#the humble skeleton...
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-- No.001 Skeleton
good old reliable skeleton, one version of them or another has almost always a place in one's deck
#katia's cardcase#lost kingdoms#rune (2002)#001#the humble skeleton...#all other cards will be queued and then shuffled so they will be out of order#but I figured number one may as well be posted immediately
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What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours (4092 words) by vaguely_concerned Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir Additional Tags: Fluff, Humor, Post-Canon Cardassia (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine), Established Relationship, Banter, Erotic Use of Limericks, (The author can neither endorse nor condemn this practice only depict it honestly and unflinchingly) Summary: âI am going to strangle you,â Julian managed between wheezes of laughter, continuing his vain struggle among the sheets to wrest the PADD from Garakâs hand. âIs that a promise?â Garak said hopefully.
In which Garak commits poetry crimes, and Julian is forced to resort to some very direct forms of literary criticism.
--
In A Stitch In Time, Garak mentions in passing that he would write poetry during his time with Palandine. And my brain took this knowledge and decided to use it for evil. This is 100% just happy silly times with them talking nonsense to each other and enjoying it tremendously.
#garashir#elim garak#julian bashir#star trek#star trek ds9#ds9#my writing#praise that I did it don't give up skeleton etc. I honestly wasn't sure we'd get there this time but it's done haha#this is very much 'but what if someone somewhere. was happy tho' material and I had a lot of fun with garak nonsense writing it#I would like to make a humble offering to the great and worthy tradition of the post-canon cardassia genre
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Me and my friend on our way to a Halloween party. We went to a drag show after.
#I did my make up in like 10 min#thatâs not a humble brag itâs literally the easiest skeleton makeup ever#but more than once I went up to people I knew who didnât recognize me#I donât know what my point is but Iâm still buzzed and had a great night#Halloween#Jack Skellington#I canât remember the character on your head Stephan Iâm so sorry
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The collection so far đ€Ąđ I found all these in local shops đ„
#affirmarioms -> i will rb in one year and say humble beginnings đ„č#they also had boingo đ (the bad one) on cd and vinyl and skeletons in closet vinyl but i didnt pick them up bc i am now cash poor
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remember a year ago when i accidentally found and held a guy's skull and i was so shaken by it that i talked to my therapist about it and she told me trying to find out who he was and think of him as a person wasn't healthy or good
and then a couple months later recommended me a bunch of "gender resources" from the heritage foundation so i stopped going to therapy
anyway hes still Albert to me, a guy who liked science and the sea and writing letters to his sister and im admittedly still kind of fucked up about him
#messages from the ouija board#that job was so neat and im so mad that the crew i was working with sucked and created an unsafe environment and also the commute was hell#i should stop by that cemetery sometime again to see how our repairs to albert's grave held up#the incident was really humbling and kinda disturbing but also tbh pretty funny bc it was me & the other intern alone#on our first day without our supervisor around and that was the ONE DAY we had to find a skeleton#and the guys in charge of interring bodies were like. i know why u came to us w this. but we do not deal w them coming back up either.#idk why im bringing this up its not like the Anniversary of the incident or anything i just am thinking about him today
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Luce and Michael stages of finding out they have """""daughters""""
Stage one: Being told
https://youtu.be/21A6XA5NACA?si=Uj1hhYlVm1vLzf7X
Stage two: Processing
https://youtu.be/Y_ZePLjQ3FE?si=SCsEHfJQQewkrGWs
Stage three: Confusion
https://youtu.be/NsQIGKwdTD8?si=n7b25tyqdL9ADs9b
(Not Afternoon, but I think the idea is neat too)
i imagine michael in particular would be concerned about this news, since the last time angels (supposedly) got involved in human reproduction..... well............
#ask the skeleton#cdta#also i say 'supposedly' bc book of enoch stuff seems to be contentious#and like. i am just a humble skeleton who has never read the bible. i dont know anything about anything lol#cdta rusty mirrors
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Should Understand This condition More
Find My 3D Printer
#wheelchair#seeker of the sun#be humble#robotic neural stimulation#exoskeleton#self care#arduino printed skeleton#6figure
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y'all...Y'ALL. No Bones now has a podfic! go listen on this day the best day. happy halloween! đ
No Bones About It, as read by @ellamcsmellbella
@ellamcsmellbella you darling thing. i adore this reading. LOVE! thank you, thank you!
No Bones About It, by peachpety
Thirteen Ficlets || T || 5k || non-magical modern college AU feat. jock Harry Potter & nerd Draco Malfoy
To remain eligible to play football for Hogwarts University, Harry needs to pass his gen bio exam. Too bad he chose the course based on the hotness of the TA and not the leniency of the professor. With the help of his friends and a Magic 8 Ball, Harry seeks tutoring from Draco Malfoy, Hot TA. Cue: chance encounters, flirting in library nooks, and prophecies fulfilled.
Excerpt:
Harry mirrors Ronâs grin, then collapses his face into a pout. âCâmon, dude. I have to ace this skeleton ID exam tomorrow.â
Ron scratches his pencil to add shading to his sketch and blows away graphite debris. âYou just want to impress your TA.â
âMaybe,â Hermione says from her perch on a stool beside Ron, âhe just wants to get a good grade.â
âYeah, Ron. Maybe I want a good grade.â
âNah,â Ron says. âYou just want to get boned.â
âNice. And yeah, âMione. Maybe I want to get boned.â
* * *
Continue reading on AO3
Subscribe to Thirteen Ficlets
* * *
Written for the sweet @ladderofyears || prompt witch shop + dialogue "I think the crystal ball is working. The spirits are telling me youâre a dumbass" - liberties were taken đ
Special thanks to my misfits crew for the help and encouragement, big love always đ
#drarry#halloween drarry#autumn drarry#drarry fanfic#drarry podfic#harry x draco#jock x nerd#jock!harry potter#nerd!draco malfoy#skeleton puns#thirteen ficlets#humbled and honored
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the skeletal invertebrate decorations have returned once more to home depot. this is not the hill i will die on but i WILL complain about it.
#suz yells#and the dog skeletons of course have ears made of bone. WHAT is this world coming to. no respect for the humble skeleton in its true form
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SWORDTEMBER DAY 3: SENTIENT
Elâfaeraâs Weapon Hire, of gnarled root and helpful fairy âšđż âOh hello excuse me? Are you looking for a weapon - perhaps for a tour guide? I know this place like the back of my wing, if, er, at least if we are where I think we are⊠and I can be awfully useful in a fight too! Iâll shout when you should dodge and duck and roll. My humble home is a sturdy weapon, donât mind the rust and rot thatâs, um, thatâs an aesthetic thing, kind of going for a cottagecore vibe. My past clients can vouch for me too! In fact my most recent commissioner is here joining us today - yes - the very overgrown skeleton with the look of pure terror in itâs silently screaming maw. I mean, I told him to dodge and he didnât listen! If anything thatâs another point in the âgood reviewsâ column. Me and my home are available for hire for cheap and - hey donât walk away. Hey excuse me! Are you even listening??â
Are you hiring her services??
Yesterdayâs sword!
You can support me on Patreon for ÂŁ1 and help me make stuff like this!
#rbswordtember#Swordtember 2024#swordtember#Curated curios#art#artwork#animated#animation#animators on tumblr#illustration#illustrators on tumblr#artists on tumblr#dnd item#item#magic item#pretty#digital art#digital#fantasy#fantasy art#fantasy writing#writing#writing tumblr#flashing
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(clears throat) "Born down in dark drearburh, where the skeleton plows/came the cavalier prim'ry of our humble house." With some very minor adjustments, the Ballad of Chavo Guerrero fits Ortus Nigenad's hero worship and father issues perfectly. "He was my hero back when I was a kid/You let me down but he never once did."
Artist credit Pierogish
#the mountain goats#the locked tomb#tlt#ortus nigenad#matthias nonius#beat the champ#harrow the ninth
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Hello! I humbly request Skully J. Graves for the spooky season, please and thank you! (Ps, I LOVE YOUR VILLIANESS SERIES SO MUCH. if you put him in the series, I would love it. Thank you.
Frights and Fancies - Skully J. Graves x reader
I've finally finished the first part of the Halloween event story and here we go! Skully J. Graves for the spooky season!
(this was written before part 2 of the event was out so it might be ooc)
It was almost Halloween, and the Ramshackle Dorm looked like it had exploded in pumpkins, cobwebs, and fake skeletons. Well, not fake enough for Skully, who was currently trying to rearrange a skeleton to perfectly mimic Jack Skellingtonâs iconic pose.
âThis is it! This is exactly how Jack looked when he stood atop Spiral Hill!â Skully beamed, leaning back with a gleeful twirl. âI could cry!â
âPlease donât,â Grim muttered, slumped on the couch like a cat whoâd had enough of life. âIâve seen way too much Halloween today. Iâm exhausted.â
You stifled a laugh as Skully pranced across the room, his long coat flowing behind him dramatically. He stopped by a cobweb youâd just hung, delicately adjusting it with reverence. âAh, this is a masterpiece! The precision, the artistryâoh, Jack would be proud!â
âI bet Jack has a restraining order,â Grim mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
Skully didnât seem to notice the sass. âYou donât understand, Grim! Jack Skellington is the Pumpkin King! He is the very soul of Halloween! Imagine... if I could bring him here, right to this very dorm... oh, we would throw the greatest Halloween party the world has ever seen!â
âYouâre throwing it right now, and I hate it,â Grim muttered, pulling a pillow over his head.
Skully, undeterred, rushed over to the pile of pumpkins by the door, holding up the largest one like a trophy. âThis oneâs going to be the piĂšce de rĂ©sistance! Iâm going to carve Jackâs face into itâoh, the precision, the skill! Itâll be a tribute!â
You were barely able to stop yourself from laughing as Skully started sketching an intricate face into the pumpkin. It was hard not to get caught up in his excitement, even if it was a little... obsessive.
âHey, uh, shouldnât we maybe, I donât know, check the snacks or something?â you suggested, trying to save Grim from further mental collapse. âWeâve got a whole room full of sweets to prepare.â
âOh! Of course!â Skully jumped to his feet, pumpkin forgotten. âWe must create a feast worthy of Halloween Town itself! Grim, youâll love thisâthere will be so many sweets, you wonât be able to handle it!â
âSounds like my personal hell,â Grim groaned, finally sitting up. âDo we have to? I was kinda hoping to nap.â
Skully was already halfway to the kitchen, humming some eerie tune under his breath. You shot Grim an apologetic look, but he was too busy glaring at the ceiling like he was making a pact with some unseen force to end Halloween forever.
The kitchen was soon filled with the smells of spiced pumpkin and sugary treats. Skully was in his element, flitting around like a Halloween-obsessed ghost, talking nonstop about Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King, and all the Halloween traditions from his foggy village.
âAnd no one here at school even knows about Jack!â Skully was saying for probably the twentieth time. âCan you believe that? Itâs like theyâve never even heard of Halloween!â
âMaybe theyâre lucky,â Grim grumbled, stuffing his face with a pumpkin tart.
Skully either didnât hear him or didnât care. He had already moved on to decorating cookies, carefully icing tiny skeleton faces onto each one. âJackâs elegance, his charisma! Heâs the epitome of what Halloween should be.â
âJack this, Jack that...â Grim sighed dramatically. âIf I hear that name one more timeââ
âI could name the pumpkin Jack,â Skully suggested, completely serious.
âNo!â Grim snapped. âLet the pumpkin live its own life! Let it be free!â
You snorted, almost dropping the tray of cupcakes you were setting out. Skully blinked, confused for just a moment, before smiling his usual charming smile. âAh, Grim, you always know how to liven things up.â
âIâm this close to being a ghost myself,â Grim muttered.
By the time the evening rolled around, Ramshackle Dorm had been transformed into a veritable Halloween haven. Cobwebs draped across the walls, pumpkins lined every surface, and the faint glow of eerie lights filled the air. Skully stood in the center of it all, arms wide open as he surveyed his masterpiece.
âThis... this is the Halloween of my dreams,â Skully said softly, his voice full of awe. âI couldnât have done it without you two.â
Grim gave a halfhearted wave from his spot on the couch, already half-asleep again, but Skullyâs gratitude was genuine. You smiled, watching as he twirled around one more time, completely in his element.
âWell,â you said, âif Jack Skellington could see this, Iâm sure heâd be impressed.â
Skullyâs face lit up like a jack-oâ-lantern. âYou really think so?â
âAbsolutely,â you replied, adjusting a crooked pumpkin. âYouâve done Halloween proud.â
Skully gave a deep bow, flourishing his coat as if he were addressing royalty. âThen, in Jackâs name, I thank you both!â
From the couch, Grim groaned. âIâm gonna need a vacation after thisâŠâ
As Skully danced around the room, humming Halloween tunes and praising Jack Skellington, you couldnât help but smile. Sure, it had been a lot of work, but seeing Skully so happyâand hearing Grimâs constant complaintsâmade it all worth it.
This was going to be a Halloween to remember.
Masterlist
Also I'd love to add him the the villainess series, but I'll wait till atleast part 2 of the Halloween event to completely understand him before I do!
#twst x reader#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#skully j graves#twst skully#skully x reader#skully j graves x reader#twst skully x reader#skully j. graves#skully j. graves x reader
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[0] đđŻđŹđ©đŹđ€đČđą.
yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, abuse of power, descriptions of religious imagery, attempted non-con, hypocrisy, solitary confinement, rollo is immensely creepy, archaic mindsets and logic masterlist // prologue (you are here) // one
Without a shred of sympathy, discarded like dross, you are thrown before Father Flammeâs feet.
You have enough grace and dignity to resist the urge to grasp at his robes and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you condemn yourself to silence, allowing his piercing stare to stab through you with a judgment so precise it might just slice the skin from your skeleton. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you can almost taste his disapproval, much like a snake might parse chemical witchery in the air.
âLift your head, if you would,â he commands gently, and you do as youâre told. He folds his arms over his chest and looks on, cold as winterâs frost. You watch his finger tap out a soundless rhythm. âI must ask of you, Sister, to provide reason to your recent absences. As a child of God, you have taken oath to follow His wise teachings and devote yourself to serving this church. Am I wrong?â
âYou speak wise and true.â You rise to your feet and, ignoring the brutes who so rudely cast you forward in the first place, bow your head in apology. Father Flamme waves them out without sparing so much as a second glance. âYou are right that it is my duty to serve the church. I ought to be doing just that and yet I have failed to do so. Undeserving I may be, I ask that you pardon my negligence.â
Father Flamme hums. Standing in front of the altar, backdropped by a stained glass depiction of the crucifixion, he is bathed in a colorful, angelic array. He strides towards you, covering the short distance in just a few clicks, and places his hand upon your shoulder. Youâre led from the steps and down the aisle. It feels more like youâre being brought away for slaughter, a lamb primed for punishment.
âThere is no doubt you are genuine in all that you do,â he notes, sliding his hand down your arm. Those slender, spidery digits curl into your woolen sleeve. âYou are impartial and well-bred, a woman of impressive patience and virtue. Qualities of which arouse an admiration most potent.â
You know the rest of your convent is much the same, which is why it puzzles you that Father Flamme should praise your humble name in such a sickeningly fond manner.
âYou are too kind, Father,â you acquiesce. âAs a modest servant of God, itâs my pleasure to devote myself to Him, the church, my fellow sisters, and the community.â
âHmm. A laudable outlook.â His lips quirk up in a smile. Strangely, it looks sharp and predatory. It does not reach his eyes.
Father Flamme steers you in the direction of another stained glass window. This scene is of The Resurrection of Christ. You gaze at His face and wonder if there truly is something up there, watching over the worldâs sheep as they live out cyclical days in their pastures.
Immediately, you realize you should commit yourself to writing lines to chase that doubtful notion away.
Father Flamme rests his hand on your other arm to hold you in place. âA quote paraphrased from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verses thirty-six through thirty-eight, if youâll listen: âWhen asked which is the great commandment of all in the law, Jesus would reply, âYou shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.ââ
You nod mechanically, only half-listening. After observing you closely, he frowns.
âWhat troubles you, Sister?â
âIt is hardly a burden worth shouldering. I assure you Iâm of sound health. My recent habit of absence is most unbecoming of a sister. I should sooner confront the great shame of my actions than let it fester within.â
âThere is still time to atone. You must seek counsel and, having taken it in your arms just as God embraces all, you will know forgiveness.â
You rest your hand upon Father Flammeâs, which has somehow found its home at your hip. âAnd how do you suppose I do that?â
He smiles that empty smile again. âIf He is to provide for you, you must first lay yourself bare before him. I am no fool, Sister. Thereâs something youâre not telling me.â
âI have been truthful, Father. I would never lie under this sacred roof, nor would I have the gall to do so in your presence. It would be an offense so beastly I could not bear to let it weigh heavy on my heart.â
âYet, rather than scorch your tongue with a dissolution of the truth, you evade the simplest of queries.â His fingers toy with the knots of your cincture. âWhat manner of tale will you spin to mystify me next?â
Reacting on instinct, you rip yourself from his immoral grasp. The nave is as silent as the grave, so stuffy itâs suffocating. Father Flamme narrows his eyes at you. His gaze cuts through you like blood swirling through the cracks in iceâlike a scalding brand pressed onto flesh.
A thick tension blankets the air. You merely stare at him, and he levels you with the same calculating intensity. Both of you are searching the otherâs face, hoping to find an explanation for such polar opposite behavior.
Youâre courageous enough to break the quiet first.
âIf it would please you, Father, I will graciously offer myself up for confession. There is no reason or need to circumvent the Lord.â
âSister (Name), if you may spare the time, I entreat you to take a short stroll with me.â Before you can object, he offers his arm. âAll children are lost lambs who will soon find their way when following the path illuminated by Godâs brilliant light. You are no different. It is my duty to see that you are no longer led astray by temptation and the litany of filth propagated by the fiend.â
Sensing no other option, you link arms with him and subject yourself to his whims. âIâve a frightful feeling. Most frightful indeed.â
âBy all means, confide in God and trust that He will provide shelter. Under His sacred roof, He will lend an ear just as I am doing now.â
You inhale a steadying breath. At this moment, Father Flamme is all you have. In the depths of your heart, youâre aware heâll never understand. He will never know the morbid secrets that dwell in darkened corners, swept expertly away. And if he knew, you would never be welcome in the church again. Your fellow sisters would certainly turn their noses up at you, loathing the sin of your very existence.
Even as you walk alongside the righteous bishop, you feel an overwhelming itchiness.
âRecent events have led me to believeâthough I pray it isnât trueâthat my heart has been possessed with a ghastly malady. Umbras waltz in my peripheralâno trick of the light, I assure!â
âPerhaps it is merely a case of wicked dreams?â he posits, leading you through the aisle like a father might accompany a bride on her wedding day. You shake your head insistently, and so he holds his hand up to soothe your frazzled disposition. âPeace, Sister. The songs of night are naught but whimsical folly weaved from the silk of zealous minds. You would do well to shake yourself free of their deceitful shroud.â
âI shall do so most ardently.â
âTo rectify this trouble, might you consider attending evening mass? It can only do you good.â
You step up towards the altar, keeping pace with Father Flammeâs casual gait. âOh, I couldnât. As of late, Iâve felt uneasy in my solitude. I fear my shadow is not my ownâŠâ
His verdant eyes are so stark against the pallor of his face that it reminds you of coins placed over those of the dead. His arm slips away from your waist and, gathering your hands in his, he assesses you more carefully. Under the watchful stare of both Father Flamme and a crucified deity, you feel as if someone has taken a spoon to your soul and scraped it out. And then, for extra, unnecessary measure, theyâve flattened it out on a table for dissection in hopes of picking apart each of your dirtiest secrets.
âOh? Do elucidate.â
Hazarding a glance at the cross situated grandly in multicolored glass, you lower your voice so as to not be heard by any outside parties. Paranoia grips you in a clenched fist.
âSomethingâwhat it may be, I could not begin to form ample conjectureâis hunting me.â
He does not grace you with a reply, and this only incenses the unrest bubbling within you.
âHow say you, Father? What is it that causes me such nocturnal torment?â
His features are set in perfect neutrality; itâs impossible to glean any sort of emotion from the way he acts. He coaxes you closer, pulling you along towards the altar.Â
âIt is with great devastation that I must behold you as you are,â he says, breaking the suspense. âTainted with the despicable sins of the world outside, young and promising as you are⊠I shall remedy that.â
You open your mouth to voice concern, but in one swift motion he shoves you against the altar. You land with a thud, your back colliding against sturdy mahogany. It happens in a flash, like the final expulsion of breath from your lungs in the wake of the end. Heâs between your flailing legs, pushing you up and onto the cloth-covered surface. Brass candlesticks scatter in a haphazard clatter. Globs of wax bespatter stone floors.
In the quaint tranquility of the church, the struggle is louder than a newbornâs cry.
Your chest heaves in a panic.Â
Gracious God above, I implore youâsave me from this wretched devil!
Your pupils flit wildly, assessing every area within your range. There must be a means to escape! Above the ornate display, his head hung, your god looks on silently. He does not offer a whit of protection.
âFatherââ
Frigid fingers crawl upon your legs like a flurry of scurrying rats. You blink up at him, helplessly hopeful.
He inhales a long, steadying breath and shuts his eyes. âGod, have mercy. Have pity on this wayward soul. May she be cleansed beneath my fingertips, pure as freshly fallen snow, and may you forgive her every transgression.â
You sputter an incoherent noise.
He opens his eyes and smiles serenely. âAmen.â
Squirming beneath him, you resist his touch like itâs flickering flame. âFather, I beg of you⊠Quell your frustrations and release me at once. I am innocent.â
He sighs, unconvinced. âYou are exquisitely venust, Sister. As sweet as the first buds of spring. You must know it is impossible for beauty to exist freely when there are fiends who wish to tarnish itâwho will trample upon the virtuous garden in which you bloom and pluck you by the root, rough as barbarians. Thus, it is my duty to see that you are scrubbed of their detestable influence. May God pardon my iniquity.â
His hands slide up your calves beneath your habit. You watch, prickled with horror, as he parts your legs.Â
âBelle chose, unfurl your petals so that we may make feet for childrenâs stockings.â
He leans over you, reaching to secure your wrists with one hand. The other climbs higher in its rapacious pursuit of a place most sacred. In the midst of your ferocious thrashing, you espy His divine eye once more.
I adjure you, Lord⊠Save me from this demon. You must. Please, LordâŠ
Silence. A haunting, engulfing silence.Â
There is no salvation to be found beneath the cross. None for you, as it appears so disturbingly clear.
âUnhand me! Unhand me at once!â you snap, tearing your arm free. âYou would allow yourself to fall lower than the ground you trod uponâto so flagrantly commit sacrilege in His hallowed home?!â
âIt is not I who is to be scorned so. I am guiltless,â he sneers. But then he smooths his scowl into that of pristine, practiced patience, and he speaks in a soft, pitying tone. âOh, Sister, you have allowed them to tip poison into your precious ears⊠Your perception is clouded with the cobwebs of that uncouth crowd.â
âTo stand at his feet and reveal your malice in such a grotesque manner⊠You are no better than swine!â
âYou shall see there is no better solace to be found than with me.â Tenderly, he fits his hand, cold and skeletal, in yours. âI shall shelter you from all that is cruel and unjust. You need only take my hand.â His fingers flicker at your inner thigh, waltzing in circles. His incessant petting sends a shudder wracking through your body. Paralyzed as you are, you recognize the monster lurking just beneath human flesh. A demented desire flashes in his eyes. Youâve never felt more lost. âAnd your sins shall be forgiven.â
Father Flamme leans down, chancing to catch the scent at your neck. You reach between your bodies, searching for the garter secured around your thigh, and unsheath the dagger from beneath your habit. Itâs thrust at his throat, the sharpened edge pressed close enough to pierce through the collar of his alb and draw the slightest pinprick of blood. Clasping the ivory handle in a trembling fist, you face him with a fire burning in your fear-filled visage.
Perhaps it is his own disbelief that prompts the rattle in his chestâan ominous chuckle.Â
âYou are a bride of Christ, yet you dare turn a blade on me?â
âYouâre a man of God, yet you besmear His holy name with the sin of your incorrigible lust?â
âYou are mistaken, Sister.â He grabs hold of your fist with both hands and folds his fingers over yours in mock prayer. As if intending to stoke your ire, he tilts his head in taunt. âLet my blood run red on this altar and you shall know of my humanity.â
âDefile the Lamb of God and you are no shepherd but, rather, the wolf who adorns himself in woolen mendacity.â
Before he can utter a response, the doors burst open. Father Flamme releases your hand and climbs off of you, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. An icy gale claws at the interior, and with it two men arrive in a whirlwind rush.
âYour Excellency, forgive our intrusion!â
Your arm falls to your side and, with a mounting sense of defeat, you gaze at the ceiling. You donât feel soothed, but you must compose yourself. And so, shoving your frenzied emotions to the side, you sheath your blade and scramble to make yourself presentable once your feet are back on the floor. Brightening at the sight of the two villagers, you cradle your rosary and pray silently.
Dear God, may you smite he who spreads abhorrent rot with his fingertips and, in witnessing a most magnificent death flail, gralloch him without mercy.
âAh, gentlemen, what fortuitous timing,â Father Flamme greets them, smiling. âDo come in. Iâve a task for you, if you would be so inclined.â
You linger behind, cautious like a gare-fowl often is when at the receiving end of a hunterâs rifle.
âYour Excellency, you need only ask and we are at your service.â
âBefore that, you must accompany us to the hogs,â the other interjects. âDeath has soiled these grounds, Your Excellency. A sight so barbarous it forebodes only the worst! You must comeâcome and behold the infernal darkness which has cursed this village!â
Father Flamme glances between the both of them, assessing the urgency of the situation that has been so cryptically illustrated.
âAs you have described, the present circumstances appear dire. Oh, but I do require your assistance before that, gentlemen. It shanât be too arduous a task.â He turns on his heel and indicates you with an outstretched hand. âSister (Name) totters at the precipice with her fickle faith. As it is my duty to ensure all are well in the arms of God, I must takeâŠcautionâyou might sayâin sorting such a sensitive matter.â
The men exchange bewildered looks.
âYou implyâŠpunishment, sir?â
âNay, I think not!â you interrupt, striding forwards. Youâre stopped by Father Flammeâs arm, held just in front of your chest to keep you in place. âFather, I am steadfast in my faith. I haveââ
âIf such were the truth, you would not speak nullifidian filth.â
Pushing past him, you plead with the men: âSirs, he knots his tongue and utters dishonesty! You know of my virtueâmy loyalty to Him. And of my father, who has provided comfort and care, the means by which I was raised into the woman you see before you, I am justly proud. As the daughter of (Last Name), I sicken with the thought of bringing dishonor to my father, my faithâall of which I hold true in my heart. Sirs, you must believe inââ
Father Flamme lifts his hand to silence you, but youâre aware of his cunning machinations. âI ask of you this, good sirs. When sailors set out at sea, do they allow themselves to fall prey to the song of the siren? Just as those wretched sea-beasts sing, so, too, does honey pour spoiled from the mouth of a sinner. Her words serve to chart a course for ill-founded temptation.â
âSister, your virtue I do not question.â The villager addresses Father Flamme next, disregarding your presence entirely, as if you are naught but a worthless speck. âWhat shall we do, Your Excellency?â
A smile curls on his lips. âTake her to the tower just beyond the village. She shall remain in solitude for seven days. That shall provide her with ample time for contemplation.â
The men approach you without a hint of remorse on their lips. Cornered, you look to Father Flamme for guidance.
âFather, I beg of youâyou mustnât send me away! I shall repent! I shall do so before you now.â
âIt serves me no satisfaction to subject you to solitary confinement.â He folds his hands in front of him and observes the spectacle of your resistance. âYou have proven to me your doubt in the capabilities of the Lord. It is my right to correct your contumacious thoughts. Iâm certain your father would share this sentiment. No daughter should empty her mind of His valuable teachings.â
âDo not speak as if you have dined with my father,â you hiss, wriggling in the firm hold of both men.
Father Flamme steps closer and smiles. âLet us away.âÂ
You are dragged, struggling all the while, out of the church and down the steps. There is a ferocious bite to this yearâs autumnal weather. Father Flamme is gracious enough to drape his cloak over your shoulders just before youâre lifted onto a horse. He mounts his stallion and, with the crack of a whip, the four of you are off towards the decrepit tower at the rugged foothills of the mountains. No words are exchanged. Youâve said more than enough and you still remain the accused, guilty due to distorted logic.
The tower, which had once appeared so distantly out of your mind, gains striking clarity as you approach. You gaze helplessly at the man transporting you. He offers nothing of substance, his gaze focused squarely on the dirt footpath ahead.
When you were but a babe, the tower served as a warning for all children in the village: Those whose souls are stained with the sins of their atrocities shall wither away in silence.
There was once a raving madman who was imprisoned there in your youth. A heretic, he was called. Driven to his end, his sanity thin as a hair, he scraped at the walls and pulled loose bricks free until his fingernails cracked and blood trickled down his hands in rivers. When he had created a sizable opening for himself, at the peak of his derangement, he climbed out to meet the sunâs soft rays, a singular blessing owed for years of captivity. And then he threw himself from the tower, landing in a broken spattering at the very bottom.
In the years following, the tower housed numerous prisoners. It is a cold, unforgiving place, existing solely for the ugly and the crooked. And, now, the misunderstood. The wrongfully accused.
As youâre helped down from the horse, you ponder how many have been sent here to live out time for unfair accusations.
Youâre joined by the second villager shortly, and they flank you like soldiers as they shove you along.
âHave you no sympathy, sirs!â you snap, shaking yourself from their grip. âTo treat me so callously when my devotion is fervent and true! I am no fabulist.â
The men say nothing and amble onwards, pushing you closer to the tower. One of them attempts to seize your wrist; you evade him gracefully. Father Flamme observes your outright stubborn refusal and hums his disapproval.
âUnhand me! Iâll go of my own accord. Iâve feet for a reason, and thus they shall work as God intended. I need not the assistance of fools. My legs shall be the ones to carry me.â Punctuating that with an indignant huff, you stride ahead.
What brutish handling⊠These doltish fiends sit under the tree of knowledge and yet not a single fruit falls into their laps. To think this is how they would treat someone sworn to the churchâand a lady, no less!
The latch is weather-worn, and it creaks a discordant note when lifted. You peek into the shadowed entrance and frown. Before you are subjected to the impatience of the men at your side, you step into the dimness. It is alight with the red-orange slivers of a setting sun.
âYou shall wait here. I will accompany this misguided Sister to the very top. After which, we shall return to the village and I shall accompany you to the hogs.â
The men nod and stand at attention.
If youâre so dedicated to foolish play, you would be wise to salute, you think with a sardonic tut.
Father Flamme offers his arm. âShall we?â
Ignoring his attempt at chivalry, you lift your habit so as to not trip on it and begin the lengthy ascent up the spiraling staircase. He chuckles and follows your lead. Every wooden step creaks under your weight. Something brushes your faceâdust, perhaps. You swat at your face, grimacing. The scent of mold and rot clings to the bowels of this tower like maggots on a corpse, impossibly redolent in ways you shall avoid giving thought to.
I must not breathe so deeply, lest I wish to savor the taste of decay and bitter rage.
You carry on, ignoring the creeping revulsion and the stench of death as it clouds the air, accompanying you on your journey. A door waits for you at the top. You note it is without a lock.
âA bird will not fly in captivity,â Father Flamme advises, pushing it open to reveal a sparsely furnished room. Itâs equipped with the essentials a common prisoner would need. You canât help feeling less than human the moment you pass through the threshold.
It is enough of a sight to wear on my eyes and render them woefully sore.
He meets you at the door and offers an embroidered reticule. âI shall retrieve you in seven daysâ time.â
You eye him dubiously and, upon sensing no additional malevolence, swipe the reticule from him. âMay you rest guilty on your bed of lies.â
He leans in close, his voice as faint as a phantasm. âMay you reflect on what it is you hold dear, for I assure you it is well within my reach.â He pivots and begins his descent, his footsteps tapping out a resounding rhythm. âYou will learn a glorious lesson here. Treasure it as you would a child.â
Minutes later, the door below shuts and the latch is dropped into place. The noise races up the stone spiral in echo, filling your ears with its haunting reverberation.
Now youâre truly alone.
âHow boorish he must be to condemn me to this prison!â You slam the door in your anger and drop the reticule onto the bed. In an effort of appraisal, you feel the lumpy mattress. Itâs packed full of straw. âI am not nameless, nor am I a harlot. Yet I am gifted the opulence of peasants. I can scarcely accept such generosity.â
Alas, this is your new misfortune.
To busy your idle hands, you open the reticule and peer inside at its contents. A thumb Bible rests beside a bulk of misshapen cloth. Gingerly, you unwrap it to find bread, cheese, and salt pork. Somehowâand you have every right to be fastidiousâyou doubt this modest portion will be enough for seven days.
âAnd not a drop of water!â you announce to the empty room. âHe has an astounding amount of faith in me if he thinks I will surrender so simply. One day he shall get his gruel. Iâll make sure of it.â
Until then you will never know peace.
Bundling the rations, you place them within the reticule alongside the Bible. Perhaps you should have requested writing implements or a bookâanything to preclude the impending accidie.Â
Beyond the window, which is sized perfectly for the smallest bird, the sun disappears below the horizon. Ink spills across the sky, darkening the surroundings outside the tower and leaving room for stars to speckle the vastness. You sit at the edge of the bed and wrap your fingers around your rosary.
âDear God, you know I am faultless and so I ask that you guide me in understanding your ways. Father Flamme speaks of protection in your home and yet when danger is knocking you are not there to answer.â You tug anxiously at the beads. âIf you are there, show me⊠Show me that you hear my prayers. Show me that I am not alone. That even I, imperfect as I may be, am deserving of your sanctuary and forgiveness. Amen.â
Shrugging the cloak off, you fold it into a neat square and set it at the end of the bed. Your veil and coif are next to go, and you take immense care in handling both. You slide your dagger out of its sheath and set it on the bed. The night is cool and so you resolve to remain dressed as you are, in your robes and chemise.
âI will endure these seven days. Each one, night and day, I will be strong. My faith will never falter. I will never waver,â you whisper, repeating this oath like a mantra. You settle into bed, sparing a final glance at the square cut into the brickwork, where a starry sky wraps the world in a celestial counterpane. âPerhaps then you might acknowledge me.â
Clutching the rosary close to your chest, comforted with the weapon at your side, you drift into dreamless slumber.
#yandere twst#yandere twst x reader#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#yandere rollo flamme#yandere rollo flamme x reader#yandere rollo x reader#yandere rollo#the test of faith#the test of faith prologue
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Post for the dunmeshi chimera cosplay that I'll update as I go....
Current progress:
The body, and wings, from a humble beginning to a mighty skeleton
The tail, which I would like to thank every furry alive for being so generous with their knowledge:
The digistilts, which gave us trouble at every instance
And lastly the shirt thing, which was also a learning process of its own
More to come. There's always more. It never ends
#matts markers#hopefully the way i worded this makes it as least spoilery as possible#but if you know you know#erm i dont wanna put this in the main tag so. hi
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I tried my best to replicate the post that Tumblr ate earlier.
Itâs not as good but you'll get the jist I think. :â) Â
---
Hi again! I wanted to follow up on my post from yesterday. Iâve been mostly offline since then, and I feel much better now, especially after seeing the thoughtful responses yâall left. Where did you all even come from!? I donât think Iâve ever posted this account anywhere, haha. But thank you so much. Iâm horrendous at taking a damn compliment but I read all the replies and reblogs and Iâm just incredibly humbled. You all brought up my mood a lot and highkey made me feel sane again. Iâve been so confused at why everyone in the WEBTOON comments seems to be so mad all the time, it kind of does my head in if Iâm being honest.
But please donât worry about me or Flynn. Or about Nevermore! Weâd never change the story to fit what we think the commenters want us to do, for a lot of reasons. The most important of which is. If we had to do that, I think weâd rather just stop making it. What they seem to want is a story weâre not really interested in telling.
Wholesome wlw is a wildly important thing to be able to find if youâre looking for it. That really cannot be overstated. Until very recently, queer characters have been subjected by popular media to a disproportionate amount of anguish and violence. So the concept of seeing two women just, living a safe and fulfilling life together? I get why people want to see that so badly. And thereâs so much beautifully written aspirational content for queer audiences out there now, and Iâm pleased to death over it. But the thing is, itâs just not what weâre making.
Nevermore was always intended to be a dark gothicky romance with horror elements. Like Wuthering Heights, or Phantom of the Opera. Because those were the stories that always inspired us when we were young. Bloodsoaked stories of melodrama, intrigue, grief, and passion. Those stories would captivate me and get me asking all kinds of questions. Why canât the Phantom be a beautiful woman? Why does Christine have the agency of a desk lamp? Why canât sapphics have something cool like this?
So we decided to make it. Nevermore is not a wholesome romance. It doesnât try to be. The point was never to explore sapphics having a healthy and (heavy air quotes here) ânormalâ relationship, like heterosexual couples get to have in real life. We already have that, together, Flynn and I. We live it, everyday. Â In Nevermore, what we wanted most was to explore a sweeping sapphic romance full of danger, like heterosexual couples get to have in fiction. Thatâs why we love those kinds of stories so much, because of how divorced they are from the mundanity of real life. Theyâre fantasies.
I know that I'm preaching to the choir, aha.
But my point is: if you go to a hardware store to order a cake, youâre probably going to be disappointed. If what you crave is aspirational wlw content, there are so many bakeries you can go to that will give you exactly what youâre hoping for, and more. I especially recommend Muted by Miranda Mundt. Itâs also on Webtoon, itâs completed, and itâs free to read.
And please know that Iâm not saying to stop reading Nevermore, just maybe to adjust your expectations a little bit. We donât sell cakes here, but I am pretty sure I've got a few 12ft tall skeleton lawn ornaments in the back if you're interested.
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Power of the Sun
Summary: You're Doc O'Hara's assistant A/N: tentacle pron? Art: vencipality on twt
Miguel x Reader, No warnings, a little violent/screaming, Angst?, Word Count: 3,004
Miguel was a man of science. He took pride in his work but was always humble about it. He was a kind mentor, encouraging young brilliant minds to pursue their passion in science and math, connecting with his peers and exchanging ideas to enrich and evolve humankind for the greater good. Knowledge is not a privilege, itâs a gift, he would say. Like any other one of his colleagues and apprentices, you admired him and his work. You followed him around as his assistant and confidant. Miguel trusted you after many years and you had fallen in love with him after many years. For a while, it had remained one-sided. A love you kept to yourself and didnât believe that a man so brilliant as him would ever fall for someone like his subordinate. He deserved someone equally as knowledgeableâcapable of keeping up with him. âDr. OâHara, Iâve printed all the documents of the latest experimentation process as well as sending a copy to Osborn.â You walked in his vast lab, heels clicking with each step against the marbled floor. Miguel was all the way in the back, only a dim fluorescent light highlighting him and whatever he was working on. His face was scrunched together as he focused on the task at hand. However when he heard your voice, he looked over his shoulder and his scowl melted. He called out your name gently, now a small smile on his face. He joined you in the middle, hands out as he collected the papers from your hands. He briefly flipped through the pages, scanning with his eyes before looking back up at you. He patted the front pages with the back of his hand and nudged his glasses up further his nose. âWhat would I do without you?â You flush, scoffing and looking to the side before reverting back to him. âYouâd be fine, Dr.OâHara.â You shake your head and swerve around him to take a look at whatever he was working on.
Miguel turns. âI beg to differ. For years, youâve been a great asset at my side.â You hum. âAnd for years, you keep telling me that. But really, Doctor, itâs you who does the actual revolutionary actions.â He meets you at your side once heâs placed the papers securely somewhere. âMiguel.â He corrects you. âWeâve been together all this time. You know what else I keep telling you? That honorifics is unnecessary. Call me Miguel.â You clear your throat. âOkay, Miguel.â No matter how many times he reminded you, you would always say his name before reverting back to calling him Doctor. Perhaps habits are hard to break. âHowâs it coming along?â You turn your head to see what he had been working on for a long time now. Miguel brightened up, standing straight and walking around the device. Four long green mechanical tentacles held up on their own all attached to a long spinal machine. He grazed his hands over the tentacles, admiring his own work. âWeâre close, darling. It just needs some testing.â âWell if youâd like I could set up a volunteering headline forââ âNo, no, no!â He stopped you by shaking his head and hands. âNo, Iâwe canât let this get out to the public yet. This is for the expo next month where Osborn will be. Perhaps he can finally understand why Iâm doing thisâŠâ He mumbles to himself. Youâre taken aback by his outburst but you rationalize it by thinking how exhausted he might be. Ever since Norman Osborn had disregarded Miguelâs research, Miguel had been working on crunch time to prove the CEO wrong. âThen how will you test it?â Your hand comes up to hold a claw from one of the tentacles. You examine the carbon fiber skeleton that Miguel used, trying to find the details of the prosthetic. Miguel admires you from the side, his eyes longing and far as he watches.
âIâllââ He sighs. âIâll think ofâŠsomeone.â He murmurs. He feels an ache in his chest and looks back at his invention. The green of the arms glow softly against his brown skin, reflecting off his glasses. He looks over at you and sees the same for you. The curve of your cheeks and the light in your eyes tinged with green. âYou know, um. Itâs been a while since weâve-eh- hung out?â Miguel stammers, taking off his glasses and cleans the right lens with his lab coat. âMaybe later tonight we couldâif you like, of courseâ to join me for dinner?â He coughs and quickly places his glasses back on to hide his blush. He fails. You turn your head to face him, surprise evident on your face. âO-oh. AsâŠcolleagues?â Your voice pitches higher with nerves. Miguel gulps, Adam's apple bobbing with the action. âWell, noâitâsâwhat Iâm trying to say is Iâd like to have dinner with you asâŠmore than colleagues.â Miguel burns brighter. He could solve the hardest equation, understand quantum physics and talk to scholars and billionaires with no sweat but when it came to you, you turned him into a babbling idiot. He glances at you from his peripheral vision, hoping you would not reject him. âOh..! Then,â You give him a small smile. âIâd love to.â
What started as one date, began another and another until a series of dates had been planned and enjoyed before it blossomed into a relationship with your boss. You never thought it possible. You always thought of Miguel as someone out of your reach, someone who would rather focus on winning awards and gaining moneyâhelping humankindâbefore ever thinking of settling down with anyone. For months, you had been going out with him, and establishing your relationship and for months you were helping him with his invention. Miguel screamed as he threw everything he had on his desk aside in anger. Pens, papers and other tools flew to the floor and he gripped his hair in frustration. He tugged on his long curls hoping that the pain in his strands would outweigh the pounding in his head. You ran to his side and placed a hand on his back while he curled into himself, heaving heavily. âYou need to rest.â You urged. âThese damn billionaires,â He growls, ignoring you. âCanât they see weâre just trying to help people? Canât they see beyond something as worthless as the money they want?â He stomps away from you, heading to the pinboard that held all his drawings and calculations. He ripped them off their pins and clips, tearing them to shreds as they fluttered to the floor. âThis is the next step to human evolution! And they want to dump my shit, my lifeâs WORK, just because of what?â He laughs hysterically. âBecause that malparido Osborn doesnât believe in it? Are they so far up that elitists ass?â You watch terrified behind him. You feel your heart pumping, your eyes trained on him in case he hurts himself. âMiguelâŠâ He slams his fists on the now bare pinboard, papers strewn across the floor around him. He heaves out another sigh, his anger simmering. âI just want to help people.â He whispers, resting his forehead on the rough surface. While he takes in shaky breaths, you decide to approach him. Placing your hand on his shoulder, you turn his head towards you. Your heart breaks when you see the defeated look on his face. Eyebags had grown deeper, his eyes bloodshot and half lidded from sleep deprivation. âItâs okay.â You whisper.
âItâs not.â âIt is. Youâre a smart man, Miguel. Youâve done unimaginable things on your own. Your mind is what they need, but you? You donât need their money. You have that brain of yours.â You tap his forehead and give him an encouraging grin. Miguelâs face falls into a relaxed smile, chuckling when you tap his forehead. âAnd you.â He whispers. âI have you.â He takes your hand off his shoulder and brings your knuckles up to his lips to kiss them. He keeps your hand against him until he breathes in and out slowly, looking up at you. âThank you.â He mumbles, kissing your hand again before standing straight and moving his arms around your waist. âWhat would I do without you?â He grins tiredly. Your arms snake around his neck. âProbably die without me.â You giggled and he giggled with you. âProbably.â He hums while you look at each other, basking in the calm after the storm of emotions. âHow about I bring us some tea?â You offer.
âNo coffee?â âI think caffeine should be the least of your worries right now.â You roll your eyes playfully when you see his smirk. âEnglish Breakfast?â You pat his chest before sliding away from his embrace, looking over your shoulder as you walk towards the exit. Miguel smiles and nods. âYou know me so well.â He sighs and stuffs his hands in his pockets after watching you leave. His smile drops from his face and he looks over at the giant green robotic tentacles. With a gentle hand, he caresses the silicon with care. Then, he moves onto the spinal cord of the device, wondering if Osborn just saw what he could doâthen it would all be worth it. With a glance at the door, he makes sure the coast is clear before taking off his lab coat and shirtâand attaches the tentacles to his body.
You loved Miguel, honestly. The man you met was the sweetest. He was kind and caring, always patient and encouraging for new minds that wanted to learn. He was gentle. Was. You wondered where it all went wrong. Maybe you shouldâve seen the signs. It seemed like everyday he would get slowly more agitated. Not at you. Never at you. More like, at the situationâat least youâd tell yourself that. You remember waking up one day in Miguelâs apartment. With your growing relationship, you decided to move in with him but it seemed like you were alone again. Miguel was sleeping at the lab more often than not. Other times you would have had to drag him out of his burrow, him snapping with red eyes that he needed to continue working. With a sigh, you shuffled out of bed, the other side being freezing cold, and got ready for work.
After clocking in, you found Miguel exactly where he was last nightâhunched over and murmuring to himself. You place the tea you brought down onto the table along with a sleeping pill right next to him.
âMi amor, you need to get some actual rest. Itâs been days. Youâll wear yourself out.â You speak as quietly as possible to not scare him. Miguel doesnât flinch, only shrugging you off.
âIâm almost done.â He grumbles.
âYouâve been saying that for weeks now.â You frown deeply and nudge the tea closer to him. âAt this rate everything will be in vain. It wonât work ifââ
âIT WILL WORK!â Miguel screams, slamming his fist onto the table enough to shake the cup of tea's contents, spilling the sleeping pill. âIt has to!â
You jump back, heart racing at his outburst.
Miguel huffs and collects himself, anxiously running his hands through his hair. He drags his hands down his face and rubs his eyes.
âSorry, shock, Iâm sorry. I-I didnât mean to yell at you. You're rightâitâs the, uh, lack of sleep.â He sounds exhausted. Every word slurring and when he relaxed even for a moment, his body drooped forward.
âYou know better than to do thatâŠâ You whisper and he looks up at you with heartbreak in his eyes.
âIâŠI know, mi cieloâperoââ Miguel gives you a weak smile, some light coming back to his eyes. âLook. Look! Theâthe arms! Theyâre almost complete!â He rushes towards you, ignorant to the way you step back and flinch when he takes your hand in his.
Miguel leads you to where the tentacles stand and presents it to you with a wide smile. âYou see here?â He points to the spinal cord of the contraption. âAll these ridges really gave me a run for my money. When trying to attach it to the body, they would stick and often fall. If these are to be used for prosthetics then it needs to not just be connected to the body but a part of it. As if the limb never leftâor-or betterâmade better.â He laughs to himself, placing a hand over his mouth as he stares adoringly at the machine.
Meanwhile your eyes squint. âHowâŠhow would you know that? How would you know how they react to connecting to the human body? I thoughtâŠthis was unstable for human testing.â
Miguel scoffs, waving his hand at you. âNo one gets far in their inventions by worrying about the dangers, mija! THINK!â He shouts.
Youâre horrified, darting your eyes between his bloodshot eyes and the tentacles. âYou didnâtâŠâ
Miguel is already on his way to the device and stands in front of it. The spine digs into Miguelâs back and he grunts, the vest he added secures around his waist, lighting up a soft green. The chip snaps into his neck and Miguel stumbles but regains balance. He slowly stands back up and the tentacles come to life, swirling and curling around him. In the midst of the tentacles wiggling around, it slammed against tables and chairsâknocking the tea you had gotten him to the floor.
âThink about how many lives we could save. Mi amor, mi vida, mi corazĂłn, weâre at the brink of the next stage of human evolution!â His tentacles whip wildly around him as if cheering along with him.
âWhatâŠare you talking about?!â You yell, exasperated. ââHuman evolutionâ? Are you insane?!â
The bottom two green arms slam into the ground, breaking the floor as itâs crushed under the weight of Miguel. They lift him higher so heâs well above youâmore than he already is. You take a step back, his height and strength becoming much more prominent.
âDo you think Iâm insane, corazĂłn?â Miguel asks softly. Thereâs a hint of green in his eyes.
âWeâreââ You gasp. âWeâre meant to make prosthetics. Legs, armsâI thought this was a test to the future but thisâŠâ You run your eyes down the arms of the green silicon. Its claws are digging firm into the ground, holding up a six foot nine manâs weight with ease. Miguelâs face is contorted in a scowl, a burning rage underneath his beautiful brown eyesâa light green glowing in the highlights.
âThisâŠis not youâŠâ âWhat would you know about me?! Youâre just some assistant that doesnât know jackshit other than printing a few papers! All while I worked on this myself!â One of his upper tentacles slam next to you which makes you jump and lose your balance so you could fall to the ground.
âDay and night, all you did was be some aching headache, forcing me tea and pills when I should be wringing Osbornâs neck with my bare hands to show him what exactly he missed out on!â Miguel cackles, his tentacles lifting him higher like a God.
Youâre afraid. Very afraid. It all happened so fast. Who was this man?
The tears well up in your eyes and for a minuteâif you said another word it would trigger Miguel to kill you.
Miguel mustâve seen the terror on your face, tears bubbling at your water line and falling down your cheeks while you shivered. He mustâve because his sinister smile dropped slowly, his arms lowering him down.Â
âNo, no, noâbellaâno. Thatâsâit wasnât meââ Miguelâs feet finally touch the ground and when he does, he hisses, gripping his head as an agonizing headache surges through his mind. He groaned and moaned and took several steps back away from you.
âNo! Donât make her look at me like that! Sheâs afraid! Donât scare her! Donât make her fear me!â He screams, hyperventilating as his legs shake beneath him.Â
âWhat? No! I want Osborn! Not her! She didnât do anything! Leave her alone! Please!â Miguelâs releases tears, giant globs flowing down his face as he faces an internal battle and the tentacles go haywire.
Finding your chance, you shakily get up from the floor, scrambling to your feet to the exit. You scream and fall after just a few steps, Miguelâs tentacles zipping past your head to break through the wall by the door. Another worker outside screams, peering through the hole and witnessing Miguel looking down at you with fury. They run off and it creates a domino effect for an evacuation.
âWhere the hell do you think youâre going?â Miguel growls and hovers closer to your shaking body. You turn over your shoulder, heart hammering in your ears and chest. You feel like you canât breathe.
âMiggyâŠâ You whimper. Miguelâs eye twitches and he looks like heâs struggling between himself and whatever it is thatâs in his head.
He stutters your name out before his face is webbed and he groans. Four separate webs wrap around Miguelâs tentacles to attach to his body. Miguel glares up and sees a familiar red and blue suit with big white eyes.
âDonâtcha know itâs rude to be mean to a pretty lady?â The hero quips, standing front of you to protect you.
âSpider-ManâŠâ You gaspârelief filling your chest.
âSpider-Man.â Miguel growls and rips himself free from the webs only to be hindered again once moreâthis time with stronger webs and with a force strong enough to stick him to a wall.
âNope! Not yet! Iâm still trying to figure out what exactly you are, so give me like five minutes to save some civilians. Thanks, youâre a swell guy!â Spider-Man winks and picks you up in his arms and quickly swings you away to safety.
You look over Spider-Man's shoulder while he swings away and you could barely hear Miguel scream in frustration, his body fighting against the webs. Inside, your heart breaks as you wonder if maybe there was a chance to save him.
A/N: i dont see doc ock miggys. i would like to see more.
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara x you#atsv miguel#spiderman 2099#miguel spiderverse#miguel o'hara#miguel spiderman#miguel ohara#atsv x reader#atsv x y/n#miguel o'hara imagine
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