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propertyofkylar · 8 months

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rescue - whitney x gn!pc

"Fuuuck."

Being attacked was nothing new in this town, obviously, but that didn't mean it didn't suck every time. You sucked in a raggedy breath as you leaned your head against the wall, trying to remember if you were supposed to tilt your head up or down when you had a nosebleed.

You'd manage to kick your attackers off and send them scrambling away, but you didn't leave without injuries of your own. Your ankle hurt too much for you to move right now, so you sat in the alley and hoped it would feel better soon so you could hobble home before someone else came after you. At least you still had another pepper spray canister - Kylar was good for some things. You almost wished that he would find you here. He had that knife, and he was sort of caring in an insane way...

It was then that you heard more footsteps coming down the alleyway. You tensed up and held out the pepper spray. "Don't fucking come another step closer," you called out, hoping your voice wasn't shaking as badly as you thought it was.

"That's so cute that you think that could stop me," a familiar voice came. You almost jumped up in surprise, but your ankle gave out and you crashed back down to the pavement.

"You could just say hi for once, Whitney," you groaned, turning your head so he wouldn't notice the nosebleed. It always felt humiliating for him to see you like that, especially because he enjoyed seeing you so weak.

"Wouldn't be as fun," you could hear the smirk in his voice. "You look like shit, slut."

You groaned again and turned to face him, feeling blood drip from your nose. "Thanks. I had no idea."

A brief look of what seemed like panic flashed on his face before his expression settled into his normal smug look, making you wonder if you were just seeing things. "The fuck happened to you?"

You didn't answer. You thought it was pretty obvious.

"Who did it? Where'd they go?" He looked around, as if the attackers were still right there. "Messing with my fucking property..."

"I don't fucking know. It doesn't matter," you sighed. You really weren't in the mood to deal with him at the moment for obvious reasons.

He paused for a moment. "Stay right there, slut."

"Whitney -" you started, but he was already gone. Fucking great. And not like you were going anywhere in this state anyway.

It wasn't too long before he came back, gripping a bunch of crumpled-up napkins in one hand and a cup in another. Whitney squatted down next to you and set the cup on the ground. It was a milkshake.

You tilted your head, silently asking him why. He rolled his eyes.

"You've got blood all over your face. Grabbed napkins from the cafe, and thought I might as well get something out of this," he moved the cup so it was pressed against your ankle, providing sweet relief. At the same time, he leaned in and took a hold of your chin, gently wiping your face.

"Be a good slut and hold still," he murmured. The intensity of his stare made you feel frozen in place, anyway.

The tender way he touched you reminded of you of when you were little and Robin would fall and skin his knee. You would sit next to him with a damp towel and gently wipe at the injury, soothing his tears. It was a nurturing sort of action - not at all what you would expect from Whitney.

Once Whitney was finished, he grabbed the milkshake and leaned against the wall, taking a sip. He wrapped one arm around your shoulder and with the other, offered you the cup, which you took with a small smile.

"Where are your friends?" You asked. It was rare to see him without a gang following him.

Whitney shrugged. "Ditched 'em. Looked like it might rain." That seemed to be all you would get out of him on that topic.

You sat and idly chatted as you shared the milkshake. When it had been drained, Whitney stood up.

"Alright. C'mere. Let's get you home," he said, reaching out a hand.

"Huh?" You blinked in surprise. Whitney rolled his eyes again.

"I'm not gonna leave my best slut alone and injured in an alley. The fuck would that do for me?" He hoisted you up and wrapped his arm around your waist. "Put your arm around my shoulder. And don't put weight on your ankle."

You did as he asked, considering there wasn't much else you could do. Besides, his arm felt nice around you.

Luckily, you weren't too far from the orphanage, so the walk wasn't awful. Resting had helped a lot, and your ankle honestly was barely hurting anymore. But Whitney still held you up, and you let him.

He paused out front and gave you an odd look. Suddenly, he sighed and looked away. "Just...be more careful next time. I can't be your knight in shining armor all the time."

You frowned. "I mean, it's not like I asked you. You kinda just showed up."

He shrugged. "You were in my alley." He paused again before leaning in to kiss you. His lips tasted like vanilla and stale cigarettes.

Then he pulled away and slapped your ass. "See ya tomorrow, slut," Whitney smirked as he walked away. "I'm expecting an extra good thanks for saving your life and shit."

You couldn't help but smile as you watched him leave.

#degrees of lewdity #dol #whitney the bully #dol whitney #writing #deleted and reposted bc it wasnt showing up in the tags n i crave validation #wrote this on a friday night all alone bc my partner has covid #more from your resident tsundere whitney truther #reminder that if you like my writing my ask is open feel free to send requests!!#and not just whitney ill do whatever u want #and if you dont like my writing. well. keep it to yourself :)

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spectrumgarden · 3 months

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I keep thinking about how no one seems to think about nuance when it comes to like, the concept of "autistic traits / symptoms" and discussing them, and how that is intertwined with the push to not consider it a disability. And its complex to discuss, but here's my convoluted thoughts. I know it's long but I hope people will take the time to read it.

There are in fact people who do fit some commonly associated with autism traits that are not impaired by them. Let's make up a guy, for a second:

They like routine and repetition a lot but easily handle change in them. For example they wear the same set of clothes for years with no desire to ever branch out, but if you made them wear something else they wouldnt really be bothered by it as long as they dont think it's super ugly, etc. They like to watch the same movies over and over but happily agree to watch other things with their friends when spending time together, and are engaged and interested in those movies. Etc. They speak very formally or choose "complicated" words for things that could be expressed easier. They however do not face problems with communication beyond annoyance of others because they're able to rephrase things easily to be understood, and they also have a normal back and forth in conversations and initiate conversations normally. They sometimes engage in subtle self stimulating behaviors and recognize the desire to do so during boring or stress inducing times (which pretty much everyone does, btw). They dislike loud environments but do not respond with melt- or shutdowns or any other "severe" reactions, and while for example preferring to go to a museum over a club, they easily go through their daily life in busy areas like city centers, shops or cultural events like parades without issues beyond like, mild annoyance and no desire to stay for longer than necessary. They have strong interests in seemingly random topics and spend quite some time researching or engaging with those, but they do not view the world through the lense of said interest, they do not neglect caring for themselves or fulfilling academic or professional responsibilities because they are so engrossed in their interests, they are easily able to hold conversations about other topics. I could go on.

This person would not be diagnosed with autism by any doctor who pays attention to the impairment clause of the diagnosis. They would probably be told "you're subclinical / you do not meet enough criteria / ..." While his person would probably relate quite a bit to (parts of) descriptions of (level 1 and / or low support needs and / or high masking) autism. And this is an imaginary person I made up, but these people obviously exist (and as a side note, are probably what people refer to when they talk about "everyone being a little autistic" etc)

And this person being told they're not autistic might be upset. Because clearly, they have so many autistic traits. They relate to so many videos! But the thing is! There is no impairment! The one thing that connects all of the symptoms related to autism to the actual diagnosis. This does not mean they do not in fact relate to the autistic experience. This does not mean these parts of their life or personality are fake / non existent / not important to who they are and how they experience things. But it is important to differentiate. If they consider themselves autistic, if the world considers them autistic, it waters down the definition to a point of being categorically useless from a medical standpoint, from a standpoint of figuring out who needs support and in what ways. Who needs (early) intervention, who needs extra support in school or at work or at home or in public.

And like. Humanity at large will probably always want to shove themselves into random categories. "Which character are you like?" "What is your personality style?" "What is your star sign?" or "which sports team do you support", and countless more come to mind. I dont think this imaginary person is wrong or silly for wanting to find a category of people they are like, or recognizing this similarity with some autistic people. I wouldnt even mind if they made up a non-clinical category / group of people who relate to autistic experiences without the impairment. It would get the point across that it is a group of people with shared experiences, but it is not the same as autism.

However autism is increasingly treated like something thats just a personality type without impairment, by people online and offline. And when they go "this is an autism symptom" without nuance, without looking at the need for impairment, or even differential diagnosis, it spreads that attitude. "Liking to eat the same foods is an autistic trait"... or is it normal to have food preferences to a degree if it does not cause you stress to eat new foods, if you are capable of eating other food if hungry and presented with them and not the food you prefer? Or is this person anorexic and their mind has created categories of "allowed to eat" and "not allowed to eat" based on arbitrary categories relating to their fear of weight gain? "Only eating with small spoons at home is a common autistic trait"... or is it a harmless preference as long as you are still able to eat food outside a strict routine set up with zero possible deviations? Or is it a person with OCD and eating with small spoons is a compulsive behavior for some sort of intrusive thoughts?

I could go on forever. But in the end, these short sentences are all the same. They are, at the same time: autistic experiences and allistic experiences, because they are so non specific. They are watered down and any additional information is removed.

autism is about a specific combination of experiences that impair you. That's literally all it is. It does not automatically turn us into a category of "other" that is fully not possible to relate to, because we are human too. And some of it will be relatable to people that are not autistic!

And there is value in discussions of experiences of autistic people that go beyond the impairment, as long as we do not forget about it, or treat it as secondary instead of the defining factor. I dont mind if autistic people bond over something they're not impaired by, that they see as a common experience, for example not easily going along with authority. Being creative. Preferring the small spoon (without being impaired by it while having other impairments), whatever, and call those common autistic experiences. But those are not the pillars of what make up autism and solely relating to them should not be your reason for calling yourself autistic. Neither should relating to commonly impairing symptoms without being impaired by your version of them. The impairments resulting from abnormal development are what makes someone autistic.

There needs to be more nuance, detail, when discussing autism symptoms. And the push to, at the very least, expand autism into an area of experiences that do not cause impairment of any kind, or worse claim it never caused impairment, need to stop. It does not help anyone.

I genuinely think part of the whole "everyone is autistic these days" crowd who likes to go after people and invalidate them has picked up on some of this, but they lack the skills to criticize it for what it actually is and / or they want there to be a simple solution, which is that everyone who calls themselves autistic online who does not fit their very stereotypical view is faking. They are wrong of course. But I dont think this comes out of nowhere. There is something to criticize about how autism is treated in many circles, especially among younger people.

I'm really not sure how to end this post because I like to come to some conclusions on my long posts but just. Uhm. The way some people treat "autistic traits" as completely unrelated to the impairment they cause while staying exclusively autistic traits is wrong. The way people try to redefine autism is harmful and in the end not needed because they could simply invent other words for that experience.

#actually autistic #autistic adult #autistic community #actually disabled #i feel like im poking a sleeping bear with this one. poking a hornets nest. whatever #but yeah it needs to be said i think. and i have the privilege of my “smart sounding” speech being more likely to be listened 2 so. *shrugs #long post #(very long... oops. i think this is the longest thing i ever wrote on here)#also this took me. i believe over 2 hours to write! im not good at this actually! i moved 80% of these paragraphs around multiple times -#- deleted entire paragraphs. merged them. rephrased things again and again and again #its exhausting #because when i think about this i can think through this entire concept in a couple minutes but trying to get it across takes hours ://

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ayilings · 3 months

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happy valentine’s day gay people in my phone

#no energy to finish a full piece atm but wanted to share thumbnails in the meantime :3 #royai #utenanthy #whatever the fuck touga and saionji have going on #fma #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #rewatched fmab during thesis work and . wow i love arakawa she knows how to write an engaging character arc #utena tenjou #anthy himemiya #touga kiryuu #kyouichi saionji #delete later #thesis n school for 3.5 more months then im free !!!!!! to draw lots of anime !!!!!!!!!!!!!#ayilings #2024

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eruanee · 7 months

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Kiryuu Touga and the cyclical narrative

TW : Discussions of misogyny, emotional manipulation and abuse, sexual abuse and (sexual) child abuse. (Very vague) mention of incest.

First of all, not really as a disclaimer but more as a recommendation, a lot of my thoughts about Touga are shaped by this essay, which is definitely easily one of my favorite pieces of Utena meta. I think I'm going to implicitly or more explicitly reference it sometimes, but you don't need to read it to understand this post.

I have a complex relationship with Touga. He is despicable, yet the more I watch the series, the more I find myself... fascinated by him. This post is a pretty much a synthesis of all these thoughts.

On a purely narrative level, Touga's role is a bit special. He's the antagonist of the first arc. The three duels involving him are all turning points in the series. He's a core character in the development of several other characters (Saionji, Nanami, Utena and Miki on a different level).

Yet, turns out he's only a puppet, just as everyone else is. How surprising. And when it comes down to it, what do we know about Touga ?

He's the Student Council's president. He seemingly can't have a relationship with anyone without manipulating them to his advantage. He sleeps with any girl (and maybe not only girls) who breathe around him in a 1 ft radius. His way of coping with depression is to seal himself in a wide and totally empty room to listen to his own voice on repeat to ponder heavily on his broken hopes and ideals. (Hmm. Hardcore.)

And more importantly, he wants power. A power that would be absolute. But why so ?

And this is the point where it gets complicated.

Touga is barely the main topic of episodes focused on him. He is the center of many obsessions and interests, but it seems we never touch upon him as a person. He can be seen being vaguely vulnerable in eps 11 and 12 and then there's the whole Black Rose arc thing. But where does all this mess steam from ?

Victim status

Eps 35 and 36 are the one going deeper into Touga’s character and yet... we’re barely sure of what’s actually going on in his brain. These episodes always give me a weird feeling because we don’t really get to see Touga express his feelings very clearly or freely... We barely get to hear his thoughts.

Just like Anthy.

Don’t make me say what I didn’t say, though. Touga gets to have way more agency than ever does Anthy, and he certainly doesn't endure the same dehumanization as she does. Anthy does have agency in a way. But she expresses it in hidden, implicit ways : playing tricks, hitting people in their sore spots, sarcasm, empty eyes and fake smiles. She’s manipulative and Touga is, too. These two share many similarities, though they can’t completely blend with each other, of course.

We don’t know much about Touga’s childhood. We know he and Nanami were adopted (or “sold”) to the Kiryuu family at a young age. That’s basically it in the canon of the series. Though, Touga’s backstory in the movie, showing him being sexually abused by his adoptive father, was apparently meant to be included in the series as well :

Although the TV series touched upon Touga’s younger days, the film goes into more details – the wound of Touga that was never directly depicted. In his younger days, Touga was a normal kid who enjoyed happy times with his friend Saionji Kyouichi and his younger sister Nanami. However, he came to know his unfortunate fate from the time he was ordered by his parents to wear his hair long. His parents sold him to the Kiryuu family. Although he was an adopted son on the surface, the instinctive Touga knew what that meant. And in order to protect his younger sister, he accepted his lot. Being sold. We did not go into depicting what Touga’s parents obtained by going as far as selling their son. We would like you to think of it as a kind of metaphor.

And Touga accepted in silence the sexual abuse from his new parents. His personality changed while he made a magnanimous show of enjoying the abuses in order to prevent his personality from splitting. The change took place in a spot so deep in his mind, that even those closest to him did not notice. Saionji and Nanami never noticed out of their innocence. And Touga never told his secret to anyone. It is said that a human being gains whatever he lost in exchange. So what did Touga gain in exchange at that point in time? It was the sense of alienation from being abused every night and seeing his innocent friend and sister during the day. The alienated self.

(Extract of a comment Enokido, one of the writers who worked on Utena, wrote about Touga’s role in the Utena movie.)

Of course, you could argue whether or not the sexual abuse is canon or not in the series. After all, the series and the movie don’t seem to take place in the same canon (even though it is hard to completely disconnect the two). Whatever you choose to believe, I personally think it all makes so much sense.

It makes sense regarding Touga’s general behavior in the series (but this is more touched upon in the essay I linked above) and it makes his goal and his narrative role much clearer.

Being sold like a mere object, knowing a much harsher truth about life Saionji and Nanami don’t know about, showing everyone a stronger facade in order to not completely lose your mind and keep protecting your friend and your sister from this reality and eventually... letting them know in a painfully gendered way, perpetuating everything this system has forced on you.

It has all become part of you.

Keeping the cycle of violence going became part of your blood and flesh. Making clear who is supposed to inflict pain and who is supposed to receive it. Who is supposed to protect and who is supposed to be protected. Who is supposed to act and who is supposed to wait.

And you ? No, you’re never supposed to hurt anymore. You want a way out of this. For you, the easiest way is to simply reclaim the place that was always prepared for you to take.

When Touga and Saionji found Utena in her coffin, it feels like Touga knew something Saionji didn’t. Saionji felt it too, but he wasn’t able to recognize what it was. After all, he was still a child. Touga knew about the same thing Utena learned with her parents’ death : they both had a glimpse of what the “adult world” (Akio’s world) actually looks like, shattering their juvenile knowledge of the world.

A world where people die. A world where the weak lose. A world where the prince should protect the princess.

Touga already had a coffin. Utena just found hers and was about to find a new one. Saionji was just finding his.

It all makes sense regarding how obedient Touga is to Akio and why he seeks his validation, his desire to go up in the hierarchy aside. It makes sense because he is “alienated”. Touga got deprived of everything, he knows the burden of being alive and he’s learned, from his early childhood, to be compliant.

He seems independent during the Student Council arc and a majority of the series, but eps 35 and 36 show he is not the mastermind of it all. He has a privileged position but unlike some other characters, Touga never uses his agency to try to break out of the system ─ he follows its rules and tries to reinforce his dominance.

Why would you break out from a system serving you so well ?

“I want to become like him. I want power like his.”

Touga is alienated to the system and his only goal is to become what it expects of him. After all, why wouldn’t he ? Being a prince is the best position offered by the system. Being a prince means acquiring an absolute power. With such power, one doesn’t die and is forever out of reach and harm and pain. Who wouldn’t want such a thing ?

The prince never saves the princess out of selflessness. He saves her because it gives him a reward in exchange. He saves her because it gives him power and control over her and ultimately, everyone else. And so, the princess becomes a "toy" wannabe princes has to win, to conquer.

Does Touga, even during what seems to be his most “sincere” moment in ep 36, ever wish to protect Utena for something else than possessing her ? When could have he learned to know and appreciate her as a person, rather than a princess ? A reward to conquer ?

When did he stop wishing he could’ve saved Utena just like Akio did ? I believe he might be genuine, yet he acts toward Utena exactly like she acts toward Anthy. He wants to save her for his own sake, regardless of her personal hopes and desires.

It’s truly sad, though. Because all of it is nothing but a childish dream. There was never once a prince in this world. Only boring and abusive adults.

“Are you really happy with that?”

Well, when it comes down to it, probably not. But was it ever about happiness ? Probably not either. The pursuit of power only ever leads to isolation, to a complete lack of meaning ─ after all, friendship is a fool’s thing. No one can reach what’s behind the facade.

Saionji was able to confront Touga with his own lies and paradoxes, get as close to his real self anyone probably could. But it wasn’t enough. Saionji himself didn’t go as far as leaving the system entirely, even when it seemed he had cracked it all. Touga sort of did, too.

As far as I’m concerned, we only heard his own, deep thoughts once.

“Kiryuu Touga, the playboy Student Council President... Is it? "Playboy" sounds old-fashioned.”

Touga weaponized himself. He weaponized his body (sex is only a tool to aim for power). He weaponized his heart (relationships only matter if you use them to your advantage. Those who believe in love and friendship are fools and will be ultimately be used to someone else’s advantage). And for what ?

I really like the symbolism of the poppy flower in ep 35. I feel like it symbolizes Akio’s power, in a way. I’m incredibly bad when it comes to the language of flowers (so everyone is free to correct me) but please bear with me. In the East, red poppy flowers apparently symbolize romantic love and success (what it probably means for the girl confessing to Touga, as well as Akio when he “eats” it in this scene, since Touga and him are talking about Utena) but it can also symbolize “luxurious pleasures and fantastic extravagance”. In the Japanese language of flowers, red poppies can also symbolize someone “fun-loving”. I feel like both of these work with Akio and I believe that for Touga, they are a symbol of luxury and extravagance.

Yet another girl confessed to him. Without even thinking about it, he kissed her. He will never read her confession letter, he probably didn’t even notice it. He will probably simply leave it on the floor, without a care. This pursuit of power isn’t even fulfilling to him, there’s absolutely no thought behind it. Only automatic actions, behaviors working in favor of someone else’s greater scheme. He won’t even get to actually possess Utena.

He will never get what he truly wants. Is there even anything that he truly wants ? Saionji, maybe. In the meantime, he’s just a tool for a system. A system made up by boring adults, based on lies, illusions and unachievable dreams.

Touga is condemned to go in cycles. He’s given everything to overcome what keeps him stuck and trapped, but it doesn’t do anything. He can only revolve around his own coffin, completing the same circle, again and again.

He doesn’t know how to do anything else.

It will never make anything he’s done forgivable. But at least, maybe one day, he’ll realize. Or maybe never.

We can always create new roads, leading to worlds completely unknown to us, where everything needs to be built. Anthy and Utena are here to show the way, who deserves to follow these new roads is only up to you.

On a purely personal standpoint... I was never really able to answer this question.

“No. It's not over until we see it through the very end.”

#this took an eternity (lol) to get done. welp.#i started this in *checks notes* february 2022 #the original ramble post that gave birth to this post is way older than this #i felt like this was. too obvious or whatever. but i wanted to finish it for myself ig #posting mediocre meta in order to cope !#does this post make me a touga enjoyer ?? idk. i kinda hate him still #hate him so much i wrote an entire post about him. ahah. im a fool #ive just seen the 'it's because i'm a feminist' screenshot and i genuinely felt like deleting this entire post. he is a clown. i am CLOWN #at this point i should write meta about the movie someday. i should #this post is just a long explanation of the 'touga ; anthy and utena function as a triangle. the triforce of abuse if you will' idea #utena meta #shoujo kakumei utena #revolutionary girl utena #sku #rgu #touga kiryuu #kiryuu touga #er.txt

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suddencolds · 27 days

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#delete later #another journal entry 📝 for the void #i have not been sleeping well for the past 2 wks 😵‍💫 i always wake up like clockwork after 5-6 hrs which feels like not nearly enough #i feel like i've done everything there is to do (consistent exercise + consistent sleep times + earplugs + weighted blanket + no caffeine)#last night i took melatonin too but no... same problem staying asleep 😭#ahh whatever. i'm just frustrated that it has to be this way :(#anyways in an act of spite i reread like the 4 wips that have been sitting in my drafts from the past few weeks #i think something that will never cease to surprise me about writing is that more effort/time doesn't necessarily translate to better #results; i suppose that's the case with all kinds of art but #it does feel somewhat unintuitive. one of my fav professors in uni said to not dismiss those 'lightning in a bottle' moments (in art) as #blind luck... but to instead analyze the circumstances and iterate on recreating them. and i think one of my artist friends who i deeply #respect said something similar (wrt artistic rituals/setup). i have too many thoughts on writing and on my own creative processes and #weaknesses to fit into any number of tags here. :') that said...#*shakes ch2 draft* after everything i did and all the hours i spent WHY are you still so bad?!!! D: i am baffled and frustrated.#and why do i prefer this other [redacted] draft which i hammered out with utterly no regard towards the quality??#anyways. back to the drawing board i guess T.T

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mecub · 2 months

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I wrote a thing! It’s 3am! Warning for body horror and the nonsense that comes out of my brain this late at night.

You’ve been traveling for days, and you’re tired. The inn is full, and it’s too cold and rainy for you to sleep in the streets. But a woman with a warm voice like honey hears you complain, and she offers sanctuary at her home.

You go with her. Her house is the definition of cottagecore, with a big garden and climbing vines and tall grass. She offers fresh strawberries and poppy seed bagels that she’s been learning to bake, sorry if they’re not great. You tell her that they’re amazing, and scarf down what’s probably too many strawberries, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

You spend a few days with her, recovering from your most recent battle. The two of you pick berries and cut up a perfectly ripe watermelon, letting the juice run down your fingers as you picnic in the forest behind her home. You tend to her flowers with her, try everything she bakes, teach her an old family lemonade recipe. You talk, too: about books you’ve both read (she studied classics! You have a long conversation about interpretations of Circe in modern media), about people you’ve known and left behind (“I hurt people,” you say. “Every time I get close to someone, it just blows up on my face.” She smiles, almost bitterly. “Me too.”), about your adventures (you trust her, you realize as you open up about the details of monsters that you’re not sure you regret killing).

But still, the day comes when you know you need to leave. You have so much to do, so many people to save, and sitting in the sun eating fruit is just… selfish. You learned your lesson a long time ago, about being selfish.

On the morning when you plan to leave, the woman sets out fresh poppy seed bagels— the same recipe she made the day you got there. She’s already improved at making them, in the few days you’ve stayed with her.

You tell her that, and you must sound sad when you say it because she looks up and whispers, “Ah. You’re leaving?”

Something inside you hurts at the look on her face when she says it, but you nod. “I have to.”

She just shrugs, with this look that you can’t make yourself read, and it really does hurt, but you have a duty. No matter how much a place feels warm, and safe, and calm, finally calm after everything, you need to go.

You stand in the doorway, running a finger over the climbing vines. You can almost imagine they move towards you, almost imagine this place cares for you like you’ve come to care for it.

A soft voice behind you says, “Wait.”

Your stomach sinks. Why couldn’t this be easy? Why couldn’t you just go, and forget about her, and about this place, and about feeling safe?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“You can’t leave.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, and she sighs behind you. Your body twitches to turn around, to face her, but you know you can’t, you can’t.

“No. You don’t understand,” she says, and you hope you’re just imagining the something dark in her voice. “I can’t let you go.”

No. Your hand clenches on the doorframe, but you stay put.

You’ve been wrong before, about countless things. You could be wrong about this. You could’ve just misread her tone. You can still be safe.

“What?” you ask.

Her voice is honey-smooth, too sweet. “You heard me, hero. Stay.”

Not this. Not her, not here.

You turn.

You turn, and find her kind face twisted with hate, staring at you from across the room. Her smile is too sharp, her eyes too bright. You reach for your sword. You would rather be anywhere else but here, now.

She laughs. “I wondered how long it would take you to figure it out. It’s rare to meet a hero this naive. Your type usually don’t trust.”

Tears well in your eyes as you draw your sword and say what’s expected of you. “What are you?”

“Does it really matter? We’re all monsters to you, aren’t we?”

“You’re not a monster. You’re—“

“Kind?” she hisses. “Caring? Good?”

You nod.

She laughs, humorless. “So were the so-called monsters you killed. They were my friends, and my family. And you killed them, without regret, without mercy.” Her eyes glow, and you take a step back, but she steps forward and growls. “There were children amongst those you killed, ever think of that?”

Oh, god. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know, I—“

“Quiet, little hero. Your excuses don’t matter, because I’m not letting you live long enough to make them.”

Something behind you hisses. You spin, and find the vines around the doorway have woven themselves into a wall. You slash at them with your sword, but it doesn’t work. The vines wrench it from your hands, and you’re left defenseless against— against whatever the woman is, a witch or demon or something that you should’ve recognized. It’s your job to spot danger, it’s your job to kill monsters, yet you trusted her. You trusted her and now her eyes are glowing and a wind whips through her home and your stomach clenches and—

She raises her hands. Smiles. You open your mouth, to beg for mercy or to scream for help or something, anything, but you don’t get the chance because something inside of you is wrong.

It takes you a moment to realize that something in your stomach is writhing, growing, pushing against your guts.

The woman’s fingers twitch, and you know what’s about to happen.

“Please,” you whisper. “I have people to save, I have to protect them.”

“So do I,” she growls, and then her hands curl into fists.

It doesn’t hurt, for half a second, when your stomach bursts.

And then you’re on the ground, sobbing, screaming as poppies curl around berry bushes that burst out of you, petals glistening with your blood.

The only mercy of it is that your body drops you into unconsciousness quickly and that, after she’s sure you met your end painfully, she leaves you to the forest and lets your body become food for the plants growing from your guts.

At least you can do something good in your death. At least, even though you failed to save the world, you’re good enough to be fertilizer.

#writing #my friends: hey we based a plant themed superhero after you #me immediately thinking about villain arcs: oh cool #and now three (two?) years later here i am writing whatever the hell this is #body horror #plants #i guess?#delete later #probably

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sluckythewizard · 1 month

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BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

#NO TAGS ON THIS ONE BC WELL. IM SHY. IM TAKING A BIG LEAP JUST BY ALLOWING U TO REBLOG THIS. IF IT BREAKS CONTAINMENT THATS UR FAULT.#i unfortunately suffer from the disease of 'i hate everything i write the day after i write it' BUT IM GETTING TREATED #I WILL NOT BE HAUNTED BY THIS WEAKNESS FOREVER. AND HEY LOOK THIS IS THE FIRST ACTUAL FIC BIT IVE EVER FINISHED..#ITS SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF!! AND BY JOBE I WILL BE PROUD EVEN IF I HATE IT.#i dont always need to be the one who likes my art bc i know Someone out there will always enjoy it.#and to that someone i say: omg thankyou i LOOOOVEE YOUUUUUU!!!!!#JUST DELETED A WHOLE RAMBLE I JUST HAD ABT NERVOUS DISCLAIMERS FOR MY ART BUT I DONT NEED EM!!#GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT GET CONFIDENT. ANYWAY. so emizel and soda huh #THEYRE SO CUTE TOGEEHTERRRR TEEHEHEHEHEEEE they are the homies that kiss eachother goodnight like CMON #but uhh so hey your bestest friend in da world just got turned into a freaky creature thing that eats ppl #ieah yknowthe guy that u care about alot that u had to watch get bled out by another freaky creature thing in an alleyway #yeaaah and you were super hurt and weak and stupid and u couldnt do jack nor shit to help him #what was i talking about again. RIGHT so hes even cooler now bc he cant die n hes super strong n his arms can be knives. sometimes.#but also he can eat people now. and sometimes he cant stop himself from eating people. and thats kinda scary. but in a cool way.#but also in a disturbing way. but also in an interesting way?but also in a freaky way.the feelings ARE MIXED!!!ATLEAST I THINK THEY WOULD B #okay again i havnt listened to the suckening ina bit. so its been a minute since i absorbed their personalities. i could be misreading or #misremembering or misconstruing or mischaracterizing or WHATEVER. i think the confusion carries its intended effect #LOSING MY TRAIN O THOUGHT. anyway i love soda n emizel i hope they get locked in a saw trap together or somethign. for enrichment.#TALOS GRANT ME THE STRENGHT TO POST MY CREATIONS ON LINE!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGHHH!!!!!!!

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