Post by lostandtorn616 on Feb 23, 2008 19:35:53 GMT -5
Disclaimer: I don’t own Yu-Gi-Oh. I think we can all agree on that, right? Besides, I’d be filthy stinking rich and swimming in a pool of money consisting of five thousand dollar bills if I did. I also don’t own the OC, Morbid Tyriel (a.k.a. Chelsea); she owns herself, so you cannot claim ownership of her, and neither can I.
For if you even dare to make such an outlandish and wholesomely ridiculous assumption, she will be the least of your worries. Why, you ask? Heh, that’s simple enough: Because I’ll be knocking on your doorstep with the incarnation of your worst imagination in the dead of night is why. Good enough reason, wouldn’t you think?
*Crickets chirp* Precisely what I was hoping you’d say dear reader; nothing. Ah, the sweet bliss that is silence. Have you ever heard such serenity? Ah... Yes, yes. The one-shot. *Clears throat* This is... I guess you’d call it a long-over-due birthday present for my dear Chelsea, since her special day was back in March on the fourteenth of the previous year; I apologize sincerely for not giving you anything to celebrate your nineteenth year on this accursed planet, Chelsea.
So, think of this as one of the ways I’ll be repaying you in due time, Chelsea, okay? Let the insanity commence!
General Warnings: Angst (loads of it), blood, implied rape and/or torture, teeny tidbits of horror, a dash of S/M, Bondage and Dominance, Hurt/Comfort, hints of Non-Con Yuri moment(s), and Chelsea torment. (...Oh huzzah. I’ve got another dear friend of mine to torture endlessly. I feel so ashamed of myself.)
“Talking”
Thinking to oneself
“Emphasis”
“Whispering”
“Shouting”
--Flashbacks--
O-o-O-O-o-o-O-o-O-o-O-O
Red... Red. Red. Red everywhere. So... so... Beautiful. So Majestic, so Pure.
Lioness-styled curls flopped down noiselessly over abysmal-colored pupils, the tufted edges snaking alongside small, infantile stubbed fingers, tickling exposed forearms wholly comprised of muscle and bone concealed under layers of fat. Big-boned knees rolled up into an equally large chest, squishing mounds of perfected fat into her upper thighs and shins; the large body of flesh, blood, muscle and bone quivered immensely, shivering like a child that had somehow caught itself in the most dreadful of storms, splattered with hardened frozen water and wet snow, smacked and slit at with icy knives as the cold wind nipped at any bare skin.
The Crimson seeped into every crevice it could find, like an infectious disease that foretold of an oncoming plague, a contagious calamity, a natural evil born out of the deepest, most apocalyptic and obscene of horrors mankind harbored for centuries; and now, finally, after many, many centuries seated upon the Red Beast’s throne within Its fiery chambers, every shredded remnant of whatever malignant intent, feeling and thought had been reborn, manifested itself into a single, living, breathing creature.
The Mark of the Beast, of Its hell-born Spawns and Offspring, was imprinted everywhere: the walls, the ceiling, the floor, all the furniture. Most of it, however, illuminated its cold, yet strangely comforting, veil over the entirety of the young woman’s large, white, big and quivering form. That coating of red, so incomparable, endowed with flawless beauty, so unlike any color her sights had bestowed upon in her short existence.
Red brought a sense of comfort; it was the night light brightening a little girl’s bedroom, chasing away all the faceless shadows away and frightening the monsters into seeking shelter in the closet. Red was the most dominant of all the colors; it was both eye-catching and destructive. Red also brought a newfound sensation of faint alarm and panic: how was so much of one magnificent color able to fully accumulate itself into a single enclosed space?
The answer to the question was obvious: Evil. Evil, Evil everywhere, nowhere but here.
Filthy. Foul. Decrepit. Ominous. Offensive, complete and wholesome. Unutterable Sin. Evil begone. No... No, Evil must stay, for Evil has always been sealed away from prying eyes, biding its time for the perfect opportunity to strike. Yes, that is what Darkness told me.
It was everywhere, the undefinable stench that clogged her nostrils and fogged her weary mind; Evil had strayed from its creator, crawling away like an infant would from its mother, stepping all the more closer towards the encroaching pit of Black, where abominations untold lingered, awaiting in the Darkest Shadows to snatch and drag its victim unwillingly into the dankest pits of Hell.
Why me? Why... Me? Why, why, why, why. I am Tainted. I am Abhorred. I am Lust’s daughter-to-be; a wanton whore, Abused and Re-Used; scarred and deprived of life, like a broken hand-stitched doll. The Darkness has told me, has always told me that. But... the Darkness...
A disconcerted sound of deep-seated, mystique musing sounded like the quiet chimes of wind bells at the back of her throat; longer, wilder curls and tufts of ashen-brown hair fell lifelessly at her side, getting in the way of her eyes, flowing over broad shoulders emblazoned with that wonderful hue of red; given her state of mind; it slowly dawned on her that she was sitting in a pool of that wonderful red, slowly drying and crusting to her skin. It was pretty, though, so bright and so, so fluid that she couldn’t help but stare at the thick substance, but only at the more colorful parts.
So she made sure to avoid the thinner liquid that was slowly turning from beautiful to ugly, as it seemed to shift from brilliant to dull second by second; minute by minute; it was shifting, turning, and churning to that ungodly shade of brown. And yet...
Another color: mahogany. Mahogany is the disembodied alias of filth. Such a meaningless color; yet here it is, clinging to me so pathetically, so helpless. But why...? Why does it seem like there’s something amiss?
She made another sound, this time what would’ve been little more than a wistful noise of solicitude had anyone else been in the room, but was not; this horrendous shade of brown was mingled in with the faintest shine of red, a crimson hue that didn’t mingle or resemble with the rest of the putrid-looking substance; this, she mentally concluded, was the source of the reddish-brown color her sight had detected just seconds before. Her eyes widened, the dull blue gems momentarily regaining a hint of their former mortality; her pupils shrank while her iris’ grew dilative and blank, effectively attaining a deadened gleam to them.
The red on her arms was turning that awful shade of brown; brown was not pretty, it was ugly and painful for some reason, thin and cracking like mud. It itched and bit at her white flesh, even if it didn’t register to her yet why such a blasphemous paint was on her, she knew that it nipped and pulled at the tiny hairs on her arms.
Carefully her arms unhooked themselves, away from her bosom, her body flexing itself into a sitting position, her hands already raising themselves in an unconscious gesture, ready to scratch at the offending color, but found her fingers stopping in front of her emotionless glare, suddenly engrossed by the splash of red adorning her fat little baby-like fingers.
There you lurk again, my red child... my beautiful, crimson, disease-ridden child...
Hands red, arms white.
But... why?
Soon her unwavering gaze swept over the room entirely, bringing her thick thighs up to her chest and slipping them around her abused flesh; her arms, forearms, thighs, and calves and face were decorated macabrely with deep lacerations emblazoned with that wonderful red hue, and bruises dotted with conflicting tints of blue, black, purple; there was hardly a spot where her skin wasn’t marred with deep abrasions and cuts, but where there might have been any visible spots were instead innumerable blotches of which yellow and white could be seen admits the sea of colors, revealing that the majority of her injuries were undergoing different healing phases.
Everything was stained red and brown. But there was another color here; she could sense it within the very suffocating confines of this room. She hugged her legs closer to her. Something felt odd about this color; there was something about this unidentified color that scared her and yet felt wondrously familiar. What was it?
A tiny voice in the back of her beguiled thoughts whispered the answer.
Black... It is Black I sense... But where does it linger now?
With this newly discovered color now etched fresh in her mind, she easily spotted it lying on its front on the plush carpet no more than six feet from where she sat on the adjacent side of the room; another one, virtually similar to the one sprawled up in a strange and elongated position on the floor near her, was sprawled up against the wall ten feet where she was, and eleven feet and a few inches away from the other Black; this sight did not frighten her nor did it alarm her, even though they were both plastered in the pretty red and ugly brown.
But now something else felt amiss: why was she not scared of the beautiful crimson enveloping the interior of the room, but scared of the color Black? Because she was not the embodiment of that soulless, abysmal-hued and dark, dark pit? Didn’t she belong to the Darkness, as it had reminded her time and time again? Was she not White; the pure, wholesome and unsanctioned color, the one that was so plain yet so complete?
But her Darkness was much darker, menacing, devoid of any White whatsoever; both the light-skinned Black and the dark-skinned Black could not be classified as “human”, no matter if they took the shape of one.
White... White... Where is she now?
That was a good question. Where did the other White lay now, while she wallowed in red and brown and mahogany? White and Black were always together, weren’t they? Where there was a White and her Darkness, there had to be others of her and their kind; it was a well-known principle: White and Black could not co-exist with one another, and yet no other color could substitute the balance they shared.
So, where was the other White at this moment? Where was she and her Darkness? If they were both White, then the Black should not have been far away. She shouldn’t have red or brown or mahogany, but White; it completed her, cleansed her of any falsehood, wrong-doing, or unholy Sin that plagued her body, mind, and soul; it made her feel alive, made her feel content and human and safe, but safe from what?
Confused blue-black eyes widened. The foul Black – all of them – stole the Breath of Life from the other White and her lover, Purple, and her lover also: Blue. No, that wasn’t right; that didn’t register as being correct in her hazy thoughts, her wozy and drunken, disorderly mind.
Yes, her Darkness had eradicated the other White; that in itself was right, was unfathomly and abundantly accurate. But only after the other White had witnessed the death of her lover, Purple.
And then... Then... The other White had...
She remembered.
Black plus Black plus white minus blue equals red.
The evil, conniving, smug, confident, and demonic Black had erased any ounce of existence of the other White, and Purple and Blue, so she had merely set things right by turning her Darkness to red – and time had changed it from that heavenly, and darkened hue of red to brown. One of her small, puerile-styled hands fell lifelessly to the floor, stubby fingers trailing lightly through mahogany hair stained heavily in the slowly congealing, red-tinted fluid; they danced around, barely noticing as it settled and became crusted beneath her fingernails.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood what she was doing; even if it made little sense to her at that particular moment, something else settled in her empty, clouded thoughts.
Black plus black minus white equals... White minus blue equals... White minus white equals... White minus purple equals...
She ceased momentarily in her unconscious actions, her lips sagging downward in a frown, her face surprisingly stoic; quite the contrast in comparison to the concentrated light shining in her dark eyes, blinking all but once before resuming the maternal-like stroking and caressing of those mahogany-shaded waves.
What are the answers to these equations...?
For if you even dare to make such an outlandish and wholesomely ridiculous assumption, she will be the least of your worries. Why, you ask? Heh, that’s simple enough: Because I’ll be knocking on your doorstep with the incarnation of your worst imagination in the dead of night is why. Good enough reason, wouldn’t you think?
*Crickets chirp* Precisely what I was hoping you’d say dear reader; nothing. Ah, the sweet bliss that is silence. Have you ever heard such serenity? Ah... Yes, yes. The one-shot. *Clears throat* This is... I guess you’d call it a long-over-due birthday present for my dear Chelsea, since her special day was back in March on the fourteenth of the previous year; I apologize sincerely for not giving you anything to celebrate your nineteenth year on this accursed planet, Chelsea.
So, think of this as one of the ways I’ll be repaying you in due time, Chelsea, okay? Let the insanity commence!
General Warnings: Angst (loads of it), blood, implied rape and/or torture, teeny tidbits of horror, a dash of S/M, Bondage and Dominance, Hurt/Comfort, hints of Non-Con Yuri moment(s), and Chelsea torment. (...Oh huzzah. I’ve got another dear friend of mine to torture endlessly. I feel so ashamed of myself.)
“Talking”
Thinking to oneself
“Emphasis”
“Whispering”
“Shouting”
--Flashbacks--
O-o-O-O-o-o-O-o-O-o-O-O
Red... Red. Red. Red everywhere. So... so... Beautiful. So Majestic, so Pure.
Lioness-styled curls flopped down noiselessly over abysmal-colored pupils, the tufted edges snaking alongside small, infantile stubbed fingers, tickling exposed forearms wholly comprised of muscle and bone concealed under layers of fat. Big-boned knees rolled up into an equally large chest, squishing mounds of perfected fat into her upper thighs and shins; the large body of flesh, blood, muscle and bone quivered immensely, shivering like a child that had somehow caught itself in the most dreadful of storms, splattered with hardened frozen water and wet snow, smacked and slit at with icy knives as the cold wind nipped at any bare skin.
The Crimson seeped into every crevice it could find, like an infectious disease that foretold of an oncoming plague, a contagious calamity, a natural evil born out of the deepest, most apocalyptic and obscene of horrors mankind harbored for centuries; and now, finally, after many, many centuries seated upon the Red Beast’s throne within Its fiery chambers, every shredded remnant of whatever malignant intent, feeling and thought had been reborn, manifested itself into a single, living, breathing creature.
The Mark of the Beast, of Its hell-born Spawns and Offspring, was imprinted everywhere: the walls, the ceiling, the floor, all the furniture. Most of it, however, illuminated its cold, yet strangely comforting, veil over the entirety of the young woman’s large, white, big and quivering form. That coating of red, so incomparable, endowed with flawless beauty, so unlike any color her sights had bestowed upon in her short existence.
Red brought a sense of comfort; it was the night light brightening a little girl’s bedroom, chasing away all the faceless shadows away and frightening the monsters into seeking shelter in the closet. Red was the most dominant of all the colors; it was both eye-catching and destructive. Red also brought a newfound sensation of faint alarm and panic: how was so much of one magnificent color able to fully accumulate itself into a single enclosed space?
The answer to the question was obvious: Evil. Evil, Evil everywhere, nowhere but here.
Filthy. Foul. Decrepit. Ominous. Offensive, complete and wholesome. Unutterable Sin. Evil begone. No... No, Evil must stay, for Evil has always been sealed away from prying eyes, biding its time for the perfect opportunity to strike. Yes, that is what Darkness told me.
It was everywhere, the undefinable stench that clogged her nostrils and fogged her weary mind; Evil had strayed from its creator, crawling away like an infant would from its mother, stepping all the more closer towards the encroaching pit of Black, where abominations untold lingered, awaiting in the Darkest Shadows to snatch and drag its victim unwillingly into the dankest pits of Hell.
Why me? Why... Me? Why, why, why, why. I am Tainted. I am Abhorred. I am Lust’s daughter-to-be; a wanton whore, Abused and Re-Used; scarred and deprived of life, like a broken hand-stitched doll. The Darkness has told me, has always told me that. But... the Darkness...
A disconcerted sound of deep-seated, mystique musing sounded like the quiet chimes of wind bells at the back of her throat; longer, wilder curls and tufts of ashen-brown hair fell lifelessly at her side, getting in the way of her eyes, flowing over broad shoulders emblazoned with that wonderful hue of red; given her state of mind; it slowly dawned on her that she was sitting in a pool of that wonderful red, slowly drying and crusting to her skin. It was pretty, though, so bright and so, so fluid that she couldn’t help but stare at the thick substance, but only at the more colorful parts.
So she made sure to avoid the thinner liquid that was slowly turning from beautiful to ugly, as it seemed to shift from brilliant to dull second by second; minute by minute; it was shifting, turning, and churning to that ungodly shade of brown. And yet...
Another color: mahogany. Mahogany is the disembodied alias of filth. Such a meaningless color; yet here it is, clinging to me so pathetically, so helpless. But why...? Why does it seem like there’s something amiss?
She made another sound, this time what would’ve been little more than a wistful noise of solicitude had anyone else been in the room, but was not; this horrendous shade of brown was mingled in with the faintest shine of red, a crimson hue that didn’t mingle or resemble with the rest of the putrid-looking substance; this, she mentally concluded, was the source of the reddish-brown color her sight had detected just seconds before. Her eyes widened, the dull blue gems momentarily regaining a hint of their former mortality; her pupils shrank while her iris’ grew dilative and blank, effectively attaining a deadened gleam to them.
The red on her arms was turning that awful shade of brown; brown was not pretty, it was ugly and painful for some reason, thin and cracking like mud. It itched and bit at her white flesh, even if it didn’t register to her yet why such a blasphemous paint was on her, she knew that it nipped and pulled at the tiny hairs on her arms.
Carefully her arms unhooked themselves, away from her bosom, her body flexing itself into a sitting position, her hands already raising themselves in an unconscious gesture, ready to scratch at the offending color, but found her fingers stopping in front of her emotionless glare, suddenly engrossed by the splash of red adorning her fat little baby-like fingers.
There you lurk again, my red child... my beautiful, crimson, disease-ridden child...
Hands red, arms white.
But... why?
Soon her unwavering gaze swept over the room entirely, bringing her thick thighs up to her chest and slipping them around her abused flesh; her arms, forearms, thighs, and calves and face were decorated macabrely with deep lacerations emblazoned with that wonderful red hue, and bruises dotted with conflicting tints of blue, black, purple; there was hardly a spot where her skin wasn’t marred with deep abrasions and cuts, but where there might have been any visible spots were instead innumerable blotches of which yellow and white could be seen admits the sea of colors, revealing that the majority of her injuries were undergoing different healing phases.
Everything was stained red and brown. But there was another color here; she could sense it within the very suffocating confines of this room. She hugged her legs closer to her. Something felt odd about this color; there was something about this unidentified color that scared her and yet felt wondrously familiar. What was it?
A tiny voice in the back of her beguiled thoughts whispered the answer.
Black... It is Black I sense... But where does it linger now?
With this newly discovered color now etched fresh in her mind, she easily spotted it lying on its front on the plush carpet no more than six feet from where she sat on the adjacent side of the room; another one, virtually similar to the one sprawled up in a strange and elongated position on the floor near her, was sprawled up against the wall ten feet where she was, and eleven feet and a few inches away from the other Black; this sight did not frighten her nor did it alarm her, even though they were both plastered in the pretty red and ugly brown.
But now something else felt amiss: why was she not scared of the beautiful crimson enveloping the interior of the room, but scared of the color Black? Because she was not the embodiment of that soulless, abysmal-hued and dark, dark pit? Didn’t she belong to the Darkness, as it had reminded her time and time again? Was she not White; the pure, wholesome and unsanctioned color, the one that was so plain yet so complete?
But her Darkness was much darker, menacing, devoid of any White whatsoever; both the light-skinned Black and the dark-skinned Black could not be classified as “human”, no matter if they took the shape of one.
White... White... Where is she now?
That was a good question. Where did the other White lay now, while she wallowed in red and brown and mahogany? White and Black were always together, weren’t they? Where there was a White and her Darkness, there had to be others of her and their kind; it was a well-known principle: White and Black could not co-exist with one another, and yet no other color could substitute the balance they shared.
So, where was the other White at this moment? Where was she and her Darkness? If they were both White, then the Black should not have been far away. She shouldn’t have red or brown or mahogany, but White; it completed her, cleansed her of any falsehood, wrong-doing, or unholy Sin that plagued her body, mind, and soul; it made her feel alive, made her feel content and human and safe, but safe from what?
Confused blue-black eyes widened. The foul Black – all of them – stole the Breath of Life from the other White and her lover, Purple, and her lover also: Blue. No, that wasn’t right; that didn’t register as being correct in her hazy thoughts, her wozy and drunken, disorderly mind.
Yes, her Darkness had eradicated the other White; that in itself was right, was unfathomly and abundantly accurate. But only after the other White had witnessed the death of her lover, Purple.
And then... Then... The other White had...
She remembered.
Black plus Black plus white minus blue equals red.
The evil, conniving, smug, confident, and demonic Black had erased any ounce of existence of the other White, and Purple and Blue, so she had merely set things right by turning her Darkness to red – and time had changed it from that heavenly, and darkened hue of red to brown. One of her small, puerile-styled hands fell lifelessly to the floor, stubby fingers trailing lightly through mahogany hair stained heavily in the slowly congealing, red-tinted fluid; they danced around, barely noticing as it settled and became crusted beneath her fingernails.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood what she was doing; even if it made little sense to her at that particular moment, something else settled in her empty, clouded thoughts.
Black plus black minus white equals... White minus blue equals... White minus white equals... White minus purple equals...
She ceased momentarily in her unconscious actions, her lips sagging downward in a frown, her face surprisingly stoic; quite the contrast in comparison to the concentrated light shining in her dark eyes, blinking all but once before resuming the maternal-like stroking and caressing of those mahogany-shaded waves.
What are the answers to these equations...?