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Sewer of the World :iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 0 1
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Eigth of Seven
Reader! Razzil fic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.
Eight scientists had entered this mansion, plus four guards with rifles, for all it did them. You'll give that big black one with the purple fire credit, he was a tough customer. You frankly don't know how your runaway teammate Glenn could really manage to beat that guy, but he wouldn't listen to you when you tried to tell him how strong this guy really was. You shake your head, you don't envy that ice girl that came with him one bit, but at least he brought backup.
Sitting on a chair with one leg missing, you examine the rest of the group that had somehow managed to stay in the same place as each other so far. A young woman covered in wooden branches with a sword, a fellow with energy trails coming out of his body that went to who knows where, a pair of sickly brothers who had grown into each other and a tall, emaciated fellow wrapped in barbed wire with a temperament best described as 'poetic'.
What have you gotten yourself int
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Frostfire
Frostfire
What is it?: A Reader! Silvia and Glenn fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.
Glancing at the darkness, you can see the warm orange glow of the flaming patches of Glenn, and the faint light off his appropriately ash-grey skin tone. Its hard not to wonder, in those quiet moments when he's not chasing off some attacker or searching the ever-changing corridors, if the two of you would even like each other back when you where normal human beings.
You where such a shallow girl back then. Preening your light blonde hair, making sure to wear that blue eye shadow that somehow managed to survive your transformation into a freezing wreck, getting together just that right winter coat, boots and ice skates. You where foolish too, skating on that frozen river so close to that big house that everyone said was haunted by horrible things.
You even saw that massive tree everyone described as the source of all this horror, towering over the ruined mansion in the distance, attracting gre
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:iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 1 7
Tekek Edgar :iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 1 0 Elane, The Vision of Shun :iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 1 6 I read Missiongenocide's book :iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 1 1
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Meg and Myself :iconwintereye111:Wintereye111 2 4

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The Torn :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 12
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Claire the Rivetter :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 3
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Playtime is NEVER over. :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 12
Atticus, The Broken :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 8
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Silvia, Freed and Freezing :P :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 2 13
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Glenn. Burning Revenge :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 13
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The Betrayed :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 0 7
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THE MONSTER MUST BLEEEEEEED :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 21
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Irene, The Wartorn :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 6 13
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Climh in colour :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 20
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The Toxic Gemini :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 8
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Marius, Still Dying :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 17
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Forever Beyond The Grace of God :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 10
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The Restrained :iconmissiongenocide:missiongenocide 1 14
Telekinetic :iconguillembe:guillembe 2,073 261 Logan, The Morose Murderer :iconartofant:ARTofANT 17 3

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A Reader! Francine fic for Missiongenocide's cured project.

You still remember the explosion. Everything changed in your life after that eerie green flash in the distance. Sightings of bedraggled figures furtively wandering around in the forest, your parents dying when they went to the next town over, murdered by a mysterious lunatic covered in blood. Or at least people tell you they are dead, you've heard that The forest near your home, the one you love so much, turning dark and dead. People becoming paranoid and suspicious.

All this time, you've struggled, holding a part-time job but having no choice but to stay with your boyfriend. He seemed like such a nice guy at first, but ever since you moved in he's been rather...controlling. He never does anything, rambles on and on about how you can't go outside because you might be hurt by 'them' and leaves you to look after the house as he obsessively works on his car. Everyone else you know is also acting touchy and strange, you seem to be the only person who is not scared or distrustful of others in the whole city.Perhaps you should take that silly car he dotes on, with its bright red paint and soft white leather seats, and leave for somewhere where people are not acting quite so insane.

That does seem like a good idea, yes you don't have a full driving permit yet, but you CAN drive and you can't stand living like this anymore. You can hear your so-called boyfriend now, yelling for you and telling you he needs a wrench. But how do you get in the car? He's in the garage, he's always in the garage. You go downstairs and stop to get him the wrench, looking at him briefly.

Despite his odd behavior, he looks the same. His skin is medium brown, his hair loose and curly, his face almost childlike...not the face of someone who has been acting more and more pushy and abrasive towards you every day. Instead of listening to him yell at you to check the thermostat and start the stove, you look around and find the car keys, hanging nearby on a metal hook made from part of a coat hanger in a dingy, dusty part of the garage. Waiting until he looks away, you go and grab the key and unlock the door, getting in and turning the engine on. This causes your boyfriend to fly into a rage and close the garage door, much to your shock. He was risking his life just to keep you here, that ass! You try to turn off the car but much to your shock a bunch of rootlike things are now wrapped around the key, keeping it from being turned or removed. You can't help but stare in astonishment, even more so as you see a strange figure open the car window and sit in the seat beside you, grinning mockingly.

Turning to look you see the strangest thing you have ever seen in your life, and since that green explosion a few weeks ago, you have seen some strange things. It was about the size of a young child, about eight or so, with a pale grey-white complexion. Emaciated and dressed in a tattered rag, you would feel a bit sorry for it where it not smiling sadistically at you at the moment. This child-like creature raised an arm, which looked like an old gnalred tree branch, and spoke to you without moving its mouth. The voice you heard, if it was indeed a voice and not some sort of hallucination, was like hearing a stadium of people being tortured, though you could make out a normal boy's voice in all of it, as well as a faint resonant growl, "I feel I need no introduction...surely you've seen my work lately. I am the one causing all these things, the pathetic creatures you see in remote places, the deaths of your parents, your boyfriend's bad behavior...and now you've walked right into my trap! I set this all up, all of it. Now your stuck in here, in a garage filling with carbon monoxide and all I have to do is...open the window."

You move to try and stop him, but he's faster than he looks and has opened the window partway, "It will look like an accident." He taunts. You try to wrestle him down to get to the window and close it, but this boy-monster is as solid as a rock and soon you are wheezing and feel faint. That...thing buries his fingers in your arm, and you feel like where he touches has been stung by a swarm of bees, all at once, "Perfect timing....eheheheh...." He replies, then slips out the open window before you can react. You desperately try to get the door open to go after the little creep, but your insides feel like knots, and soon you have worse things to worry about than a creepy kid, your boyfriend or even carbon monoxide.

You clutch your stomach as a horrible surging ache forms inside, and wheeze through burning lungs, the carbon monoxide has long knocked out your boyfriend but you seem to still be conscious somehow. As you go behind the car, your lungs actually seem to be working better in the polluted air. This must be some kind of mistake, you need to get the garage door open. Your stomach continues to swell and the ache starts to fill up your whole digestive system, it feels like your forcefully having air pumped into your stomach, and even now a strange yellow mist is starting to come out of your mouth and nose...what is that stuff, it tastes horrid...

Focus! You manage to get the door open to the garage after some fiddling, finding the door opening switch at the side, you watch the metal door slowly go up and see light enter the garage. Quickly turning around, you see your boyfriend slowly coming to. You stand away from him so that the yellow stuff coming out in thicker and thicker amounts doesn't get too close. For all the crass way he's acted to you, he doesn't deserve to die, for goodness sake. You want to talk to him, but another crippling cramplike pain wracks your whole torso, making you double over, your insides feel like they are dissolving but thankfully that seems to not actually be the case. You half-stand up only to have what is happening to your body complete itself, sending a resounding ache through your torso again, one so great you shed a few tears. Looking up, you see your boyfriend standing up slowly and staring at you, his face slowly turning for anger to horror and disgust. A look that intensifies as your body surges with another even more profound ache and finally makes everything in the way of the bursting pressure burst out. You lose control of your bladder, bowls and the pent up gas, streams of body waste come out of both ends, causing your boyfriend to gag and flee, yelling, "She's turned into one of those things, help!"

This is bad...you really need to get out of here...the car! Despite the agony that has consumed your whole torso and the filth running out of your body everywhere, you somehow manage to stagger to the still-open car door, close it again, and turn the key, which was now free of those roots. You don't have time to contemplate where the roots went, you need to get out of here. So you turn the key and back out as fast as you dare, the foul gas and diarrhea making it hard for you to see, the urea burning your sinuses. But you had to get out of here.

You knock over the garbage can with your car, but there is nothing you can do about that. You force yourself to step on the gas as hard as you can, ignoring your driving lessons for the sake of speed and roaring out of town. The town you spent several years in, getting to know the people, walking in the woods that are now dead and black. You now have to leave it all behind, because of a situation that made no sense and that was going to be impossible to explain to anyone...what was happening, every minute your body was putting out more and more yellowish hazy gas and body waste and your stomach area had swollen up like a balloon. The aching had stabilized, but it was agony like nothing you could have imagined before, your whole torso was one steady seizing ache, your lungs burned like someone had lit them on fire, and now the toxic things coming out of your eyes where making them feel like balls of fire and slowly made your vision fade. You where going blind...you where going blind!

You don't know how much time passed, but you do remember the car ran out of gas, and that the last thing you saw was a blurry image of your boyfriend's car at the side of the road. Some animalistic urge has made you keep walking aimlessly forward, you can feel the road under one foot so you've been going by that. Smell is useless, your nasal passages stream with unmentionable things, but your ears work fine and you can hear voices. Two people where having a quiet, secret-sounding conversation close by. They didn't seem hostile, and you certainly needed help. Your torso's knotting and agony have reached levels that make you want to tear out your whole digestive tract, but you can still walk, if a bit hunched over, so you stumble over to where the people are talking. Its been several days since you spoke to anyone, and when you first open your mouth gas and runny foulness pour out like a waterfall, but after it clears you mange a few words. Your voice sounds strange, like its lost all force and turned diffuse, it reminds you of wind blowing through dead leaves, "Help..."

The gasps of surprise turned to silence a moment, but a deep warm female voice responds, "He got you it seems. I was hoping the explosion that sent us flying was the end of it, but it seems like he's still infecting people." She had a subtly whispering tone as well, but her voice was much stronger than yours, she sounded healthy and in her older teens. You wait for more runny diarrhea and gas to flow out a moment, then speak again, "Who infected me? I remember this...creature that looked like a kid."

The woman responded, "Yes, that is him. He calls himself Shun and I've been trying to fight him, but he's separated my friends except Marius here."

You turn to hear a soft, breathless but quietly firm male voice say, "Hello..." You had an old uncle who died of asbestos damage to the lungs, his voice sounded like that in his dying weeks. It makes you shudder involuntarily.

You ask, "What...can I do now?"

The woman responds, "Stay safe. Keep away from large numbers of people and if you hear of anyone who is running around attacking people keep a watch for them. It will be harder because you can't see, but at least I can't imagine anybody wanting to attack you. I hate to say this, but you smell terrible."

The haunting male voice replied, "Claire, I...don't think your helping by saying that."

Its ok, better to be honest, especially if you can't smell anymore. You sit in the grass, "Is...am I stuck this way....my mid section is one big hurt..."  Claire gently reaches over and touches your shoulder, "Not if I can help it." It is too bad you can't see these two. You want to remember what these two helpful people look like for later, so you can thank them when this is over.

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A Reader! Climh fanfic for Missiongenocide's Cursed project.

Snowfall. You hear the soft sound of snow falling on the top of your umbrella. You peer though your bandages to look at the world around you, as reluctant as you are to do it even at this time of year and this weather that keeps everyone indoors. You look out to see the other wall of the small space between two houses you've chosen as your residence for the time being. Its dark, cold and full of boxes, but your alone here, and that's all you want, and all you've wanted for a long time. There is one person you still miss...your father, Cheslaw. His love was not like the one that haunts you like a ghost now, his was pure and broken only by death.

The memory of him standing in front of that angry crowd, his arms raised to show he had no weapons, smiling serenely as he kept them busy as you fled....it doesn't take a genius to realize he'd played right into The Great Enemy's nasty little wooden hands, but he was a brave man, and if you ever are free of this nightmare, you'll dedicate your life to letting others know of his sacrifice. His face is still burned into your mind, and the sound of the mob tearing him to pieces also is. If there is some higher power, please have it make sure these people will have to spend the rest of their lives in guilt for his death.

You've probably even fallen for a few. No one answers a damned person's prayer. There are other faces and voices in your mind, so brief but leaving a lasting, terrible memory. It doesn't happen with everyone, but it always happens with someone. Staring at the dirty ground can only do so much, you can't stop your feelings or close your ears. Glimpses of faces and voices that make your chest feel like its been stuffed with searing coals even years later. You would rather not think about how it was when it first started...you can't even stand the memory of such things. Trying to bury your feelings has always been hard for you. You where unlucky enough to be born with a thin skin, and that...overgrown bonsai took advantage of it.

You still remember that voice, the thin cruel taunting backed up with the wailing crowd of voices, telling all about how it was going to be from now on. You hoped he was lying, but after the first few times you got the message. That is why you are outside in the middle of winter, hiding in an ally. Because any contact with the rest of humanity, cursed or mortal, brings awful things that are almost impossible to describe upon you. Emotions that bring a pain even most of even your own kind finds hard to understand. Like when you tried to explain to that girl that looked like a walking corpse why you where avoiding her. Or that time that horrible blood-covered man pulled out your entrails and what you where scared of were THOSE FEELINGS coming to you again.

Sharp ears, honed by long years spent on the streets, picked up the sound of a pair of rough voices and some footsteps. No,no,no,no! You listen to hear a pair of local men, construction workers, coming back here to move the boxes. You...you had to get out of here, not them, anyone but them! Standing up quickly, you hold the umbrella you had been given to keep the rain off by your father, one of several gifts he'd given you right before his death, and use it like a battering ram to part and rush past the two men entering the ally, you can hear their yells of dismay but ignore them in your hurried attempt to get out of there. Out on the street, your eyes stick to the ground, looking for obstacles to your blind charging run, you don't stop even as the falling snow starts to get down the neck of your coat and up into your pant legs, you wish you owned better-fitting clothing right now. Clutching the umbrella handle tightly, you bear down the street, heading towards a local park where there would not be a crowd staring at you. You hated when you had to leave your shelter, everyone must surely be staring at you right now, wondering what is going on. Stopping to explain could condemn you.

You manage to bowl into the park through the front gate, the security guard thankfully pays you no mind as you pelt along the road. Ok, you can stop now. You stop to see a clean cobblestone path, yes, your in the park. You stagger over to the nearest bench, brush the snow away with a mitten-covered hand, and sit, catching your breath. Your ok, you'll be ok...the feelings won't find you right now. Living in fear of your own emotions, what would your father think of this? You raise your head a hair, seeing there is no one crossing the path. There was a time when you could look around and appreciate this lovely scene, the snow deep and clean, the trees bare of leaves but covered in snow and the pines still green and going strong along the far side of the park. You've always liked winter. But now, regardless of the time of year, your running from yourself, and as you have always been the fastest person your age in town, you inevitably catch up with yourself. Then is when you get reminded your still one of...one of them. Its hard to stomach, all that hate people have for you, why, why?

Then it happens. You hear a soft creak in the old bench. Your searing chest tenses in anticipation of a fresh pain. A concerned older woman's voice asks you, innocently enough, the following, "Are you all right? I saw you running from Bill and Garret, those two can be pretty rough." Flush, you feel yourself flush, no, not now! Quickly, you manage to gasp out a few words in your ill-used voice, "I am fine madam." You get off the bench and leave to the pines on the far side of the park, but it is too late.

The flush burns through, giving way to what is best described as a flooding sickness. If any physical ailment had symptoms like this, its treatment would surely  be top priority, as it was, you fall to your knees. First the chest, the smashing sharp pain like a broken bottle, followed by the rush of burning and nausea as your body reacts to the warped spiky moths your butterflies have now turned into. Your head spins, your body a wash of nausea and ache, you would do anything to go back and talk to her but you don't dare, don't make it worse on yourself, Climh. As it was, the tears where flowing, tears for a love that would never make sense and would never work out, your chest now felt like it would explode, please let it, that would hurt less...

There was only one remedy you had on hand to this.You hated doing it on some level, your father would cry if he saw what you did to try and relieve this awful burning illness of body, mind and emotions that consumed your being. The pain came from your heart in your chest, swelling, burning, sick and twisted. Love used to be a good thing for you, once. Now...now you take the knife out of your pocket, and despite the cold, start the ritual of gently removing the top half of your clothes. That old woman's concern still echoing in your ears, you pull off your mittens, first left then right. No, you are NOT all right...you really aren't. Then your coat...its big, heavy, and was once a vibrant yellow, but time has faded it to a dull taupe. Just like how you've faded to a sad shadow of yourself. Then your shirt... a plain white t-shirt that you chose because it was easy to take off, now resting in the snow, thankfully a few stains on it meant you would not lose it.

Take it out. Remove this organ that even now is bigger than your body and burning like a miniature sun and poisoning your body and your mind and your soul. You wish you had no emotions, and you wish that the cursed ability to heal did not make this solution so temporary, you will have this awful thing that only pains and sickens you by this time three days from now, and that is if your really through about it. Already, you feel a little calmer, pain is distracting even if you fail at the goal of this action. You look carefully at your chest, angling the knife between your all-too-prominent ribs. Your mental state has a way of making eating an unappealing prospect. You feel carefully along, making sure the blade hits this blazing, toxic thing that seizes up in emotion even now. You don't know why this gives your relief, your heart isn't the real source of your emotions, everyone knows that, and yet this makes you feel a bit better for a while.

Splick! You can fell the blade hit home in your chest, and you started to work on it, muttering, "I'm sorry dad, I really am...but this is the only thing that makes it stop." Long practice has given you a good aim with that knife, you can feel the sharp sting inside your chest and the blood comes pouring out, red on the white snow. The damaged organ continued pumping, but something about having those chucks of it in your left hand and that hole in your chest made you feel triumphant, even as the wind passed through the holes in your thin skin and howled though the exposed bits of your rib cage.

Now, time for prevention measures. Now this was the really painful part, but compared to the agony and nausea of FEELING that you otherwise would have to live with until it faded back down to a bearable level, this was nothing. The only bad part is that you can't go anywhere while blind. You slowly remove the bandages from around your face, the biting cold numbing the pain of your amateur heart surgery a bit, something you thanked your lucky stars for. It felt strange, actually having peripheral vision, but it also made you feel vulnerable, so you went to work. Eyes heal fast, they will be back in a matter of about eight hours or so if completely removed, but with how you're far from where most people would go, it is eight hours you are unable to get another agonizing emotional surge. So the knife enters your eye socket. It's a lot easier to do this than hit your heart, just slowly rotate the blade, but oh it hurts an awful lot, even with the freezing temperatures to numb the pain. You hate that it hurts so much. It makes you feel like a heel, because of how your dear father would never want his son to hurt himself on purpose. But as darkness filled your vision, you breathed heavily and felt the effects.

Long practice also helped you here, you feel for your shirt and put it on after a few minutes, waiting for the worst of the bleeding to stop first. Yes, you hurt less...oh its still there, that burning, that longing, that nausea in your stomach. But its down to a level where you can think straight now. So on goes your t-shirt, then your coat, then your bandages over your eyes to stanch the flow of blood, then your mittens. You sit in the nearby snowbank, your umbrella handle clutched in your hand, and enjoy the feeling of the snow falling and of relief.

But it would always come back. Your heart and your eyes will heal all too soon, despite the heavy damage, and again you will have to live running and hiding from the emotions that once gave you so much joy in your life. You love, your empathy...turned into monsters and turned against you. Nothing could be more fundamentally wrong than being your own worst enemy.

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A Reader! Atticus fic for Missiongenocide's Cursed Project

A small bare room. The others have stuff in their rooms, but you never saw the point. Standing, sitting, pacing, you really have tried everything to curb this new sensation that is raising its ugly head out of the black swimming tar of your usual emotions. That boy. Why can't you stop thinking about one stupid person, especially now when your not on duty or anything? You aren't supposed to hate anybody...more! This is preposterous. Absurd, even! But you can't stop thinking about this one stupid kid!

You've seen him moving around the hallways, followed by that c-word that follows him around like a small puppy. A small sick puppy...but its clear that if you fight one, you'll have to deal with both. If you caught that kid alone, you'd make him relive the day you infected him all over again without trying hard, but as long as he has that girl with him, things are more even. It's actually been quite a while since you fully used your powers, not since that night you torched his place.

Standing up, you go to look to see where he is heading now, the house making sure your not waylaid. Truthfully, it didn't matter, even if the boss really did manage to change everybody, what then? None of them would have any sympathy for you, not like you really deserve it. Even if you somehow could turn every living thing on the planet into a copy of yourself, you would hurt the most still, your older. What is the point? And yet you are moving around looking for one stupid kid...feeling like a moron. Its not like your scared of a vengeful boy and his little friend, why are you so interested?

Stopping in the shadows nearby, you make yourself hard to spot, resembling the outline of one of those dead-eyed untitled who don't know where their going of their own name half the time. He doesn't notice you, so you must be doing good enough. Your eyes watch him carefully, the faint light he emits makes him easy to spot. You remember when he didn't look like parts of his body where burning wood, and you remember how he was when you first got to him, a ball of flame. Truthfully, he still looks like a cheap fireplace log that went out too early, at least as a fireball you didn't have to look at his face. Right now, you can't stop looking at his face. Oh, you remember that day pretty well for being in the middle of a rage....

It was autumn and there was a chill in the air. Someone was cooking something nearby and it smelled greasy and disgusting. You had been attacked by a mob of people you'd angered, not like they wouldn't attack you anyway. People are always just looking for an excuse, and you wish that stupid facade known as morals had not been invented. Back then, as now, your not like that. You where the bad guy that day, you're the bad guy now. The only thing that's changed is that you have two new wounds aching in your body, a baseball bat to the elbow and a pistol shot to the leg. You have quite the collection of aching war wounds, and remember as many as you can so you can find and infect who made them. At least you can give them what they've given you. The mob must have been rather nasty, as you where hurt enough to tap into your full power and go into overdrive. Shun gave you the gift to be clearheaded and able to plan when tapping into your full nature. A gift for him maybe, it meant you remembered the yelling, the crowd, and the sight of a teenage boy trying to rush his mother, sister and brother out of a nearby house.

What you saw there awakened a new feeling in you, a strangely focused emotion of sick disgust at this one particular kid. He had what you never had, what nobody really deserves, people who actually love him. If you had been boiling with rage before, you turned volcanic at the sight of this loving family, going into an overdrive you have yet to again experience. It was a memory of some worth...is that what feeling motivated feels like? Whatever it was, you attacked the house and the family at full speed, ignoring the crowd's attacks and just trying to completely destroy the place, burn it to ashes and trample the ashes and kill anybody left with your bare hands!

A faint flicker of that feeling remains with you as you see the kid pass you, his own flames flickering. The flames that you strike with infect instantly, but usually not with this effectiveness, you must have somehow gotten him to fall into some normal flames somewhere on the site. More people came to help, but they saw you and ran, screaming. Understandable. Fear was something you knew, despite your strength. Your scared of yourself, scared of losing your mind as the emotion and pain of your body builds and builds like a storm in a small closet. And just watching this...kid made you feel even worse, like you where going to throw up flaming horse manure.

You had to destroy this stupid, vengeful boy but you couldn't just attack him. He had the advantage, he can tap into his full power easier and he has backup. If you fought him now you'd still win, but it would not crush him. His eyes where like yours. Not green and catlike, the expression was the same. Hard, merciless and full of piercing wrath. If this is what you looked like to everybody else, then it seemed fitting.

You slink off to a nearby room to plan your assault...if you take him by surprise, then maybe he won't have time to pull up to a full flame and you could grab and slam the girl into a wall or stick your hand through that ugly hole in her and set a small fire in there. You could do a lot of damage before either could do a lot of damage to you, strike, burn and use the fact the house doesn't get you lost to fade into the darkness like the twisted thing you are.

You scoff, as much as they make a big deal about your boss, and as much as you feel this...new feeling towards this kid, you have a clear mind. A clear mind that tells you you'd prevent the universe from happening at all if you could, and another part that says its far too kind. At least making everyone suffer gives you purpose for now, and you have one advantage over your boss. Your not deluded. This overgrown shrub thinks making everyone suffer forever is morally right, or will gain him something, and you know better. There is no point to anything, especially this, but the alternative is to be alone with your thoughts. YOUR thoughts. You almost want to be your red co-worker Vallen or that empty-headed Vicky, at least they had some sort of way to release their stress. And at least all these other pathetic sobbing wrecks have something worth remembering.

You have to settle for knowing you make a very effective villain. And as long as that flaming boy is around to be insane enough to think he's the hero, it won't be enough. You'll really destroy him this time.
Is there some way to add content warnings for really emotional stuff?

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A Reader! Edman fanfiction for missongenocide's Cursed Project.

Know. A verb that means that you have something in your brain that another person cannot see. You know. You know something unbelievable, something that could have helped everyone. You know there are others here, too. You know, you have to remember. Someone may, some day, find your dark little hole. You can't say anything, you can't even nod, but you must find some way to let the others know it, somehow. Have to tell.

Rhythm. A noun, referring to anything with a steady beat. The electrical prods strike steadily, turning your whole body into a mass of pain that comes flowing out your throat. You don't want to scream. You don't, you can't help it. You can feel the sting of entry, and the pure, sharp agony flow through your veins. The steady ache afterwards of your straining body; your muscles moving out of control against the tight shackles that hold your body. Your almost grateful for them, if you flailed around, you'd hurt yourself more. So steady...you are the clock in this timeless place, your steady agony the rhythm the others live by.

Change. A verb, your the actor of it. You can't withe in pain, can't move...can't move, so the house moves. Its like it feels sympathy for you. At least someone does. Every strike of the electricity on your body makes it move...its pain, your pain. You don't change. You can't even change one finger, you are totally TRAPPED. There are others who are trapped, you can fell them a bit, they aren't moving. At least they can probably still see, hear, speak...though they would have no one to talk to and possibly nothing to say. You have so much to say.

Be. You only can exist. You can feel the tight bonds around your body, crushing you. The iron mask crushes your head and sticks sharp blades in what used to be your eyes, bleeding...even more pain. The metal shackles dig into your elbows, shoulders, wrists. They rake against you, your surprised you can even feel them, you are so full of pain its like part of your body. You barely even remember the time you didn't have every part of your being full of the sharp wild pain of electrical charge.

Remember. A verb, and you still can. Your memory is very clear, very clear. You where free once...walking, seeing, feeling the breeze, not being crushed by iron...you remember it so well. The man telling you the truth...how did he even learn it? And yet no one will know, no, but you have to tell somehow. Must say it...but all that comes out is screams. Such loud screams, everyone can hear your pain. But the must all HATE you hate you, hate YOU.

Feel. Also a verb...its about all you can do now. Besides the pure, utter agony, besides the aching body, the crushing restraints, they are not what really hurts, no no. You also can feel something else, especially when the current doesn't flow and overloads everything and replaces everything with pain flowing through your veins. Your electrical current touches those of others, the house that writhes for you is your skin and bones, the body beyond your body. Someone makes a mark in the wall, you feel a slight tremor. The steps of feet, you feel them too, walking on your floors. The touch of hands, you can feel them touch your walls. Your hurt is bigger than your body, this vessel for directionless pain that is your blood, profound ache that is your body. You feel the worst pain in your mind. Others are here, in the body that is a bigger part of your body, your wood body, your stone body. Your body already hurts so much you can barely breathe when not screaming...not screaming so loud. But your mind? You feel such an ache in your mind. There are others, they are trapped here because of you, because of YOU. You are hurting so many people.

Stuck. Noun. You have not moved at all for a countless amount of time. Your body is a rigid, aching unresponsive living coffin. Your heart rattles unsteadily in your chest, you gasp for air. You would do anything at all, give away toes, fingers, just to move your head or know if anyone is ever going to find you here in this isolated closet. The metal holds you rigid, the bolts of heavy armor dig into your body, dig in and drill into the bones, you can feel them shift when the current comes, despite the overwhelming feeling of being overloaded with the current. When it hits, you have pain for blood, pain for muscles, pain for eyes and ears and you can feel your restraints dig deep. And you can't even properly express it through the gag that bolts into your jaw.

Despair. Noun, emotion. That's...all you have felt since you felt that...thing's tools go into you. No one will ever find you, no one will ever help you. But you have to tell, you know. You know how to save all these people, all of them who your hurting. The drills dug, the bolts dug, you where never in so much pain but that was nothing compared to the first time the electrical prods struck you. You are suffering now. Nothing else left of you. You wish you could cry, but no eyes mean no tears. Wish you could talk, but mouth bolted open, tongue lacerated with a blade. Like eyes. Unlike ears, but shock blows your ears, your ears bleed. Sometimes you can hear, but shocks make you not hear for a little while. Only time in this place is movements caused by you. You are part of this Hell. No one will want to save you, everyone blames you for suffering. Can't help it, house your new body, you can't move, it moves instead.

If only you could tell everyone your sorry. If someone could find some way to reach into your prison of a body and what is left of your mind, you could tell them so much. But most of all you want to say its not your fault. You've caused so much harm, felt your prisoners writhe inside as your writhing traps them. But you never will tell anyone anything.

Resigned...noun? Verb? No one will ever help you. No one will ever help anyone.

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Wintereye111
Jessica Brooke
Canada
A multi-subject artist, trying to avoid suspicion and spread creativity. I prefer fanart, but might do something original once in a while, to.
Interests
Look at this, you get a free poem while I explain my new Don't Stave fanart project. My first 'story through pictures' style fanart. So..here goes.

When infinite realms are in the shadows grasp.
Careful avoidance of anyone who would be missed is an important task.
But sometimes, it does not go as planned alas.
And the darkest chapter of the ink-black story does begin.

Wilson and Maxwell, former enemies, huddle in a strange cold breeze.
It should be summer, autumn soon coming.
But the chill is very great.
A premature winter weather movement?
But the throne is now United. Queen and King should be one.
There should be no power greater!
But it seems...there was one.

In recent days, the selection was altered.
Charlie, both King and Queen, had this once faltered.
Someone passed who should have not passed.
Someone with a god's long gaze.
Despite his body a frail and mortal shell.
This one, He who Unstands.
Conquered the wilderness land.
Without turning back, he saw the Seats all before his eyes.
Maxwell the Creator, Wilson the Heir, Willow the Destroyer, Woodie the Savage, Wendy the Medium, and all the rest. Each really thought that they where best.
Once again, in temporal cycle round.
This strange visitor found himself bound.
He easily overcame the crumbling tests.
Put up by old Maxy to challenge the rest.
Though small and frail, he now beheld.
The flower-strewn Throne, Charlie's power seeping through.
Oh, how that once innocent woman had done more harm than all of them together!
He would defeat her, and destroy that throne forever!
Three days battle finally felled the Queen and King as one.
But our story, it seems, has only begun.
The Cycle of kings once again begins its horrid spell.
As certain as the certainty of a clock striking twelve.
The throne's flowers fell, and even though the intruder could,
in an instant, go from here to there, the flower gates had slammed shut.
He could run absolutely nowhere. Charlie laughed, and Maxwell raised his head, looking grim.
He said, "I'm sure of it, the shadows have taken him."
Wilson was about to ask who his sorry former nemesis alluded,
when he heard a gasp, and turned to see the grim events concluded.
Black tendrils grew razor thorns, and bit into white bone.
And thus, the only one who could have saved them all was bound upon the Throne.
And so the growing icy chill bit deeper, deeper to the core.
A low deep icy voice declared what all would have in store,
"I am not like the other rulers. I will not be going home. If I must, I will wipe,
this land clean and close the holes. No one else will enter this place, no one else will leave. No one else will be around, and I will stay forever bound."
Wilson tried to raise a cry, but the voice spoke back, "I'd like to see you try. Kill the world and everything in it, I will just drag you to Hell. I've seen enough to wish to make anyone cry. It's all happened to me before, no one else is getting hurt. So be quiet...or you'll die."

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:iconsinistrosephosphate:
SinistrosePhosphate Featured By Owner Jun 22, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Greetings, 

Thank you very much for adding my work to your list of favourites. I appreciate your support very much (especially when it comes to a fellow Canadian). Much obliged!

With gratitude,
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:iconsonicmasterhero:
SonicMasterHero Featured By Owner Feb 21, 2014
W-Wow...u dont have any friends.....
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