#fictional violence

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

Pom Pom Vol 3 now on RedBubble Products!!!

[nubsoftherat]

Barry Allen I will put you in Bat-Jail swear to fucking GOD , mother fucker.

If you change the timeline. Ever again. I will destroy you. I will sacrifice you to the Marvel No-Returns hole. And you will be replaced by Wally.

Ps. Say hi to Sherloque for me.

~ Regards, B.

[consult-sherlockholmes]

You? Good at suppressing impulses? Didnt you kill several people?

That was only in self defence. I work as a consulting detective and have found myself in several life or death situations with devious criminals, serial killers that were out to get me, or kill me to escape after I cornered them. It was me or them. I think that's justified, especially given that those people caused immense suffering and killed their own fair share. Some people would call that karma or justice. Just deserts.

As a mental exercise, I’ve often mentally planned and imagined the murder of people that I despise. Every minute detail, and you know I would never be caught. But who knows. Someday I might just snap. Especially when people upset or bully me. And I can easily figure out where people live. So if you're considering to attack me in any way, you should say goodbye to your loved ones.

[leolovesthings]

[thishasgonehorribly]

Creatures!

(I feel like throwin' in a quick disclaimer that the game Dwarf Fortress randomly generates words and titles, and I think it's successfully made fantasy nonsense, but y'know, any resemblance to words that mean things is accidental)

Had what I thought were some very close calls with the cave trolls that are wandering around,

but the wiki tells me they currently don't attack dwarfs.

I did get to see one attack a cave crocodile

Then the crocodile found a giant mole to fight with

One of my military dwarfs killed the crocodile, and the mole and troll both wound up in cage traps.

The mole is tamed and just wandering around. I still don't know what to do with a caged troll.

Then some slightly higher drama.

(Then we didn't fight a weremouse, and then we also didn't get kind of weird battle messages about the cyclops getting thrashed to pieces by a weremammoth that wasn't showing up on the list of creatures)

It turns out cyclopses aren't the worst.

Even though I've been struggling to get equipment on my military squads

We did have a dwarven convoy visiting the trade depot at the time, and one of their mercenaries got her teeth knocked out.

(I don't know that much about the other civilizations in The Past Universe, except the Brass Decisions, which are dwarven civilization led by a necromancer, who are conquering everyone. )

This fight was more challenging.

Four people got significantly injured.

The starter dwarf I nicknamed Cranky, a human citizen named Udi, a goblin citizen named Cadem, and Ingiz, another dwarf got "bruised".

I built a little hang out for the ones bleeding injuries

It turns out Udi just got punched with a sock hard enough to bust up his leg, and wasn't infected.

Cadem and Cranky transformed, and gotta hang out in the Ape Corner once a month. I tried to make it nice, but it's a little rough being isolated.

It turns out wild rutherers are harmless

But the caverns aren't short on dangers.

[eyndr-stories]

Across The World C1 - The Beginning

Summary:

The gods of this world are ancient, most of them forgotten, or nearly so. Nomen has been taught not to make deals with any old gods, should they be unlucky enough to come across one. However, when their little brother Maribus stumbles into mortal peril, they find they have no real choice but to accept the trials of one such god in order to save him.

This is an original story written by yours truly! I started writing this back at the very start of 2021 when I had a particularly wild and extremely vivid dream. This story is heavily based on said dream! This dream is also why I strongly distrust bunny mascots / anthro rabbits lmao but anyhoo, I think i've improved as a writer since this so the quality may or may not be quite on par with my other stories. I also had some help from my cool aunt Kerry with editing this, so if there's anything amiss here we can totally blame her lmao

That all being said, I do still like this story, and I hope you will too!! Enjoy <3

Things To Know:

major character death (its okay though, they live lol)

blood and violence

happy ending

protag (Noman) is nonbinary and referred to with they / them pronouns

first person POV

8 chapters in total, about 13,000 words in total. So roughly 1600 words a chapter. Lil bite sized chappys!

No swear words used, somehow

(lmk if i should add anything, i can't think of anything else)

Ao3 link here

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

C1 - The Beginning

     Perched precariously at the end of the world, my home was a very cold place to those who don't live there. It featured a steep staircase that spiraled down beside the face of a jagged cliff to an endless expanse of ice. To me any my neighbors, it was warm, made so by the people who lived there. We were always celebrating or giving a lending hand when needed. We learned long ago the need to keep each other warm.

     My brother was like our home; cold on the outside, but kind within. Maribus was achingly shy, never speaking unless spoken to and always keeping a wide distance from the people around him. But beneath his cold exterior was an eager mind and a gentle heart, especially with our mother, who had a way of melting his anxieties.

     Today was no exception as we happily sat with her at the front of the crowd, watching the parade. It was a celebration, of course. Every sturdy storefront had been painted a rainbow of colors. Flags and streamers fluttered everywhere and marvelous floats moved through the streets while performers ran into the crowds with bags of candy and small toys for everyone to share. Everyone was bundled up in colorful scarves and blankets, sipping big mugs of hot cocoa to keep warm.

     A flock of well-trained birds swooped into the crowd, their feathers a deep dazzling blue. My brother grabbed my arm, pointing excitedly at the birds. "Look Nomen! Those are dirodopafowel! They're very rare. Aren't they cool??"

     They were certainly very cool looking, even if I'd immediately forgotten their name. I snapped a picture with my camera just as Maribus leaned into the frame, making a silly face. I laughed and moved to show my brother the picture, but his attention was already elsewhere because at that moment, the star of the parade was making his way down the street on a float shaped like pillars of ice. It glittered in the setting sun, constellation patterns etched in lights along the sides.

     “It’s him!! I can’t believe it’s really him!!” Maribus yelled excitedly.

     “Easy, love,” Our mother smiled and patted his shoulder.

     I studied the man. He was the reason for this whole parade. I'd been told he had crafted a suit that allowed him to survive on the ice. He was here to explore the unknown, to chart past the edge of the world. As the float moved past us, I got a great look at what I realized was one of the most awkward men I'd ever seen in my life. This was the person that would transcend the limits of all people?

     "Make sure you take his picture, okay?" Maribus commanded.

     I tried to be more enthusiastic as my brother jumped up and down and waved at his hero. The man looked uncomfortable as he nodded and waved back, then stared straight ahead as though he'd rather be anywhere else.

     The float stopped in front of town hall. This was the building everyone had to go through to get to the ice. The man looked relieved as he climbed off the float and greeted our mayor, a tall, confidant woman. She turned to the crowd and gave a short speech, something about history being made, but I'd already zoned out. The adventurer smiled briefly before heading inside the building to suit up. We cheered, though I wasn't sure why since we wouldn't be able to see him actually step out onto the ice.

     My brother, with a huge grin and pleading eyes, turned to me and asked, "You got the picture, right??"

     Ah, shoot. Like our mother always said, I'm great to trust with secrets because I can't ever remember anything anyone says to me. While others saw this forgetfulness as the bane of my existence, I liked to see it as a good thing. I had cultivated a boldness, as though my poor memory was part of the plan all along. So technically, I did forget to take a picture of the adventurer for my brother, however, I had a better idea.

     "Not yet my man, because you're getting a picture with him."

     And sure, while my brother looked terrified of having a human interaction, I knew in the long run he would thank me. See what I mean? A good thing after all. I grabbed his hand and we snuck behind town hall, climbing through a not-so-secret hole in the otherwise solid barrier. For a moment, we clung to the wall and each other at the dizzying sight of a white sky and a steep drop into a foggy abyss below. We took a deep, cold breath and followed the long, winding staircase. Down, down, down, away from the sky, then through the thick fog until, with a thud, our feet landed on a heated pier.

   The fog was still thick as we walked the length of the pier and only thinned once we made it to the gate at the end of things. At least that's what it felt like as we stood and stared, our breath puffing into the air. We were at the end of the world. Neither of us had ever been this close to the ice that had defined our entire lives in this small town. The ice almost seemed to have its own language as it crackled and shifted, the sound of it made large and deep as it echoed unimpeded for great lengths. The expanse of ice was so large and infinite, it was like looking at a desert or an ocean. To my brain, it was impossible and beautiful. It was also cold as all f-

     “Excuse me, I need to get by.”

    We spun around, jumping at the voice of the very man we were waiting on. I admit, the suit was pretty impressive and complicated up close, intimidating even.

     "Brother. I mean... sorry, my brother, Maribus, would like to get a picture with you. He's a big admirer of yours, would you mind? We'll be quick."

     “Fine, fine, but hurry." The man spoke impatiently. "I need to be out there before it turns dark.”

     I looked down at my brother, who stood speechless and unmoving. He couldn’t take his eyes off the suit. I gently pushed him toward the man. "Go on, it'll be alright."

     My poor brother looked liked the chill had gotten to him. He stared at me numbly.

     “He’s just shy and such a huge fan,” I explained as I focused the camera on the two of them. “He wants to explore just like you, when he gets older.”

     “Is that right?” The man looked down at him, not unkindly. I capture my brother staring open-mouthed at the adventurer as he said, “Perhaps we'll meet again... on the other side.”

     Then he moved passed us, pushing the gate open and climbing down the ladder, landing with a clunky jump to the crackling ice. He held up a hand in farewell, then turned and disappeared into the fog that was quickly rolling back in. It was much thicker than before, and I worried we wouldn't be able to see the steps leading us back to civilization.

     I took my brother's hand. "Come on, let's get out of here before mom realizes something's up."

     My brother jerked his hand away and covered his face. "Why couldn't I talk to him? What's wrong with me??"

     "Aw, Mar…" I had never seen him this mortified or angry with himself. It felt like my heart was cracking the way the ice was.

     “Hey.” I pulled his hands away from his face and squeezed them in mine. “Nothing is wrong with you, got that? You were just nervous. It's a really big deal meeting someone you look up to. Anyway would feel that way.”

     We climbed the staircase in silence. These were the times I wished I could be as soothing as our mother. I never knew the right things to say or do to ease the coldness that could sometimes grip Maribus so tight that he closed himself off until no one could reach him.

     When we got home, he ran to our shared room and slammed the door. My mother glanced over, a question in her eyes, but I shook my head. It wasn't until later that night when I was helping her with the chores that we talked.

     “Your brother hardly touched his dinner. I even made his favorite soup.”

     I sighed. “Well... we sort of snuck over the wall behind town hall to take a picture with the explorer on the pier.”

     “WHAT?!” Mother nearly knocked over the mop bucket.

      I strategically moved out of her reach. “We made it back didn't we? It’s fine. But he got tongue-tied as usual and is super embarrassed and maybe feels like he messed up his one chance to talk with his hero.”

     “Never again. Do you understand me Nomen??" Mother's voice was low and hard. "Never again do you go out there. Especially not with your little brother.”

     I tried for nonchalance, even though inside I was shaken by how angry she sounded. “Okay, okay, never again.”

     When I finally turned in for the night, my brother was already in his bed with the covers pulled over his head. I hoped he was sleeping and not reliving his lost chance. I climbed as quietly as I could into my own bed and, exhausted, fell into a deep sleep.

     My dreams were troubling. My brother was curled up, frozen on the ice and I couldn't reach him no matter how desperately I tried. A full moon hung over him and when I focused on it, I realized it wasn't actually a moon at all, but an eye staring back at me. I stumbled backwards when the eye spoke. “Go to the pier if you wish to save him.”

     As the eye closed, my world went dark.

     My own eyes flew open as I sat up in bed, panicked and sweaty. The dream felt so real, and I shivered when I noticed how quiet the house was. A sheet had tangled around my legs and I kicked at it as I stumbled from my bed, crossing the room to where my brother was sleeping. I just needed to see for myself that he was okay. With a shaky hand I drew his blanket down to find only his pillow.

     My brother was gone.

[orange-coloredsky-archive]

a development team that looks like this could not possibly have any preconceived biases against Black people. noooo way. its just a mistake that all of the Black people in fo4 are slaves or named after fascist colonizers or murdered or stereotypical conspiracy freaks. there is no way that the reality of this team is reflected in the art they create over and over and over and over and over and over and

[ID 1: A photo of the Fallout 4 development team taken from above and forward, showing a large crowd smiling at the camera, made up apparently entirely by white people, and almost entirely by white men. End ID.]

[chaoticneutraltor]

Hysterically crying because I can’t even begin to comprehend just how deeply Xaden loves Violet

When Lilith died—the very woman who ordered his father’s execution, who was responsible for the deaths of everyone in the Tyrrish rebellion, who left him with 107 scars—all he could think about was Violet

When he said “I could never want anyone you love dead” it quite literally ripped me apart

His love for her is so utterly selfless, so overwhelming that even in the face of everything he’s endured, Violet is all that matters

His all consuming love for her is beyond anything I can put into words

[bastardofharrenhal]

sorry theres something inherently tragic about the riverlands like. theyre the central kingdom, theyve three major rivers which bring the people food and feeds their crops and helps their trade, they've got the Isle of Faces and Ravenhall and Riverrun and they connect all other kingsdoms, but no matter what decade u look at, theyre always ravaged. the ever going conflicts between the Blackwoods and the Brackens, Harrenhal being built on the bodies of thousands of peasants by one invader only to then be drowned in fire by another, then an uprising marched through them and only ended when two dragons fought high above them all, and just when peace was there, the dance happened and they burned again and again, and when Robert's Rebellion happened and their liege lord wed his daughters to the rebels and the last key battle happened at the Trident, they knew peace for a time, before it was promptly ripped away from them again by the Lannisters and then the War of Five Kings and the Northern rebellion and the raiding and the Red Wedding. even still with the war technically over, the Brotherhood Without Banners is fighting for them and their liege's daughter is now haunting their assailants and there are people who sought to protect them like Edmure Tully or help them like Septon Meribald and its all so

[saigoat]

Being tortured to the point of passing out cold, then in a haze as they regain consciousness, see they are cradled in the lap of their tormentor. Skin clammy and crawling as a bloody hand cards through greasy, limp hair. The unwanted tender touch would be etched in their memory for the rest of their life. In months of agony, it was the one solitary moment of softness. Some part of them wants more, some part loathes themselves for it.

[eyndr-stories]

Across The World C8 - The End

Summary:

The gods of this world are ancient, most of them forgotten, or nearly so. Nomen has been taught not to make deals with any old gods, should they be unlucky enough to come across one. However, when their little brother Maribus stumbles into mortal peril, they find they have no real choice but to accept the trials of one such god in order to save him.

This is an original story written by yours truly! I started writing this back at the very start of 2021 when I had a particularly wild and extremely vivid dream. This story is heavily based on said dream! This dream is also why I strongly distrust bunny mascots / anthro rabbits lmao but anyhoo, I think i've improved as a writer since this so the quality may or may not be quite on par with my other stories. I also had some help from my cool aunt Kerry with editing this, so if there's anything amiss here we can totally blame her lmao

That all being said, I do still like this story, and I hope you will too!! Enjoy <3

Things To Know:

major character death (its okay though, they live lol)

blood and violence

happy ending

protag (Noman) is nonbinary and referred to with they / them pronouns

first person POV

8 chapters in total, about 13,000 words in total. So roughly 1600 words a chapter. Lil bite sized chappys!

No swear words used, somehow

(lmk if i should add anything, i can't think of anything else)

Ao3 link here

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

C8 - The End

     All at once, I was back in my home town. I was actually here, and there was color and warmth as well as the cold, and I could feel my hands again, and they were holding my camera. The parade was going by. I felt like I'd just woken up from a dream.

     I turned to see my brother sitting next to me, smiling wide at the birds as they swooped down in formation. He’s here, and he’s alive.

     My second chance. I’d earned it, I’d beaten the trial. This time, I would not let my brother go.

     The adventurer came by on their float, awkwardly acknowledging the crowd. I lifted my camera and took a picture.

     The adventurer descended the float and donned their suit. My mother told me to look after my brother. I promised her I would.

     “Hey.” I put a hand on my brother’s shoulder.

     He stopped pouting for a moment to look at me, sensing my serious tone.

     Before I said anything else, I wrapped him in a tight hug.

     “What’s this about?? Unhand me, fiend!” He squirmed out of my hug and gave me a weird look.

     “Nothing.” I smiled at him. “Do you wanna see the adventurer?”

     My brother’s face lit up. “Yeah!”

     My heart leapt at the sight, and I had to hold myself back from hugging him again. “Follow me. I'll take your picture with him.”

     Maribus looked less thrilled to realize he'd be having a human interaction, but he let me lead him over the wall and down the wood stairs anyways. We waited at the end of the pier. I stared out at the ocean of ice, half expecting to see a single giant eye staring back at me from the fog.

     “Hey, Maribus. I want you to know something,” I said seriously, facing my brother.

     “What?” My brother looked at me curiously.

     “It’s okay to be afraid. Fear is what helps us stay safe, pushes us to do what we need to in order to survive. But too much of it… and you’ll end up with nothing but regret. It’s a balance, and a very important one at that. Whenever you feel scared, just remember what's important.”

     “Okay.” My brother thought about that for a moment. “Why are you telling me this?”

     “Its just an important lesson to keep in mind. Regret can be… detrimental at times,” I said.

     My brother hummed thoughtfully. We stood together in silence as the adventurer came down the stairs, pausing at the other end of the pier.

     “Hello, my brother wanted to talk to you and maybe get a picture before you leave,” I said. I gave my brother’s shoulder a gentle pat.

     The adventurer walked forwards and stood before us. He looked down at my brother. “Oh, is that so?”

     My brother looked nervous. He was quiet for a long moment, then spoke. “I just wanted to say… I’m going to be an adventurer like you some day! You inspire me to learn about the world, and I know you don’t know me, but you’re very important to me, and I wanted to give you this.”

     I was slightly dumbfounded by how well my brother had articulated his feelings. He pullout out of his pocket a very carefully folded bird. The paper was dark colored, and I actually recognized it as one of the birds from the parade, with the name i’d instantly forgotten.

     “Oh, a dirodopafowel!” The adventurer carefully accepted the paper bird with a gloved hand. “I am honored both by your gift and your words. I’ll keep this safe.” He unzipped a pocket on the suit’s arm and slipped the paper bird inside. “I have to leave now. But when I come back, I’d love to tell you and everyone else about what I’ve discovered out there, beyond the ice.”

     My brother beamed. “I’d love that too!”

     My brother and I wished the adventurer good luck, and he stepped out onto the ice. He gave us a wave, then turned and marched into the unknown.

     I smiled at my brother. “I’m really proud of you. You’ll make a fine adventurer one day, I just know it.”

     My brother smiled at me. “I know!” He turned and started walking back down the pier. “Lets go eat dinner!”

     I let out a relieved sigh, and let go of the tension I’d been holding. I glanced back out at the ice. The adventurer was now just a hazy shape far in the distance. My gaze traveled skyward, where a full moon hung high in the sky.

     I was about to turn and follow my brother, but then I remembered the full moon wasn’t for another week. I stared up at the moon.

     The moon stared back. It blinked at me, then vanished into the night sky.

     “Are you coming?” my brother called.

     “Yeah.” I turned back towards my brother.

     Together, we headed home.

[varpusvaras]

It does not matter if Jason was a bad kid. It does not matter if he was reckless. It does not matter if he had a "mean-streak". It does not matter if he had a temper. It does not matter if he didn't follow orders.

None of that matters. He was a child. A child who was violently tortured and murdered.

Nothing could've made a child deserve that.

[clowns0cks]

guys I desperately need thoschei fic recs cause I have very specific criteria and I don't seem to find anything.... I want something that is really fucked up (killing, cannibalism, blood, gore, you choose. I basically want them to really destroy each other...) but possibly no smut. It's so hard to actually find something I don't think it even exists....

[prokopetz]

In recent posts I've complained that a lot of tabletop RPGs which toss around the term "fiction first" don't actually understand what it means, and I've been asked to expand on that complaint. So:

In my experience, there are two ways that game texts which want to position themselves as "fiction first" trip themselves up, one obvious and one subtle.

The first and more obvious pitfall is treating "fiction first" as an abstract ideology. They're using "fiction first" as a synonym for "story over rules" in a way that calls back to the role-playing-versus-roll-playing discourse of the early 2000s. The trouble is, now as then, nobody can usefully explain what "story over rules" actually entails. At best, they land on a definition of "fiction first" that talks about the GM's right to ignore the rules to better serve the story, which is no kind of definition at all – it's just putting a funny hat on the Rule Zero fallacy and trying to pass it off as some sort of totalising ideology of play.

A more useful way of defining "fiction first" play is to think of it not in terms of whether you engage with the rules at all, but in terms of when they're invoked: specifically, as a question of order of operations.

Suppose, for example, that you're playing Dungeons & Dragons, and you pick up the dice and say "I attack the dragon". Some critics would claim that no actual narrative has been established – that this is simply a bare invocation of game mechanics – but in fact we can infer a great deal: your character is going to approach the dragon, navigating any inclement terrain which lies between them, and attempt to kill the dragon using the weapon they're holding in their hand. The rules are so tightly bound to a particular set of narrative circumstances that simply invoking those rules lets us work backwards to determine what the context and stakes must be for that invocation of the rules to be sensical; this, broadly speaking, is what "rules first" looks like.

Conversely, let's say that your game of Dungeons & Dragons has confronted you with a pit blocking your path, and you want to make an Athletics check to cross it. At this point the GM is probably going to stop you and say, hold up, tell us what that looks like. Are you trying to jump across it? Are you trying to climb down one wall of the pit and up the other? Are you trying to tie a rope to the halfling and toss them to the other side? In other words, before you can pick up the dice, you need to have a little sidebar with the GM to hash out what the narrative context is, and to negotiate what can be achieved and what's at stake if you mess it up; this, broadly, is what "fiction first" looks like.

At this point I know some people are thinking "wait, hold on – both of those examples were from Dungeons & Dragons; are you saying that Dungeons & Dragons is both a rules-first game and a fiction-first game?" And yeah, I am. That's the second, more subtle place where game texts that talk about "fiction first" go astray: they talk about it as though being "fiction first" or "rules first" is something which is inherent to game systems as a whole.

This is not in fact true: being "fiction first" or "rules first" is something which describes particular invocations of the rules. In practice, only very simple games spend all of their time in one mode or the other; most will switch back and forth at need. Generally, most "traditional" RPGs (i.e., the direct descendants of Dungeons & Dragons and its various imitators) tend to operate in rules-first mode in combat and fiction-first mode out of it, though this is a simplification – when and how such mode-switching occurs can be quite complex.

Like any other design pattern, "fiction first" mechanics are a tool that's well suited for some jobs, and ill suited for others. Sometimes your rules are fine-grained enough that having an explicit negotiation and stakes-setting phase would just be adding extra steps. Sometimes you're using the outputs of the rules a narrative prompt, and having to pin the context down ahead of time would defeat the purpose. Fortunately, you don't have to commit yourself to one approach or the other; as long as your text is clear about how you're assuming a given set of rules toys will be used, you can switch modes as need dictates. However, you're not going to be capable of that kind of transparency if you're thinking in terms of "this a Fiction First™ game".

(Incidentally, this is why it can be hard to talk about "fiction first" with OSR fans if you're being dogmatic about fiction-first framing being an immutable feature of particular games. Since traditional RPGs tend to observe the above-described rules-first-in-combat, fiction-first-out-of-combat division, and OSR games tend to treat actually getting into a fight as a strategic failure state, a lot of OSR games spend most of their time in fiction-first mode. If you go up to an OSR fan and insist that D&D-style games can never be fiction-first, then attempt to define "fiction first" for them and proceed to describe how they usually play, they'll quite justifiably conclude that you have your head up your ass!)

[watercolorfreckles]

The Max - Part 2

Part 1

When Eloise closed the book and set it aside, her heart jumped to find Artisan staring.

She watched the super’s mind tick, his attention picking her apart to expose the soft and squishy pieces of her. High school lab pig dissection came to mind: pliable flesh carved open to be poked at and scrutinized against a cold table.

She’d cried in that class. It had felt cruel to play at scavenger, pecking and probing for a once-living thing's deep and hidden parts as if she were entitled to its most vulnerable insides.

Though she felt more like the pig at that moment, it felt invasive, too, to track the inner workings of Artisan’s terrifying brain.

Eloise couldn’t seem to look away.

Artisan sat up from his resting position on the bed, grabbing at the inhibitor cuff on her wrist. A startled sound choked in her throat, managing not to jerk back on pure prey instinct. Her arm twitched, cagey, in his hold even as the rest of her froze. 

Her bones ached as if aware of how fragile they were.

Then her arm went numb altogether, turning jellied and moldable. Her palm folded in on itself, pliable bones bending grotesque and wrong and– painless.., as Artisan slid the cool curve of metal over her fingers and tossed it away.

Her bones settled back into their original positions and Eloise snatched her hand away as sensation returned, pins and needles tickling her fingertips.

She stared, horrified.

She stared, impressed.

Artisan smiled and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “It’s an interesting story. Though Dracula is a bit simple as an antagonist, don’t you think?”

Eloise blinked. Had the past minute really happened? She glanced at the abandoned cuff on the floor. Her brain floundered to catch up.

“Um. He is singular in his goals and motives,” she managed. “He isn’t portrayed as misunderstood or sympathetic in the original text, just hungry. And spiteful. He wants food, he wants control, and he wants revenge. He is evil, not for solely being different, but for abandoning all human instinct like love and care, even though human emotions–boredom, anger, hunger–are what drive him through the story… He chooses to turn his back on his humanity, to fulfill the role of monster, even though he is capable of more. It would not be evil if he had no soul. His soul humanizes him, but the force of his will strips it away. He is a villain of his own making. I'm not sure that can be simple.”

Artisan hummed. “Do you fancy me that sort of villain?”

Eloise shook her head. Her skin still itched with the phantom touch of his power.

“Dracula wouldn't have helped me.” Her voice sounded very small in her ears. 

“Will you help me with something?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“There are always choices, Eloise. Dracula chose one straight path. I can be more…” He wet his lips. “Flexible. Helps stave off the boredom. I love a good unexpected twist.”

Eloise swallowed. “You think I’m useful. Is that why you’re protecting me? Do you plan to bleed me empty until you're full? Or…to fill me with your own blood until I become what you are? Dracula didn’t turn Mina to keep her safe… He did it to damn her.”

Artisan straightened out his spine to his full seated height. “What would you like me to do with you?”

“It doesn't matter what I want when I can't stop you.”

“I'm asking.”

Eloise tensed as a shout and bang echoed too close for comfort. She snatched a fistful of the supervillain’s sleeve and scrambled instinctively closer. 

When the noise finally subsided, Eloise looked at him. He was watching, letting her cling to him like a frightened puppy. She was practically in his lap.

Eloise let go as if burned. Heat flooded her cheeks. “S-Sorry-”

Artisan was smiling, a sharp curl of lips that sent her stomach swooping. “So which is it? You think me the monster that will bleed you dry or the scary guard dog that will protect you from the rest of them?”

She eyed him, then looked at the floor. “I think you're kinder than you let on.”

Artisan snorted. “I've never been accused of that before.”

“You asked what I want… I want to live. I want out of here, away from the violence and death. I just want to stay safe. I want to take a shower and scrub the blood out of my hair.”

Artisan leaned in. “If you help me escape, I’ll keep you alive.”

Her gaze jumped to him. “Me? How do you think I can help you?”

“Your power,” he replied, the ugly fluorescents catching the blood spots on his collar, “as you so subtly demonstrated, is to blend in. Raise no alarm bells. You can walk right past the firing squad. We can walk right past the firing squad.”

Eloise was already shaking her head. “I told you, it doesn’t always work. I can’t do it reliably on command. Besides–I can’t help a deadly supervillain escape The Max! I’d get thrown straight in here for life! I’m not even a supervillain! I’m barely super!”

Artisan’s eyes glittered, lowering his voice conspiratorily “Hm. You’d rather stay here? Unprotected? Okay. Should I just call the others over, or…?”

He stood from the creaking mattress, taking two steps toward the gaping hole where the door used to be with a teasing eyebrow quirked in her direction.

Eloise leapt to her feet. She skidded on blood-slicked shoes in her panic to grab at Artisan once more. “No-! No. Please.”

Their eyes met. That time, Eloise didn’t let go of the super’s arm.

Which would be worse? Angering Artisan and letting him break her into splintering pieces? Or being thrown to a pack of super-powered wolves? Angry, restless, nothing-to-lose, wolves…

She swallowed. “Please?”

For a moment, the cell fell into a familiar quiet, terse but not particularly uncomfortable.

Artisan turned to face her properly.

“I get you to the exit. You get me past the gunfire. The cameras are down, they’ll have no idea that you helped me. The two of us will slip free with no one the wiser. When they eventually notice us gone, after killing the other idiots who dart out into open fire, they will assume we slipped through the cracks separately. Deal?”

Eloise watched him, nerves buzzing through her body. “I didn’t know you could talk so much,” she said dumbly.

To some, that would be an insult.

Artisan snorted a laugh, clearly caught off guard. “Eloise.”

“What will you do when you’re out?” she asked, more quietly.

If she helped him escape and he went on to keep hurting people, wouldn’t their blood be on her hands?

It wasn’t fair. That would be far too much responsibility to ask of a girl who’d done nothing but do her best to stay on the sidelines, not step on any toes, and serve her time as quickly as possible. She couldn’t truly be expected to sacrifice herself in the name of altruism, could she? She wasn’t a hero. She wanted to go back to being a no-one, someone without the attention of supervillains and regulators of the Powered Peoples Registry.

And yet… she didn’t want people to die because of her choices. She didn’t want any more carnage.

Belatedly, gently, Eloise let go of his arm. Artisan tracked the movement.

“When I’m out..,” he mused, voice returned to the softer, low tone he normally used in the rare moments that he decided to speak, “I will never let them catch me again.”

Eloise’s mouth felt dry. “Business as usual?”

He shrugged. “Until I’ve regrouped. Then, I’ll come back for each and every person who trapped me in this hell hole. Every hero responsible for catching me. Every trigger-happy member of that execution squad outside. And–if any are even left alive–every guard, every staff member here, who ever locked me in this room. Ever kicked my plate of food just out of reach and laughed. Each of them who mocked me and treated me like- like cattle. And every little boot-licking coward here ‘just doing their job’; ‘just here for their paycheck.’ Their excuses for torturing us won’t matter anymore when they’re all broken and bleeding in the same mangled pile, will they?”

Eloise shivered. That sounded like a very, very dire outcome, no matter how much she agreed that the something needed to change.

“And… And me?” Her voice shrank impossibly small and fragile. “I’m staff.”

She imagined herself, a crumple of slimy sinew and shattered bones, piled with the rest of them. 

She picked at the dry skin of her lips–a nervous tic kicked into overdrive–and only stopped when the supervillain pulled her hand away from her mouth where it it began to taste of copper.

Artisan studied her, his expression giving nothing away. The thumb of his free hand smeared the bead of blood away. “No.”

“No?”

“Not you.”

Eloise’s heart squeezed. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to. And I do whatever I want,” he said simply. “Besides. Who will read to me when you’re gone? My right-hand’s voice doesn’t have quite the same effect. His has much more of a droning quality… If he attempts to replace you, I may need earplugs.”

Eloise’s sore lips twitched into a small smile. “If we help each other get out… What happens then? What if they come after me; after us?”

He grinned and it was a sharp thing of silver cutlery and broken glass; of moonlit, gritty alleyways. “We run.”

As a reminder, this story comes from a prompt that was given both to me and to @the-modern-typewriter! She made her series on it first and it is AMAZING! Go check it out on her patreon, it's The Supermax Prison Blues! I'm not in any way trying to copy her (though naturally, some influences might creep in from obsessing over her work!) or compare our work, as she is an absolutely magical writer, and her series is completely her own!

General Taglist: @pinned-to-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers , @distance-does-not-matter @redbircl , @lilaccatholic , @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @thelazywitchphotographer @chibicelloking , @lolafaiy , @thinkwrite5 , @putridghost @tobeornottobeateacher @sunflower1000 , @bouncyartist , @feyriddle , @yet-another-heathen , @silverwhisperer1 , @distractedlydistracted @pensivespacepirate , @appleejuicee , @deflated-bouncingball @maybe-a-cat42, @m0chik0furan , @mercurymomentum , @fairysprinkles , @vuvulia , @amongtheonedaisy , @rose-pinkie, @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room , @scorpio-smiles , @inkygemuwu , @wolfeyedwitch , @thewhumpmeisterx3000, @ikiiryo , @lem-hhn , @fanastywhump , @smallangryfish , @ladybookworm @freefallingup13 , @acaiaforrest , @a-blue-comedy , @puppyaddict , @talkingsperm , @qualitychaoslover , @deckofaces ,@7eselt, @annablogsposts , @lunatic-moss-studio , @medusas-hairband

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Hi, i hope you don't mind if i request to combine 2 prompts in one scenario.

8. "There's so much pressure..."

12. "Come on, you'll be fine. First labour's take ages.

Scenario: a pregnant woman got kidnapped by her obsessive ex-boyfriend, went into labor and begged him to take her to the hospital because she can't be having the baby in his basement, but he refused. Go as wild and dark as you want.

Thanks 💌

Thanks for the request anon, this was delicious to write. Only prompt no.8 has been included as the other didn’t naturally fit in to wherever the hell this story went. I swear I have no control, these stories take on a life of their own. You said go wild and dark, so… 😈 Trigger warnings; kidnapping, vomit, blood, violence, mental instability, death (not mum or bubs dw), oh and of course fpreg & birth. Hope you like it

Chained

Libby’s eyes fluttered open. It took a moment for her vision to focus but when it did she realised nothing was familiar. The room was dimly lit, no natural light source, only a singular light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Dark grey bricks formed each of the four walls and the floor below was concrete and rough. She was lying down, on old discoloured bedding on a rickety metal bed. Where the hell was she?! She tried to push herself upright, but she discovered one arm could not be moved. It was handcuffed to the bed!

“What the hell…” Libby muttered.

“Ah… you’re awake.” Came a voice from the shadows.

Stepping into the light Libby saw a man walk towards her. It was Scott, her ex boyfriend. He looked awful. She’d not seen him since they broke up 18 months ago. His hair had grown, now matted and unkept, dark circles hung beneath his eyes and his usually clean shaven chin now sported a severe and dishelved five o’clock shadow.

“…Scott? Where… where am I?” She asked confused and still a little bit groggy.

“You’re at home darling. I rescued you.”

Libby’s brain whirled into overdrive. She remembered going to a midwife appointment, it was her final check up before her due date, she finished the appointment and headed back to her car. She had stopped just before opening the door, hearing something behind her, and then…. everything went black.

“Rescued me?! From what?” Libby asked, managing to push herself to a sitting position with her one free hand.

“From making a mistake. Did you really think you could keep me away from my baby?” Scott drawled, his eyes staring hungrily at her pregnant stomach.

“What the fuck are you talking about? We broke up, I moved on. This isn’t your baby!”

Libby’s outburst was rewarded by a forceful smack across the face. The distinctive metallic taste of blood soon filled her mouth. She was shocked into silence.

“We were great together! We were happy; we were going to get married, have a family, and then… Brendon came along. Poisoning our relationship, turning you against me, stealing you for himself. No! I won’t let him take this away. I’ve brought you home baby… so we can be together.” Scott’s hand touched her bump and his eyes widened in glee. “Where we can be a family.”

This man was insane, Libby thought, realising the true danger of this situation. It was one thing having an ex that still held a candle towards you, but this was way beyond that. She knew Scott hadn’t taken the break up well, but since the split he’d clearly disappeared into a realm of utter delusion. The baby in her womb shifted, feeling the fear of its mother. Scott’s mouth twitched into an uncomfortable grin, feeling the child move. Libby daren’t say anything, it was clear he was unstable and there was no telling what might set him off.

“Rest up sweetie. I’ll get you some food, you must be hungry. Eating for two and all that.” Scott said cheerfully, removing his hand from her stomach and disappearing upstairs.

Libby looked down at her stomach and her handcuffed wrist. She didn’t feel hungry at all. Only nauseous.

~•~

Scott returned and brought her food. Libby didn’t say anything, didn’t move, too scared of accidentally provoking him. He left the tray of sandwiches and crisps on the side table next to the bed and disappeared upstairs, offering a firm “Eat” before he went.

Her memories had returned as she gradually came around from whatever drug Scott had administered. Brendon and Libby had decided to have a little trip away this weekend before the baby came. A baby-moon as they say. They’d told all their friends and family they’d be out of town and without signal for a few days, but this morning Brendon called to say he had a work emergency and they’d have to cancel. That was fine, Libby would just go visit her parents instead. Only she never got a chance to call her parents after the midwife appointment. Everyone thought her and Brendon were away, and Brendon thought she was at her parents - no one would realise she’d been kidnapped.

Her stomach rolled with fear. She needed to think, find a way out of here. Wherever “here” was…. Where the fuck had Scott taken her? She didn’t recognise the room, it could be anywhere. She looked over at the plate of food and her heart sank. She recognised the crockery - this was his family’s cabin, in the middle of the woods.

~•~

Days. She’d been there days. Her family and Brendon would hopefully know she was missing by now. But they’d never find her here.

Scott continued to visit, to bring her food, to talk the baby in her womb. He’d offered to bathe her once, disgusted by the thought she refused. When he tried to get more forceful, hitting her again, she faked practice labour pains and he thankfully left her alone to rest.

She barely spoke to him anymore, too fearful to say the wrong thing again, of which she had learnt the hard way. She tried once to play along with his delusion, that he had “rescued” her from Brendon and now they could be a family. Believing her, Scott eventually unlocked the handcuffs, but when she made a break for it towards the stairs of the basement Scott went ballistic. They got into a fight; she kicked and screamed and hit, but he was stronger and in the carnage she fell forward against the wooden stairs she was trying to climb.

Scott was stricter with the handcuffs after that. Libby swore to herself not to try it again for fear of what might happen to the baby if she fell again.

She had been feeling cramps ever since the fall. They weren’t too bad or debilitating, thankfully she wasn’t bleeding which Libby hoped was a good sign and that her baby was okay. The fall was a brutal reminder of the precious cargo she was carrying and she had to be careful.

The next night Libby was awoken by a forceful cramp rolling through her middle, much worse than any of the others she had felt. Curling round her stomach she breathed heavily through the wave until it passed, and she promptly fell back asleep.

It happened again shortly after, pulling her from her slumber and waking every cell of her body as it peaked, like a coil twisting tighter and tighter. She pushed herself up to sit on the bed. The room was pitch black - Scott controlled the lights and was the only way she knew if it was day or night. She rubbed the aching cramp rolling across her tightened belly with one hand, the other remaining chained to the bedpost. She wished she could move, to walk it off, but with the handcuffs and the darkness she had little options. Instead she got on her hands and knees and rocked steadily through the pain.

“Please be practice contractions…” she whispered to herself. “You can’t come now baby, you’re safe in there. Wait until we get outta here okay?”

The cramp eventually eased and after a few minutes waiting for the next, Libby let herself sink sideways back onto the bed. The baby had got the message, it was just practice pains, she thought to herself as she drifted back off to sleep.

~•~

The light to the basement flickered to life followed by the familiar stomping of feet on wooden steps.

“Morning sweetheart. How’s the mother of my child today?” Scott said in such a cheerful caring tone it caused a shiver to roll up Libby’s spine.

She glared at him from the bed, lying down under the covers half asleep and curled around her bump.

“Still not talking to me eh? Oh well. It won’t be long before I have a son or daughter to talk to.” Scott drawled, as he placed a cup of water and slice of toast onto the bedside table.

Another cramp squeezed her belly and Libby sucked in a breath, hissing through her teeth. She could feel her stomach hardening beneath her fingers as the practice contraction squeezed.

“Honey, are you alright?” Scott’s eyes pinched in cautious concern.

“Just a kick.” Libby said, schooling her face back to a neutral expression.

“Excited to meet their daddy no doubt.” He gleefully said making Libby feel sick.

This baby is NOT yours! She cried in her head.

“Get up and have some breakfast. I’ve got some things to show you today.” Scott said, offering a hand to help her up.

Libby ignored his hand and pushed herself upright. “What things?”

“All in good time my dear. It’s a surprise.” And with that he disappeared back upstairs with a gallop.

She could hear banging and thumping above her and wondered what on earth he was doing. Her stomach growled and she reluctantly nibbled on the toast that was provided. After eating she was left solely with her thoughts and the noises from upstairs. Plus the occasional cramps that continued to plague her. Sitting down became too frustrating and she managed to get herself to standing right beside the bed. Her arm was pulled uncomfortably far forward by the handcuffs, but at least it relieved the pressure in her hips.

The baby felt so low, like it was grinding on her pelvis. But she did feel like her breathing was better now. Libby tried to focus only on the positives and did not dwell enough to realise this meant the baby had dropped into position for birth.

She stayed standing as long as she could beside the bed, riding out the braxton hicks and swaying her hips side to side, but eventually her legs ached from the awkward position so she return to sit on the bed.

The practice contractions continued to wash over her whilst Scott was banging away upstairs. Libby was starting to get hot and sweaty and could barely sit still through them. She found herself biting her lips and humming through them, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. She didn’t want to attract Scott’s attention. She ended up back on all fours on the bed, one hand awkwardly attached to the bed while she rocked forwards and back through the rising waves. It was getting harder and harder to stay silent through these pains and it was getting more and more difficult to convince herself these were only practice contractions.

“Ohhhh… we had a deal baby. You have to s-stay in there…. It’s not s-safe…” Libby moaned quietly to her child, the pressure in her hips mounting with every contraction.

The sounds of movement from above made her panic. Scott was coming. Quickly, she moved from all fours and returned to her sitting position on the bed. Sitting down made everything worse - the heavily feeling of the baby so so low caused the pressure to spike. So much so she nearly threw up, gaging slightly at the same time Scott opened the basement door.

She could hear him huffing and puffing as he stomped every step, he was clearly struggling with something, and she saw the “surprise” before she saw him. It was a crib! Oh hell no, she thought to herself. There is no way my baby is being born here and it will never go in that thing.

“Darling…” he cooed as he got down to the basement “I got you something. Well, I got our baby something - a crib!” He said proudly as he placed it at the foot of the bed.

Libby didn’t say anything; saying something negative could earn her a slap, saying something positive he’d think she was up to something.

“Well?” He asked, clearly getting frustrated with her silence.

“It’s… nice.” She said timidly, he didn’t seem any calmer so she added “thank you.”

With that Scott broke into an unhinged smile. “Only the best for my baby. Made it myself!”

Libby felt the familiar tightening of another contraction approaching. Breathing steadily through her nose, she tried to keep any pain showing on her face.

“What do you think of the design?” He urged, unaware of the struggle happening inside Libby’s womb.

“Great.” She gritted out as calmly as she could.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Scott rushed upstairs leaving Libby alone for a minute.

The second he was out of sight her eyes scrunched and she panted erratically. Her hips were on fire, the baby sinking lower and lower. This was no false alarm, Libby finally admitted to herself.

Scott came bounding downstairs with a pile of baby clothes and blankets. “I also got these. I wasn’t sure if we were having a boy or a girl so got a selection of different clothes. And lots of blankets and toys. Everything we could possibly need.”

Libby couldn’t help it but she groaned loudly and curled over her contracting stomach.

“They’re not that bad!” Scott said, referring to the pile of clothes he’d now dumped into the crib.

“Ooooooh Scott….” Libby whimpered, the pain still barrelling through her body.

“Lib? What is it? What’s wrong?” He crouched down in front of her and placed a hand on her knee.

“I think… hooooo- I think I’m in labour. You have to take me to the hospital.” Libby pleaded.

“What? Oh no, you’re not fooling me again.” Scott recoiled away from her, and started pacing. “You- you tried that before remember. And then you tried to run away, to take my baby away! You were going to leave me Lib! No!! I’m not letting you out of my sight again. No way. No one else can have you. You and that baby are mine!”

“Scott… please. I’m having contractions… I need help… I need doctors…”

“No… I can’t. You’re just going to leave me again. I can’t lose you.” Scott shook his head, like he was trying to reorganise the thoughts inside. “You’re just pretending again, you’re not really having the baby, you’re just trying to escape. Well you can’t trick me twice. Nuh-uh. I’ll come back when you’ve stopped the act.”

“No! Scott!” Libby cried but the door slammed before she could say anything else.

~•~

Libby shouted and pleaded for 10 minutes straight after Scott went upstairs, but he never came back down. She stopped when her voice started to crack and when she thought she heard the front door slam.

This baby was coming and she was trapped - handcuffed to a bed in a basement in the middle of nowhere, the only person for miles was her crazy ex boyfriend who was convinced the baby was his.

Despite her wishful thinking, the contractions just kept on coming. It was as if accepting they were real had made them more frequent and stronger. There was no clock down here, she had no clue how often they struck, but Libby was aware of the gaps in between getting shorter.

Being in labour was bad enough but the fact she couldn’t move due to her restraints made everything a thousand time’s worse. In desperation she tried to squeeze her hand out the metal handcuff, twisting and pulling, but when it started to peel the skin off the back of her hand she screamed and gave up.

She couldn’t sit down anymore, the pain in her hips too great. All fours was bearable but her arms ached after too long. She tried squatting and kneeling against the headboard, standing and swaying beside the bed. Nothing helped. She felt like a caged animal; frustrated, angry, scared. All the while every contraction brought the baby closer and closer to being born, a fate she was trying desperately to avoid. She feared something might go wrong, and she was scared what would happen the moments after she delivered. Scott was clearly unstable, would he leave her here chained to the bed bleeding out and take away her baby?! She needed medical help, not only for the birth but for her best shot at escaping.

When Scott returned he found her on her knees beside the bed, slumped over the mattress and groaning heavily.

“You can stop this charade Libby! I’m not taking you anywhere!” Scott shouted from the steps of the basement.

“Mnnnghhh! It’s not a charade Scott! Oh god…. So much pressure….” Libby whimpered into the mattress, her knees widening instinctually.

“Come off it. You put on a good show but I know you’re faking it.”

Libby could only grunt, roaring against the building pressure between her thighs. An unmistakable splashing sound hit the concrete floor and she cried out. “My waters…. Hooo- I’m not - faking - it…” she panted and turned around to face him.

Scott’s face had paled and his eyebrows shot up. “Y-you really are in labour?”

“Yes,” Libby breathed, turning around awkwardly with the handcuffs and her large bump, sitting down heavily on the now-wet floor “please please take me to the hospital now.”

He didn’t say anything, instead he disappeared quickly back upstairs.

“Scott!!!” She cried out, worried he would just leave her there forever.

He returned a moment later carrying a plastic box. “It’s happening! Don’t worry darling, I have everything we need for our baby to be born.”

It’s not your baby!!!! Libby shouted in her head.

Sitting on the floor, one arm slung up over a shoulder stuck in the handcuffs, she rubbed her low and heavy stomach with the other as Scott began to unpack the box onto the table opposite.

“Towels. Gloves. Scissors. Clamps. Ooh more towels. Little sucker thing. Wow it’s got everything we need in here. Great Amazon find.” Scott commented as he rattled off everything inside the box.

Holy shit! He wants to deliver the baby here! Libby stopped breathing for a moment, panic squeezing at her heart. He was never going to let her go. She was never going to get her baby out of here before it was born.

“Scott… you can’t… be serious…” Libby said with strained breath.

“Shhhhh. It’s okay sweetie. I’ve done all the research, watched loads of videos. I know exactly what I’m doing and I will deliver our baby here.”

“But Scott I need a hospital, with nurses and medication.”

“No you don’t. Women birth babies every day. I’ve had months to prepare for this. It’s going to be fine, it’s going to be perfect.” Scott’s sinister smile chilled her resolve and another contraction struck before she could continue arguing.

He checked his watched and frowned. “You shouldn’t be having another contraction just yet.”

“I can’t hooooo control it!” Libby snipped.

“Oooo is this the part where you get all angry at me for doing this to you?” Scott joked with glee.

“You didn’t do this to me! This isn’t your baby Scott, please just let me go.”

“Don’t lie!!!!!” Scott shouted, an angry fire flashed briefly in his eyes and his fists clenched tight, but a second later the ire quickly disappeared. “You’re just scared, but it’s okay sweetie, I’m here and our baby will be fine.”

“Ohhh god…..” Libby grunted, the baby slipping lower and pressing against her cervix. She had to move, this position was unbearable, but her legs were useless during the raging contraction. She tried to push herself up, yanking her hands forward but the handcuff rattled and left her arm twisted backwards. “Mnnhhh- handcuffs…. Please undo the handcuffs…”

“You know I can’t do that Lib.” Scott said reluctantly.

“Please…. Mnghhhhh the baby…. I need to move. Can’t stay like this Scott…” Libby groaned and whimpered as the contraction peaked and gradually faded.

“I’m sorry honey, I can’t risk it. But let’s get you back onto the bed shall we, you’ll be much more comfortable there.”

The contraction had left her winded, Libby didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. But when Scott approached and went to help her up she managed to grit “Don’t touch me!” batting his advancing hands away.

“That’s gonna be difficult when I’m delivering our child.” Scott sarcastically replied.

Libby’s stomach rolled, not from a contraction but at the disgusting thought of Scott between her legs. Nausea bubbled inside, rising up her throat. She retched. “I think I’m gonna be sick…”

Scott jumped back as she dry heaved. “Erm…. I’ll get a bucket. Hang on.”

Libby struggled up to her knees, clinging sideways to the bed, and vomited all over the floor. The force of her stomach expelling its contents pushed the baby against her dilating cervix and towards the birth canal. She couldn’t stop herself from bearing down at the same time.

No no no… don’t push. Her brain cried but it wasn’t something she had control over.

By the time Scott returned with a bucket Libby had crawled back into the bed, leaving behind a puddle of amniotic fluid and vomit on the floor.

“Jeeze Libby, you’ve made a right mess. I’m glad we’re down here now, that would have been a nightmare to clean the carpets upstairs.”

“…water…” Libby panted, curled up on the bed and holding her hardened stomach, too exhausted to do anything other than bear through the labour pains tearing apart her body.

“Okay, sure.” Scott picked up the glass from the table and gently poured it into Libby’s dry mouth. “Everything will be okay Libby, our baby is nearly here.” He whispered, placing a grimy hand onto her bump and feeling the swell, his eyes hungrily lighting up as his fingers caressed the curve.

~•~

She was dying. This was how it would end; trapped in the dirty basement of her crazy ex boyfriend. She never got to meet her baby, or get married, never got to buy her own home, or travel the world. The pain was so much she could barely see. Curled up on the bed Libby groaned into the pillow as the latest contraction squeezed her body in on itself. She was vaguely aware of Scott flapping around the room, he was talking but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. The only thing she could focus on was the mass of the baby’s head sitting right behind her opening, and she was doing everything she could not to push.

The last few hours had been torture. She’d thrashed around the bed, screaming and begging to be freed, to be taken to the hospital. When transition hit she was brought back onto all fours, grunting and pushing without any semblance of control. Scott rubbed her back and encouraged her through it. She didn’t have the strength to bat him off but she did manage to aim her next round of vomiting onto his feet. And all the while Scott refused to unlock the handcuffs and she remained chained to the bed.

Now she was lying on her side over the covers, exhausted, her body completely and utterly drained. Her knees were curled up as much as she could, her bump squashed between her thighs and her breasts. The contractions were right on top of each other and she panted heavily through each one.

Don’t push! Don’t push! Don’t push! she told herself again and again.

“Right, the waters boiled, everything’s disinfected. Clamps and scissors ready. Towel, check. All we need now… is the baby…” Scott muttered, organising and reorganising the equipment.

Ever since the well-timed vomit, he had kept a grateful distance from Libby. He looked through all the toys and clothes in the crib, talking about all the things he would do with his child, trips they’d make, sports they’d play. He was in his own little world, Libby was just a background character.

Relentless contractions kept hitting her one after the other, she breathed as quietly as she could, tears leaking past her lashes from the effort it was taking not to push. She could feel the baby start to stretch her lips, the head inching further and further even without her active pushing. He’d removed her underwear not long after her waters had broken but her dress remained on her sweaty body, thankfully covering her lower half as she laid on the bed. Libby’s legs slightly parted of their own accord as the baby slipped lower. Still curled up on her side, the baby had a clear exit from its mother, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Scott was ignoring her when she was lying like this and it was the only position that didn’t make her scream. And yet it also proved to be aiding her delivery.

When the next contraction barrelled straight after its predecessor Libby found herself holding her breath and it was only when the burning feeling started that she realised she was pushing. But she couldn’t stop. Gasping another breath she pushed once more, the baby stretching her wider and wider. An involuntary grunt escaped the labouring mother and alerted Scott to her actions.

“Are you…. Libby - are you pushing?! Is it time?” Scott jumped and rushed over to the bed.

Libby curled further over, her face burying into the pillow, squashing her bump and raising her backside. She groaned long and deep as she pushed the baby further out.

“Oh babe, you can’t push like that! You need to get in the correction position for delivery.” Scott said assuredly with all the delusional confidence his “research” had given him.

He took her bent leg, rolling her over onto her back and she screamed. “Scott! No!” The pain was excruciating, her spine was being stabbed, the fire burning between her thighs. She needed to push but she couldn’t when he kept moving her body.

“You need to be in the right position. Come on now, I know what I’m doing.”

“Stop… I can’t… I need to push…” Libby grunted.

“Wait a minute darling, you’re not ready just yet.”

Scott pulled her up to a sitting position and pushed her back against the headboard, pointlessly fluffing the limp old pillows behind her. Her legs were dragged apart and knees were bent and he jumped onto the foot of the bed and looked up her dress.

“Oh my gosh I can see the head!!!” He squealed. He threw her dress up higher, creasing the fabric just below her baby bump, fully exposing Libby’s vagina and the oval shaped crown of the head.

“Push Libby! You can push now!” He urged.

“I’m not-having a contraction-” Libby panted, furious she had been moved into this ridiculous and torturous position. Nothing about it felt right to her body, she wanted to go back on her side, to kneel, squat, anything but this.

“Oh… erm… well on the next one then. Push. No wait, I forgot the equipment.” Scott bounced off the bed and collected all the sterilised equipment he’d been preparing in readiness. “Ha! All that excitement, nearly forgot these.” He placed the items next to him, by her feet. The metal scissors glinted as they caught the light.

A desperate idea began to form in her head, but a contraction soon swept over her and pulled her focus to the burning ring between her thighs.

“Yes!!! Go on Libby! Push!!!” Scott cried.

Curling forward Libby pushed, her body squeezing the baby lower, its head stretching her wider. She grabbed her thighs, gulped another breath, and pushed. The scissors caught the light again with the movement on the bed. If she could just grab them…

“It’s coming, keep it going honey!” Scott yelled and she could feel his trembling hand between her legs.

Libby huffed releasing the push. It was too much, it was too big…

“Come on baby, go again, you’re so close.” Scott urged.

“Hooo-hoooo- okay…. Here it comes….!!!!” Libby threw herself forward curling over her bump once more. With Scott’s focus on the crowning baby she quickly grabbed the scissors and hid them in the gathered fabric of her dress. She screamed as the baby reached a full crown. Panting frantically her body twitched as the baby stretched her so wide she thought she’d be torn in two. Then it slipped further and with a sudden wail the baby’s head was delivered.

“Wow! The heads out, my baby’s head is born.” Scott awed.

Leaning closer his hands trembled towards the newly born head sitting between her thighs. No! You are not touching my baby! Libby thought, and she grabbed the hidden scissors and plunged them straight into Scott’s neck as she released an animalistic maternal wail.

Scott’s eyes bulged out, roaring in agony as the sharp scissors pierced deep into his muscles. He jumped back, standing for the briefest second staring in horror at her, before collapsing to his knees. A drowning choked sound gargled his throat and when he pulled the scissors from his neck the jets of blood sprayed across the room.

Libby watched, in shock at what she’d just done, as Scott clutched his neck, choking and bleeding. After a few strangled seconds he collapsed face first on the ground.

“Oh my god… oh my god….” Libby trembled, adrenaline and fear pumping through every cell in her body. She had to get out of there.

Twisting awkwardly around, she held the handcuff steady with her free hand and pulled her other through the tiny gap. The skin ripped from her hand, the metal scraping bone, she yelled out in pain but didn’t stop pulling until her bloodied hand was free.

It was as if she had left her physical body, the pain a dull echo compared to the survival instinct to get out of this basement. “I’m gonna get you outta here…” she panted, putting a gentle hand over the baby’s head between her legs. She scrambled off the bed, legs bowed as she cupped the head, and rushed toward the stairs of the basement.

Libby was careful, her previous encounter with this wooden staircase not ending well, climbing wide legged step after step towards freedom. She barely made it halfway when she was struck by another contraction. Holding the head with one hand and gripping the bannister tight with the other, her body squatted as it tried to push.

“Mnghhhhhhh! Oohhhhhh hang on baby…. Mnghhhhhh…. Not yet.” She could feel herself pushing hard, the shoulders starting to press against her, itching to come out, but with a firm hand and heavy panting she made it through the contraction.

When she reached upstairs she was surprised how familiar it all was, Scott had taken her here once when they were dating. It wasn’t much, the furniture and decor were dated, but it was a nice family holiday home in a nice rural location. She shuddered when she thought of the secret prison that was hidden below her feet.

Being familiar with the property made her escape easier, she knew the layout and of course where he kept the keys - in the side dish by the fridge. Grabbing the car keys Libby headed for the door and threw it open. But the baby didn’t want to wait any longer.

She hung on to the doorframe for dear life as the raging contraction took hold. “No no no!!!! We’re so close mnnnnnghhhhhh!!!!” Her legs widened as she squatted, pushing uncontrollably against the wall of her hand that held the baby’s head. The shoulders were slipping through… she could feel them stretching… “Ohhh fuck!” She cried, desperately pushing and holding the baby in at the same time.

When the near constant contraction let up just the tiniest bit, Libby made a break for it and ran to the car, both hands between her legs cupping the emerging baby. Unlocking the car with the press of the button she threw open the back door and clambered inside. She quickly locked the door, scared that Scott would somehow still be coming after her, and when she heard the reassuring click of the locks she huffed an exhausted cry.

But the baby was coming, and it was coming now. On her hands and knees in the back seat Libby finally gave in to nature and pushed in earnest, grunting long and deep as the shoulders stretched and slipped out. Lifting up onto her knees to catch the infant she released a primal roar with the final push and the baby slipped into her bloodied hands.

“Ohhhhhh hey baby, it’s okay it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Libby cried, pulling the little boy to her chest. Wiping his face clear he gave a little cough and started crying, soon matched with the tears of his mother.

“We did baby, we got out.” Libby panted and cried, safe with her baby inside the locked car. After a few minutes she wrapped the baby up against her chest with the towel, umbilical cord still connecting mother and child, and she hesitantly opened the door and got into the drivers seat. Starting the engine, Libby drove herself and her new baby to safety.