Prompt Post: ROUND FOUR
ROUND FOUR IS CLOSED
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<< ROUND THREE | ALL ROUNDS | ROUND FIVE >>
Rules post.
Posting Guidelines.
Flat view.
Updates Post (WIPs only)
Fills Post (completed Fills only)
damalur's firstclasskink on Delicious.
Volunteers always welcome.
There is a delay on comments appearing when there is a URL in the message body. This is due to an LJ anti-spam ( Read more... )
Imagine that the boy who hates you doesn’t need weapons to kill.
Imagine that you run a prison wing; the one for the sickos and freaks, the ones who get off on the killing. The boy they bring in doesn’t look old enough to be in here, looks like he ought to be in juvie, but the guy who hands him over tells you to take him straight to solitary. Imagine that he glares at you in his orange jumpsuit, and the darkness in his eyes startles you. You know, right then, that the softness in your heart is misplaced, and that he wants you dead.
You check once more that he hasn’t smuggled anything in, do the strip search, and as you pull the gloves off you brush against his skin, feel it hot and burning up with anger. You give him his new uniform and take him down the hall.
Imagine that, just for a moment, shackled as he is, you take your eyes and gun off him as you pass another prisoner, going to the exercise yard or the library or the chaplain, and in that second, your back turned, a bright light emblazons itself on your eyelids. You smell fire, and hear a cry, and as you spin round the prisoner falls apart before your eyes, split right in half and burning. You reach for your gun, but you are too late. A fist wrapped in a handcuff hits you in the back of the head, and you fall to the ground.
Imagine that the fire burns around you, licks at your body, crawls over the slices of the prisoner beside you, whose hand is outstretched, flung towards you, his dead fingers touching your face. Imagine that the sprinklers come on too late, the flames already raging down the hall.
There are screams of men stuck behind metal bars that are growing too hot to touch, and you know that they are dying. The water sticks your clothes to your skin.
Imagine that the boy who hates you has a fire burning in his eyes too.
Imagine that the wheel of fire hurts, as it tears through you, leaving you torn and blazing. Imagine it leaves you still alive enough to scream.
Imagine a boy who is a weapon, and imagine him coming to your door. Imagine the light rushing through your hall, imagine the world burning down around you.
Decide how you could hide from that.
Have fun, child, tonight, when you imagine that.
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Imagine that you cannot even trust your own thoughts.
Imagine that you meet a man in a bar, a handsome man with a boyish face and deep blue eyes, who pulls you with a cute and cheeky comment about mutation and your beautiful hair, and you find yourself walking back with him through the winter snow, leaning happily on his arm. Imagine it feels like all you ever wanted. Imagine he asks you up for a coffee.
Imagine you blush, and say you’re going to have to refuse, but - and you run your tongue along your teeth and look up through thick dark eyelashes - would he like to get dinner sometime?
And those beautiful blue eyes harden, and grow as cold as the snow itself.
Imagine that suddenly you feel the urge to leave ebbing, and all of you - every bit of your body, every nerve in your mind - is burning, and you need to go upstairs. "Please," you gasp, and you are trembling with desire. You will go mad, lose your mind, if he does not take you up. He does not seem to understand, but he laughs. You beg him, tear at his shirt with shaking hands and beg him through your tears to take you upstairs.
Eventually, smiling twistedly with only one side of his face, he agrees.
Imagine that the next thing you know, you are standing in his flat in your underwear. You panic, look around yourself, throw your hands over your body to preserve some dignity. The man appears before you, and strokes his fingers along your bare shoulders in an indecent manner.
"Get on your knees for me," he mouths against your neck.
"I - I don't want-"
Your knees buckle beneath you and hit the cold stone tiles of his kitchen. A laugh like a hiss escapes between his teeth.
In your head, a thought that feels like a kiss whispers wouldn’t it be nice to suck his cock and your hands reach for his flies. You smile at him, dreamily, and he smiles back, sticks a finger in your mouth and watches as you eagerly lick it clean. His hands twist and pull in your sticky hair.
Imagine that you wake up only once more, panicked and screaming and with his inside you, pinned up against the wall. You try to struggle, and he kisses you roughly, moans "you want this, my friend," into your mouth, and suddenly you stop and kiss him back like it never happened, your hips moving wantonly against him.
Imagine that later, ruined and bruised and with something dripping down your legs, you walk to the top of his building in your shift. You are warm and you peel off your only layer, sweating from this blinding heat.
Goosebumps are forming on your legs as you open the door to the roof and snow hits you on the face.
You do not notice. Behind you, wrapped in his coat and scarf again, the man watches you with interest, one eyebrow raised.
You take a step up onto the ledge.
Beneath you, the city sways and glimmers in the dark, and you feel suddenly dizzy and tired. Around you, snow is falling. With a burst of clarity, you realise why you are here. I want to die, you think. It all seems absurdly easy. You almost laugh. You take a step forward and plummet like a stone. It feels like going home.
Imagine that halfway down you wake up. You see the earth coming up to swallow you, and you scream, panic, flail. You hit the ground and your brains splatter over the pavement.
Imagine that a man in a coat watches you crumple as you hit the ground from the top of his building, and anyone who sees this forgets it as soon as they turn away. Imagine that anyone who knows you forgets you ever existed.
Imagine that every night, you go to him, and every morning you wake up from a good night's rest with strange bruises you cannot explain.
Yes, my friend. Oh yes.
Imagine that.
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Imagine that the boy you bring home to meet your parents screams, and it smashes your windows, sends your head spinning and makes your father crumple at the knees and draw his last shaking breath.
Imagine that the boy you bullied at school finds you, chases after you with superhuman speed, and with strength his scrawny frame could never posess takes your head in his hands and pounds it into the earth.
Imagine that the stripper you paid for a private dance laughs at you, drags you backstage, spits acid in your eyes and pulls you out of the window with a flap of your wings. You only wipe it out in time to see her drop you over the ocean, and you breathe water from then on.
Imagine them in your life, my friend. Imagine them destroying it.
Because they will.
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Your overactive imagination must be getting the better of you, my friend.
Take a moment to imagine the people that you work with. Imagine your neighbours. Imagine your teachers. Imagine your closest friends, the ones you trust with your life. Imagine the people who are closest to you. Imagine the people who are in your house right now.
Now imagine them changing before your eyes, turning into monsters who have been with you since birth for the joy of the game. Demons, smiling through the mist of blood spattered across their face. Imagine them laughing. Imagine them twisting everything you are, and ripping your heart out just to feel alive.
Imagine this, my friend, and fear them. Make plans. Watch them, but do not expect them to slip up; they have been doing this for years, and oh, you are one of many. Do not go to anyone for help, for how can you know that they are real.
Do not let them know that you know. Imagine what would happen if you did.
Just decide where it is you’re going to run to when they reveal themselves, and you'd better pray it’s far enough. Pray you never have to. Pray they give you time and mind enough to scream.
And oh, have pleasant dreams, my friend.
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So dark and twisted and horrible. I usually avoid horror, but I couldn't resist this. It was fantastic and made so much sense. It's every anti-mutant human's worst nightmare come alive.
Mystique was every child's worst nightmare and omg Charles. That's really all I can say about that.
Simply amazing.
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...I - I do not have, *can* not find the words for how utterly amazing this is. It's all-encompassing. It's... It's genius. Sociopathic, twisted, bloody genius that opens you up with a knife and crawls inside you giggling softly.
I am in love with Every. Fucking. Word. Of. It.
And I don't care if that means I'm a warped, perverse little bitch. I will be *your* bitch forever for this, anon!
(and please, pleasepleasePLEASE tell me who you are! OMG, I'm seriously your slave for ever more for writing this for me - I couldn't have dreamt of better - and I want to kiss your feet and shout your praises!)
(i will beg if that's what you want. i will hand you the knife to cut me.)
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Claiming bitch privileges. Hello and thank you, lovely OP.
ha, you think I need you to lend me a knife?
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I LOVE YOU!! I'M SO GLAD YOU HAVE A JOURNAL NOW AND I'M GOING TO READ EVERYTHING!!
Bitch privileges are totally yours, my sweet. Do you prefer mistress, sir or Ruler of the Universe as your title?
and no, i didn't imagine you'd need the loan, but it's polite to ask ;)
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I think it was the giggling, right back there at the beginning, that really got me. *That* is the stuff of nightmares, right there...
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(I run marathons, so. I guess it shows.)
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jfkdslfjsdl.
I loved it. I loved seeing how all of their mutations came into play and which..um..brand of 'murder' or..what would be the word...twisted side? They ended up with. They're all so fitting it's crazy. I especially liked Charles, it's so sly and subtle and strangely fitting. And Erik kind of reminded me of Hannibal Lecter.
I'd love to see those two meet in that kind of setting. All of them, really. I wonder how they'd take to each other..
And obviously, I can't help think Charles and Erik would end up having some rough crazy sex. And I get the feeling Erik would be sleeping with Raven too. fjkdsl. Funky but interesting.
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you've *made* me imagine it.
(i may never forgive you) (i may love you forever for it)
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