not to say that gordy consciously spared jupe because they were on the same side or anything but they were on the same side. and when that's no longer true - when jupe and the predator are no longer fellow victims of the spectacle - there's no hope of him being spared by it this time.