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Sliced Thinly (guro) (6)

1 .

It's Gold Rush. Dry, dusty, desolate. The smell of copper and ozone from rail sparks hang in the air. But he's not dry, he's not dusty. That enemy Spy -- you can see it when you run past him. His skin is moist, slimy. He smells like he crawled out of some goddamn bog. Hell, the skinny bastard would look like a dead thing if his eyes weren't pulsing a flaming red, the colour of /very/ living blood. The hint of teeth you can see are yellowed and nasty looking. ...Then you realized you've stopped dead in front of him, staring. The weight of your shotgun comes back to you and you raise it. No problem. Spies aren't dangerous when they aren't behind you. But something is so very wrong.

Slick. Your knuckles are slick with blood and the fingers of your glove are half cut away. And he's stabbing you but you can't really feel it. The knife slides up, under a rib and away. What the hell was he doing front-stabbing with that tiny kni-OH GOD. The pain spreads up through your lung as you exhale and makes you shake so hard your teeth /chatter/. Your hands are still able and instinct kicks in. You've got to shoot the bastard down! A quick squeeze of the trigger and shot rips through his side leaving a bloody fan behind him. But that doesn't make him slither away.

Eyes dart over you in eerie silence as his hand moves again, moving into your guard and cutting into flesh again. As you back away out of his reach you can feel that second cut burning, screaming at you. The sickening sensation of meat flopping loosely between the two cuts makes you gag and shudder. What the hell? The bastard was carving you up like a ham. A fucking ham. A sneer curls and distorts his lips as you backpedal over rocks and scrub brush, keeping time with your retreat. Another lucky cut and you can feel your flesh flopping around, long curtains of blood trickling down your stomach. Get him the fuck away!

You're tripping over things, getting clumsy as you turn and run. It doesn't matter that your back is exposed, he's just going to keep coming for you until you're a mass of meat painting the desert red. Hopping and swearing as you crack a heel against a cart rail, you run towards base. You need someone, /anyone/ to help run distraction on this psycho. A hand reaches around your side and another slide of the knife makes you drop your shotgun. No it can't be he's already behind how can that be he can't move that fast it hurts to breathe gotta get to base he's going to carve me up and serve me for fucking dinner to some fucking shark or something oh god.

And the smell - that horrible rotten smell is on you. All over and around. His fingers are on the back of your neck right at the base of your skull. When did you end up on your knees like this? You can't remember slipping. Oh you idiot you blacked out while you were running and now he's got you. Where's that other h-OHHHH GOD THERE IT IS. That knife, he was sawing with it. Blood is spraying everywhere and it hurts. And yet everything feels strangely detached as you watch a new ribbon of blood spray across the ground. You never noticed the little gold flecks in the sand before. But they're gone now under the red. That's your red that's on the ground. And he's still cutting into you. A violent shake of your body snaps you back to reality as you gag, unable to take the pain or that horrible sliding feeling of layers of what should be solid flesh sliding and slipping together.

He's still totally silent as he pulls out the knife and moves down another notch, cutting up and turning your whole abdomen into a quivering hanging mass of red and pink. Yes, pink and veiny. You ponder what your insides look as you kneel there, hunched up with your forehead tilted at an odd angle against the ground. Watching those flaps swing and shake through your shredded clothes and that blood covered sleeve saw and then swing back smoothly. He blows smoke through his nostrils and it gets right in your eyes. You can just barely see one of those horrible bloodshot eyes looking down at you. His eyes are shining - he's enjoying this. You suddenly feel his hand stop and rest on your lower back. Oh god he was planning something. What was he planning? Everything was a shuddering ache punctuated by white hot hornet stings. It was so hard for you to even keep from puking and choking yourself. You were at his mercy.

A hand slips under your side that's mostly uncut and he flips you ass-over-teakettle. Your neck strains as the weight of your body passes across it momentarily and your tail bone screams at you when it lands limply on a rock. Oh man that hurt. Your arms flail upwards trying to take a swipe at him. One of your weak-ass punches connects to the place where he was shot but it only manages to illicit a grunt and a dull squish. You realize as he catches your wrists and slams them to the ground before kneeling on them that he wanted to get a hold of your hands. You fucking dying idiot. Why did you have to go and stop dead in your tracks in front of this sickening motherfucker in the first place? Your wrists are killing you, being pinned under his hard pointy shins, not quite as much as your lungs and your stomach though. Everything had melted into some kind of crazy icy fire and was making your legs twitch involuntarily. Then he leaned forward over your legs. Was he watching them? What the hell was he doing? Then you heard the zipper pull down. What. What the fuck.

There's a ringing in your ears but you can still hear over it. Hear him blow out smoke from between those reptile lips, hear the slide of skin against skin. No. No no no. NO. You kick your legs as hard as you can and heave your shoulders trying to free your hands from being pinned. It hurts like hell but you're not just going to let him do that to you. Legs whirl in the air and a knee or two manages to hit him but everything is so cold and there's sparkles dancing across your vision. He turns back to look at you when your fight finally dies. His front is grisly. Your kicking and struggling have covered him in blood. It's all the way up to the top of his mask, trickling down like rain. And then he grins and for the first time makes a sound - just a slight grunt as skin now slides against wet skin. He turns back to his work and leans forward sliding in between the cuts. And he starts thrusting making little grunting noises. You can't really hear the noises, you can only feel them. After all, you're screaming so loud it's all you can hear now as you feel the delicate threads of skin linking the flesh snap away and that foreign object stir in your guts.

It's unbelievably painful. Everything up to this point was a walk in the park. You're screaming your lungs out and kicking and you can feel things moving around that should never move around. And he's moving faster and faster. You could swear you just saw something pink flop to your side. A lot of pink somethings. Yes, you can see it just a bit over his shoulder now. He's tearing out your guts and taking them up in great handfuls. Pushing them down, rubbing into them, spreading his horrible forgotten stink into you. Terrible, slimy and disease-ridden and he's in you and he's killing you. Your legs can't seem to kick any more but your voice is still screaming loud as ever. And then a voice other than your own reaches your ears. A rattling moan, escalating higher and higher as blood flies everywhere. And then you can feel a hot sensation in your cooling guts. His slime is in you now. There's no way you can hold back and you puke, coughing and spitting out bile. He finally gets up off you and looks down at his handiwork, giving you a kick. The edges of your vision close in as you see another red-eyed sneer directed to you and he does up his pants, walking away, covered in you.

"Oh dear I've made quite a mess."
Marked for deletion (old)

2 .

Jones.

Jones, I need you to fuck me in the bloodied, mangled guts. <3

3 .

And then Owl wrote a snuff (just to amuse me, I believe)

Jones: Cream of wanton soup with an axe handle up against your windpipe
Hoshi: ...why was that sentence arousing.
owl tiem: [pyroraep: and shit you know you wouldn't be able to do anything about it, clawing at his hands and tugging at the axe handle - pyro's fucking strong, for serious, i mean, he carries around that flamethrower and it's gotta weigh 30-some pounds full, even without figuring on the tanks he wears)
Hoshi: Owl.
Hoshi: you make my pants tighten and my mouth water
owl tiem: hoshi: <:3c
owl tiem: axe handle pulled back just far enough, tucking your head back as far as it goes, craning your neck at an angle that feels like it's going to become impossible at any moment, and putting just enough pressure on your airway to make it hurt, hard to breathe.
PIE: have to hang on to that axe there.
Hoshi: oh god owl please more
owl tiem: not so tough now, are you? Pyro pulls back just a little harder; your vision starts to grey out around the edges, and you get your fingers around the wood on either side of your throat, hauling desperately to try and keep breathing. All the while those sounds from above you, weird muffled grunts.
Hoshi: But the more air you lose, the more lightheaded, the weaker your struggles and you realize that you can't win this
owl tiem: The noises are faster now, and he's grinding against you harder, rougher. He's also pulling back even more on that axe handle, whether he means to or not (he probably means to. oh god, you know he means to)
owl tiem: (he is going to choke you out and that is going to be the Capstone Of His Experience)
PIE: im wondering which pyro the one ni the picture should be.
owl tiem: Vision's fading but your ears still work, and you hear footsteps. Pyro roars, rolls off of you, letting go of the axe with one hand so he can swing it up - you get a gasp of air, so harsh and sudden and deep that you nearly choke on it, and you think /oh god he's off i'm safe/ - but then hard sharp pain in your back, /crushing/, and you feel a rib scrape along the axe blade as he pulls back for a second blow. You don't feel the third one.

4 .

:awesome:

5 .

I thought there was multiple endings to this one,Jones. or was it too late to type them? o.o

6 .

you already know how much i love your guro,jones.

7 .

Alternate endings are a-comin'. I got kind of sick so I didn't manage to get them typed up yet.
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