#cw // descriptive creepy imagery | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merakiui · 2 months ago

Text

[0] 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, abuse of power, descriptions of religious imagery, attempted non-con, hypocrisy, solitary confinement, rollo is immensely creepy, archaic mindsets and logic masterlist // prologue (you are here) // one

Without a shred of sympathy, discarded like dross, you are thrown before Father Flamme’s feet.

You have enough grace and dignity to resist the urge to grasp at his robes and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you condemn yourself to silence, allowing his piercing stare to stab through you with a judgment so precise it might just slice the skin from your skeleton. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you can almost taste his disapproval, much like a snake might parse chemical witchery in the air.

“Lift your head, if you would,” he commands gently, and you do as you’re told. He folds his arms over his chest and looks on, cold as winter’s frost. You watch his finger tap out a soundless rhythm. “I must ask of you, Sister, to provide reason to your recent absences. As a child of God, you have taken oath to follow His wise teachings and devote yourself to serving this church. Am I wrong?”

“You speak wise and true.” You rise to your feet and, ignoring the brutes who so rudely cast you forward in the first place, bow your head in apology. Father Flamme waves them out without sparing so much as a second glance. “You are right that it is my duty to serve the church. I ought to be doing just that and yet I have failed to do so. Undeserving I may be, I ask that you pardon my negligence.”

Father Flamme hums. Standing in front of the altar, backdropped by a stained glass depiction of the crucifixion, he is bathed in a colorful, angelic array. He strides towards you, covering the short distance in just a few clicks, and places his hand upon your shoulder. You’re led from the steps and down the aisle. It feels more like you’re being brought away for slaughter, a lamb primed for punishment.

“There is no doubt you are genuine in all that you do,” he notes, sliding his hand down your arm. Those slender, spidery digits curl into your woolen sleeve. “You are impartial and well-bred, a woman of impressive patience and virtue. Qualities of which arouse an admiration most potent.”

You know the rest of your convent is much the same, which is why it puzzles you that Father Flamme should praise your humble name in such a sickeningly fond manner.

“You are too kind, Father,” you acquiesce. “As a modest servant of God, it’s my pleasure to devote myself to Him, the church, my fellow sisters, and the community.”

“Hmm. A laudable outlook.” His lips quirk up in a smile. Strangely, it looks sharp and predatory. It does not reach his eyes.

Father Flamme steers you in the direction of another stained glass window. This scene is of The Resurrection of Christ. You gaze at His face and wonder if there truly is something up there, watching over the world’s sheep as they live out cyclical days in their pastures.

Immediately, you realize you should commit yourself to writing lines to chase that doubtful notion away.

Father Flamme rests his hand on your other arm to hold you in place. “A quote paraphrased from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verses thirty-six through thirty-eight, if you’ll listen: ‘When asked which is the great commandment of all in the law, Jesus would reply, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.’”

You nod mechanically, only half-listening. After observing you closely, he frowns.

“What troubles you, Sister?”

“It is hardly a burden worth shouldering. I assure you I’m of sound health. My recent habit of absence is most unbecoming of a sister. I should sooner confront the great shame of my actions than let it fester within.”

“There is still time to atone. You must seek counsel and, having taken it in your arms just as God embraces all, you will know forgiveness.”

You rest your hand upon Father Flamme’s, which has somehow found its home at your hip. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

He smiles that empty smile again. “If He is to provide for you, you must first lay yourself bare before him. I am no fool, Sister. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I have been truthful, Father. I would never lie under this sacred roof, nor would I have the gall to do so in your presence. It would be an offense so beastly I could not bear to let it weigh heavy on my heart.”

“Yet, rather than scorch your tongue with a dissolution of the truth, you evade the simplest of queries.” His fingers toy with the knots of your cincture. “What manner of tale will you spin to mystify me next?”

Reacting on instinct, you rip yourself from his immoral grasp. The nave is as silent as the grave, so stuffy it’s suffocating. Father Flamme narrows his eyes at you. His gaze cuts through you like blood swirling through the cracks in ice—like a scalding brand pressed onto flesh.

A thick tension blankets the air. You merely stare at him, and he levels you with the same calculating intensity. Both of you are searching the other’s face, hoping to find an explanation for such polar opposite behavior.

You’re courageous enough to break the quiet first.

“If it would please you, Father, I will graciously offer myself up for confession. There is no reason or need to circumvent the Lord.”

“Sister (Name), if you may spare the time, I entreat you to take a short stroll with me.” Before you can object, he offers his arm. “All children are lost lambs who will soon find their way when following the path illuminated by God’s brilliant light. You are no different. It is my duty to see that you are no longer led astray by temptation and the litany of filth propagated by the fiend.”

Sensing no other option, you link arms with him and subject yourself to his whims. “I’ve a frightful feeling. Most frightful indeed.”

“By all means, confide in God and trust that He will provide shelter. Under His sacred roof, He will lend an ear just as I am doing now.”

You inhale a steadying breath. At this moment, Father Flamme is all you have. In the depths of your heart, you’re aware he’ll never understand. He will never know the morbid secrets that dwell in darkened corners, swept expertly away. And if he knew, you would never be welcome in the church again. Your fellow sisters would certainly turn their noses up at you, loathing the sin of your very existence.

Even as you walk alongside the righteous bishop, you feel an overwhelming itchiness.

“Recent events have led me to believe—though I pray it isn’t true—that my heart has been possessed with a ghastly malady. Umbras waltz in my peripheral—no trick of the light, I assure!”

“Perhaps it is merely a case of wicked dreams?” he posits, leading you through the aisle like a father might accompany a bride on her wedding day. You shake your head insistently, and so he holds his hand up to soothe your frazzled disposition. “Peace, Sister. The songs of night are naught but whimsical folly weaved from the silk of zealous minds. You would do well to shake yourself free of their deceitful shroud.”

“I shall do so most ardently.”

“To rectify this trouble, might you consider attending evening mass? It can only do you good.”

You step up towards the altar, keeping pace with Father Flamme’s casual gait. “Oh, I couldn’t. As of late, I’ve felt uneasy in my solitude. I fear my shadow is not my own…”

His verdant eyes are so stark against the pallor of his face that it reminds you of coins placed over those of the dead. His arm slips away from your waist and, gathering your hands in his, he assesses you more carefully. Under the watchful stare of both Father Flamme and a crucified deity, you feel as if someone has taken a spoon to your soul and scraped it out. And then, for extra, unnecessary measure, they’ve flattened it out on a table for dissection in hopes of picking apart each of your dirtiest secrets.

“Oh? Do elucidate.”

Hazarding a glance at the cross situated grandly in multicolored glass, you lower your voice so as to not be heard by any outside parties. Paranoia grips you in a clenched fist.

“Something—what it may be, I could not begin to form ample conjecture—is hunting me.”

He does not grace you with a reply, and this only incenses the unrest bubbling within you.

“How say you, Father? What is it that causes me such nocturnal torment?”

His features are set in perfect neutrality; it’s impossible to glean any sort of emotion from the way he acts. He coaxes you closer, pulling you along towards the altar.

“It is with great devastation that I must behold you as you are,” he says, breaking the suspense. “Tainted with the despicable sins of the world outside, young and promising as you are… I shall remedy that.”

You open your mouth to voice concern, but in one swift motion he shoves you against the altar. You land with a thud, your back colliding against sturdy mahogany. It happens in a flash, like the final expulsion of breath from your lungs in the wake of the end. He’s between your flailing legs, pushing you up and onto the cloth-covered surface. Brass candlesticks scatter in a haphazard clatter. Globs of wax bespatter stone floors.

In the quaint tranquility of the church, the struggle is louder than a newborn’s cry.

Your chest heaves in a panic.

Gracious God above, I implore you—save me from this wretched devil!

Your pupils flit wildly, assessing every area within your range. There must be a means to escape! Above the ornate display, his head hung, your god looks on silently. He does not offer a whit of protection.

“Father—”

Frigid fingers crawl upon your legs like a flurry of scurrying rats. You blink up at him, helplessly hopeful.

He inhales a long, steadying breath and shuts his eyes. “God, have mercy. Have pity on this wayward soul. May she be cleansed beneath my fingertips, pure as freshly fallen snow, and may you forgive her every transgression.”

You sputter an incoherent noise.

He opens his eyes and smiles serenely. “Amen.”

Squirming beneath him, you resist his touch like it’s flickering flame. “Father, I beg of you… Quell your frustrations and release me at once. I am innocent.”

He sighs, unconvinced. “You are exquisitely venust, Sister. As sweet as the first buds of spring. You must know it is impossible for beauty to exist freely when there are fiends who wish to tarnish it—who will trample upon the virtuous garden in which you bloom and pluck you by the root, rough as barbarians. Thus, it is my duty to see that you are scrubbed of their detestable influence. May God pardon my iniquity.”

His hands slide up your calves beneath your habit. You watch, prickled with horror, as he parts your legs.

“Belle chose, unfurl your petals so that we may make feet for children’s stockings.”

He leans over you, reaching to secure your wrists with one hand. The other climbs higher in its rapacious pursuit of a place most sacred. In the midst of your ferocious thrashing, you espy His divine eye once more.

I adjure you, Lord… Save me from this demon. You must. Please, Lord…

Silence. A haunting, engulfing silence.

There is no salvation to be found beneath the cross. None for you, as it appears so disturbingly clear.

“Unhand me! Unhand me at once!” you snap, tearing your arm free. “You would allow yourself to fall lower than the ground you trod upon—to so flagrantly commit sacrilege in His hallowed home?!”

“It is not I who is to be scorned so. I am guiltless,” he sneers. But then he smooths his scowl into that of pristine, practiced patience, and he speaks in a soft, pitying tone. “Oh, Sister, you have allowed them to tip poison into your precious ears… Your perception is clouded with the cobwebs of that uncouth crowd.”

“To stand at his feet and reveal your malice in such a grotesque manner… You are no better than swine!”

“You shall see there is no better solace to be found than with me.” Tenderly, he fits his hand, cold and skeletal, in yours. “I shall shelter you from all that is cruel and unjust. You need only take my hand.” His fingers flicker at your inner thigh, waltzing in circles. His incessant petting sends a shudder wracking through your body. Paralyzed as you are, you recognize the monster lurking just beneath human flesh. A demented desire flashes in his eyes. You’ve never felt more lost. “And your sins shall be forgiven.”

Father Flamme leans down, chancing to catch the scent at your neck. You reach between your bodies, searching for the garter secured around your thigh, and unsheath the dagger from beneath your habit. It’s thrust at his throat, the sharpened edge pressed close enough to pierce through the collar of his alb and draw the slightest pinprick of blood. Clasping the ivory handle in a trembling fist, you face him with a fire burning in your fear-filled visage.

Perhaps it is his own disbelief that prompts the rattle in his chest—an ominous chuckle.

“You are a bride of Christ, yet you dare turn a blade on me?”

“You’re a man of God, yet you besmear His holy name with the sin of your incorrigible lust?”

“You are mistaken, Sister.” He grabs hold of your fist with both hands and folds his fingers over yours in mock prayer. As if intending to stoke your ire, he tilts his head in taunt. “Let my blood run red on this altar and you shall know of my humanity.”

“Defile the Lamb of God and you are no shepherd but, rather, the wolf who adorns himself in woolen mendacity.”

Before he can utter a response, the doors burst open. Father Flamme releases your hand and climbs off of you, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. An icy gale claws at the interior, and with it two men arrive in a whirlwind rush.

“Your Excellency, forgive our intrusion!”

Your arm falls to your side and, with a mounting sense of defeat, you gaze at the ceiling. You don’t feel soothed, but you must compose yourself. And so, shoving your frenzied emotions to the side, you sheath your blade and scramble to make yourself presentable once your feet are back on the floor. Brightening at the sight of the two villagers, you cradle your rosary and pray silently.

Dear God, may you smite he who spreads abhorrent rot with his fingertips and, in witnessing a most magnificent death flail, gralloch him without mercy.

“Ah, gentlemen, what fortuitous timing,” Father Flamme greets them, smiling. “Do come in. I’ve a task for you, if you would be so inclined.”

You linger behind, cautious like a gare-fowl often is when at the receiving end of a hunter’s rifle.

“Your Excellency, you need only ask and we are at your service.”

“Before that, you must accompany us to the hogs,” the other interjects. “Death has soiled these grounds, Your Excellency. A sight so barbarous it forebodes only the worst! You must come—come and behold the infernal darkness which has cursed this village!”

Father Flamme glances between the both of them, assessing the urgency of the situation that has been so cryptically illustrated.

“As you have described, the present circumstances appear dire. Oh, but I do require your assistance before that, gentlemen. It shan’t be too arduous a task.” He turns on his heel and indicates you with an outstretched hand. “Sister (Name) totters at the precipice with her fickle faith. As it is my duty to ensure all are well in the arms of God, I must take…caution—you might say—in sorting such a sensitive matter.”

The men exchange bewildered looks.

“You imply…punishment, sir?”

“Nay, I think not!” you interrupt, striding forwards. You’re stopped by Father Flamme’s arm, held just in front of your chest to keep you in place. “Father, I am steadfast in my faith. I have—”

“If such were the truth, you would not speak nullifidian filth.”

Pushing past him, you plead with the men: “Sirs, he knots his tongue and utters dishonesty! You know of my virtue—my loyalty to Him. And of my father, who has provided comfort and care, the means by which I was raised into the woman you see before you, I am justly proud. As the daughter of (Last Name), I sicken with the thought of bringing dishonor to my father, my faith—all of which I hold true in my heart. Sirs, you must believe in—”

Father Flamme lifts his hand to silence you, but you’re aware of his cunning machinations. “I ask of you this, good sirs. When sailors set out at sea, do they allow themselves to fall prey to the song of the siren? Just as those wretched sea-beasts sing, so, too, does honey pour spoiled from the mouth of a sinner. Her words serve to chart a course for ill-founded temptation.”

“Sister, your virtue I do not question.” The villager addresses Father Flamme next, disregarding your presence entirely, as if you are naught but a worthless speck. “What shall we do, Your Excellency?”

A smile curls on his lips. “Take her to the tower just beyond the village. She shall remain in solitude for seven days. That shall provide her with ample time for contemplation.”

The men approach you without a hint of remorse on their lips. Cornered, you look to Father Flamme for guidance.

“Father, I beg of you—you mustn’t send me away! I shall repent! I shall do so before you now.”

“It serves me no satisfaction to subject you to solitary confinement.” He folds his hands in front of him and observes the spectacle of your resistance. “You have proven to me your doubt in the capabilities of the Lord. It is my right to correct your contumacious thoughts. I’m certain your father would share this sentiment. No daughter should empty her mind of His valuable teachings.”

“Do not speak as if you have dined with my father,” you hiss, wriggling in the firm hold of both men.

Father Flamme steps closer and smiles. “Let us away.”

You are dragged, struggling all the while, out of the church and down the steps. There is a ferocious bite to this year’s autumnal weather. Father Flamme is gracious enough to drape his cloak over your shoulders just before you’re lifted onto a horse. He mounts his stallion and, with the crack of a whip, the four of you are off towards the decrepit tower at the rugged foothills of the mountains. No words are exchanged. You’ve said more than enough and you still remain the accused, guilty due to distorted logic.

The tower, which had once appeared so distantly out of your mind, gains striking clarity as you approach. You gaze helplessly at the man transporting you. He offers nothing of substance, his gaze focused squarely on the dirt footpath ahead.

When you were but a babe, the tower served as a warning for all children in the village: Those whose souls are stained with the sins of their atrocities shall wither away in silence.

There was once a raving madman who was imprisoned there in your youth. A heretic, he was called. Driven to his end, his sanity thin as a hair, he scraped at the walls and pulled loose bricks free until his fingernails cracked and blood trickled down his hands in rivers. When he had created a sizable opening for himself, at the peak of his derangement, he climbed out to meet the sun’s soft rays, a singular blessing owed for years of captivity. And then he threw himself from the tower, landing in a broken spattering at the very bottom.

In the years following, the tower housed numerous prisoners. It is a cold, unforgiving place, existing solely for the ugly and the crooked. And, now, the misunderstood. The wrongfully accused.

As you’re helped down from the horse, you ponder how many have been sent here to live out time for unfair accusations.

You’re joined by the second villager shortly, and they flank you like soldiers as they shove you along.

“Have you no sympathy, sirs!” you snap, shaking yourself from their grip. “To treat me so callously when my devotion is fervent and true! I am no fabulist.”

The men say nothing and amble onwards, pushing you closer to the tower. One of them attempts to seize your wrist; you evade him gracefully. Father Flamme observes your outright stubborn refusal and hums his disapproval.

“Unhand me! I’ll go of my own accord. I’ve feet for a reason, and thus they shall work as God intended. I need not the assistance of fools. My legs shall be the ones to carry me.” Punctuating that with an indignant huff, you stride ahead.

What brutish handling… These doltish fiends sit under the tree of knowledge and yet not a single fruit falls into their laps. To think this is how they would treat someone sworn to the church—and a lady, no less!

The latch is weather-worn, and it creaks a discordant note when lifted. You peek into the shadowed entrance and frown. Before you are subjected to the impatience of the men at your side, you step into the dimness. It is alight with the red-orange slivers of a setting sun.

“You shall wait here. I will accompany this misguided Sister to the very top. After which, we shall return to the village and I shall accompany you to the hogs.”

The men nod and stand at attention.

If you’re so dedicated to foolish play, you would be wise to salute, you think with a sardonic tut.

Father Flamme offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Ignoring his attempt at chivalry, you lift your habit so as to not trip on it and begin the lengthy ascent up the spiraling staircase. He chuckles and follows your lead. Every wooden step creaks under your weight. Something brushes your face—dust, perhaps. You swat at your face, grimacing. The scent of mold and rot clings to the bowels of this tower like maggots on a corpse, impossibly redolent in ways you shall avoid giving thought to.

I must not breathe so deeply, lest I wish to savor the taste of decay and bitter rage.

You carry on, ignoring the creeping revulsion and the stench of death as it clouds the air, accompanying you on your journey. A door waits for you at the top. You note it is without a lock.

“A bird will not fly in captivity,” Father Flamme advises, pushing it open to reveal a sparsely furnished room. It’s equipped with the essentials a common prisoner would need. You can’t help feeling less than human the moment you pass through the threshold.

It is enough of a sight to wear on my eyes and render them woefully sore.

He meets you at the door and offers an embroidered reticule. “I shall retrieve you in seven days’ time.”

You eye him dubiously and, upon sensing no additional malevolence, swipe the reticule from him. “May you rest guilty on your bed of lies.”

He leans in close, his voice as faint as a phantasm. “May you reflect on what it is you hold dear, for I assure you it is well within my reach.” He pivots and begins his descent, his footsteps tapping out a resounding rhythm. “You will learn a glorious lesson here. Treasure it as you would a child.”

Minutes later, the door below shuts and the latch is dropped into place. The noise races up the stone spiral in echo, filling your ears with its haunting reverberation.

Now you’re truly alone.

“How boorish he must be to condemn me to this prison!” You slam the door in your anger and drop the reticule onto the bed. In an effort of appraisal, you feel the lumpy mattress. It’s packed full of straw. “I am not nameless, nor am I a harlot. Yet I am gifted the opulence of peasants. I can scarcely accept such generosity.”

Alas, this is your new misfortune.

To busy your idle hands, you open the reticule and peer inside at its contents. A thumb Bible rests beside a bulk of misshapen cloth. Gingerly, you unwrap it to find bread, cheese, and salt pork. Somehow—and you have every right to be fastidious—you doubt this modest portion will be enough for seven days.

“And not a drop of water!” you announce to the empty room. “He has an astounding amount of faith in me if he thinks I will surrender so simply. One day he shall get his gruel. I’ll make sure of it.”

Until then you will never know peace.

Bundling the rations, you place them within the reticule alongside the Bible. Perhaps you should have requested writing implements or a book—anything to preclude the impending accidie.

Beyond the window, which is sized perfectly for the smallest bird, the sun disappears below the horizon. Ink spills across the sky, darkening the surroundings outside the tower and leaving room for stars to speckle the vastness. You sit at the edge of the bed and wrap your fingers around your rosary.

“Dear God, you know I am faultless and so I ask that you guide me in understanding your ways. Father Flamme speaks of protection in your home and yet when danger is knocking you are not there to answer.” You tug anxiously at the beads. “If you are there, show me… Show me that you hear my prayers. Show me that I am not alone. That even I, imperfect as I may be, am deserving of your sanctuary and forgiveness. Amen.”

Shrugging the cloak off, you fold it into a neat square and set it at the end of the bed. Your veil and coif are next to go, and you take immense care in handling both. You slide your dagger out of its sheath and set it on the bed. The night is cool and so you resolve to remain dressed as you are, in your robes and chemise.

“I will endure these seven days. Each one, night and day, I will be strong. My faith will never falter. I will never waver,” you whisper, repeating this oath like a mantra. You settle into bed, sparing a final glance at the square cut into the brickwork, where a starry sky wraps the world in a celestial counterpane. “Perhaps then you might acknowledge me.”

Clutching the rosary close to your chest, comforted with the weapon at your side, you drift into dreamless slumber.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere rollo flamme #yandere rollo flamme x reader #yandere rollo x reader #yandere rollo #the test of faith #the test of faith prologue

471 notes · View notes

hiskillingjar · 4 months ago

Note

transfem law x transfem mc?

you're the only bitch that i fucking respect in this town

4700+ words, general warning for some discussed transmisogyny and cw for. uh. animal death, death descriptions, genital mutilation descriptions and shade towards true crime girls.

cross posted on ao3 cus it's long and i want attention :)

"You know, if you brought me out here to kill me, I'm going to be pretty upset."

You smiled in spite of your dark joke as you followed behind Law, them leading the way through the brush after driving you to the woods outside of town. Their long arms pushed aside tree branches for you to pass and kept hold of your hand, so you didn't get lost in the dark.

You'd met Law at therapy after a particularly rough stint at the psych ward, when they still went by 'Lawrence' and you were barely six months on hormones and still got clocked on a regular basis (including by them on your first meeting).

Now, it had been a year, you'd had your first consultation for sexual reassignment surgery (and it had gone successfully), and Law had made some…well, discoveries of their own.

It was nice, having a friend like them, and you liked their company.

"No, no, no,” They said, looking back at you over their shoulder. “I know it’s strange to be out here this late, but…this isn’t what it seems..."

“I know, Law,” You interrupted with a laugh, squeezing their hand a little tighter. "I'm only teasing. "

They took things a little literally at times, a symptom of the disorder that had landed them at therapy in the first place.

You didn’t mind correcting yourself for them, though.

"Oh...right...okay.” They said with a nervous chuckle, reaching back to scratch their neck. “I…um, I just wanted to make sure.”

Their grip tightened around yours for just a moment before going back to normal as they led you deeper into the brush.

It was a dark night, way later than you were usually out (you were, regrettably, somewhat of a morning person later in life), but it was a peaceful kind of dark.

The kind of dark that swallowed people whole and kept them safe, surrounded, like an all-encompassing hug, a pill bug under a log, a baby in the womb, a tapeworm in your twisting guts, worming around your insides and looking for the closest thing it could burrow deeper into.

You squeezed their hand harder and gave your head a little shake, trying to rid yourself of the gruesome imagery, as they pulled you into a quiet clearing of the brush.

The night was clear and cool, and the full moon was out, casting a glow on everything in the surrounding area, something beautiful and...almost otherworldly.

Like for just this one moment, the entire world was on pause and you were the only two people that existed.

It was a nice thought.

"This is it..."Law murmured softly, a little breathless as they stepped and pulled you into the clearing, looking around the small space like a child excited to share a new toy with their friend.

It was a canopy of thick trees surrounding a flat patch of ground, a blue tarp laid out to one side and three tall barrels with tight lids on top of them covered by a similar tarp, hiding whatever the barrels held from prying eyes.

“Cool, if a little creepy. Very Dahmer-esque. I’m into it.” You joked as Law let go of your hand and clenched their long, bony fingers together in front of them. "So, what did you wanna show me, Law?"

"Oh...right, yes. Just..." Law looked at you, those same nervous eyes shining brightly in the dim moonlight, taking in a deep breath before speaking more quietly, their voice dropping to a soft whisper. "Close your eyes for a second, alright? Please?"

“Alright…”

You did as you were told and closed your eyes, your own fingers (not as long but just as bony) curling against the denim of your shorts.

If they did decide to kill you, now would be a fantastic time to do it. You had ignored every red flag and word of advice against doing this just to be here, after all.

“Stay Sexy, Don’t Get Murdered”, your hate-listen podcast had warned that morning, while you walked to work.

What were you doing, ‘getting ugly, waiting to get murdered?’

While your eyes were closed (while your mind was spiralling about their potential bad intentions), Law pulled off and stepped around the crinkling plastic tarp to pry off the lid of one of the barrels.

The smell was putrid, like rot, like death, and immediately hit you like a truck, making your expression wrinkle without even knowing the source.

"Oh, jesus," You murmured, covering your face with the sleeve of your overshirt to try and mask the smell. “What is that?”

“I’m just finding something,” Law said, their voice soft over the sound of sloshing water. They must have been sifting through the mange without gloves (ew) for a good while before it stopped. “Okay…okay, here it is, open your eyes.”

You opened your eyes obediently and saw that they were holding something out for you to see.

Their hands (big, pretty, bigger than yours, made you feel small, made you feel delicate) were sopping wet and almost blue from the cold, but they looked so eager to show you what they had, that it didn’t matter.

Your eyes widened and you gaped a little wider when you recognised...what looked like an animal corpse that had been pulled from the water.

It might have been a rabbit, a hare or maybe even a small dog, if you had to guess, well past the initial stages of decomposition, with mangy flesh melting off the brown bones, wet and murky fur falling to Law’s feet in clumps.

When you looked from the corpse and back to them, Law's grey eyes (usually so dead and dull, but now open and unnervingly alive) shined as a genuine smile came to their pretty face.

The sheer look of excitement on their face was endearing, and you suppressed your initial disgust to share that smile with them.

“I know this isn't the kind of activity you sign up for when you go on a date..." They said, idly licking their lips, their eyes going back down to the corpse as they turned it around, showing you the protruding rib cage and the heavy skull, where most of the gore had rotted away. “But, I just...I wanted to share something I was proud of with someone...someone I feel comfortable with. Someone I care about."

They said such sweet things so thoughtlessly. You envied that about them.

"No, it's..." You laughed, looking a little flustered as you scraped your hair behind your ears and scratched your neck. Was this a date? Had you known, you might have dressed a little nicer and put some foundation on. "It's cool, Law…I appreciate you showing this to me."

“Really?” They said, huffing out a surprised laugh and holding the bones a little closer to their chest. “Oh…ah, that’s…a relief, I suppose. I was nervous that you would think it’s strange, or gross…” They rambled as they turned around and set the corpse onto the tarp carefully, wiping the worst of the gore off on their sweatpants.

“I mean, it is gross.” You laughed, choosing to be honest with them. “But, like, a cool kind of cross. Like those vulture-culture blogs, they do stuff like this too.” You stepped around the clearing and towards them, watching as they knelt down to the tarp and started scraping melted flesh and viscera from the bones with their fingernails. You assumed there were probably better tools to do the task, but said nothing. “What is it, like, roadkill or something?"

"Uhh..."

Their hands stilled at your question, skin stained with black from the gore and still blue from the cold.

They barely reacted to it, if at all.

"No...well, yeah, it might've been already dead before I..." They mumbled, floundering around their words before eventually trailing off with a little, desperate whimper, shame and immense guilt in their expression.

That answered that, then.

You peered towards them as their words trailed off, a slightly sympathetic look on your face.

"You...didn't kill it, did you, Law?" You asked gently, squatting down on the other side of the corpse, lowering yourself down to their level.

It was an important way of establishing a connection, you had been told once, never putting levels between you and a friend or loved one. Sometimes people did the opposite, to be unnerving or intimidating, to designate themselves as a voice of authority and someone to be trusted.

Men did it, mostly. It was important for you to never do something like that.

Law swallowed, unable to look you in the eye, but you received a slow, guilty, nod to your question. It was almost sheepish, like they were a little kid who had just gotten caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Their hands were shaking, but you had a sense that it wasn’t a reaction to the cold.

"I...I..." Their fingers curled into tight, little fists. "I...yeah...I did..."

There was fear in their soft voice, but also a strange kind of…relief.

Relief that they had been able to tell the truth to someone, someone who had heard them out this far, someone they were happy to tell the truth to.

"Ah," You mumbled with a little sigh, wrapping your arms around your knees. "That's a shame…”

That wouldn't go down well in therapy. But hey, you weren't a therapist.

“But...” You started, licking your lips and trying to meet their eyes with a gentle smile. “I mean, if you don't do it again...I think that’s okay."

“Really…?” They replied, unclenching their fingers and looking back at you, a slight smile tugging at their lips. "I...I won't, I promise."

They were quiet again, idly pulling at a tuft of wet fur still clinging to the bones and rubbing it between the callouses of their fingers. It can’t have been very soft, but you guessed that it was still a decent self-soothing method.

“It’s just…I mean, I go to therapy for a reason, you know that.” They said, digging their grubby fingernail into the bundle of fur. “I see things, I hear things. I get this…urge, sometimes. To…mmph-”

They went quiet quickly, looking back down and biting their lip, as if afraid of losing control of what they were saying.

But you had a good sense of what they were about to say.

You knew the type of girl that Law was.

"Yeah...I get that," You mumbled quietly with a considered tilt of your head, taking a closer look at the poor creature who died so your friend didn’t shoot up a shopping mall (though you had a sense that Law wasn’t the type to own a gun). "I do, I do get it.”

You clutched your knees tighter and let out a slightly shaky sigh.

“I mean, I never killed animals or anything, but, like,” You huffed out a laugh and pushed a shaking hand through your hair, aghast by what you were about to admit. “Okay, um…when I was a teenager, I'd look at these…gore sites. LiveLeaks, BestGore, that shit…”

Law’s eyes snapped up to yours, stunned by your sudden outpouring of honesty.

“It was initially, like, something I did with my friends. You know, dumb teenage boys doing dumb teenage boy stuff,” You said, feeling a little fondness for the edgy snot-rag you had been at fourteen years old. “Then I’d do it by myself. I was curious, at first, and then…it was also just to...feel something. Something other than how I felt, you know? Something other than hatred."

Law let out a little hum and nodded their head.

"Yeah…me too, actually.” A shaky smile came to their face. “I would...I used to browse the dark web a lot, to see those kinds of things. To feel something, like you…um, like you said."

"Yeah. It's, like, a right of passage for girls like us, right?" You replied with a little chuckle, fiddling with your hair. You had cut your bangs too short and were now sporting, what your chronically online friend called, a ‘fuck-ass bob’. You had grown your hair out for so long, but now felt the bob kind of suited you. “I know way too many to count…”

“Girls like us…” Law repeated thoughtfully, trying to laugh along as well, a shy look on their face as a flush came to their pale cheeks.

You looked up and tried to smile as normally as you could.

"Um…” They started, after a short beat of silence. “So…you know what you asked before...about if I was bringing you out here to kill you?"

"Uh oh," You mumbled, trying to make a joke in spite of the sudden churning in your stomach.

"Wait, no...no, I...-"

They barked out a strange little laugh, before covering their mouth with their dry sleeve, trying to cut themselves off from laughing any more, any louder.

"I wasn't...I'm still not. You don’t have to worry about…about that.” They trailed off, seeming about to say something before they bit their lip again. Finally, they spoke, looking up into your eyes. “But, I've thought about it a few times...killing you."

You swallowed hard, your smile dropping a little.

"Oh..."

“Don’t freak out,” They said quickly, their grey eyes widening a little. The life in them had subsided, just a touch, replaced by a deadened sort of…mania, like they were getting ready to do something drastic.

What were red flags again?

‘Stay Ugly, Do Get Throttled and Killed in a Forest Clearing’.

That would do numbers, if you still cared about doing numbers.

“I just…I wanted to be honest with you.” They then said, derailing your train of thought. “I don’t want to hide things from you. I don’t…like hiding things from people I care about.”

They looked back down, their shoulders sagging and hiding a miserable expression on their face.

“You’re probably going to think I'm crazy, right? M-Maybe I am..."

"No, it's..." You reached over and grabbed their hand. "It's okay, Law.” You said with an encouraging smile, that was now shaking a little. You might have been stupid, but you weren’t so idiotic that you weren’t a little scared. “Thinking about something and doing it are…like, two totally different things, Law."

Law stared at your hand for a moment, gripping it tightly (almost too tightly, bone-crushingly tight, making you look so small again) before letting their grip ease with a sigh.

“You’re…unreal,” They murmured with a disbelieving laugh. They kept their eyes down, still focused on the gore on the blue tarp in front of them. “If I said that to anyone else, they’d think I was…some deranged freak and get me put away.”

"Well, what kind of a person would I be if I did that?" You mumbled, rubbing your thumb over their bony, blue knuckles.

"A person with common sense, I guess..." Law chuckled a little strangely, hollow, not totally there, their grip tightening again. They seemed oddly pleased by the contact, though, even if there was also a little bit of uncertainty to go along with that excitement.

"Well, I've never pretended to have any of that," You continued with your own chuckle, before biting your lip. "And I’ve been to a psych ward, so I’d never put someone there. But…” You hesitated. “I mean…how...would you do it?"

"Hmm?" Law blinked for a moment, still holding your hands in theirs. "You mean...how I would kill you?"

"Mm..." You hummed, and you felt yourself tremble.

It was the cold of the night and the wet skin against yours that was making you shake.

That’s what you were telling yourself. It can’t have possibly been for any other reason.

Law’s head canted to the side as they watched your trembling form. Their grey eyes narrowed slightly, like a cat watching and playing with a mouse before it was about to leap and strike.

They didn't let go of your hand for even a second either.

If anything, their grip only tightened.

"You're nervous..." They said.

"Yeah," You replied with a nod.

"You're trembling..." They said, as they leaned closer to you.

"Yeah," You replied again with a little sigh.

“You’re beautiful.” They whispered, bringing their face down to yours, chapped lips tracing yours but not closing the gap just yet, waiting for you to do it.

This close, you could smell the putrid water and the smell of rot and plant matter and sweat that clung to their skin, sweet and murky and dead, like their eyes, like their gaze.

A beautiful dead girl, waiting for you.

“How would you kill me, Law?” You asked again, more sure of anything than you had ever been before.

They huffed out another little chuckle with a slight shake of their head, their blunt bangs choppy on their forehead.

They probably cut their hair the same way you did, with kitchen scissors in the mirror.

The tattooed, septum-ringed girls and they-thems at the ‘all-inclusive’ hairdresser in town always cut your hair too short (something something haircuts don’t have gender, easy for them to say) so you did it at home, split ends be damned.

Was Law the same way, now?

“You’re asking for trouble,” They mumbled hotly, their lips still grazing yours as they held your hand even tighter, their fingers still covered in the watery viscera of the dead animal.

“Probably,” You replied with a little nod. “Tell me. Please?”

The words hung in the air between you for a good minute or two (though it could have been hours for all you cared), a quiet, intense silence filling the clearing.

For some reason, the air suddenly felt thick, almost hard to breathe, like you were in one of those barrels, suffocating and trying not to drown.

Your shorts were tights and your fishnets were clinging a little too tightly to your legs, too tight to be as comfortable as they had been.

"I don't know," Law mumbles quietly, honestly, watching as you shift forward on your knees, feeling the crinkle of the tarp sweat against your skin. "I thought about a lot of different ways..."

"Yeah?" You asked, watching as they did the same, unfolding their long legs and sitting on the ground, taking up space. You were always told not to do that, by girls like you, but Law didn't have that same concern. They hadn't been taught to hate themselves in that way. "What's your favourite?"

"Hah," They let out a breathy laugh and shook their head again. "The same way I killed that dog-"

So, it was a dog.

Your stomach turned and you just hoped to fucking God that it was a stray, not a beloved family pet with missing posters now pasted up around the town.

"I'd break your neck and..." They held your hands even tighter and you finally noticed that your fingers were now also streaked with blackened gore, like they were infecting you with the same disease that had infected them and made them so perfect for you. "Put you inside of those barrels."

You let out a little whimper, looking down at your trembling legs as they curled up with Law's, your body subconsciously wanting to be closer to them

Your cock was throbbing under your tight shorts too, despite your turning stomach.

"And watch you melt away," They continued, raising one hand to cup your jaw (hard, chiselled, any threat of stubble burned away months ago) and bringing your lips even closer together. "And keep everything left behind. Bones, hair, matted flesh.” Their lips spread into a sick grin, the rictus smile of a corpse. “Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Yes," You murmured, your eyes half-lidded and dazed as you stared at them, captured by the dead beauty in those grey eyes. "It would be...wonderful."

They smiled again, and gently kissed your lips.

This wasn't the first time the two of you had kissed, far from it, but something about it felt that way.

Like in the wake of your shared honesty, you were now two brand new people meeting for the very first time, finding each other in the darkness and curling together, twin centipedes in a tree trunk, worms in the dirt, mated maggots in the gore you were streaked with.

You keened in closer, holding their hand tight and parting their chapped lips with your pierced tongue, deepening the kiss in a way you knew they wouldn't.

You didn't mind taking the lead at times.

As long as they did it, most of the time.

"Mm," They moaned quietly, pushing their hand through your dark hair and curling it into a fist, gripping a thick handful of it and using it to wrangle you even closer, to bite down on your gasping lips and take you, as they wanted to.

You didn't mind the pain. You didn't mind the sting of their teeth on your lips or their hands in your hair.

It made you feel a little more like a woman.

Your cock stirred again.

If you were still online, admitting to something like that probably would have earned you a sternly worded anonymous message, filled with buzz words like ‘autogynophilia’ and ‘male socialisation’ and reminding you ‘you should really do better to unlearn your male privilege if you want to be considered safe to this community’.

You weren’t online though.

You hadn’t been back online since your main account got banned for ‘violating community guidelines’ and your fundraiser for facial feminisation surgery got taken down after a wave of mass-reporting, a result of a particularly bad faith call-out post from one of the myriad of trolls that plagued you.

That might have put you in a psych ward two years ago, but you knew you were better without it now.

After all, if you were still online, you probably wouldn’t have met Law.

Law pulled back from the kiss, a thin line of spittle attaching your lips that they licked away, the deep depth of their eyes softening a little as they let go of your hands.

"Can I," They started, reaching down to the crotch of your shorts and pressing a palm against it. You groaned through grit teeth and instantly held their broad shoulders, shifting your hips forward against them, the cool expanse of their palm making you shiver, despite the layers of fabric that separated your skin. "Can I touch your cock?"

"Mmhmm," You nodded, biting your lip.

You took in another groan as they slowly unbuttoned and unzipped your shorts and peeled down your fishnets and panties, finding your cock (a little soft thanks to its tight tuck through the day, but you couldn't manage a full erection most of the time anymore anyway) and giving it a light squeeze.

It was a somewhat awkward motion, but you didn’t blame them that much.

They were never really sure what to do with your cock, which was why they generally preferred to play with your asshole, to tease it with their fingers and their tongue, before penetrating it completely.

You would have preferred that too, especially when you were feeling as vulnerable as you were, but you were in a dirty forest clearing without a condom or any lube. And you might have been dumb enough to follow an animal killer with murderous fantasies about you into that forest, but you weren’t dumb enough to attempt anal sex without the right prep.

You didn’t hate yourself enough.

"What else, hah," You gasped against their trembling lips, holding their shirt tighter in your curled fists as they worked their own fist up and down your soft length, trying to encourage it to a degree of hardness. They probably weren’t going to manage such a feat, but you did appreciate the effort that they were going to for it. "What else have you thought about, Law?"

"Hm?" They looked up at your needy expression, a blush quickly gathering in your cheeks when they saw it, saw your narrowed eyes, your parted lips.

"Tell me how you'll kill me again," You pleaded, reaching down with one hand to grope their own cock through their sweatpants, as the other unbuttoned your plaid overshirt and rolled your tank top up your chest, revealing your pale breasts.

Your nipples were perky in the cold air and Law immediately dipped their head to run their tongue over them, despite your request for them to keep talking.

"Mm," You moaned, all the same, pushing the hand through their hair and guiding their tongue to the ripe bud of your nipple. "Give me a good one, Law...come on."

"Ah," They groaned when you gave their cock another firm squeeze, trying to alert their attention to what you wanted. "I want...mm, I want to take you back to my apartment...and tie you up there." They moaned hotly against your skin, thin hips bucking when your fist tightened at their words. "Cut out your spine so I can...hah, so I can keep it."

You felt a pulse of white-hot heat rush through your body and straight to your cock at that mental image, of you bound (and maybe gagged, like the damsels in movies were, the first kind of womanhood you related to in your boyhood) on the bed where you'd fucked so many times before.

Law would be the hulking slasher villain, they’d have a knife, and they would be standing over you, waiting for the perfect time to strike, when you had gotten so worked up and hysterical that they could really enjoy your death all the more.

"Fuck," You groaned deeply (because fuck the voice training right now), bucking your hips as you felt your cock start to twitch and harden in their hand. "God, that’s so hot. What's wrong with me..."

"Hmph," They huffed out a fond laugh, teasing the bud of your nipple with their crooked teeth, making you whine needily and grip them even tighter. “What did you say, about 'girls like us'...that's what we’re like, isn't it?"

We. Including themselves.

Herself.

"Yeah?" You wheezed through a gasp with your own laugh (sardonic and a little mean, not the way girls should be at all, but the way you were), your eyes darkening as you stared down at them. "That’s right…so, what, you gonna cut my dick out to join my spine, Law?"

"Mmhmm," They hummed (and you were silently thrilled that they didn’t even blink at your slurred request for genital mutilation), a demented and almost peaceful little smile coming to their face as you pried their sweatpants down and revealed the monster between their legs. Your asshole clenched just looking at it, and you couldn’t wait to get back to their apartment if you survived this. "I’d keep it safe. Then I’d cut off your testes and eat them."

Your thighs trembled and you grit your teeth, feeling another pulse of heat shoot to your cock.

"Hah…I read they're a natural source of estrogen somewhere," You managed to wheeze out with a little chuckle. "Makes sense, huh? Where one girl ends, another begins."

"Mmm..." They moaned mindlessly, trailing a thick smear of drool down your chest as they let go of your cock and circled their arms around your little waist tightly, pulling you in close.

Despite your maddening arousal, you let them do it, happily, resting your cheek against the crown of their head, and relishing in the feeling as your cocks pressed and rubbed together, sticky heads occasionally grazing over one another.

"Wanna be your girl," They murmured, kissing and tonguing at your nipple again, clinging to you even tighter. "Can I be your girl? Please? Please let me…"

"Baby," You cooed, shifting your hips even closer to theirs hers, almost sitting in their her lap as your own arms wrapped around their her neck.

Twin centipedes in a tree trunk, wriggling worms in the dirt, mated maggots in the gore your hands, your chest, your rotten cock, were streaked with.

"You always were my girl...and always will be."

#lawrence oleander #lawrence btd #lawrence x mc #lawrence x reader #drabbles #this is a ray is projecting kind of fic lol #but i like it :)

34 notes · View notes

sleepy-writes-stuff · 1 year ago

Text

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #19

Beware! Not gonna lie, this prompt is creepy. I was feeling some horror vibes and decided to write it down. Whether or not it's actually creepy is for you guys to decide tho. However, just in case...

CW: Mentions of blood/ectoplasm, human experimentation, and descriptions of other unsettling imagery. Mind the tags!! They can give you a summary of what this prompt is about.

(#) = Notes at the end of post. Important context!!

✦

Echoes of the Soul

Danny is captured and taken away by the GIW to be experimented on and despite the combined efforts of his friends, family, and former enemies he's never found. Decades pass, the GIW were shut down at some point and put to trial for all of the atrocities they committed while Danny is recorded as the first superhero know to history. Tragic though his story may be, many modern teenage heroes look up to him.

Danny would only be seen as a memory by the world. Seen as someone who did actually exist at some point, but time and mystery have lessened his impact on other's thoughts and emotions like many other people and instances throughout history. However, it isn't until Jason is on his way back to Gotham since the first time he died(1) that he accidentally/unknowingly takes a detour.

He can't pinpoint why he's taking a longer route back to the city of his birth and death, but something in his chest, his heart, is telling him to follow an unknown path. Though mildly irritated, he follows it regardless. The incessant tug at his ribcage eventually leads him down some back roads into the middle of nowhere, where he finds something.(2)

From the outside, it looks like a regular dilapidated house in the country that was long left abandoned. Something inside Jason screams that the isn't the case at all. He dismounts his motorcycle and circles the property for anything suspicious. He's as cautious and stealthy as a cat stalking a mouse through the grass. Finding nothing, he eventually makes his way to the door, having to break it down to even enter it.

As he steps into the house, all the hair on his body stands on end and he's immediately on edge. Nothing on the ground floor seems suspicious, if a little empty. It was clear nobody had lived here for quite some time, but the feeling in Jason's chest wouldn't leave. If anything, it wrapped itself tighter around his chest, squeezing his lungs and heart to point of almost panicking.

Searching the house and finding nothing in the side rooms, he eventually finds a door to what he can only assume leads to the basement. As soon as his hand even touches the doorknob, his skin is crawling with chills and his teeth are chattering no so much from the cold but from fear he can't locate the source of.

The door creaks when it opens and reveals the stairs leading down into a yawning mouth of darkness. Flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other, he cautiously begins his dissent. Once at the bottom, he finds another door. Only this time, it's completely out of place. Instead of a rotting, wooden door barely hanging onto it's hinges, this door is made of thick reinforced steel with a lever and a keypad where a doorknob should be. It's not difficult to figure out the code to unlock it. With his history, it might as well of been child's play to crack it.

Once the door was opened, however, he wished he'd left it locked. He wishes he never even set foot in this house or even followed the tugging at his ribs in the first place. On the other side of the door was a lab. All of the equipment and surfaces were left in disarray, some trays full of tool even knocked onto the floor as if whoever owned the lab was in a hurry. Or whatever they were studying was trying to get out.

The fact that he was looking at a destroyed lab, was the least worrisome observation, however. Everywhere he looked there were splatters of glowing green, some duller than others. Just the sight of them had the Pits roiling in upset, tinting the edges of his vision green as well. He steps further into the lab, careful not to step on any of the sharp tools littering the floor as well as any puddles of glowing green.

Eyes constantly scanning for any movement, he eventually makes his way to the center of the room, right next to a large, steel lab stable, complete with wrist, ankle, and neck staps. The surface was littered with deep scratch marks and more splatters of the same glowing green substance that he can only assume is blood. There was even an almost perfectly shaped handprint of the stuff curling around the edge of the table. Morbidly curious, he reached out to touch the handprint, wondering if it was related to the Pits somehow.

He didn't get to wonder for long, however. As soon as his fingertips so much as brushed against the handprint, the feeling he'd been following for the past week suddenly had his chest in a stranglehold followed by a vomit-inducing yank that left him dizzy and off-balance. He didn't have time to gather his wits before his ears were flooded with hair-raising screams and sounds of struggle.

Ignoring the nausea, his head whipped back up to the lab table he was standing in front of. What met his eyes was a young boy with black hair and terrified green-tinted blue eyes as he laid strapped to the table with men in white lab coats surrounding him, with one in particular having his green stained arm elbow deep in the boy's vivisected chest.(3) This one is important! More context below!

✦

Notes:

(1) This takes place before Jason returns to Gotham in Under The Red Hood

(2) What Jason is feeling is his baby halfa core reacting to a distress signal being sent by another halfa.

(3) This isn't a time travel prompt. What happened here is Jason got sucked into a very corporeal memory/imprint that belonged to Danny. What Danny experienced in that lab filled him with such raw emotions that everything that is part of him (i.e.- his blood) trapped every experience into a playable memory when said blood is touched. The memory is, in essence, still very much a part of Danny. What does that say about Danny's current existence? He's trapped. He's trapped in a neverending, disjointed cycle of reliving everything that was done to him and is forced to haunt the very lab he was held captive in. What does this mean for Jason since he got sucked into it? He's trapped too! However, with another person there, they can help Danny break out of the cycle and free himself. What will escaping mean? Will he permanently die? Will he come back a full ghost? Will Jason helping another person through the horrors of their own death help bring closure to his own? What does this mean for the rise of Red Hood? That's all up to you guys!

139 notes · View notes