#tw claustrophobic environments

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 13: Bloodbath

(Note: the characters you’ll be reading about here are more fan-egos that belong to me. None of them will be referred to by actual names; instead, they will be organized by the same number system as the one in ISWM. This story is NOT related to ISWM Lore at all, the numbers are literally just inspiration easter-eggs. If you know your lore, then you won’t have any trouble figuring out who each character is based off of. As usual, the amazing @sammys-magical-au helped me shape this story, and the character L7181 is a nod to one of their lovely Lixian Egos!)

(Disclaimer: the horror game IRON LUNG is the property of David Szymanski. While I did create the characters in this story—except for The Convict/Mark’s Character/M2702, technically—the story itself is obviously inspired by the game’s elements. I STARTED WRITING THIS IN SEPTEMBER, AND AS OF RIGHT NOW, MARK’S IRON LUNG MOVIE HASN’T COME OUT YET. I HAVE NO WAY OF KNOWING WHAT THE MOVIE’S PLOT IS GOING TO BE LIKE. THIS STORY IS NOT AN ATTEMPT TO PREDICT ANYTHING. THIS IS LITERALLY JUST BASED OFF OF AN IDEA I HAD WHEN THE MOVIE WAS ANNOUNCED. SO PLEASE DON’T TRY BLASTING ME WHEN THE MOVIE INEVITABLY HAS DIFFERENT ELEMENTS THAN MY FANFICTION. AND EVEN IF THE MOVIE GETS RELEASED BEFORE I POST THIS STORY, I’M STILL KEEPING THIS STORY BECAUSE IT TOOK A LOT OF TIME AND EFFORT. IT’S JUST MY PERSONAL IMAGINING OF WHAT THE MOVIE COULD BE LIKE.)

(Trigger Warnings: blood/gore, claustrophobic environments, isolation, flashbacks/implied trauma, imprisonment, physical violence, implied self-harm, slight mentions of eating/drinking, thalassophobia, mentions of suffocation, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12

It felt like hours had passed since the Iron Lung was lowered into the bowels of AT-5’s ocean, and yet M2702’s stomach was still being wracked with that instinctual dropping sensation. He shifted in the provided chair, practically leaning on the control panel in order to maneuver the submarine. The bright lights were harsh against his eyes, but they were far easier to handle than the darkness at the rear of the vessel. 

He’d already had to retreat back there three times. Three stops aligned with the markings on the map, three photographs collected. That was the whole goddamn point of this voyage, after all. And each time he did, his instincts swore that something in the shadows would pin him to the floor and tear him apart. The brief illumination offered by the camera or terminal’s screen did absolutely nothing to ease that paranoia. 

The walls were so rusty that M2702 was pretty sure he’d contracted tetanus just by looking at them. 

Not that he’d have enough time to find out. 

He found himself recoiling out of nowhere, shaking his head as an oily sensation bloomed under his face to announce that a vein somewhere in his nose had burst. A thin scarlet line slowly but surely seeped down over his lips and chin. 

___

Pink.

That was the first thing he saw after his capture.

The space station he’d been dragged off to was a vast expanse of steel platforms and iron tunnels. He’d expected that, of course. It was no secret that iron was the C.O.I.’s pride and fucking joy. What he hadn’t expected was for the station’s interior—or, everything in the section he and the other convicts were being held in, at least—to be tinted the pastel color of candy. 

But it most certainly was. 

The walls, the floors, the tables lining the commissary, the intercoms in the corners of the ceilings, the plastic tubes containing very tiny amounts of freeze-dried food that were given to him and the others twice per day.

Everything. Pink.

(Even with the way supplies were dwindling, he had to admit: this probably helped enforce the strict policy against alcohol in space. Spending any amount of time here with a hangover would kill you.)

It truly seemed like the only non-rose-colored things in here were A. the headache-inducing fluorescent panels, B. the stainless steel sinks and toilets set up behind privacy screens in the far corners of the holding cells, and C. the almost scrub-like outfits required to be worn by anyone who was here against their will.

That might’ve been the part he hated the most. The goddamn uniforms. 

Before he’d been beaten to the ground at the Filament Station, he’d worn a special type of clothing made from hydrophobic materials that also happened to be reinforced and self-cleaning. Now, he had to dress in simple garb that would’ve been found on Earth: a thin, itchy gray shirt with trousers to match, as well as a pair of laceless shoes that were determined to chew blisters into his ankles with every step he took. 

To top it all off, his arms had been wrapped in a pair of black bracers, the left one adorned by a white patch that silently announced M2702 in a bold font. They reminded him of the blood-pressure cuffs he always saw in pharmacies as a child. Whatever fabric had been used to make these things, it was tough and tight; the skin hidden underneath felt so damn sore. 

But hey, at least he wasn’t alone in that particular suffering.

Hours after he’d been taken prisoner, after those stupid bastards were finished examining him and looking over his vitals, he was practically shoved into one of the station’s excuses for a cafeteria. Other people had been there—more members of Eden whom he just hadn’t worked closely enough with—milling about, all turning their heads in near-perfect unison at the sound of the heavy steel door sliding shut behind him. 

He kept his expression neutral, glaring right back as he maneuvered around the tables. By the time he’d collected his meal (a water bottle and a small vacuum-sealed package of what was apparently dehydrated chicken breast), everyone else had resumed either silently eating or having muted discussion. . .except for one.

A woman sporting a head of long, gently-curling chestnut hair. She waved to get his attention, nodded when he gestured toward himself, and beckoned him over to one corner of the area. As he cautiously drew closer, it took little time for him to realize just how petite she was despite obviously being an adult. She also appeared to be ill; her big brown eyes were watery and red around the edges, while her skin was a few shades paler than it probably should’ve been. The white patch on her left-arm-bracer read R1126.

“You’re from Eden, aren’t you?” She asked barely a second after he sat down across from her. 

He hesitated before nodding. “Yeah, I am.”

R1126 wrung her hands. “So he was right, then.” 

“Who’s ‘he?’” M2702 inquired. “What was he right about?”

“My brother. He said he saw a few people in his sleep a couple weeks earlier. The way he described one of them sounded exactly like the way you look.” She paused, glancing here and there as she drummed her nails on the table. She seemed to be bracing herself for something, like someone who knew from experience that there was a dead animal in the middle of a path they needed to take every day. “He saw the battle at the Filament Station.” 

M2702 felt his mouth open and close a few times. He leaned back, blinking and slowly shaking his head. “That’s not possible. The attack only broke out a few days ago.”

“He dreamt about it,” R1126 responded in a very exasperated manner. Her tone became rueful and concerned as she continued. “And you’re right: it shouldn’t be possible. But it’s been years since he started having nightmares. Up until now, they’ve just gotten worse, much more frequent. And the things he remembers happening in them. . .”

The seconds felt painful as they dragged by, jeering at M2702 as he stared at his new conversation partner. If this had taken place decades prior, he probably would’ve rolled his eyes at her, maybe even scoffed. Her claim was outrageous; he couldn’t just believe it.

He never would’ve believed that so many of the stars and planets could just blink out of existence, one after the other, either. 

He didn’t want to believe in something like that.

But he had to. 

That was the reason for all the tensions between Eden and the C.O.I., the reason he’d wound up here in the first place. 

“Where is he now?” M2702 wondered aloud. He wasn’t sure why he’d asked that, of all things. Then again, a person who had regular nightmares laced with a premonition or two was probably someone to look out for. “And why’re you telling me all this?”

“In solitary confinement. He was taken in two days ago, but he’s supposed to be let out sometime today.” R1126 chewed her lip. “I want you to understand. . .when you’re able to meet him. . .” 

Her eyes suddenly grew wide, the grim anxiety that’d just wormed its way into them quickly warping into panic. She gasped for air, drawing her arms closer—one hand hovered before her mouth, and the other clutched at her stomach. 

“H-He’s not a bad person, I swear. All our time in this place has just made him scared. Desperate. Paranoid. I know he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He’s just trying. . .”

Her movements were soft as she began to rock back and forth in her seat, visibly swallowing several times as though there was a literal frog trying to climb up her throat, “. . .to find a way o-out of here. . !”

M2702 halfway rose from his chair. He’d learned the warning signs of vomiting at an early age, but his thoughts still seemed to sink through his skull for whatever reason. What was he supposed to do for her? Give her water? Alert someone else and lead them to her?

R1126 must’ve seen the way he glanced at the counters across the cafeteria, because she shook her head. “No, no. Don’t bother; even if they had the right medicine around here, I doubt they’d give it to me.” She straightened her back, gingerly rolling her shoulders as her hands found their way back to the table. “I-I’ll be fine.”

M2702 squinted at her, moving slowly as he sat back down. She sure as hell didn’t seem fine. “What’s wrong? What happened to you?”

R1126 stayed quiet for another moment. She started drumming her nails again, her eyes drilling through him with the exhausted demeanor of someone who’d developed a habit of expecting the worst of people. “I have no idea, honestly. I’ve just been able to. . .taste things in the air. And I’m not even sure what those things are.” She paused, shuddering. “But they’ve been so horrible. Even if I’ve adjusted somewhat, I just can’t seem to go a day without nausea.”

M2702 felt his brow furrow as the information sank in. He’d heard about plenty of sensory disorders in his time, but this was in a weight class of its own. The way she described her condition reminded him of how snakes could taste scents instead of just smelling them. 

Again, a voice in his head demanded to know where the logic could possibly be, to which another voice chided it for still trying to find logic in times like this. 

“It’s stuck with me for years now. Since before I was taken prisoner,” R1126 continued. Fear integrated itself with the pain and frustration in her expression. Her voice tapered down to a whisper: “I think the Rapture caused it. I think it caused my brother’s nightmares, too.” 

More silence festered between the two of them.

Eventually, M2702 thought to ask the million-dollar question: “Were you two part of Eden?”

R1126 flinched, tilting her head at him.

“Sorry, it’s just—” M2702 sighed. “I was limited to working with a specific team, and I can’t recognize your face.” 

R1126 fidgeted in place for a long, tense moment. “. . .We were traveling to Eden. Before the Rapture, we’d inherited a small ship, and we were using it to planet-hop for personal research.” Her voice hitched on Rapture, as though the word was a bundle of thorns caught between her lungs. 

M2702 knew that feeling all too well. 

R1126 took a quick, deep breath. “After we found out how all the things we’d managed to document were just disappearing, we had to keep changing course and sending out distress signals every day. Sooner or later, we remembered hearing about the tree gardens on Mars, so we figured that might be the safest place to land. While we were making our way there, we came across this station. Some of the people here answered our call and welcomed us inside. But once we explained our plans to them. . .” 

The tremor in her voice grew worse. Her eyes began to glisten, clearly more out of emotion than sickness. “They got hostile. Wouldn’t let us leave, seized our ship and everything we had left on it.” She lowered her head, furiously scrubbing her tears away before they could start flowing. 

Something awful stabbed its way through M2702’s ribcage. One part of him wanted to place a hand on her shoulder, to try and offer some support as she grounded herself. But another part ordered him to stay still, insisting that he was past the point of being able to help.

R1126 briefly ground her jaw as she resumed eye-contact with him. “I’m not sure how long we’ve been trapped here since then. It’s just gotten so hard to keep track of time.”

M2702’s train of thought came crashing to a violent halt. He and his colleagues already had their suspicions of the C.O.I. being corrupt, of its collectivist ideals being more focused on cult-esque control than conservation.

But to hear that this organization had been imprisoning civilians. . . people who had absolutely nothing to do with what was going on at the Filament Station. . .

Without warning, the same booming, metallic hiss he’d heard not too long ago raced through the air. M2702 turned in his seat just in time to watch another man being pushed into the cafeteria.

The new stranger—P0620 was printed on his left-arm-bracer—was the same height as him, fair-skinned with short, chocolate-colored hair that appeared to have been pulled on a regular basis. He gained his bearings quickly enough, fixing whoever was on the other side of that door with a venomous glare. Just as he began venturing further into the room, a blur manifested in M2702’s peripheral vision. That blur turned out to be R1126, who rushed over to P0620, tugging at his arm. P0620 wasted no time embracing her, briefly closing his eyes as his grimace melted into something that managed to be relieved and anxious at the time. Almost as if he thought she’d vanished in his absence the way so many planets and stars had. 

It didn’t last.

The duo exchanged a few hushed words, and stress came flooding back to P0620’s expression as he scanned the area. M2702 couldn’t help but slightly recoil when that gaze landed on him. P0620’s eyes were bloodshot, wild, impatient. And when he began stalking toward him, it was all too easy to realize just how calculating they were.

M2702’s instincts told him to get to his feet, to be on-guard. The other man quickened his pace, only stopping once he was a few feet away, hands half-outstretched. 

“Which side started firing first? How many casualties have there been so far?” P0620’s tone was sharp, almost searing. Despite never having known him before, M2702 could somehow tell that his voice wasn’t meant to be like that. It alone was damning evidence of trauma. “How exactly did they catch you? Did you kill anyone before that?!”

M2702 narrowed his eyes, holding his hands out in a defensive gesture. But before he could actually respond, R1126 stepped in front of him.

“Stop,” she commanded, her voice becoming solemn in time with the way her eyes hardened. “You’re not doing this again.”

P0620 sputtered, glancing back and forth between his sibling and the new inmate. “Wha—I have to!”

R1126 shook her head. “No, you don’t. And even if you did, I still can’t just let you. Not until you’ve actually calmed down, at the very least.”

P0620 took a few deep breaths. One of his eyes twitched as he began kneading at his temples. “Being calm hardly matters anymore.” 

“Not the point. You really think I don’t know how the punishments have been getting worse? It might not be much longer before those bastards start torturing you for no reason!”

“That’s why I need to get a better understanding of the visions!” P0620 threw his hands up as his voice shot through a good few octaves. “I saw the conflict before anyone else did! So, if someone involved with it would actually answer my damn questions, then maybe I could use that info to put more pieces together when the next one comes!”

M2702 cautiously stepped away, moving in order to see both of the sibling’s faces. 

“That doesn’t mean—” R1126 tried, only to cut herself off, dipping her head. She cleared her throat, grit her teeth. “You can’t just—”

A low scraping noise seemed to crawl out of her mouth. Her breathing grew more and more ragged. Both her and her brother’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

“N-no—not here—I need. . !”

And just like that, R1126 collapsed, clawing at her neck as she dry-heaved on the floor. 

All the frustration evaporated from P0620’s features, replaced by panic as he cried out and knelt down beside her, trying to help her stand.

___

It didn’t matter that the front window had to be kept closed due to the pressure down here. It was pointless to have a window at all. Just hearing the gallons upon gallons upon gallons of blood churning and stirring around the Iron Lung would’ve been enough. Even if he hadn’t actually touched any of it yet, he could still tell just how viscous it was.

That wasn’t it, of course. 

Relentless heat oozed through the submarine’s framework, making its interior humid even before one of the pipes spat out a plume of steam. This almost made M2702 miss the uncomfortable chill that always seemed to be present in the space stations he’d visited before. 

That infamous metallic stench was nearly palpable in the air: to the point that he could taste it with each breath he took. He wondered if this was similar to what R1126 had been suffering through.

___

“Y’know, my training really made me a light sleeper,” M2702 mentioned. “I never had insomnia or any of the typical sleeping problems growing up. But when your job requires you to travel so far and be aware for as long as possible, you just learn to wake up as quickly as you drift off.” 

He quietly paced the floor of his cell, which almost could’ve passed for an enormous display case. Three of the walls surrounding him were glass, adorned by uniform rows of holes just barely wide enough to fit his index finger through. The fourth one, the one closest to the mattress he’d  been lying on a couple minutes ago, seemed to be made of metal. 

They were all tinted that goddamn specific shade of pink, obviously. 

“It was tough, but I managed. Can’t really say the same for the others I shared a unit with, though,” M7202 continued as he leaned against the privacy screen in the corner. “So many of them always tossed and turned for hours; that didn’t always keep the rest of the room up, but it could still be so aggravating sometimes. . .”

He peered out from behind the screen, glaring into the glass cell on the right of his. 

A woman sporting pale skin and long, straight black hair scrutinized him from behind a pair of thin-rimmed glasses.

“. . .It’s safe to say you would’ve been a problem back there,” M2702 concluded dryly, ignoring the chill that raced down his spine. “Look at you. You’re not even pretending to sleep.”

“There’s no point in doing that,” C4560 answered. While she too made sure to keep her voice at a whisper, her words still dripped with acid. “I told you: I can’t sleep anymore. No matter what I try, my brain just won’t allow it. I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t even close my eyes for long periods.”

M2702 snorted as quietly as he could. “Yeah, well, I’m struggling to see the merit in taking that out on me.”

Out of all the other prisoners he’d come across so far, C4560 was undoubtedly the most tense. 

Much like R1126 and many others, he hadn’t been able to recognize her. The first evening he’d been locked into his holding pen, he’d asked her a few questions; her replies had been terse, as well as a little too infuriatingly cryptic for his taste. (It sort of made him sympathize with P0620.)

He’d only learned three things only about her: she’d never been a member of Eden, she’d apparently been kept captive here much, much, much longer than anyone else in this particular branch of the station, and. . .right, the whole loss-of-ability-to-rest-and-not-be-such-a-damn-creep thing. 

It shouldn’t have been possible.

Even if science still hadn’t learned exactly how long a human could survive without sleep, M2702 was certain that his next-door neighbor should’ve been dead by now, with the limited explanation she’d given him. 

And yet, here she was: breathing, speaking, watching.

Not that she looked healthy at all. 

Her cold brown eyes almost looked sunken thanks to the bags that had long-since formed right beneath them. The skin in that area seemed like it held so much more pain than any bruise he’d ever witnessed before. Of course, that did nothing to change the fact that it felt like she was stabbing M2702 every time she glanced at him.

“What did the Rapture do to you?” C4560 asked for. . .what was it, the thirteenth time in just five days? 

M2702 scowled at this, marching closer to place his hands against the glass. “Where the fuck do you get off? It didn’t do anything to me.” 

She hummed, stepping forward to touch the barrier of her own cell. “No, it did. You just aren’t aware of your symptoms yet. Maybe they’ve been slow to develop for you.”

“Even if that was true, it’d be none of your damn business.” 

“Oh, you mean, just like you didn’t have to try and ask about my business when you got here?”

M2702 could feel his knuckles turning white. He then heaved a guttural sigh, lightly shaking his head. “Fine. Let’s say there’s a modicum of truth to that. How exactly can you tell that there’s something wrong with me? And how are you so sure that it’s because of the Rapture? What, were you there to see it happen? Were you the one to accidentally flip the wrong goddamn switch and set it all off?”

Other than the way she raised an eyebrow to such blatant sarcasm, C4560’s face barely moved. Sure, it was dark in this area right now, but M2702 had seen her under those obscenely bright fluorescents elsewhere in the station. And in broad light, she still gave the impression that a dozen or so vipers were coiled up together inside her head, looking at the world through her exhausted yet piercing eyes, patiently waiting for someone else to make a wrong move. . .

“I think I’ve just learned to tell,” she eventually declared. “That’s the only thing you can do when you have so much time and nowhere to go: you learn. One way or another. The process isn’t pleasant—or, it isn’t anymore, at least. But that’s all we have left.” 

M2702  felt his face soften by just a smidge. He’d only known C4560 for a few days, and he already knew that he’d never understand her or what her damage was. 

But there was absolutely no denying just how real that last statement was. 

C4560 studied him, then carefully slanted her head to the side.

“Well, I hope you manage to learn something before your symptom is ready to start working. I get the feeling that it’s gonna turn you inside-out,” she mused. “Yeah, it’ll just drag all your blood and bones and sinew out for everyone to see. You’ll survive, but you’ll have to be so much more careful with doing anything after that, won’t you?”

It was everything M2702 could do to not start shaking. “Oh, go to hell,” he hissed as he tore himself away from the glass. “Go straight to hell’s fucking boiler room.”

There was a pause.

And then. . .C4560’s lips twitched before slowly, ever-so-slowly, curling into a grin. “Hell?” She repeated. She dipped her head as a strange, quiet chuckle seeped through her lips. “Saying that makes it sound like there’s an alternative.”

The words had barely slithered into the air before a chorus of terrified gibbering erupted from across the room. For the first time all night, C4560 took her eyes off of M2702.

M2702, meanwhile, crept over to the front and foremost wall. 

“DON’T LISTEN TO THEM! THEY’RE LYING TO YOU!” P0620 shrieked. He seemed to be clawing at his head. “THEY’LL JUST TAKE YOUR LUNGS AND DRAIN THEM INTO THE ENGINES!”

It wasn’t hard to see the other row of glass cages opposite of his and the two flanking it. Through the darkness, however, it probably shouldn’t have been so easy for him to make out the form of P0620 as he thrashed and quaked on his own mattress in his own cell.

“THEY’LL TAKE YOUR EYES FIRST! THEY’LL CHOOSE ONE SET AND KEEP THE OTHER SET TO BOIL!” P0620 howled again. In the cell next to his, the outline of R1126 was very clearly shivering, digging her nails into her ears as she rocked back and forth.

“IT’LL SET THE BLOOD ON FIRE! YOU’LL BE PART OF THE OCEAN! YOU’RE NOT HIM!”

It took a couple minutes for the screaming to taper down a notch. P0620 didn’t go silent; he was still murmuring, still yelping, still trying to escape whatever was attacking him from inside his eyelids.

M2702 backed away, skulking over to his mattress before C4560 could return her focus to him. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. 

He could tell that she was still watching him through the obstacles between them. 

___

The long, droning bellow felt like icy needles stabbing into M2702’s skull.

It made his intestines burn.

It was trying to persuade his spine to tear itself out of his skin, to slither out between the rusted walls and into the ocean of gore. 

If that were to happen, he supposed his vertebrae would be right at home. 

He’d already taken so many pictures of enormous carcasses that had sunk down to the very bottom. They were just piles of bones; he couldn’t tell whether flesh had eroded away or been picked clean by smaller creatures that worked themselves into a frenzy once their meal’s original killer swam far enough away. 

It was almost a surprise that he flinched at the feeling of a droplet plopping down on his head.

Another crimson tear fell from the ceiling, landing against the control panel with a tiny splat.

And another. . .and another. . .

___

M2702 would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t proud of himself for keeping track of the days. He knew his internal clock was suffering, and he knew that suffering would only get worse the longer he was kept here. But for now, he made an effort to go along with his new, enforced schedule. 

He’d watched more and more convicted people manifest into the space station. Most were severely wounded in one way or another. About half had been unconscious upon their arrival, and half had been awake and struggling much like he’d been.

Of the ones he’d seen being brought in, he only recognized two. He hadn’t worked with them directly, but he could remember seeing their faces, passing them in hallways back on Mars. One of them had black hair almost as long as his own, the bangs of which sometimes covered one of his warm amber eyes. The other was an adult, but still clearly younger than the majority of people around him, lean yet muscular, boasting stark-white hair and grayish-blue eyes. 

They’d quickly been labeled L7181 and E9342, respectively.

L7181 had been the only new prisoner to not outwardly fight. Oh sure, he’d snarled at the people who’d flanked him—if looks could kill, both of those bastards would’ve been reduced to decorative splatters on the pink floors—but he’d still walked in time with them, his face shifting between bitter resignation and very obvious resentment at being guided along as though he couldn’t move for himself. 

And after that, L7181 barely spoke at all. He made a clear effort to keep some amount of distance between himself and everyone else, his expression always cold, frustrated, disinterested. (Not that he could be blamed for that behavior, of course.) Even when M2702 saw that same spark of recognition in the other man’s eyes once they’d eventually settled on him. . .well, nothing really came of it, unless you counted a curt nod. 

It took what M2702 estimated to be a month before that disposition ripped itself apart. 

He’d been pacing up and down the precious few corridors he had access to—it was in between meal times right now, but the cafeteria was just too goddamn crowded for him to think—when he heard the distant screaming. 

“UUUUUAAAAGGH!” 

Now, screams weren’t at all uncommon in this place, but when the source grew closer and closer to where M2702 had paused, he realized just how. . .different these ones were. 

“AAAAIIIEEAAAAAH!”

They were horrified, desperate, almost completely unhinged.

They were nearly on-par with the way P0620 shrieked in his sleep. 

And they were all coming from L7181.

M2702 was just barely in time to duck around one shadowy corner.

“NO! NO, NO, NONONONONOOO!” L7181 careened down the hall, not even seeming to gasp for air in between his cries. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!”

A few of the station’s researchers were in hot pursuit. They shouted after him, but their words were almost totally drowned out by all the noise he was making. 

M2702 watched from his impromptu hiding spot as one of them finally caught up to L7181, hands slamming into his back, throwing him to the floor and pinning him down. L7181 didn’t stop screaming, thrashing with more energy and strength than M2702 had ever seen in him before. 

The rest of the scientists circled around him, helping the original one keep their hold. Then, as a unit, they half-carried-half-dragged L7181 further down the passage, over to the door that led to one of the cell rooms. 

M2702 didn’t know why he decided to follow them. It wasn’t even a concrete decision; from deep within his guts, a quiet voice just demanded that he take advantage of this chaos in some way. 

So, he crept along after the group, managing to slip past them all without being seen once that door slid open. He retreated around the now empty glass cages, pressing himself against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible. 

L7181 was hauled over to the cell he’d been assigned to—one right next to P0620’s, on the opposite side of R1126’s. Still shrieking. Still fighting. One of the researchers typed a code into the keypad on the cage’s sliding door, then shoved the panicking man through.

The extra force wasn’t even needed; L7181 sprinted into his cell the second its door was opened. He lost his balance, tripping at the center as the threshold was sealed once again, but it was obvious that he didn’t care. The only thing he seemed to be focused on was movement. So, he crawled. Crawled as fast as he possibly could until he reached one corner, where he pressed himself into that space where glass connected to metal. 

He didn’t go limp there. No, he clawed at the walls, squirming with such violence that he could’ve very well been mistaken for having a seizure. 

The researchers watched him for what felt like an hour, shaking their heads and murmuring amongst themselves. Then, they finally filed out of the cell room, one by one, none of them even glancing in M2702’s direction.

M2702 stayed down, stayed hidden for another moment. Once the sound of footsteps truly disappeared from the other side of the wall, he slunk out, trudging along the space in between the rows of cages until he was hovering near L7181’s.

The convict in question was rambling now, a mess of terrified phrases set in Portuguese leaking through his teeth. His screams had gotten a bit shorter with a few more seconds between each one. “I-I can hear them! I can hear them! I CAN HEAR THEM!” 

“Hear. . .what?” M2702 called with more hesitation than he’d care to admit. 

L7181’s head shot up, his frantic eyes now fixed on the man outside of his cage. He didn’t stop spasming.

“The things on AT-5,” he eventually rasped. It truly seemed like he had to force the words out.  “The monsters living in its ocean!”

M2702 felt his heart skip a beat. The ship that’d transported him from the Filament Station to this one. . .through one of its few, pressurized windows, he’d gotten to take a brief look at the enormous pool of scarlet. 

It would’ve been impossible for anyone to not know about the sea of blood that resided on the moon nearest to this station. 

Just as it was impossible for anyone to doubt that there were lifeforms inside that sea. . .

“He means The Gongoozler,” another voice suddenly called from across the room, wracked with manic giggles. “He’s gotten a chance to listen to The Gongoozler and all the other screamy-scaley-squishies swimming around in the plasma.”

M2702 startled, glancing over his shoulder. It took an embarrassingly long few seconds for him to remember how E9342 had essentially been put in a timeout earlier. 

The young man leaned against the door in his cell; one of his eyes was swollen shut, a fresh bruise still blooming around it. His grin seemed to stretch quite literally from ear-to-ear as he surveyed his fellow inmates. “You should be grateful, y’know. I’ve always wanted to hear The Gongoozler’s call for myself! Quick, what’s it sound like? Please, please tell me!”

M2702 chewed his lip, now fluctuating between dread and irritation.

Back at Eden, E9342 had made a bit of a reputation for managing to stay positive and productive in such bleak scenarios. It was a bit odd, yes, but it’d been pretty damn refreshing at times. 

But ever since he’d been brought here, that trait had changed in an awful way. His smiles were now twisted and eerie. The jokes he insisted on constantly making were dark and morbid. And the giggles that he apparently couldn’t go five minutes without emitting sounded. . .poisonous. 

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” L7181 stammered, screwing his eyes shut. He held one trembling fist close to his mouth, biting at the knuckle of his index finger. It hardly took any time at all for him to draw his own blood. “I’ve just gotten their attention. Th-they know I can hear them. And now they’ll NEVER. STOP. MAKING. ME. LISTEN!” 

C9342 snickered and nodded along, dragging his nails down the length of his forearm over and over and over again, leaving harsh red lines in his skin. It wouldn’t be longer before he started bleeding as well. 

“People have ALREADY DIED DOWN THERE! I heard a HUMAN screaming and drowning! I-I-I heard metal being torn to shreds and scattered!” L7181 lurched forward, curling further into himself. Even his eyes seemed to be shaking, all the way down to the pupils, which had shrunk to pinpricks. “Someday I’m going to wake up outside the station! I’ll be falling as soon as I open my eyes and the blood will reach up and wrap around me and drag me all the way down to the deepest pits it has! Oh no, oh no, oh no, n-n-no!”

M2702 felt his hands tangle themselves in his hair. He reeled back from the other cell.

The world seemed to be moving without his consent.

His vision was growing blurry around the edges. 

“I’m gonna die,” L7181 choked out. He covered his face in both hands, his screams having transformed into sobs. “I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die. . .”

“Yeah, but not exactly,” C9342 mused, his face almost thoughtful as he chortled. “We all will, but it shouldn’t be too bad.  We’ll get to see each other again in six years, nine months, four days, twenty hours, thirteen minutes, and thirty-seven seconds. The time will go faster than you think, I promise! Then we’ll all be together.” He cackled, seeming to choke on his own saliva. “With The Gongoozler, of course.”

“Will you shUT UP ABOUT THE FUCKING GONGOOZLER?!” M2702 raged, halfway closing the distance as he stormed over to E9342’s cell. 

E9342 flinched, but he remained standing. His sanity-breaking smile grew even wider. “You think I DON’T WANT TO?!” He practically howled with glee as he punched and kicked at the glass in front of him. “You think I’m CHOOSING THIS?!”

He started ramming his head against the barrier with a chorus of dull, heavy thuds. Along with a loud, sickening CRACK as blood started gushing from his nose. More and more bruises were already forming on his face. But he just kept on laughing, struggling to speak or breathe. “YOU JUST DON’T FUCKING GE-HEHEHE-ET IT!”

___

With all the weight it had gained, it was no surprise that the Iron Lung was now dragging along the ocean floor rather than gliding above it. 

M2702 was up to his waist in blood. He could feel it dripping from his hair, trickling along his face. His chest heaved in and out as he waded through it. 

The air had become so thin, so rancid. He could barely even take in a full breath anymore.

He was completely enveloped by a horrific gurgling sound from the outside. 

When the submarine had first started leaking. . .the blood had been cold. Cold enough to feel like thousands of tiny knives against his skin as it seeped through his clothing. 

But now. . .now the blood was warm.

So warm.

Too warm. 

Nearly scalding.

M2702 knew that he couldn’t think anymore. There was no point. 

His brain was well-past not receiving enough oxygen. He knew he wasn’t going to resurface. 

Even so, he knew that the blood needed to be as hot as it was. 

After all, the ocean itself was alive.

It didn’t just house the individual organisms that’d been taunting him for so long, that’d  been swimming closer and closer to him and ramming the Iron Lung's outer walls with their tails or fins or teeth. 

This ocean was a living creature.

And soon, very soon, M2702 would get to join that life.

@sammys-magical-au @altegos

[bloodsweatandpotato]

Day 3

Isolation, sensory deprivation

Fandom: Original work (chocolate bullet holes)

Characters: Whisper (oc), Listener (oc)

Tw: Claustrophobic environment, minor self injurious behavior

Summary: Listener has lost track of the time alone in the closet. Whisper comes to save him.

The closet was dark. Dark and small and oh so very disorienting. The absence of light felt tangible, as if it had not just been blotted out but had been erased entirely, leaving the closet devoid of air as well.

Listener stayed quiet and motionless, eyes open. Or closed. He couldn’t much tell these days.

He had torn his throat raw with screaming what felt like weeks ago (but couldn’t have been more than a day or two).

Time felt strange in the closet.

It didn’t flow right.

Not a river or an ocean, more like the weak stream of a water fountain, curving through the air, stuttering and bubbling, splashing in the metal bowl and swirling down the drain… what had he been thinking about again?

He was so very thirsty.

He could taste blood.

It tasted red. He remembered what red looked like.

Or at least he thought he did. He saw it when he put his palms to his eyes and pressed hard enough for the circles and squares to dance in his vision. He saw it in his dreams, nightmares, Whisper’s head on the floor emptied out like a broken jar.

The door opened.

There was light.

Listener couldn’t see but he didn’t care because it was white and white meant light was so much better than the dark the inky horrible dark that had suffocated him for so long.

He felt hands on his shoulders, his arms, patting him down. They weren’t rough. They were gentle, efficient. He felt the hands squeeze down his wrists and palms and stop at his fingers, gently tracing his bloodied nail beds.

He had scratched at the door deep enough to leave blood on his hands and scratches on the metal.

“Listener…”

That was his name. He blinked, and the white wasn’t as blinding anymore. It burned. It burned as and he didn’t care because it was more than he had felt, had seen, in a long time.

He would stare bloody-eyes into the midday sky, would brand the sun itself onto his skin if it meant he didn’t have to be in the dark again.

“Whisper-“ He sobbed, voice broken, barely audible.

The blurry, beautiful outline that was his friend, that was Whisper, just murmured soothing nothings and pulled him out of the tiny closet.

Listener sobbed again, keening low and agonized.

Fingers brushed through his tangled brown hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Listener felt the cool plastic rim of a water bottle being pressed to his lips. He swallowed, and it tasted blue and white and beautiful.

“Whisper…”

“Shh…”

[ichayalovesyou]

Sorry it took so long, almost lost the ask and had to go through hell and back to retrieve it! This was a really fun prompt, honestly part of what took so long was picking my favorite set up! Enjoy!

Woe to Needless Heroics (Platonic Pike x Reader)

Requested by; @trekkiehood

Rating: Teen (Minor gore and language)

Word Count: 1k

Content: SFW/Platonic, GN!Reader, Lieutenant!Reader, Semi-canon EMT!Pike, Protective!Pike, tw claustrophobic environment, blood, broken bones, environmental whump, hurt/comfort.

Teaser: This rickety ship wreck is full of unpleasant surprises. You just made rank, deciding to accompany Captain Pike down a hallway in search of survivors, and find more than what you'd bargained for.

The wreckage creaked and gave way above both of you. You shoved the Captain out of the way before he could think of doing the same.

“Lieutenant!”

You were pinned, your leg and chest were screeching with pain, crushed under the weight of the failed support beams on top of you.

“No, no no no, come on!” It would’ve been a whisper if it weren’t for the echo. 

You heard the sounds of physical effort and clattering metal “Lieutenant Y/N are you alright?!”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t breathe or see.

“Lieutenant please respond!”

“Here sir! I’m here!” You croaked.

You struggled to pull what was surely your minced leg out from beneath the debris, but you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. The wind must have gotten knocked out of you.

More clattering metal, then a beam of light from a flashlight, the Captain had found you! You both sighed in relief, but the Captain’s face fell almost immediately, as did your gut in reply.

“That’s not good,” he said quietly to himself.

Captain Pike’s eyes were darting about, assessing you, the beams, the walls around. It did nothing for the anxiety. Or was the pain in your chest just from the weight of the metal pinning you to the ground?

“You think you can help me get this thing off you Lieutenant Y/N?” He smirked through his poorly disguised intensity.

You nodded, but when you tried to help him with the beam across you, you felt yourself starting to hyperventilate. The captain looked alarmed, reevaluating. It seemed he didn’t need much help with the beam, he was pretty strong as it turned out. Especially with the increased sense of urgency rippling through his features.

“Wasn’t the smartest choice Lieutenant. I know you just made rank but playing hero like that is the fastest route to well, this.” Captain Pike knelt beside you, looking worried, maybe disappointed.

“No choice, sir. Saved-” You wheezed and coughed, something was definitely wrong with your chest.

The pain in your leg was getting worse too, but the last thing you wanted was to further humiliate yourself in front of the Captain. Though the creeping fear your life was in danger the longer you stayed in this shipwreck.

“Heads up wouldn’t’ve hurt, literally” he laughed half-heartedly as he rifled around in his pocket for something “We could’ve both dodged it.” 

You weren’t sure if you believed that or not. The thing he was looking for almost fell out of his pocket, rolling away before the Captain before he snatched it back up again.

“Medical tricorder sir?” You tried to sound casual and not terrified. Failing in all likelihood.

“This isn’t my first away mission, best to come prepared, and uh you might wanna stop talking.”

You winced in shame, the Captain’s expression softened.

“Don’t need a tricorder to tell me that you’ve got a punctured lung Lieutenant. Don’t want you hurting yourself more than you-“

The metal behind you shifted, your leg protested wrathfully, something tore. You cried out with what little strength you had in your damaged lungs.

Seeing the blood starting to pool where your leg was still trapped beneath a wall of metal and stone. Pike instantly opened his communicator.

“Captain Pike to away team, Lieutenant Y/N is injured and trapped under debris. Can’t move them by myself without risking further collapse. Doc, do you copy?”

“On my way.” The communicator crackled.

“Always when the transporter can’t get to us. Isn’t that always the way?” Pike said with a mix of exasperation and amusement.

You didn’t find it all that amusing.

“Am I gonna die sir?” You blurted with a harsh whisper that trailed into a whine.

The Captain looked at you instead of your wounds or environment for the first time since this mess started, taken aback and sympathetic.

“Oh no, no! Hey.” He placed a hand on your shoulder “You’re gonna be just fine, M’Benga is gonna be here any minute, and it’ll be a lot easier to pull you out with the whole team here. Nobody’s dying today. We’ll get back to the ship and you’ll be out of sickbay in 24 hours tops. You’re gonna be fine.”

He looked down the hallway impatiently, not taking his hand away from your shoulder. You were so tired, but too scared to let yourself rest. The rational part of you believed your Captain, and the hand was immensely reassuring, but the rest of you? It was scared of where you’d be when you woke up.

In what felt like an eternity later, Dr. M’Benga and the four other away team members turned the corner.

“Here I was thinking that we would be doing search and rescue for the crew of the Hermes, not for our own.” The CMO commented dryly.

“You’re not alone on that one Doc, now, let’s get ‘em out of here.” Pike replied.

Three crewmen held the debris in place, Nurse Chapel crouched at the ready to take care of your leg, M’Benga was doing further scans of your pulverized ribs.

“Take my arms alright? We’re gonna pull you out.” The Captain instructed softly.

“Three, two, one!”

It hurt like a bitch, but you could feel yourself pull free, the cold of the wreck hitting your blood soaked pant leg like a space frigate.

“Yikes! Looks like an undercooked lasagna down here.”

“Nurse!” M’Benga chided.

“Sorry! Working on it.” She replied.

You looked up incredulously, Nurse Chapel’s face looked like it was debating on whether to laugh or apologize to you. You daren’t look at your leg, deciding to take her word for it. Her total bluntness had earned an involuntary and excruciating laugh from you.

“See, I told you you were gonna be just fine.” Captain Pike chuckled “But seriously don’t laugh, takes forever to heal. Believe me, I know.”

You wondered if he’d ever tell you that story, it didn’t matter really, you were alive, and the Captain had helped you stay that way.

That was good enough for you.

[thatonewannabedragon]

I once again made lore from things that linger in my brain. Enjoy!

Do you ever think about how the universe in all its love for its players pushed back the voids of sky and below to make more space for us to build and create, knowing we can get over any challenge?

The call of the void is a popular real world phenomenon where the need to go deeper that can't be described in any other way. How these living caves are perfectly made for us to continue deeper and deeper with lures and promises of riches and treasures the further down you go. How you can stand at the surface and stare into gaping maws of chasms and no longer see the bottom.

It's how the environment itself gets harder, harsher, and darker closer to the bedrock you go. It steals your life and shows you abandoned ancient cities of the people that came before you. 

These ancients likely felt this same pull. The same need to know how far the depths will allow you to go. It makes me wonder if anything else could still be hidden, further forever downwars. Or maybe it has already been consumed.

The sky is another story though.

The higher you go, the more life seemly ceases to exist. The urge changes from going deeper to ever spiralling upwards in attempts of freedom, solitary, or power over those below.

Without the boundaries of the earth expansion seems endless.

But a color or shade does not bind the void.

The depth of the sky is not unfamiliar to the depths of below.

The void is just where the universe ceases to exist. It is encompassing and inescapable.

The void simply allows the universe to have its fun. The universe may be kind but the void rarely ever is.

It continues to call to anyone who can hear.

It can wait.

You'll come to hear its melody eventually.

Inspired by: Fear of Depths by Jacob Geller. Go watch it, its super good. Tw for claustrophobic themes tho.

[sunriseabram]

Riko Moriyama: born or raised antagonist?

Disclaimer: I want to make it clear that I do not condone or support Riko's actions. I just believe that his upbringing is interesting in forming who he became, and how he met a kind of inevitable end. That doesn't excuse any of the actions he took. They were cruel and unforgivable.

All quotes are taken from Nora Sakavic's Extra Content

(TW: This post includes mentions of canon typical abuse, including physical and psychological violence, abandonment, suicide and heavy domestic abuse.)

Riko was the second-born son and grew up completely inferior to his brother. He was thrown away unwanted, discarded and unloved by his own father: 'Riko was a mistake, a second son in a family only allowed to have one. He was passed off to Tetsuji as soon as possible, and his mother was quietly disposed of for not taking proper precautions '

This would have had a significant impact on Riko's self-esteem. It's important to consider that Riko was attempting to impress his father through his actions and prove his worth: 'Riko took that to mean that he could win his father’s respect by being the best player in the world; he didn’t understand at the time that Kengo only cared about the money.' This wasn't exclusively through his monetary value, but his handling of the press and how he captained the Ravens.

Riko grew up believing that Exy was all he was good for. He was given to his uncle to raise and grew up with nothing other than Exy: 'The only toys he was allowed were Exy balls, and when his tiny arms could hold more weight he was given tiny racquets.'

This would have put immense pressure on his shoulders to be the best, better than anyone else. Not just to impress his father and prove himself, but to save himself from potential beatings at Tetsuji's hands or from being disposed of like his mother.

Tetsuji had HIGH expectations of Riko and Kevin. They were to be the future of the sport. Riko grew up with intense and immense pressure to be the best and only the best. Nothing but the best was good enough for Tetsuji. Even the best wasn't good enough. It must have been extremely hard to grow up in a place where everyone is watching you, everyone expects you to be a sort of exy god even as a kid: 'Imagine living underground with a violent hivemind that has put you on a pedestal, with a god that comes and goes with cutting words and a hefty stick. Having a cult fall in around you means nothing when your god cannot see you, when your sacrifices get spat on and your altars are kicked over no matter how well they are presented.'

Riko was not immune to Tetsuji's beatings and often watched them. Testsuji did not pay Riko much attention until he was old enough to play properly. It's not surprising that he formed a sickening relationship with violence as punishment for people not following what they are told: 'Tetsuji wasn’t allowed to hit them where anyone might see. Armpits to knees, however, were free game. If they fucked up, he’d fuck them up. You will be perfect. You will do it again until it is perfect. If it is not perfect you will not eat, you will not sleep. You waste everyone’s time. You make a mockery of this sport. You are disgusting. You are a disgrace.'

Nora wrote this about Tetsuji and I think it speaks for itself: 'the Ravens are the only things he must control 100% of the time. He treats them like objects to manipulate, unruly animals that have to be broken before they fall in line, but he does not kill those who can’t keep up. He simply breaks them to the point that they can’t fight back.' If this is the mentor and role model that Riko grew up with, it makes sense how he ended up controlling and violent.

Riko lived in the nest since he was little. From our look inside the nest in trk, it's clear that the environment is toxic and unwelcoming. It was dark, claustrophobic and ran on ridiculously scheduled days:  'The Nest is a holding cell for a hive mind that can’t survive apart, that rewards them for acting in sync but demands they be the best, that severely punishes those who fall behind and anyone who lets them. They came to Evermore on five-year contracts, but the Ravens kept 16-hr days and what should have been five years were seven and a half. They had a symbiotic relationship built on a core of pure rage and determination.'

Riko would not have had much chance to experience the outside world as other children do. All his actions were decided for him, even his education and friendships. His every action was watched: 'He’d been surrounded by adults, the Ravens and the staff, with zero access to other children. His world literally stopped and started with Exy–before he was old enough for Tetsuji to train him, he only left Evermore when the Ravens went on away games or to Exy events. It was literally all he had, and he had absolutely no say in it.'

Riko was taught from a young age that Exy was everything: 'Because Riko knew nothing but Exy, he didn’t know how to want anything but Exy. He didn’t resent his lot in life because as far as he was aware nothing else existed.' He saw it as a life-or-death situation. He didn't care who he had to step on to be the best. It was a sense of self-preservation to save himself from Tetsuji and a fear that the main family would get rid of him for good if he failed.

Kevin was the only one who understood Riko. The pair grew up together and Kevin ended up becoming better than him. With his self-esteem issues and his fears, this was unacceptable to him: 'But Riko remembered what happens to those who threaten the Moriyamas, and he chose to eliminate the threat.' In no way am I justifying what he did to Kevin, I just think it's important to consider that his lashing out came from a sense of worthlessness and fear that he would be discarded: 'Tetsuji wrote Riko off as a complete waste of his time and threatened to demote him if he didn’t fix things.'

Jean. Let's start by saying that what Riko did to Jean was disgusting, vile and irredeemable. I would never justify what he did. However, I think speculate that Riko did what he did because it gave him a sense of control. He could do to Jean whatever he liked, and nobody could tell him he was wrong. Jean was property and Tetsuji would never care what happened: 'Jean was property, was less than property, was a thing with no rights. Jean was an afterthought, a boy with potential who was not otherwise required for any of Tetsuji’s grand schemes.'

After living a whole life in the shadow of his brother, under the controlling hands of the Moriyamas, he was given an opportunity to prove what he was made of. He taught Jean lessons in the only way he knew: violence. He broke Jean and somehow along the way started to find pleasure in it: 'It was Riko’s job to fix Jean’s attitude...but Riko has a depth of cruelty Tetsuji does not. Tetsuji is merciless for a purpose. Riko is heartless because he enjoys it, because it pleases him, because it distracts him from the toxic heat licking at his smile and chewing up his chest.'

Although Kevin grew up in similar circumstances, the difference is that Kevin was always going to be number two: 'the king and the prince, the captain and vice-captain, the master and the pet. Together but not together, because Riko and Kevin knew from day one that they would never be equals. The critical difference was that Riko saw Kevin as a footstool, and Kevin saw Riko as a collar. Riko refused to think Kevin was anything more than a critical means to an end.

It doesn't mean he had less pressure to perform, but Riko would have been under a huge strain to be the best. For years, Riko would have had to deal with the pressure of being the number one player, the best in a way his brother Ichirou never could be: 'The people who knew he was the master’s nephew, who knew he’d rule their team one day, who never laughed at the one on his face. A few called him captain instead of his name...Riko opted instead to be king.'

He wanted to show how good he could be and receive praise instead of punishment. I think that's how Riko ended up so different from Kevin, despite their similar upbringing: 'As he took the captain’s title for real and was practically handled multiple contracts, Riko had justification for everything he’d built his life around. #1. King. Captain.'

To conclude: Whilst Riko's actions cannot be justified, it's undeniable that he did suffer his own trauma at the hands of the Moriyamas. He's an asshole. Don't get me wrong. I just think it is interesting to see how he became so twisted and reliant on pain. It must have been hard for him growing up and constantly being thrown away.

[lowslore]

Manuscript Search Tag Game

Thanks so much for the tag @akindofmagictoo!!

My words are: hear, help, heart, harsh

Hear (Grey Blinds and Sunflowers) [tw: isolation, imprisonment, chains, blood, light claustrophobic environment, light burial implications]

Ten minutes later, the beach is back to its busy self. The rides and people are in full swing, their joyful gaiety swelling with the gulls’ flight, a crescendo of noise and laughter and fun. But somewhere down, deep below the beach, a lone figure lies unconscious. Chained tightly to the floor of the small metal box, it begins to stir, its rainbow dress torn and damp, its blue hair tinted a shocking red by the blood trickling from the wound on its forehead. Alone, where no-one can hear it. Alone, where no-one will find it. Alone, where it is at their mercy. Alone.

Help (Grey Blinds and Sunflowers)

As she leaned back on Jacob’s chest, Liesl sighed contentedly. This man was her world, her everything, and she felt so happy being around him. He gave her warm glowy feelings in her chest, wrapping over her heart. He made her serotonin flow. She loved being around him, he made her happy. He reminded her of flowers, of hot chocolate on snowy days, of cold spring mornings when the air was fresh and clean, of crunching through autumn leaves, of those songs that you can’t help but dance to, of flower crowns and laughter and friendship. Her heart leapt with boundless fun when she was around him, and she felt playful, filled with a kind of childish joy. Being with him took her back to simpler times, before friends left, before things got complicated before the world revealed its imperfections. She felt as though she were watching a Disney movie whenever she interacted with him, and she knew that he felt the same as she did about so many things.

Heart (Grey Blinds and Sunflowers) [tw: blood mention, references to systemic inequality, implied references to generational trauma, implied references to mental ill health]

Our hearts still beat, our lungs still drew in breath, our blood still flowed inside out bodies, and what they didn’t know was that to make that choice, to stay alive, to even allow ourselves to lie there and exist, that was true strength. What they didn’t know was that we didn’t have to get up and carry on in order to prove that we were strong, that we couldn’t be beaten down, all we needed to do was stay alive, that was proof enough. And what they didn’t know was that every day we still woke up, every hour we still moved, every minute we still blinked, every second our heart still beat and our lungs still breathed, every moment we still lived, was a stab in the heart to them and their systems, was another club that snapped in their hands, was another part of the barrier broken down. And what they didn’t know was that one day we would sit up, and one day after that we would stand, and one day after that we would take a step, and one day after that they would be gone. 

Harsh (Vibes and Vanity; or Space: An Operatic Romance) [tw: swords, canons, the moments before battle]

Elizabeth’s need for action was satisfied a few days before they arrived at Jessa. She awoke that morning to find the glooming dullness that had settled over the ship transformed into activity: shouted instructions echoed around the deck, sharp and rapped, the sound harsh compared to the quiet that had settled on board the last few days; the shhhhhhink of swords being drawn grated against her ears as she raced to dress and get out there to see what was happening; footsteps racing overhead as she clattered up the stairs, her eyes wide and her sword ready at her side, her ears clocking every movement, every creak; the rumble of canons being hauled into position setting her senses on high alert as she drew up to the door leading out onto the deck. It was chaos. Elizabeth immediately clocked the other ship drawing closer. She ran towards Lydia and Charles, who were struggling alone with one of the canons, and shoved her shoulder against it, helping them push it into place alongside the rest. They quickly began to rope the large metal and wood bulk to the gun ports, Lydia checking each knot after they had been bound. Elizabeth and Charles backed off towards the crates of artillery next to the center mast and prepared to help supply the gunners as they took positions. And then there was the few moments of calm before the storm. All eyes turned to Catherine, waiting on her orders, hands tense and eyes twitching. Catherine raised a hand.

I’m gonna tag @saltwaterbells, @magic-is-something-we-create, @ashen-crest and anyone else who wants to do it, no pressure obviously! Your words are drama, dull, dream, death

[ddarker-dreams]

Affliction. Yandere Giorno x Reader [COMM]

a/n: tw for descriptions of injury, and blood. implications of abusive relationships. 

here is the sequel! 

There are many things in life that once you experience it too often, you may come to tire of it. 

However, that could never be said for the initial second you open the creaky doors of your apartment building; the delightful scent of salt water hitting your nose. Rays of sunlight kiss and warm your skin in coordination with the ocean breeze that whirls around your hair. 

For a moment, all you desire to do is stay still, drinking in the environment of fresh air and sounds of bustling city life that surround you. Another time, you think to yourself, as you set out on the comfortingly familiar winding streets of Naples. You whisk by beckoning street vendors, their empty promises of good deals falling on deaf ears. 

A part of you feels pity for the tourists that fall for these coaxing traps, but you can understand the vendors' plight. Not only do they have to maintain their business to feed their families, there are also protection fees that must leave their pockets. Although from the rumors going around town, the new boss of the mafia has a less ruthless streak than the previous one. But the mafia still finds ways to be ruthless, you suppose. 

After walking these paths your entire life, you’ve found yourself discovering new shortcuts. The walk to the market isn’t long enough to warrant a drive on nice days like this one, but it can be tiring to take the main paths. You soon arrive at a familiar alleyway entrance that saves you a few minutes when you take it, confidently walking into it. It’s convenient to have a shortcut so close to your residence. 

Still, it’s a path you’d never think to take once the sun sets in the sky. Alleys do have a reputation in Naples for unsavory exchanges. But with the former drug issue in the area becoming less of a pressing concern, you’ve felt more at ease venturing into areas like this one. As long as you mind your own business and walk briskly, you doubt you’ll encounter any trouble. It’s the silent mantra of your mind to avoid trouble. 

It’s difficult to not feel on edge as you walk through the alley, tall buildings on either side of you looming. The claustrophobic sensation of only having a single place to run away heightens your senses, your eyes desperately searching every visible nook and cranny for trouble. Each step you take echoes within this isolated world, the sounds of comforting society far behind you. 

It’s a common sight to see dumpsters against the brick walls of this area, the added blind spot serving only to unease you more. Always leaning on the cautious side, you take care to look for any human life they might hide from your normal line of sight. Holding your breath at the first upcoming one, you discreetly peak your head around to see if the coast is clear.

What you see instead of an awaiting burglar, is a bloodied body of a young man. The sight causes your jaw to go agape, pupils dilating as your mind processes the shocking information. Your years of training overwhelms your desire to run away, not wanting to leave someone in such a sorry state. Leaning forward, you press your middle and pointer finger to the young man’s neck in search of a pulse. 

‘It’s weak, but he’s still alive!’ 

Hands trembling ever so slightly, you quickly mull over your current options. This area doesn’t have a hospital in the close vicinity, and you don’t have your phone on you to call for an ambulance should he need it. However, your apartment building is only a minute away from here at the most. With stored medical supplies that you bought to assist in your studies, maybe it’d be best to treat him there instead…? 

There isn’t any more time to waste, as you glance down at the sprawling wound across his chest. Without a second thought, you bend down to grab a hold of his limp arm, heaving him up with all of your might. Shakily exhaling, you begin to limp forward while being weighed down by his unconscious body. Your stomach churns at the thought of not making it to your apartment in time, but all you can do is throw the thought into the back of your mind. 

It isn’t an easy task, but you find a rhythm of moving forward while ignoring your aching muscles. Gritting your teeth, you eventually come to the familiar alleyway entrance that sits beside your apartment building. Even at the sight you refuse to relax, instead urgently rushing to bring him inside. Balancing his limp body against your own, you struggle but still manage to open the door to your building. 

It’s never been a prospect you felt grateful for in the past, but now you feel immensely thankful for your apartment being on the first floor. You can already feel exhaustion weighing down on you, but there’s still much more work to be done. With deft fingers, you pull your jingling keys out of your pocket. Balancing him against your side once more, you fiddle with the lock before managing to burst inside. 

The reality of the situation now fully dons upon you, as you realize you need to act fast. As gently as you’re capable of, you place his bloodied body onto your cheap couch. With his weight being lifted off you, you take a deep breath; before scurrying around frantically for your medical supplies. In the bathroom cabinet you find your first aid kit, grabbing it in a rush before running back to him in record time.

Hearing nothing but your own hammering heartbeat, your eyes run over the contents of the first aid kit with familiarity. The blood doesn’t appear to be gushing out at an uncontrollable rate. You can safely disinfect the wound without the looming concern of him going into shock. After cleaning the gaping wound to the best of your knowledge, you gingerly apply an antibiotic ointment over it to prevent infection.

Following suit, a series of gauze is wrapped around the affected area of his torso. Letting out a deep sigh after what felt like an eternity, you lean back and consider your handiwork. Even if you’re not officially a doctor yet, you can’t help but feel a sense of pride in the clean addressing of the wound. Bits of blood seep through the white colored gauze, but it’s nothing that won’t clot in time. 

After disposing of your dirtied gloves and washing your hands, you return to your currently occupied couch. Amidst the whirlwind of panic finding a bloodied body brought with it, you never got the opportunity to look at the person you’re treating well. He dons a strange hairstyle you’ve never seen before, bright golden locks tied back into a braid. Along with three, circular like fashioned bangs on his head. 

Tilting your head, you notice the outfit he’s wearing showcases his fit physique. His facial features sharp, but his slightly parted lips appear soft and pink. You get the feeling this individual takes care of himself, seeing how well groomed he is. As embarrassing as it is to admit it, you have to confess he’s attractive. 

‘What do I even do now?’ you think to yourself with a frown. 

His pulse is stronger than it was before, and from your swift treatment you know he’s not in any critical condition. It doesn’t make much sense to you how the wound on his chest incapacitated him. It wasn’t as deep as you expected from a glance at his condition. And from what you could tell there wasn’t any head trauma that’d cause him to pass out. 

So what could’ve occurred to set all this into motion? 

In this area you can’t help but assume some form of foul play. While it might be rude to question him about it, you decide to ask him what happened when he wakes up. It’s always been your personal philosophy to care for others in need, it’s what fueled you to study medicine in the first place. 

As odd as it is having a stranger sleeping on your couch, you carry on for the next hour tending to some chores while monitoring his condition. There are so many things you want to ask him when he wakes up, the anticipation making it difficult to focus on anything for long. 

Time continues on, the sunset on the horizon and microwave beeping to signal your meal is finished warming. All of that physically demanding movement is starting to wear down on you, the painkillers you took an hour ago finally starting to dull the ache. Humming to yourself, you open the microwave to reveal risotto that you had made the day prior.

Plopping yourself on the other side of your occupied couch, you greedily begin to chow down on the leftovers. Hints of basil and garlic intermingle with the fresh tomato you had used, all creating an abundance of flavor on your palate. You find yourself so occupied with savoring your meal, you fail to notice a distant stirring.

A loud squeak leaves your mouth as he shakily sits himself up, his face grimacing. Quickly placing your meal down, you rush over to his side.

“D-don’t move please! If you move too much, the wound might reopen,” you call out hastily, settling down next to his side to check the bloodied gauze’s status. He blinks at the sight of you, understandably befuddled by the situation in front of him. “Actually, it might be a good idea to change this bandage now…” 

Gnawing on your lip, you hover your hands over the bandage on his torso. 

“Please, don’t worry about it.” 

He finally speaks up, bringing your attention to his face. Blinking in surprise, you realize you can’t change it against his will. Sitting back, you fiddle with your hands while you think of how to handle this awkward situation. Your curiosity from before makes a cautious return, but you suppress it for the time being. 

“I should introduce myself. My name’s [First], and uh, this is my apartment. I saw you kinda… passed out and patched you up,” you begin to explain with a sheepish smile. “I’m sure you’re overwhelmed right now, but you’ll be okay. Physically I mean. I cleaned your wound with antibiotics and dressed it a little over an hour ago, but it should be changed soon.” 

The young man in front of you doesn’t flinch at your not so subtle desire to apply a fresh gauze, instead focusing on introducing himself as well.

“I can see you took good care of me. Thank you, [First],” he responds with a soft smile of his own, glancing from his chest to you. “... I’m Giorno.” 

Where most in a situation like this would be panicked, Giorno seems to have a firm grip of himself. Your eyebrows knit together at this, wondering if he may have damaged his head somehow after all. His entire person is well put together, even covered in bloodied bandages in a stranger’s apartment.

Suddenly, he glances towards one of his pockets, seemingly assessing something. 

“You didn’t take my wallet.” Giorno points out, his facial features too controlled to read. You stare at him for a moment, before realizing the implications of his words. 

“O-of course not! I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” you rush out a small defense, voice raising in pitch. 

“That makes you a rarity then,” Giorno comments with esteem, turquoise eyes taking in your appearance. It feels like he’s trying to get a read on you in the same way you’re trying to understand him. “I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble.” 

A timid laugh leaves your lips, waving off his concern. “I’m actually used to this stuff. I’ve been training in medicine for what… around four years now? Although I normally don’t do it in my apartment, and it’s always on a dummy,” you ramble, feeling your cheeks warm as Giorno seriously listens to your words. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking so much. I’m sure you’re already overwhelmed.” 

Giorno hums quietly, shakes his head once. “I don’t mind. It’s best that it was you who found me rather than anyone else.” 

His words feel well put together, their intention of complimenting you evident. The feeling of someone putting you in high regard is flustering, you only did what you thought was right. Still, you attempt to get a hold of yourself, not wanting to seem like a bumbling fool in front of Giorno.

“Ah, you must be in pain. I have some over the counter painkillers, if you want. It’ll still take a while to kick in though. But it’s better than nothing.” 

“I’d appreciate it.” 

Nodding in affirmation, you scurry off to your kitchen cabinet to find your generic painkillers. Bringing a bottle of water with you, you return to Giorno who is now sitting up. It’s still remarkable to you how he’s not showing any signs of being in pain. Any adrenaline that would’ve dulled the pain earlier should be long gone by now, so why isn’t he so much as flinching when he moves? 

Giorno starts to sit up to meet you, but pauses when your eyes widen in panic.

“It’d really be best to move as little as possible for now.” you plead, bringing the items over to him. Giorno doesn’t object to your request, instead giving a quiet thank you and taking the pill you handed him gratefully. 

“How do you feel?” you inquire, sitting down next to him. You resist the temptation to check his pulse again, certain that now he’s awake he doesn’t want a stranger to touch him. Giorno seems to think about your question for a moment, as if wanting to pick out a good answer.

“I have a high pain tolerance, something like this doesn’t bother me much.” Giorno offers in response, setting the bottle of water down on the coffee table in front of him. The unhesitating movements perplex you further, could anyone have that high of a pain tolerance? It’s certainly possible.

“Giorno… I’m sorry if I’m being presumptuous, but, can I ask what happened?” you ask tentatively, biting your lip to quell any anxiety. Your crushing interest is too much to deny any longer, but you hope the question doesn’t make him uncomfortable. 

Giorno doesn’t show any signs of offense, instead closing his eyes as if he’s recalling the events himself. “It’s difficult to explain.” 

Your shoulders slouching, you find it difficult to mask your disappointment in not learning what happened. Your mind had gone wild with countless possibilities that might explain his injury, but it makes sense he wants to keep it private. 

Sensing your defeat, Giorno decides to indulge you some. “It was something like a fight, if memory serves.” 

‘Aha! Theory number two was right!’

It still doesn’t explain his bizarre indifference to pain, but it’s enough to sate you for the time being. Your eyes light up while a realization dawns on you.

“You must be starving! I don’t have that much in terms of food, but I could order you some take out if you want. Oh, and I have a little bit of tomato risotto that I was experimenting with yesterday,” you offer, clasping your hands together. “Okay, maybe experimenting isn’t a good word for it. I followed the recipe, I promise, if you wanna give it a shot. Otherwise there’s this great pizza place nearby, they should still be open… I think I have a coupon for it somewhere...” 

Cutting yourself short, you realize that you had started rambling again. Most would find it an irritating habit, but Giorno never seems to mind. He looks at you with his full attention, truly taking in every word you’re saying.

“Now that you mention it, I am a bit hungry,” Giorno agrees, eyes glancing to the risotto you put down in haste earlier. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to try this risotto of yours.” 

You’ve rarely met anyone as polite as Giorno. There’s something about his character that emanates self confidence, yet remaining courteous. While leaving to warm up the rest of the risotto, you wonder how someone as mild mannered as Giorno got into a fight. 

‘Happens to the best of us, I guess.’

Giorno eyes your risotto with interest, thanking you once more before taking a bite. Leaning in slightly, you try to gauge if he finds your half decent cooking skills impressive. He shoots you a smile, humming lowly.

“Your experiments paid off. It’s delicious, thank you.” 

You can’t help but return his smile, beaming at his praise. No one’s ever complimented your cooking before! It always feels good to be acknowledged, and you feel like he’s being genuine. Before you know it, Giorno finishes the remainder of what’s left. His eyes glance around the room, as if looking for something.

“Do you know what time it is?” 

“Oh!” 

Springing up, you lightly hit your head at having forgotten to mention the time. Of course he wants to know that after waking up, anyone would! Looking down at the phone in your pocket, you read off the time to him.

“It’s currently 7:24,” you tell him, before pausing. “P.M, don’t worry. You weren’t out for that long.” 

Giorno doesn’t respond with the same briskness from before, his eyes remaining on your wrist. Looking down to see what might have caught his attention, your breath hitches as you realize your sleeve had lifted up enough to reveal some bruises. Biting your lip, you swiftly pull your sleeve down and look up to see Giorno looking with an unreadable expression. 

“I-I burnt myself the other day when cooking,” you lie in a quiet murmur, before going to deftly change the conversation. “Anyways, don’t worry about it. I’ve been treating it. Do you have anyone you could contact? Family or something?” 

Giorno parts his lips momentarily, as if wanting to contest you. His facial features relax, eyes closing while he considers your words. “I do have someone, yes.” 

A sense of relief washes over you that he drops the previous subject. Leaping at the chance to put it further behind you, you continue the conversation. 

“You can use my phone if you’d like to call them.” you offer, glancing down towards your pocket once more. 

“There’s no need to trouble yourself,” Giorno responds with a gentle smile. “I can use a payphone.” 

Nodding your head in affirmation, Giorno goes to stand up once more. From your previous interactions with him you realize there’s no point in chastising his lack of rest. He’d have to leave sooner or later anyways. Could the pain killers have kicked in that fast? 

Giorno grabs his empty bowl along with yours, leaving you to blink in minor confusion. 

“Allow me to wash the dishes for you at the very least.”

It doesn’t seem like a question, and if he’s moving this freely without clear signs of pain you might as well let him. Returning his friendly smile, you get up to show him to your humble kitchen. It’s an odd sight to say the least, watching as Giorno meticulously washes the two bowls and corresponding silverware. His gaze briefly flickers to your drying cups, before returning to his task.

His outfit makes you wonder if he’s well off. You’ve never seen any fashion quite like it before, finding the ladybug fashionings to be of particular interest. It’s something to remember him by at least. 

Drying his hands with a towel, Giorno returns his attention to you. You realize that as it grows darker outside he must be feeling more inclined to head home. It’s a bit of a lonely aspect. Even though you haven’t known Giorno for long, he’s pleasant and considerate of you. It sparks a warm feeling within. 

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, [First]. I don’t want to impose on you anymore than I already have though.” Giorno gives a slight bow of the head, to which you laugh airly. You can’t think of anyone that’s ever spoken to you with such formal language, but it seems to suit him well. His voice has a pleasant ring to it as well, low and flowing like a river. 

Pushing aside your personal feelings, you decide to make the parting easier for the both of you. All good things must come to an end. Even if the beginning of your meeting wasn’t good, you still found your time with him quaint. 

“You haven’t imposed! You’re actually really nice to talk to.” you respond, almost surprised by your boldness. Giorno’s eyes widen for a moment, seemingly taken aback by your compliment. Clearing your throat, you go to change the subject as your face warms. 

“I, um, can walk out with you if you want.”

He smiles.

“Please do.” 

---

Your abrupt meeting of Giorno, and subsequent taking care of his wounds, has been on your mind the past few weeks. You often wonder how Giorno is doing as time goes on. Hopefully he’s been changing his gauze and reapplying antibiotics, even if he didn’t admit to being in any pain. Someone as kind as him doesn’t deserve to get an infection, but you doubt he’d let that happen for some reason. 

Life goes on all the same. 

Within the whirlwind that is life, you’ve felt that your waitressing job has been easier to enjoy. While your boss has never been especially cruel to you, any mistakes you make are overlooked as if they never even occurred. Along with that, even tips have been more generous. Karma was never something you thought about much, but maybe you’re being repaid for your caring deed? 

The only misfortune you ran into was noticing one of your cups was missing. But as random as that is, items like that can be easily replaced.

It’s all still weird though, you reason. It’s as if something is off, but you can’t figure out why. There’s been a new regular that you had never seen before appearing in this time as well. You never caught his name, but his outfit made him hard to forget. Donning a light blue sweater crop top, and red hat with a variety of patterns. He always treated you well, and tipped even better. 

After a long yet fulfilling day of work, you had begun the trek back to your apartment. The sky is more overcast than you normally prefer, but the mild weather makes up for it. Spring is always a delightful season, allowing you to walk around more than in other times of the year. The wildlife returning from winter makes you feel at ease, hearing birds chirping on the way home. 

Having finally entered your apartment, you haphazardly throw your keys onto your coffee table. While walking into the kitchen to get a drink, you’re met with the sight of your boyfriend at your small dining room table. You freeze at the sight, taken aback. 

“M-Matteo?” you inquire with a shaky voice, heart racing. The person in question looks up upon your arrival, his head resting on his fist. “How did you get in?” 

“Did you really forget? You gave me keys.”

‘Have I? He’s probably right…’

It’s uncommon for him to come over without notice, the two of you haven’t gotten to see one another much lately. You didn’t want to pester him for the details, but he’d been leaving for large chunks of time without returning your texts or phone calls. He had murmured something about needing to take up an extra job to you, if you remember correctly. Which doesn’t make much sense since he’s a manager at his current one, but you didn’t press on it. 

“It’s nice to see you again.” Matteo greets, getting up to get you a water. You hold your breath as he approaches you, eyeing his hand as he outstretches it towards you. Taking the water, you allow the cold liquid to calm your warming body.

“Not so much as a thank you?” 

You bite your lip. “Ah, I’m sorry. Thank you.” 

Matteo hums at your response, before returning to his former place at the table. You wrack your brain with thoughts of what to say. Maybe you can offer to make dinner? He normally says you should when he comes over, but you haven’t bought groceries for the week yet. 

“--[First]? I was asking about your day. Are you listening?” Matteo interrupts your train of thought, tilting his head at your distracted person. 

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” you offer in response, sheepishly sitting down in the seat across from him. “It’s been good, actually. Work has been I mean. How about you? I’m sure you must be exhausted.” 

Matteo lets out a long sigh. “Exhausted doesn’t begin to cover it. Listen, I don’t want to beat ‘round the bush. I could really use a favor from you.” 

“A favor?” 

He leans back in the chair, steepling his fingers together. It isn’t often you’ve seen him this serious, he normally has more of a carefree air to him. It serves to further put you on edge.

“I’m in deep right now. Passione raised their protection fee for no fucking reason! They want 30% of our revenue now, the pricks. Acting all high and mighty just cause they have some manpower,” Matteo grits his teeth, shaking his head. “I didn’t believe ‘em. Who else pays such a high fee? No one, that’s who. So I didn’t take ‘em seriously. I just paid the amount they wanted before.” 

Matteo runs a hand through his hair and grimaces. “Guess the fuckers were serious. Some asshole in a hat came in the other day and roughed me up, saying I need to come up with 3,000 or I’m dead. Needless to say I need that money now.” 

Processing Mateo’s urgent plight, you find yourself not too concerned for his well being. While it doesn’t make any sense for Passione to have increased their protection rate on only a single business, it was stupid of him to not comply with their new demands. Matteo doesn’t take your silence in kind.

“I don’t have that kind of money. My credit’s still fucked, so loans are a no go,” Matteo grumbles with disdain. “Listen [First]. We’ve been together for what, a year now? I really need you to help me out on this. I know you’ve been saving for your school stuff.” 

Inhaling sharply, you can immediately tell where this is going. Your stomach drops as he continues.

“You’ve gotta have something around that right? Bail me out this once. I’ll pay you back within a few months, I just wasn’t expecting this shit.” 

It doesn’t feel like he’s asking you for your help, rather than demanding it. Pursing your lips, you feel a bead of sweat going down your temple. Aside from Matteo’s agitated tone, he doesn’t look like a man on the brink of death. Confidence still radiates from his person, his posture upright and gaze free of sorrow. 

He already thinks you’ll say yes.

“Well?” he asks with clear impatience. 

“I-I don’t know. That’s… that’s my entire savings. I have rent due on Friday, and my next paycheck isn’t for another week,” you gawk, looking down at your hands as Matteo narrows his eyes. “I can help with some of it. There’s got to be someone else you can ask right? What about some of your friends?” 

Matteo pinches his nose, shaking his head in disbelief as if you had asked something stupid. “You think I haven’t asked? None of ‘em want to give me shit. You’re all I’ve got. Are you really willing to let me die?” 

“No, that’s not what I--”

“I never took you for someone like that,” Matteo interrupts you, his voice lowering. “Really… I’m just… wow.” 

Lips trembling, you ball your hands into a fist by your side. None of this makes sense, the weight of the situation crumbling down on top of you. The thought of all of that money leaving your account for an undisclosed amount of time makes you pale, stomach fluttering with anxiety. You’ve worked so hard, sacrificing so much. And if he doesn’t pay you back...

But Matteo isn’t finished with you yet.

“It makes sense you don’t trust me. I know I haven’t always been the best to you, but know that I try. I’ve tried so damn hard for you,” he begins, looking you dead in the eye. “Just help me out this once. You can stay at my place, to hell with your rent. I don’t have much time.” 

An unwelcome lump forms in your constricting throat, as you avert his gaze. There really isn’t any other option here, is there? All your hard work will have to go to keep him alive. You’re not close with anyone else in Naples aside from Matteo, your family living in the countryside. The entire reason you came here was to have a better college to study medicine under. 

You’re startled by the sound of Matteo slamming his fist on your table, glowering at your indecisiveness. “Does my life really require so much thought from you?!” 

“Some things don’t have much worth.” 

Looking behind you in the direction of the new voice, shock overwhelms you at the familiar source. It distracts you from a small ladybug that lands atop your hand. 

“Giorno...?” 

Your tone is one of disbelief, if not confusion. Giorno looks the same as you last saw him, eyes calculating and ever serene. His outfit reveals his bare chest, yet not showcasing any signs of scarring where he was once wounded. Everything feels so surreal, but you’re brought back to reality at the sound of a chair scraping.

“The fuck? Who is this?” Matteo demands from you, sensing your familiarity. He stands abruptly, clearly looking for a fight with the intruder. 

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.” Giorno speaks only to you, as if you were the only one in the room, seemingly caring less for Matteo. Words escape you entirely as you stare in bewilderment, but you snap back into reality as Matteo stalks over towards him.

“I don’t know who you are, but get out before you regret it.” Matteo growls, lunging for the collar of Giorno’s suit. Giorno steps to his right with ease, dodging the attack as if it were nothing. Matteo stumbles with his movements, snarling in his direction. You feel your heart racing. 

“Matteo, stop it, I know this person!” you exclaim, hoping to avoid any violence. Matteo doesn’t so much as look at you, a part of you wonders if he heard you at all. You know Matteo’s history, and that he’s been involved in scraps often. Even if you weren’t very close to Giorno, the thought of him being hurt by Matteo makes you feel sick. 

“Are you with Passione?” Matteo asks tentatively, a sudden realization dawning on him. His former fighting stance relaxes, stiff muscles replacing it. It’s almost a talent how he changes his demeanor as fast as a finger snap. You can already see his plan shifting, most likely looking to bargain with Giorno should he answers yes.

But Giorno looks at Matteo with apparent disinterest, a visage you’ve never seen him take before. Did they have some kind of history you didn’t know about? It doesn’t look like Matteo even knows who he is. Nothing makes sense. 

“It’s not like it’ll matter if you know the answer.” Giorno responds, voice indifferent. His once lively eyes take a duller tone, causing a shiver to go down your spine. The way he speaks to you is full of warmth in comparison. 

Matteo takes a challenging step forward, Giorno unflinching. “Listen! I’ll have what you want soon. I thought I had more time.” 

Giorno doesn’t even pause to consider Matteo’s words, having already made up his mind. 

“Normally, yes, you would’ve,” Giorno waves his hand dismissively, tone flippant. “Until I learned of your… association with [First].”

Matteo stares in pure confusion, jaw slackening. “My girlfriend? What are you on about--” 

It happens too fast for your eyes to process.

Giorno doesn’t move a single muscle, yet an overwhelming force strikes into Matteo’s torso. He lunges back, eyes widening immensely at the sudden impact. You cry out, watching as his lifeless body hits the wall with a sickening crack. What even attacked him?! If it weren’t for the clear impression of a fist on Matteo’s chest, you’d have thought it was a strong gust of wind. 

Giorno stares at you with a frown as you run over to Matteo’s crippled form. He coughs out globs of blood, barely capable of even lifting his head. Repeating his name, you find Matteo ultimately unresponsive other than wheezing desperately for air. 

Placing a hand on your shoulder, you flinch as you realize Giorno is behind you. Breathing shakily, all you can think to do is ask for mercy. Why is he doing this? What does he gain from this? The way he’s acting strictly contrasts the polite manner he showcased himself as being to you. 

Was he even human...? 

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you, mio cara. Don’t bother yourself with him, I’m not letting him die anytime soon.”

The affectionate nickname falls on deaf ears, your focus returning to Matteo’s now dulling eyes. Giorno’s assured phrase of prevent Matteo’s death doesn’t make sense. 

“H-he is going to die! We need to do something, please!” 

Giorno lets out a disappointment sigh at your further insistence, his frown deepening further. You get the feeling he’s irritated, which further serves to confuse you. 

“I hate having to repeat myself. I told you, I’m not letting him die yet,” Giorno leans down next to your shivering form, his arms wrapping around you. “It’s a shame you had to see this, but it serves as an important lesson. Ingrain it into your mind.” 

“W-what… what are you talking about…?” your voice is nothing but a whisper, waning in strength. Giorno runs a hand over your back, attempting to soothe you. You flinch at the unwelcome touch, eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

“He’s nothing to cry over.”

Giorno’s close, way too close. His lips next to your ear, warm breath ghosting over your glistening skin. The hand that was rubbing on your back worms its way to your bruised wrist, causing you to wince in pain.

“He did this, didn’t he?” Giorno mutters, thumb caressing the purple and blue skin. Unable to hold your tears back any longer, your face dampens as they fall from your eyes. His disgust is evident at the mere thought of Matteo, for reasons beyond you. 

Giorno’s touch is light as a feather, deliberate. A foreign sensation tingles in the area of your skin that he touches, the sight of the bruises diminishing. Instead, soft new skin takes its place before your very eyes, Giorno seemingly content with the action. 

“I don’t understand… why are you doing this...”

“For us, bella.”  

You feel like you’re floating. Everything is so far away, yet remains too much to understand. Giorno gingerly picks you up, smiling gently as your body goes limp against his own. He never allows his hands to leave you, gladly allowing you to steady yourself against him. Giorno prompts you to walk out of the kitchen, as if nothing that transpired has an effect on him.

“There’s a car waiting for us out front, [First]. Will you be good for me and come along without any difficulty?” 

Words escape you entirely. All you can manage is a weak head nod, afraid of what will happen if you resist. The fear for Matteo’s well being is now replaced for fear of your own, as an unknown future lies ahead of you. 

Fluttering his eyes shut, Giorno presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. His hands gently wipe away the tears leaving your eyes, shushing your sobs. Giorno then slowly leads you to your door, putting care into keeping you steady. 

“I have so much I can give you, amore. Let’s put all of this behind us, and start our new relationship off on a good note,” Giorno runs his hands through your hair, deeply breathing in the scent. “I am Giorno Giovanna, Don of Passione. And I want nothing more than to have you love me.” 

[stuartette]

Hello

It’s not very common (in the media I’ve seen). What I’m talking about is my parents are atheists, and I’m a Christian. I’ve recently come to the realization of my faith but I’ve always prayed throughout certain times in my life, like when my tooth was in so much pain and it was just hanging on a thread. I prayed to God, it helped clear my mind, I felt less claustrophobic, and less than 30 minutes later (after pulling on it for an hour in the school bathroom) my tooth popped out. I can’t claim what he did and didn’t do but that’s probably the earliest I remember praying. This was in 4th grade.

My dad, who grew up in a church environment, who he and his brother were both alter boys (I think). My grandfather was divorced from my grandma, and he was only off on sundays (he was a cop). So my pre teen dad, spent the day with his dad. So did my uncle, my uncle kept his faith but my father did not. This comes into play because my dad knows firsthand what religion means to people. He knows it’s important to me, he knows it’s saved me a few times. And he knows that he shouldn’t disrespect someone else’s beliefs based on their own. My mother though, a bit of a different story.

Despite my grandpa being Greek Orthodox and my nana being Irish Catholic, my mom and her sisters had nothing to do with religion. My Nani (great grandmother) was very religious, so I’m not really sure how my mom came to grow thinking that it’s okay to call the Bible a fairy tale to people she knows it’s important to.

My mom has always been a wee hostile in her words, she has mellowed down a bit but I remember it all. Nothing abusive or bad, she just was learning how to shut her mouth (or lack there of). I’m not mad at her whatsoever (despite those words hurting, I’m not upset at her, it’s the past, it happened and I can’t hold onto that). But one thing she’s stuck with is “it’s [Bible] just a fairy tale”. I remember being in the car a few weeks ago, I was trying to start bible study on my own, summarizing each verse and chapter into my own words so I can remember it and to learn. She asked me if I was writing a letter or something and so I showed her the cover of the book (being the Bible). She said “ah fairy tales”. That hurt. I know she has her beliefs and she’s allowed to but I know she knows how important this is to me. (Again, learning how to shut the mouth (I can’t be too judgy because I blabber a lot too, and my attitude towards Christianity was the same as my mom’s, which made me an ass to my religious friend, which I cringe and I pray to God that it didn’t affect her too much)).

Today, we went to target, and I decided I would do bible journaling, so I got some good pens, sticky notes and a nice notebook. We ended up getting onto the topic of religion, she called the Bible a fairy tale again, so (I don’t know why I even argue with my mom at this point it doesn’t go anywhere), I said (along the lines of) “I understand that you have your beliefs and you’re allowed to have them but it disrespects mine”. It didn’t go anywhere productive and was just “I’m allowed to have these beliefs and to voice them” (there’s a difference between saying you don’t believe vs saying that what you believe is just fiction because that’s what I believe) so I just dropped the convo.

She’s supportive one minute but then goes and does this stuff, and I may sound spoiled or coddled but I’m just venting right now and wondering if anyone else may have any advice to share.

I think I should go into how my faith has saved my life a few times. I suffer from major depressive disorder, and while I have it under control it still slips sometimes (which I get back but it’s a pain to grasp, like a bar of soap). My faith has helped me to tell me, if this is truly what you want, then you can wait. You can pray to God and ask him for advice (or however you pray) and I’ve always realized, I just need to ride it out. And religion has been my rock. It’s what’s helped me make decisions, how to behave, it’s a big part of my life, whether it’s just in the background like a cross, or if it’s bible study, it’s important to me.

TW TRIGGER WARNING TW FOR SUICIDE

I’ve attempted suicide one time, and that was enough to make me realize that it’s not what I want. There was the woman who visited me a few times, (this was named St. Peter’s hospital) mentioned that she would keep me in her prayers, and it meant a lot. God has been very important to me in growing as a person. I didn’t jump in blind faith, I walked in, and now I’m swimming.

God is just so important to me and for my mother to disrespect something that has been vital to who I am, and is vital as to why I can even write this right now, it upsets me a lot.

But at the end of all of this, I want to thank God for everything he has given me and the others around me, and everything he will continue to give to me and the people around me. God bless you all, goodnight.

[gothicashworld]

So lately I’ve been protesting pretty heavy against Christianity (basically posting ‘fuck you Christians/Christianity’ stuff). Like, more than I usually have. The reason why I’m getting so verbal is the subject of this post, and it regards religion. If you’re gonna try to preach to me, that’s nice. Go fuck off. Just because I post it here doesn’t mean I’m taking your horseshit. Also TW for mentions of manipulation, guilt-tripping and foul language. There’s a lot.

Anyway. Here:

I was raised in a very Christian, religious household. I love my parents, like a lot actually. I’ve always been afraid to hurt their feelings, I’m stupidly super empathetic with people I care about. But I feel like I was gypped of a lot. I was gullible and naive, and actually a big sucky homophobe. I “accepted Jesus as my Savior” when I was six. But when I hit puberty I became extremely uncomfortable with the environment I was in. 

Making a long story short I ended up in dance with non-Christian girls and made a non-Christian friend. She hated when I preached. We listened to Lady Gaga and other big stars at the time like Ke$ha and Black Eye Peas. We watched movies my parents would never approve of. Even if she bullied me it gave me that sense of “more beyond my Bibleman and Veggie Tales” that I had. When I befriended people online I learnt more and experienced more. But I was still forced to go to church every Sunday. Go to Sunday School for an hour and a half, then the sermon for two hours. They told me sex before marriage was wrong. Gays went to hell and we should not accept them. Prayer solved everything and people spoke in tongues. By age 12 I was sick of it. I was sick of Christian clubs, but to keep my parents happy I still went and I parroted their beliefs. I was scared to go to hell.

I rebelled secretly though. Read raunchy fanfiction, did research, roleplay, nerdy  stuff. When my parents did allow me more freedom I took it instantly. There were times when I did get punished but, I had that. I started to also hate church a lot. Things didn’t make sense anymore. Church was confining, it felt wrong to be there. I felt choked and strangled and claustrophobic. Homeschool bible study was the worst, having to choke down the lessons I’d been told over and over. But, I held my tongue so I wouldn’t lose what little freedom (the internet) I had. 

Finally I turned 18, and as an adult my parents could no longer legally hold me down. My first act of rebellion was, when given the choice I stopped going to church. And it felt so good, to have Sundays wide open. People tried to guilt me back in, relatives and church people. I didn’t listen. Now I’m 19, and I’m gay, Goth and I never want to go to church. Easter though, I was guilted into going again. My grandma has no idea that I’m gay but my parents know and I, sadly am a wimp. It’s my wimpiness and those years of brainwashing that has me convinced that I’m going to Hell in a Hand-basket because I rejected my religion. When you’re a kid and you’re told about Hell, it scars you mentally. Tell it over and over and you ingrain fear into people’s minds. I’m still scared.  

So my reprieve, despite my fear and guilt that I’m going to spend eternity suffering (even if that’s more than likely not the case) is to lash out. Say “fuck you” to the religion I know has controlled my life, even to this day. It’s taken me a lot of courage to get this far, to flip off something I used to devoutly believe in. But I still say fuck Christianity for screwing with my brain and making me afraid to be who I am. It’s my life, it’s not some entity’s to fucking control! 

[thatonewannabedragon]

I posted 613 times in 2022

That's 464 more posts than 2021!

78 posts created (13%)

535 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thatonewannabedragon

@canaryomenharbinger

@blazevillains

@aroacesonics

@checkinder

I tagged 588 of my posts in 2022

Only 4% of my posts had no tags

#e reblogs stuff - 474 posts

#mcyt - 51 posts

#minecraft - 36 posts

#not my art - 32 posts

#aesthetic stuffs - 28 posts

#my art - 27 posts

#dsmp - 24 posts

#digital art - 24 posts

#sky children of the light - 20 posts

#sky cotl - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#i can imagine the silhouette of this looking normal from afar but when you get close and shine a light on it you get to see how fucked up-

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I once again made lore from things that linger in my brain. Enjoy!

Do you ever think about how the universe in all its love for its players pushed back the voids of sky and below to make more space for us to build and create, knowing we can get over any challenge?

The call of the void is a popular real world phenomenon where the need to go deeper that can't be described in any other way. How these living caves are perfectly made for us to continue deeper and deeper with lures and promises of riches and treasures the further down you go. How you can stand at the surface and stare into gaping maws of chasms and no longer see the bottom.

It's how the environment itself gets harder, harsher, and darker closer to the bedrock you go. It steals your life and shows you abandoned ancient cities of the people that came before you. 

These ancients likely felt this same pull. The same need to know how far the depths will allow you to go. It makes me wonder if anything else could still be hidden, further forever downwars. Or maybe it has already been consumed.

The sky is another story though.

The higher you go, the more life seemly ceases to exist. The urge changes from going deeper to ever spiralling upwards in attempts of freedom, solitary, or power over those below.

Without the boundaries of the earth expansion seems endless.

But a color or shade does not bind the void.

The depth of the sky is not unfamiliar to the depths of below.

The void is just where the universe ceases to exist. It is encompassing and inescapable.

The void simply allows the universe to have its fun. The universe may be kind but the void rarely ever is.

It continues to call to anyone who can hear.

It can wait.

You'll come to hear its melody eventually.

Inspired by: Fear of Depths by Jacob Geller. Go watch it, its super good. Tw for claustrophobic themes tho.

56 notes - Posted June 22, 2022

#4

61 notes - Posted April 1, 2022

#3

65 notes - Posted May 2, 2022

#2

My lighting glitched while playing Sky so I did the only sensible thing and ran around taking as many photos as possible!

88 notes - Posted March 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Behold my bisexual sons! :D

They have siamese cat vibes. I love these two so much I'm so happy I found them on auction ^^

This style was so fun to do lol

343 notes - Posted April 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[houseofcrimerp-blog]

                  « THE VENGEFUL »     ❝  WHILE SEEKING REVENGE, DIG TWO GRAVES— ONE FOR YOURSELF. ❞

LAST NAME, FIRST NAME:  Langton, Cameron AGE:  24 HOUSE OF CHOICE:  Pestilence OCCUPATION AND/OR LEVEL:  University student, Level 2 FACE CLAIM:  Sofia Black D’elia NATIONALITY:  American ETHNICITY:  Italian/Russian

CONNECTIONS

WATCHER;  As discreet as one can be while engaging online, there are people who are aware of Cameron’s presence and threat she poses. For now, the watch. They track. They keep tabs. What they plan to do with what they gather about her is up to the connection: blackmail, manipulate, frame, attempt to murder.

FWB;  A friends with benefits that Cameron made when she first arrived in Romania. There are feelings for the other person, though they may not be the deepest, but the relationship is kept secret because the other is afraid of what it all could mean.

THE CHAMELEON;  Pestilence has always stood as a lone House, their work that outside of the others. War has only grown, in members and in power, and seeking to strengthen the opposing forces, Beckett seeks an audience with the Commanders of Pestilence. To figure out who they are, the Third Commander of Famine managed to find Cameron, and plans to enlist her help.

PERSONALITY: Since high school, Cameron has finally accepted who she is, and has become somewhat of an open book in order to protect herself. No one can hurt her if she has nothing to hide. So she calls it as it is, which also applies to her work. She feels safer behind a computer screen, admittedly, and holds no qualms about leaking sensitive, private information about the corrupted and the vile. In her mind, she is doing the world a favor, a service, by exposing the true criminals of society: politics, conspirators, frauds, and anything of the like. Through some of her experiences, she has a bit of a thickened skin, and tries to appear stronger than she actually is by employing sarcasm and “bitchy” attitude, but at the heart of it all, she is still the same kind and compassionate person she has always been.

THREE WEAKNESSES

PACIFIST;  Cameron does not like to involve herself in physical fights, or cyber fights to those who do not deserve it. That being said, if confronted person to person, she would easily go down as she has no means of protection.

FAMILY;  Cameron actually holds a good and stable relationship with her parents as an only child, but she realizes they are a great weakness to any enemy that may become. She would do anything to protect them, even from the lifestyle she leads, which they know nothing about.

CLAUSTROPHOBIA;  It isn’t just small spaces, but having too many blankets on, there being too many people on a sidewalk, just feeling restricted in any way. Hell, being trapped in the same town made her feel claustrophobic.

BIOGRAPHY TW HOMOPHOBIA 

High school was Cameron’s lowest point. Though there were others with far more troubles than herself, she still felt it was one of the worst experiences she could have. Through no fault of her own, homophobia and bullying followed her. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if she was a lesbian herself, but her peers sure believed it, and never let her forget it. The torture went from excluding her in most activities, to spray painting obscenities and slurs on her locker, even going so far as to jumping her after school once. There were others that were gay, but they had something she didn’t: popularity. Which was why when one of the boys from the football team seemed to take interest in her, she thought it could be a chance to turn her high school career around. Only, as they grew closer and “formed” their relationship, she came to the harsh conclusion that all it was was a prank. What the footballer really wanted were her pictures, her private information, and to leak it for all the school to know her deepest, darkest secrets. It destroyed her.

Cameron spent months planning her revenge. Instead of rolling over and letting them win, she wanted to get even. Make them feel what she felt. Worse, she wanted them to pay for what they did to her. So began her obsession with computers, with hacking, gathering blackmail, digging up dirt. And she planned. When she had the evidence, there was a merciless smile on her features as she leaked it. To the school, to the public, to the police. The downfall of her affected peers was quick, with the sources that provided the end to a small-time drug ring, unspeakable acts some of the sports teams committed, and an abundance of criminal violations.

Yet. it did nothing for her. She still felt hurt, like an outcast, like she hadn’t gotten her revenge. The startling realization came then: she was no better than the rest of them. What she really should do with her newfound abilities isn’t destroy the lives of children who didn’t know better, but fight against the real dangers of the world.

For now, university would have to do. Using graphic design as a cover, she pursued her computer activities, planning to fight the governments that failed their states, fight the politics that were greedy and stole from the already poor, and fight those who purposefully destroyed others. Because busting a couple nobodies in a school was nothing in comparison to what she could truly do.

What Pestilence could truly help her achieve.

University wasn’t the big change she was craving after high school. It wasn’t enough. The chance to study abroad appealed to her, and fate decided it be in Romania. Once offered, she was on a plane quicker than she could imagine, and it seemed the perfect environment to hone her skills. The damn country was drowning in crime, and she took it upon herself to find a way to leave it a little more clean than when she arrived. That kind of attention garnered the gaze of Pestilence, and they watched until the point came that she be one of them, undoubtedly valuable and with the right determination they sought. It was perfect, exactly what she yearned for. Saying goodbye to her family was hard, but leaving behind the rest was easy, though she still pursued her degrees in university. Those could easily be obtained online, anyway.