Jack Noir ♠ the Sanguinary Sentry (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
barkstabbark) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
mutantsgohome2011-12-27 04:37 am
barkstabbark) wrote in mutantsgohome2011-12-27 04:37 am
Entry tags:
Jack x Juicer OTP
He was trapped.
He'd tried everything--banging, stabbing, clawing, screaming until his throat was raw--nothing could break that fucking door. By now it was covered in desperate scratches, marks that also covered the walls and floor and even the goddamn ceiling. His hand was bleeding from hours of trying to escape and he could swear even his sword was cracked. Nothing was working. He could try for days or months or fucking years and he still wouldn't escape.
It was just him, and it. This was it. There were no options left.
The Sovereign Slayer unravelled a tentacle, reaching down to the small piece of orange plastic on the floor. An orange juicer. It seemed so harmless, so unimportant, and yet he felt so much malice from that innocent little thing. It was taunting him. It was a plastic orange juicer but he knew that fucking thing was taunting him, somehow. Maybe it was possessed. Fuck. He didn't know, he didn't care. He just wanted out of this fucking closet.
The tentacle wrapped around the juicer, easily lifting it up to the Slayer's bloodied hand. He gripped it tightly. The point dug into his palm, drops of fresh blood dribbling out of his wounds.
Hesitantly, he brought the orange juicer to his lips.
Jack knew what he had to do.
Two hours later, Jack Noir was found in the hallway closet, dead. His carapace was covered in messy cuts and bruises, apparently caused by the dull point of the plastic orange juicer found pressed against his face. A week later, he was back. They asked him how he died once, and only once.
All he could do was sob.
He'd tried everything--banging, stabbing, clawing, screaming until his throat was raw--nothing could break that fucking door. By now it was covered in desperate scratches, marks that also covered the walls and floor and even the goddamn ceiling. His hand was bleeding from hours of trying to escape and he could swear even his sword was cracked. Nothing was working. He could try for days or months or fucking years and he still wouldn't escape.
It was just him, and it. This was it. There were no options left.
The Sovereign Slayer unravelled a tentacle, reaching down to the small piece of orange plastic on the floor. An orange juicer. It seemed so harmless, so unimportant, and yet he felt so much malice from that innocent little thing. It was taunting him. It was a plastic orange juicer but he knew that fucking thing was taunting him, somehow. Maybe it was possessed. Fuck. He didn't know, he didn't care. He just wanted out of this fucking closet.
The tentacle wrapped around the juicer, easily lifting it up to the Slayer's bloodied hand. He gripped it tightly. The point dug into his palm, drops of fresh blood dribbling out of his wounds.
Hesitantly, he brought the orange juicer to his lips.
Jack knew what he had to do.
Two hours later, Jack Noir was found in the hallway closet, dead. His carapace was covered in messy cuts and bruises, apparently caused by the dull point of the plastic orange juicer found pressed against his face. A week later, he was back. They asked him how he died once, and only once.
All he could do was sob.