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#hand gore tw
angstywishes · 2 years
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Hands ✨
ok so this took me a minute because i. may have gotten a little carried away with it. buuut introducing irene and jasper finally! ^_^
(CW: needles, hand trauma/fingore obviously, toxic behavior, possessive whumper, some blood of course, this is kind of just abusive buildup till it gets to hand gore)
(wc: 920 oh my god)
“You have such nice hands,” Irene hums thoughtfully, running a thumb over the metacarpal bones, feeling the individual bumps breaking up the soft flesh. “It’s a shame you’ve done so much damage to them with all that work.”
Jasper is trying desperately to hold still. Just.. Hold still. Maybe she’ll get bored if he holds still. Maybe she won’t do anything at all.
She tilts her head inquisitively, deep in thought. Jasper hates it when she does that. When she looks like she’s coming up with an idea. There’s always a more than likely chance it will be something that hurts.
“You know, with a little work, we could make this into art.” She’s inspecting his hands closer, and he feels his heart in his throat. Art. She says it like nothing could be more normal. Like she means finger painting, or nail art. But he knows better.
He avoids looking at her, though he can feel her eyes boring into him. Like a sculptor trying to find the shape in their clay.
“Don’t you think? Maybe some embroidery, or some carving..” Irene idly fiddles with Jasper’s fingers. Her eyes light up with an idea. “I could stitch them all together and you’d never have to ruin your pretty hands again.”
He swallows, hard, eyes focused on the floor. What can he say? What can he do? His fingers twitch in Irene’s hand, and she laughs a bit.
“Don’t be nervous. It wouldn’t take long, if you held still.” She uses her free hand to lift Jasper’s chin, forcing eye contact. His green eyes reflect her white teeth as she smiles softly. “It might even be convenient, you know. It would make it so much easier for me to leave you at home all alone.”
Jasper finds it in himself to speak.
“What if — What if you need my help with things, though?” His mouth feels dry. He’s grasping at straws, really. “Holding, uh, needles, or something?”
“Silly, I can do that without your help.” She boops his nose affectionately. And Jasper wishes he were still able to fight back, as Irene stands up to go find her good thread. He wishes he could still run out that door. But wishing doesn’t do much for him now.
“Irene,” he rasps desperately as she returns, needle in hand, “Please, don’t — don’t do this.”
Her face falls. He regrets opening his mouth.
“Jasper..” She sits back down next to him, hands shaking a little. “You understand that this is for you, right? I’m doing this for you.”
He can’t tell if her shaking is from anxiety, or anger. Maybe both.
“And — All I want to do is show you how.. Important, you are to me. You know that, right? Right?”
Her voice is getting slightly more shrill as she continues, her hand tightly gripping the needle. She curls her fist around it, and slams it into the table, making Jasper flinch.
She takes a deep breath, and smiles again.
“I’m.. Sorry, Jasper, what were you saying, again?”
“..N.. Nothing, Irene.” He ducks his head, and puts his hands on the table in front of him.
Irene’s smile becomes more natural as she lifts one of Jasper’s hands, sighing softly.
“That’s what I thought. Now, this won’t take too long.”
It’s a lie.
The pain is excruciating — the needle sends a shock through his nerves, and the thread trails through for what feels like forever.
He can’t bring himself to watch the white thread being pulled through and turning red.
He bites down on his lip to keep from screaming. Irene hates it when he screams, but every stitch makes him want to cry. His hand twitches in pain, pulling one of the stitches tight, and he loses out against instinct as a sob pries itself free from his throat.
Irene pulls the next stitch tighter, and he presses his forehead into the table to suppress his cries. He wants to curl his fingers into his palms and hide, but he can’t.
“You’re being so good for me, Jasper,” Irene says gently, and Jasper whines in response. He doesn’t want to be good. He just wants to go home.
His hands won’t stop shaking, which makes everything hurt worse.
“This would be going so much faster if I were using my sewing machine,” the artist muses. Jasper stops breathing for a moment. “But your hands are too big, so this will have to do.”
Thank god, thank god, he can start breathing again.
He feels lightheaded. He can’t tell how long has passed since they started — Every so often his vision goes white with pain.
The needle moves in and out of the sides of his fingers, doubling back and stitching again for strength. The thread is blood red. The needle is so sharp it slides right through him like he’s nothing. He thinks he might throw up.
They must be done by now, surely. He can’t take any more.
“There we are,” Irene sings, “Oh, it looks so pretty!”
Jasper can’t look. He won’t.
He brings his teary eyes to his hand, and chokes out a sob. His fingers are completely stitched together. He can’t even bend them properly. He screws his eyes shut, not wanting to look anymore.
At least it’s over, he thinks.
“Do you like it?” Irene’s voice cuts through him. Despite everything, Jasper swallows every terrible thing he wants to say and nods.
“Good!” She puts down his hand. “Now I can move on to your other one.”
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beebeedibapbeediboop · 7 months
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The unholy
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miirci · 1 year
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Akira WILL bite fingers off if someone even tries to scruff him
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xitsensunmoon · 3 months
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TW: HORROR, GORE
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Wanted to post this tomorrow but GRVGR couldn't wait lmao🤭 something is definitely going on hehe
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macksartblock · 3 months
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i'm tired and i'm done looking at these lmao
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rusty-gloinks · 2 months
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it’s a secret I keep tucked inside my chest
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Rending Flesh From the Bone
Ah yes, the dpxdc "drabble" I decided to write for Halloween. Honestly not too enthused with how it came out but posting it anyway. I feel like some parts feel a bit rushed and there might be some plotholes. Oh well. As always, feel free to add on if you so desire.
TW: Gore, Cannibalism, Vomiting, Zalgo Text
Translations for the Zalgo are available at the end.
AO3 version
   “Are you sure about this, Hood?”
   Dick stared at the entrance of the abandoned subway tunnel, Jason practically vibrating out of his armor beside him. 
   For once, it was Jason who had broken into Dick’s apartment and not the other way around. He was rambling something about the Joker and needing Dick’s help, and who was Dick to say no? His little brother never sought him out on his own, let alone asked for his help. Never. Dick was so proud! If he rewarded this behavior then maybe Jason would do it again, and somehow that would lead to Dick being able to give him his highly sought-after best big brother hugs whenever he wanted. Dick was still figuring out the intermediate steps.
  The point is that Dick needed to help him, regardless of if this was all based on a gut feeling and not even a whisper that the Joker was around let alone planning anything. What the hell, Dick thought. Sometimes gut feelings are right, and push comes to shove, Dick will follow Red Hood around Gotham until his paranoia dies down. Then Dick can lovingly bully him into brother bonding time.
   So here they were, staring into the gaping mouth of an unused tunnel.
   There are worse ways he could have spent his night.
   Jason grunts, fists clenched as they gaze into the blackness. “It’s almost Halloween. You know how these freaks get this time of year.”
   Dick concedes the point.  
   “Come on,” Jason bumps against his shoulder as he stalks toward the blackness, “He’s down there I just know it.”
   Dick shrugs and follows him in.
   Something about it is oppressive. Like something is warning them to turn back or face the consequences. Dick swallows. He shouldn’t be getting so worked up over this. He had been in closed dark spaces like this before, tighter ones even! 
  “Dick.”
   Jason is pointing to the ground. Dark splatters. Blood. Fresh, and more than just a little nosebleed. 
   They make their way further in, following the convenient blood trail even as the urge to turn around gets stronger. They only walk a few feet before a loud scream breaks the silence.
   “I fucking told ya Nightwing!” 
   Dick grunts in response as they sprint down the tunnel, following the blood down twists and turns.
   The two vigilantes slide to a stop as the tunnel breaks into a new one. There is something in this new tunnel. Something large and glowing. The Joker is screaming as it bats him around. 
   Dick can’t bring himself to do anything but freeze, watching and assessing. 
   The first thing he sees is the crown. It floats crookedly above the creature’s white hair, bathing the tunnel in light with its green fiery glow. The being’s face almost looks humanoid, with long ears tapering into points. Its body is long and spindly like a man who had been left starving on an island for several weeks. The vertebrae in its neck are visible even underneath its skin. The spinous processes of the vertebrae break through the flesh, creating a long row of protruding bones that clack and rattle as the spine moves. Its pelvis juts out as if only a thin layer of skin is covering it. The ribcage is on the outside of its body like some kind of fucked up turtle shell. Space was underneath it, the purples and blues of nebulas and the blackness of night and twinkling stars and planets rested underneath the bones.
  The creature has the Joker by the neck. It reminds Dick of a cat Damian had fostered, one that had kittens and would carry them gently between her jaws. There is nothing gentle about this though. Red blood drips down to the ground as the Joker thrashes to try and free himself. The jaws tighten viciously around him and the creature shakes, flinging him around like a chew toy before slamming him down into the ground with a growl.
   A skull flashes underneath its face as if its skin and cartilage are merely a transparent overlay. Sharp, jagged bone peaks rise up smoothly from its mandible in a mimicry of teeth.
   The creature’s jaws are still wrapped around the Joker’s throat. He’s scrambling, screeching underneath the being despite the teeth that should be cutting into his vocal cords.  The Joker scratches at its chest, trying to push it away. It merely makes a low staticky hissing noise, one of its hands pinning him down by the shoulder. 
    The other arm raises upwards in the air. It's too long for the body of the creature, fingers tapering into sharp points. 
   The claws slash downwards. 
   The Joker choked on a scream as the digits tore his chest open like it were tissue paper. Mouth still wrapped around his throat, the being flipped a flap of skin and fat upwards like it was turning the page of a book. 
   The Joker continued to struggle, blood and something green gurgling out of his mouth. The being maneuvered itself until it crouched to Joker’s side, twisting his neck with it. 
  The Joker stilled.
   At first, Dick thought he was dead, but then he saw movement inside his chest wound. 
   His lungs.
   His lungs were still moving.
   Dick can see his lungs breathing.
   The creature reaches its hand back down into the Joker’s chest, wrenching the ribcage open with a snap. The Joker begins to struggle once more, red blood and green liquid splattering on the ground.
   One of the clawed hands replaced its teeth, pinning the Joker’s head down as it stuck its face inside the chest cavity. The Joker suddenly froze. When its face remerged a glowing violet orb was held between its teeth. Red and green dripped from its face.
   The green was familiar.
   Glowing green.
   …
   …Lazarus water?
   The tooth-like protrusions pierce the orb with a crack.
   The Joker falls silent.
   His lungs are no longer moving.
   The being’s head tilts back, the shattered orb disappearing down its gullet. It hunches back down over the corpse. The slimy wet sounds of its hands and head digging into the body are sickening. Dick watches as its head remerges with what looks like a kidney. The kidney follows the orb.
   Dick snaps out of his shock, but not quick enough to muffle his strangled gasp. 
   The being catches sight of them, green eyes, lazarus green, boring into them. Dick can see the dark hollows of the skull’s orbits underneath them. His head pounds.
   The creature began to stand. Its joints, too many joints, creaked as it unfolded its legs. It seemed like it struggled to maneuver its stiff limbs. Like it’s fighting against rigor mortis Dick noted absently.  
   Now standing at full height, the being’s crown nearly scraped the top of the ten-foot ceiling. Its maw parted, blue vapor billowing out between the spiked protrusions that were its teeth. The putrid stench of death and burning flesh that invaded the tunnel had Dick gagging. He quietly covered his mouth as he tried to bite back the bile in his throat.
   He glanced back at his brother to find that Jason had taken a step back. It was impossible to see his expression under the helmet, but Dick could read the tightening of his shoulders. Fear. Deep, primal fear. The kind of fear you feel when you know there are no more options. When you know fighting or running is pointless.
   Here, at this moment, the infamous Red Hood looked less like a feared crime lord vigilante and more like a one-week-old gazelle face to face with a lion.
   Dick reached to pull Jason out of sight but the pounding between his eyes made him uncoordinated. He tripped over his own feet and crashed into Jason’s side, gripping his shoulder with shaking fingers as he righted himself. Jason didn’t budge, remaining stock still despite the extra weight of his older brother against him. 
   The creature stared at them, the piercing green glow of its eyes brightening with a spur of power. Its head tilted to the side until it came to rest at well over ninety degrees. A pointed, frostbitten tongue lolled out between its teeth to lick its bloodied face clean.
   “C̷o̷m̶p̴a̵n̵y̵?̵” It sounded like the desolation of space, the static of electricity, the explosion of a star, the final screech before death.
   The space trapped in its chest began to bleed through its ribs, twinkling stars and asteroids and galaxies escaping the confines of their prison to drip down the being’s waist. It ran over its legs, building and thickening until a long serpentine tail had replaced the limbs entirely. Even as the coils moved, the stars and planets stayed in place as if the tail was merely a window. Watching it made Dick motion sick.
  Even as the elongated spines stretching out of its back clanked together in the mimicry of a death rattle, the creature made no move toward them. Another puff of foul-smelling mist escaped its mouth.
   “Y̶o̷u̸ ̶s̵h̴o̷u̴l̵d̶ ̴b̶e̵ ̸m̴o̴r̷e̸ ̴c̷a̴r̸e̴f̴u̷l̵,̷ ̸l̴i̴t̷t̶l̷e̸ ̶g̶h̸o̷s̴t̶l̷i̸n̷g̸.̸” It’s voice boomed, “Y̴o̸u̵ ̶a̸r̶e̵ ̷n̷o̶ ̷m̵a̸t̸c̶h̴ ̷f̴o̵r̴ ̸m̶o̵s̷t̷ ̴s̸p̵i̴r̴i̷t̴s̴ ̵a̸s̸ ̷y̵o̵u̵n̷g̴ ̴a̷s̶ ̶y̶o̵u̶ ̷a̸r̵e̵.̷ ̷E̶s̸p̷e̸c̵i̶a̶l̴l̷y̶ ̶n̴o̵t̷ ̴o̶n̴ ̶S̵a̶m̷h̷a̶i̷n̷.̶”
   The two brothers remained frozen in place. The stars in its tail flickered until millions of eyes were boring into Dick’s soul. With a stuttering gasp, Dick stepped back again. Jason refused to budge despite his urging. The next time Dick blinked the eyes were stars again.
   The being chuckled at them, “N̵o̴ ̴n̶e̸e̵d̷ ̵t̵o̶ ̵f̸e̸a̶r̵,̸ ̵g̸h̵o̶s̶t̶l̸i̴n̴g̶.̸ ̴I̸ ̵d̴o̵ ̷n̶o̶t̴ ̶w̶i̸s̵h̴ ̵y̸o̴u̸ ̷n̷o̵r̴ ̸y̴o̶u̴r̸ ̴f̵r̸a̷i̵d̷ ̴h̵a̵r̷m̸.̶” Dick found that hard to believe considering that they had just watched it eat the Joker’s kidney, “Y̸o̵u̴ ̸a̷r̴e̵ ̵v̵e̸r̸y̶ ̴l̵u̶c̸k̶y̴ ̶i̶t̵ ̴w̷a̴s̴ ̴m̶e̵ ̸w̴h̷o̸ ̸y̶o̷u̵ ̷c̸a̸m̷e̴ ̵a̶c̴r̷o̸s̸s̵ ̶r̸a̴t̷h̷e̵r̸ ̷t̵h̵a̷n̴ ̴a̵n̷o̴t̶h̶e̶r̵ ̷s̴p̷i̸r̸i̴t̸.̵ ̷M̶a̷n̶y̶ ̵w̴o̸u̶l̴d̸ ̷h̸a̶v̸e̷ ̵e̷a̷t̴e̴n̵ ̸y̸o̴u̶ ̴b̵y̷ ̵n̴o̴w̶.̴”
  “I-” Jason finally choked out, “What?”
  The being lowered itself until it was at eye level with Jason. It evaluated him once more before jerking back with what seemed to be an expression of surprise. “O̷h̷ ̸l̵i̶t̷t̵l̷e̵ ̴g̴h̴o̶s̴t̴,̶ ̶y̶o̶u̴ ̸a̴r̵e̸ ̵m̴u̸c̴h̴ ̸y̸o̷u̸n̴g̴e̴r̶ ̵t̶h̷a̶n̸ ̶I̵ ̵h̸a̷d̸ ̴t̵h̵o̵u̸g̸h̵t̵!̵ ̴Y̴o̵u̶r̵ ̷c̵o̴r̸e̵ ̵i̴s̴ ̷n̸e̷w̶ ̶a̷n̷d̵ ̸u̶n̶d̴e̷r̵n̴o̸u̸r̶i̶s̸h̵e̴d̴.̶ ̸N̴o̵ ̴w̸o̴n̸d̵e̶r̶ ̷I̷ ̴h̵a̸d̴ ̷n̵o̷t̴ ̴s̸e̸n̴s̵e̵d̵ ̸y̸o̶u̶ ̶b̷e̵f̵o̷r̷e̶!̴ ̶H̵a̵v̷e̶ ̶y̶o̷u̴ ̷b̵e̵e̵n̵ ̶e̸a̷t̸i̷n̴g̶?̸”
   Its tone seemed almost doting, motherly even. The image was broken by the fact that it was currently leaning closer toward them, supporting itself on what was left of the Joker’s exposed ribcage. 
   Jason shook his head in dumbfounded horror.
  The creature seemed to take it as an answer, humming in what felt like parental disappointment. “Y̶o̶u̷ ̵n̵e̴e̴d̸ ̶t̷o̷ ̷t̶a̵k̸e̵ ̷b̴e̸t̵t̵e̸r̶ ̷c̸a̶r̸e̴ ̶o̷f̶ ̸y̴o̴u̴r̵s̸e̷l̶f̴,̴ ̵l̷i̸t̴t̷l̶e̵ ̶g̶h̵o̸s̵t̴.̵ ̵I̵'̴v̸e̴ ̴n̵e̸v̴e̶r̸ ̸s̵e̵e̵n̷ ̴s̵u̶c̵h̵ ̸a̶n̴ ̸u̶n̷d̷e̸r̶n̶o̴u̸r̸i̸s̵h̸e̵d̶ ̷c̶o̶r̷e̴.̸ ̷Y̷o̶u̴ ̸m̴u̶s̷t̷ ̸b̷e̷ ̷a̵b̵l̷e̸ ̴t̸o̴ ̸f̸e̸e̶l̷ ̸t̶h̵e̸ ̸e̸f̷f̵e̷c̷t̵s̴.̶ ̵A̴r̴e̴ ̶y̴o̴u̶ ̴i̵n̸ ̸p̸a̵i̴n̶?̴”
   Dick knew that he was. If it wasn’t the emotional torment of the pit madness it was chronic pain. There had been many nights where he had to tend to his brother, trying everything from painkillers to ice packs to numbing cream in an attempt to stop it.
   Jason nodded hesitantly, “Yes…” he took his helmet off, letting it drop to the ground. His eyes were burning lazarus green, “It hurts all the time… like there’s a fire burning in my chest. It gets hotter and hotter and hotter until I feel like my brain is gonna melt outta my ears.”
   The creature slithered closer with a rumbling coo. It offered a hand to Jason. Its fingers curled unnaturally. It looked like it had an extra knuckle. “C̷o̷m̷e̴ ̵h̸e̷r̸e̴,̵ ̸g̴h̷o̴s̵t̷l̷i̸n̸g̶.̴ ̴I̷ ̷w̶i̴l̶l̸ ̸s̸h̴a̸r̸e̴ ̷m̶y̶ ̸c̷a̴t̵c̶h̴.̷ ̷I̵ ̷c̵a̴n̷ ̶s̶e̴n̴s̴e̵ ̸t̵h̴e̸ ̵c̴o̵n̷n̸e̵c̴t̶i̷o̷n̷ ̶t̴h̴i̵s̵ ̷r̸e̸v̷e̷n̴a̴n̸t̴ ̴h̴a̶s̸ ̸t̷o̷ ̸y̶o̶u̵.̶ ̷A̸s̸ ̵y̷o̷u̶r̴ ̷k̷i̵l̸l̶e̶r̶,̶ ̵f̵e̸a̵s̷t̴i̴n̸g̶ ̸o̴n̷ ̵h̵i̷m̶ ̸w̷i̴l̵l̵ ̴h̷a̸v̶e̷ ̶e̸x̶t̸r̶a̴ ̶b̶e̷n̸e̵f̸i̵t̷s̴.̸”
   Jason reaches out to accept the hand. Dick throws himself between them, “Little Wing, what the hell! You aren’t seriously going to… you're not…”
   “I… I need it, Dick.” Jason wiped drool from his lips. Dick caught the flash of fanged teeth, sharper than they should have been. “I don’t know how to explain it but I just- I’m so fucking hungry.”
   Dick… Dick wasn’t scared of Jason. He wasn’t. But at that moment, he felt like he needed to run. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t abandon his little brother to this…thing.
   “I̸ ̵u̶n̵d̴e̸r̶s̸t̵a̷n̴d̵ ̷y̶o̴u̶r̴ ̸a̵p̶p̷r̸e̶h̴e̷n̶s̷i̵o̸n̵.̵” the being addressed him, Dick struggled to look it in the eyes, the pounding of his head increasing, “A̶s̷ ̷a̷ ̶l̴i̷v̵i̴n̷g̴ ̷i̸t̸ ̴f̴e̵e̶l̸s̷ ̴w̷r̶o̶n̶g̵,̶ ̶s̴i̶c̵k̴e̴n̴i̶n̵g̴ ̶e̴v̷e̷n̸.̷ ̴I̸t̷ ̵t̷o̸o̶k̷ ̸m̵e̴ ̶a̶ ̷l̶o̸n̴g̸ ̸t̵i̴m̷e̵ ̵t̵o̸ ̷c̵o̵m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̴ ̷t̷e̸r̷m̸s̸ ̸w̶i̶t̴h̸ ̴i̸t̴.̷ ̵I̶ ̴u̸n̵d̶e̵r̷s̸t̶a̴n̶d̸.̸ ̴B̷u̴t̵ ̴i̵t̷ ̸i̵s̷ ̸s̸o̵m̸e̸t̷h̶i̸n̷g̶ ̷o̷u̸r̵ ̷s̴p̸e̷c̷i̵e̵s̸ ̷n̸e̸e̶d̵s̸.̵ ̸S̵u̶r̸e̷l̸y̶ ̴y̷o̷u̴ ̸m̶u̷s̴t̷ ̴h̴a̸v̸e̷ ̷w̴i̴t̸n̴e̸s̴s̵e̶d̸ ̶t̴h̷e̴ ̴e̴f̴f̶e̷c̴t̴s̶ ̶o̴f̴ ̶s̵t̶a̶r̴v̷a̸t̶i̶o̶n̴ ̵o̴n̸ ̸y̵o̷u̶r̷ ̶f̵r̵a̶i̷d̸m̶a̷t̶e̸?̵”
  Moments flash through Dick’s head. Jason breathes as he struggles against the pit so hard that Dick starts to worry his brother will pop a lung. Jason looked at the remains of another destroyed glass in dismay, before practically sprinting to hole himself up somewhere Dick couldn’t find him. Jason sobs into his shirt, begging him to make it stop, to take the pain away as Dick watches on helplessly.
   “I̷t̵ ̷w̸i̷l̵l̶ ̵o̷n̶l̵y̷ ̷g̷e̵t̵ ̷w̴o̸r̴s̸e̶ ̶i̷f̷ ̶h̴e̷ ̷d̵o̶e̶s̴n̸'̶t̷ ̸e̵a̶t̴.̵ ̶E̴v̶e̵n̵t̸u̴a̴l̸l̵y̸,̸ ̵t̴h̴e̵ ̵s̶t̶a̶r̴v̷a̵t̶i̸o̵n̵ ̸w̴i̷l̵l̵ ̶b̴e̶ ̶s̶o̷ ̸b̷a̶d̸ ̷h̷i̸s̵ ̴c̷o̴r̵e̵ ̷w̷i̸l̷l̴ ̷s̷e̵l̸f̵-̷c̴a̷n̴n̷i̵b̷a̶l̵i̵z̴e̷.̵”
   “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
   “I̶ ̷a̵m̵ ̷K̶i̶n̷g̷ ̷P̶h̵a̴n̸t̵o̶m̵ ̵o̸f̷ ̵t̶h̴e̸ ̶I̴n̶f̶i̵n̷i̶t̸e̶ ̶R̷e̶a̸l̴m̷s̴,̷ ̶t̴h̷e̶ ̵A̸n̶c̵i̶e̵n̶t̵ ̵o̵f̵ ̵S̸p̸a̶c̸e̸,̶ ̶P̷r̸o̶t̶e̴c̵t̸o̷r̷ ̴o̶f̷ ̶t̷h̸e̸ ̵L̷i̸v̵i̷n̸g̸ ̸a̵n̷d̴ ̸D̷e̸a̴d̴,̷ ̷t̵h̷e̴ ̶O̸n̸e̴ ̸W̶h̶o̶ ̷L̷i̴e̴s̷ ̸I̴n̶ ̴B̴e̷t̸w̴e̵e̴n̵,̷ ̶t̴h̶e̷ ̴K̵i̴n̶g̵ ̸o̷f̶ ̶G̶h̷o̴s̸t̷s̵.̴” What almost looks like a smile splits across his face, “I̴f̸ ̶I̶ ̴w̵e̶r̴e̵ ̷n̵o̸t̵ ̶a̴w̷a̸r̷e̶ ̶o̶f̵ ̶m̷y̸ ̵p̶e̴o̶p̷l̴e̸'̵s̵ ̸n̷e̶e̴d̵s̵ ̷I̴ ̶w̵o̷u̸l̵d̴ ̷b̴e̶ ̴a̸ ̷v̴e̵r̵y̷ ̷p̴o̸o̷r̸ ̴k̶i̸n̷g̸ ̶i̵n̶d̷e̸e̷d̴.̸”
   Dick turns back to Jason. His brother hasn’t looked this small since before his death. He’s shaking. He looks desperate.
   Dick steps to the side.
   Jason lets out a stuttering breath but remains still otherwise, hands clenched at his sides.
   The newly dubbed King Phantom returns to the corpse, digging through fluid and meat. “I̴f̷ ̸i̴t̷ ̷i̶s̴ ̸a̸n̸y̴ ̵c̴o̵n̸s̸o̵l̶a̸t̷i̷o̵n̶,̷ ̵h̶e̵ ̷w̶i̴l̵l̵ ̸n̴o̷t̸ ̶n̷e̸e̶d̴ ̵t̶o̵ ̶e̸a̵t̴ ̴o̷f̴t̶e̸n̶.̸ ̸O̵n̴c̸e̸ ̴o̸r̴ ̸t̶w̷i̴c̸e̵ ̷e̸v̷e̸r̸y̶ ̷f̴i̶f̸t̵y̶ ̵y̸e̷a̴r̶s̶ ̸o̷r̴ ̷s̴o̵ ̷s̵h̵o̶u̶l̵d̶ ̸b̶e̸ ̸e̴n̸o̵u̸g̵h̴ ̶t̸o̶ ̸k̶e̴e̵p̶ ̴h̶i̶m̷ ̶r̸e̴l̶a̷t̷i̸v̶e̷l̶y̸ ̵h̶e̵a̸l̶t̸h̶y̴.̶“ He pulls out the Joker's liver with bloody claws. "C̷o̴m̷e̵ ̶h̵e̸r̸e̷,̵ ̷g̸h̵o̴s̷t̷l̵i̸n̴g̸," he purrs, offering it to Jason as if it were an apple instead of a human organ, "I̴ ̴k̴n̶o̷w̸ ̷y̸o̴u̵'̶r̵e̷ ̴h̶u̶n̷g̶r̸y̷.̶ ̵T̴h̵e̸ ̷e̶c̴t̴o̵p̷l̶a̶s̷m̷ ̸i̴n̴ ̶h̷e̷r̴e̵ ̵w̵i̵l̵l̴ ̵h̵e̴l̶p̵ ̵b̵o̵o̸s̶t̵ ̸y̶o̵u̵r̵ ̷o̸w̷n̸ ̶e̶c̷t̴o̴ ̸p̶r̶o̷d̴u̷c̴t̴i̶o̴n̵.̵"
   Jason reaches for it, eyes flicking uncertainly between the liver and the creature’s eyes. Despite everything, Dick almost hopes that he will suddenly come to his senses, slap the hand away, and leap backward gagging in disgust.
  Instead, he wraps a couple of fingers around one of King Phantom’s. His tank of a brother looks minuscule in comparison. Jason stares up at the being with wide eyes, like a child presented with cotton candy.
   “Are you sure I can have it?”
   King Phantom’s chest lets out another deep rumbling purr. “T̶h̷e̴ ̶l̴o̷s̵s̵ ̴i̸s̴ ̵n̸o̴t̶ ̷a̷ ̷g̵r̷e̶a̵t̸ ̴o̷n̷e̴ ̵f̴o̶r̴ ̸m̴e̸.̴ ̵I̵ ̵a̶m̸ ̷p̷o̸w̵e̷r̶f̸u̸l̸ ̵e̶n̸o̶u̷g̷h̵ ̷t̵o̴ ̶s̷u̷r̸v̴i̸v̸e̸ ̵o̷f̵f̶ ̷a̷m̴b̷i̶e̸n̵t̸ ̸e̸c̷t̵o̷p̷l̵a̵s̶m̸ ̸a̶n̸d̴ ̴e̸m̸o̶t̷i̵o̴n̸s̶ ̴l̴o̷n̷g̶e̸r̸ ̴t̸h̸a̵n̸ ̴o̶t̴h̵e̸r̸s̷.̷ ̸B̶e̵s̶i̸d̸e̸s̴,̶ ̴t̵h̵e̶r̴e̷ ̸w̴i̴l̷l̷ ̴a̷l̴w̴a̵y̷s̷ ̵b̸e̴ ̸a̵n̶o̷t̸h̴e̷r̴ ̸c̶r̶i̶m̷i̴n̶a̵l̵ ̸t̴o̸ ̷h̶u̸n̵t̵.̵”
   Jason snatches the liver with burning green eyes. The organ wobbles in his hands. To Dick’s dismay, Jason takes a large eager bite. His expression can only be described as blissed relief like he had just tasted ambrosia. He goes in for another, larger bite before he has even swallowed the first, jaw unhinging like a snake. 
   Dick is never eating Jello again. 
   He watches with detachment as Jason takes a third bite of the liver. His brother’s mouth is painted in red and green like a facsimile of King Phantom’s. For the first time, Jason’s chest stutteringly hums in relieved glee. King Phantom purrs in return as he tucks his face back into the corpse, like some sort of horrific feedback loop. 
   Dick tries to focus on something else, anything else, but the iron stench of blood and burning flesh is inescapable. He tries to avert his eyes away from the gorey pile of what used to be the Joker as his brother and the creature tear into it. The stars that makeup King Phantom’s tail stare at him. They blink. A sharp pain shoots behind his eyes as he shuts them tightly. 
   It feels like he loses time.
   When he opens them again, his brother is gnawing flesh off a rib. The entire front of his body is caked in red and green. King Phantom is staring at him with piercing green eyes. Intestines dangle from between its jaws. Its tongue maneuvers them further into its mouth like they are spaghetti noodles. 
   The bile rises in his throat again. Dick retches against the wall. He wipes the acid from his mouth and leans his forehead against the brick. The coolness of the stone eases the pain zinging between his eyes. He can still hear the squelching of meat and snapping of bone behind him. 
  A noise of concern sounds from his brother.
   Dick turns back in the direction of the horror show, keeping his eyes squeezed tight.
   King Phantom hums in thought. “P̴e̷r̷h̷a̶p̶s̶ ̴i̷t̸ ̵w̶i̷l̴l̷ ̸b̵e̵ ̸e̶a̵s̵i̵e̴r̸ ̶i̷f̴ ̸y̴o̵u̸ ̷w̵a̵i̴t̸ ̶o̷u̸t̵s̶i̵d̵e̷.̸”
    “Y-yeah.” Dick nods, voice cracking. “I think I’ll just… do that.”
   Jason makes a noise of acknowledgment. 
   Another bone snaps.
   Dick quickly makes his way back the way they had come. He stops briefly to vomit again, though there is nothing left in his stomach to throw up. When he emerges from the tunnel entrance he gasps on fresh Gotham air. He wraps his arms tight around himself with shaking fingers as he tries to steady his breathing. With the absence of the creature the pain in his head steadily fades away, though the images of bloody organs and sounds of desperate screaming remain persistent. 
   He’s not sure how long he waits outside, but it's long enough that he begins to worry something happened to Jason. He begins to wonder if the creature pinned him down like it had the Joker, restaining him with his neck between its fangs. What would Dick even do? How could he save his brother from that… thing?
   Jason remerges before he can figure it out. He’s clean of any visible blood or lazarus water, but the acrid tang of death and gore follows him. 
   Jason pleadingly stares at him through the eyes of his helmet. 
   Dick nods.
   They don’t speak of it again.
______________________
Zalgo Translations...
"Company?"
"You should be more careful, little ghostling."
"You are no match for most spirits as young as you are. Especially not on Samhain."
"No need to fear, ghostling. I do not wish you nor your fraid harm."
"You are very lucky it was me who you came across rather than some other spirit. Many would have eaten you by now."
"Oh little ghost, you are much younger than I had thought! Your core is new and undernourished. No wonder I had not sensed you before! Have you been eating?"
"You need to take better care of yourself, little ghost. I've never seen such an undernourished core. You must be able to feel the effects. Are you in pain?"
"Come here, ghostling. I will share my catch. I can sense the connection this revenant has to you. As your killer, feasting on him will have extra benefits."
"I understand your apprehension."
"As a living it feels wrong, sickening even. It took me a long time to come to terms with it. I understand. But it is something our species needs. Surely you must have witnessed the effects of starvation on your fraidmate?"
"It will only get worse if he doesn't eat. Eventually, the starvation will be so bad his core will self-cannibalize."
"I am King Phantom of the Infinite Realms, the Ancient of Space, Protector of the Living and Dead, the One Who Lies In Between, the King of Ghosts."
"If I were not aware of my people's needs I would be a very poor king indeed."
"If it is any consolation, he will not need to eat often. Once or twice every fifty years or so should be enough to keep him relatively healthy. "
"Come here, ghostling,"
"I know you're hungry. The ectoplasm in here will help boost your own ecto production."
"The loss is not a great one for me. I am powerful enough to survive off ambient ectoplasm and emotions longer than others. Besides, there will always be another criminal to hunt."
"Perhaps it will be easier if you wait outside."
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philonob · 9 months
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Takes you by your hand 😳
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Angel of Death.
In the medical field. Some people with a pathological interest in the power of life and death can be attracted to medical or related professions.
Killers who occupy the role of a professional carer are sometimes referred to as "angels of death" or "angels of mercy".
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Really proud of this one :)
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Alternate versions:
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Close-ups:
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And a bonus version with all the layers on, because of course I didn't do this on a new canvas:
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tendersugarr · 10 months
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Idle Hands (1999)
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They're pirates.
So it makes sense, really.
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People die in pirate shows. Sun poisoning, heatstroke.
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People die in pirate shows. Suffocation.
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People die in pirate shows. Stabbings.
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People die in pirate shows. Hangings.
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People die in pirate shows. More stabbings.
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People die in pirate shows. Infections.
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People die in pirate shows. Amputations.
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People die in pirate shows. More stabbings.
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People die in pirate shows. Scurvy.
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People die in pirate shows. Broken ribs, spine.
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People die in pirate shows. Drowning.
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People die in pirate shows. More amputations.
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People die in pirate shows. Traumatic brain injuries.
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People die in pirate shows. Sun poisoning, heatstroke, starvation.
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People die in pirate shows. Gunshots.
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People die in pirate shows. More amputations.
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People die in pirate shows. Even more amputations.
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People die in pirate shows. More gunshots.
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People die in pirate shows. More gunshots.
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People die in pirate shows. More traumatic brain injuries.
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People die in pirate shows. Even more stabbings.
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People die in pirate shows. Poisoning.
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People die in pirate shows. Allergic reaction.
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People die in pirate shows. Even more traumatic brain injuries.
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People die in pirate shows. Explosions.
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People die in pirate shows. More poisoning.
So it makes sense that Izzy died. Because people die in pirate shows. And this is a show about pirates. Where people die.
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puertoricaninja: Delicious Chaos Dump pt. 3 ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥
Trigger warning: on slide 6 is the very real looking seagull (the insides were a tapioca mix with chocolate sauce) that we were consuming on episode 3 🥲
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jinkitsuragi · 1 year
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censored version
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my-craft · 7 months
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Candela Obscura pulled me in and would not let go
Bonus!
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Versions without the heart and without the words
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throwaway-yandere · 8 months
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What HaPpEneD aT 10:10? (Yandere!"Gepard Landau"/Reader)
Scriptwriter's Note: I implore you to remember what happened at 10:10. And once you do, come talk to three of my associates. For now, let her help you recall what's going on in the present time. You can remember the time, but we need you to remember the murder weapon, who killed who, and the motive.
Synopsis: Trapped in Serval Landau’s basement for so long, you made a deal with the Sampo to escape confinement. As it turns out, your timing is never impeccable. Aka: a Belobog "murder" mystery. (A/n: ansy here, have fun trying to guess what happened! But please. PLEASE do not read this if you're sensitive to the topics below ⬇)
CW: Yandere and horror themes, "most unreliable narrator AND reader ever" - sam, violence, amputation, mentions of domestic (physical) abuse. His smile is stiff as a board. There’s a portal at the end of the story, your choices matter (there are 2 possible endings). Welcome to the Back Alley.
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A murder was announced to occur on Saturday, October 2, at the Golden Theater’s back alley, around 10:10 AM.
It was an unidentified note. Short and crudely pasted cutouts from old magazines were its contents. Many believe the Astral Express put it together as a twisted joke. It’s no coincidence that the clocks' little hands near the theater were also forever stuck at 10:10. No one took it seriously. Additionally, a nearby bookshop used this opportunity to "hype" its mystery books by joining the bandwagon. While the Silvermane Guards officially took the "threat" as if it didn't exist, others transformed it into an event by creating crime scene props with March 7th and Stelle serving as the main judges.  
Who'd even investigate such a note when the Golden Theater doesn’t have a back alley?
By 5:00 AM, that silly note was not at the forefront of the Silvermane Guards' minds.
It was you.
Sampo shakily exhaled a quick "heya, friend," as his legs continued to speed past the Silvermane Guards, who were all very much ready to fire. The merchanr was forced to inhale sharply and slightly elevate his voice as he worriedly fixed his attention on his 'package.' 
"Y-You're good, aren't you?" 
Inside the shopping cart (who knows where he got that) he had been pushing was a wanted person. A bit feverish, you nodded without much commitment. Even the slightest movements relieved the dubious merchant as he picked up the pace, avoiding the stray "warning" shots that were fired near.
Today, you didn't awaken in the house where you were held captive. There were no mechanical noises or loud drilling. However, your morning did begin with your flesh awkwardly molding against the metal grid patterns of the shopping cart. There was no complaining when you realized it was your old friend Sampo who had carried and set you down. You didn't even consider asking this man where he was taking you.
Days earlier, he had paid you a covert visit and explained his strategy. So you concluded that he was the one who made the "false" murder announcement public. He also implied that little Hook made the note. Your gut tells you that even while it makes sense to assume that she is the author of that absurd announcement, it doesn't seem to be the truth. But at that point, your fears of being tubed with immoral equipment vanished and you felt gratitude rather than alarm. Not that you'd ever figure out that I made it, anyways.
"S-Sampo…" You groaned, not moving from your position as your friend fished out his homemade bombs from his pocket. "W-Where are you taking me…?"
Anywhere is better than her basement.
"To Nat, of course!" You needn't tilt your head to know that he was smiling wide. "Is there any other doctor more reliable than Miss Natasha?"
You'd insensitively joke about Vache Harrower, but your strength betrays you. Not like he'd give you a chance to drop some smart-alecks when he timed his bombs right. 
Just a few short seconds after, your best friend rolled his smoke bombs on the floor and made a larger dash. You heard a tremendous boom from the back, and a silent malicious voice in your skull hoped for injuries.
They worked with her.
Jolting you up, Sampo made one swift left turn and another to the right, making sure that the last remaining guards that trailed you both were lost in the haze. He didn't stop running, but you can tell he's getting tired. Sampo is a merchant, not the sister of the ex-Captain of the Silvermane Guards.
Your nose scrunched.
Serval Landau… that paranoid woman and lousier liar…
The oldest Landau used to be your best friend along with Pela. She had treated you as though you were Gepard's twin at times, much to your discomfort. Even her parents referred to you as their kin. 
Since you had no one to care for you as a child, the Landaus happily raised you. Had you not rejected their offers for adoption, your life certainly wouldn't be where it is now. 
Back "home", Serval would make suggestions that you were more of a Landau than she’d ever be. In turn, you’d cock your head and look unamused. Then act more like one, you’d reply. Yet these forceful encouragements do not reach her.
Even when you beg her to let you out of the house, she won’t let you.
We’ve been over this before, she’d reply. I can’t let you out on your own. You’re missing your right leg, what if that man finds you? 
You’ve never understood that logic. Who was she referring to, your old boss?
Her brother died a year ago.
You once liked him. You'd even go out of your way to say he was worthy of anyone's trust. 
Was. That was before you knew that deep in the recesses of his mind that loyalty was the beginning and end of Captain Gepard Landau's character. Uniting men under his leadership, he sought only the best for his beloved Belobog.
Your mind drives memories of Gepard away and you can no longer remember what transpired to cause this. After all, you undoubtedly considered Serval and Lynx to be sisters, but you never thought of him as a brother. You can't exactly pinpoint why you treated him like that since the very beginning.
Based on your shattered memories, you were stripped away of your position as his aide. Serval claimed it was because you didn't harbor traits of self-preservation. She made a show of how unreliable you were on the field, that you were hysterical and a "liability." Their relentless critique went on for half an hour until the higher-ups had given in to her demands. 
Worse, they permitted her to surveil your movements 24/7. Using your amputated leg as an excuse, she effectively put you on house arrest– not your home, but hers. She's not an effective caretaker either, despite her attempts. Serval's use of transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation is far more brutal than what a normal practitioner would do, but no one can hear your complaints except for Molly. Her tests are never comfortable. And you loathe this.
She acted like your loss of a leg turned you into damaged goods that only the siblings can see value in. That her giving you a prosthetic was a sign of love rather than a shackle.
They said you were “hysterical”, and that you should be forgiven for whatever sin you’ve committed.
Insulting.
Insulting. Insulting. Insulting.
"H-How closer are we to the underground?" You gripped the cart, your heart racing at the speed.
Sampo coughed after accidentally inhaling his smoke.
“S-Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t change the direction of the cart–”
“What?!”
“The cart won’t turn!!!” Sampo screamed.
With each passing second, the gap between the cart and the theater narrowed. Your heart raced as this was your first experience of real danger after being sheltered for a year or so. Even though you were aware that Sampo had no control over the impending crash, you still glanced at him expectantly.
He smiled, drop-dead nervous and boyishly sheepish.
"Give me two minutes!!!"
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"Give me two minutes, Captain!!! We still need a few more."
You beamed, holding your axe to chop wood for your comrades in the Outlying Snow Plains. 
At first, you weren't trusted with heavy weapons. Luckily, being "weak" is a curable ailment for everyone. And the cure is called hard work and extreme effort. That, and an axe. 
You were the very definition of a model soldier and he found himself incredibly lucky to finally see you join the Silvermane Guards. You had an excellent posture; you were a sharpshooter and a wonderful axeman– even your breathing looks rehearsed.
And for a damn good reason.
When the Height's economy sneezes, the underground catches a cold.
Unfortunately, that means children as young as you were had to bear the flames.
The Landau parents had taken a shine to you after taking you as a servant from the orphanage. Your captain's father adored you, even though his never-smiling voice had not once indicated his affection. Captain Gepard bears resemblances from his old man in appearance but not his military demeanor; you were the one to hold that torch. 
It was through Mr. Landau you learned how much metrics and timings make a difference between an animal and a human being. You grew from someone who skitters away dynamically like a gas particle to a person grounded with instructions on how each step in a stride must be measured to perfection. Growing up with the Landaus was by no means a happy life, but it made you more keen on what constitutes "proper living." 
To you, being hit by vases and chairs for failing to fold Mr. Landau's clothes in exactly the way he wants them to be was preferable to dying in the streets with your grandmother with nothing to fill your stomach other than the restaurant trash cans nearby. And you were certain you brought more pride and joy to Mr. and Mrs. Landau than you had to your parents who had abandoned you since birth. 
People see Mr. Landau when they look at you and not Gepard.
But that's only because they have never seen the way you behave when it's only you and the Landau siblings are together.
“Working hard, I see,” Gerard said in a light joking manner.
You scratched your neck, embarrassed.
“Nah, I’m actually very lazy.”
“Don’t be so self-effacing,” Gepard smiled kindly. “I don’t miss anything. I’ve heard that you’ve made your rounds and even took on some of Pela’s duties while she’s on leave.”
“Eh, we both know I wouldn’t have done it without Pela begging me to do it for her Tales of– nevermind, Captain.”
Gepard had always viewed your abilities with the greatest reverence and approval. Serval was always quick to emphasize how her "favorite non-blood related sibling" is an "uninhibited performer" before everyone else, so Gepard thought this true in every aspect. You must think of this as writing a song to keep your mind sharp. You lose any sense of reservation once in “the zone”, and if Serval fell for the way your brows furrowed when penning down tunes and lyrics, Gepard faltered when he saw the glint in your eye as you pieced all the information needed to catch Sampo Koski’s whereabouts after your promotion. 
He had never told you this, but Gepard always felt weird sensations pooling in his chest whenever he saw you hyper-focused on something.
Or someone.
“Do you think I can catch him, Geppie?”
Gepard ruffled your hair and your face brightened up.
"Never falter, (Y/n),” he said firmly. “For I wholeheartedly believe in your strengths. Catching Sampo Koski will be a walk in the park for someone like you."
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To think that your first caught infamous criminal is your last true friend… Destiny surely toys with those who say “That’ll never happen.” It's always a fun phenomenon to write a script about.
“Walk in a park”? Try “crash in a theater”.
“SAMPO!!!”
You yelped, clawing his shirt and yanking his upper body like a wild animal. His heels screeched as the cart faced the direction of the Golden Theater.
And what nestled near the Golden Theater was its Back Alley, a place that exists on the border between reality and myth. Whispers among children weave tales that those who enter the depths are trapped in a journey of confronting their unresolved trauma and guilt. It is believed that the alley acts as another dimension where the lost must face their inner demons before emerging back into the real world, scarred forever by the distorted horrors they have confronted.
And for the first time in your life, you saw it.
You saw a fence that was never there before.
Your heart dropped.
“SAMPO!!!”
He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact alongside you.
Sampo Koski lived by a particular quote: "True happiness always entails the manifestation of the dignity of mankind,”
And only a few knew that it's only 1/3 of the full quote. The next part includes: “and true guilt is the catalyst for self-reflection and the pursuit of redemption–" 
Flickering street lights and unmoving 10:10 clocks cast eerie shadows of dawn. It’s said that the people who traverse its trails encounter manifestations of their inner turmoil, a reflection of their deepest regrets. Some emerge transformed, carrying newfound clarity, while others head on a downward spiral. 
He wondered which one you would be.
“I’m sorry, (Y/n).”
Sampo smirked…
And let go of the cart.
“But the Back Alley is waiting for you.”
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His hands, calloused but clean, tenderly held yours. You felt ice even without a metal ring wrapped around his finger. At that thought, you blinked.
"Yes, Captain?"
"Yes, dear?"
"You don't have a ring on you," you said with an unreadable expression. "Will we ever have a chance at getting married?"
You thought it was funny; he didn't.
We.
What did you mean by “we”?
Him and you?
Or you and someone else?
Surely you and him, right?
But is that really an idea that he needs to know?
The Supreme Guardian was right.
Doubt breeds arrogance.
“W-Well–” Gepard’s breath hitched, awkwardly fumbling his cuffs. “I don’t know about that.”
You muttered. “So the future's uncertain.” 
“Of course.”
“Hmm.”
He gulped, realizing that you were mad at his response.
But he can’t let any of this continue any longer.
“(Y/n), I have something I’d like to tell you…”
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“Nghh….”
You heard the shopping cart roll towards a wall– must be the same one you crashed onto. As you caught a glimpse of your surroundings, you were astounded to see how foggy it was. The wall-mounted advertisement for a love-matching service is hardly visible. It was impossible to see past the surrounding streetlight, even with "un-smoke bombed" eyes. 
Doesn’t look like you’re in the administrative district.
You cannot see a single familiar building from this fog.
No heaters in sight and your breath practically singed your throat. The fog prickled your skin, but for reasons unknown, you did not shudder as a feverish man would’ve. Strangely enough, you felt fine.
You tried squinting at the road again.
Your heart dropped.
... There was no road.
You can't tell if it's the snow and the fog– but there's no pavement towards the exit in sight. It's as if wherever you stood floated. It was a literal dead end. As you peaked into the cliff, you did not see the bottom.
There was nothing there.
Even if you tried jumping, you weren't sure if there would be anything to fall on.
Capable arms wrapped themselves around your form. They were far stronger than your eyelids, which would barely open. Semi-automatically, your hand reached for this person’s shoulder, attempting to reposition yourself from their hold. You can barely make out their face, but their hair was slightly darker. This stranger lacked the envy-inspiring golden allure that the Landaus have.
Not processing that information fast enough, you spoke.
“S-Sampo, wh-what happened–”
You went pale.
No.
No.
No.
You pushed this "man" aside and dropped to the ground, barely maintaining balance on your one remaining leg. The man has now grown to be a towering figure over you, his star-bright eyes peering at you, paranoid. The air felt heavy, laden with a palpable sense of the unknown. Only the sound of your lonesome "real" foot scurrying away broke the silence.
“A-Are you alright?! W-What’s wrong....? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The man sauntered closer. His light but lifeless eyes locked onto yours, piercing through your soul. He had dirty blonde hair and he wore a sweater similar to the one that you never got to give to your best friend's younger brother, but–
“G-Gepard…?!?!”
The man tilted his head.
You squinted, hoping to find solace in a detail you might’ve missed or so. 
Finally, your shoulders slackened, exhaling a large white cloud.
“No… You’re… not.”
He sent you a fleeting look of pity before making an awkward joke.
“Do I look similar to a past lover?”
His smile is stiff as a board.
“No— my— my deceased… boss…” You spoke bitterly.
This person, who looked eerily similar to the dead Gepard Landau, stared with red-rimmed eyes. Did he cry earlier? With nothing else to focus on except for the thick fog, you remain frozen in place.
“This is…”
Terrifying, you wanted to say but that would be offensive.
“Impressive…” You gawked, slowly forgetting the vulnerable position you left yourself in. Sharply, you drew a breath. “You look like you could be a Landau.”
Your hand reached to touch his cheek, and the stranger leaned into your touch. Far too engrossed by this encounter, you did not care for his slightly hollow eyes and more than elated expression. It was the bigger picture that you saw.
It was the near-perfect image of the deceased Gepard Landau.
His skin was pinkish and his heart raced.
“Your hand is warm…” He commented softly, face red.
“Your face, your voice— it’s just your hair and your sense of fashion that’s different, and—”
“My name is Gerard,” his smile remains stiff as a board, but there's a touch of friendliness to it. “I don’t believe I appear anywhere near ghostlike.”
You’re inclined to believe that he’s lying.
No one can look THIS similar to Gepard.
And that name as well.
You don’t know what to think.
As you were about to retract your hand, he held it back in place, guiding it closer to his lips. He breathed in. His breath marked the fog. “Gerard” inched closer, stepping his foot near your prosthetic right leg. With little distance between you two, your temperature has progressively grown hotter. It’s uncomfortable watching you both like this. I should’ve closed my eyes.
“See?” He mumbled.
“Can you sense how warm I am?”
“So you’re not Gepard… Or a ghost, I guess.”
You laughed to yourself. You’re not sure about your statement, either.
But while this man may appear friendly, his eyes were a haunting reminder that some things can never truly be left behind.
“As I have stated before, my name is Gerard.”
Even his name sounds like his.
“I-I’m sorry, I was dazed,” You pinched your temple. Without his warmth, the cold bit your cheeks which made you turn around. “T-Thank you for carrying me out of that shopping cart, Gep– Gerard.”
You looked around again. Nothing to see but fog. Far from surprising.
“Gerard, where are we?”
The dirty blonde man laughed. 
“The Theater’s Back Alley.”
“The Back Alley?” You scoffed quietly, contemplating on how Gepard insisted to you before that it never existed– and now his promiscuous doppelganger is arguing otherwise. “There aren’t any back alleys around the theater.”
This place doesn’t look like an alley. 
It’s far too large for it to fit the description. This must be an abandoned town. Unbeknownst to both of you, way before your time, this place was called Chernobog.
“Yes there is,” Gerard hummed. “It’s where we are now.”
“Then can you carry– lead me back to the main district?” You decided to humor him. “I’m not supposed to be wherever this place is.”
“I wouldn’t allow it.”
“Why not?”
Gerard grinned. His radiant smile baffled you as his demeanor changed from slightly teasing to tender from just the crinkles of his eyes. 
“Because I love you, of course. I can't just let you leave.”
You froze.
Why? Why does he speak as if it ever so slightly comes from the diaphragm as he did? 
Why does his voice sound so much like Gepard’s?
You thought it was wrong.
Gepard would never say those words.
Not to you. Never.
As Gerard’s casual confession hung amidst the fog, a peculiar heaviness settled on your heart. It wasn't the words themselves that caused this unease but rather the haunting resemblance his voice had to Gepard’s. His voice was rich with authenticity, free of malice, and his confession was short but somehow sweet.
But you didn’t want to hear that from him.
You averted your gaze. A flood of memories had suddenly surfaced at that precise moment, including the hearty sound of Gepard's laughter. It appeared as though the dead had come back to play a cruel game. Unable to bear his comfortable “joke”, you recoiled and feigned deafness, face veiled behind an indifferent mask. Perhaps the Aeon of Preservation may have advocated for this. In a sense, perhaps denial meant safety. Silently, you begged for your thoughts to stop, for the resemblance to dissipate, and for the ache of grief to be buried again.
“Back on the topic at hand, if you wish to exit the Back Alley: I don’t wish to help you,” he smiled.
His smile is always stiff as a board.
“Why not stay here? Are you not a wanted person?”
You glared.
“How did you know that?”
“Murder, right?” Gerard drawled, his eyes softening in what you call disgusting pity. “Someone important. Someone that made you stuck here.” 
“Stop making accusations,” you spat, offended by his left-field slander.
“I’m not,” Gerard said. “I know who you killed. How about you? Do you remember who it was?”
Silence.
“But that doesn’t matter now,” he announced firmly. “Why don’t you come with me? Let me shield you from the monsters.”
You froze.
“Mon… sters?”
“Yes, monsters.”
Unexpectedly, a far-off wail of sirens and static radio pierced the air, disorienting. There was nothing to be seen when you lifted your chin to strain your ears in search of the source. Gerard's urgent voice broke through your daze.
"Run." 
With a swift and practiced motion, he swept you off your feet, cradling you in his arms back to the position you woke up in. He knew your current prosthetics were not meant for running. A prosthetic limb is like a new fingerprint and Serval would never make your new identity one similar to escapists. At the moment, you had a prosthetic leg for everyday use, and not blades for running.
As Gerard hurriedly carried you through the dense fog, you felt no sense of security as you had before. Something lurked just beyond your line of sight. In an act of spur-of-the-moment bravery, you stole a glance over Gerard's shoulder, and thus, you were paralyzed.
What emerged from the depths of the fog were grotesque “figures”. 
Their bodies were mutilated, with their arms hanging loosely at their sides. They reared their heads, twisting and contorting. It was humanoid in stature, blanched and nearly armless. If it were not for some tissues, you were certain they wouldn’t have arms to begin with. Their flesh seemed boiled together like patchworks of human remains. They started to inch closer, their movements disjointed.
Fear coursed through your veins as you realized their intentions were set upon you and Gerard. But his voice cut through, his words not faltering.
"Hold on tight," he said steadily.
“Whatever you do, don’t let them get to you, (Y/n),” Gerard whispered. 
“Please, do it for me.”
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For the duration of “dawn”, Gerard carried you to safe locations. You have not met a single human person throughout the day. This was a concerning observation after knowing how large the “alley” was. He knew the area like the back of his hand and successfully guided you to hospitals (which, unfortunately, had more of those monsters from before) to patch some minor wounds from Sampo's “shopping cart trip” mishaps. 
Before you could walk to the hospital bed, he grabbed your wrist in a tight hold.
“Shhh…” Gerard tugged your arm. “You don’t need to walk. Please, permit me to carry you.”
Despite your whispered protests, he rarely let you move around. Which made sense since your staggering did alert them of your location.
But you don’t like the way he touches you.
Those Gepard-like eyes lingered on you as if he were trying to memorize every inch of your skin. His actions were marked by an unwavering vigilance, always on guard for the slightest sign of danger even when you encouraged him to relax a bit. It was as if he was driven by an unspoken longing or unresolved past experiences. And you've only just met.
This time he made sure to turn off his radio. Suspiciously enough, "Gerard" carried a Silvermane Guard issued radio but it only seemed to make sounds whenever danger lurks by.
You tried not to think about that. Save for the dusty bed and wispy drapes, the posters strewn across the hospital walls caught your attention. The wall didn't have anything else notable other than those prints. They must be the same ones you saw on the streets, yellowed with age. The prints ranged from love hotlines, anger management tips, and a wanted poster.
Your poster.
Unlike the previous ones, this one was preserved thoughtfully, plastered right at the center amongst all the prints. Intriguingly, floral stickers were peppered around your images. Not the childish ones you'd buy for a cheap price, but more refined illustrations. You're not too versed in the language of flowers, but they did look like blue roses and marigolds. If only you could recall what Gepard said about what those flowers meant...
For now, you hazarded an astute guess as to why it was cleaner than the rest, staring unamused at Gerard. He sheepishly smiled, face flushed as he tried not to notice your glare. Gerard seemed proud of his handiwork.
It was nearly cute.
If it weren't for the fact you seriously don't know who he is.
“Gepard—”
“Gerard,” he corrected you in a commanding yet soft tone, ironically similar to your old Captain.
“You don’t have to patch my wounds.”
“Just let me,” he pressed on, wrapping your scrapped arm with gauze. “This was part of my combat lifesaver course.”
You shifted from the bed.
“You’re a soldier?”
He didn’t answer.
You tilted your head.
“Are you sure you’re not a Landau–”
“Affirmative.”
He could’ve twisted the gauze tight enough to make you wince in pain, but he delicately wrapped it and added immense pressure not to your wounds, but in his gaze.
“I am not your “Geppie” and I am not your old employer.”
With a voice that commands resolute clarity from you, you doubt he’s telling the truth. 
You paused.
“How?”
“How what?” He muttered.
“How did you know that nickname?”
You gulped.
“How much do you know about me?”
You were on high alert the moment he called you by your name when those monsters chased earlier– you have never introduced yourself. Couple that with the fact that he was to accuse you of murder, you didn’t know what he thought of you. 
This time, he didn’t smile.
“Enough to know that I love you.”
“You say that like it makes any sense!” You snapped.
“I know everything because you wanted me to love you, and I do love you too. I am not a shield for the people like him. I don't have the burden to protect anyone else, doesn’t that make me a better man for you now? There's no need to make sure the Silvermane Guards are always at the ready. I don't have to worry about pride- about being a Landau.”
He delicately reached out, guiding your hand to rest against his cheek. His softened features conveyed a love for your "warmth", but the pool in your stomach made this experience unbearable.
“My life is reserved for only you. That is my oath.”
You ripped your arm away from him with disgusted eyes.
“Just tell me the truth already!!!”
He looked down, frowning.
“You don’t need the truth...” 
Gerard's eyes glistened with a bittersweet melancholy as he watched you, a faint smile tugging his lips. He had a look that says he knew all too well that you are unaware of the depths he was willing to go to protect you. The dirty blonde man reached out, his hand instinctively yearning to rest upon your shoulder, but he withdrew it quickly, his fingers curling inward.
“That’s why you’re here. In this foggy back alley.”
He scooted beside you. Even if he couldn’t bring himself to comfort you enough, you knew he spoke the truth when his voice cracked in a small whisper of: "I’m with you."
Gerard grabbed your hand again and softly kissed your fingertips.
No one could miss his sharp gaze. The man has deluded himself that you were his to protect at all costs. A nature that stemmed from a deep-seated desire to control something that he couldn't acceptably justify. A pure obsession that defied reason at its finest.
You know that look all too well.
But you can’t put a finger as to where you’ve seen it. What a shame.
You looked at your hands.
... Strange.
Since when were you wearing a golden ring?
Your eyes intuitively gazed at Gerard's hands.
All of the sudden, your throat dried.
You're both wearing wedding rings.
“You don’t have to be alone again,” he mumbled. “We can live here. You could plant and look after flowers with me– though I’ve never been good at it. It’d be a quiet life, just as you’ve always wanted.”
“If that’s what you’re offering then you’re no different than Serval,” you laughed to yourself. 
His eyes darkened.
Before you could comment on it, he cut you off with another considerate smile.
“You must be hungry. There’s a cafeteria downstairs, I’ll procure some rye bread.”
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“(Y/n), babe, where are you?”
You looked up. An alarmed woman’s voice called out.  
“... Serval?”
No reply.
The voice seemed to be coming from the door.
“Serval, are you there?”
“(Y/n), i-it’s okay! C-Calm down, calm down,” the voice continued. “Things just happen. I’ll help you okay? Shhh, d-don’t cry, don’t cry, I'm here…”
“What are you talking about?”
“I won’t let it happen. They don’t even have to know you were here. P-Pass the mop now, shhh…”
It made a sound far too damaged to be called a soothing chuckle.
“What are you on about?–”
The broken voice began to sing, sounding as though she had been clinging onto a husk of someone who’s been too far gone. 
“C-Calm your nerves, my p-precious friend,
For "tomorrow"'s problems will never end.
In this short song, I s-softly sing,
You're cherished, my dear, in e-everything.”
You reached for the bed railing and supported yourself upright. Prepping your leg for a short walk, you placed your foot down–
THUD.
The door swung open, making you jump slightly.
Gerard came back, his breath nearly stripped away as he sauntered over. His only saving grace was his stamina, but otherwise fear would've dragged him down. There was not a single piece of bread in his hand. I’m glad he came, you would’ve been out of the alley immediately otherwise. And that's not good for us.
The voice was gone.
The sounds from afar now ring more of an animal than a human. 
"(Y-Y/n)," he called out. "We need to leave."
You tilted your head, about to question what was wrong but you were cut off by his abrupt scream.
"NOW!!!"
He took you by the waist, carrying you in a way there was regard for your amputation but fast enough to make you feel unease. You gasped as Gerard's hold on you tightened, sprinting out of the "safe location."
"W-What's going on–"
"They're close," he whispered. "They're coming. It knows we’re here."
With one free hand, he pushed down passing cabinets as he bolted. Nothing was on his mind other than to flee with you. You didn't dare look at what was behind. You didn't want to face the truth.
"Gerar–"
Despite your desire not to see these creatures, a lone monster stands at the end of the hall.
It loomed before you, a grotesque fusion of flesh intricately molded together like human flesh sewn tight to a Silvermane Guard uniform, its form twisted and contorted while multiple unnerving eyes peered from its misshapen visage. Although it may have eyes more than you have fingers, you have a sneaking suspicion that they are completely inoperative. Its skin bore an unsettling array of intricate carvings, etched like cryptic scars across its entire body.
Something about its appearance resonated with you.
It slugged closer, staring. As to “where”, you can't tell. Each inch of its body had slits for eyes enough to instill paranoia. At least one pair must've been staring at you. Yet, most of it was on him.
Gerard.
"Tch..." His eyebrows furrowed, troubled.
He ran towards the end of the hall and miraculously swerved to avoid its axe. His pace quickened. 
"(Y/n), whatever you do, don't think about why these creatures exist. Even when I'm gone."
“What do you mean?”
“Just don’t. That’s an order.” He said, sounding more of a plea than a warning.
The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly as you struggled to keep up with Gerard's swift pace.
As he ran, questions burned in your mind, desperate for answers. His words echoed in your head, but your curiosity had implicit demand for a shred of understanding. You couldn't help but glance back, catching a glimpse of the creature still in pursuit. It persisted in its relentless pursuit of you, unwavering in its resolve.
"F-Faster!" you gasped between labored breaths. “It’s closing in on us!”
Gerard's expression remained stoic, his eyes focused on the path ahead.
He ran towards a door and pushed it open with a kick. You both stumbled through the threshold, entering what appeared to be the cafeteria, but the sterile scent mingling with the food made that guess somewhat unconvincing.
Gerard quickly assessed the room, searching for any signs of danger. The sound of distant alarms and muffled screams echoed through the corridors.
“Just what the hell is that?!” The words escaped you unintentionally in a mortified whisper.
Gerard cupped your mouth.
You both forgot to close the door.
What a horrible mistake.
The unsettling monster began its search. It emanated shrill sounds that pierced through your ears, making you almost move to cover them. The cries reached a hauntingly high-pitched cry that echoed like metal against metal. The mournful wails never resembled wolfish growls but rather heartbroken cries. Its speech resembles the guttural syllables "I" and "U" in an auditory expression of grief.
It turned around, but it also had eyes on its back.
Cowering in terror, you huddled close to Gerard behind the counter of the desolate cafeteria, seeking refuge from the approaching monster. 
As the creature drew nearer, its grotesque eyes fixated on you and Gerard, its elongated limbs reaching out with chilling anticipation. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you heard Gerard’s breath hitch as you both clung to the faint hope of survival.
But to your horror, as the monster approached head-on.
Its rotting flesh bypassed you, swerving past your trembling form, and seized Gerard instead. 
“(Y/N)!!! RUN!!”
Gerard pointed at the nearby mop.
He wants you to leave him.
A gasp of terror escaped your lips as you watched in disbelief.
His blue eyes widened, mirroring your panic but worse, as the monster's grasp tightened around him. Gerard yelped, his voice trembling as his fear of death loomed. Its grip was not merciful. 
It smacked Gerard against a desk.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Blood streamed in his scalp.
The monster took his arm.
And ripped it apart.
And soon.
Nothing.
Thud.
You went as silent as the corpse as you watched it extinguish his life in a quiet finality.
Tears streamed down your face, unable to look away. Maybe it's a trick of the mind, but you were starting to feel a pain from where your leg was removed. Your brain was still convinced that you still had it- and that it is in danger. You feel as if your ankle was angled downwards, hiding from the monster. Such sensations made your skin crawl, especially considering the circumstances. It was not the best time to experience phantom limb pain.
The monster briefly met your gaze as if to mock your survival. It limped away, leaving behind you with nothing but a corpse.
Hours felt like mere minutes before you were snapped out of your prolonged emptiness. Gerard remains on the floor, dead-eyed and bloody. Thankfully, your current PLP was manageable at best but the throbbing sensation distracted you for a while. Your mind was blocking out the blood on his face. It did not process how mutilated it had become, nor did it care to acknowledge his arm that lay on the checkered floor.
His cheeks looked warm, alive.
You fixed his hair.
“Gep– Gerard…”
You need to leave.
YOU NEED TO LEAVE.
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Since that incident, you've been by yourself in the Back Alley, even though you sense that there may be other lost "people" like you nearby, you chose to act alone despite this.
There's no need for another Gerard.
You followed the walls every time you had the nerve to step outside, cursing Serval occasionally for failing to provide you with a prosthetic running leg. That, and her garbage methods she calls "physical therapy."
You have overstayed your welcome despite not knowing how long you have been in this dense fog. Oddly, you've never experienced hunger in your time here. You are unable to move around freely, and worse, you are unable to scream for help, unless you want the people who are still present in the dense fog to find you. 
You don’t have time to grieve for a man you barely knew.
You sighted a police station. Much like every building in this surprisingly large “alley”, it had been abandoned. It looked like the one you worked for, down to the paint job and the door frame. Funnily enough, the door was open, and thus, it was temporarily yours.
What greeted you first upon entering was a creature similar to the monsters you’ve crawled away from– but it did not move.
The still creature lay on the floor, staring at its hand. Its bottom half was similar to a mermaid's. You did not see two legs. When you approached, there was no reaction. You can only presume it was dead. Or that it never had a life to begin with.
You heard radio static as soon as you tried approaching it. But you don't recall ever having a radio in your possession.
“You poor thing…” You found yourself uncharacteristically sympathizing with a monster. The fatigue was eminent in your voice. “What happened?”
You're so stupid. Don't you think that "corpse" looks familiar?
You looked at its other hand and saw it holding an axe.
You took it.
As you brandished the weapon, its Silvermane engravings became more apparent. This was a soldier’s model, one you used back when you were an intelligence officer. Perhaps it will come in handy later.
“I’ve never heard of this station before, then again, I doubt many knew there’s a back alley in the first place,” you scoffed. “But, hmm…”
You turned your head to face the monster once more. You don’t know why you feel oddly calm facing the monster this boldly. With the axe acting as your new makeshift cane, you pushed it down. Nothing happened.
You got back up and took a look around.
For a police station, there were tons of love-related posters hanging around with half of them viciously vandalized. Some of them made you laugh as you read them. The handwriting seemed to belong to someone, but you can't recall whose.
LOVE ISN’T REAL.
I DON’T NEED A MATCH. I JUST WANT ██████.
“Pathetic,” your emotional equivalent of a snort was a slight huff. “And you’re all supposed to be Silvermane Guards? Guess this place was deserted for a reason.”
You hate how you sounded exactly like Mr. Landau just now. Out of all the children in the Landau household, you had it the worst with Md. Landau. Hearing yourself mutter something he would say... you're not sure how you feel about that.
Scoffing, you walked past the corpse and onto the break room. 
Missing just a few posters in your way.
IF I CAN’T HAVE ███, 
THEN I’LL JUST REMOVE ███ LIMBS.
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Hours passed. You haven’t found the exit.
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You heard Serval’s voice again. She was apologizing to you. Then, silence.
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Nothing happened on what you presumed to be the “next day.” You cried to yourself until you saw the same monster who killed Gerard. It was ready to give chase until suddenly, it stopped when you were incredibly focused on escaping.
You tried thinking about why it did what it did. But it left more questions than answers.
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Tore down a couple of posters. They were starting to get to you.
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You think there is no exit. You made a quick mention about how Gerard probably knew where it is to yourself, but the same monster must've heard you. You felt eyes watching you and it made it's appearance by narrow alleys. You bolted.
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You found another human. But he was long dead. You wondered if he was the same person children loved to talk about. The anxious man who lingered at the gates of the Back Alley. If I remember correctly, Stelle encountered this man before. Wonder what she thought of him at the time.
You heard the radio static again when you approached him. You decided to ignore him for now.
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You mopped the man's dried blood. Who knew the mop Gerard pointed at in his last moments had it's use.
He looked stiff as a board. He was reeking, but at least he had a smile on his face.
You obtained a key after cleaning up the puddle.
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“Was there ever an exit?”
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Nothing happened in this timeframe. But you think you have an idea as to why these creatures exist.
Specifically, why they exist because of you.
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How long have you been here? Sorry, I wasn’t keeping track.
You also weren't sure how long you'd been searching the town. Quite frankly, I was getting bored of watching. You tried to play this off like a maze game, constantly following the walls to your right as though it would magically lead you to the exit. Did you know that Lady Luck is not particularly lenient when bestowing favors? Your life here is slowly becoming more stale and your constantly improving ability to strategize your routes to avoid monsters has been making your adventure more of a chore to follow.  
It's admirable that you were so tenacious in clinging to life in such a dangerous environment with a single leg, but it was extremely frustrating that you couldn't see this alley for what it was.
As if to cure such boredom, you entered another abandoned building. Turns out, the key you pried off a dead man's corpse fits perfectly. It was a psychiatric clinic owned by one Dr. Kauffman, a licensed therapist who received teachings from Dr. Kang Tu via the Astral Express. I never cared about those people. They're just cashing in on the occult, the easily "hooked", and the disturbed. You harbor at least 2/3 of those qualities. Congrats.
The walls are more notably filled with the same set of posters you've seen scattered around time. This time, you weren't feral enough to tear the posters down. However, you didn't grasp the meaning behind them either. You refused to look deeper, even when you don't recall what would stare back at you. 
Mindlessly, you staggered inside a room. There were no professionals inside as far as you could tell without any of the lights on, just a cold sofa. You walked slowly and sat down. 
As soon as you comfortably secured a position to take a rest, you realized you weren't alone.
Star-bright eyes followed your movements as soon as you entered the room.
“Gepard?”
You blinked.
“Oh. Gerard, it’s you. I thought you were–” You paused as Gerard shook his head, eyebrows furrowed with a smile that repressed his frustration. “Sorry.”
“Anyway, I’m… confused. How are you alive?” You asked. “Your arm– it’s back. What’s going on?”
Desensitized, you no longer knew what to think.
You're being strangely calm, don't you think?
But one thing was for certain: this “man” is not supposed to be standing.
Gerard pursed his lips.
“Anyway?” He mimicked you bitterly.
“What do you mean “ANYWAY”?!?”
You flinched as he took steps forward.
“You didn’t even care about me, didn’t you?!? It’s Gepard this, Gepard that– Gepard is DEAD!!!” 
Gerard screamed at your face, gripping your shoulders tightly.
“Why… Why is it always him first? When I am everything he couldn't be?” 
Gerard chuckled lowly.
“I-I was so afraid. I was so afraid that I won’t be able to see you again– that I’d disappoint you– but no, it’s always Gepard first. Why can’t you be obsessed with me in the way you were so– so…”
He cried. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as his shoulders deflated. Gerard cast his gaze to the ground while his hands reached to wipe his sorrows off his face.
“I would die for you. Why can’t you do the same?”
You tilted your head.
“Strange, now that I think about it–” you said nonchalantly. 
“Didn’t I watch you die?”
Silence.
You should comfort him.
“Gepard,” you started.
Wrong name.
“No, it’s Gepard.”
Wrong name.
“It’s not the wrong name. I know what I’m saying.”
Wrong name.
I continued to correct you.
“It’s not–” You took a shaky breath. “It’s not the wrong name, you fucking idiot.”
He remains still, quiet.
Almost frozen.
Stiff as a board.
You laughed.
“I get it now. Haha. I get it now.”
You look down, staring at the human corpse. Human corpse? No. That’s not a human. A human cannot die twice. 
You get it now. 
You’re in the Back Alley.
There are always eyes that watch the Back Alley.
You look above, particularly to no one, but you believed the scriptwriter must be listening. 
“He’s listening, isn't He?”
Yes. He is.
It's time for us to talk.
The clock struck 10:10.
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bones-of-a-rabbit · 7 months
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Afton Virus’d Y/N AU: Inciting Incident !
(don’t worry tho they’re ok they’re just murdering ppl now 😌)
(Alternative take on how the blood could’ve looked and a fun fact abt the au below!)
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Fun fact, in the very first original babies-first-au-concept of this AU, reader’s ‘inciting incident’ (aka what would’ve started them on the path of Violencing) was finding an old spring lock suit while clearing out some storage! They found a piece of the instructions on how to operate the suit, got curious, tried it on, and got spring’d! Ain’t that just the worst. They survive, but are now traumatized and covered in grisly scars, and FazCo, being completely and utterly unable to read the room, is like ‘heyyyy so we know u almost died but uh. What if we fire u and make u sign an NDA buuuut u get a nice check out of it <3’ and reader is like wtf no????? Ur gonna promote me and let me stay here or im telling everyone and FazCo is like ‘Jesus fine be like that’ AND THATS HOW IT STARTS IG LMAO
(Also, yes, reader’s hands were destroyed by this machine (no idk what it is exactly sorry lmao) bc they thought it was off when in reality the light that’s supposed to indicate when it’s on was busted or burnt out lol rip)
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