#trigger warning: graphic violence

[georgi-girl]

Babble: Track 19

trigger warning for graphic violence and references to hate crimes.

------------

Most of all, he need the funk.

Help him find the funk

Oh funk me!

@@@@

Tone, Riley, Bridget, Jack Frost, and Mabel Pines were all sitting by Dippers’ bed watching him sleep. Miguel and Species were still gone and Zodiac left to find them.

A crashing sound came from the floor below them. Pitch was back. Tone plucked the Rock string and transformed into the Rock Aspect.

“You stay here,” she instructed the humans. “I’ll handle this.” Then she sped off. Jack Frost followed her.

"I love your manic energy but you gotta be careful with this guy," Jack told her. “He doesn’t control the healthy kind of fear that keeps you from walking into traffic. He controls the kind of fear that leads to paranoia, prejudice and hate.” "I already eat those feelings for breakfast," the Aspect boasted.

@@@@

Bridget peered into what Zodiac called the Mindscape. Aside from Renee, she saw a woman with pink hair and a blue dress. Poppy. And she saw a man with sickly grey skin. Branch. They both looked really worried.

“You can go after them,” Bridget told them. “You don’t have to stay in here.”

Branch floated off immediately, while Poppy stayed behind long enough to thank Bridget and plant an intangible kiss on her cheek.

@@@@

Miguel and Species made their way back to the clinic. It was already dark so the Bergens were awake.

“What do we do if they see us?” Miguel asked.

“The only thing we can do,” Species answered. “Fight like Hell.”

@@@@.

The Rock Aspect confronted Pitch on the ground floor. He stood surrounded by horse-like Nightmares and humanoid Fearlings. Hard rock music played over the speaker system.

“Back off!" The Rock Aspect demanded. "Or I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Insult my taste in music? I’ll be honest, every kind of music sounds exactly the same to me.” Pitch rolled his eyes.

That was so offensive, the Rock Aspect hissed in anger. Jack readied his staff to fight.

“But enough about me. Let’s focus on you…”

Shadows enveloped him, making him look just like Queen Barb of the Rock Trolls. To top it off, he spoke in her voice.

“Hey! I’m Barb! I’ll never have the guts to kiss a girl or use neopronouns or admit I like listening to Shimmy Shimmy Ko Ko Bop over and over on a loop!”

“Shut Up!” The Rock Aspect screamed as she formed fireballs in her fists and tried to punch the illusion, only for it to disappear each time.

And each time, she almost punched a pink-haired woman or a grey-skinned man. The illusion kept at it.

“I’d rather attack other trolls than deal with my sick daddy. I’m nothing but a wannabe dictator. I’d rather have suck-ups than actual friends…”

“SHUT UP” her fists were on fire. She dealt a deadly right hook at the damned copy, finally hitting it… only to see she was punching Jack Frost in the chest, her hand still on fire!

“ahh,” he groaned.

“AHH!” she screamed.

Jack fell to his knees, the burn searing through his clothes and burning his skin. Frost covered the wound like a scab, then melted. His body was sweating and freezing at the same time.  He kept gasping like a drowning man and curled up on the floor. The Rock Aspect knelt next to him, not sure how to help.

“Ouch. And he actually liked you.” Pitch stood over them, smiling gleefully.

With an angry cry, the Rock Aspect manifested a guitar in her hands. She swung it at Pitch repeatedly with all her strength. He nimbly dodged once, twice, thrice. taunting her the whole time.

"You were going to conquer all the other troll tribes, and you can’t even take me on."

The Rock Aspect raised the guitar above her head, ready to bring it down like a sword…

Shhiiicccckkkk sliced a shadow blade. And down fell the axe, with her hands ~ Barbs’ hands~ still attached to it.

The speakers backfired.

She stood there in shock, then she lowered her arms and stared at the bleeding stumps. She panted faster and faster, a scream building up inside her. Pitch stood there with his own hands folded behind his back.

“No more guitar. No more drums. No more of that inane hand gesture you love so much. Try taking over the world now.”

That did it. The scream tore its way from her throat, louder than any human scream. On the lyre, the red Rock string lost its glow and became dull.

Then she collapsed. The speakers all went silent. Pitch strode up to take the lyre, but as he reached down to grab it, the Rock Aspect shifted into something else, someone else. The shifting, glowing person stood up, and revealed himself as the Jazz Aspect.

Far away, the sleeping Filipino woman woke up with a start. She had to get to the hiding place now!

The Jazz Aspect glanced at Jack, unconscious on the floor, with nightmares gathering around him. He had to get Pitch away from Jack. So, he blew on his clarinet and created massive illusions.

The world warped and distorted around them. Pitch pursued the Jazz Aspect through a surreal labyrinth of clouds and animal images.

“Very cute,” Pitch said when he finally caught up with him. “But I’ve seen better.”

The Jazz Aspect spat on the floor. “Fine,” he said as he licked his lips. “You asked for it!” Suddenly shadow tendrils whipped around his neck and hands and dragged him into darkness.

“So did you,” Pitch said as a loud whipping went on in the dark.

In the mindscape, Renee shivered with a strange discomfort all over her body. She told Riley something bad was happening. Riley sent her emotions Joy and Anger to investigate.

The womans' feet ran on top of the snow, not making a footprint, as she ran in the direction of the clinic.

The Jazz Aspect lay on the floor groaning, his back covered in lashes. He weakly pluck the Orange Country string. The smooth jazz on the speakers abruptly changed to an intense country song. And the Jazz Aspect changed into the Country Aspect, complete with equine legs.

“Oh, a centaur! I love horses!” Pitch laughed as he released his nightmares. The Country Aspect fought them off with a metal pole.

Meanwhile, Joy and Anger found Jack and alerted Riley through their mental link.

The Country Aspect fought with everything she had. “Your scare tactics won't work on me,” she yelled defiantly. “I’m not afraid to die!”

He suddenly pulled her close, almost like a lover. “And how would you know?” He formed something in his hand. “You’ve never tried it.” He pressed the thing into her belly, and fired six shots point blank. She gasped and gagged and crumbled to the floor. Pitch blew on the barrel of the gun he created.

Her wild hair covered her body. She ran so hard she was practically on all fours.

The Country Aspect weakly plucked her fading string. The sound helped her shift into The Yodel Aspect.

He stood up and faced Pitch, fists raised.

Pitch scoffed, “Yodeling, nothing but a bunch of fancy yelling.”

“Says you!” The Aspect snapped.

The Yodel Aspect punched and kicked every attacker. As they started to overwhelm him he sucked in his breath, but before he could let out a yodel, Pitch formed a black dagger, sped towards him, and slashed his throat. The Yodel Aspect gagged and hacked as his neck bled.

He fell on all fours, staring dumbly at the puddle of blood on the floor.

Pitch smirked. “Not so tough now are you mountain boy?”

She did parkour through the trees, building up speed.

Riley ran to Jack Frost and lifted him up.

The Yodel Aspect shifted into the Classical Aspect. The winged yellow man immediately got up and flew away from Pitch. He barreled through the fearlings and nightmares like a golden bullet. As long as he kept away from Pitch Black, he couldn’t be hurt by him.

He was almost to the door, when Pitch himself blocked it.

“Out of my way! I’m sick of this ugly small world!”

“Ugly and small is it? Pitch smirked. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he extended his fingernails super long. Attacking from the side, he thrust his nails into the Aspects’ left ear, shredding it. The Aspect screamed in pain, too stunned to stop Pitch from doing the same thing to his right ear.

Before Pitch could attack again, the Aspect shifted into someone else…

Her hair parted to reveal the clothes that manifested on her body, a black loose-fitting corset and a black codpiece.

The Reggaeton Aspect fought with breakdancing. But Pitch used his shadows to restrain him.

He took a moment to register the song playing on the speaker.

“Despasito means slowly. So I’ll do this slowly.”

Crack. He had the tendril break the Aspects’ left leg. Then he broke the right leg. Crack. Reggaeton Aspect gasped in pain. Crack. Pitch broke the left arm. Crack. He broke the right arm. The Aspect was in so much pain he passed out.

Black accesseries appeard on her body; black ski goggles, on her forehead, a black seashell necklace around her neck, black wristbands on her wrists, a blck parl earring on her left ear and black toeless compression socks on her feet.

The Techno Aspect used lights to cancel out any darkness. Everyone’s covered in refractions like sunlight through water. “You can’t sneak up on me!” The Aspect announced.

“But I can still beat you,” Pitch smirked and formed a black harpoon in his hand. The Techno Aspect in turn formed a green whip.

Riley brought Jack into the bedroom.

He tore the harpoon out of his hands, but Pitch was too fast for him. He grabbed the aspect and rammed him into the circuit breaker. All the lights flickered and all the music turned to static.

She saw the lights flashing through the trees.

The K-Pop Aspect kept somersaulting away from the fearlings. She rebuffed his shadows with ribbons. Giggling and confident the whole time.

Pitch ended up fighting her hand to hand. In the scuffle, the necklace with the lyre fell to the floor.

Finally, he appeared right behind her, and grabbed her spine! His obsidian fingers dug into her back, making her shudder.

She reached the clinic just in time to see Miguel and Species fighting the Bergens. A cold fury filled her chest.

Joy grabbed the lyre and pluck the purple string. The K-Pop Aspect transformed in a blinding light. Pitch let go of her to cover his eyes. Tone floated there, glowing purple, shifting into the Funk Aspect. They were a purple-skinned person with elaborate hair, dressed in gold and silver and covered in piercings. Pieces of metal floated around them. They landed on the floor and looked at Pitch with a face that was both male and female.

“Let’s boogie!” they grinned at him. They stretched out their hand. The metal and debris transmuted into a futuristic flashlight. They pointed it at a fearling and sliced through it, using the beam of light like a sword.

“Flashlight!” they shouted.

The battle went all through the hallway, the Funk Aspect used different electronic lights to blast Pitch away. As they fought, they danced along to the music from the speakers.

“Spot light!” Their coloring became more bluish, and their features became more feminine. They created a big stage light that they held on their shoulder like a boombox, and pointed at every nightmare that approached them.

Neon light!” They pressed their hands to the wall, and bright red neon lighting piped through it, lighting the whole place up in red.

Eventually, they blasted him out the window. A tendril grabbed their leg and dragged them outside with Pitch.

“No matter, we fight on!” The Funk Aspect summoned more lights, having Pitch on the run.

“Street light!” Their face became more masculine, with a beard and crown. They fused their flashlight and spotlight together to form a giant lamppost that they used as a spear.

Then suddenly, their lights shut out. They were too far from the clinic to access its power. “Oh my,” said Pitch, suddenly smiling. “Looks like you folks depended too much on technology.” His shadows formed giant arms. “And now you’re out of your depth!”

He pinned them down, pressed his knee against their back, and strangled their neck.

“Can’t breathe?” Pitch asked mockingly. Underneath him, the Funk aspect gagged and struggled for air. “There are so many jokes I could make right now,” laughed Pitch. “But you wouldn’t get any of them!”

He tightened his grip. Suddenly, a pink spark shocked him away. He fell backwards, surprised to see pink colored static surround the semi-conscious Tone. His eyes dilated as he saw the astral projections of Branch and Poppy kneeling over Tones’ body. He reached for them, only for a white tendril of hair to wrap around his arm and pull him away.

He was dragged all the way to the midst of the Bergen camp. There, surrounded by knocked-out Bergens, stood the mystery woman, smiling, with her hands on her hips. She greeted him in a beautiful voice.

“Hello. I’m Trollop.”

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

Part 2/2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Children.

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

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

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

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

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[runawaymarbles]

When you love a fic but are deeply irritated by the author's notes. We all contain multitudes.

[scorpiogirlfrommars]

Hey, read my Teen Wolf, AU post apocalyptic Sterek Fic - The Signal https://archiveofourown.org/works/39482457/chapters/98820444

[messagesfromthestarrs]

When You Stare Too Long Into The Abyss, It Will Stare Back.

warnings: kind of a vent, suicide and its ideation, self harm, graphic descriptions, romanticisation(?) of mental illness and self harm, personification of intrusive thoughts, gore, just kinda messed up? also monsterfucker vibes, gender identity issues (?), hints of transphobia, [~1000 words]

Darkness enveloped her him. It ebbed and flowed around his body, pseudopodia-like tendrils gently curling into his hair. It wrapped around her his arms and threaded itself between his fingers. It pressed itself up against his back and dripped down his shoulders. She He stood still. He felt the abyssal fingers and arms wrap softly around his chest, his waist, his throat. He let it.

She He felt everything yet nothing, his mind a dim sort of chaos. the kind of disarray you find your thoughts to be in when you're so, so tired. too tired to even notice it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry." He stood still, silent tears leaking out of his bloodshot eyes. He hated crying. He hated how crying made his skin burn, his throat choke, his friends laugh. But right there, in that moment, he didn't even notice his tears. He kept standing there, all alone, not moving a single muscle. He had no right to. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He had no right to feel or think or speak. The simple act of frowning was a serious offence. The darkness brushed against his face, and he kept his expression blank. "I'm sorry."

"I know," the dark mist whispered back. It floated all around his body, under his arms and over his chest and caressing his legs. It didn't hurt him, no, never hurt. It was almost comforting. But you would need to be a fool to truly believe that. The darkness would always be there. He deserved it. He wanted it. Needed.

The shadow took a vague form in front of him, a slight indication of a silhouette. There was only a small bit of space left between him and it, a small bit of light dancing on his face and tears. In that last moment, staring at the abyss, his face contorted. His eyes widened and eyebrows rose up and mouth twisted and tears flowed. He knew he looked hideous. In that last moment he showed a small rebellion. 

In that fraction of a second, the silhouette closed the gap between them. It continued to ebb and flow and drip and float all over and under and around his body. It seeped into his open mouth and crawled down his throat and pressed so, so sweetly against his lips. His eyes rolled back into his head and his vision went entirely black. There was nothing but the darkness. The ever present darkness.

It was swirling inside and outside his body now, clawing at his ribs, dancing in his stomach, kissing his heart, biting his tongue. It seeped into every cell of his being. 

Where did the darkness end and where did he begin? He didn't know. He didn't remember who or what he was before the darkness had rooted his feet to that spot, before the abyss had inched into his life and surrounded him completely. A distant and faint image of a little girl came into his mind. The dark talons swiped it away. He felt calm. He felt nothing.

He wasn't himself anymore. He was part of the darkness now. He knew it. Him and It were now part of the same being and cosmos. Him and It were now a they. They were one.

They had no thoughts, no feelings, no duties or sorrows or joy. Did they even exist? Did it even matter? They picked up a knife (does it even matter where it came from?), and brought it to what used to be his left arm. Then slowly, gently, they drew the knife across the arm. Horizontal red lines appeared and shiny red beads formed on them. They slashed at the arm again, vertical and harsher this time. This felt right. He deserved it. They were working together to redeem him, to absolve him from his sins. 

They kept a firm hold on the knife and sliced across their chest, then almost sensually, plunged it into where his heart might have been. Beautiful crimson splashed out and flowed and flowed. They sliced their stomach and his right arm too, watching as the blood was set free from its vessels. They plucked out his old eyes. He didn't deserve that privilege of sight.

He felt so light. numb. The blood of his old body flowed freely, splashing onto the abstract ground they were on. Crimson and scarlet and black and ebony danced and swirled together in the most mesmerising waltz. The metallic scent was almost overwhelming now, but they kept gliding the knife over their flesh. They made the knife dance the same way a puppeteer would with his wooden dolls. 

The shadowy silhouette emerged out of his body for a moment, holding up his eyeless head. They dragged the knife across his mouth in a mimicry of a smile, his own blood painting his lips an alluring red. The silhouette stuck out its misty tongue and licked the blood off of his face. It had no mouth, no eyes, no nose, and yet, oh and yet it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen felt. The shadow towered over him again and dripped onto his face, the dark sludge mixing with his bright red blood. He licked his lips in anticipation. 

He felt it now, more than ever, how close he was to the darkness. He stared long enough into the abyss, and it stared back. All was slowly fading away, like how a movie fades to black in the end. The silhouette leaned down to press against his lips one last time. And then, they finally, finally, merged into the dark.

—

The next morning, a mother would open the door to her daughter's room, only to find it stained red. Her daughter's son's lifeless body would lie blissfully on the floor. She would scream.

[epistrefei]

@sorrowsick continued from here

It is true that the Goddess seethes. It is dangerous for someone with so much raw power to veer to the very precipice of no longer controlling it. That is what consumes her now; the containing, the placing of wet sand around a wildfire burning far too hotly for anyone to approach. Zahrosa risks herself here, for she steps close to it, into it, and offers herself up to be burnt and consumed. Artemis wants to hurl petty insults and declare her stupidity in volunteering for such a thing, to be hurt in the most painful, creative of ways—but this ire is not reserved for her. It never is.

In the blink of an eye, Artemis' hand has grabbed Zahrosa's, just hovering over her skin. Were she to squeeze any tighter, perhaps the black stone would crack and crumble to dust. She ached to try it, just to see, just to feel.

"Unwise," Artemis threatens, but her voice has multiplied like a dizzying mirage, a reproduction of how many lives she has lived, like a Leviathan reborn. She stares at Zahrosa, through Zahrosa, walking the witch backwards until she has cornered her like a rabbit trapped in its burrow, twisting the arm like doll's joints till she shoves her against the jagged face of the mountain side, her front pressed to Zahrosa's back.

Artemis inhales, like a wolf tracking a scent. She has Zahrosa's. "I could dissect you. Peel your skin from the frame, chew on the sinew." Her free hand grasps where the burn scars licked up her thighs. Nails dig in so deeply that crimson runs already—there is no consideration, here. "Scorch you until all of you matches. Body and limb, an inky black. Begging for mercy, for empathy, for death—and I will serve you none, just pain."

Even through these brutal words, she exercises extraordinary restraint. She could have unceremoniously ripped the woman limb from limb, but she cannot. Zahrosa is special. Zahrosa deserves her most devoted attention, not a sloppy, ill-fated ending.

[artzstpersonalblog]

I haven’t seen a lot touching on Niffty’s backstory, so I decided to create a little sketch of what my headcannons for her past are.

TRIGGER WARNING: G!NS, D3ATH, M!RDER, MENTAL ILLNESS (CAUSED BY LOBOTOMY)

Basically, it’s pretty well known (not sure if it’s canon) that Niffty was lobotomized. It is also canon that she was a housewife in the 50s. My headcannons for her are that she was just your run-of-the-mill curious lady who wanted to know shit and stick it to the man (which, in the fifties, was not looked greatly upon). I headcannon that she killed her husband in a rage (labotomys were known to cause irrational thinking and violent tendencies). This scene that I drew takes place the day Niffty killed her husband. It’s winter time, and after she left the house she killed her husband in, she ended up just kind of wandering around the streets of Tokyo, looking for somewhere to hide. Two tourists, also lost in Tokyo, decided to approach her and ask her where the nearest inn was. This scene is them arguing over whether they should approach her and seem creepy, or freeze to death in the cold winter air.

Obviously, the former wins, and they approach Niffty on a street corner. Startled, she takes a pistol out of her pocket and sh00ts them both. A witness calls the police, and Niffty engages in a standoff with the police (obviously, as a short girl against ten or so police officers, she loses).

OOOOOOF that was long. I’m just saying that I love making headcannons for characters’ backgrounds (I’m obsessed with it tbh), and Niffty’s just sounded so freaking cool to come up with. So, I did, and here we are!

[evenfallwriter]

to burn for your love - CH 1

to burn for your love - chapter one || Prompt: Day 14 - Witches and Wizards Role Reversal

Chuuya leaves after the flags dies, taking the hand that Murase has offered him and Dazai is left behind to watch as he becomes one with the light, shining brighter than any sun that he has ever caught sight of- till he no longer has to anymore.

The first time Chuuya leaves, he does it alone- the second time, however, he finds himself dragging Dazai along.

RATING; Not Rated

CHAPTER; 1/3

STORY WARNINGS; Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Temporary Major Character Death, Suicidal Mindset, Burning (but not exactly fully), Building Collapsing, Falling

FANDOM: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs

RELATIONSHIPS/PAIRINGS; Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Ensemble & Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Ensemble & Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)

CHARACTERS; Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Ensemble (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs), Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs)

ADDITIONAL TAGS; Armed Detective Agency Member Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Member Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), Armed Detective Agency Member Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Nakahara Chuuya Leaves the Port Mafia (Bungou Stray Dogs), Alternate Universe - Dazai Osamu Remains with the Port Mafia (Bungou Stray Dogs), Not Actually Unrequited Love, Suffering Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Temporary Character Death, Time Travel Fix -It

BAD THINGS HAPPEN BINGO PROMPTS || @badthingshappenbingo

- Hurts to Breathe

ANY FANDOM GOES BINGO PROMPTS|| @anyfandomgoesbingo

- Missing Each Other

ANY FANDOM ANGST BINGO PROMPTS || @anyfandomangstbingo

- Lost in the Fire

ANY FANDOM DARK BINGO PROMPTS || @anyfandomdarkbingo

- Falling From a great Height

LGBTQ BINGO || @lgbtqbingo

- Running Away

[kiirous]

"even if we're covered in scars we can smile if we're together"

This was interesting to read and very fascinating. It's really fascinating how graphic the self-harm was.

Basically this is Atsushi harming himself and Dazai finding out. Yes, they are in a relationship.

How ironic, that what once started out as a punishment has now turned into a release; a way to cope with the pain. But Atsushi soon realises that he doesn't have to cope alone.

It's important you read the tags.

[atwas-meme-ing]

Gotta love how Toby Fox is still hyping up "Greatest Living Show." Like, from what I know about Toby, he's not doing it necessarily to hype up his own song, although that is happening; he's doing it to hype up Bani-chan (animator) and Itoki Hana (vocalist) and insaneintherain (music). Cuz he just be like that.

Anyway, here's the vid, cuz I'm all about hyping up all these people, meself:

[orcelito]

The difficulty of planning some serious story things and not wanting to spoil said story things but also not wanting to risk upsetting ppl via untagged serious story things

It's. A balance, I guess. If at that point they've seen all the general warnings and don't understand that this is meant to be an honest depiction, then like. Idk.

[vfdinthewild]

“Vote for DUCKS by @beatonna in this year's @goodreads Choice Awards”

-from this tweet about our friend Kate Beaton’s new book

[dancyfeast]

under my skin - jukebox

My skin feels disgusting over my bones and flesh. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins. I can feel my pupils dilate and shrink. I can hear my heart pumping inside my ribcage. I can feel my bones rubbing against each other sometimes. I crack my fingers, my wrists in any ways I can. I crack the bones in my legs, my toes. I crack my neck. I move my shoulders until I hear a pop from one side or the other. It's not enough. There's still too much tension. I know what will satisfy my body, yet I can't do it. I can't have that relief. I cannot break my bones, feel them digging into my muscle and bloom different shades of purple and green as my bone threatens to be freed from it's fleshy encapsulation. I can't shiver as I hear that loud snap. So I think of something else. If I can't break, I'll rip. I shuffle in that familiar black bag until I find a sharpener. It's probably getting dull. It still digs deep into my skin. It's a delightful euphoria, that adrenaline rush as I press the blade deeper, drag it further across my thigh. Blood, dark as wine, beads at the seams of my flesh. I want to see the fat of my thigh. I don't care about the blood. I pull the blade away from my skin and decide where I want to stab. I press it lightly, then I push downwards. It hurts, kind of. It feels like I'm poking myself with a pen. I decide I've gone deep enough, and I drag the sharpener away from my starting point. It's a shorter wound than the others, but it bleeds almost as much, if not more. I take the blade away and I shiver as I see the large bead of blood seep out of the small wound. I rip some toilet paper off the roll and wipe it away, ignoring the sharp sting. It's a beautiful fleshy pink that quickly becomes red again. I didn't go deep enough, but that was expected. I do it again, just once more. It doesn't bleed as automatically, and that's more than disappointing. I frown but I get up off my toilet throne of self-inflicted pain and shut my eyes, holding the waistband of my pants away from my skin as I pull them back up. I wince slightly as the fabric presses against my wounds. A week later, I'm doing it again. I've reached a breaking point. I want more than just slits. I just took too many aspirin, it'll get rid of the pain. I take that familiar sharpener and I rush into my bathroom, taking deep breaths before deciding it's gonna hurt either way. The pain is sharp and bright, but it's wonderful as I dig the blade into my forearm, dragging it and delighting in the sensation of flesh ripping. It's not enough. One more time, longer. Then again, about the same length. That's enough. I wipe away the large amounts of blood. There's some on the sink counter. I wipe that away too. I call my brother. I'm pacing. Talking. I can barely breathe. My favorite show is on. I ignore it. I focus slightly on the wounds on my arm. It's not enough. I'm back in the bathroom. I'm cutting more. None of them are deep enough. It's frustrating. Dad's home. Time to go.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

WRITING PROMPTS REGARDING ABORTION AND MISCARRIAGE 

trigger warnings for graphic description of the above topics, human trafficking, cannibalism, violence against pregnant women.

everything about this is entirely fictional, meant for writers. since I understand there aren’t many whump blogs that feel comfortable writing prompts about the subject (very understandable), I figured I could offer writers out there some prompts about this, in case they were looking for ideas for their works.

that being said, while the prompts are not real, the subject is very much real and can be triggering, so if it’s not something you’re comfortable with, don’t read below the line.

__________________୨ ୧ __________________

*feel free to change/adjust the pronouns however you want

a pregnant whumpee got kicked in the stomach by whumper, which led to miscarriage.

a pregnant whumpee, who was a housewife, fell down the stairs at her house when her partner was away for work. she didn’t tell her partner about the incident either because she was afraid he was going to get mad at her or because she thought it was fine and didn’t want to worry him. until she suffered severe bleeding that turned the mattress red at night.

whumpee who went through miscarriage kept hallucinating a life where her child was alive and she got to raise them. caretaker tried to help her, and even though her condition only seemed to get worse, they refused to send her to an asylum. 

whumpee who lost her child during childbirth refused to surrender her child’s corpse. It was understandable at first, until the child started to decompose and rot in her arms and she, with a knife in her hand, would attack anyone who tried to take her baby away from her.

whumpee was a sex slave who got pregnant, the thing was that it was a mistake. so in order for her to be able to continue doing ‘her job’, whumper made her undergo unsafe abortion by having a straightened-out wire with sharp edge (from a coat hanger) inserted into her vagina and into her uterus. they got the fetus out, but whumpee later got a nasty infection that resulted in her suffering from hallucinations, and her not being able to stand or stop her pale, naked body from shivering. whether or not she was rescued in time is up to you, the writer. 

whumper is an OB doctor who often lied to the patients that they miscarried their perfectly healthy stillborns and that the babies needed to be surgically removed in order to save the moms’ lives. this made it very easy for the doc to get away with eating fetuses, since the moms would rather not keep the corpses of their stillborns anyway, and police were never involved. (I mean who would question a licensed physician?!)

[hussyknee]

TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHILD AND FATHER BURNING ALIVE + DEATH OF INFANT + DEATH BY BONE MELTING RADIATION SICKNESS

Barefoot Gen introduction by author Keiji Nakazawa, from the 2004 English edition.

[atwas-gaming]

Longer stream than usual, but I just really, really wanted to get past Esdras. He was driving me bananas, and I was sick of listening to him yell. Like I told my [[one and only]] viewer, I was about ready to quit. I was gonna try one more time and then I was gonna give up.

And whaddaya know, that's when I got him.