#hi I have a gore option and I think I have good options on opinions on it

[bg3sinbin]

Alright so I told myself I wouldn't post anything about it... but I still can't stop thinking about the A!Astarion kisses, Tav/Durge's face during it, and the stupid blow up around it. So here we go

Warnings: This is long and rambly and contains all kinds of spoilers. I am an A!Astarion lover. I will not be responding to discourse on this post. I do not care if you disagree. Make your own vent post.

OKAY so the brunt of the arguments I keep trying to ignore seeing surrounding this are how the expressions are "immersion breaking" for A!A fans, and everyone else clowning on them (sometimes rightfully so tho, ngl) because "the game gives the player expressions all the time! why are u mad now? do u just want ur Tav/Durge to be a blank slate?? lmao idiot" which ??? okay it feels like ur purposefully missing the point.

Yeah, actually sometimes this game gives my Durge some really ooc reactions. And it does, in fact, bother me. That being said, that is to be expected when u take an oc u had for like ten years and try to stick them in a pre-programmed video game. Things are gonna get ooc sometimes.

It also though, is usually smaller moments. Or things that happen Once and then u move on. Conversations where I go "hmmm. he wouldn't say any of these. oh well." or moments where he reacts negatively to terrible things that this evil bastard would normally laugh at. OH. WELL.

Now here's where my frustration actually come in. This game does a really good job, probably a better job than anything else I've played, at letting u play an interesting evil char. Something more than just "I am Rude, Aggressive, and A Dick To Everyone" and thus being punished for it gameplay wise.

I can play The Dark Urge, literal child of the god of murder, a canon necrophiliac, cannibalistic, gore freak that was going to flatten the entire world. There is a whole ass plot line and ending (multiple achievements included!) surrounding doing just that. There's all kinds of nasty interactions/plot options programmed in.

Yet, to the best of my memory, my Durge doesn't look horrified when we choose to slaughter the grove. He doesn't look horrified when we choose to kill the Dame Aylin, or Isobel. He isn't Obviously Distraught when we choose to help Astarion complete the ritual, or when we kill Shadowheart's parents, or become an Unholy Assassin of Bhaal.

To my knowledge, the player character isn't made to look afraid when kissing Dark Justiciar!Shadowheart, nor when they are literally poisoned by kissing Minthara. Sure, u CAN be offended about it in the convo with her after, but its still ur choice as the player.

I mean shit, they even patched in (in that very same patch) a positive, supportive reaction from ur evil partners at the end when u take over the nether brain! (at least for A!Astarion, and Minthara) so now when u do the evil thing that u and ur evil partner have been talking about all game, they don't suddenly change their opinion the second u actually do it.

And I really appreciate that about bg3. I can make evil choices and get interesting outcomes rather than the game just locking me out of all content actually made for that quest. Like ffs u can only get Minthara's romance scene if u slaughter dozens of innocents.

THIS GAME REWARDS U FOR DOING THE BAD THING. And like the evil options do usually have drawbacks and/or are less fleshed out than the good ones, but there are whole ass plots arcs u will never see if u only play good chars. This game makes playing an evil character interesting.

So why is it that I can do all that, and make/have my Durge react (mostly) accordingly, yet the moment the partner I chose acts controlling, now is when my characters feelings are being decided for me?

I can spend the whole game hearing Astarion talk about how spawn are controlled, how all vampires want is power, and I can say to his face "yes! this character wants that! turn me!" and yet somehow... what? the creators think I didn't know?

It just genuinely doesn't make sense to me. Like I can choose, through dialogue, that my Durge is power hungry, and very into the idea of being Astarion's pretty little lap dog. He knew what he was signing up for! And yet he looks terrified when his vampire bf (who has been feeding on him all game) bites his lip?? really?

Idk I just have some really weird feelings on some of the ways they try to Really Emphasize that u made the wrong choice for Astarion specifically, and this just exemplifies that.

Either do the rest of ur characters this service, make all of them (make every choice in the game) a moral lesson for the player to learn, where u hold their hand and say "u didn't listen to what they actually needed :c u could have done the good thing but u didn't :c"

Or let me play my evil bastard. And let me revel in it.

#ascended astarion #is the ONLY tag i will be putting this in #commiserate with me fellow evil bastards #this post is not for the rest of the fandom lmfao #is this a bad idea to post at all? probably fghjgfdghj #but unfortunately i have Opinions

[whimsikolya]

About Kevin and the dread powers

Just to clarify, this is a post about Welcome to Night Vale and The Magnus Archives because horror podcasts won't let me sleep.

I suffer from the same curse all TMA enthusiasts are well acquainted with, which is to say I've given up on trying to interact with any new piece of media without applying fear entities to everything and everyone involved. With this in mind, I've been asking myself for ages which fear Kevin would serve, and I've come to the conclusion that everyone's favorite prophet is a hundred percent an avatar of the Spiral. I don't usually share my thoughts with the class but I've only had a couple of hours of sleep last night and I've just seen a poll asking this exact question with very, very different results and... well, greetings everyone?

I'll start by saying that I absolutely get why people have completely different opinions on this, because at first glance this man and Desert Bluffs as a whole fit so many of the fears. And sure, the dread powers are colors, everyone is bound to blur a few lines. Kevin's lines are as boiled as a bowl of spaghetti though, we're not talking about blurry spots, there are leaks everywhere.

He's Spiral aligned, sure, but the omnipresence of gore and pain in Desert Bluffs is extremely Slaughter and Flesh coded, his Smiling God sometimes sounds like a manifestation of the Dark, and it's impossible to talk about Kevin without a few dozens mentions of cults and centipedes, so he's a pretty good candidate for the Corruption as well. And then, of course, we also have to talk about the blurry line between the Spiral and the Stranger, which makes it hard to see why he'd fit one more than the other. Conclusion: it's an absolute mess. I'm so sorry for how messy and long this post is inevitably going to be.

But hey, I'm doing my best to make sense here, so let's start by ruling out most of these options in a somewhat orderly fashion.

First of all, I'm automatically going to ignore the fears that didn't make an appearance in that little introduction. I can see the influence that the Beholding or the Buried might have on Kevin, but it's simply insignificant compared to the impact of the ones already mentioned. Again, colors and all that.

The Dark is easy to rule out too, but I couldn't ignore it when Kevin's eyes are black and It Devours describes the Smiling God as "that light that sometimes shines out of cupboards and basements, a cold light". But Mister Pitch already has his cult and I think there's too much focus on sunlight and not enough on what that darkness might hide to really go with it.

The Slaughter and the Flesh are harder to brush off, mostly because of, well, all the barbecue sauce. Violence and pain are, have been and will probably always be omnipresent in Kevin's life, and he's very likely a cannibal as well - with a morning routine that goes "burying what's left of breakfast". However, I think it would be too easy to stop at that. First of all, while the arrival of the boy in recent episodes proves that Kevin has always been somewhat open to violence and bloodshed, I'd argue a lot of it came from Strex. Triptych makes it clear that there was no issue with blood and viscera in Desert Bluffs before StrexCorp. And more importantly, hiding behind these fears specifically... the Spiral does that a lot. I completely believe Es Mentiras would've been equally as able to trigger the apocalypse as the Eye, because it has the same kind of special relationship with the rest of the dread powers, but that thought would be too long and too off topic. The point is, the Spiral served us the confession of a cannibalistic priest and a whole statement about a man forced to hurt himself via eating a computer. I'm really writing too much so long story short, I'd argue it really comes down to this: what's the end goal there? In the case of a Slaughter/Flesh avatar, it would be the gore/meat/pain/violence itself; to draw fear out of these things. For Strex and thus for Kevin, when violence and blood are gratuitous, the point is, most of the time, to keep people guessing. To instill doubt, to play with them. It's a "beat your employees to a pulp the day they start their new job to ensure their self-esteem and trust are never quite there" sort of violence. It's a "trick a whole society into thinking humanity is a food chain and they better bite before being bitten" sort of cannibalism. It's a different fear altogether, and so it doesn't fit either.

The Stranger and the Spiral are not always easy to differentiate, so I get the hesitation between the two. And yet I feel like it's pretty simple in the end. The Stranger, I Do Not Know You, is about concealing - thank you, Michael. It's hiding the truth and leaving you with nothing. The Spiral, It Is Not What It Is, is about lying, about twisting the truth so that you get it wrong. As much as I get the symbolism of masks and skins, and as much as they fit Kevin, he does not.. exactly hide anything. He never lies to Carlos about the blood in his studio, he doesn't hide how horrifying StrexCorp is - but he does say the truth with a big smile on his face and in his voice. He denies nothing, but he twists the reality of what happened to him, of who he is because of it. As the Archivist himself would say, he is the question "what hides behind a smile? Is a friendship true, or is it reaching with hands that cut you?" And you know who Kevin always calls a friend? His dear double, of course. He's once again clearly leaning towards the Spiral here.

The Corruption may just be the most tricky, if only because of the shared imagery. With the Smiling God being a giant centipede, and his little Temple of Joy hosting nothing less than a cult, it's hard not to entertain the possibility of Kevin turning to the Crawling Rot, willingly or not. He seems to have had toxic relationships with both family and friends all throughout his life, too, but he himself sounds like he's doing quite well with his new family. If anything, it means that he is/was a victim of the Corruption rather than a potential avatar to me. He may even have jumped off of his metaphorical tower Mike Crew style, right into the arms of the Spiral.

There would be plenty of examples, but to keep this sweet and short I'll focus on the main thing that the two entities share here, that is to say the cult/faith part. I'm a huge believer (ah) in the idea that the Spiral is equally as fond of religious devotion as the Corruption - not saying that they are the only ones, but they are the only ones that matter here. Father Burroughs and Bethany O'Connor, but also the statement giver of Sculptor's Tools who mentions going to church, are proof of this. Both entities target those who have faith to gain power through it, but again, not for the same reasons. The Corruption targets people whose beliefs betray a lack of and longing for connection to nature/others/etc, like Prentiss or the members of the Divine Chain. The Spiral targets people whose beliefs betray their guilt, doubts and insecurities - say a priest who couldn't save a young girl, or a woman who's quick to judge someone on his appearance. They prey on different concepts entirely and when it comes to Kevin and his faith in the Smiling God, I think it's pretty obvious which side he's leaning towards.

Now I'm aware this is a "why Kevin isn't aligned with this or that power" more than a true "why Kevin is Spiral aligned" rant. But this post is so long already that I'm going to stop here before I lose the rest of my sanity and bore all of us to death. I hope a number of points that connect him to Es Mentiras still shines through this whole thing, by contrast at least. I would also be very happy to write another post focusing on each and every single thing that makes Kevin an avatar of the Spiral to me, if anyone happened to be interested in that - and/or to discuss or argue this further, even though I doubt there's an audience for dreadfully long WTNV x TMA rants. But hey, if there is, you know where to find me. My opinion is probably completely off from someone else's perspective which is always fun. I'm just a dedicated listener with a ridiculously strong hyperfixation on both Kevin and the Spiral.

Going off the air until then. Until next time, Desert Bluffs. Until next time!

#the magnus archives meets night vale #the magnus archives #welcome to night vale #wtnv #tma #kevin wtnv #i even made an effort and used capital letters in there! you're spoiled~ #tw sleep deprived author #double checked NOTHING so if there is something inaccurate in there blame my memory #not used to writing and posting stuff like that on here aaah

[smolgloves]

Not So Useless

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Summary: The gang is in the heart of the lair where they must fight the hag

Tw: Blood, gore, violence, mentions of sex, and near death experience

Despite the looming threat of facing a hag, Freya found a glimmer of joy in this dark cave. Tav.

They marched forward ready to strike anything that decided to jump out at them. Freya gave a soft sigh as she stared at Tav, there was just so much to admire when they were half the size as the others yet willing to take the lead to protect the group.

“It's cute, you know.” Astarion spoke in a hushed tone. “Looking at Tav like that.”

Freya snapped her head over to the elf, a puckish grin planted on his lips. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“There's no need to be coy.” He said with a breathy laugh. “You stare at them like a lovesick puppy.”

Immediately, Freya's eyes darted to Tav and the two women to make sure none of them heard what Astarion was implying, she couldn't believe he just said that out loud! “your eyes must be getting dull if that's what you see.”

The borrower's retort only fueled the teasing spark in his eyes as he gestured over to the unknowing halfling. “I don't blame you, Tav is a delicious treat; I would know, I've indulged myself.”

A tight knot formed in Freya's gut, her heart sputtered at the mere thought of them fucking. Was she… jealous? No, Freya was just annoyed that Astarion would bring this up all of a sudden. “Good for you.”

“Oh, don't be so tense, darling. I'm just trying to start a conversation.”

“I'd rather stay focused on the mission.” She said through tight lips.

Astarion scoffed. “You're no fun.”

“It's hard to be when a hag wants to use your people as potions.”

Astarion glanced over at the borrower on his shoulder, his quiet expression only made her grow more tense. “They cast you out, yet you still want to save them, why?” A scowl was painted on his face, yet despite the obvious disgust he voiced, there was a curiosity that lingered in his tone.

“Because they don't deserve to suffer from a hag.”

He gave a haughty laugh. “Really, because if I can't imagine wanting to lift a finger for someone who wronged me like that!”

“Of course, you wouldn't understand.” Freya gave a sharp exhale. “Not all of them are bad people, there's good people.”

“But did the good ones try to stop your exile?”

Silence hung in the air, Freya thought of her dear cousin, who voiced his opinion, yet didn't do much to stop his dad from making the call. Freya wanted to give Kes grace for not intervening more, but there was a selfish part of her that wished he would have told his father off right there! It wasn't fair, she has been more supportive of him than Uncle Eskel would ever be! Yet, he let this happen.

“That doesn't matter.” She quickly snapped back. “There was no stopping my exile once the elders made the decision.”

“And what makes you think your little leaves will be any different?” He shot a look so full of contempt it had Freya scrunching up her nose.

“Oh, why do you care?”

“I'm just wondering what you'll do if your little plan doesn't go over well.” He shrugged. “Where will you go if you never get accepted back to your colony?”

That was a scenario Freya had avoided thinking about because the truth was, she had no idea what she would do. Ideas flitted in her mind all at once, she could always live near the outskirts of the border, then she could at least see Kes. However, the outskirts weren't exactly a safe place to live especially with Goblins and gnolls roaming around. There was always the option to travel and see the world like her father used to, but not only is that dangerous, she would have no one to share the journey with. Defeating the hag and delivering the Aixosfeaf to the colony had to work in favor!

“Hold it.” Tav commanded quietly, making everyone stop and hold their breath. A shrill voice was spewing curses in the distance. Everyone crouched down and pressed forward, the shadows becoming their cloak as they reached an opening. Mushrooms of varying sizes cluttered the pit of the cave, with moss that lined the walls and plants sprouting from the dirt, had the circumstances been different, Freya would have been ecstatic to be in a place that grew such an array of herbs, but the writhing old woman kept her focused on the mission.

“Vile, wretched worms!” The hag wailed out as she plucked herbs and mushrooms that gathered around the area. Freya took note of the plants she grabbed, no doubt she was trying to make an elixir to aid her severed hand.

The group split, with Shadowheart stalking off in the shadows, past the hag without a trace. Karlach and Tav seemed to stick together, hiding behind boulders, but Astarion veered away from everyone, sneaking over to a rocky perch that clung to the shadows. It was the perfect spot to stay hidden while also keeping a tiny woman safe from the action.

As Astarion stayed crouched, Freya kept her eyes on Tav and Karlach, they approached the hag cautiously with their weapons ready the moment the vile wench tried anything. However when she eyed the two, she ceased her agony to throw on a menacing glare.

“Think you'll finish the job so easily?”

Tav gave a short laugh. “I've fought one too many hags to think a wounded hag would be any less dangerous.”

“You're smarter than you look, halfling.” The hag smirked. “Too bad you weren't smart enough to leave when you had the chance.”

Snarls from those redcaps echoed down the tunnels and soon a swarm of the vicious fey circled the two. Tension built up in Freya, she counted at least ten of those things, maybe even more! Tav and Karlach may be tough, but could they take on a whole swarm?

“Detono!” Tav thrust their hands forward as they spoke the words. A boom erupted and several of the redcaps plus the hag were thrusted back!

From the shadows, on the other side, Shadowheart shouted a phrase that sounded like Silentium, and a purple aura surrounded an area of the cave. Freya was about to ask what the cleric did but she got distracted by Karlach charging in swinging her greataxe at the hag. She staggered back trying to avoid being sliced to bits by the barbarian. Meanwhile Tav took on several redcaps at once, knocking them back with ease! However, Astarion drew his bow and shot at a redcap that seemed to be running away.

“What are you doing?” Freya snapped. “You're going to give away our position!”

“I'm trying to make sure Shadowheart keeps the spell up!” He retorted as he hopped down from the rocky perch they once were stationed at. “If her concentration breaks then that bloody hag is going to be able to use spells!”

The spike in adrenaline heightened the borrower's adrenaline, watching as several redcaps stopped their fight with Tav in favor of the woman in the shadows. Astarion chased after them, running into the dome that kept the area magic free. Borrowers weren't versed in magic but even Freya felt a change in the atmosphere, shouts from Tav sounded miles away. She turned back to see a look of shock written on their face; one that would've held her gaze if a sudden lurch hadn't caused Freya to nearly fall from Astarion's shoulder. She grabbed onto his collar, scrambling to keep herself from losing balance, Astarion had stabbed the redcap in the back, making it go limp. He didn't give the borrower on his shoulder a chance to catch her breath before he bolted off to the next one.

This redcap turned back to counter Astarion's attack with its sickle, swiping at him in an attempt to slice open his belly. Fortunately, the vampire was quicker than the redcap but he couldn't seem to land a blow as the creature creature was aware of his tricks.

Finding her footing, Freya was able to sit up and slip the leather collar between her under arm and torso, keeping her somewhat stable during the erratic movements. It was an awkward position but it was the best she could do as she gripped her peashooter and aimed for the redcap. Once it got dangerously close, Freya shot a pebble towards it, hitting it square on the nose.

It staggered back, letting out a howl before being promptly cut off by Astarion as he slashed his blade across its throat. There was a pause from him as he glanced at the dead creature, blood pooling at his feet. “Seems like you're worth more than just being hag bait.”

Freya rolled her eyes. “Just try and keep your shoulder steady!”

“I'll do my very best, darling.” He gave a cheeky grin before making a mad dash to the next prey.

Pride swelled inside Freya's chest when she caught a glimpse at him. Astarion could throw a hundred backhanded compliments her way but it didn't hide the approving look that fired in his crimson eyes.

Astarion's blade pierced another redcap in the back. Just in time too, as it had Shadowheart cornered. She glanced at her ‘saviors’ before shooting a radiant bolt at an enemy.

“I don't think this is keeping her safe.”

“No, I'm keeping you safe.” Astarion fired back with a smug tone that matched Shadowheart.

“I'm fine, anyways.” Freya scoffed, keeping watch for more redcaps.

“See, she can handle herself.” Astarion gave a short laugh. “I'm not sure why anyone doubted her abilities.”

“Careful Astarion, keep talking like that and you may yet like her.” Shadowheart said teasingly.

“It'll take more than a few lucky shots for me to ever like a borrower.” A haughty laugh erupted from him.

Freya broke her gaze from the battlefield to glare at the vampire. If they weren't in the middle of a fight, she would absolutely swing at that smug face of his!

“Look out!” Karlach's voice carried over to the three. A redcap had broken away from Karlach's range and charged after them with terrifying agility. It lunged forward and Astarion only had a split second to duck away. While he and Freya got lucky, Shadowheart was not and got her arm sliced by the sickle. She cried out and in a moment the spell silencing aura disappeared.

“Gods damn it!” Growled Astarion as he backstabbed the last of the redcaps.

There was a chilling laughter from the hag, Freya snapped her head in her direction but she was nowhere to be seen. Dread washed over her as she felt like a sitting duck about to be hunted.

“Keep your guard up.” Shadowheart warned.

Despite her hammering heart, Freya scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary. The battlefield was eerily silent, with everyone remaining still as statues. She briefly glanced at Tav, who looked like they were ready to dash over to her and Astarion, but the borrower broke eye contact when she noticed a large mushroom that seemed to radiate a sickly green color near the halfling. It took a second for her to realize that was Deathsbreath.

“Get out of there, Tav!” She shouted but it was too late, as spores erupted from the mushroom and sent Tav tumbling forward, coughing up bile. The hag revealed herself to lunge at Tav, only for Karlach to rush up and swing her ax at her. Shadowheart and Astarion rushed towards Tav, helping them up.

“I'm alright.” Tav waved off Shadowheart's healing spell to look up at Astarion. “Get her out of here, now.”

“Hol-!” Freya’s protests were cut short by Astarion making a mad dash for the exit. She tugged at his collar urging him to turn back, he didn't even bother to give her an annoyed glance. However, he stumbled to a halt, snarling a bunch of profanities towards the ground. Freya followed his gaze to find twisting vines wrapping themselves around his ankles. He took his dagger and began slicing his way to freedom but for every one vine that was torn away, three more snaked their way around the vampire's limbs!

“Get out of here while you still can!” He ordered.

“I'm not leaving you guys behind!” Freya snapped, she frantically searched for an opportunity to free Astarion. “Maybe I can help!”

“The hells you can!” Astarion bared his fangs at an attempt to scare her into listening. “Don't be stupid!”

“Didn't realize trying to save you was stupid!” Freya sneered, pulling out her tiny dagger in a futile attempt to slice the massive vines. A vile screech from behind broke her attention, Freya turned to see the hag charging at them with her claw-like nails out to attack. The borrower screamed and squeezed her eyes shut, pressing herself into the cold neck of Astarion as a foolish attempt to protect herself.

Then…. nothing. Freya blinked a few times, before finally looking over to where the hag was. To her shock, she stood a few feet away, that menacing glare no longer aimed at them but instead at Tav, who stood in between them. Blood dripped down from their side staining their robes, as each breath they took became shakier.

“To think Ethiel was bested by you.” The hag spoke coldly. “Did you really think sacrificing yourself for those two would prolong their lives? That I wouldn't toss you aside and tear their innards out?”

To the surprise of everyone, Tav responded with a weak laugh. “Did you truly think…. saving them was my only… reason for doing this?”

Using all their strength, Tav thrusted a fist forward into the hag's chest, their hand slicing through like a knife to butter. Blood oozed down their arm, and the hag stared down at the tiny monk in horror. Then her face twisted in pain the further Tav seemed to reach into her chest cavity. Finally, the hag staggered back, clutching the wound in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing out. She dropped to her knees, never breaking eye contact with them. “You… fool.” The hag uttered before finally collapsing on the ground, letting out a final breath.

Once they knew she was dead, Tav stumbled back, wheezing out each breath.

“Shit! Tav!” Astarion scrambled out of the now shriveling vines and rushed over to the halfling. He wasn't even trying to be careful with Freya on his shoulder, but she couldn't blame him as she was ripped out of her shock when she laid her eyes on Tav. Their dark skin grew pale and their eyes were bloodshot, Freya wasn't sure if they were hurting more from the deathsbreath, or from the blood loss, but it was clear. Tav was dying!

“Bloody hells!” Shadowheart exclaimed as she ran up to Tav with Karlach. She quickly knelt down to heal them. “Stand back, I got this.”

Before she could even lay hands on them, tremors made everyone stumble, Freya had to grip onto Astarion's collar to keep from falling off. Stalagmites falling from the ceiling and rocks tumbling forward, the ground cracked around them. The hag may have died, but she wasn't going to go without taking her killers with her.

“Let's get out of here first!” Karlach shouted.

Astarion wasted no time pulling Tav close to his chest. His arms shook as he stood to his full height and ran. He kept his eyes on the two women who were already heading for the exit, but Freya just stared down at Tav. Their eyes squeezed shut. Would they even have time to get out of this crumbling cave before they succumb to their alignments?

Her thoughts were immediately silenced as the quakes intensified and made the quick footed vampire stumble forward. Then the ground cracked underneath his feet and shattered. Gravity did its job in pulling the three down the open cavern, Freya's heart lodged itself in her throat, sealing a scream that desperately wished to break out. All she could do was watch in horror as darkness shrouded the three and they were swallowed up by the earth.

#writing #tiny female #giant male #giantess #giant nb #borrowers #bg3 gt #giant tiny #g/t #g/t fearplay #g/t talk #g/t writing #giant/tiny #bg3 fanfiction #baulder's gate 3 #shadowheart #karlach #Astarion #bg3 tav #baulder's gate #giant #tiny #gianttiny #gt #mine #tw: violence #g/t community #tw: blood #bg3

[transprincecaspian]

Kyr Farwhisper - The Dark Urge

"Everyone has unseemly thoughts. Being able to quieten them is what sets us apart from the beasts."

Sharing some screenshots from my Dark Urge playthrough, which has just about hit 21 hours. BE WARNED. EVERYTHING BELOW THE READ-MORE LINE IS SPOILERS FOR THE DARK URGE PLAYTHROUGH. There is spoiler content, gore, and violence beyond! I tag with "#durge spoilers" if you want to block.

[Narrator: *You have nothing in your skull, besides your name and a headache. But you are in danger.*

Curse whoever did this to you.

Say your name aloud. You have a part of yourself.

Take a deep breath, shake your head, and start anew.]

The Dark Urge, in my opinion, is an origin that is preferable even to the custom ones that a player can make. Like the origins we get from the other PCs, such as Shadowheart or Astarion, there are custom cutscenes, content, and dialogue options specifically tailored to the Haunted past that you bring to the party. The Dark Urge isn't a play-through I would recommend if you want the feeling of a Noble, Righteous Hero. In some ways, it can be very stereotypically "edgelord"; you have little memory of your past, and are prone to violent and grotesque proclivities.

I suppose if you wanted to truly run an evil route and see how many dear companions you could kill along the way, you could play this route as Indulgent, or giving into the Dark Urge. I chose to play Kyr as a hopeless struggle; he is frightened by himself, and does his best to resist his dark temptations and try to do good. Resistance. It's made for a delightfully fulfilling roleplay experience, especially because I have chosen to romance Wyll on this play-through.

Even recruiting Astarion can be a little frightening.

The intro runs about the same, except when you wake up on the Nautiloid, you are bloodied, frightened, and have no memory of how you got there. In fact, there are no real signs that there is anything wrong with you, at least not in the dialogue you get until after the crash. Everyone's a little nervous, on edge, and then you have the chance to recruit Gale from his little portal. If you give into the Urge... it goes poorly. Fantasize about chopping his hand off?

I didn't make this canon for Kyr's run, but I was curious what would happen. I don't know what becomes of Gale, if you can recruit him later--if you can, how strange. You did just remove his hand for seemingly no reason. Astarion, too, has something to say about it immediately after.

This is your first sign that the Dark Urge run is going to be, well.. full of dark urges. Kyr seems to have a strange and compelling urge to commit harmful, violent acts--but doesn't seem to be aware he's doing it. I went back and he recruited Gale normally, resisting the weird desire to fantasize about chopping a man's hand off. Things were quiet--for a little bit.

Lots of dialogue choices specialized for the Dark Urge present in one of two, maybe three ways--commit this horrible act, or be shocked by your perversions and resist. Along with all of the usual options, such as based around your skill checks and your class. You have fewer culture rolls--you don't remember your past, after all (but you can imply to be Baldurian later on in Wyll's conversations, which I did). The lack of backstory and the amnesia is meant to heighten the strange horror of your situation, but I like building on what Kyr could be missing. A father, maybe, and a mother he never knew.

You can even tell Withers that you don't think your life is worth very much--something that he has a sage rebuke for. It's implied that he might know a little bit more about your circumstances than he's letting on, but if he does, he doesn't deem it fit to share with you.

Back at the camp, you do have options to speak with your party members--even so early--about your concerning affliction. Two new choices are available to you: concern about your memory loss, and concern about your violent urges. So early in the game, I decided I would start to bring up the memory loss. They are... quite flippant! And quick to dismiss your concerns on having to do with the mind-flayer tadpole.

It's late, and I'm getting sleepy, so that's all I'll add for this post. More is to come.

Part 1 | Part 2

#cas plays bg3 #oc: kyrran #oc: kyr #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 dark urge #bg3 durge #durge spoilers #bg3 oc #dark urge spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #fuck it we bhaal

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Tilt Shift." Jason Carvey X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Alright Bloodfest week two is in the bag! And who do we have but our limited screen time shitty film bro Ghostface Jason Carvey! I dunno why, but I really like him, he’s entering into the rotation. Buckle up guys, this is a pure hate fucking piece. Let’s go. 

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 4K. Jason Carvey X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Jason Sucks. You Kinda Suck. Enemies To Fuck Buddies. Arguing. You And He Hate Each Other. Raw Sex. Vaginal Sex. Eating Out. Man Handling. Some Dominance. 

—

You don’t think there is a single human being on Earth you get along with less with than one Jason-Who-Gives-A-Fucking-Shit-What-His-Middle-Name-Is-Carvey. He fucking sucks. He always wants to play devil's advocate, he always seemed to think your opinions were less than and had always had some smart comment to make to whatever you attempted to add to class discussion, he was a typical, shitty, film bro asshole. You avoided him whenever possible. You reluctantly had to see him multiple times a week in film class, and bumped into him around campus far more often than you’d like.

Getting paired up by random number lottery to do a duo project was the worst possible thing that could happen, there is no one that you would have liked less than him to be partnered with. A heavy sigh and your head dropped to your desk, he immediately launched into complaints and the class laughed, yeah it was real fucking funny how you were going to be tied to him for the end of semester project. 

This is your nightmare, you mused, this is Hell. 

The idea was that you are supposed to take a movie trailer and edit it, so it looks like it fits into a different genre, a great project you would have normally jumped at were you put with anyone else. The first three days were spent arguing over which trailer from the list to go with, you took so long that all the other options were snapped up, and you were left with the last one, forced to take it, and Jason didn’t take any blame for the fact the slim pickings you were saddled with were his fault. He said, “We gotta make it look like a horror film-”

And you were so tired of his crap already that you conceded. 

“Fine, whatever you fucking want, Jason.” You sighed, and he asked, clearly not buying that you would give in first, “Wait, really?”

“Really, let’s make it look like the dumbest, cheesiest, shlockiest 80s gore fest we can.” Even with your flat and less than impressed tone, you thought he would be all about it, but in typical Jason fashion he took offence. He started to say that you could make it look much better than that, and you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

The guy was always so busy, you had limited time to do this and as much as you didn’t want to work with him, you had to get this done, intent on getting a good grade. Turning in late would cut into your mark's considerably. After a pile of texts and no less than five voicemails, you finally get a curt, “I booked the editing room at 10 PM, see you there.” 

You had plans, but you needed to get this project done, so you cancelled the evening's activities reluctantly and made your way over. You had already gotten ready to go out tonight when he messaged, gave you less than two hours notice. You’d had just enough time to finish your food since you were out at dinner and make it back, run in and get your shit before you had to depart for your meeting with your less than stellar partner. You make it there five minutes before ten pm, you find the room empty, of course he got the last slot, no one wants to be editing this late on a fucking Friday night. Everyone else with good sense had gotten everything else done before now. 

You slump down in a chair, drop your bag and take out your flash drive with the work you’d put in thus far, you plug it into the computer and cue it up.

And then you ended up waiting for half an hour for Jason to stroll in, far too casually considering how late he was. He took the chair next to you in front of the computer, setting down a bag of fast food, a soda before he shrugged his bag off his one shoulder and set it on the ground in front of the desk. He hadn’t said hello, he hadn’t even looked at you, arms crossed as you observed him in pure disbelief. 

He was getting his stuff set up, taking his video camera out of his bag, getting the cord to attach it to the computer you’d claimed, a notebook, a pencil, he was eating a few fries in between. Fuck, he is the actual worst, while he is still setting up you cut in and say finally, “Hello?”

He stops, a look over to you, expression showing he was totally fucking confused why you were greeting him in this way, or greeting him at all, he says, “Hey?” 

You laugh, eyes rolling as you lean back in your chair, “Are you fucking serious?”

“What? What did I do now? I just got here!” He sighed, turning back to his bag, and you tell him, “That is exactly the problem, Jason! You tell me, not ask, TELL me to show up here, no regard for my Friday night plans, and I don’t fight you on it! I show up, early, and you stroll in a half hour late with fucking McDonald's and not so much as an apology for being late! You are unbelievable.” 

He shakes his head as he sighs, “Jesus, you are sensitive-” 

“Jason!” You bite out, upset at the very idea you are sensitive for being upset at this, and he scoffs, “Fine, fucking sorry for being a little late-” He said it mockingly, it could turn your stomach. You wanted to fight him further, the idea that he was “a little late” was pissing you off, him acting as if he was just a touch behind schedule, but you didn’t want to be here all night. 

“Whatever, can we get started?” You asked, and he said, “Yeah, so long as you are done being a bitc-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Carvey.” 

He looked over at you and upon seeing how serious your expression combined with your downright venomous tone, he bit his tongue with a muttering of the word, “Fine.”

Thank the Lord, he was dropping it. Maybe now you can get some actual work done-

“Why are you wearing that?” He was staring at you, brow creased in question. You looked down at yourself, heeled boots, short skirt, low cut top and made up, you’d planned to go to a party with friends and due to his fucking shitty timing you didn’t have the chance to change. 

Your eyes draw back up and meet his as you inform him, “I was planning to go out tonight until someone texted me to come do the work I’ve been begging to do for weeks, and I figured I better jump at the chance cuz who knows when I’ll get it again.” 

He smiled, that stupid self-satisfied smile, he had his soda in one hand and a few fries in the other as he tells you, “Yeah, sorry about that, I’m a very in demand kinda guy.” 

“Yeah, I am so sure.” You sigh, and you lean forward, “Okay so here is what I have so far-” You click the space bar and let what you had gotten done solo play out. 

He, of course, hated it. 

Endless criticism with no real praise to be found, he was going on and on, spewing his usual bullshit, “This is a joke! Total amateur hour! Did you even follow the story board we drew up?”

“Yes, I fucking did! Look-” You hold up your sketchbook and go through the shot he was current critiquing and pointing out, “See?! These are all your stupid angles and notes, I fucking did it-”

“No way, if I handled it, it’d look much better-” You groan, a hand combing through your hair, dropping your sketchbook into your lap with your other hand, “You are impossible to work with Jason!”

“I’m not asking for much here! It isn’t difficult.” He insists, gesturing with his half empty soda, and you say with raised brows, “Taking a beloved rom com trailer and editing it to look like a horror film isn’t hard?”

He groans, and you swear he might just stamp his foot in indignation, “No! You just gotta do it with care! See the love interest is supposed to be the monster, the villain, he is a ravenous beast seeking to corrupt her, and you are not conveying that right!”

You don’t know why you ever agreed to this. You should have fought him harder on the genre.

“If it is so bad, why don’t you show me what you have so far?” You ask, and he says, “Gladly.” 

He pulls up what he has so far, and it isn’t much of anything, it’s a few disjointed shots, some cobbled together audio and music, and you say, “You’ve hardly done anything, and you are criticizing me?!”

“My vision is clearer than yours is thus far-” He defends, and you cut in, “What vision? I can barely see anything!”

He takes a deep breath to calm himself and instead of pushing further he offers,“It’ll take me like thirty minutes to get it together, just give me what you have so far, and I’ll fix it.” 

Your mouth gapes, jaw drops, “You want me to just let you do all of it? Trust you to do this solo? Fat fucking chance!” 

“We are gonna be here all night then.” He says firmly, and you sigh out, “Fucking fine, I guess so.” 

You both set to work in relative silence, you agreed to do the front end and him to finish it up, you and he steal glances at the others screens and more comments and barbs fly. You and he have this terrible habit of riling each other up, he just annoys you so much, it’s so hard to play nice and take the high road when he is like this.

“Really? You are using that as your transition-” You start, and he bites, “And what would you do? A fucking flash to black between shots bracketed by a sting of violin music?” 

You make a sound of pure disgust, “You think so fucking highly of me.” 

He spins in his wheelie office style chair and turns to look at you, he tells you, “Sweetheart, I don’t think of you in any way.” 

You spin in your chair to face him better, arms crossing over your chest, “Thank God for that, otherwise I might vomit, I’d hate to ruin the carpet in here.” 

Next you are up out of your chair, and you stretch your arms above your head, your eyes are closed, head back, so you miss the small detail of Jason’s eyebrows raising as the hem of your shirt does, enjoying the bit of skin you revealed with the action. Your arms come down and so does your gaze, his expression schools back into something more akin to hatred, and you say, “I’m going to the bathroom and gonna hit the vending machine.” 

“Yeah whatever.” He shrugs and turns away, you make your move to walk out and tell him, “Be right back.”

He was less than subtle this time around when checking you out, blatantly staring at your ass through the glass window of the editing bay, you weren’t going to call him on it. Walking down the hallway it made you laugh with a shake of your head, you were musing, “Mmmhm, he totally neverrr thinks about me.” 

You are still thinking about it while you are washing your hands, “Is this why Jason is such an asshole to me? Because he actually wants me? Shit, be more fucking cliche’.”

After leaving the bathroom and finding yourself in front of the vending machine, considering your options, maybe you were imagining things, maybe he wasn’t looking at you like that.

You put the money in and make your selection and watch the metal spiral spin and twist till the small bag of chips and the candy bar you selected fell. You fished them out and slid to the next one, keying in to get a can of something cold. Even if he was looking at you like that, who says you should do anything about it, maybe you could let ol’ Carvey suffer and stew. 

Once you were back in the room you open the can, you stride to your chair and sit yourself down, you are mid-sip and putting the food on the desk with your other hand. The way you sat made your skirt rise up a tad, your legs cross, the can comes down and your opposite and free hand smoothed the material down over the curve of your thigh and that is when you notice it, he’s looking again. 

Oh, he did want you. This was no wandering of a wild imagination, Jason actually was “taking in the sights”. You wanted to laugh until you realized something crucial. You’d swapped seats, you took the empty one without thinking, but this was his old chair, the crumpled McDonald's bag is what made it click. He was seated in yours now, meaning that he was editing your shit. You look over to the screen where his attention was fixed once more, and you see him doing some serious damage, you slam the can down and stand up, hand pushing on his shoulder as you exclaim, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

He half turns in the chair, the violent jerking of his body from the force of you putting your hands on him, his own hands up and away from the keyboard, he looked shocked you touched him in such a way, so sudden and violent, “What?!”

You point at the screen as you ask much too loudly, “Why are you in my chair and what the fuck are you doing?!”

“I didn’t know if you were actually coming back, thought I should help you out since you so clearly need it.” He spits, and you scoff, “My bag is still here Jason, like I’d leave my shit in the editing bay alone all night with you, it’s bad enough I have to be here.” 

“Again, you could let me handle it and you could go. I want to go a more found footage angle than you do anyway-” You suck your teeth indignantly, “You actually like that found footage shit? And how are you gonna make this look like that? Tilt shift it in after effect and slap some fucking filters on it?” 

He leaned in closer as he spoke to you in a harsh tone, “What did you say before? Accusations of me thinking highly of you? Why don’t you flip that mirror back around to look at yourself.” 

He was still looking at you in that annoying way that told you he was checking you out, and so you say, “No, I don’t think I’ll do that, I think you are looking at me enough for the both of us.” 

The word was almost coughed out, “What?”

And the word of the day is. You stare him down as you say, “I see you fucking staring at me, you son of a bitch. I’m not as stupid as you treat me.” 

“Are you sure about that? Because right now it sounds like you are delusional and convinced I want to fuck you.” He laughs but there is no bite behind it, he is trying and failing to cover himself up, he is struggling to meet your gaze. 

“I don’t think I am that delusional.” You state simply, and he questions, “Oh no?”

“No. In fact, I am sure you want to fuck me so badly that I could ride you right here, and you’d more than let me, I think you’d love it.” 

You decide not to let him get any more chances to argue, you reach down, fingers slip up your skirt, thumbs hook in your underwear, and you drag them down, stepping one leg out you said, “Get your stupid jeans open, right now.” 

His expression is confused, eyes are wide, but his hands scramble, belt open and undone, pants unzipped he is shuffling them down his thighs before sitting back down, now you take in the sights, and he isn’t a bad size, this could work. You certainly aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of complimenting him, he speaks up, half cocky smile, with a hand around the base of his shaft, “You like it?”

You swing one leg over and sit in his lap as you sigh, “It’s passable, I suppose it’ll have to do.” 

He frowns at that, and you grind yourself against him, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Fingers curl in the material of the college branded shirt he wore, and you rolled your hips, dragging yourself against him, causing the head of his dick to bump over your clit making both you, and he shared a sharp inhale. You already hated this simply because that one simple move felt far better than it should, it pissed you off. You tested it again, you repeated the action, and it was better than the first pass, another proved to increase the feeling and so it goes and that just serves to fuel the fire of both rage and lust inside of you. 

“What the fuck-” You breathe out, head tipping back, hips rolling, and he ruts up into you, providing extra friction and asking, “What? What are you going on about now?” 

“This-” You grind again and let a breathy moan slip out, and he then moves again, matching you move for move, and you grit out, “-it’s too fucking good, it shouldn’t feel this fucking good, and it’s-”

You moan louder, “-it’s pissing me the fuck off.” 

It's honest and raw and vulnerable and, above all else, very fucking true. His hands are on you, one on your hip to help control pace and another on your back, under your shirt, fingers on bare skin as he ruts up into you as he stares up, meets your gaze as he says, “Take it out on me.” 

Now it was your turn to use the word of the day, “What?”

He moves slower this time, more purposeful, it makes you choke back a moan, and he reiterates himself, “Take your anger out on me then.” 

You think that is the first smart thing he has ever said. 

Enough is enough, and you figure that you should take him up on his offer, you raise yourself up, hand comes down behind you, fingers lock onto him and position him just so, you angle your hips, and then you do the most natural thing possible at that moment, you sit down, sliding him deep inside in the process. 

Your hands move, one remains on his shoulder and the other slides into his slightly too long black hair and threads, you pull as you soak in the feeling of him stretching your walls, a deep sigh leaves you, satisfied in some regard simply from being filled. You revel for a moment until he shifts below you, eyes flick down, and he is staring up at you still, brows pinched together as he insists, “Move already.”

You scoff and tug harder on his hair, force his head back as you tell him, “Shut up.” 

“That hurts-” He groused, and you roll your eyes as you start to move, heeled boots on shitty carpet you start to ride him, asking in a breathy but ultimately teasing tone, as if the question was rhetorical, “Better?” 

The shaky moan he let out, while incoherent, told you very much so yes. 

You start to find your rhythm with riding him, enjoying yourself, angling your hips to grind your clit and that sweet spot inside to get what you wanted out of this sooner rather than later. As his eyes slip closed, and he lets you do what you wanted, allows you to take your anger out on him, you have the thought that like this? When he isn’t running his mouth and when he is letting you ride him as if it is the only thing he was ever good for, he’s actually pretty attractive. Even if he could stand for a haircut. 

You wouldn’t tell him that though, again, why give him the satisfaction, especially when you are so concerned about your own pleasure. 

Mean jabs and hurtful words left you now, just laboured breathing and moaning as you rode him, intent on seeing to your own end, and he was doing a lot to ensure it actually, moving with you, rocking up into you, seeing to your satisfaction and enjoyment in a way you’d almost call uncharacteristic of him. After two seconds of thought, though, it’s obvious he was getting just as much out of this. 

The build of it isn’t quick per se, but it’s steady, one of those orgasms that builds in almost a steady arc, not really any valleys, just a consistent climb, up and up, until your pace becomes a bit uneven, thighs shaking, breath stuttering until it culminates and you cum. Your fingers are still in his hair, but there isn’t any serious tension there, no longer holding taut, grinding down onto him, shallow, fast thrusts of him in and out halfway as you ride out your bliss with a quiet and singular, “Yes.” on your tongue. 

You squeeze all you can out of your orgasm before you slow to a stop. Your eyes open, and you huff out a, “Fuck, I needed that.” 

And next? You get up. You stand, slip him out and swing your leg back over, getting off of him and breaking away. 

You are reaching down, going to fix your underwear and slide it back up, and he asks, “Uh, what are you doing?”

Eyes flick to him, a confused look on his face and his dick still out, painfully hard and soaked from you, “Well we still have a project to finish, I was gonna get back to work and then hopefully go back to my dorm to crash.” 

“What about me?” He asked, and you respond with a smile, a slight cock of your head, “What about you Jason?”

Your eyes drop, you are pulling your underwear back up when you feel it. His hand locked on your bicep and then him yanking on you, pulling you over to the desk, and then he pushes you down, hands finds your hips, and he moves you to his liking. One is on the back of your thigh and pushing your leg up, knee finds purchase on hardwood, and he is leaning down, his chest to your back, you feel his hair on the back of your neck, lips brush by your ear, “Yeah you are not gonna leave me with blue balls sorry.” 

He is slipping back inside, and you arch back into him, a shared moan spills forth, “You took your anger out on me, so now I’m going to do the same.” 

Second-best idea he’s had all night. Well you thought that until later on he was going down on you post fuck, making you cum on his tongue until you were almost sobbing, but that is something else entirely. 

You ended up staying in the editing bay all night but by the end of it you had the project done and, reluctantly, a new fuck buddy. At least Jason Carvey turned out to be good for something. 

#Jason Carvey x reader #Ghostface x reader #Scream 6 x reader #SFBS #Blood Fest #BHF writing #ENJOY #ANOTHER GHOSTFACE

[white-weasel]

Saw Saturday came early! (Aka my friend and I are doing something else on Saturday so we got together and watched Saw III on Thursday instead) More thoughts from me about the movie

I feel like this movie REALLY made a big gore jump. Saw II already had a big jump from the original but this one… Jesus Christ. I worry that sometimes the traps get a bit too gruesome for their own good? We’ll have to see the later movies to see how my opinion develops on this topic

I was surprisingly okay with the angel trap? Idk it’s definitely a horrifying thought but I think there was just a very big disconnect in how that would feel/play out and the over the topness of it all made me able to watch it. Very creative though I will give them that.

Going along with that, rip Kerry. The start of the movie I was so ready for her to be like the dual protagonist of the movie and then she was not. I thought it coulda been kinda interesting but I get that wasn’t really the plot direction they were going with it

Generally enjoyed the character of Lynn! I wish I could’ve learned a little bit more about her before the end of the movie, but I get they were setting up the twist of her being Jeff’s wife so they had to keep things vague. At the same time, the absolute BALLS on her to threaten and taunt Amanda with that shotgun collar around her neck? She’s an icon for that

Lynn and Amanda could have been toxic yuri, if only they were given more time!!! I mean they *were* toxic yuri, but I’m saying in another life we got even more with them

Jeff sucks. Really really hated Jeff. And he wasn’t even fun to hate, I just hated him. Like dude I get you’re going through grief and fucked up because your kid died but come ON (Lynn, at this point the toxic yuri is looking like a better option for you than that sad sack of a husband)

The pig guts vat trap didn’t bother me like at all lol I’ve seen a few lists about traps and this one tends to be towards the top but it was whatever to me from both a story and shock value perspectives Like I like the idea of a psychological trap where the person being tested doesn’t have to hurt themself physically but rather has to do something insanely hard emotionally, but man. Jeff sucks so much that I didn’t even care about his internal conflict about destroying his dead son’s possessions. I was just sitting there screaming “hit the fucking incinerator button already.” Also yeah, rotting meat is gross but seeing it thinking about it doesn’t make me ill. The thing is, this was the trap my friend had the hardest time watching without a doubt. Different strokes for different folks

The hardest trap for me in this movie was the rack. I feel like I don’t need to explain why. I didn’t even attempt to watch any of it. As soon as the explanation was given, I turned my head and dutifully put my hand shield up lol. My friend was nice enough to give me the general play by play of the scene, but just listening to it was a lot

I liked seeing more Amanda in this movie and her character of someone who believes that John saved her life by putting her in a trap, but then can’t actually live and abide by that same code when it comes time to take up his work

(And she also falls into her own self destructive tendencies, despite being “saved” by John, showing how fucked up and flawed his own philosophy actually is)

Did enjoy seeing Adam again even if it was literally only in a flashback where Amanda is killing him

Also enjoyed the puppet again. He always makes me laugh and my friend finds it funny that I find him funny. Like that part where he’s just laying in the hallway with the trike? It got me so good

Curious to see where the movies go now that both John AND Amanda are dead. My guess is that John had some sort of contingency/final game that he wants to be played upon his death. This would mean that there’s at least one other apprentice running around who will carry out this game for him

There are only two people I’m aware of who we’ve been introduced to and have survived a game: Lawrence Gordon and Daniel Matthews (though he wasn’t really being tested but also he was in the death house so?? Close enough) so I think it’s gotta be one of them. I’m leaning more towards Daniel but idkkkkkk I’m not getting strong vibes from either of them that they’d join John like Amanda did. My friend is also keeping her lips staunchly sealed so I’m floundering like a fish here

Things I’m excited for/wanting to see in future installments: finding out who the next Jigsaw is, hoping for a little more focus on trap victims so I care about them getting out, the gay middle aged men (HoffStrahm), and more of the puppet

#saw #sawposting #saw series #saw franchise #saw iii #white weasel talks #I scream about saw #I think I got all the tags I needed

[xerophylloom]

The Times They Are a Changin' by Bandtrees and Hatsunoid is absolutely amazing

...And if you can handle the contents of it. No seriously. The fic is definitely dark and if you're sensitive to MEDICAL ABUSE, GORE, AND ABLEISM—Don't read it. It's especially centered around those and unless you close your eyes for all of it, you're not going to be able to handle it.

BUT!! It's so good, I would love to erase my memory just to experience reading it for the first time all over again. The disturbing parts aren't OOC (in my opinion at least) and it's very well-written, some optional out-of-site parts too.

A Laconic Summary: Mob loses control over his powers and causes permanent brain damage to Reigen and Ritsu. This fic explores the possible effects of that

Things of Note (as tags): Ambiguous Ending, Parasites (Specifically maggots and they're not TOO important, but they're there during a somewhat important moment)

Extremely long rambling (with spoilers) below the cut

This fic is so good, I created a sideblog for my AO3 to post about it. This fic is so good, that I had to stop what I was doing even though it is probably going to be detrimental to my grades. This fic is so good, that I was nearly about to rip my hair out from its roots

It's about 100k chapters long, separated into two parts. I'm easily bored and there's been plenty of times I've read a fic with maybe half the length, gotten bored, and thought of some parts as a slogfest even when it really wasn't—I just suck at getting through longfics. But reading through this, there was never a point where I thought that. Tensions were always high, rising even when I thought it wouldn't be able to, and I would end up near-screaming

And the way it shows how different characters feel? Gorgeous. Amazing. Love it.

Obviously, we have the normal book style descriptions from one character's POV, but then we have Teru's diary and Shou's little monologues(?), and it's all really cool??!?! Maybe that's what helped keep my attention. That and the little off-site links.

Speaking of those, I think I found all of them, but I'm not that observant so I could have easily missed some. And wow. Jesus christ. The last couple ones, the ones of Shou's gallery as his phone was getting wrecked, I was. just. In shock. I'm a very sentimental person who cares about photos and things, and I don't know how Shou didn't begin loudly crying right then and there because I would have

And god, so many times did I think 'Is this fic going to have untagged MCD?'. I was constantly at the edge of my seat expecting that someone would die. Reigen, Ritsu, Mob, Shou, Teru, Dimple (especially when he confronted Mob right as he was about to lobotomize Ritsu)... Basically all the main characters in the fic had moments where I was preparing to mourn

Mob really left for the deep end in this fic. I won't say that I fully get why he was so convinced that what he was doing was right, but it makes sense for him. He's not the type to let go easily, he's someone who draws strength from his bonds, and his aspect could be blood. And almost all his life, the message to never give up was basically struck into his head over and over. The one time I can recall where it wasn't? Claw, Seventh Division, where Reigen told him it's okay to run away. But I doubt that tilted the scale into being balanced in the slightest. There's so much more I could say about him in this fic. But I'll save it for now

Teru was... Teru. I understand him more than I did Mob, I think if I were in his situation, I would have maybe stopped at a certain point but we would be very similar in most of the actions we take. In the first chapter, I went 'haha silly!' at his entries. Seeing them as a little treat between the downers surrounding it. But then after he helped 'operate' (It doesn't feel right calling it that), I guess it really hit me. Then I started questioning if I would have done what he did. Then I realised I would have. Then I spiralled until I told myself this kind of situation will likely never happen to me and if it does, I'll get to it when I get to it

Serizawa is easily one of the ones you can feel for the most. Unlike Mob and Teru, he hadn't done anything to Reigen and Ritsu personally. And unlike Shou and Dimple, he didn't say harsh words. Perhaps you could blame him for not taking action sooner, but they all can be blamed for that.

Shou... Oh my god. Shou. At first, I was ready to fight Shou tooth and nail because really? That one comment on FriendBook wasn't necessary. I don't know how or why Mob didn't block him. But then as Mob spiralled further and further, I was hoping for him to make his way back into the narrative to save Reigen and Ritsu. Then he did. And he failed and he was injured and I thought he was going to die. Then he didn't. And it's implied he could have helped them. But could he have also made it worse? Who knows, that's why I put Ambiguous Ending as a thing of note.

DON'T FORGET THE OUT-OF-LINK STUFF!!! Mixed media fics that have off-site links are truly beautiful. My friend and I love that shit. Should she ever get into MP100, I'll recommend this fic to him with a shit-eating grin on my face. I hope the word count doesn't intimidate him erogdfkg... Every single bit of the off-site links I saw was just so cool. The art of Reigen made me feel strong unease, the real videos too, and that one animated video with Ritsu and Mob and Teru. Okay basically everything gave me a strong unease. But that's the point!!! And it was done well!!!!

This fic is pure talent, skill, and effort put into something that shouldn't just be preserved via a PDF file, but should be carved into stone for future archaeologists to discover. I wish I could hold even a fraction of power needed to create something this masterful

On a more less-serious note to finish this off: Mobway. Red Mobster. I was about to lose my shit. Every single time one of the companies showed up I was about to tear my hair out (in a funny way) because it felt like falling for a prank. I ESPECIALLY LOST MY SHIT AT PSYCHOLOGIST PEPPER BECAUSE IT TOOK ME SCROLLING DOWN BEFORE REALISING. Truly, the minds behind this were geniuses

Also, this might sound weird, but I got reminded of KomaedaLoveMail while reading this. The off-site links to websites for sure helped, but I guess I just associate talk of gore in written form in this way with KLM? Or maybe I haven't quite recovered from consuming that piece of media (Can you even call KLM that?) yet. This isn't bad by the way, I loved deepdiving into KLM even though my feeble brain couldn't comprehend shit.

And and one last note- Opening the song link in the end notes was like emotional whiplash. I had to sit there for a bit to process. Good music

This is a whole mess. Even for a ramble, it's a whole mess. I don't have words or sentences or even phrases for how I feel right now. I'm a mess

#The Times They Are a Changin' #Fic rec #Fanfic rec #Mob Psycho 100 #MP100

[buffalochickenwing]

Harvey Headcanons! ☕️🛩📚

He grew up in a decently wealthy household. He always had new clothes and a clean haircut, and he was often made fun of for it at school. He just wore whatever his mother picked out for him because he didn't know any better. He wasn't exactly encouraged to explore his personal style as a teenager, and it shows.

He has a very rocky relationship with his mother, who has always been controlling over his life (particularly his love life) and is the main reason for him becoming a doctor (she's also a major reason for his anxiety/insecurities). Harvey considered a variety of options when he accepted that he couldn’t be a pilot, but his mother practically forced him into the medical field. She still tends to project her dreams onto him.

His dad is just... there. He's the type of man that simply agrees with his wife, hardly sharing his own opinions or true emotions in an attempt to appear "manly." He was rather cold toward Harvey as a child and was typically busy with work (I believe he was the CEO of something), but they've grown closer as Harvey has gotten older.

His older sister Hannah is a lot like him, but a super hipster lesbian that’s a bit more on the adventurous side. Their mother is not supportive of her at all, and it’s something that infuriates him (he loves his sister to death). He takes her to a pride parade every year so that she feels loved and accepted by at least one member of her family. She lives in the city and they meet up often, usually on a monthly basis. They both love to read and often exchange books with each other once they've finished them. He considers her to be his best friend.

He played the violin growing up (his mother's idea). He was in orchestra all throughout school, though he was never very good. He enjoyed the music, but he didn't actually like playing very much, and he *hated* being on stage.

He loves dream pop. I just know that this little hipster man gets down to some Cocteau Twins, Lush, or Slowdive. I think he also probably likes The Smiths (they're so relatable to him), but he’s not really into any post-punk beyond that. I also think he likes 70s dad rock a little bit, stuff like Eagles and America- just the classics.

He isn’t really the type to get bored easily. He didn't have a large social circle growing up, so he learned to entertain himself. When he lived in the city he used to go to the movies by himself, and sometimes even to restaurants that he wanted to try. He is painfully lonely at the end of the day, but he does enjoy his own company.

He’s a cat person, 100%. Dogs tend to need too much attention and playtime for his liking. I imagine that his partner's cat loves to rub their head on his mustache and sit on his lap while he reads. I also imagine that they tend to knock his model plane parts onto the floor while he's building them. It annoys him, but he's very patient with his furry friend!

He isn't disturbed or scared by horror movies at all. He doesn't bat an eye, especially at gore- he has a stomach of steel from his days of working at the hospital. He enjoys watching them from time to time simply to critique the medical inaccuracies.

He secretly *loves* Hallmark Christmas movies. He watches them every year from the moment they start airing. He's an absolute sucker for cheesy romance. He cries during them sometimes if he's had a little too much wine.

Okay that was long and way too deep, I'm so incredibly sorry!

I'm just jotting these down as reference points for my fan fic tbh, I thought I'd post it though? Oof ya'll, please bear with me. I'm trying to be more creative in my daily life and this is just my way of forcing myself to actually do it.

#harvey stardew valley #sdv harvey #stardew harvey #stardew valley #sdv #god im a clown #but like #i love this mans and need to get it out #sorry yall

[cookinguptales]

So my dad, while an avid movie lover, always thought that he did not particularly like horror. Honestly, he'd mostly just watched a lot of horror that was either bad or not to his taste. (He's not a fan of slasher/gore films and neither am I, tbh.)

I recced him some horror that I thought was good and he's been slowly making his way through that, and we've had some winners! He's told me how much he enjoyed El Orfanato, Lake Mungo, The Woman in Black, etc. It seems that, like me, he enjoys films that have creepy vibes and weird mysteries rather than more explicit monsters/slashers.

For me personally, the sense of unease and slowly mounting dread is what I love about horror. I love ghost stories that are just as much about the human psyche as they are about the actual supernatural creatures. Gore tends to instill a different and entirely unrelated emotion in me (disgust, annoyance) so it doesn't do anything for me, and movies that rely on mostly gore for their scares just kind of bore me.

I think that Dad and I have similar taste in that respect. So I keep turning to dad like "Well, have you heard of 1408? What did you think about The Ring? The Descent is fantastic, but I think it was actually scarier before the monsters showed up..."

I've also gotten him into some tv shows! I am very happy to report that I have found a new person to talk to about The Exorcist (TV). I still stand by my opinion that that show was better than it had any right to be.

But I was thinking, and I'm trying to decide if next I want to introduce him to internet horror...? I mean, I think something like Local 58 or My house walk-through can be just as scary as a lot of mainstream horror films. That said, it's often a very different way of interacting with media...? And I'm not sure if he'd enjoy that or not.

Like, when DHMIS first came out, he enjoyed the first one! I think he was still teaching middle/high school at that point, so of course his students played it for him. (I actually saw that first one at a film festival around this time, so it was fairly mainstream.) I think he thought it was a bit tryhard but he did like it. But when I told him that there was basically an entire cottage industry of people trying to piece together what the series was about he was like "well, it sounds like those people have too much time on their hands."

He's... kind of a "the curtains are just blue" sort of person. lmao

I personally really enjoy the kind of media that you really have to work for (see: my obsession with interactive theater that requires you to investigate details and assemble the "plot", such as it is, that way) but Dad... idk! Not everyone likes it when their peanut butter is put in a kong toy. Sometimes you just want a straightforward jar. Neither option is necessarily better or worse, imo. It's just preference.

Maybe I'll try him on a few videos when I see him in a few days... I'll have to think through my game plan.

#local 58 may not be a bad place to start... #it gives the vibe of this new genre of horror but at the same time is more straightforward than most #I do not think my father is ready for full ARGs lmao

[tobiasdrake]

We're making bad choices. :D

Wait, is that Chrono Trigger influence I smell? We've got the party that stays externalized and follows you around, and turn-based RPG battles that happen right there on the map rather than in their own psychedelic wonder-zone.

This world map layout was the last piece I needed to say this game definitely took inspiration from the greatest RPG ever made.

I wonder if they have a New Game+ with a ton of goofy bonus endings based on when you decide to suddenly quit the main story and go fight the final boss instead. :P

In any case, Operation "Do what we're expressly not supposed to do and then brag about it to our authority figure" is a go!

But first we're going to have a bite to eat. Honestly, I agree with Garl. Right before getting into the most trouble of our lives is the best time for a snack.

And that sandwich looks immaculate. I'm a little jealous.

Oh wow, we are troublemakers, aren't we? These sandwiches weren't just good; They were sacrilegiously delicious! ...sacrilecious!

Okay, enough tasty treats, time to make mistakes.

HAHA! I am the best Winter Solstice whatever! This is going to prove to be a terrible mistake in a moment but right now I am riding this high. Let's race inside at a reckless sprint!

There's just something invigorating about, after much effort and practice, finally managing to complete a task you were expressly told not to do in the first place. Like scaling an office building on government property.

Oh good, so we're already in deep trouble. I was worried we'd have to go and tell him that we should be in deep trouble.

Nah, screw that. I want to do a good old-fashioned dungeon delve. Maybe we'll find a Big Chest that has a weapon inside of it. We can give it to Garl since he has no opinions about what weapon he wants.

LET'S GO, TEAM!

GOOD JOB, TEAM! We made it to the very first room and now we're screwed.

It occurs to me only now that, as all of our weapons are presently hypothetical, this may have been a mistake. I don't think the rainbow slugs are going to be very impressed if we lob Garl's backpack at them and run away.

They don't take a monster census in the forbidden cavern, Garl.

OKAY BUT HOW THO

That passageway is a straight shot to the entrance. It's a pretty tight passage with nowhere you could have been hiding while we were tromping through. It is physically impossible for you to be cutting off our exit right now, and I expect - nay, demand - that you cease any and all un-causal existing, and vacate from the impossible reality in which you have now found yourself.

...

Any minute now. Any. Minute.

Is it preparing to vanish in a puff of logic because otherwise--

That thing has a sharp horn pointed directly at the small of my back. This is going to be bloody. Why did I turn around?

GARL NO

I am immensely grateful to you for shielding me from that attack with your body. That was a super heroic thing of you to do and I appreciate you so very, very much.

But why did you use your face to block the horn!? You have a backpack, my guy!

We are in deep trouble. If we run deeper into the cave, we will most certainly be gored to death by monsters. But if we stay here, we have to face Moraine and own up to what we did.

...

I'm weighing my options.

Oh wow. And we're right back to screw Moraine. Can we seal the cave up behind us and leave him in here?

I want to give Garl the biggest hug and be besties for life for what he did for me. T_T But instead the future says we stop hanging out and never see him again. This flashback is ripping my heart in half.

Why do I get a bad feeling about that?

Our training began not on the basis that we have promise and the school recognizes our talent, but rather on the basis that we can no longer be permitted to go unsupervised.

We're the class screw-ups.

Well, at least he shows a more gentle side when he's not interacting with us, directly or indirectly. So maybe he's not a jerk. Maybe he just doesn't like us specifically.

Garl lost an eye and his two best friends all in one night. What a terrible night. That sandwich we all shared together is the last happy memory before everything went south. The symbol of our sacrelicious bond.

I hope he's doing better now. He's had ten years to move on with his life. People heal and grow and change. I'm sure we'll see him again; The game wouldn't be bringing him up if we weren't going to. But I hope he's in a good place and not, like, the Darth Vader of the plot.

"Go to your room and think about what you did FOR TEN YEARS" is a bit harsh of a grounding, dude.

And there it is again. Let people make their own choices! Obviously what happened here today was a terrible mistake committed in the ignorance of youth but come on. He wants to be our bestie so bad he sacrificed his eye for me. He's my gosh darned hero. T_T

#sea of stars #drake plays sea of stars

[ttte-tugscrowskullausmainblog]

Hi, I'm Crowskull, but Crow is a preferred nickname. I'm just a piece of trash, doing my thing, being trash and all. UwU This is my main Thomas The Tank Engine art blog, which will feature reblogs, memes, text posts, and of course my fan art of TTTE and my AUs of it. (I chose this font because I am a computer)

I currently have three main AUs; Human, Demon, and my own Engine AU with my own interpretations of the characters. All of my AUs will feature my own interpretations of the characters and less so those of the originals.

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⚠️ Warnings: this blog contains; strong language/cursing, sometimes heavy angst, maybe occasional gore like blood and injury, depictions of abuse, disturbing imagery, some seggsual content, this blog is intended to be 17+⚠️

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This is my art blog, will also feature reposts and memes and such but this is mainly an art and au blog of my TTTE stuff. If there is anything here you don't like, you are free to leave, there are many other options besides me. I will listen to opinions and any issues you may have, but if all you do is complain during your stay here, that is on you, if you won't be mature then I really don't care. I am a nice person and am open to others' opinions but if you disturb our vibes here I will yeet your soul into the internal abyss. It's not my fault you thought I was normal, you'll have plenty of time and more than enough clues to figure that shit out on your own.

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-Summary-

People pleasing is for bitches, and I ain't no bitch. I am very blunt and usually just as honest, and I'm a dry comedian. If you think I've insulted you, I most likely didn't, I'm just quoting phrases that I find funny. This blog mostly exists because none of my friends are well versed in TTTE and my attention seeking side wants to show arts.

I plan on making a separate ask blog for the characters in the future, but for now I still welcome asks for them. I also welcome requests and ideas and of course welcome feedback and suggestions, if given professionally and properly.

I think I covered everything. That should be all, lads. Farewell to all, and to all a good night.

(I also have another blog called crows-main-art-blog which features my non-ttte art)

Peace. ✌️✨🏳️‍🌈💕

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I do have an extra blog for my much more adult content. crows-mature-ttte-blog. Not for kids, 17+ only. No NSFW, mostly thirst traps and simp fuel I make for myself usually out of boredom or if I have a good enough idea.

#crows blog intro #hope you all enjoy #if not #im not that concerned about it #but if you do enjoy then thank you very much #local dumbass reporting out #kay byee #v3 because this is much more me

[rolling-restart]

desecration - part. 17

*** This is a NSFW fic with unhealthy relationship elements and graphic description of violence and sex as well as distressing mental illness elements. If it’s something you want to avoid or you are minor, please scroll past. ***

Status: incomplete

Tags and content warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, suicidal thoughts, angst, theme of death, semi-graphic body gore, implied mental illness, mentions of domestic abuse, domestic violence, unhealthy perception of death, mention of blood, graphic description of injuries, self-blaming victim, mentions of medicine misuse, implied non-consensual drug use, manipulation, a good amount of gaslighting, nudity, bodily fluids, panic attacks, distressing content in general.

Summary: Toto returns. George is more confused than ever. 

A/N: Okay so, this one doesn’t have anything too graphic but it is very very disturbing in my opinion so please PLEASE mind the tags. I think I will introduce a bit of comfort in the upcoming chapters so this will be probably the last extremely triggering chapter for a while. Please proceed carefully and don’t forget to let me know what you think!

THE HAZE

George wasn’t startled when he heard the key in the lock of his front door. It was almost as if he could feel the all-encompassing presence getting closer to him five minutes before it happened. He could run to the kitchen and grab a knife to face him. Or he could lock himself in his bedroom and call the police. He didn’t feel like running. Even if he wanted to, where would he run?

He could run to Daniel. George knew it was an option he had to forget about by then. Daniel did his part, became too nosy and had his hands full with a tragedy he didn’t even understand. George thought his experience with him breaking down would be enough to repulse Daniel forever. Obviously, he wasn’t as good as he was before at reading people.

His phone call with Daniel didn’t go as planned and George was almost sure that Daniel would be less worried if he didn’t call back at all. Daniel wasn’t stupid. He must have known that something bad happened. If he decided to pay another visit, George had to be stronger to not give in this time. Otherwise, this would become a vicious circle. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember how far back in the past the call happened so he had no idea how much time he had left.

George pulled his knees to himself, trying to get away from the cold of the now uncarpeted floor he was sitting on, making his torso scream in pain. Daniel wasn’t an option. He didn’t know what he was up to and if he figured it out, he wouldn’t want to do anything with George ever. On top of that, George was now stripped of the assets that made Daniel interested in him in the first place. His body was now scarred beyond repair. Well, maybe not beyond repair but George wasn’t sure if he had the motivation or the energy to get anything fixed anytime soon. He thinned, by a lot, and in his opinion, his skin started to look sickly at that point. Daniel would have nothing to do with him now.

On the other hand, he had no reason to run anymore. He had managed to get his business in order, his will approved. Worse comes to worst, he was prepared and for a person who was tired of running, it was the best feeling.

Being done with everything. Maybe he didn’t have a championship yet. People would understand, he was still inexperienced. He didn’t make too big of a name maybe, but he made good money and split it in a manner he deemed fair. He had nothing to be afraid of. It wasn’t only he couldn’t run, but also he didn’t need to.

There was still a part of him, excited to see Toto, maybe even anticipating what he would bring George this time. What nice words he had to say? Maybe he was feeling so guilty that he would just embrace George, carefully, to not hurt him like the fragile doll he is. Maybe he would be sorry, swearing that he would never do a such thing again. George would shed a couple of tears, and wobble his lower lip. He would accept his apology. Toto would make sweet love to him. Maybe he would even kiss the newly healing scars on his back gently, whispering his apologies. George would be happy and feel cared for. They could still have their happily ever after.

Except for the part that they couldn’t. Firstly, there was no guarantee that Toto even felt guilty, which was fair enough. George made a mistake and he did what he needed to do. And secondly, George wasn’t sure whether he could cry at that point. It was almost like his tear ducts dried out, making his eyes itchy. He couldn’t move or talk to embrace Toto and accept his apology. His body felt scrawny, and like a bruised fruit, waiting to be discarded at the end of the day at a market. He was never particularly breathtaking but all the events of the past few weeks and his lack of nutrition made him uglier than he could ever think he would be.

Maybe if Toto left him there like that, George would manage to wither on the floor. His body would dry and then become one with the dust on the floor and the furniture. The parts of his being would travel the air until they were caught by something. Nobody could find him, there would be no body to mourn. He would be totally lost and forgotten with a blow of the breath of someone who decided to clean his apartment when his family finally decide to sell it. George they knew would be gone but only George himself would know he actually never existed. The George they refused to see was just an ungrateful parasite, going against the people who fed, clothed and crowned him. George was fine with it.

When he finally heard the footsteps, like a perfect reversal of the footsteps he heard when he was losing consciousness on the floor a while ago. His body was trembling but George could barely register it. He didn’t feel like he was in his body. If he wasn’t there, no one could hurt him.

A pair of lean legs, clothed with suit trousers and a leather shoe entered his vision. George didn’t move except for his uncontrollable shaking. It was almost like a dream like George could see both of them in the room from afar. From that view, he could see himself rocking back and forth rapidly as he was shaking and felt surprised. The room was swinging too much already that he couldn’t register his body’s movement.

In his vision, Toto was like a black swirling cloud of smoke with legs. Even from his disassociated perspective, George refused to look at his face or fill the gap from memory. If he didn’t make it real, it wouldn’t be real. He started rocking harder to drown the feeling.

“George? Love?”

George didn’t react. He wasn’t sure whether he was making it up or Toto was actually talking to him. His throat and mouth were so dry that he thought his mouth was stuck shut and he wouldn’t be able to make any voice even if he wanted to.

“Can you hear me?”

George wanted to say yes. He didn’t want to perform any more insubordination by not answering but he simply couldn’t. No part of his body was cooperating. It was okay though, what Toto could do anyway that was worse than killing him? He couldn’t think of anything.

“Schatz? Love? Aren’t you going to answer me?”

If George wasn’t making this up, there was something terribly wrong. There was no explanation for Toto’s slow and soft behaviour in this daydream. George thought his mind was so desperate that he made up a Toto in his head, one who was able to be soft to George even under those circumstances.

“George, did you take something?”

This sounded more like the Toto he expected. George carefully laid out every way Toto could interrogate him about the things he found out after his physical examination. Starting slowly and then escalating with anger was one of them. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming at all. Maybe it was Toto, real flesh and blood Toto, not the one who screamed at him and ripped his flesh apart in his dreams.

It was ironic because George didn’t take anything as far as he could remember. He managed to make it to the living room after waking up and momentarily collapsed on the floor and hoped that the cold air of his apartment would help him think of a way of getting out of this. Maybe that was why he was shivering violently.

He felt the weight of a hand on his left shoulder. He knew that the fragile, wild animal inside him wanted to roll back, shriek and shake the hand off of himself but he couldn’t actually feel anything around his body. He only knew Toto was touching him because of a mysterious connection made between his body and his long-gone mind. He only felt the weight, but not the heat nor the pressure. As far as he knew, Toto could’ve ripped his arm off of his body. George wondered if he could physically do that.

He vaguely heard Toto sitting down on the floor in front of him. He was still looking at the floor. Apart from the wind of the movement and a slight change in his sight.

“Look at me, darling.”

A hand reached his chin and lifted his face. George was looking in the general direction forward and did everything he could do to avoid registering Toto’s face. He felt his face unstable in Toto’s hand due to his shivering.

“Am I scaring you?”

George didn’t have an answer to his question. He wasn’t able to interpret all the trainwreck of emotions he was feeling and his voice left him so long ago.

“Liebling, please, say something?”

George felt something giving in in his body. He was familiar with the feeling since he got back from the clinic. He tried to press his legs together to hide it from Toto. Unfortunately, it was also a very grounding feeling, pulling his roaming mind back to his body.

“Oh god…”

Apparently, even if he could hide the sight, he couldn’t hide the smell. It didn’t even feel embarrassing anymore, just a chore. If he was alone in his apartment, he wouldn’t care too much. He woke up soaked in his pee every time went to sleep since he was back so he became methodical about cleaning it. Although, he never had it while awake apart from the time Toto was there.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, George, let’s get you cleaned up.”

=============

The rest was truly a blur for George. He felt the gentle caress of warm water and the fluffy texture of his towel. His clothes were added to that disgusting pile of laundry. Sleep consumed him the moment he felt the mattress on his back. It didn’t hurt as much to lay on his back anymore as if the cuts melted into his body and mixed into his general existence. They were part of his general aching instead of an unfamiliar one. He flinched in his sleep with a small biting feeling on his inner arm but it wasn’t enough to wake him up.

There was something scary about his sleep recently. Each time he fell asleep, it felt like his body just collapsed due to a lack of energy. Each time he fell asleep, he felt like it was the last time he was going to be conscious. Each time he fell asleep, it was almost like the sweet promise of death was embracing him.

Unfortunately, he always woke up feeling even more tired from his sleep, each slumber getting longer and days getting shorter.

This time, when he woke up, it was dark outside. He was laying on his back, a position he grew to avoid even though he started to heal. It became almost a habit to lay on his stomach as if it was easier to expose an already battered side of his body was more preferable. He had no clothes on, the sweet and sleep-soaked air of his bedroom was caressing his bare skin.

Toto was asleep in the armchair that was scooted closer to George’s bed. He was surprised not to find him entangled in his frame, suffocating him inside out. Then he spotted an IV bag, attached to his inner arm and hang on his headboard. Toto probably didn’t want to accidentally disrupt the setting by laying next to him.

While George felt thankful, it also made him apprehensive. There could be anything in the clouded IV bag. Maybe Toto put some lethal injection in it, then waited for George to die as if he was putting a dog down. George could understand why Toto might have considered him a lost cause but he never expected him to do it like that. He expected hands around his neck or something intimate like that. This almost felt insulting.

However, George felt anything but dead. He even felt like his everlasting headache had dissipated and he was no longer having involuntary muscle twitches. He wondered if the lethal injection was meant to make him feel better before it killed him.

“You are awake.”

George didn’t flinch. His brain was still cloudy due to sleep and everything felt like happening in slow motion. He turned his head to face Toto.

Toto looked as miserable as George felt. He looked at least ten years older than he was with the sleep-made wrinkles on his face. If it wasn’t for the cruel crease of his forehead, George could take him for someone’s gentle grandpa, face distorted with concern.

“I thought you didn’t eat anything since you left the clinic. I called Miriam and she hooked you into some supplements. You should be feeling a little better.”

So this wasn’t a death sentence then. George felt awkward. He wasn’t relieved, whatever is to come couldn’t be better than a peaceful death in his sleep. He almost felt… disappointed.

“Why are you here?”

George’s voice felt like a stranger’s. His throat was so raw, his voice was so unused lately except for screaming himself awake from nightmares.

“I wanted to check on you.”

This was more productive. George felt grateful that he somehow felt more composed, and awake enough to be able to talk to Toto without peeing all over himself.

“Did you want to check if I died?”

George heard a sharp intake of breath. Toto reached for George’s pale hand but George pulled it away. Toto’s hand rested on the mattress instead.

“No, George, how can you say that?”

George closed his eyes again to chase sleep but for the first time in forever, there was none stored for him.

“Or are you here to finish what you started?”

Toto raised his eyebrows. His expression of confusion was almost comical. George wanted to believe that it was rehearsed but he also knew that it was not.

“What do you mean, Schatz?”

“Are you here to kill me?”

It was almost satisfying to see the horror on Toto’s face. He was frozen for a second before he pulled his hand on the mattress back.

“George…”

“Isn’t that true? You left me like that. You wanted me to die. God knows maybe I deserved it. Why niceties now?”

Toto’s arms were wrapped around himself as if he was shielding himself from George’s accusations. George didn’t think he sounded bitter. He was at most inquiring. None of his questions seemed to have an answer that day.

“How could you… How could you say that?”

This made George chuckle. He didn’t even feel afraid of offending Toto like he always did. If he wanted to do this, Toto should’ve been ready to face the consequences.

“I was waiting, waiting for you to come back. I didn’t black out for a while, you know, when I was lying there. I felt everything, and I wondered, why did he leave?”

“George please…”

“Why didn’t you come back for me, Toto? Why did you send a stranger?”

There was a pause. George felt like his newly gained energy was already drained out of his body with those words. He wanted to sleep.

“I was… I was out of control. I was afraid of doing something I couldn’t take back.”

George smiled, eyes closed. Toto already did something he couldn’t take back. He didn’t understand the hesitation.

“Oh daddy, you already ruined your toy!”

A hysterical giggle escaped his mouth. There was definitely something in that IV bag.

“George, no, please…”

George was giggling even harder. He ignored his aching ribs.

“Did you see it, Toto? It looks like a goddamn dart board.”

Toto sighed, trying to catch George’s hand but George frantically pulled them back. Toto lifted his hands in surrender.

“I saw it… I…”

“What, Toto?”

George was getting impatient to hear what Toto thought because, after all, it was all George still cared about. He was aching for his view of this so that he could form an opinion himself. It felt miserable, codependent but he needed it. He needed to hear that he disgusted Toto.

“It’s beautiful.”

George stopped breathing for a second. That wasn’t what he expected. His brain successfully ignored the fact that Toto never apologised.

“Wh-what?”

Toto lifted his head to face George. There was an expression, a work of nightmares, Toto smiling with tears in his eyes. His knuckles were white from grabbing the armchair. George wondered whether he would hold George’s hands as firmly if he let him.

“You. You are beautiful like this. Marked by me, forever.”

George felt the paralysing fear creeping upon him again.

“What?”

Toto looked frantic, just like George did in the mirror between his long periods of sleep, trying to push back the memories.

“Can’t you see, my dear boy? You are ruined for everyone else now. Do you think Daniel would take you back like this? Would anyone?”

George knew it would be in vain to try denying anything about Daniel. He was also instinctively scared of making Toto mad again.

“I…uhh.”

“You are now repulsive to anyone else but me, Liebling, they wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t see the beauty in it. They wouldn’t see the devotion. Didn’t you want to be better for me, my dear boy? Now you have no other choice.”

George felt himself shivering again as if the room’s temperature dropped suddenly.

“And you won’t be giving any more shirtless sights to anyone else, which is a win itself, Liebling.”

George should’ve known. He underestimated Toto. He should’ve known there was something underneath everything else that would turn George’s understanding of reality upside down. He was confused but also thankful that Toto was spoon-feeding him whatever he needed to think.

“You will be for my eyes only, no more ugly gazes of anyone else. Isn’t it beautiful, my dear boy?”

George tried to babble something, agree or disagree, or both if it was possible. He was so close to escaping all these. He was ready for Toto to kill him or push him to kill himself. Now everything was out of the script, leaving George paralysed.

Maybe it was how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was all carefully planned by Toto already, to strand George forever. It made sense. Where would George go? If Toto didn’t kill him, did he have it in him to do it himself? Could he leave this familiar embrace and acceptance?

“And didn’t you deserve them, Georgie, huh? You did something you knew was wrong. Isn’t it good that we can just leave it behind us?”

This was speaking directly to George’s inner dialogue. So Toto thought he deserved this too. And honestly, it wasn’t too bad after all. Why would he want to take his shirt off for others to see anyway?

“Yes, yes daddy.”

George’s response seemed to dim the insanity behind Toto’s eyes, leaving him with a relaxed smile.

“I will take care of you, Haschen, you will be okay. I left because I was afraid of breaking you, for good. But now I am here, and I will never leave your side.”

George felt sick at the fact that Toto’s words were giving him comfort but his head was too fuzzy to form any coherent counterarguments. Only if he could rip the IV off of his arm…

“No, no, no, Georgie, we don’t touch that. It’s for your own good. Don’t you wanna be good for daddy? Hm?”

George nodded, not even knowing why because it felt like it was the right thing to do.

“My head…”

George’s head started to hurt again, despite all the remedies packed in the clouded IV bag. Maybe if he didn’t think so hard for a way to escape, the headache would go away. There had been no other truth than Toto in his life for a long while then, so why would he question? Yes, he had unorthodox ways of punishment but it all brought them closer in the end, giving them the occasion to forgive each other. What could be better than that?

Toto rose to his feet and reached the little vial that probably controlled the drip of the IV liquid.

“Don’t worry, my dear boy, everything is going to be fine.”

And George believed. His fear at the clinic, the pain from his injuries, the unpleasant smell of his bodily fluids, his countryside lawyer Dave, his mum, his will and the pills in his hidden compartment all felt too far away. George felt the mattress shift under him with Toto’s weight and dived into the most carefree sleep he had in his life.

#tw: mentions of abuse #tw: graphic depictions of violence #tw: manipulation #gr #tw #desecration: gr/tw fic #nsfw. #🚩

[natalinova]

My thoughts on MoM [SPOILERS]

Seriously, a lot of spoilers. All the spoilers.

Nobody asked for my opinion but I want to share it anyway :)

I like that there's more body horror/gore in this than in any other MCU film (it's still not a lot but it is a start). The Avengers fighting without ever getting seriously injured/bleeding always bothered me (there's still some of that but, again, it's a start).

Visually, the movie is almost perfect. It looks beautiful and I love the visual effects used for Wanda's magic (like when she makes Black Bolt's mouth dissappear!!), the only thing that kind of bothered me was the first scene with "zombie strange", his face looked weird? But it got better later.

The fight scenes!! Are!! So!! Good!! This is just my opinion since I have no technical knowledge, but I went to the cinema expecting there to be a lot of cool magic in the fights and that's exactly what I got. Thank you. (Except for the fight with the music notes. I don't think I like it)

This is just one random scene but CAPTAIN CARTER DYING BY HER OWN SHIELD!! I LOVED THAT. I knew she was going to die from the moment she showed up obviously, but like that?? And showing us the bloody shield afterwards??? Amazing. Again, wish there was more blood instead of focusing on her face for that scene, but you can't have everything.

Now, onto the things I did not like. America Chavez, for instance.

*sighs* What can I even say about her? Her character makes no sense. She was introduced for no reason and has nothing to do with the original comic book character (which was expected). They changed her backstory, her race and gave her the most random power possible. Who is she? How did she get this power? Why are her portals star shaped for some reason? If they just needed a way to travel between universes, almost anything else would've worked better than just messing up a pre-existent character who has nothing to do with the multiverse.

It seems to me that Marvel just wanted to introduce a new character for the sake of it, to make more movies and TV shows. There has to be some ulterior motive, because, in the context of the story they're telling, there is no reason for her to exist at all.

Wanda could use anything else to travel between universes. An ancient spell in the Darkhold? A relic? Anything. I can't remember what they use in What If but I'm pretty sure that would've been a better option as well.

By the way, What If is so much better than this movie. If they'd just used the plot of the last two episodes but made Wanda the villain, this movie could've been so good. Why make everyone think that MoM was inspired by What If when the only real connection to it is Captain Carter? Who shows up in one scene for pure fan-service?

"Dark Strange" doesn't even show up. I'm so mad about that. We could've gotten all the "Guardians of the Multiverse", but instead we got "The Illuminati??? Why??

I get that it's fan-service and it was fun to watch, but fan-service can be done better than this ok.

I did like the "I can do this all day" scene, though. I was the fan being served.

Also, America's backstory of being separated from her family who probably died and spending years traveling across the multiverse is a little too similar to Sylvie's backstory to me. Seems a bit lazy, specially given that the same guy wrote both scrips.

I think the movie focused too much on America and Wanda.

About Wanda, I can appreciate a crazy and very powerful female villain. Not caring who she kills, just trying to find her family, I enjoy that (I'm a Regina Mills stan ok this is my thing). But she was defeated way too easily.

I mean, since Wandavision Marvel build up a lot the idea of the Scarlet Witch being very powerful and DESTINED TO RULE OR DESTROY THE COSMOS. I don't buy that a girl who couldn't even control her power fifteen minutes ago defeated her. And just by making her see her kids being afraid of her??? No. A truly unhinged Wanda would not have cared and simply found a different version of her kids, that's the amount of crazy I'd like to see.

One of the most powerful beings in the MCU was defeated by a 15 year old and then died. I hate that. I don't think it makes for a good story or for a good redemption arc or whatever they were trying to do.

Either let Wanda be actually evil and kill her or let her have some peace. The woman hasn't been happy for a day since she was 10, she deserves it.

I'm not even a Wanda stan but the way she died is terrible I hate it so much. I know she's gonna come back somehow but still.

Anyways that's it please tell me what you think and if you disagree pls don't be rude about it <3

#multiverse of madness #multiverse of madness spoilers #marvel #doctor strange mom

[getouswh0re]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: yandere, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, blood & gore, mass murdering, obsession, slight manga spoilers

synopsis: he would tear the entire world apart with his own hands, just to keep you by his side evermore.

****************************************************

Love is a lethal bliss.

Bearing semblance to momentary sweetness, it warms the cockles of your heart; yet before one could even savour it for long, in its honey-like aftertaste is a deadly poison — seeping through the branching veins and killing every cell of the living host within its reach. Soundlessly, life is sucked out as one discovers themselves teetering on a tightrope of death.

i) The ambience of the atmosphere between you and Gojo is silent, deadly — akin to the calming weather before a raging storm. As the two of you stand at opposite ends of the living room, eyes refusing to meet with the sorcerer’s as an expanse of sky blue smoulders holes into your soul. Feeling your limbs trembling from the intensity of his stare, cat got your tongue. The words you’ve meant to say are stuck at the back of your throat as the taller male shifts a step forward, and you unconsciously leaning back against the wall.

“Do we have to do this love?” You cringe at the feigned pain interlaced in your ex’s tone. “You know you don’t have to do this. This is painful for both you and I, and knowing how much you love me, you certainly don’t want to put both of us through all of this. Don’t you?”

You bite your lip, eyes downcast. 

You wish all of this isn’t necessary, that everything that has happened is nothing more than your imagination regarding the red flags displayed before your periphery. Still, you have to do it having mulled over it for a while. It is about time that all of this come to an end. 

Ever since a certain man called Gojo Satoru meandered into your life, everything changed as your feelings for the male blossomed, like fresh buds on the bare branches with remnants of snow thawing into tinges of spring. It didn’t take long for the two of you to reciprocate one another’s feelings, yet cracks gradually surface on what seemed like an all-too-perfect fairy tale, breaking the crystal ball of illusion that you had been trapped in throughout all these months. 

For as long as you could remember, Gojo has been acting out of character; sure enough he retains his childish personality and insufferable god complex, yet there are times when you could barely recognise him. On occasions he would whine for hours, desperate to gain your attention, and there were moments when he’d follow wherever you went. Initially dismissing his clinginess as his way of displaying affection, you didn’t think much about it. That was until his demeanour underwent a 180 degree shift; being overbearing was one thing, yet the sorcerer had the audacity to dictate your life and your social circle, stepping his foot way past the boundaries that even you thought was too much. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t give Gojo an opportunity to change for the better. You did; it was him who failed to reflect on his own mistakes, to take things for granted without realising he had been in the wrong all along. With those alarming signs of the relationship spiralling into a toxic one, it occurred to you that you should end things fast before circumstances aggravated. 

Love is a beautiful pain.

To relish its fleeting vestiges between their fingertips, one must endure the torment of its thorns. Not everyone has the courage to sacrifice their sanity for something so transient, but one — or maybe few, who are more than willing to pay for their price, would do anything to hold onto such evanescent reminisces close to their heart.

ii) “Come on y/n. You know you don’t want to break up with me, stop lying to your heart.” 

As if his saccharine smile isn’t enough to make bile surge up your throat, the lovelorn white-haired man stares at you with such adoration, making you revolted than ever; before you could even blink, he is already inches away, bringing up his slender fingers and caressing your cheeks with utter delicacy. 

“From the moment we met, it’s like the red strings of fate intertwining, akin to two worlds colliding.”

Feeling his breath tickling your frigid neck, goosebumps laminate your skin as you shudder underneath his lasting touches.

“Your heart belongs to me, and mine yours. It’s like the universe wants the two of us to be together — forever. Just stop denying your feelings, okay? I can hear your heartbeat ... it’s beating crazy, just for me.” 

“Gojo, you need to stop all of this —“

“Oh honey, don’t say that ... I know the look in those eyes.” He presses on, his insufferable ego refusing to give in. “You might be pushing me away, but your body does the exact opposite. You’re still in love with me. You care for me, I know you do.”

Perhaps that is what makes terrifying about the sorcerer. Wearing his usual smile on a deceptively charming face, his true thoughts are inscrutable beneath the unfazed facade; worst of all, you never know what would drive him off the edge, not until you experience triggering a ticking time bomb by accident.

“Gojo, hear me out.” You push the towering male away, determined than ever to cut ties with him for the sake of your own safety. “What you do is not love anymore. It’s ... obsession! And it’s suffocating me! If you truly cared about me you would’ve respected my wishes and opinions — but you didn’t. No matter how much you love someone, this is far beyond acceptable. I ... we need to break up, for the sake of both of us.”

Stunned, the remnants of hope flicker in the sorcerer’s azure eyes before dissipating into darkness, along with his despondent heart that has plummeted into abysmal depths of a bottomless void. Hands retracting from your skin, you heave out a sigh of relief when spine-chilling chortles echo from Gojo’s throat.

“You think that’s it? That I’ll let you go?” The crazed glint in his burning stare convinces you even more that breaking up with this delusional man is the only option to save yourself. Slowly backing towards the door, you have prepared yourself for the worst, making a potential run with a bag filled with your valuables.

“You cannot run away from me y/n! You know you can never escape from me. I will flip the world upside down to find you — and hunt you down! Want me to prove that? I will tear the entire world apart by my hands, just so that you won’t run away from me anymore!”

You finally make your run, sprinting out of your shared apartment as fast as you could whilst ignoring his shrilling screams, deciding to leave everything behind for good.

Love is an unprecedented enigma.

Like a never-ending Möbius strip, the red strings of fate intertwines people's fates — yet at the same time, it looms over everyone's lives like a doom of death, mercilessly tearing loved ones or those held dear to their hearts apart within the blink of an eye. Callous as it seems, it reminds people how minuscule acts of gratitude allow them to appreciate the present before they lament or carry their regrets later on in life. Unfortunately, with the complexity of destiny, nobody could ever foresee when karma would dawn upon their heads. Not even you.

Little would you know that doomsday would be awaiting you so soon.

iii) For what feels like going through hell and back, you finally manage to rid yourself out of the psychotic sorcerer's hands and his devious manipulation. For what it’s worth, there is no guarantee about your life returning to normal. Knowing that it is nearly impossible to escape from Gojo (knowing that his sixth eyes can instantly locate where you are), you eventually make the decision of moving away with a heavy heart, considering that it would be what it’s best to solve your issues with your controlling ex. 

Having settled the documents and errands, all that’s left is for you to leave the place filled with nothing other than sad memories. As if it seems like a fresh start is extending its outstretched hands towards you, freedom is just within hand’s reach.

Not until all hell breaks loose on October 31st — the day of your departure. 

Copper tinges beckon indigo skies at twilight, remnants of the setting sun shining through the windows as you take a last, rueful look at the apartment you’ve resided most of your life before grabbing your belongings and heading towards the train station. With the day being Halloween, it isn’t surprising at all that the streets would be crowded, flooded with jovial citizens who want to enjoy themselves during the spooky season. All you have to do is make your way onto the designated train. 

Yet that never happened, because havoc descends among the living like a catastrophic plague. 

Just as you writhe your way through the streets and making your way towards the train station, screams erupt when a massive quake demolish the surrounding buildings into shambles, tearing the festive merriment in the atmosphere apart as people turn and run in all directions without warning — leaving you extremely perplexed about the current state of Shibuya. Horror is evident in every onlooker’s eyes whilst they dash for shelter; the city is in absolute chaos — danger looming, asphalt pavements ensanguined with blood, distressed cries resonating into the night. 

“Hey!” You call out, grabbing onto a random passerby. “What the hell happened?” 

“Danger ... curses ... sorcerer —“

Your blood run cold upon the mentioning, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out the entire situation and who has been responsible. In hindsight, you should’ve had followed the rest and ran away from the scene immediately, but you don’t — standing there amongst the quiet streets in utter terror. And before you could even lift your legs and sprint for your life, there he is, stained from head to toe in blood — an inebriated stare full of nothing but infatuation for you. 

“Honey! There you are ...” Skipping over mountains of corpses humming a joyful tune, Gojo happily pulls you into his chest, nestling his face against your squirming shoulders, his grip a vice against your futile efforts of struggling to break free. “I was so worried about you ever since you left! I ... I feel like my world is falling apart, and I just cannot live without you you know!” 

“Get. The. Hell. Off. Me!” 

The sorcerer chortles at your demand, ignoring your protests as he hugs you closer to his throbbing heart. 

“Darling ... we could’ve been so happy together. Yet you have to do all of this. For what? If you had given me your heart and soul, none of this would’ve happened —“

“Oh, so this is my fucking problem now?” You hiss, shoving the taller male off. “You really are crazy — Gojo Satoru. But I never regret the decision I’ve made, and I will do it again and again if I need to!” 

That is when he activates his domain expansion. 

All of your sudden, your mind is a blank — staring into the sorcerer’s cerulean eyes as it overwhelms you like a raging hurricane, sucking you deeper and deeper until your entirety sinks into his infinite void. For once you finally fear the strongest man on earth — of the dangers he possesses and what would’ve happened had he decided to break your mind the hard way. 

“To be honest, I don’t care ~” Silent tears roll down your cheeks once you recognise the drop in the man’s usual carefree tone, feeling the remnants of sanity being ruthlessly stripped away from you as you fall limp in Gojo’s loving arms. 

“The seas can rage, the heavens will rumble. But no matter what happens, I’m never going to let any of this take you away from me — for you and I are the honoured ones, destined to be together ...” 

With his voice dwindling to a hushed whisper, the sorcerer slips a shimmering ring onto your finger, declaring in utmost adoration his vows of undying love. 

“In time and evermore.”

#ri.writes #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo oneshots #gojo drabbles #gojo imagines #gojo scenarios #yandere oneshots #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader

[delimeful]

hold my body down (2)

chapter 2 of this fic!

warnings: arguing, mild violence, cult mentions, mild gore mentions

-

Virgil stared at the man, his mind blank. What?

“That’s-- great?” Roman tried, his voice cracking in the middle with bewilderment. The human beamed, beckoning with his hand. Roman reached out and Virgil slapped his hand back, glowering at him.

“What have I said about accepting help from random friendly men?” he hissed, eyeing the stranger warily. Roman flushed, shoving him slightly, but notably didn’t try to move forward again.

The man-- Patton’s smile didn’t falter, but his hand dropped slightly. Virgil refused to feel bad. For once, he was completely sure that his level of paranoia was necessary for the situation.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Patton said, folding onto his knees to sit on the edge of the bag’s opening. “I can just explain from over here. I would come to sit in the bag with you, but last time I did that I got held hostage and Logan put a ban on interacting with terrified strangers without his direct supervision.”

“That, uh, seems rather fair,” Roman offered, still wildly out of his depth. Virgil rolled his eyes, a hand on the hilt of one of his daggers in case the stranger made any sudden moves.

“Who’s Logan?” He asked, eyes flickering up to what little he could see through the opening.

“Oh, he’s the one who rescued you!” Patton said cheerily. Virgil broke out into a cold sweat immediately.

“Rescued?” Roman echoed in disbelief. “Are you talking about the giant? Because I’m pretty sure he just abducted us against our will.”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” Patton insisted, only confirming Virgil’s theory that he was probably brainwashed and/or had Stockholm syndrome. Or both. Or a variety of other, worse options, such as yet another cult member or another giant in disguise.

“Easy, Virgil.” Roman laid a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Uh-- Patton, was it? If we’re not being… y’know… kidnapped and imprisoned, do you think you could back up so we can get out of the bag?”

“Of course!” Patton answered, popping back to his feet. “I’ll be right out here, take your time! I’m sure the last couple of hours have been rough.”

Virgil tried not to snort. Rough was one word for it. His amusement died a quick death when Roman began moving towards the opening. He latched onto the other man’s arm like a steel trap. “I don’t trust this.”

“You don’t trust anything,” Roman retorted automatically before softening. “It’s okay, I’m just checking to see what’s out there. Won’t even get out of the bag, on my honor.”

Virgil reluctantly followed him, grabbing onto him tightly as though he could keep anything out there from hurting him by yanking him back into the bag.

Roman ducked his head back under the cloth a moment later. “Okay. Bad news, there is absolutely a giant still out there. Good news, he’s all the way over across the room, reading a book. He is steadfastly ignoring both us and Patton, who waved at me.”

“What.” Virgil clutched at his hair. “What is going on?”

“I suspect we’ll have to ask Patton that. If we want answers, we’ll have to go get them,” He said, patting Virgil on the back encouragingly. “Don’t worry, my Dark and Stormy Knight, I’ll keep you safe.”

“My job,” Virgil grumbled, not releasing his grip on Roman’s wrist as he led the way out of the bag.

Everything was huge. He should have expected it, seeing as this was a giant’s home, but it still threw him off. They were on a huge table, in a huge living room, and the giant was indeed across the room with a huge book, pretending like they didn’t exist. From this distance, Virgil could actually take in all of him without feeling like he was going to pass out.

Patton was sitting a few feet away, and beamed at their approach. Virgil barely tore his eyes away from the giant long enough to nod distractedly at him. “Hi again! Are you guys okay?”

“We’re… fine,” Roman said, uncertain. “I think we’d just like to know what’s going on?”

“That’s totally understandable!” Patton replied, sympathetic. “I was pretty jittery after Logan first brought me here, too!”

“Oh, great,” Virgil muttered to Roman. “Serial kidnapper.”

Roman shot him a look before turning back to Patton. “He brought you here? Could I ask… why?”

“The same reason he brought you two here! I was in danger.” Patton glanced over to the giant with a fond smile before leaning in secretively. “To be honest, I think he was even more worried than I was! I was sort of stabbed at the time, though, so I guess that makes sense.”

“How were you ‘sort of stabbed’? You’re either stabbed or you’re not!” griped Virgil, who was possibly feeling more snappish than normal after one of the most stressful experiences of his life.

“My goodness, you were stabbed?” asked Roman, who had always been a sucker for a dramatic tale.

Patton tugged up the edge of his shirt, displaying a nasty-looking scar that curved around his side and stomach. In Virgil’s professional opinion, there was nothing ‘sort-of’ about a wound like that; it had been meant to kill. “Yeah, the people you met in town, they’re a cult! And they wanted to do a blood sacrifice for the monsters in the woods, and I wasn’t exactly well-liked, so…,”

“They stabbed you and left you for dead?” Virgil finished, a bit of anger leaking into his voice despite his determination not to sympathize with this guy.

“But I didn’t die!” Patton waved his hands a bit as though in celebration. “All the monsters in the woods had already been scared off when Logan moved here, and so he was the one who found me and helped me recover!”

Roman glanced over at the giant again, a speculative look in his eye that Virgil absolutely did not approve of. He scowled, his grip on Roman’s wrist tightening slightly.

“Right, and he just did this out of the goodness of his heart?” Virgil snorted dubiously. “I wouldn’t believe that from another human, let alone someone with a literally huge advantage over us. If your story is true, why didn’t the cult try to gut us? For that matter, if he’s not into human sacrifices, why wouldn’t your buddy over there just tell them to stop? Or, y’know, not kidnap us in the first place?”

“Well, hold on--,” Patton tried, but Virgil was on a roll.

“How do we know that this isn’t some elaborate setup? If he has the magical capabilities to heal a mortal wound, then wouldn’t it be easy for him to enchant a captive into believing that he’s just doing what’s best for him? Before, you said there were other people brought here-- what happened to them? Do you even know?”

Across the room, there was a sharp clap as the giant firmly snapped his book shut.

“They left,” Logan said firmly, the first words that they’d heard from him. “And if you continue to harangue my housemate, I will ask you to do the same.”

“Logan,” Patton said, a little exasperated.

Virgil felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of those huge, dark eyes locked onto him, but he plastered his best snarl on even as he dragged a protesting Roman partially behind him. “We’d be glad to leave, but someone put us on a table ten times our height!”

“Virgil,” Roman tried, but Virgil didn’t have the luxury of not paying attention to the pissed off giant in front of them.

“There’s a staircase down to your left,” the giant informed him coldly, “so if you are intent on watching your companion die from organ combustion, you have my utmost permission to leave.”

Logan!” Patton chided, a lot exasperated. He turned back to them. “He doesn’t mean it like that, I promise.”

“Really?” Virgil snapped, crowding Roman back further. “Because it sure sounds like he just outright threatened to kill us if we leave.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose before rising easily from his chair and reminding them all just how big he truly was. “This is why I let Patton handle the talking. I don’t know why humans always insist on making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Virgil’s heart jumped into his throat as the giant approached, a thousand potential ways they were going to die flashing before his eyes. Behind his back, he flashed Roman a hand sign that meant ‘run for it’, and then released his friend’s wrist to draw one of his knives threateningly.

It was a pointless effort, but he’d known since setting out with his prince that one day he’d die for him.

Sure enough, the giant moved with that same uncanny speed he’d shown in the clearing, and simply grabbed Virgil’s forearm between his fingers as easily as one might scruff a cat, preventing any stabbing.

When Virgil immediately went to grab for another knife with his free hand, he found himself abruptly lifted and maneuvered, and couldn’t help letting out a startled yelp. The giant had essentially flipped him onto his front and settled one hand on his back as a weight, leaving him pinned and the giant firmly out of stabbing range.

More concerning was the fact that he could now see Roman, who hadn’t moved more than a few steps, and not just because he was a stupidly loyal, headstrong idiot. The prince seemed almost dazed, his skin shiny with sweat as he glanced between Virgil and Logan. Something was wrong. “Roman--!”

“You’re beginning to feel it, aren’t you?” Logan said, his cold tone thawing slightly as he looked down at Roman. “The cult of that town has only grown more... inventive with every cruel sacrifice they attempt. Rather than physical injuries, they’ve turned to blood curses, which has made my life exceedingly difficult.”

“Blood-- Blood curses?” Roman managed, looking more pallid by the moment.

The giant set a free hand down, palm up in offering. “I can reduce the effects. If you give me sufficient time, I can unravel the curse entirely, though brewing a countercurse will likely necessitate a drop of your blood.”

“Why go to the trouble?” Roman asked haltingly, meeting Virgil’s frantic gaze for only a moment. “What do you want in return?”

Logan sighed. “If you insist on applying such intentions to my actions, you can call it compensation. It is because of my presence that the cult continues to leave ‘offerings’, and thus your current state is my fault.”

“Then why not just do it?” Roman asked, staring at the offered hand with clear suspicion. Virgil was almost proud.

“Patton has gone to great lengths to teach me manners for interacting with smallfolk,” Logan replied dryly. “The first of which being ‘don’t grab.’”

There was a brief moment of silence as they all looked to Virgil, who was still pinned and sorely wishing he was in biting range of Logan’s hand.

“Manners don’t apply if someone is trying to stab me,” Logan added, a beat late.

Patton waved from where he was half-hidden behind Logan’s arm. “It’s true, my lessons did make an exception for stabbing!”

“Let him up,” Roman requested, his voice lacking its usual bravado. He still appeared concerningly ill. “He won’t stab you, right Virgil?”

Virgil grumbled something uncomplimentary under his breath, before sighing and going limp. “All I want is to protect my prince. If you actually mean to help him, I won’t stab you.”

“Now that stabbing is off the table, I’ve gotta say, it’s knife to meet you,” Patton chimed in, his grin audible in his voice.

“Patton, please,” Logan groaned, lifting his hand off Virgil to instead massage his temples in exasperation. “You’re going to disturb our guests.”

“Aw, are you sure? I think my jokes are stabsolutely hilarious!”

Virgil ignored the ridiculous byplay between the two of them to scramble to his feet and hurry to Roman’s side, ignoring the way Logan moved his arm slightly to be between him and Patton. “Roman, are you okay?”

“Are you? You’re the one who just got gently tenderized by Bignoramus over there for the second time today,” Roman countered, matching Virgil’s whisper.

“Fine, stupid question, clearly neither of us are okay. Are we really doing this, though? We could still run.”

“I’m… not sure we can, actually.” Roman’s hand hovered over his chest, face drawn tight with pain. “They definitely did something to me, and I doubt either of us will figure out how to fix it or get aid in time. … Look. This may be my only option, but you don’t have to--”

“Can it, Princey,” Virgil cut in, dragging a hand through Roman’s hair roughly and ignoring his resulting squawk. “Where you go, I go.”

“Even there?” Roman asked, tilting his head toward Logan’s palm somberly.

Virgil looked over to Logan, watching the attentive way he was listening to Patton speak and contributing words of his own. The giant could have done away with any of them at any point, and he hadn’t. That wasn’t enough to really trust him, it could still all be part of some scheme, but... it had to count for something.

If it was the only thing that could help Roman, Virgil could push aside his fear and his anger.

“Even there,” he answered, and led the way onwards.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #hmbd #hold my body down #g/t #my writing #writing #man its been ages since i posted the first chapter of this huh #surprise!

[marvellovegalore]

Death in the Afternoon

Chris Evans

Parte trois - Breaking You

Synopsis: You're having what seems to be withdrawal symptoms and you're dying to see the love of your life - and be with him once and for all.

Word Count: 4,416

Warning: Explicit Language, Extremely Sensitive Issues, Gore, Sexual Content

Author's Note: Refer to previous parts before reading this one. Thanks for making writing so enjoyable - I really love + appreciate reading your comments + opinions! I really hope you guys enjoy this and let me know what you think!

Finale

His letter sits crumpled in your desk drawer, your glance stains its words, the page yellowed by its exposure to the sun.

Every single day that has passed since you last saw him, you have cried.

You forced yourself back to work just to finish the film that you were filming for the past five months; now that it is done you have all the time in the world to stay lying down on your cold bathroom floor - until tomorrow. The contents of your stomach lying at the bottom of the toilet bowl. The world is spinning, and your breathing is ragged and deep.

The email you sent him is still open on your laptop screen, the screen now dim from being inactive for twenty minutes. You can barely see the words you typed out to him through the tears in your eyes.

You hesitantly lift yourself from the tiled floor, your shaky legs threaten to collapse beneath you and leave you in a heap on the ground. The walk back to your bed is tremulous and slow. Your heavy eyes are stuck to the bed, willing your brain to lead you there. You lose track of the time it takes you get to your bed.

The notification sound comes from your laptop, you slowly sit up towards your laptop. You summon the strength to open your eyes wider, he’s replied.

‘I’ll be there soon.’

Your body feels lighter, his acknowledgement and acceptance makes your body float softly.

You don’t know how you’ll go on without him, the sensation makes you sick. You’ve never wanted to depend on another person for your happiness. You’ve been okay being alone as long as you can remember.

The day he left you made you spiral. You sought help from a hotel guest that managed to hear your small pleas for help from the other side of the door. You begged her not to call an ambulance, you asked for her to help to get you into a taxi and you were on your way to a private doctor. You needed utmost privacy. Your doctor saw some small health concerns that affected your heart, he requested you majorly decrease your cigarette and alcohol intake and that you visit him once a month so he could come to a certain conclusion.

On your second visit you received your earth-shattering news.

Pregnant, four weeks along.

It had been four weeks exactly since you had seen him. The devastation that afflicted you made you sick all over again. You didn’t know what to do, you didn’t go back to your doctor. You chose to let life go on as normal for three weeks, but the agony was breaking your heart further the more you did that. You considered several things before emailing him. You could go on to give birth and never tell him that it is his and it could grow without a father; or you could abort it. The last option makes you feel unsettled, though you don’t know why. It’s what your brain immediately went to when you learnt about it.

What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

He just read that you really need him, and you miss him in your email. He didn’t have to read it, let alone let you know he’ll be here.

The tightness in your chest is back. Your fingers flit against your tender breasts and you touch the part where your heart is, it beats lightly.

He doesn’t come that night. You spend the whole night watching the dark, rainy streets of New York, alone. You fall asleep to the sounds of sirens and cars, alone.

You wake up on the floor of your room, in front of the floor to ceiling windows.

Your body feels like it’s made out of limestone and that your tears have caused the material on your face to deteriorate. It takes you half an hour to get the strength to stand up from the floor. You try to stretch but every joint feels like it’s screaming. You manage to walk into your bathroom without swaying, the sight of your vomit and its stench greets you as you walk through the glass door. You hold your breath as you pee, and then brush your teeth. You think about the fact that he stood you up once you’ve found the courage to shower. The water feels like its scalding your skin as you let it water you.

You lay on your bed naked, waiting for an hour for a notification from him. He’s forgotten you.

Your brain loops around the image of him laughing at you with the brunette as they sit on the bed you bought for him; their eyes crinkling in mockery, disbelief lacing their laughter. A tear slips from your eye, you barely manage to wipe it away. You can smell the scent of your decaying heart through your skin, its stench burning a hole in your chest, rotting your ribs in the process.

You need to get up, you have stuff to do. Though you feel numbed, you will yourself to get up.

You forgo eating, simply choosing to indulge in an espresso and two cigarettes for breakfast. You allow the tiniest desire you have to simply let it be repulsed by your body and expel itself from inside - come to the forefront of your mind.

You spend the day working like a dog, you push yourself to limits that make your assistant raise her eyebrows high and ask you to calm down. You ignore any concerned glances as you push yourself ten times more than usual at the gym, drawing praise from your companions. You take a moment to yourself in the gym toilet and check your stomach, you glare at the slightest bump on the bottom of your torso. As you fight the temptation to punch your stomach, your phone brightens with a new notification - from him.

‘Meet you at the restaurant round the corner from your place. Booked a table for 9pm.’

You gulp, an uneasy feeling setting into the depths of your stomach. You’d rather be sent an anonymous letter to meet at a hotel restaurant, it had a touch of romance to it. Exchanging emails is what you’ve had to resort to, you are both blocked from contacting each other in any other manner; sometimes you think to yourself that you’re like forbidden lovers - by choice.

You finish working around eight o’clock, you ready yourself by half eight and you hang around the restaurant. Suddenly having picked up the habit of biting at your nail, you watch the patrons of the restaurants and recognise some television big wigs and political journalists. You breathe in deeply, your eyes flitting around the somewhat busy street, you can feel your bladder ready to give way. You rush into the restaurant at nine on the dot and are escorted by the restaurant manager to a toilet. You ease yourself and wash your hands, your morose face plastered with magazine worthy makeup stares back you. Your pupils are shrunken and your eyes that are practically unresponsive to the light stare at you, the sight of yourself makes them well with tears of disappointment.

You leave the toilets; you saunter back to the door and spot him being led to the table by a waiter. Your feet lead you back outside to the street.

You feel like vomiting, your breaths become shallow and limited. Pressing a hand to your chest you feel your heart hammering mercilessly against your ribs. It feels like death. You shakily reach into your bag and pull out a cigarette pack, you stare at it and your mind wanders to the feeling in the pit of your abdomen. You decide you’re not strong enough to fight the temptation, you pull a cigarette to your lips and go to light it. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘Where are you?’

It’s been five minutes, you exhale. You put the unlit cigarette with a lipstick mark back in your bag and take two deep breaths. You slowly walk into the restaurant, you raise your head, desperately trying to find the assurance you’re so well known for. You’re an actress, you’re an expert at façades.

You’re led to his table, your strut attracting the attention of most everyone in the room.

His hair is grown out, his stubble creating a flattering shadow on his lower face. You sit wordlessly, the waiter asks for your drink order and you ask for a ‘Death in the Afternoon’. The waiter smiles, you hear him sigh. You turn to him, avoiding his eyes.

You’re pregnant - with his baby. You’re both having a baby.

The sobering thought almost makes your voice shake. “Thanks for meeting with me. Even though you vowed to never see me again.” Your tone is almost mocking, a tinge of pride filling you. The bitter memory of writing that letter stings him - more so because he’s succumbed to seeing you after having written it.

He tries to sense any revealing signs that you miss him, had he not received your email he would have been hurt to believe that you were thriving without him. You’re still so put together, too beautiful for you to be needing him. Your makeup is done flawlessly, you’re dressed perfectly elegantly. He can’t understand why you would send him an email at ten in the night asking for him if you seem to be good. It made him joyful to receive it, and he hates that. Why do you have this hold over him? Why can’t he just leave you and forget you.

“I couldn’t ignore the possibility that you weren’t okay.” He takes a sip of his cold beer; the taste of wheat makes him relax somewhat.

“You said you’d be there soon, what happened last night?” The embarrassment immediately clambers up your system and makes you avert your eyes to one table over. You hate seeking answers from others that make you feel dependent and make you more human - you despise it.

How can he begin to explain that he stood in the lobby of your building for forty-five minutes trying to fight his anxiety? How can he begin to explain that his fingers trembled so badly that he couldn’t get his phone out of his pocket to let you know that you couldn’t be there for you? How can he begin to explain to you that he loves you so much that the thought of going up to your apartment and failing to comfort you filled him with unending fright? What could he possibly say that wouldn’t allow you to ridicule him? He’s failed you twice now.

He can’t really put himself in the mindset he was in when he left you that letter, letting you know how much you let him down. He didn’t leave the hotel until after you did, he instantly regretted leaving you when he saw you doubled over in pain being helped into a taxi.

He’s got so many questions, why is it you need him? What happened to you in Portofino? “Got side-tracked with something.” He gives you a non-committal shrug and takes another swig of his drink, his leg shaking noticeably under the table.

Your heart falls to the bottom of your stomach, your entire torso feels like it made of limestone and your throat tightens. You feel like you’re choking, your drink couldn’t be here any sooner. “You in a rush to be somewhere?” You look at him questioningly, noticing his leg movements, you try to hide the sadness that’s padding your body like sponge.

He shrugs, “Kinda,” the disillusionment is almost impossible to disguise on your face, he feels some satisfaction from it. “But it can wait.” He watches the waiter approach with two glasses, he places your drink in front of you motions the beer towards him. Accepting it gratefully he continues once the waiter has left. “I thought we weren’t to speak to each other anymore, what made you contact me?” He narrows his eyes, the blue of his eyes twinkling with a glimmer of curiosity.

Your body shivers and you glance away from him, you attempt to will your waiter back towards you. “We can talk about that later, no?” You motion towards him and he rushes over, you ask for two dry martinis. You both wait in silence.

The words that could release all the tension from your body spindle over your tongue incessantly, they almost materialise but you choose to rope him into small talk and pull updates about his life from him. He lets slip that he’s considering the possibility of being serious with the brunette; you remember her sweet features that harshly contrast your own. You make a biting remark that he’s always liked a plain Jane over your third glass; it’s met with a biting remark regarding your character.

You refuse his request to eat dinner with him after his comment; but you do ask him to accompany you to your building.

“I’ll walk you to your elevator.” He mumbles as you exit the restaurant. You nod in agreement; he lights a cigarette and offers you a drag. You smother your temptation, “It’s okay, actually.” You shiver as light pelts of rain shower you. The city is vibrant and lively, but the small bubble you find yourself encased in with him is dark and tempestuous; an unspoken tragedy clouding your day.

The contemplation of being in your apartment alone another night stabs you deep in the back.

You reach the lift of your lobby and you turn to each other. “Please come up with me,” your lip trembles with the weight of the unspoken truth. His eyes flash with concern and surprise. You make your way up to your apartment wordlessly, his hand brushing against you every time you move next to him.

Finding yourself with him in your bedroom, you lay on your bed, taking your shoes off with him watching silently at the end of your bed. He’s highlighted by the setting sun, orange hues paint him golden and blush. He invites himself onto your bed, sensing the melancholy in the air. There’s an odour of cigarettes that permeates the air near your bedside table.

Your back is to him, you feel his arms slink themselves around your waist. His chest presses against your back and you melt slightly into his touch. You missed him so much and the smell of him hauls you to the doors of paradise. How could you have possibly messed this up so much? Two tears slip from your eyes and you sniffle, his arms tighten around you and he comes impossibly closer. His face inches on top of yours, “Tell me what’s wrong?” His whisper is as tender as the wind and the soft touch of his voice makes you moan quietly.

You stare of into the horizon, your eyes being overwhelmed by the rays of sun. “I—” you hesitate. Your breath leaving your body, you pay attention to the movements of his hands, they stroke your stomach making you tremble. You stop in your tracks, alarm setting into your bones.

You turn to him; you can see the questioning look in his eyes. He doesn’t know.

You crash your lips into his, he barely has time to register your passion before he’s responding with his own heated response. His hands mould around your body with a newfound purpose. You want deep down to breathe him in and keep him with you forever. You roll on top of him, and your hands memorise every fibre of his face, his skin is smooth underneath your palms. He slips your dress off of your body, his fingers dance with your skin as he caresses your back.

He wants to stay like this forever. You tear his clothes off of him with an eager gentleness, his hands enclose your hips as you begin to ride him, your hips dance over him, your fingers slip in between his lips and he sucks on them. He pulls you closer to him, hugging you as you ride him. He thrusts into you from beneath and you almost crumble in his arms. “I love you so much—” you hear the words slip from in between his ajar lips, you lift your head and kiss him. Your martini saturated tongues waltz with each other in a feverish heat that leaves you both lightheaded.

You two play with each other’s bodies slowly, untangling each layer of each other’s guard. He slips on top of you with the grace of a gymnast. He nestles himself inside and you your noses rub together as he drives into you slowly, and deeply, with his hand clutching at your throat. You feel your insides liquifying with pleasure, your hands clasp onto his arms for help to grip onto reality. He’s here. Just here - with you.

“I love you, so, so much, Christopher.” You cry out as he increases his speed, the intensity of his movements making his hips meld with your clitoris. His spare hand moves from your breast to your face, he grips onto your throat with more firmness and you let out a sigh of content. Your eyes don’t leave his and he refuses to slow down, you feel yourself go into sensory overload. You feel waves of pleasure shower your body, stars ripple in between your fingers and toes and your eyes roll back into your skull. Your body is floating above your bed.

Chris pants as he maintains his speed, chasing his own maddening orgasm. “You’re so beautiful when you cum.” He breathes out as he lets go of himself inside you. His thumb traces over your bottom lip, he lowers himself down and plants a kiss on your lips. He breathes in your air and gives you a tight hug.

“I have to tell you something.” You whisper into the room. He’s laying next you, his arm draped over your waist. His lack of response for ten seconds is explained by the soft snores leaving him. You purse your lips, “I’m pregnant.” You utter into the atmosphere and turn away from him, you pray that maybe he can hear you; you pray in vain.

A newfound determination settles into your aching chest. You’ll let him know, for real - you’ll work something out; you’ll have your baby and be parents. You’ll be better than your own parents, you’re sure of it. Your hands settle over your stomach, you give your baby a silent apology for mistreating your body - your baby’s temple.

You’re lulled to sleep by the silence.

You wake with a start; the world is dark outside. You can’t feel his arm anymore, dread fills you to the brim as you sit up, your back towards the side he was sleeping on. You feel your heart hurting, you feel weak. You swallow your tears as you look out at the skyscrapers outside your room. Taking a deep breath, you turn slowly to the other side.

He’s still there.

You let out a deep sigh of relief, tears welling into your eyes and dropping out without caution. You let out a soft sob, you throw your arms around him and hold him tightly. He stirs as your tears fall onto his pectoral.

“Hey, everything okay?” He grumbles, worry saturating his voice. “Yes,” you breathe out slowly. He pulls you up to him and his eyes caress yours. You refuse to let him know what’s bothering you, there’s a silent understanding that you need him more than anything right now. You cover yourselves in a blanket, your half naked bodies are melded together as you walk across your apartment towards your terrace.

Chris lights the fire pit, you let your eyes roam his body freely. He sits down next you and you cover yourselves with the large blanket, his hand rests on your thigh.

“Why did you just leave me in Portofino?” Your whisper is carried by the wind and the noise of the three am traffic.

Chris sighs, his eyes lowering down to the fire pit in front of you. “I couldn’t bare the fact that after what you did to me, I still reached out to you, I invited you back into my life.” Your eyes well up with tears again, you want to be swallowed into the ground and dragged to the pits of hell. He looks back at you, his eyes searching for what’s in your own. “I know you’re sorry. But I just couldn’t understand why you did what you did; until I came across this quote that reminded me that hurt people, hurt people. I figured some digging into your past couldn’t hurt at that point. I’m sorry about what you had to go through.” His fingers leave whispered touches on your thigh.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You interject tearfully, he pulls you in, your head resting on his chest. The sound of his fast-beating heart grounds you into this moment.

“I know, I know.” He coos softly. His fingers stroke your cheek, simultaneously wiping away your tears. “I just wish you trusted me enough to let me into your little world. I wanted to know all of you, even the tiniest parts you didn’t even know, I guess you sensed it and you left me. So, I’m sorry for that, too.” You sniffle and let your head fall onto his lap. You look up at him with tears flowing out of your eyes slowly.

“You’re my everything. You’re— you’re my moon and my stars, I—, I—, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live without you.” He chokes over his own unshed tears.

“I love you.” Your words make a tear slip out of his eye.

“I love you too.” He thumb traces your lips softly, his touch gentle as if he were afraid you would turn into mist if he were not tender enough.

You slip into a dreamless sleep, the noise of the world encasing you into carnival of relaxation.

You open your eyes to the ceiling of your bedroom, illuminated by the afternoon sun. A cramp numbs the bottom half of your body. You clench your teeth and sit up, the sharp agony whirling around your system. Something’s not right. You clasp weakly at your stomach; you fail to ignore the pool you feel forming underneath your legs. You lower your fingers slowly, dread thickening in your heart, red darkens your fingertips. You choke back on a sob as another cramp solidifies itself in your stomach, you crumple over, tears streaming out of your eyes. “Chris…” you choke out. Fear paralyses you in your bed.

Chris is nowhere in sight. You gather the little strength you have left in your arms and will yourself towards your bathroom. You drag your bleeding body towards your toilet, blood smears trailing behind you. Small whimpers leave your body as you finally reach the toilet, you pull some tissue towards you and pat the blood away. More leaves you, a heavy flow that makes your insides feel like they’re being pulverised. You’ve gone and done it; you have killed your baby.

You sob loudly, blood smearing over your half-covered body, “My baby—". Your body is racked with the undulating guilt that attacks your system. Tears pour uncontrollably from your eyes; you fight to take in breaths. Your heart feels like it’s breaking - literally. The stiffness in your chest spreads across your ribs and constricts your airflow.

You desperately clutch at your chest, wanting your fingers to tear into your skin and fix your heart. It feels like you’re on fire.

You’re dying.

Darkness blankets your vision; spots of clarity allow you to merely reach the door of your bathroom.

Chris sits at your desk, his phone pressed to your ear. Your doctor’s words feeling like stones in his stomach - he’s diagnosed you with severe depression and fears that a mildly stressful event may be enough to cause an onset of more severe physical problems. You entrusted Chris as your next of kin, in case your doctor believed something awful had happened to you. He listens intently to the information that is relayed to him - you have an inflamed artery. It could lead to your death. The doctor’s words make his stomach sink.

The call ends with Chris promising to accompany you to your appointments and he notes down the number of the referred psychiatrist.

A small wail comes from far away in the apartment, Chris sighs and stands up. He strides quickly to your room, the sight that greets him almost makes him retch. Your blood soils the room. Your body is still, your breaths are shallow and fast. Your hand is clutched over chest, your face distorted with pain riddled in the pores of your skin.

“Baby,” he calls out immediately and crouches down towards you. He feels for your pulse and panic lines his stomach; he grabs for your phone quickly and calls for help. He barely registers what he does in the next two minutes but all he can do is clutch onto you with all his might.

“Tell me what’s wrong, huh?” he whimpers, he pulls you onto his arm. He cradles you, his face pressed against yours. “Come on, you’re supposed to be my favourite girl, you can’t play with me like this…” he chokes out a frantic chuckle.

You’re barely responsive. “B—Baby, stay with me. Stay with me, okay,” he taps your face as his tears roll onto your skin, “don’t leave me.” He begs as his hands tremble. “What am I going to do without my moon and my stars, huh? How can my world go on without you?” His sobs shaking you lightly, your eyes flicker. “Don’t leave me.” He implores, sobs ripping his throat apart.

He can hear the door opening, the flurry of movements that happens around you two separates your bodies away from each other. He grips onto your limp hand desperately, tears blinding him as the paramedics rush you away from him.

He can’t feel his body as he falls to ground, watching your limp hand hanging from the side of the gurney.

The lift doors shut behind the paramedics.

He never sees you again.

Nevertheless, he still loves you, he'll always love you.

Fin.

--

@chvntelle-99,@harrysthiccthighss,@tessa-bl

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