Categories > Comics > X-Men
Sleep Well: A GenerationX fic
0 reviewsInstead of breaking from the infirmary, Penance engages in other activities.
0Insightful
This takes place during #58.
Instead of breaking from the infirmary, Penance engages in other activities.
I don't own Generation X, Marvel does-...did...Damn I miss that comic, the Lobdell version at least.
Rated R.
Anyways- on with the show.
Sleep Well.
By Q.
She shuttered, eyes snapping open with the sort of rush a death-row inmate might use. It was the seconds after regaining consciousness, the seconds before realization kick in, that she was the most dangerous. She had learned long ago that every day, every moment might be her last, and those luxuries like sleep; nourishment, hygiene and lowered spires were expendable. Any second could render her 'over'.
Dead.
Not that she had the words to communicate this. No matter.
Air rushed into her lungs, compacting itself into every free space of those porous organs which danced they're simple rhythm just under her breast. Bright, luminous blue eyes looked around, wide and animalistic. Cold- metal- sterile. The place people took people to make them better. Again, she didn't have the word for it. The others, unbeknownst to her, called it the 'infirmary'.
Recognizing her surroundings, the newly awoken girl felt more at ease, and slowly sat up. Her long, deadly, tendril-like fingers clicked noticeably against the bed as she pushed herself up. More clicks reverberated over the cold, technical walls as she placed her feet down on the tiled floor.
A wheeze filled her ears. A wheeze that did not belong to her.
Was it one of the people who stayed here? Something foring to the girl, but what most would call 'concern', seeped up her spine. Pulling her survival instincts around her like a cloak, the conscious figure delicately took a step towards the bed-laden form.
Concern turned to quite the different sensation as those bright blue eyes recognized the victim on the bed.
Serrated ribbons of 'hair' crowned a rather chewed visage, scraping one over the other like angry, cannibalistic blades of dying grey grass. Through the cracked, sagging wrinkles slapped over a large, once human skull, she could tell his usually bright, angry red eyes were closed. A rather absurd breathing apparatus still hugged the creature's lower face and chest, and it was from that he wheezed.
He was known as Emplate. She knew him as 'Fear'.
She did not know that he called her Yvette, and she did not know the others knew her as 'Penance', and at this moment, it did not matter. All that mattered right now was the undeniable fact that her tormenter lay in bed, ignorant and vulnerable.
Oh, she- Penance, did not doubt the possibility that it was a ploy. Far from it. Her life before this Beast She Called Fear was not much better. Explosions that rocked the earth, which was the only way she could tell them, save for the heat and the light, were the norm where she grew up in. Evil and fear were second nature to her.
Yet his was a new kind of fear.
She did not remember how this particular Fear had found her, but all the same, he did. He looked different then, and her self-awareness was pushed aside in favour of another. That was a strange experience to say the least. She watched through the eyes of another who watched through her eyes. A Complicated vicarious existence of which Yvette could not make heads or tails. All she could do was sleep with her eyes open, as another, one The Fear had not liked very much, was tortured through Yvette's self.
It was really all very involved.
Yvette could feel everything the other consciousness could feel. See all the other could see. Yet Penance could not say the words the Other felt the want to scream out. Both awareness's could feel every sadistic punishment dealt to Yvette's narrow, diamond hard body. The Fear kept her someplace tight, and someplace dark, with restraints leaving her barely mobile. She would be locked away, without anything resembling light for days on end. Food and water were rewards, brainwashing tools given to her only when Yvette obeyed his will. She learned to obey quickly.
And then the hands of The Fear would rove over her small, thin body. Hungry hands with mouths of their own, licking, touching, devouring her very soul. Sometimes He'd do it for the nourishment Yvette brought him.
Sometimes not.
Sometimes, after He had aquired his own shell of diamond resilient skin, he'd allow his hands to slide to places unwelcoming, and there they would lick, and suck, and bite. At first, Yvette, along with the other mind, would try valiantly to fend him off. He taught her quickly, and thoroughly that any attempt to resist was unwise. And so, she became benign, and allowed the obscure allusion to rape to commence.
Of course, she didn't call it 'rape'.
To the Fear's little funny man who smiled, it was a strange form of psudo- masterbation.
But that was all behind her now. A fact accented by the fact her mind was clear, as Yvette realized as she slowly tilted her head aside, revelling in the mental space.
Yvette realized that she was free, two times over.
Three times's the charm.
The possibility, or perhaps the opportunity, opened the floodgate that was her enclosed mind, and all the sick, twisted abuse Yvette had endured, had made itself remembered, a thousand fold. Without a moment's hesitation, the girl now called Penance launched from her clawed feet, a good six feet into the air. Tucking her long, thin legs to her solar plexus, Penance threw her weight down, along with her large, dangerous claws.
His flesh was strong, but without the chance to feed on Penance, her residual characteristics were fading, and her skin was stronger. Solid palms which barely felt, sunk past the skin, and sliced through organs as if they were frothy cappuccino foam, or ethereal clouds which broke as soon as disturbed. The wetness of blood could not penetrate the shell that was Penance's flesh. All at once, she began to dig Emplate's insides out, shovelling oversized handfuls of his flesh and innards, only to viciously catapult the entrails across the room. Her ears were deaf to the satisfying splatter they sounded against the walls. It didn't matter; Penance was more then enjoying herself.
Until now, Penance had known her body to be extremely deadly, and caution went hand in hand with survival. Until now. Now Penance allowed herself freedom, if only for a moment. A revelling catharsis she never knew she was capable of. All the sick, bitter, vile, depraved, violating things The Fear had done to her, she was free to deal back to him, a thousand fold.
With each organ-decimating scrape came freedom. Each severing blow soothing one instance of pain, and unlocking the memories of two more. Each maiming slice a cry of help for not only herself, but also those others he had hurt.
He was long rendered unrecognizable; not even holding something resembling a human shape, yet still Penance ravaged his carcass with her scissor hands.
Tears dove into the gore, falling from those pool-like eyes in rushes of emotion.
Such dark actions were not un-familiar for Penance, but never had they felt so good.
He had found her asleep, nuzzled sweetly in a nest of her own Edward Gein- like gore. A hollowed out Emplate, his insides making nice Rorschach tests up on the walls.
Chamber would have sighed, if it were within his realm of capability. He felt every instance. Every fear, every self-indulgent blow of slaughter.
{Yer d'served that, Gel...} His psionic voice softly consoled the resting Penance. {I know wot i's like...wantin' t'lash ou' a' everythin'. I c'n only imagine wot 'e put yer through. Yer 'ad an' oppertun'ty I din'. Be thankful.}
Careful not to step in any Emplate, Chamber quietly made his way to the sleeping girl. Gazing down at her, the young Brit studied all that was Penance.
{Sleep well.}
June 1 2004 10pm
Instead of breaking from the infirmary, Penance engages in other activities.
I don't own Generation X, Marvel does-...did...Damn I miss that comic, the Lobdell version at least.
Rated R.
Anyways- on with the show.
Sleep Well.
By Q.
She shuttered, eyes snapping open with the sort of rush a death-row inmate might use. It was the seconds after regaining consciousness, the seconds before realization kick in, that she was the most dangerous. She had learned long ago that every day, every moment might be her last, and those luxuries like sleep; nourishment, hygiene and lowered spires were expendable. Any second could render her 'over'.
Dead.
Not that she had the words to communicate this. No matter.
Air rushed into her lungs, compacting itself into every free space of those porous organs which danced they're simple rhythm just under her breast. Bright, luminous blue eyes looked around, wide and animalistic. Cold- metal- sterile. The place people took people to make them better. Again, she didn't have the word for it. The others, unbeknownst to her, called it the 'infirmary'.
Recognizing her surroundings, the newly awoken girl felt more at ease, and slowly sat up. Her long, deadly, tendril-like fingers clicked noticeably against the bed as she pushed herself up. More clicks reverberated over the cold, technical walls as she placed her feet down on the tiled floor.
A wheeze filled her ears. A wheeze that did not belong to her.
Was it one of the people who stayed here? Something foring to the girl, but what most would call 'concern', seeped up her spine. Pulling her survival instincts around her like a cloak, the conscious figure delicately took a step towards the bed-laden form.
Concern turned to quite the different sensation as those bright blue eyes recognized the victim on the bed.
Serrated ribbons of 'hair' crowned a rather chewed visage, scraping one over the other like angry, cannibalistic blades of dying grey grass. Through the cracked, sagging wrinkles slapped over a large, once human skull, she could tell his usually bright, angry red eyes were closed. A rather absurd breathing apparatus still hugged the creature's lower face and chest, and it was from that he wheezed.
He was known as Emplate. She knew him as 'Fear'.
She did not know that he called her Yvette, and she did not know the others knew her as 'Penance', and at this moment, it did not matter. All that mattered right now was the undeniable fact that her tormenter lay in bed, ignorant and vulnerable.
Oh, she- Penance, did not doubt the possibility that it was a ploy. Far from it. Her life before this Beast She Called Fear was not much better. Explosions that rocked the earth, which was the only way she could tell them, save for the heat and the light, were the norm where she grew up in. Evil and fear were second nature to her.
Yet his was a new kind of fear.
She did not remember how this particular Fear had found her, but all the same, he did. He looked different then, and her self-awareness was pushed aside in favour of another. That was a strange experience to say the least. She watched through the eyes of another who watched through her eyes. A Complicated vicarious existence of which Yvette could not make heads or tails. All she could do was sleep with her eyes open, as another, one The Fear had not liked very much, was tortured through Yvette's self.
It was really all very involved.
Yvette could feel everything the other consciousness could feel. See all the other could see. Yet Penance could not say the words the Other felt the want to scream out. Both awareness's could feel every sadistic punishment dealt to Yvette's narrow, diamond hard body. The Fear kept her someplace tight, and someplace dark, with restraints leaving her barely mobile. She would be locked away, without anything resembling light for days on end. Food and water were rewards, brainwashing tools given to her only when Yvette obeyed his will. She learned to obey quickly.
And then the hands of The Fear would rove over her small, thin body. Hungry hands with mouths of their own, licking, touching, devouring her very soul. Sometimes He'd do it for the nourishment Yvette brought him.
Sometimes not.
Sometimes, after He had aquired his own shell of diamond resilient skin, he'd allow his hands to slide to places unwelcoming, and there they would lick, and suck, and bite. At first, Yvette, along with the other mind, would try valiantly to fend him off. He taught her quickly, and thoroughly that any attempt to resist was unwise. And so, she became benign, and allowed the obscure allusion to rape to commence.
Of course, she didn't call it 'rape'.
To the Fear's little funny man who smiled, it was a strange form of psudo- masterbation.
But that was all behind her now. A fact accented by the fact her mind was clear, as Yvette realized as she slowly tilted her head aside, revelling in the mental space.
Yvette realized that she was free, two times over.
Three times's the charm.
The possibility, or perhaps the opportunity, opened the floodgate that was her enclosed mind, and all the sick, twisted abuse Yvette had endured, had made itself remembered, a thousand fold. Without a moment's hesitation, the girl now called Penance launched from her clawed feet, a good six feet into the air. Tucking her long, thin legs to her solar plexus, Penance threw her weight down, along with her large, dangerous claws.
His flesh was strong, but without the chance to feed on Penance, her residual characteristics were fading, and her skin was stronger. Solid palms which barely felt, sunk past the skin, and sliced through organs as if they were frothy cappuccino foam, or ethereal clouds which broke as soon as disturbed. The wetness of blood could not penetrate the shell that was Penance's flesh. All at once, she began to dig Emplate's insides out, shovelling oversized handfuls of his flesh and innards, only to viciously catapult the entrails across the room. Her ears were deaf to the satisfying splatter they sounded against the walls. It didn't matter; Penance was more then enjoying herself.
Until now, Penance had known her body to be extremely deadly, and caution went hand in hand with survival. Until now. Now Penance allowed herself freedom, if only for a moment. A revelling catharsis she never knew she was capable of. All the sick, bitter, vile, depraved, violating things The Fear had done to her, she was free to deal back to him, a thousand fold.
With each organ-decimating scrape came freedom. Each severing blow soothing one instance of pain, and unlocking the memories of two more. Each maiming slice a cry of help for not only herself, but also those others he had hurt.
He was long rendered unrecognizable; not even holding something resembling a human shape, yet still Penance ravaged his carcass with her scissor hands.
Tears dove into the gore, falling from those pool-like eyes in rushes of emotion.
Such dark actions were not un-familiar for Penance, but never had they felt so good.
He had found her asleep, nuzzled sweetly in a nest of her own Edward Gein- like gore. A hollowed out Emplate, his insides making nice Rorschach tests up on the walls.
Chamber would have sighed, if it were within his realm of capability. He felt every instance. Every fear, every self-indulgent blow of slaughter.
{Yer d'served that, Gel...} His psionic voice softly consoled the resting Penance. {I know wot i's like...wantin' t'lash ou' a' everythin'. I c'n only imagine wot 'e put yer through. Yer 'ad an' oppertun'ty I din'. Be thankful.}
Careful not to step in any Emplate, Chamber quietly made his way to the sleeping girl. Gazing down at her, the young Brit studied all that was Penance.
{Sleep well.}
June 1 2004 10pm
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