#Tw graphic description

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[eiraeths]

Injuries in the field aren’t uncommon out in the field. Harsh, unforgiving terrains with adversaries lurking around every corner and spilt blood becomes commonplace. Different positions have different mortality rates. None of them ever talk about it, their job serves as enough of a reminder it takes one misstep, one stray bullet or a single line of misinformed intel, and they’ll be shipped back in a box if they have any family to return home to.

When signing up for covert ops, they’ve already made their piece with how things will go. More dangerous conditions and off the books operations and they’re likely to die with no one around.

Sometimes, they forget. Sometimes they can ride the high of doing something no one else could do but them. They’ll get reminded how fragile the human body can be in the worst possible way.

It’s a cosmic joke, and like all cosmic jokes, they’re never funny. Finagles law is a cruel, devastating thing. For something so resilient in the face of inconceivable hardships, it’s stupidly brittle. So fucking vitreous and so fucking friable.

Ghost doesn’t think Johnny can get any paler. He’s never seen the scot without sun-kissed skin paired with a healthy sheen of vitality, not even in Las Almas. It’s off-putting, so fucking wrong.

Even with a body count longer than Ghost’s willing to count, he doesn’t think he’s seen this much blood in his life. It doesn’t seem plausible for so much blood to be in one person’s body. He doesn’t know how Johnny is still conscious.

[nectardaddy]

monsters - yuuta okkotsu

cw: language, blood, death, human remains, killer + non curse au, dark themes/humor, graphic descriptions(!!)

notes: heavily inspired by the book butcher and blackbird by brynne weaver, I genuinely loved writing this and might do another, butcher and blackbird has a chokehold on me

Yuuta Okkotsu was a sick man, a morbid man, one who's dark eyes didn't flicker or hesitate at the sight of the macabre. A man who was, quite genuinely, damned. A damned man with even sicker, more twisted, thoughts than your own that rattled his brain. But no one was the wiser of a man with a sweet smile, a sickly sweetness that oozed and melted hearts. He was so sinister, but so- peculiarly normal. A normality he practiced and honed; sure, the oddities slipped through every now and then, but he was quick to brush it off with a gentle laugh. A laugh that was charming, a tender sound, until it wasn't.

It was never a question on if you could love the monster of a man, it was when you would.

"You killed that man-" you began, voice soft against the chirps of crickets amongst you. "For me?" The air was thick and hot, humidity sticking to your skin as your limbs were slicked with sweat. An iron twinge in the air made you grimace, and you eyes met with the man, who now, had blood coated clothes.

"You're surprised?" He asked, eyes forward as he hunched over the body of a man - if you could call it as much anymore. He was a formidable, wicked, man, one who found himself splayed on the ground. Eyes sunken and blood pooling around his head, never to see such beautiful light of the earth again.

"I said I had it," you countered, a snap to your tone that made dark eyes flicker towards you. Not dodging his question as eloquently as you had hoped, you suddenly felt all too small under his eye.

"You didn't." A tone to match your own, as he rose with a small sigh. Looking over himself, seemingly annoyed he had to get himself so gruesome and bloodied. "Obviously."

"You didn't let-" But his eyes locking with your own made your breath hitch, swallowing hard as you desperately searched to fill your lungs. You hated that the man before you had such a loathsome effect on you; face flushing and breath stolen as if he were a middle school crush. "I could've done it myself," you doubled down.

A hammer in his hand, drenched in gore, was dropped amongst the grass as he took a step towards you. But the moments flashed before your mind quickly: you had the hammer first, swinging with a force to be reckoned with, then suddenly you didn't. You didn't realize, before it was too late, the doomed man had opposed you. "You would've been bludgeoned to death," he quipped. "Dear," he tacked on as his pale lips pulled to a sickly smile.

This wasn't his first slaying, nor would it be his last. Wielding a hammer as if it were a sword, becoming a knight in shining armor as he spilled blood for you. He was a mad man, a delirious one who considered bashing a sport - he didn't consider it entertaining, he found it thrilling. Passionate and wistful - it made you weak at the knees. But you were just as demented as he, if not more in the erratic department. It was miles from normal, but was normality anyway?

"Ugh-," you began, rolling your eyes as you watched the man before you slip back into his façade. "Don't 'dear' me, Yuuta," you retorted. "The only man I'm scared of out here, is you. Not that fucker," motioning towards the corpse as your eyes met his again. "You got in my way, I would've been fine."

"That's a compliment coming from you," he mused, tilting his head in what seemed like amusement. "Is that why you haven't killed me yet?" He asked rhetorically, dodging the conversation effortlessly as you failed to do so earlier. "No," he answered himself. "You're not scared of snapping my neck like a twig, you're scared of something else."

His tone made you want to vomit, so eerily sweet and candy coated, until it went sour, it felt wrong - it was wrong. It was wrong to act so apathetic in front of the dead, even more so when it teetered on flirting. "Don't start," you warned, but your mind urged him to keep going.

"Start what?" He asked innocently, juxtaposing himself as his clothes were splattered with blood. Inwardly kicking yourself at the thought of damn he looks good in red. The man knew what he was doing with his words, and he knew all too well as he took another step closer to you.

"You know what," your tone never faltering even though it desperately wanted to crack. "Maybe I should kill you," you suggested. But you couldn't do that, you could never do that; how could you possibly want to? He was so intriguing, so pretty, so daringly risqué it bordered obscurity - and fuck, he looked so good in red. There was no reason a man of his nature should look charming at all, no more so covered in blood. Delicate spatters coating his jacket and creeping towards his face, speckles of the liquid dancing on his cheeks like freckles.

"Probably right," he shrugged, a bit too mellow. Yuuta was odd, a strange man with strange tastes, as he wholeheartedly agreed with you that maybe you should kill him. "But then, how would you to fall in love with me?" Good lord, did that really come out of his mouth? "Dear."

If you hadn't already fallen so deep, maybe you wouldn't have come out with him tonight. But he didn't need to know that, he wasn't on a need to know basis with the the inner workings of your mind. However fractured, grotesque, and possibly similar it was to his own, he didn't need to know. He probably didn't want to know. "This again?" You asked, "god- you've completely lost it, Yuuta." You countered, contradicting your own thoughts. It was strange how you had the confidence and nerve to kill, but not to admit one's own feelings. It was easier to take a life than give your own.

"Kill me then." He proposed, crossing strong, filthy arms over his chest, a syrupy smile hanging from his lips. He was all too chipper about the interaction, dark eyes telling you he knew entirely more than he let on. A small, dainty, hum left his lips from your lack of action. Too confused, outwardly a bit disturbed by his choice words, to act, you only stared. "There it is," he mused, a whimsy in his low voice that made you shudder. "You can't, can you?"

A bit too giddy, and a screw loose in his mind, he took another step towards you. "I knew you had a heart in there somewhere," now only a few feet away from you, you couldn't stop your mind from racing. Somehow, in your own twisted mind, you found the man utterly breathtaking. Handsome, adorned in another's blood, with dark, tired eyes piercing you like a knife, and an, oh so, saccharine smile. "I just killed a man for you," he quipped, watching as his thought process shifted directions with ease. "With a hammer," he added, "all because I thought he'd hurt you."

"How romantic," you breathed, voice laced with a twinge of sarcasm. "A crime of passion."

"Isn't it?" He reveled, taking another step. It was a closeness you expected from the man, as he so often toed the line of boundaries. Because what boundaries could exist within one capable of taking another life? Little to none. Another stride, one more and he would be completely on top of you. "It felt-" you watched him pause, hovering over words in his mind as his eyes refused to leave yours. "Nice."

You couldn't decide whether to feel horrified, or unceremoniously flattered. But as his blood coated hand reached out for your cheek, all thoughts ceased. The warmth of his hand, and the liquid that covered it made you tremble underneath it. Oh, you were in deep. "I would do it again, y'know?"

If you hadn't convinced yourself otherwise now, there was no hope left. You were doomed to fall for the murderous man before you - if you hadn't already.

[alienssstufff]

If we’re going off of the “All genloss deaths were real and shot through a silly filter”:

-CHARLIE: Survives DAY1. The death as the Slime Demon was staged and he was taken away offscreen through special effects. His real death however happens on DAY2 when Ranboo performs surgery on him in the Second Puzzle Room (Surgeon Simulator) this is also the first time we see the red camera (the set without the silly) for the first time. The ‘Charlie’ Ranboo was talking to in the second room was his dead body with the SFX put in. I also think his voice was pre-recorded (like the cutaways on DAY1) before that -which makes everything even more fucked up knowing he was recording lines to replace himself in case he died. This ALSO also implies that Snowfall made Charlie eat ?? A bunch of micro plastics back when he was made the protagonist which I think is very funny cuz why??? He got a whole mouse trap and hotwheels car in him dude 😭

-SNEEG: Survives DAY1. Like Charlie we see him get taken away offscreen for DAY2. We see that red camera again as he tries to get away during the second room through a bathroom break but Snowfall brainwashes him. The original plan was supposed to be one person would survive the second room but by what happened. A second person (Sneeg) would be picked to survive and essentially act as an enforcer to make sure the other actors stay in line. He ultimately dies keeping himself and Austin at the other side of the wall, crushing them to death in Seventh Puzzle Room (Hole in the Wall).

-NIKI: Is shot twice offscreen by Jerma in the Fourth Puzzle Room (Candy Crush) DAY2. Theorise the game masters (Charlie DAY1, Jerma DAY2) like Sneeg were there to supervise the actors. Theorise the first shot at Niki was a deliberate mercy shot to keep her quiet but alive. It’s implied through watching Sneeg get brainwashed that Jerma was terrified that the same would happen to him if he failed - the second shot was reluctant but fatal.

-VINNY: Burnt by lasers and blunt head trauma in the Fifth Puzzle Room (Oceans 11 Heist) DAY2. Kinda a weird one I think they actually did try to throw Vinny over the lasers but it both wasn’t far enough and too high. He’s burnt by lasers but we also see him hit his head on the ceiling which might have been the final blow rather than a comically small anvil.

-ETHAN: murdered offscreen in the Sixth Puzzle Room (Top Model) DAY2. Similar case to Niki he went backstage where he wasn’t supposed to go (the blacklight signs just extra warning to the actors NOT to use that way in)

-AUSTIN: Crushed to death by a wall in the Seventh Puzzle Room (Hole in the Wall) while being held back by Sneeg on DAY2.

-JERMA: Murdered offscreen in the final room (Mall of America entrance) DAY2. Snowfall found out about the recording Jerma was going to use to help Ranboo find the truth after witnessing the deaths and they killed him.

-FRANK (bonus): Unknown if he was an actual person or a prop (hard to tell atp). If he was he’d be long dead before DAY1. He could have been Sneeg’s friend, he could have been a staff member at Snowfall who rebelled and tried to escape. Those ‘slime’ parts on Charlie’s set on DAY1 might have even been Frank’s body parts.

[factual-fantasy]

I has 27 late asks (Sorry! :{ )

Well I’m TRYING to be active but right now but I have like 7 different projects I’m trying to make progress on but they’re all talking forever and life keeps getting in the way and I’m going as fast as I can but there’s still week long gaps in-between posts and I just hehfhgjgsl;sgk

They are Ingo(black) and Emmet(white)! :D They are very scrinkly. Also yeeess I shall drag you down into the submas fandom through my works hehhehhfggjdfskgjk

Awe, I’m glad my content helps you feel better! :DD And yeah. It felt nice to slow down a little and really take my time for a change :0

XDDD Awe! Thank you!

Sweet tooth? Never heard of it :0

XD I almost drew a comic where Jangles was secretly crushed by all the comments comparing him to Papyrus because he feels like he’ll never match up to him :( 

HURGENNBRR... THANK YOUUUUUU

Thank you for still respecting my boundaries  😭😭😭😭

Also, Mangle is in the AU, or well. she was. She dead now :(((

Oooo, this would have been a fun Elesa to experiment with! But I guess mother hen Elesa was more appealing to me at the time <XD

Awe XD thank you! But also ah,, sorry. I don’t think I’d be very comfortable with that,,

@astrokea

XD You’d be surprised by the number of people that have messaged me stuff like this. “YOU’RE INTO THIS FANDOM TOO??” I always get a kick out of it XD

BEAUTIFUL, ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL DESCRIPTION

HEHODFIJ THANK YOU SOOO MUCU THIS MEANS THE WORLD TO MEE

I TRY TO PUT A LOT OF HEART AND THOUGHT INTO MY AUS AND THE FACT THAT YOU SEE ALL THE LITTLE THINGS I PUT INTO IT IS JUST FJJHJFBKJBKJ

Oh yeah, blaming himself for the bite, becoming very protective, nightmares about the event, the whole 9 yards.

I can imagine he wouldn’t eat or sleep well for weeks- even months after Luigi’s death. It takes him a very long time and a lot of late night talks with Luigi before he’s able to slowly heal from it. :(

XDD Same to you!

@theangelofangst​

Ah, well although I’m not really comfortable with Fanart.. I appreciate the thought, thank you! :}}

I haven’t thought of any scenarios where the Ice flower backfires on Luigi.. Although that is a really good angst idea 👀👀👀

I haven’t drawn the full comic. But I have a sketch of Mario's reaction to Luigi dying to a venomous Goomba bite and then being revived.

Mario does not take it well :x

@sodasplatoon​

There isn’t intended to be a connection between Bowser and King Boo. As for Bowser’s troops being captured by King Boo? Bowser doesn’t really care..

The troops are warned that King Boos forest is dangerous. Because duh, King Boo lives there. If they go there anyway and get caught? That’s their own fault. Besides, a measly few missing troops here and there means nothing to him.

So most of the time King Boo and Bowser just leave each other alone. Bowsers pretty tough so King Boo doesn’t mess with him. And Bowser doesn’t care about missing troops so he doesn’t bother the king. Neutrality is sustained. Now, if one of Bowser’s children or Kamek had been captured by King Boo?

The entire forest would have been burnt to the ground within hours.

XD Thank you! Rock on!!

My Mario and Luigi are like are between 5-6 feet. Peach, Daisy, Wario and Waluigi are just giants.

Hmm.. that’s actually a good question. I guess it could be presented by a big screen in the sky. But sometimes I’ve drawn Bibi registering the question without looking in any particular direction. Maybe it could be a clear image that comes into their minds sometimes?? XD Idk-

Well its hard to say who’s phantom pains are more painful. 

Mario got slashed across the gut in 3 different places. The injury was so severe he died instantly. When he gets those phantom pains, they appear as hot burning sensations along where the gashes were. This pain completely cripples Mario. He cannot move or walk or really anything until the pain subsides..

Meanwhile Luigi got the flesh on his leg shredded up by a Goomba. Sure that must have hurt real bad. And the fact that he didn’t instantly die made him have to suffer through it for days. When he gets phantom pains I imagine it to feel like a really bad charley horse. But like, all over his leg. This also completely cripples Luigi until the pain subsides..

I think their pain could be measured about the same. Just different types of pain on different parts of their bodies.

I did when I was little, I don’t watch it much now a days though. :/

Yes! I have some ideas in mind for them :}}

@randox-talore​

YES! YES EXACTLY!!

There’s a lot I could do with this but I haven’t drawn yet.

Mario and Luigi could be going on a walk in the forest near the kingdom. Luigi comments that he’s uncomfortable, like he feels that they’re being watched. Then suddenly two 1-UP mushrooms appear..

Or Mario has fallen ill and is bed ridden. He keeps saying he’ll be fine and that he feels better already! Later that night a 1-UP mushroom appears in his room...

Mario goes to try out a new power up under supervision of the Toads. They’re not sure if it is safe or if Mario’s body can handle it. Mario says it’ll probably be fine. When suddenly a 1-UP mushroom appears in the room.. 

So many ideas!! XDD

Aww, well. I’ve heard good things about the movie since its come out. So I plan to sometime get around to watching it. :}

[kittzuxp]

Sorry guys I'm gonna be posting Stardew valley stuff too now because a sdv parasite entered my brain and made a nest in it.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Writing Share Tag!

This is gonna be a long one, but I love this excerpt that I couldn't not share it so here we go! This snippet is from Crash Stardom!

Also: tw. graphic depiction of injury, fantasy whump, infected burns (essentially this scene is the accidental rescue of a vampire who had been forced to wear silver).

Randall's footsteps echoed down the empty hallway as he scanned his surroundings. Blood from the Reapers he'd already slain still coated his boots and fingertips, his rifle slung on his back, daggers in twin sheaths on his belt.

The alarms were blaring at top volume, red lights bathing the facility in an eery glow that spoke of danger. Good, though his eyes, accustomed to the deep, dark depths of the seas, protested the brightness, and he felt the urge to shoot the lights out, but didn't bother wasting the bullets.

The killers outside were accounted for, their bodies littering the patio and roof of the building and decorating the concrete with pools of red that made his heart flutter with a morbid sense of excitement. They had it coming - every last Reaper had. This was just karma, many, many years in the making, another dot on his endless checklist of revenge.

As the hallway slithered to an end, he spotted a few more figures pacing around the corner, their sickly white uniform a telltale sign of their occupation - inner security guards, meant to keep their captives from trying to escape this hell. With a shark's precision, he snatched his daggers and dragged them across the first guard's neck with a loud squelch that felt like music to his ears, warm human blood painting the uniform deep crimson. The other reached for their rifle - and the last thing they saw was embedded deep into their eye socket before being yanked out, brain matter splattering across the floor.

Randall admired his handiwork, his abissal eyes glimmering as his lips curled into a smirk, rows of pointy teeth peeking into view. Then, a sharp pain in the side of his chest, his throat squeezing as if it'd been rubbed by sandpaper. His breathing had a slight rattle to it, and he couldn't help but grimace in frustration as he coughed.

"Oh, fuck this. Damn dry land air," He reached into his pocket, pulling out a water filled tactical breather and strapping it to his face, inhaling in relief as the water from the mask flowed in through his nose and mouth met his lungs, soothing the dryness that had robbed the air from him.

Now he where was he? Randall looked around, wiping his hands on his jet black suit. Ah yes. Conducting a killing spree. How could he forget. Without a single glance, he stepped over the two corpses at his feet, kicking the last one slightly as if prodding it for a reaction. None. He nodde with a hum, and kept walking forward.

This place was supposedly being evacuated. Something, something, these facilities had gotten old, something, something, new sponsors in a different region. That gave him the perfect opportunity - their defenses were lowered, busy with the bureaucracy of moving unnoticed through the underworld, trafficking hundreds of living beings with them.

They'd gotten sloppy.

And that's where he strode in, knife in hand, sniper rifle at the ready. It's how he always did it - Randall waited for the moment to strike, and when he did, his efficiency was brutal as a killer whale stalking a seal. Those guards - or even the, supposedly, highly trained Reapers outside - never knew what hit them. They wouldn't have stood a chance either way,

So far, it seemed his job here was done. Sure, there were a few guards left to gut, so-called researchers to stab, the whole shebang. But at this point - something about it almost felt too easy. Boring.

That's when something caught his attention, just a glimpse at the corner of his eyes that could've easily gone unnoticed with a misplaced blink. But Randall noticed it. And he whirled around, turning on his blood-slicked heels, an action that generated a slight screeching noise against the tiles that made his nose crinkle and a few bubbles fill his mask. He tapped the side of it, popping the air out.

One of the cells was still locked. That was weird. All of the others were wide open, either filled with the corpses of whomever the Secret Society had deemed a burden to relocate or simply completely empty. But this one seemed untouched. It hadn't occured to him the Secret Society would slip and leave any living assets behind, no matter the chaos. Randall's eyes narrowed.

It didn't take long for him to close the distance, soles clacking as he marched up to the door. He studied it for a moment - there was a lock mechanism beside it, emanating a pulsating glow from its touchscreen interface, as if waiting for the right keycard. With a weary sigh, Randall turned around to look at the carnage behind him - at least one of those bodies had to hold that key. They couldn't be that useless, right?

He swiftly began his incredibly boring task, shuffling through the bodies, removing contents from pockets and handbags, most of which were essentially junk to him. After a while of trial and error, pointlessly looting the bodies, his fingers grazed the edge of something cold, something thin. It was a small sheet of plastic and metal, emitting a similar glimmer to that of the lock mechanism.

The keycard.

With that in hand, Randall rushed back to the door - silently hoping this was the right one, because if not he was a hairpin's lenght away from just ditching his curiosity and leaving this place. He swiped the card over the interface. An error beep - too fast. He rolled his eyes, groaned and swiped again. Another beep - too slow.

Fingers gripping the thin keycard so tightly it was almost about to bend, he grit his teeth and focused, and after way more failed attempts than he would've liked, the keycard finally slid across the screen at the precise speed it needed to. The latches on the door disappeared into the wall, finally unlocking it. Randall took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if that could ward of the frustration that had built up, and then pushed the door open.

He didn't even have time to blink.

As soon as Randall took his first step into the room, which smelled faintly of burnt flesh, silver and mold, something connected with his necks, something that felt like two, clawed hands, and he was shoved down to the floor. The fall knocked the air out of his lungs, but he couldn't afford to dwell on it. A shrill, almost ghastly shriek poured from the creature above him, filling the air around them, bouncing off the dull grey walls and making his ears hurt.

Streams of extremely long, blood red hair seeped framed his assailant's paper white skin, keeping their face almost out of view as they thrashed above him. Randall tried to push back at the grip, and managed to knock one of the hands from his neck, allowing himself a gulp of air, breath bubbling oxygen in his mask as it burst out from his lungs, no longer impeded. But the relief was short lived.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the vampire lifting their free hand, before bringing it down as a fist, almost like a sledgehammer. Randall rolled to the side just in time, still coughing into his breather. The punch fell on the concrete with a raw thud, leaving cracks on the stone. He didn't want to think what it would have done to his face. There was blood seeping from the vampire's hand now too.

But they didn't seem to care.

Still wheezing, Randall scrambled to try and lift himself from the floor. He saw the vampire's claws dig into the concrete in frustration as Randall managed to slip from their grasp, both of them breathing heavily. What took the Randall aback the most was the strange, almost desperate sound tearing from the Aimari's lips, which almost sounded like a broken sob.

It was soon smothered behind feral rage, the vampire's eyes lighting up the room in a deep red glow as their muscles stiffened, bones almost creaking under the strain of their superb strenght. Randall was almost steady on his feet once more when he saw the other was readying themself for another attack, tilting their head with the slow, predadory precision of a hunter, but with the undeniable touch of panic behind their every move.

It came too soon.

Flashes of blood red and pale white were all Randall saw coming as the Aimari lunged, that same, blood curdling scream blaring at him like a siren, only louder this time. His opponent's hands were outstretched, claws out, and their mouth was open - adorned with four, wickedly sharp canines that promised to tear into him at first contact.

Randall gasped he tried to sidestep the attack, only for the vampire to be faster, hands catching onto Randall's arm and grappling him into an unrelenting grip once more. They struggled to the floor, bound in a writhing mass of rage, and Randall found himself pinned, the Aimari's claws digging into his skin like scalpels. He reached up, pushing at the other's chest with blows of his own, keeping the vampire's maw from tearing into him, for now.

And then he made a decision. He knew he shouldn't do it. Out of the water, it would hurt. He could be unable to transform back into this form, or he could suffocate without water to fill his lungs. But he also didn't want to become this Aimari's midnight snack, so he didn't exactly have any options.

Still holding the vampire far from his neck with one of his arms, straining against the other's strenght, burning with struggle, Randall ripped his own breather away from his face, knowing his transformation would only damage it. And then, he moved.

Randall's body began to convulse as his magic took hold, bones stretching, chest heaving. His human disguise gave way to his true form, pale skin turning cyan blue, scales appearing along his arms and face, hands becoming webbed and clawed. He blinked, and there was no white in his eyes when he opened them - just a deep, shark-eye black. His ears turned into fish fin-like structures.

And then the worst part. The part he'd been dreading.

His body grew in size, legs replaced by a long, smooth tail, deep indigo blue with scattered stains of a light, almost white-ish hue of the same color. It almost looked like a killer whale's tail fin. If it wasn't attached to a humanoid. The Aimari watched with wide, terrified eyes, frozen in place but his grip on Randall's arms still unyielding.

Taking advantage of that surprise, Randall used his newly grown tail as a whip to slam the vampire off of him, sending them careening to the other side of the room with the force. "I." Randall began, chest clenching as his seaborn lungs started to reject the dry air around him. His voice was much deeper, as if coming from the abyss of the ocean's trenches, if strained, "Am. Not. A. Human!"

He yelled with a growl, almost hitting his head on the low ceiling with his new height, before propelling his slithering body forward, with some considerable difficulty. The vampire scrambled back, a keening noise escaping them as they pushed back against the corner of the wall.

Now, their eyes were wide, their body shaking. The feral edge that had driven them during their brutal attack had given way to only terror and…regret. Randall's now pitch black eyes narrowed, and even from up above, he could see the slight tremor to his former-assailants body. And it didn't look like just fear. It was exhaustion. Overexertion. Their attack had clearly taken more of a toll on them than it had on Randall at all.

The Abissian stopped his approach a few feet away from him, blinking.

He was about to say something else - to ask this guy about why the fuck he tried to maul him, or better yet what was even going on - but he didn't have to. A small, sniffling sound from across the room answered any questions he still had. He didn't miss how the vampire's wide, terrified eyes looked past him for a fraction of a second, shaking their head slightly before looking back at Randall.

Randall turned his head, and in the other corner of the room, was a teenage girl.

Her hair was wild and curly, fluffy locks of brown that framed her tan skin, but her eyes, now filled with tears, were the same as the Aimari's, the same blood red that seemed to glow like the sun. Randall understood imediatelly.

"…I am so sorry," A voice, a young male voice, cut through the silence, thick with tears and breathless with a clear struggle to speak, shaky. Randall blinked and turned his head back around to the front. The vampire was the one speaking, "I-I…I didn't mean to. I didn't know…I… He trailed off, breath catching, as his words turned into a small, resolute whisper, eyes distant, "Just don't kill her. Let my sister go. You c-can…you can kill me if you want. I don't mind. Just please."

Randall's own breath hitched painfully - usually he would've chalked it up to land air burning through his Abissian insides, but now, what hurt the most was the Aimari's words. He hadn't been expecting something like this. He blinked again, as if trying to soothe the dryness in his eyes, the lack of seawater, as he finally spoke, voice flat but earnest, "I am not going to kill either of you anyways."

The red-haired vampire blinked, confusion etched onto his face, as his eyes narrowed in disbelief, voice trembling, "…What?"

"I said I'm not going to hurt you. Or her." Randall sighed, a rumbling sound in his true form, his tone clipped as he blinked again, the dry air making his sclera itch and his lungs burn.

"And why is that?" The Aimari asked. He sounded like he almost didn't dare believe this - like whatever this was, it would be a trap or some kind of game. He didn't move away from the wall he was now pressed to.

Randall moved a webbed hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Because why would I even hurt you? It would be pointless. I'm not with the Secret Society." He spat out the name as it it were dirt on his tongue, which it might as well be, "I kill them. The Reapers, I mean. That's what I do, that's why I am here. I don't hurt their victims."

The vampire's shoulders sagged with a shaky breath that felt like a whirlwind of relief and confusion, as he closed his eyes tightly, trying to think, a tentative hope in his tone, "That means… Wait. Those guys outside. You…?"

Randall nodded as the young man trailed off, "Yeah. They're pools of guts and viscera on the floor just a few hallways down. They're all dead."

"They're all dead…?" The Aimari murmured, almost to himself, disbelief coating his words but slowly being replaced by something else as he studied Randall's face for any sign of deception. When he found none, when Randall's face remained the same as before, he crumpled to the ground, crying tears of pure, unbridled relief. "They're dead...Yes. Fuck. They're finally dead!"

His words were a mess of desperate whispers, clearly most to himself, barely intelligible through the mix of hysteric chuckles and a barrage of sobbing that followed. Curled up into a ball on the floor, the vampire's clawed hands tangled into his long blood red hair, almost as if he was seeking something to ground him on reality.

Through tears, he peeked up at Randall, "I…" His words faltered, eyes frantic, "Thank you, just… thank you."

The last sentence came out a desperate breath, almost drowned out by the vampire's incontrolable laugh-sobbing. Randall searched his own mind for a way to answer that - the alarms were still blaring outside, and while the building was empty, there was no guarantee reinforcements wouldn't be en route.

He should leave. The door was open, this guy is an Aimari. And the 'welcome' Randall received mere moments prior told him that the other could more than fend for himself and his sister. But something else felt…off.

That smell of burning flesh he'd felt earlier. It wasn't a faint whiff, a remnant of past torture or something of the sort. It was strong, really, really strong. And in his giant merfolk form, his senses heightened, the scent was almost suffocating, like putrid smoke clawing its way through his gills and nostrils.

And then he saw it.

A flicker of something caught the faint light in the room, almost unnoticeable in the vampire's hunched form, hidden by his long hair. Something wrapped around the Aimari's neck. Randall narrowed his eyes, trying to see what it was, but from his current height, seeing that level of detail outside of the water was nigh impossible.

So he asked, "What's that on your neck?"

At first, there was no response. Just the same desperate sounds of wailing mixed with laughter and breathlessness, the Aimari still curled up on the floor. But then, the young man looked up, and his eyes seemed to walk the line between utterly manic or painfully distant, his mouth a thin line, "It's… nothing. Don't ask."

"It is not nothing," Randall snapped back, "Don't lie to me. I can smell what its doing to you. And its foul. So I'll ask again, what's that on your neck?"

The Aimari didn't look up at him as the word escaped his lips, bitter, "A collar," He answered, voice trembling as his tears continued to stream down his face, "A silver collar."

Randall watched as the vampire tilted his head to the side, collecting his hair in one hand almost like a makeshift ponytail, exposing the raw, blistering skin of his neck. And in that exact second, the merman almost wished he hadn't asked.

He really did.

It was a sight that made bile crawl into his throat, so much that he could taste it as he swallowed it back. The vampire's neck was a mess of charred skin and bubbling, infected blisters gathered around the edge of the polished silver that dug into the young man's pale skin. Blood dripped from the wounds it formed, caking around his neck and collarbones in thick lines, staining his tattered shirt in streams anew as the movement jostled some of the scabs, the torn skin pulsing slightly under it. All of that, and the Aimari didn't even wince.

He'd always known the Secret Society was vile. Monstrously cruel. It wasn't news to him, or surprising. He'd experienced firsthand the effects of their brutality, it had made him into what he was. It was, is, the reason he kills. But the sight of those fresh burns, healing and charring at the same time, stuck in an endless cycle of mending and pain, made his stomach churn.

Randall opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it. He had to try a few times before he found the words, "Let me remove it then. Consider it my retribution for you not killing me, and all that."

The Aimari blinked, uncertain. He let go of his hair, stared at the floor, then up at Randall. After a moment more of silence, as if he'd been gauging what options he had and which one would hurt the least, he moved his head quickly - something that could barely be considered a nod.

The merman sighed, sliding his body the rest of the way forward. His orca tail, though it saved him from getting maimed into a pile of bloody goo, was now more than an inconvenience, slowing down his movement and weighing him down in the lack of water. Randall had to crouch his upper half awkwardly, nearly folding himself in two to reach the vampire.

The red-haired young man kept his breathing steady, though his eyes were wary. Randall noticed him shooting one more glance past him to the girl in the other sound of the room, he heard some slight shuffling, but then the Aimari broke the silence, eyes never leaving the girl, "Aspen, stay where you are." His voice was louder, firm, brooking no argument, as he finally looked back up at Randall.

Randall studied the collar for a moment more, trying not to dwell too long on the blood dripping, gory mess that were the burns surrounding the silver, but that was a near impossible task. His hands, larger due to his transformation, hovered in the air, unsure of where he could even touch to remove this. It took him quite a long while to find the small lock mechanism in the back, even longer to figure out how to maneuver his True Form hands precisely enough to remove it.

He was about to reach to remove it in one go, like ripping out a bandaid, but as he moved closer, his worst suspicions were confirmed. The skin of this vampire's neck has melted into the collar, practically welding itself into one bloody mess of torn skin, sinew and metal.

The Aimari must've noticed his hesitation, because mere seconds after he paused - unsure of where to even begin - his voice rang out again, "Just get it over it, will you? It's going to hurt either way."

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[youripaddress9080]

Everytime someone hates on something for no good reason an angel has their wings ripped off & then is bludgeoned to death

[dead-cr0w]

there's so much blood... its everywhere.....

my hands, my mouth, my body, my legs, my bed..

everything hurts..

my mouth is torn to shreds,, the roof is ripped and bleeding and hanging on by a thread..

I cant stop throwing up..

I think im dying...

[mara-xx217]

Ending H (Fear & Hunger) Ch. 4- Hidden in Plain Sight

It looked like a monster yet it put up an act innocence. Monsters come in all forms in this gods forsaken place and they were close to you from the very beginning...

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rape/Noncon, Broken Bones, Fisting, Monster, Monster Biology, Blood, Death, Necrophilia

You stood in utter shock at the monstrosity before you. What the fuck was it?! What even was this place?! There was an entire other country below the dungeon, as far as you could tell, and with this new country there were brand new monstrosities that defied all logic and understanding. This place shouldn’t exist. That thing shouldn’t exist! But they did, and while you were standing in the midst of a stinking, rotting, impossible city standing before you waited yet another creature that would surely mangle and maim you in much the same way that your less fortunate comrades have been murdered before your eyes. Only one of your shield brothers remained and he incessantly pulled on your arm in an attempt to wake you from your stupor.

“What the fuck are you doing?! We’ve gotta move! NOW-!” His harsh tone was quickly choked back as the gangly creature began to walk it’s too long, one too many limbs in a disjoined and very unsettling pattern right down the narrow alleyway they stood it. 

You both were frozen in fear. The closer it got, the more you could make out the nearly human features of its face. Nearly… but not quite. It was grotesque in every sense of the word, almost… effeminate but also distinctly masculine. Androgynous but it was somehow at both extremes of either gender and somewhere between them both, a concept that was alien to you and left you feeling deeply unnerved. Yet you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Your eyes flicked down its bare body and you immediately regretted it.

“W-Wha- t-the fuck…?” He saw it too. Your companion, Frederick muttered under his breath. He saw it too, that… thing between its legs. Not a penis, certainly not a vagina, it was a… sagging sack of- Oh God you think you’re about to be sick. 

The creature’s lips seemed to have an ever present smile ghosting its full lips. Its eyes were slightly sunken into its head, giving it the illusion of having dark coloured eye makeup around its sockets. An almost healthy dusting of flush covered its cheek, and from its face alone you could have mistaken them for an odd human being, but the spikes about its head and… everything else made it so there was no mistaking it for anything other than a monster of a time long forgotten. It fluttered its eyelashes at you (if the thing even had any-) and blinked at the two of you. Slowly. Regarding you two as it began to hum softly to itself. 

Frederick tugged on your arm again, though it was significantly weaker than from before. Your sword was loosely gripped in your hand, loose enough that its tip landed on the ground with a near deafening thud as the noise ricocheted off the empty streets of the dead city. It startled you enough that you and Frederick both regained your composers but it was already too late. This thing was already a mere few feet from where you both stood and now there was only one of two things the two of you could do:

Run or fight.

You raised your sword with a trembling hand and weakly called out “S-Stay where you are! D-Don’t come any closer!” Frederick backed you up with his own sword, his more steady but still had the same trembling quality that yours did. The creature didn’t move any closer but it didn’t move away, either. It softly giggled to itself, something gentle, like a bell, and nearly childlike though there was something terribly sinister hidden underneath its tone. 

“Didn’t you hear them?! They said ‘FUCK OFF!’ We’ll kill you where you stand, monster!” His voice is loud enough to echo throughout the city and your gut suddenly twists in fear. What if something else heard him?! The gangly thing seemed to pout a little, its shoulders slumping and its limbs going limp. A soft whine escaped its throat and for the briefest of moments… you actually felt sorry for the unfortunate being. 

It picked in between the crumbling mortar that was wedged between the paved tiles of the alleyway. One of its three feet began to tap against the ground, a rhythm that was totally unfamiliar to you. It looked up at you and smiled again.

“Teeheehehee~” A long, multi joined arm reached for you. Frederick pulled your arm again, much harder than he did in the first moments this creature appeared before you two. He managed to force you a step back but you yanked your arm free of his grasp. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He hissed under his breath. He took two steps back and you remained in place. You blinked as you stared down at the three legged creature that sat with its legs splayed in every which direction.

“I… I don’t-” It reached for you again and Frederick took another step back.

“You… You have lost your mind!” It wasn’t said like a question but rather like a factual statement. 

It touched your leg. Gently, as though you were made of glass. Something stirred inside your chest once more. What if… as monstrous as it was… What if it wasn’t a monster? It tugged on your shin guard curiously, not hard enough to pull you off balance, not hard enough for you to even feel it. You only knew it was touching you because you were watching it with your own eyes. You could hear Frederick shuffling away more, muttering quietly under his breath.

“-fucked up. This is fucked up- We’re gonna- They’re gonna-” The creature giggled softly once more as its long fingers shifted away from your shin and towards the back of your calf. A part of you could almost smile. Maybe it wasn’t so bad… You were about to lean down so you could get a better look at its inquisitive eyes when suddenly.

SNAP!  

It took you an entire second to realize what just happened. Your face twisted in agonized horror as you watched your leg bone snap in half. A deafening scream pierced the stagnant air of the lost city, accompanied by the sound of rushed footsteps retreating in the opposite direction. Before you fell flat on your back from standing on painful and unbalanced legs, your other limbs were snatched and you were pinned flat against one of the alleyway’s walls. 

Hysterical sobs were pulled from your chest as your broken leg was still held in a bone crushing grip. The way it pressed against your armour-! Your eyes darted around, wide and bloodshot from tears and stress, desperately looking for someone, fucking anyone to hurry up and save you…!

“F-F-FREDER- AAAAHHHH!!!” A strangled scream left your throat as your arm was twisted until the bone was wrung in half. It shouldn’t- It couldn’t fucking move like that! The raw strength of this creature was otherworldly and was impossible for its size! In between screams and dry heaves, you looked for Frederick, expecting him to already be behind the creature and preparing to strike it down-!

But he wasn’t there. You didn’t know him that well- you didn’t even know his family name- but here in the dungeon of Fear & Hunger, normal social boundaries and understanding was shattered into a thousand pieces. There were so many times that he could have left you for dead but chose to protect you and you did the exact same for him. So why… Why…? Why?! Why why why why WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY-?!  

CRUNCH!  

The only sound that leaves your throat is a gargled groan. The tips of your other foot now faced the wrong direction. Your head hung low as you stared at your broken and mangled body. From the corner of the street, someone peeks out into the alleyway where you were being brutally assaulted. 

You barely felt your fourth and final limb snapping in two. Bile, saliva and tears dribbled down your chin and ran down onto your armoured chest. Breathing was becoming more and more difficult the more pain and trauma you were subjected to. One of your legs was released but it provided no relief to the agonizing pain that you were in. Even the simple pull of your legs hanging limply caused enough pain to make you believe that you would die at any moment. You wish you were already dead. You wished it now, even though the worst was yet to come….

The blinding pain in your mangled limbs masked the feeling of pressure building between your legs. The cold air against your nether regions was barely a whisper in your mind when compared to the white hot numbness that shot through your body. Even the feeling of something cool and hard pressing between your legs didn’t elicit a reaction from you. It was only when the creature all but punched into your body cavity did another tortuous, ear piercing scream rise from the depths of your soul. 

It only took one, forceful motion for it to sink all the way up to its first elbow. Blood gushed from the wound, coating both your trousers, the creature’s arm and the ground below you. It began to pull away and your screams followed it, rising in pitch before it was choked away as you began to vomit uncontrollably. 

Your flesh was being pushed away- Your organs were being fisted deeper and deeper up into your chest cavity. Blood rushed up your throat and streamed down your chin as your body began to shake. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You were dying…  

The creature- The Harvestman- gingerly removed his arm from the new hole he has made for himself. A rush of warm, scarlet blood followed in its wake and painted both the ground and his legs in its beautiful pigment. He released your legs and gently moved to lower you to the ground, careful to not jostle your bent limbs or your loose, churning insides before he had the opportunity to have his fun. 

Your breaths came out in short, gasping breaths. Your face was pale and your eyes were unfocused, staring at the dark blankness of Ma’habre’s sky. The Harvestman giggled to himself as it leaned over your broken body, the sack of skin that contained his genitals unfurling and doubling in both length and girth until it bobbed and swayed with the Harvestman’s slightest movements. 

The bulbous, weeping head of his cock easily pushed its way into the slick, soft tissue in between your legs. It was nearly twice as thick as his fist and arm, so the Harvestman had to put genuine effort into the thrusting of his hips as he raped your batter body. You weren’t quite a corpse yet but you were hardly alive, either. You made no sound as your insides were defiled, not so much as a wheeze or a whimper of pain. You were fading fast but you still had the remnants of your fleeting consciousness and you were at least partially aware of your finality and the manner in which you would die. 

Your perspective constantly shifted as though you were on a boat in rocky waters. Wetness soaked your legs and your back, an ever growing pool of your life force that was only leaking more and more with each passing second and with each new violation the monster that forced itself upon you administered upon your ruined body. Somewhere in the haze of pain and blood loss, you had a moment of recognition. 

At the end of the alleyway, peering in from the corner, a familiar set of eyes watched your brutal end. You already looked dead, with your limbs twisted at impossible angles and your ash grey skin and the lake of blood that encompassed your body that grew every time that thing raped your battered form. It was sickening… But Frederick couldn’t look away. 

The Harvestman stroked your blood and sweat soaked hair, an eerily sweet and loving gesture in the face of the evilness that it was currently inflicting onto you. Frederick watched as the skin of your abdomen shifted and moved in unnatural fashions, following the slow and nearly gentle rhythm the creature had set for itself. The sellsword shifted in place, feeling as though he was on the verge of vomiting yet… 

His cock was rock hard. Every small movement on his behalf was heavenly against the painful throbbing of his manhood. The longer he watched your rape, the harder he became. Frederick’s eyes met your glossy and seemingly dead ones, a shiver running down his spine as he considered was the creature was experiencing as it fucked your bodily cavity. Was it still warm? It had to be soft, right…? His palm found his erection and he made no attempt to hide the depraved act he was partaking in as he watched his comrade’s slow and torturous death. 

Ever since he entered the dungeon, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. The moments where you were in need, that you were nearly assaulted and those monsters nearly forced themself upon you, the times you would rest your eyes for a brief moment as he kept watch… Every single time he considered what it would be like to simply take what he’s wanted from the very beginning. And now he doesn’t have to pretend that he has ever cared to keep his morals and actions in check…  

Through your blurred vision, you saw the rushed, jerking movements of Frederick’s arm about his pelvis. A few stray tears streamed from the corners of your eyes. You were damned from the start… Your comrades- they all met their ends when they would scout ahead with Frederick. It was so easy to believe that it was rotten luck- they met a terrible fate while he barely escaped to live to tell the tale. It was all bullshit. You were the one that he wanted from the very beginning, and when the opportunity arose where he could save you for the very last time-

-he didn’t.

He watched as this thing broke you to pieces and violated the sanctity of your being. And he liked it. You cursed him with your final gasps for air. You moved one of your mangled arms, unable to control it, it simply stretched out at an awkward angle in his direction. You couldn’t move your mouth, you couldn’t even speak from the pain and the blood that drowned you from the inside out, but you cursed him and cursed him with every fiber of your being with the remaining life you had left. You would fade, knowing that you were betrayed in the worst way possible and knowing that you would never be able to exact your revenge onto him in this life. But you could hope he would face his end in a fitting manner, and you would hope, until you croaked your last breath and the light left your eyes long before the Harvestman would finish with your limp and mutilated corpse.

The Harvestman played with your dead body until it grew cold. With one last stroke of your hair and your frozen face, he left you, laying in a pool of your own blood and bodily waste and covered in the gore and cum that he pulled from your corpse. He shuffled away, whistling to himself a jolly tune, as though the horrifying act he just parktook in never happened at all. Frederick watched the creature lumber away and waited until it turned the corner and its whistling had faded into silence before he slunk back into the blood and gore soaked alleyway.

If he wasn’t so much of a coward, he could have had you when you were alive. His boots splashed in your blood as he approached your still body. Even dead and drained of blood, you were exactly what he wanted. His belt was still unbuckled and his hand was still in his trousers, idly pumping and stroking his shaft as he crouched between your legs.

You wouldn’t mind anymore, right? You’re dead, anyway…  

There was a single, gaping hole where your genitals once were. Again, a wave of nausea washed over him but the thought of finally sticking it in you and doing as he pleased overpowered the human part of him that revolted against the beast inside of him. Frederick pulled his trousers down around his thighs and leaned over your corpse. He stroked himself a few more times before he lined himself up with your new hole.

Your insides were cool and wet and sticky and so soft… Frederick didn’t know exactly where his dick was going or what he was thrusting into but he didn’t really care. Any apprehension that he had immediately vanished as he sunk up to the hilt into you. You were almost too cool for his liking but the thought of fucking you- alive or dead- pretty much midigated whatever unpleasantness that he felt in the moment. 

“Haaa… F-Fuck-” Frederick moaned your name as he straddled your broken legs. Your body rocked and bounced limply every time he thrusted his hips. He grabbed your side with one hand and wrapped his other hand around your throat. Cold, dead- It didn’t matter. He had fantasized about how you would cry and scream and beg him to stop as he forced himself upon you… or how you would submit to him and allow him to do as he wished, sobbing and moaning you took him over and over again…

When he pulled away from you, his cock and trousers were caked in blood. Frederick didn’t bother to clean himself off, instead he simply tucked himself away and re-buckled his belt. He was still panting, the aftershocks of his final orgasm still resonating from his core to the tip of his dick. His seed spilled out from your body and he stroked your ice cold face with the tips of his fingers. 

Ah, well…  

Frederick took a lock of your hair and cut it off. It wasn’t much but it was you, and that was all he wanted. He placed it in his pocket and readjusted himself once more, his cock still feeling painfully hard. He left you where you lay, corpse defiled and already showing signs of decay in the dead city hidden underneath the dungeon of Fear & Hunger. There wasn’t much left for him here, so he decided to leave as quickly as he could. No one would know what transpired here… He could go back to his old life and he can leave this all behind him. 

He fingered the hair in his pocket, his fantasies still playing in his head interlaid with the moments he spent with your dead body. Frederick could almost laugh a little, his mouth salivating and his cock throbbing with enough intensity that it nearly crippled him. He rubbed at his clothed cock. The sharpness he felt didn’t seem out of place to him, for whatever reason. The need to fuck- to defile as he just did to you- grew more and more prominent in his mind, until it was nearly all consuming and took control of his being. Somewhere in the midst of the memory of watching and jerking off to your torture and rape and engaging in relations with your corpse, your voice rung out in the hollow streets of Ma’habre, clear and biting.

“Was it worth it…?”  

Ending H- Hidden in Plain Sight  

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

A million possibilities, a million different deaths, and I just HAD to be the one that's all alone.

[da-pretty-bunbun-pupper]

tw; vent, sewerslide, descriptions of sh

For like the past week I’ve been having very strong emotions, borderline rage that makes me violent (which prolly isn’t like a big deal, but anger isn’t an emotion I’m used to), loneliness and isolation, wanting to cry constantly, and lots and lots and lots of suicid@l and self harming thoughts to the point where my skin feels like it’s burning n itching and crawling bc I can’t let myself sh. I keep telling myself “it’s prolly cuz I’m on my period” but that ended days ago so idk. Lots of times I feel like I’m invalid and my thoughts n feelings don’t matter, my trauma isn’t “bad enough”, and I shouldn’t talk abt sh but I’ve never actually cvt myself b4 (ive always self harmed in different ways so my family wouldn’t notice) but at the end of the day that doesn’t mean that I don’t have strong urges and thoughts abt cvtting myself, and it doesn’t mean that I’m not affected by my trauma jus bc “it could have been worse”. Idk. I have lots of friends and family that care, so I can’t leave them rn, and I doubt I will when I’m older, but it jus adds more frustration to the feelings I’m already dealing w. I have no out, I jus have to sit here and wait til it gets better, that’s so fucking infuriating. I feel unlikable, yes I have friends and family that love me, but it feels like none of them actually like talking to me or being friends w me, most of them don’t like that I’m queer, or they don’t like my personality, I don’t mesh well w old friends or family anymore, etc etc. it’s frustrating. It’s blood boiling and frustrating. All of it. I wanna scream, I wanna pull my hair out, I wanna chop my limbs off, I wanna snap my neck, I want to swallow blades and burn my skin and hack up my chest and throw myself in front of traffic and so many other things, but I can’t. It feels like I have no coping mechanism here, all my others have failed me, so I’ve resorted to rotting in my room, and if it gets worse in winter I seriously have no idea what I’ll do. But I’ll make it through.

this rlly isn’t a cause to worry, I’ll be ok, I jus have no where else to put this, and feeling unheard drives me absolutely insane.

[istadris]

Learned a couple of medical terms after one of my cats managed to rip off half of his cheek's skin after piercing his abscess.

Now between the raw skin and the drain sticking out of it, he looks like the dog amalgam from The Thing.

And that dummy manages to lose his cone. A 9 € cone I just bought. Thankfully I had another one drying off.

[tryingtoliveasahumanbeing]

Got really hurt earlier… reminded me of when my ability first formed… had to try and sew myself back together again… think the nerves and muscles are healing already, but it looks really gross right now… luckily my clothes cover it…

I feel less human than before…

[djsherriff-responses]

That’s why I watch most of my shows at night. I was watching this one cartoon show about a promiscuous woman who came back to life as a zombie and in one scene she steals a guys wallet by controlling beetles that lives in her private parts. I was thinking to myself “thank goodness everyone is asleep as I’m watching this”

Horrific show description, thank you for sharing anon

[peafowl-arethe-best-birds]

Everything burned.

He tried to inhale sharply but heard the air exit through one of the stab wounds in his torso. He sobbed. Everything hurt it hurt so so much it burned.

He kept closing his eyes every time he opened them. The sight of his skin wrinkled and loose and without its feathers made him want to puke. Maybe he already had. Maybe that’s why his throat hurt.

Or maybe it hurt from his screams.

Blindly, he crawled. Every movement jostled broken bones. Skin peeled and wind hit places underneath that should never see the light of day. Only one of his lungs was intact, working overtime to help him breathe through the sobs wracking his body.

Would this ever end? Would he bleed out, skin peeling and red and raw, feathers ash around him? Would he ever see his sister again?

Maybe he didn’t deserve that luxury.

All at once, the world went black.

-o-O-o-

Sochai lurched out of bed, panting and shaking, clutching the blanket to his chest. He pressed it to his mouth to muffle his sobs.

He hated remembering that. He didn’t want to remember that.

He looked at his arms and legs. The magic healing helped. His feathers regrowing helped too. But he could still feel the scars underneath.

He still remembered what it felt like to have his skin fall off.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. He didn’t want to remember that. He had to try to think about anything other than crawling away from where he should have died.

Sochai sobbed silently, whole but not really. Maybe he left some pieces behind.

When his sister woke up, he’d be fine.

She didn’t need to know about the memories.