[he just went very closed for a second there, blank
It hurts so much that you're not sure what you're feeling is pain anymore. You're in a soup of adrenaline and agony, the pain of being shredded and dismantled and the pain of your flesh knitting blending into each other until they're one and the same. You want to know what's happened to the others, but you can barely think outside the confines of your own bleeding self. Flesh parts, parts again. You're dismembered, vivisected, blown apart, crushed. You wonder if you're screaming; you lost track, multiple fatal wounds ago. Your vocal cords were probably destroyed at least once, five, fifty times anyway. You just don't know.
(the urge is still there)
At some point the agony lessens enough for you to perceive it has lessened. Not enough to get you lucid, but if you're noticing at all it must have eased by an exponential degree.
(the urge is still strong, to use what you've been given)
There are hands on you, a babble of voices, a point of focus. Warmth, cutting through a cleavage point in your world of pain. Healing that doesn't hurt.
(the urge claws its way out, and rationale comes with it to make it make sense, in your scrambling, scrambled mind. get away get away i deserve this i hurt him i'll hurt you more. i'll make you go while i can. i'll use this to make things better. it's better if you just know to hate me.)
Re: top-level (frost)
It's a little embarrassing, but do you want to see? Once we're done with the rest of these.
Re: top-level (frost)
[ He holds up the slip of paper he'd indicated earlier. Frost's memory. ]
Actually, this felt similar, in a way.
Re: top-level (frost)
What is it of?
Re: top-level (frost)
Re: top-level (frost)
Oh...I wasn't expecting that.
Re: top-level (frost)
Neither was I.
Re: top-level (frost)
Re: top-level (frost)
I'm glad for anything that helps me understand you better.
Re: top-level (frost)
[looks at the pile. the pile that he watched Aloe write and then stole immediately to hoard away]
I get it. Maybe.
Re: top-level (frost)
Yes, I suppose you do.
Re: top-level (frost)
I'm just greedy, though.
Re: top-level (frost)
Re: top-level (frost)
I took some of the blank papers. If there's anything you really wanted to see, I'd show you.
Re: top-level (frost)
[ "But" ]
Re: top-level (frost)
It's okay. I'm offering.
Re: top-level (frost)
When you altered my memory.
Re: top-level (frost)
Re: top-level (frost)
Re: top-level (frost)
just scribbles a couple of lines on a blank slip and hands it over]
Re: top-level (frost)
cw gore, torture
It hurts so much that you're not sure what you're feeling is pain anymore. You're in a soup of adrenaline and agony, the pain of being shredded and dismantled and the pain of your flesh knitting blending into each other until they're one and the same. You want to know what's happened to the others, but you can barely think outside the confines of your own bleeding self. Flesh parts, parts again. You're dismembered, vivisected, blown apart, crushed. You wonder if you're screaming; you lost track, multiple fatal wounds ago. Your vocal cords were probably destroyed at least once, five, fifty times anyway. You just don't know.
(the urge is still there)
At some point the agony lessens enough for you to perceive it has lessened. Not enough to get you lucid, but if you're noticing at all it must have eased by an exponential degree.
(the urge is still strong, to use what you've been given)
There are hands on you, a babble of voices, a point of focus. Warmth, cutting through a cleavage point in your world of pain. Healing that doesn't hurt.
(the urge claws its way out, and rationale comes with it to make it make sense, in your scrambling, scrambled mind. get away get away i deserve this i hurt him i'll hurt you more. i'll make you go while i can. i'll use this to make things better. it's better if you just know to hate me.)
You seize him. You give in.]
Re: cw gore, torture
He closes his hand around the paper, expression inscrutable ]
Thank you.
Re: cw gore, torture
I want one back.
Re: cw gore, torture
Alright.
Re: cw gore, torture
Not the act itself; I know you don't want to revisit that. Just what made you go there.
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