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highpri3stess · 2 years

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Regret - Manjiro Sano

Warning: Angst with no comfort, character death, nudity (not sexually), making out, gang violence, unrequited love, use of guns, body mutilation, mentions of torture, falling out of love

Pairing: Manjiro "Mikey" Sano

Word count: 0.7k

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Minors and ageless blogs dni

Mikey loved you.

He's always loved you from the day you two faced off during a gang battle between Toman and your gang. He'd never seen someone as resilient or as stubborn as you before, never lowering your head even when you lost to him. Maybe it was your pride that made him want you - despite the humiliating defeat that ended in getting absorbed into Toman, you held yourself with dignity and prided yourself in not giving in to the tempting offer of friendship Mikey tried to extend to you.

Or is it your tough exterior that softened bit by bit with every act of genuine kindness he showed you? Mikey had heard casually from your only friend that you had an unloving home and it just made him want to whisk you away from such an unhappy life. Life came to Mikey when he felt your arms wrapping around his body while saying "thank you, thank you", before going to hug the teddy bear he had gotten for you in your arms.

Or is it the fact you never feared him or what he would become? Not even when he started Kanto Manji gang did you ever stop trying to see him again. You were going on the path of destruction with your eyes wide open, playing with fire when you kissed him for the first time. He was supposed to tell you not to look for him again when he came to your house, but he ended up kissing you back with much vigor and pinning you down on the bed, before attacking you with even more kisses and groping hands.

All the pent up feelings were bared as you two lay on the bed, breathless after making out; you would be by his side no matter what.

He loved you. He loved you so much it hurt both you and him, but it is you who takes the whole brunt of the pain in this relationship.

Because why else is he always the one hurting you? Why is he holding the gun to your head because of one silly rumor? He knows you didn't betray him but why can't he stop himself from ending your life?

"Mikey I didn't do it, I swear." Your voice cracks underneath the pressure of being bound with his gun digging into the back of your head. Sweat and tears mix as they roll down your face, wetting your blindfold and staining the floor of his expensive carpet with wet droplets. "All I do is stay by your side, I would never betray you. I can't betray you, Mikey."

You begging him should have gotten to him, but at this point, he's numb. Mikey knows you're innocent, everyone knows that too, because you live for Mikey. You left everything behind and endured seeing Mikey with multiple women, even to the point of over-hearing sinful moaning sounds when you stood guard in front of his door without shedding a single tear in public. You endured every task he threw at you, every moment where pretended he never knew you, just to be with him.

You endured weeks of torture just to prove your innocence to a man that has condemned you to death. You're stripped naked, bound, two fingers, three toes missing, welts decorating your skin and yet you can still -still call him "Mikey" in that tired tone of yours.

You've endured enough though, Mikey just wants to put an end to your long sufferring.

"Any last words, (name)?"

It's the last nail to your coffin. His voice is devoid of any emotion and he knows that it hurts you with the way your head and shoulders sag weakly. You only flinch when he cocks his gun and presses it to the back of your head forcefully, nudging it forwards. "I'm giving you one more chance to speak since we are old friends." An old friend. Not even his first love or the woman he lost his virginity too, just another old friend of his that has fallen from grace. "I usually don't do this, so be quick."

His words already killed you before you died.

"I'm scared." Your voice was tiny and your lips trembled with fear. "Mikey I'm so scared." You finally got out, fresh tears pouring down your face. "Don't hate me too Mikey, please. Not you too."

"Are you done talking?"

Before you could answer, a loud bang set off and your body fell forwards with a dull thud. It didn't take long for blood to pool around your head and the life in your eyes to go out completely. Mikey tucks his gun back in his holster and steps over your dead body, telling Sanzu to "clean up this mess" before walking out of the door of his office, slamming it shut.

It was bound to happen anyways. Just looking at you made him sick, a constant reminder of what he could have had if he didn't succumb to darkness. Seeing you standing by his side no matter how many horrible things he had done made Mikey sick to his stomach. You shouldn't have stayed with him, you should have just left him alone when he fell in knee deep into sin. He became disgusted by your devotion, the butterflies in his belly turning into pins stabbing his stomach whenever he saw you.

You should have run away when you had the chance.

Mikey knew eventually that he was going to kill you. It was just a matter of when, not why. Even if he let you go, what use would you be to him without a few fingers and toes? Can he even love you again after everyone had seen your nakedness? Won't that spur you to betray him after all the pain he put you through?

He wished he never loved you. Mikey regrets ever loving you in the first place.

Everything with you was a mistake.

"In your next life, (name), hate me."

#mikey x reader #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro sano x you #mikey x you #manjiro sano angst #manjiro sano x reader angst #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fanfic #tokyo revengers angst #tw: character death #tw: gang violence #tw: gun violence #tw: angst #tw: blood #tw: body mutilation #tw: mentions of torture

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 1 month

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When a Tomb Becomes a Womb (Part 2: Honeymoon)

Here it is: the continuation of my first LF fic! (If you’d like to check that one out, just go here.)

(Disclaimer: While I agree that Creature doesn’t really need an actual name to be a great character, I still decided to give him a headcanon name—which is Callum, since I think it would fit him—just because this entire story is from his perspective. Mentioning his “true,” pre-death name just seems logical. Neither of the characters in this story belong to me. Lisa Swallows and The Creature are the property of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody.)

(Trigger Warnings: electrocution, insects, implied murder/death, implied violence, gore/blood, mentions of fire, scars, body horror, eye horror, dismemberment/mutilation, surgery, coughing fits. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

With its size and structure, the tanning bed had been miraculously perfect for resurrection. The electric currents it produced could be guided throughout its user’s entire body; the chances were better when multiple parts were zapped at once. Then, those parts could essentially act as moving gears, working together to carry the reanimation process along.

None of that really mattered anymore, since the tanning bed was as good as scrap metal by now. And even if it somehow wasn’t, Callum doubted he would’ve been able to retrieve it.

Callum found himself in the master bathroom, pacing the floor in small circles as he gazed down at all the things he’d organized on the baby-blue-tinted countertop.

A day had passed since he’d claimed this house for himself and his beloved. He’d spent it searching through each and every room. No wall was left unchecked, no piece of furniture was left unmoved, no drawer was left unopened. The prey he’d chosen to stalk: electronics.

During Callum’s initial life, electricity was still in its infancy. A primary example was the name Faraday making its rounds in newspapers, as well as the concept of a horrible execution device. If memory served, it had been inspired by a dental chair, of all things—and judging by Lisa’s pessimistic contemplations, that idea had apparently found success.

All of the progress he’d gotten to see for the past couple weeks. . .part of Callum wished he’d been alive to see the beginning development of that progress. Yes, it made adjustment difficult, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fascinating.

Then again, he had to consider The Butterfly Effect. If he’d survived the day of his premature death, he’d likely never have gotten the freak second chance to be with Lisa.

He’d heard some people compare death to a very deep, dreamless sleep.

Bodies and souls were separate things, after all; the notion of dying could potentially be seen as something similar to a snake shedding its skin. Once the soul departed to wherever it was supposed to go, the body could simply rest, silently feeding the earth from its burial site.

Perhaps that was how it worked for others, but it had absolutely not been the case for him. He had no idea why, and he doubted he’d ever be able to understand.

Yes, he wasn’t truly alive; he’d never, never be an example of anything natural.

Yes, he’d grown accustomed to his organs feeling like they were filled with sulfur instead of blood.

But now that there was air in his lungs and light in his eyes and feeling in his bones again. . .

Even if he’d learned to adapt to it all, his grave would be horrible to go back to.

If amputees could feel the phantom sensations of their lost limbs, then what was there to say that dead people couldn’t feel the phantom sensations of anything and everything?

Though his brain hadn’t been active until that fateful night, Callum had still learned one thing: numbness was, without a single shadow of a doubt, its own type of pain.

For centuries, he’d been encased by cold, by darkness, by rot, by staring eyes and splintering voices and gibbering mouths and raw suffocating nothingness. . .

And Lisa had freed him from it.

He would go through it all again if he knew she’d eventually come along to coax him back.

He wouldn’t, however, make Lisa wait through any torture like that for as long as he did.

So far, Callum hadn’t found anything similar to the tanning bed. (He supposed the inner mechanisms of the car he’d taken could be used, but he’d still categorized it as a last resort.) What he had found was a plethora of smaller devices. If it had shiny casing, buttons, a cord, or a plug, it was an option.

He could only recognize a precious few thanks to Lisa—such as a blow-dryer. She’d used one on him during that first night, sometime after she’d helped him wash off the eons worth of slime and rot. The noise it made was aggravating, but there was no doubting how nice a stream of warm air had felt on his scalp. Many of the other appliances were. . .strange, at least from his perspective.

One that particularly stood out was some kind of mask. A dull shade of beige, it seemed to be made of plastic, shiny and hard and cold to the touch.

A pair of opal-shaped holes formed eyes; vague impressions of brows above them and lips below a hollow triangle that imitated a nose. (Callum couldn’t see the reasoning for those impressions to be there—they did absolutely nothing to convey emotion.)

Three flexible straps were attached near the top of the mask; one at the center of the forehead, and one for each temple. A coiled cord protruded from its chin, connecting it to a little rectangular battery adorned by two tiny buttons and a red dial before continuing on and ending in a plug.

Callum chewed at his lip as he raised the mask up, turning it in his hands. It was even more disturbing on the inside. A total of twenty-six tiny, metallic contacts glinted in the dim, having been drilled into a specific pattern to rest against each and every part of the wearer’s face.

Despite the lack of sharp edges, the display still reminded Callum of an iron maiden. (Yet another thing Lisa had surprised him with before. The fact that some musical group had named themselves after a torture device was even more confusing than musicians performing under a title like The Cure.)

As questionable as it was, this mask was something of a godsend.

Lisa’s entire body needed repairs, yes, but her head obviously had to be the first. Callum couldn’t be efficient with the process until Lisa’s brain, her voice, her eyes were all active again.

And what better way to guide electric impulses into those areas than with something that could literally cover her face?

With that in mind, Callum took a deep breath and strode out of the bathroom, his shadow quickly stretching across the room and over the bed.

Over Lisa’s still, silent form.

He reached down to adjust some of the bandages. When the majority of her face was exposed, he gently slipped the mask onto her, his hands visibly shaking.

(In all honestly, the melted, burnt mess of her skin was preferable to the mask’s blank, lifeless expression.)

Once the straps were secure, Callum fidgeted with the mask’s cord, engaging in a staring contest with the power outlet that just so happened to be right next to the nightstand.

Of course, the smaller devices wouldn’t be enough on their own. Even if he were to use them all at once, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to generate the same amount of power as the tanning bed had.

Fortunately, it seemed he’d already stumbled onto a solution for that. Quite by accident.

With each electric product he discovered, he’d known that there was a chance of it not working. He’d also known that there was really only one way to test out the effectiveness of the appliances.

Considering how every single wall in this house had a socket or two to offer, the testing hadn’t taken much time at all.

It took even less time for Callum to realize that whoever had organized the wiring in these walls was either fishing for an insurance scam, or was just some special kind of idiot.

No matter what product he was plugging (or unplugging, even) in or which outlet he was using for the connection, the result was the same: an astoundingly powerful shock that tore its way up his arm.

Though Callum’s pain receptors were still only semi-functional, the electric jolts had left him momentarily out of breath and doubled-over with a burning, pummeling sensation coiling around in his stomach.

It had felt similar to the tanning bed’s currents. Not exactly the same, but similar enough.

And similar enough was all he and Lisa needed right now.

So, he turned the red dial to the highest setting offered, using such force that it was a wonder he didn’t crush it between his fingers.

And he rammed the mask’s plug into the wall socket.

A few large sparks immediately flew out, only to vanish in the air after half a second or so.

Just like a lightning bolt.

Something inside the battery began to hum and buzz.

Dots of pale light began flickering in the mask’s plastic forehead, its cheekbones, its chin. The glow moved in a specific, repeating pattern, getting brighter and brighter each time.

Those metal contacts on the inside. . .they were sending pulses of electricity into Lisa’s skin.

They were working.

They were working a little too well, in fact.

They were giving an output that was too fast, too strong.

For a living person, at least.

For an undead person, however. . .

Callum kept a vice-like grip around the battery as the shock crawled up his arm and around his neck. It hurt more than it had during his initial test, but he barely even flinched. His focus was firmly locked on Lisa, because he needed to see what this did to her.

Because she was his wife.

Because she deserved to come back.

Because she.

Was.

Starting.

To.

Twitch.

Her head jerked back and forth. The mask rattled and shook in time with her movements, but it stayed on her face. Violent shudders raced through her neck and shoulders. Most of them died halfway through the journey of her chest, but a few were stubborn enough to slither down her arms, to make her fingers curl.

Callum wasn’t sure how much time the process truly took, but when thin columns of smoke began rising from the mask’s eye-holes, he knew he had to stop it. He never looked away from Lisa as he wrenched the plug out of the wall, as he dropped the battery on the comforter, as he leaned down to pull the mask off of her—

And froze in place, just barely able to feel the way his mouth dropped open.

The skin on Lisa’s face. . .it wasn’t the same as before. It was still covered in scars and blisters, but those scars and blisters suddenly looked much smaller, less deep. The angry, biting red hue had transitioned to dull shade of pink. It still looked painful, yes, but in a way that suggested recovery might be possible.

Lisa’s lips quivered, dry skin stretching (and breaking in a few areas) as a tiny, strangled gasp drifted into the air. More followed it at odd, uncertain intervals. It was absolutely not what anyone in their right mind could call steady breathing. . .but it was there, plain as day.

Callum’s cold hands were suddenly clasped around his head; one over his mouth, the other raking at his temple. An itchy, somewhat ticklish sensation filled his eyes as one tear after another streamed down his face.

He’d done it.

He’d actually done it.

He’d woken Lisa up!

He automatically wanted to hold her, to gather her up in his arms and spin her around in a circle and, and, and. . .

He couldn’t, and he knew he couldn’t. Right now, she was too fragile for him to do anything like that.

But she wouldn’t stay too fragile. Not as long as he kept going.

For now, however, all he could manage was to stand and stare and shiver and silently weep.

___

The keening screech of a kettle drilled into Callum’s ears, nearly making him lose his grip on the knife. He straightened his back, mentally cursing himself for trying to juggle two things at once. Especially considering how important today’s mission was.

He was at the stove in an instant, disengaging the burner and sliding an oven mitt over one hand. The clouds of steam felt nice against his face as he poured the freshly-boiled water into the colorful mugs he’d found in the kitchen’s highest cabinet. Afterward, he fetched a box of tea bags from that same cabinet and deposited one in each cup.

He wasn’t quite sure if Lisa could process solid food quite yet, but she’d been taking water and other beverages just fine. Too bad there wasn’t any chocolate-flavored milk in this house; she seemed to really like that, what with how she’d insisted that he try for himself back at her former home.

As the tea began steeping, his focus returned to the head on the dining room table.

The left eyeball was already out and waiting in a glass of clean water.

The right one, however, was much more stubborn with removal.

Honestly, it was surprising that Callum hadn’t accidentally punctured it with all the trouble it had been giving him so far. He supposed he could take an eye from his other victim, whose head was still in the back of the freezer, but he was determined to make this one cooperate. After all, the head he’d been working on had grayish-blue eyes.

The exact same color as Lisa’s eyes had once been.

Lisa. . .she’d been making a little more progress with each day.

He’d had to use the other devices on different sections of her body, but that mask had proven the most efficient. A full week still had yet to pass, and her face was already so recognizable. True, her skin was sickly pale, and her eye sockets were dark and sunken, but she was clearly in less pain than she had been with the burn scars.

She was still unable to walk, and her voice was a long way from returning, but she’d regained plenty of control over her upper-half. She could pivot her waist, move her arms, nod or shake her head, open her eyes—

Well. She could somewhat open her eyes.

But then, she didn’t exactly have eyes anymore.

Just last night, she’d tried to; it’d taken a gut-wrenching amount of effort, judging by how tightly she’d held Callum’s hand throughout the process. Tears had been pouring down her features by the time she finally managed to reveal a pair of oily, half-melted clots of jelly mixed with blood.

There was no doubting how the tears had made things worse. Callum shuddered at the thought of how much they must have stung and burned. . .

Callum chewed his lip as he sat back down, a smaller, thinner tool now in his grasp.

Lisa would see again. He’d make sure of it.

The right eyelid had already been sliced off (it would’ve just gotten in the way otherwise), and the eye itself was bulging from its socket in a less-than-natural way.

He was almost there. It just needed a little more prodding.

So, he slipped the blade into that tiny gap of space that the tear duct offered. He spent what felt like ten minutes maneuvering it around the eye, having to keep his movements painfully slow to avoid cutting its outer muscles.

Eventually, something further inside gave way under the sharp edge, and with a sickening pop! the ocular organ slid out, its now partially severed nerve keeping it from rolling.

Callum ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat, a relieved smile gracing his features as he dabbed blood away with a clean cloth before moving the right eye to join its counterpart.

He returned to the kitchen, making sure to wash his hands before he threw the spent tea bags away and raised one of the mugs to his lips.

As excited as he was to be one step closer, he was still reasonably nervous.

Nervousness meant stress, and stress meant more of a chance for him to botch Lisa’s eye procedure. Tea, on the other hand, meant stress-relief, so of course he had to drink some before he went on with his task.

. . .Or, he would have, if not for the pain that was suddenly wracking his throat on the first sip.

There was no strong-yet-muted tang like he’d been expecting.

There was only scalding, searing.

As though he’d tried to take a drink directly from the kettle.

Callum pitched forward, just barely catching himself on the counter as he gasped and choked.

The mug itself—which was now several tiny, jagged pieces in a steaming puddle on the floor— had felt pleasantly warm.

Nothing at all to foreshadow how the inside of Callum’s throat now felt like it was melting.

His vision grew blurry. Both his eyes and nostrils burned.

He found himself leaning over the sink, clawing at the faucet and then all but shoving his head under it as cold water began flowing out. After a long, long moment, the heat died down.

The pain, however, did not.

Callum still couldn’t breathe, still felt like the flesh within his neck was being torn.

And now there was pushing, squeezing, squirming. . !

Something solid manifested in his mouth, which gaped like a fish without his consent. He was forced to heave and retch, screwing his eyes shut as that something fell into the sink with a light, anticlimactic thunk.

After that, his airway was finally cleared.

His jaw ached like no other, his throat was still raw from all the abuse, but he could breathe again.

It took all the strength he had to not collapse onto his knees.

His sore eyes drifted open just in time to see a small horde of worms, beetles, slugs and centipedes frantically writhing against the sink’s shiny material, likely suffering from the sudden light and wondering where the comfort of their tunnel had gone.

“Goddamn sons of bitches,” Callum muttered after one last gag, scowling as he turned the faucet back on and washed the insects down the drain.

Then, he nearly ripped the faucet’s handle right out as he stopped the water.

“W-what. . .what in the name of. . .” His voice was weak and shaky. (Reasonably so. He hadn’t spoken for the last two-hundred years, after all.)

His voice.

HIS VOICE. . .

A few minutes later, he was striding through the door to the new bedroom, pushing it shut with his shoe as both of his hands were occupied with Lisa’s tea as well as the glass of her soon-to-be eyes. He cleared his throat to announce himself, just as he’d done for the past few days.

In response, Lisa shifted on the bed, slowly turning her head toward the noise. She offered a light hum of her own, and while she usually just did this to greet him, the remnants of her vocals were laced with worry. No way she couldn’t have heard the cacophony downstairs.

Callum took a deep breath, grinning in a way that would’ve made the Cheshire Cat proud as he announced, “It was just a little accident, Lisa. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

He watched as Lisa went stiff, as her limited breathing caught in her throat. He quickened his pace toward the bed, setting his cargo down on the nightstand. Lisa was reaching for him now, trying to open her eyes, the shock on her face quickly morphing into a smile that was equal parts joy and disbelief.

Callum took her hand in his, stooping down to give her a delicate hug. She gingerly wrapped her arms around him.

Sopping wet laughter came pouring out through his lips.

“Lisa. . .Lisa. . !”

The eye procedure could wait for a few more minutes.

Right now, the most important order of business was to show Lisa the voice she’d never heard while still alive.

Perhaps it could be considered a gift.

@radisyn @mblume125 @upstartgeek @paper-cuts-and-fresh-bruises @queenofcandys @magpierose753 @therulerofallpotatos @blue-spider-official @chofisaquino @strangewerewolf @alienbactria @aphroditeinarms @weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral @scootis-the-scoot. @cherryycocaine @sammispook @creepycrow31 @allthesecottoncandyskies @that-random-assassin @shelf-life-of-the-party @big-sad-world @lisascreatures @we-were-d3stined-t0-expl0de @artnormal @cr-0-wsworld @bllops-world @night-writer-writer @bunnygirlgracesworld @occasional-trash @a-live-wire @babi-gir @secretly-larry-daley @fawns-things @confused-hufflepuff-screaming

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davey-in-a-minivan · 10 months

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okay i have some thoughts on the question of "which finger did sophie green chop off"

pinky: my personal guess. fairly accessible, least important finger

ring finger: very unlikely but would be CRAZY

middle finger: very unlikely but would be funny

index finger: moderately accessible for chopping, and (if she were holding the knife in the opposite hand from the one she shoots with) her chopping off her trigger finger to prove she was human so she can make it home and stop a war would be crazyinsane this is my favorite

thumb: most accessible finger i guess but PLEASE sophie don't have chopped off your thumb. it's important

#@munchiezxx mentioned the ring finger idea and i was like omg #tw body mutilation #<- i hope that's right?#the pasithea powder #IF IT MENTIONS WHICH FINGER IT WAS IN CANON AND I FORGOT all i can say is oops

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zennotixs · 20 days

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to be a bird feasting on her organs as her chest is ripped apart…

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xamaxenta · 10 months

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Let’s get dark for a moment here anyone else thinking how good Marco would be at like torture? People aren’t ever worrying about dying as his hands sure, but that’s the catch he can get damn close only to drag you back. Blue flames are equals in salvation and damnation.

Dark marco Tw: torture, mutilation, slight gore, referenced suicide

How long would it take, for someone to break completely? First it’s your hands beaten raw, then crushed. Next your legs, it’s almost methodical how he twists the limbs. Even after their healed you don’t know if you’ll ever walk again. You get to watch, he makes you watch. You lost count how many times you’ve begged for him to claw your eyes out. Just so you don’t have to see him open up your insides. He’s broken your jaw in three places, he carefully wipes your face with a warm rag cleaning up the vomit.

Healing is dying he tells you quietly, people just like one more than the other. Days weeks pass, eternity stuck in the cycle of red and blue. You’ve memorized every bone, every organ, blue flames flicker and you sob, you beg. When you had been captured you had been scared of death. When you finally leave that goddam place you greet him personally. All you had to do was steal your captains pistol.

On a lighter note just imagine Sabo in the corner finding god as he tries not to come on the spot: this was not what he had in mind when he asked the phoenix for help with an interrogation.

(Many self revelations were had during that ordeal)

Rending me genuinely speechless, this is poetry

I have nothing else to say, “healing is dying” fuck me and flay me open wow

#tw: gore #tw: torture mention #tw: body mutilation #tw: everything in this post #just as a heads up

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justletmereadmycomics · 6 months

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(Tw/cw for body horror/mutilation mention)

Y’know something I don’t see in media often enough? Characters who go through a brutal life changing transformation where they no longer appear as “themself” and must now adapt to the new situation of this body and it’s possible needs and are completely accepting of it.

like imagine:

MC: *blood gore body horror bones morphing and twisting into some kind of eldritch horror*

MC’s friend: “OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY????”

MC: *a bloody disheveled mess of spilt organs and warped facial features, fully understanding the consequences of such a transformation and that they will no longer be accepted in society.* “Hey look, free top surgery! :D”

#justletmetalk #cw body horror #cw body mutilation #cw body horror mention #tw body horror #tw body mutilation

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sxnburst · 9 months

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@archaictold

What are you reading?

I don't think you should be talking to me. Just 'cause Bentley's not around doesn't mean he's not going to show up randomly.

o-oh...

....

Sun...What do you think about Bentley? It's okay. I won't tell him anything. It'll be our little secret.

Our little secret? Like....a small secret? Can a secret be small?

It will be between us. I won't tell Bentley what you tell me. It will be hush-hush.

Oh. Well! Bentley is my master! He takes care of me! He feeds me when I'm hungry and I have a bed! I have everything I could ever ask for.

He's awful. He's selfish. He treats you badly....I hope that one day you can grow the wings to break free of his chains.

When Sun came to, there had been blood on his hands. The smell of blood in the air was thick and the area where people surrounded the cage was quiet. Speaking of cage...Sun was no longer in it. Instead he was out, hovering over something. It was dented, caved in as if a truck had just been dropped right onto this thing. Flattened like pancake. A human. Unrecognizable to some, but for Sun he knew who this was. This was one of the guys he had fought. He remembered.

In Sun's panic in search for Bentley among all these dismembered, disfigured, and half eaten bodies, he came across a very familiar....presence. As Sun approached this body, he recognized it to be Bentley's friend.

Why did you have to say something like that. I didn't want to break free and grow wings. I didn't want any of this.

Bentley's dead friend speaks.

Sun?

Are you....Are you okay? Hey! Sun!?

"Yes." His word comes out autopilot. An index and thumb pinches at the bridge of his nose and...blipblipblip. Oh, his nose is bleeding. "Shit." He mutters under his breath.

"I'm okay. I'm just..."

Why had Zhilan reminded him of that guy? Why did he....

#ZHILAN JUMP SCARE #Challenge the Sun #archaictold #tw death mention #tw gore #tw blood mention #tw body mutilation #tw body horror #tw cannibalism

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mushroom-for-art · 8 months

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I don't know what came over me but uh, don't mess with Axels family and probably don't read this tbh it's nasty

Grunts moved quickly packing up boxes and supplies with clumsy inefficiency as a superior admin barked orders for them to hurry up and get everything taken down and shipped 10 minutes ago. They needed to get out of there quickly if they were hoping to survive.

"Stop fucking about! Get those boxes moved now, go go go! We haven't the time for you to be a pansy!" the Admin snarled at a stumbling grunt who had just dropped a small stack of boxes they'd been moving, they skittered past the doors of the main entrance, their neck snapping at the speed and velocity of the doors blasting inwards and becoming lodged into walls saving them from what was going to occur.

Time slowed as the Mewtwo floated into the room gliding in eerie silence as his tail swayed.

"Where, is my family. " His voice was more of a growl in his throat as he spoke and projected the words outwards, the snarl echoed painfully inside of the skulls of those present causing many to double over in sheer agony at the psychic voice probing their minds and tearing into their thoughts.

Limbs locked the Admin couldn't grab any of the Pokeballs secured to her belt and she felt psychic energy burning into her as the mewtwo zeroed in on her, she sneered at him past the pain inside her skull.

"I won't be intimidated by you. You won't find them if you kill me."

Her body was lifted slightly from the floor and floated up to his eye level slowly as he loomed in front of her his expression dark and unreadable, his eyes bore through her laced with unspoken threats and an awareness of control and power.

"If that is the knowledge you want to put your faith into." he lifted arms to the side casually his hand doing a flourish, "just know," his fingers moved closing into a fist before his arm flicked forward as though throwing something, bones slammed into a wall breaking on impact as the sound of tearing flesh and muscle registered to the admins ears, a grunts body stood for a second completely torn open from the inside outwards before their boneless husk slumped with a sickening slap of blood, brains smeared slowly down the walls from where the skull has smashed open on impact.

"You won't be granted the same quickness or relief."

Eyes staring on in horror the mewtwo produced a sharp quill from his inner wrist pulling it out from his flesh, he held it in his fingers twirling it before pointing it to another nearby grunt who let out a soft hiss as the quill cut a small line in their cheek. They started to hyperventilate before the toxins even took hold, the blood seeping from the cut became putrid and contaminated turning into yellow pus as the surrounding skin turned to shades of blue and purple and ultimately darkening to a deathly black.

The psychic restrains let up on the grunt who stumbled quickly, they tried to speak spraying spit as their tongue swelled causing them to hack and cough struggling for breath as it started to block off their airway, they were in hysterics crying and choking, dying flesh wetly slid from their muscles and bones sloshing on the floor beneath them filling the room with the horrid stench of death. Their gurgled quiet screaming and choking as their tongue rotted out from their mouth had fear soaking into the Admins very core as the grunt fell down onto their side. For a moment she thought dead but their wheezing told her they hadn't received that mercy yet.

The mewtwo had not broken their gaze from watching her even as his tail swayed behind him, she watched the fur shifting intertwining around itself morphing into a pointed shape like a syringe, there was an audible hissing of steam as see through organic pipes grew out and back into the mewtwos tail flesh. With a flash that nearly burned her irises, red hot flowing liquid pumped through the structures, almost like Kyurems biological tubes as they changed their form the way they pumped energy. Tail stabbed forward past her shoulder into the last grunt behind her, and he hollered in agony immediately.

She couldn't turn her head to see, but she could feel it was hot suddenly as there was another hiss with the mewtwos tail returning to its original state, screaming never ending behind her and the smell of burning flesh and flooring. She could barely swallow as she stared forward a horrid red hue illuminating the mewtwo from behind her as he looked at her but his expression was still dark.

"They were sent to another facility! In Unova! We only wanted the Haunter! The Gengar was just in the way!" She barely recognised her own voice for the terror in it.

"I know."

She found her breathing difficult as she stared at him.

"I was one of the most powerful pure creatures to ever bless this planet, and I am now a bastardized chimera of that purity that violated the boundaries of limits set by Arceus." His expression was almost a deranged grin.

"Do you really believe your thoughts are your own and private? That I couldn't rip out that information, why do you think your head hurts so much." His teeth gleamed in the unnaturally hot red fading light behind her.

"Why are, why are you still here then?! Wasting time! That family of yours must not be so precious-" Her voice choked as her lungs were squeezed in a way that forced all the breath from her, her vision blackening at the edges as her compressed lungs fought to gain any air, if this was how she went then she'd accept that. Unfortunately the air forces back into her lungs brought her back from the cusps of unconsciousness.

"You don't get to die that easily, don't presume about the importance of my family when I know what you did to my daughter and mate. I've seen through your eyes what you did to her. How you tormented my love in the process." His spoken words were venomous as he stared down at her in pure hatred, she was faintly aware of the weakening wheeze on the floor near her.

His hands came up casually and she felt like her aura was being pulled out of her body like her soul was being separated before witnessing the projected double helix swirling around before her.

"They say mew are the ancestor of everything, classes as the genetics pokemon, so very fitting" his finger idly touched over a strand of dna and she felt her skin begin to crawl from uncomfortable to painfully as it seperated from her muscles as though the connective tissues were dissolving, before he flicked his finger over the strand again and her skin stopped trying to peel from her body though it still hung just a bit looser than it did before.

"When me and my brother were younger, not in full control of our powers we used to play this game with other pokemon." another idle adjustment, the backs of her eyeballs burnt as her eyes weeped her ears ringing loudly painfully in a way that blossomed pain across her whole temple in a brain splitting migraine.

"We'd fly past and," his fingers moved adjusting changing her dna structure, she hitched a quiet scream as her muscles spasmed in her arm breaking her forearm bones as her fingers twitched against her control, the bones in her fingers began to deform subtly but quickly deforming her fingers and cracking through the skin, "of course we were only little and we could only change phenotype expressions making fur scales and that different colors, or grow faster, straighten curl." he let out a sigh.

"In hindsight, what cruel little bastards we were, mini gods tampering with things that they really had no right to for our own amusement, of course we meant no harm and didn't intend harm but I do sometimes wonder." Her vision went black as the genetics in control of her sight were altered, blood vessels popped and blood mixed with her tears streaming down her face. She could feel her organs moving, growing shifting inside her as well as he altered her biology casually in a way that shattered her concept of pain, leaving her with only searing burning nerves.

"I was pretty blind to the cruelty of mews when I was one, maybe I wouldn't have ended up like this were my brother kinder, but I see now how rotten we can be but we still had our naivety at least that kept our innocence, the disconnect from mortals that we couldn't properly sympathize to or understand." Her spine popped bones growing out from her skin but she could still feel everything as more muscles broke in spasms.

"I don't have the excuse of innocence or naivety anymore, I can see with mortal eyes everything I do and the effect it has, and how wonderfully ironic that in place of that innocent evil the rot of humanity has replaced it, giving rise to the ability and enjoyment of hurting others and how to make it worse. I am the worst of humans and the worst of mew." He looked at her almost gently with a smile that mocked her as her bloody eyes met his, blood dribbled from her cracked lips.

His eyes roamed her for a second as he fiddled with the very core of her person altering her genetics irreversibly.

"Did you know that there's a lot of uncategorized pokemon that exist purely inside others?" his finger hovered over her stomach "it's fascinating actually the organisms that have specialized in your gut, and they're so intertwined with you that no one realized they're there. Why don't we let you be the first to say hello?" psychic energy glowed from his hand and she felt the breath leave her again as she almost wretched.

Something inside her began to writhe, she could feel hundreds, maybe thousands of squirming legs pushing on her stomach and small intestines and a sickly burning pain that would've had her double over did the psychic energy not keep her restrained. He lowered her body slowly and her legs flopped uselessly like a ragdoll as he slumped her down on her legs unnaturally. She couldn't move still.

A piece of glass levitated to him and he put it in her hand, "here, since you did tell me eventually I'll give you this mercy to end this suffering." he closed her hand around the glass shard as her arm remained held out for his psychic ability. He turned leaving her there, the grunt finally still but bloated and missing chunks of flesh that lay gruesomely on the floor.

His psychic restraint released and the admin raised her hand quickly to thrust the shard into her throat. Her fingers went numb and the shard slipped smashing by her feet as her arm slumped body collapsing to the side, she could breathe but only barely and she could move her eyes but nothing else.

"Guess you didn't act fast enough." the mewtwo had stopped at the busted doorway just to look back and mock her, "ah well, ever heard of parasitic Beedrill? I'm sure you'll make a very comfortable flesh womb meal combo, you'll get to enjoy feeling them grow inside you while unable to speak or tell anyone. Maybe they'll die inside you and the sepsis will take you out or maybe they'll adapt to keep you alive even after you should die, after all your insides will have been their comfortable little home for so long they won't want to part with it. You'll be their hive their playground protection from the real world in your chest cavity nuzzling into your ribs. Congratulations Admin. This could be the rest of your life." his smirk was simple as he flew away with force that caused the trees to bend and sway.

The admin lay there stomach twisting in knots, eyes in a panic darting around at the sight of the corpses around her as the horrors crept into her mind of what would happen, her thoughts spiraling into gibberish as the hours passed decaying her only ability to even try to communicate as her eyes flicked around in circles, death burning into her vision and the stench crawling over and seeping into her skin and senses permanently.

#My writing #tw murder #tw death #tw blood #Tw genetic mutilation #Tw biological manipulation #Tw body horror #Tw rotting #Tw parasites #Tw torture #Tw mention of brains #Tw suicide baiting #Just uh this is dark folks. Probably a way future event canon wise. Some people took Axels daughter and mate. Lots of people die.#Axel has all the casual cruelty and genetic manipulation abilities of a mew for both himself and others #While also having received humanities cruelty disregard and even want to push the boundaries to hurt hurt hurt #You gave a gene manipulating god the ability to know his past actions were fucked and the frontal lobe to be even worse and vengeful #Well done.#Axel really went yea I already knew that I just wanted to torture people #He probably sent a big mental image to every pokemon in Unova and that area to find his mate and child so hes not like doing this while his #Family is at risk somewhere. Honestly he probably begrudgingly contacted one of his mewtwo offspring to help so like sensible revenge?#And yes it is implied he straight up just injected someone with lava how the FUCK did u do that

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bookish-huntress-art · 2 years

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"Have our players found sanctuary? Will everything work out?⁠ ...Is that really the story you want? Is that what you really want? ⁠ No. Let's have an honest conversation. You want to plunge forward into the darkness.⁠”

from Dread, Episode Two: A Jarring Discovery⁠

Episode 1 Episode 2 Episode 3 Episode 4 Episode 5 Episode 6

Bonus

#dread #sos:dread #sagas of sundry #sagas of sundry dread #geek and sundry #digital art #my art #artists on tumblr #support artists #body horror #spiderweb tw #eye mutilation tw #spiders tw #spiders mention #drinking mention

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wxnheart · 11 months

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Soft varre anon back again, and I am here to finally elaborate on my trans godrick theory. First of all, hes just like me as he so desperately wants the validation from others so he mutilates and changes his body to become stronger, or how I see it, feeling comfortable in his own skin. He feels that being a man is right and that's who he must truly become to feel whole and strong. Plus, those lips don't lie, he's definitely got those luscious pretty girl lips.

Also as a trans man, any character I remotely like gets his with the transifacation beam 😁

Ooooh; I see, SVA.

#elden ring #elden crack.#godrick the grafted #tw: mentions of body mutilation #tw: body mutilation

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pseudo90sdreaming · 2 years

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𝘽𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙊𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙨

so ive actually never played genshin before. ive only read fanfiction and listened to my friend talk about it so this is probably rly inaccurate. oh well. get over it yall. happy (very belated) birthday @peachykeenwritings. love you.

The demon wrapped its hands around his throat. Xiao could feel it begin to squeeze, each clawed finger digging its way through his skin. The claws were long and sharp, thick and matted with dirt and grime and shit Xiao didn’t even want to think about. The nails were a dark brown, almost black. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Xiao could remember someone telling him the name of the color. Smokey, the voice chimed in his brain, musical and vibrant, the term is smokey black. It reminds me of you when you leave and reappear. Xiao wished he could disappear in that one moment, fall asleep in that miasma he could escape to; any other time a prison, but tonight, his safe haven from the pressure around his neck. The smokey black was cracked along the nails, like a shitty paint job, and along the palms, Xiao could feel the rotting clots dig their way into his skin. One sniff of the repugnant smell made Xiao heave. It turned into a struggling wheeze, and Xiao vomited a raspy cough. He knew what that smell was. He’d known that smell for years; had worn it inside and out, hanging over his shoulders till it inked his skin darker than the tattoos on his arm.

The thumbs pressed against his Adam’s apple, tearing into him and pulling at the cartilage. It burned. It burned so fucking much. Xiao gasped, eyes wide and frantic, searching for something stable to settle on.

Don’t look at the face.

Look anywhere but the face.

HisAdam’s apple bobbed, and he could feel the thing rub against the demon’s callused hand. Something sharp caught onto the cartilage; Xiao couldn’t give a rat’s ass what it was, but it was thick and long and had hooked itself into the flesh which lay right before the Adam’s apple. His breath quickened. His neck tensed. In a quick riiiiiip! Xiao felt the skin tear apart, warm blood gurgling. Xiao’s vision went white; his jaw slacked. He could feel cold air rush through the cavity in his throat and past his throbbing voice box. The limp skin flapped as the hands pressed hungrily into him, its matted fur clogging his exposed cartilage. He choked pitifully, feeling something warm and wet well up, and he whimpered. Fucking whimpered like a dog without its teeth. He wanted to cry, feeling he was no better than the stray fucking mutts being butchered by their own kind. He didn’t know if it were the blood from his throat, or the tears in his eyes, or the acidic spittle of the monster, but a wetness burned him through, creating a wound in his heart far more painful than the one in his throat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, maybe more present, maybe farther gone than he could ever go, Xiao thought the tear in his throat sounded like a warm spring day. Where the wind was warm and inviting; where the fields were decorated in vivacity and children ate from the orange blossoms. The leaves smelled sweet, like tangerines, and couples kissed in the dying sunlight. His chest would tighten, as he watched the people eat oranges together, as the juices ran down their chin and their neck, as a loved one cleaned up their mess, and all Xiao had to show was the rotting skin of an old blood orange.

He wished panic was the only thing to have him in a chokehold right now.

The nape of his neck felt cold. The demon’s talons slowly sunk into his pearly skin, marring his most coveted place. His skin rolled in goosebumps, and he felt his stomach tighten in fear. He could hear the subtle tearing of flesh, a gentle pull, something so soft and sincere, and he could feel the warm plunge as the dirtied claws grasped at the muscles in his neck. He gasped, gurgled, as the fingers dug around inside him, latching onto tendons and ligaments. He screamed and thrashed, wailing like a child looking for its mother, as it slowly dragged its dirtied hands along the seven vertebrae there, tapping each one for good measure, counting him. It tickled the Atlas, snapping his head forward in a blinding snap. He could hear how hard that snap was; feel the ringing pain behind his eyes and in his ears and all around his head.

He let out a wailing sob as he felt the dirtied hands touch him. Everything he had been holding back for archon’s only know how long; days, months, years, decades, centuries of pain rushed out in a torrent of self-hatred and ugliness and sin and rotting blood orange skins. Those fucking fingers dragged along him like they knew him, like they owned him, like he was theirs and they were his, in an act so sacred and so loving. The tears were warm tears, and he shuddered as he felt them drip down his face. They left hot streaks in their wake, searing his skin and leaving it red and blotchy and ugly. He felt like shriveling up and dying, hiding away in a darkened corner, his smoke, his miasma, in the farthest corners of Teyvat, in his head, and letting his body rot and fester for the rats and dogs to eat away at his carcass. He breathed in quick and heady breaths, his diaphragm clutching painfully. The hole in his throat swelled, the tears growing, and Xiao could feel the breaking skin reach his chin and his clavicle, exposing far more than just his cartilage and muscle. He felt naked. He was under a spotlight, bright and burning, and there was nothing he could do to hide himself. There was no dark corner, or smoke, or miasma, or anywhere in Teyvat or in his head which could hide him from the burning, prying eyes of the demon which slowly choked him into submission.

Blood oozed into his mouth, staining his teeth. It crawled into the crevices and gaps, his gums standing out like blood on the top of Dragonspine. His tongue lolled out, feeling heavy and all too big to fit into his bruised and swollen mouth. The blood which coated his teeth dripped from his tongue, trickling down slowly, and it covered his tastebuds so distinctly, so uniquely.

Because the blood was sweet.

It tasted like mandarins. When you bite into a freshly picked mandarin on a dying spring day, where the juices roll down your chin and onto your neck, and a lover cleans your mess for you. When your lover, who had also been eating mandarins, smooths a towel over you, softly, gently, taking care to keep you clean. When they take your orange and steal a bite, and their laugh is more golden than the sky, and their eyes are brighter than the setting sun, and their cheeks rosier than the blooming fields, and their lips sweeter, more potent, so much more than what a mandarin could ever offer. More of a food, more of a treat, more of a good thing.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Fresher tears. Less acidic; bittersweet. When the tears rolled down his skin, they felt like water washing a blood orange. The skin is rough and course; it’s covered in bumps and ridges, and it doesn’t sit in your hands comfortably. But the water is cool on it, washing away the dirt and grime, cleansing it of impurities. It’s easier to peel the skin, if nothing more than because you think so, and beneath is a beautiful bloom of dark red and purple, sugary and perfumed. The water gives way to reveal the beautiful blood which pours from Xiao and there’s a part of him which had been so suppressed and hidden that begins to feel safe. Not absolutely safe, but safer than he had felt in a long while. Safer, like he wasn’t so alone. Safer, like he didn’t need to hide as often. Safer, as tears cool his splotchy cheeks and the hole in his throat wheezes with every breath. He begins to feel safe. And he begins to feel warm. He can taste the sweetness of blood oranges in his mouth, staining his teeth and tongue.

The demon released Xiao slowly, its claws retracting back into its hands. Its maw, full of the glistening teeth which were as stained with blood as red and as sweet as Xiao’s, slowly closed shut. Its wide amber eyes burned into Xiao, watching every twitch; every move. The demon lifted a hand up, and in its palm was a strip of skin, rough and course and littered with bumps and calluses that could only be washed away by water. Xiao picked up the skin and felt the life pulse within it. It was his skin. It was the skin which belonged to only him and one other; one other who was far sweeter, far more beautiful than a blooming orange blossom. Xiao felt the scars along his neck close up. The bruises and the swelling subsided, and he could breathe through his throat again.

The demon had settled into a shadow which followed him. He understood it would never leave. It would haunt him on dark nights and in dark corners. It all the places of Teyvat and in his head. But the sun is setting. Couples are eating mandarins, and the juices run down their neck. And the shadows are behind him as you wipe the mess off his face, and he captures your hand briskly, a glow as dark as the blood oranges skin on his cheeks. You laugh, and he swears to all that is holy that the hole has opened back up in his throat and he’s wheezing through a cavity in his esophagus. Your hand is soft in his. It’s smoother than any mandarin or blood orange, a hand purer and cleaner. A hand which didn’t need to be washed to be clean, or peeled to see the beauty which hid beneath. A hand which fit right into his. It was a hand he had memorized all the bumps and ridges to, and smelled sweeter than any orange blossom. A hand which was your hand; a hand he hoped would never leave his.

Spring has begun.

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