cigarette smoke.

hold me, hurt me

IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY
2
pick who dies|collars|kidnapped

fear spins up his-my-your spines ridge. a churning that twists and echoes through the pits of his-your stomach. they screams at him-me―because he's-you're a monster. blood swims through his-my mouth / eyes red rimmed [and bloody]. holding his-my-your breath and catching it between his-my-your lungs (   make a wish   ). there is something - someone - somewhere before him, with white hair covered in a sheen on dust; someone [somewhere] with dry skin holding to health flesh; somewhere / someone with a knife in her sadistic hands and carmine in her mouth; someone with scales for skin and claws for nails and knives for teeth - ; something with mist for skin that was human once; somewhere (somehow) with a mask and a hat that drags toward the sky and marbles straped to red-red-as-blood-and-tears gloves; somewhere-someone-something that fights with his head and screams and screams and splits―

everything is wrong and he's so scared ― crimson-red tastes like silver-rust on his tongue and he misses the taste of air. there's a muzzle strappes to his face, dragging the black-bruises under his eyes so that they match the someone [somewhere] with sutures tying their skin together. he's scared―he: you: me―terrified, truly. he-you-me, villain, brainwasher, monster, not even your parents wanted you. you-he want/s to cry and scream, but he can't. and god this is bringing up things he'd rather forget―so he does the only thing he knows how to and blanks out. eyes dazed lavender with smoke, staring at the crummy wall and letting the world around him numb.

(    pinpricks on his shoulders .    )

he-you doesn't / don't flinch―doesn't / you don't move doesn't / don't breath doesn't / don't say anything, you-he know/s how this works. you-he know/s that if you-he says anything, looks at them wrong he's-you're dead; and that can't happen, he's-you're going to be a hero. he-you has / have to be (一out of spite or determination or sheer fucking will, he's a hero no matter what his quirk is, no matter what anyone says. blood sweat and tears flood into this and it is his religion; the outcome will be his catharsis if he works hard enough), he will be. it doesn't matter if his gums bleed or his skin splits - it's not anything he isn't used to anymore.

spiders crawl up his-my-your lips. he doesn't listen, doesn't bite them off like you-he want/s to; he just let's them nest in his-my-your mouth and burrow in his-my-your ears. they breed a headache and split open his-my-your heart to live in. silk wraps around his-my-your throat -

something - somewhere - someone shouts at him, maybe this is what blonde-bomb-boy was subjected to. he-you-me doesn't get it, this isn't that bad -- it's just like a really distorted dream. maybe it's because he's-you've been in these situations so many times―this is just expected to a point; numbers and tallies long forgotten, racking up to hundreds of nights he's spent away from. a temporary bed in a home that doesn't want him.

you-he seem/s so calm, and he-you-me is. blanking out at the crummy ceiling that cripples above him. he-you―focus. something - somewhere - someone must've expected a response, but even if you-me-he could, even if he-me wanted to, you couldn't. it's a paradox to me, to him, to you. dripping － like ink /  blood from my split lips.

how about this, if you [me, him] agree to not use your quirk, we'll take off the muzzle. so how about it?

you-he-can't breathe, bleeding heart and choked sobs he's held back and the world is dripping. silk-laced nooses and bullet shells tear at his hands and he nods rapidly, like an over excited puppy  － it reminds him-me / you of the electric blonde with a wide, wide smile.

they do not know the full extent of your-his / my power, but neither do you / does he. fingers bleeding and nails chipped, glowing eyes and violent smiles with violent gains.

the world spins on its axis, he-you / tears drip down my face.