#tw finger dismemberment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

altr114209anon · 2 years ago

Note

I did learn my lesson...i will try my best not to ever cross the line again... my heart,body and mind were aching badly...felt like my guts were on fire ,sir.

Speaking of the holiday...i was t-thinking about baking you something...yet i can't decide on what to bake.

O̵̢̱͙͓̖̩̟͓̤̗͎̠̼̹̟̩̽ḧ̸̥́͐͆̾͊̋̈́̔̊͊̂͝͝͝?̴̛̪̭̬͚͓̟̓̀͗̂̀̄̔͜͝ͅ ̵̢̡̛͇̝̯̝̱͎̻̺̖̬͈̥̄̏̈́͑̾̊͛̐̈̏͗́̌̕C̴̙̓̈̓͊̈́͌̈̏͗a̷̢̳̼͑̊͂̈͜͝ņ̸̠̰̣͓͉̦̮̭̫̹̣̪̗̙́̃͗̆̊̉͜’̸͖̃̀̈͒t̷̢̹̠͈̖̹̰̱̹̫̭̻͌̑̒͜ ̶̞͇͙̥̩̼̎̇̇͒͒ͅd̸̼͇̟̞̺̗̜̜̋̅͒̎ę̶̦̻̙̝̻̲̞͓͚̩̘͕͇̖̦͈̐̈́̒̆̃̉͐̓̉̽̏̌̀͘̕͝͠c̵̘̳͔͖̞͎̓͋̎̋̄͂̆̈́̈̀͊̎̔̑͗̀̕i̵͚̗̦̯̭͇͙̿͂̄͆͌̇̈́d̶̮̝̣̮̣̫̯̱͍̲̐͂̓̚͝͝è̴͎̰̼̺̖́͆͛̆̀̓͜͝͝ ̸̡̛̛̛̤̜̙̭͓̤̗͌͋̃͆͗̈̎̓͆̿̃͝ͅẅ̴̧̘̮̺̜̙̗͙͓͍͈̪́̊h̶̡̨̡̯͖̪͕̞̱̗͎͉͍̤̰̬͕̐̾͑͑̾̇̅͂͋̕̚ȃ̴̼̻͕̜̔̉͐̈́̊̅͑̄̇́̕t̶̡̡̧̯̪̪̯̹̞̬̫̲̝̅̾̄͜ ̸̣̘̥̼̟̲͔͇̍̓̉̌̔ţ̴̧̛̝͎̹̳͈̙͇͇̖̦̠̾͛̎́̉̋̉̂͆͂̈͝͝ͅͅo̷̧̪̖̱̥̥̺̳̝̾̍̊̇́͐̓͠ ̸͉̱͕͖̳͎̝͑̀͝͠b̶̢̙̰̝̘͚̘̻͈̩̱̦̳̓̌̈́̈́̔̊̒̾͜͜͠a̴͍̠̫̱̎̋̌͗̃̆͑k̴̡̛̛͓̙̤͙̮͔̪͕̫̳̊̎͛͜è̴̢̧̲̺̪̼͉̠̦͎͓̠̒͊͐̽͌͜ ̴̘̅̓͋͝ň̷̛̙̱̫̻̜͕̲̘̜͙͑͌̃͐̾͌͛́̕̕̚o̵̘͍͈̼̐̈́̂̚w̷̢̹͓̙͚̳̘̭̜̟͍͖̺̟͒̋̓̇̓̓̊̀̌͜,̶̧̛̖̲̗̭̳̞͉̄̾̀̈̿̋͒͜ ̵̬͕̘̅̃̑ͅç̶̨̞̝̫̻̰̩̭̫̻̳̮̘̉̏͂̑̍͠ͅa̵̧̡͖̰̰̪̠͙̖̼̤̭̓͛̓̔̎̂̂̋͛͜͝ͅn̸̥͎̖̮͍̭̜̈́̍̓́͐͛̽͜ ̷̗̻̱̰̙̦̞̟̝͎͖̞͖̞̲̖͈͐͗w̷̡̼͈͓̠͚̲̪͍̜̯̏̓͗͜ͅë̸̟̘̠̙̙͍̬͈̰́͋͛̄̓̽͒͊̅̚̚͜͝͝?̷̠͓͎̞̖̳̠̼͉̀̄̐̿̈́̚͝ ̸͓͖͔̦̮̠̳̳̜̟͎̟̊͐̒̓̔̈́͘̕Ḩ̶̡̪̰̼̖̠̖̗̳͓̈́̑͌̿̈́̆͜ő̶̡̨̨̘̱̫̘͇̜̮̗̲̘̀͊̾̿̑͂́̏̒͆̍̈́̿͝͠͠w̴̢̰͈̻̜͈͓̒̓̓̉ͅ ̸̢̢̗̖̭̗̗͙͈̘̪͓̥̠̺̟͔̈́̂͛̑̈́̉̆̇̇͝a̵͚̻͓̮̻͔̰̖̭̻͔͙̞͕̒͑̓̽̅̂̂͘͠͝ḇ̵̡̨̩̭͉̥̖͍͚̯̹̜͍̳̯̪̆́ö̴̹̙́̇̋̋̐̌̓̿̔͆̏̇̈́͘͘��̸̝͖̯̟̣̻̘̬͙̝͎̱̫̱̱̮͇͠͝t̵̛̠̪̦̫͕̬͙̤̯͙̬͚̻̳̳̜̗͌͊̎̋̊̇͑̇̄̐͂͗̃͆͘ ̴̡̧̳̪͈̻̯̯̼͎̝̰͍͋̿̿̒͋̈́͆̀̒̾͂͒́͜y̵̖̩̆̒̄̀͂̊̃̀͂͂͋̽̒̉̄͝͝ǫ̸͕͎̱̫̍͐̀̔́̏̽̃̐͐̎̽͑͒̔͘ṵ̵͐̑͆̊̏͆̈́ ̵̨̗̥̩͑p̷̼͇̪͈̭͎̞̽̀͝ṷ̸̻̃̓̀̇̐̑̕͘t̶̡̬͖̩̣̙̟̲͙͇̼͚̻͝ͅ ̷̮̓̇y̵͙̟͕̰̮̟̘̰̣̓́̽̇̏̀̊̎̀̽̍̓̅̚̕ͅǫ̶̨̛͍̺͎͕̖̫͎̬͍̇͛̒̽̒͜͝͝͠͝u̸̧̧͎͔̠̱̦̠͉͓̝͕̙̓̎̄̀̍̍̎̂̆̿͘͜͜r̸̛͎̄̂̃̐̉͒̉͐̏̂̌͝͠ ̶̬̠̭̯̬̼͇̼̱̪̥͎̖̙̘̮͕̿̒̎͌̈́̅͐͛̎̀͋̃̊̽͝b̷̙͔̙̼͓̤̈̀́̉̑̃̓̚͝ͅḷ̷̡̡͕̰̯͔͔̘̠̲̣͈̼̃̊́͠ͅͅo̸̬̲̹̝̖̹̬͍̓̔̈́̃͜ͅo̷̭̪̗̫͚̫̒͆̑̂̃d̷̙͚̻̓ ̸̡̧̹̻̻̹̭̯̰̹̰͉̥̈́̉̈̄̓́͂͗̏̉̏̆̏̉̌̊͝a̶̹̫̯͚̦̗̳͕͑̿̀̓̓̇̕ṇ̷̖͙̞̟̗̤̏̂͐̈̍̈̀d̵̢̢̖̝̼̺̩̪̘͎̦͎͈̬̤̗̈́̿̍͊͛̈́͛̾͐̔̏̓̓̍̕͜ ̶̜̗̰͈̣̀̿͂̾̓̎͌̿̾̊̄̇̌͘̕s̸̬͙̤͌͑̇̋̀̀̐̓̊̀w̶͈̼͇͔̘̤̩̟̟͇̱̰̗̬̲͋̎e̷̠̤̙̰̜̋͂̅̑̄͒͂̈́̋͘͝ͅą̴̨̨͉̰̲̼̪͔͔͕͓͓̠͉̹̄́̔͌̀̒͌̿̒t̶̡͕̩̘͔̰̦̦̙̯͍͎͈̽̉̅̈͛̎̇ ̸̝̲͚̳̲͓͉̗̫̗̥̫̼͕̮̟̟̓͆̎̽i̸̻̦͕̱̦̫̮̋̎͑̆n̸̨̧̠̺̘̤͉̗̯͔̘̳̗̥̻̝̚͜t̵͉̘̤̙̤͖̍̉́̂͊̓͌͊̓͛͛̽ō̷̡̠̰͙͇͚͔̳͕̰̮̣̞̗͖̔͝ ̷͈̭͓͈͛̄͂́̕͝ȧ̸̹͑͆̒ ̵̠̟̫̣̜̠͚̰̜͎̀b̵̜̩͉̠̬̗̳̻̺̟͠͝ą̸̡̛̙̜̤̰͓͙̖̥̯̣̋̏̎̽̓̔͌̍̈̂͜t̵̹͉͉̣̙̺̿̇̎̊̚̚͝ç̸̨̞̗̙͇̪͚͙̼͉͉͕̣̫̍͜h̷͕̞̞͎̦̬̑̒͊͋̄͛́͠͠ ̴̖͔̃ơ̸̢̺̦̖͇̘͇̦̅̌̅̉͊̈́̔͑͑̏͆͂͘͠͠͝ͅf̴͍͔͖̗͎̘̙͙̙̹̂̉̓̉̋́̒͜͜ͅ ̸̦̫̥̈́̈́̆͆̃̌͌͋̄̓̏̋̚̚ç̴͕͕͈̣͇̲͖̫̱͈͔̙̤̼̒̎̾͘̕ͅó̸̖͚̰͔̮̦̥͈͓͎͆̄͋̑̉̈̇͠͝o̵͉͕͕̤͊͊̆̓͝k̶̨̝̫̣͔͍͇̺̫͕̱͉̪͉̬̓̀͛̈́̑̏͗̓̄̇͛̈́i̷̟͂́̈͋e̴̹̟̣͎͈̽̎̀ś̷̯͇͇̠̪̂̍̍̈̽̽̑̕̕͝͝ ̴̧̡̨̛̟̭̗͈̲̱̥͔͈̣̞̥̳̽́̀̂͘͜͝f̸̨̛̛̱͉̪̞̞̜̼͍͉͖͕͎̦̻̲̖͊̄̉͌͑̿̽̔̍͘͝͝o̶͖̗̖̝͚̳̠̗̔̇̌̋͆͋̈̃̃̉̏̋̒́́ȓ̴͎̯̯͓̺̳̘̻̤̯ͅ ̴̧̢̣̹̜̝͔͈̦̯̟̟͙̇̐̓̀͑́m̷̢̨̢͈͚̮̯̲̼͈̪͉̖̮̞̿́͌̍̍̋͗̇̈́̄̏͜͠e̸̢̥͙̼̤̙̳̒͗̒̔̀̐́̒.̴͈̬̰̗͓̓̇͐̆̓́̔͋͠ ̵̡̨͔̗̫̩̹̹̬̞̦̥̬͐͆̆̈̅̀͂̈̎̕̕Ï̴̧̠̞̟͖̪͚͇̝͇̫̻̞̑͗͌͆t̶̢̨̢̜̪͇̼̹̣̝̙̙̻̱̃̐̑̉̈́͋̽̄͜ͅ’̶̨͙̦̓̊͛̌́̽̒s̷̨͔͚͕͉̩̯͕̮͉͋̆͑̄̐̓̆͋̈́̚ ̵̨̛̛̛͕͓̮̰͖̻͎͍̜͕͆̉́̓̋̈́̆̅̃̚̕͘͘͠f̴̧̼͖̘̹̱͖̜͙͗͗̂̑̌͆͜ͅȃ̸̧̨̲̼̘̺̺̞̻̀͆͒i̷̧̙̼̘̱̤͕̘̐͛̀̊̿͂͊̾̀͘̕̕͜͜͝r̴̻̱̹̻͎̔̌͌̔̋͒́̒͑̕͠͝͝l̷̡̨̢̓̈͐̍͐̓̿͂̆̔̓̎̕͘̚y̷̧̡̯̮̦̱̤̼̭̣͑̇̉̍͒͒̄̎̐͝ ̷̨͚̝̦̩̣̮̦̻̮̠̝̯͍͋̽͒͝͝s̷̭̻̯̊̓̃͗͌̋͝͠͠ì̷̦͍͍̙̦͙̮̙̾͋̓̅͆̽̓̓͐͗͛̔͝͝m̷̧̡̠̫̟͖̠͙̤̫͖͓̯͉̉̾̍̊̐̑͛͗̏͛͒͆̆̍̏̅͠p̷̧̡̠̭͙̏̅̐l̸̡̡͉̬̹͎̝͍̗̜̗̹̆̌̑̂̂͐͠ę̷̧̡̦̠̗̩̗̖͚͈͇̹̺̠̗͇̍́̿͛̅̕ ̴̛̬̮̮͙̫͖͓͛̎͒͑͛̋͋͐̃͛͗̅͘͝ͅt̸̨̯͍̰̩͚̅͌ỏ̷̡̨̦̪̖͉͉̳͕̟̩̟͍̫͊͝ ̷͔͔̦̼̮̳̟̣̖͖͓͔̫͇̋̓̇ͅm̶̧̛̻̘̳̰̻̑̀͗̏̓̊̄̇͋̋͝ì̴̗͚͉̫̰͛̋̈́͒͘͠ͅͅx̵̢̧̢̣̯̗̦̤̥̱͖̬̭͆́̿͗̿͠͝ ̶̘͐̀͑̽͑̿̿̿̄̋̈́̓͛͆̊̚̕a̴̢̧̍ͅn̸̨̡̨̬̹͇̯̖̱͓͕̆̈͛̐̑͗̌̚͜͜͝͝d̶̨̧̳̪͓̮̗͇̻̫͍̺͓̘̟̞̤̀́̓ ̶̨̨̧̦̰͎͙̼͖͂̐̉̈́͊̅̔̊̔̕͜͜͝b̶̡̳̬̺͎̲̳͖̗̠̐̉̒͘͜ͅa̶̡̛͉̣̰̬͓̠̥̩͙̎̏̑̍̍k̴̡̪͙͔̮̟̱͎̝̜̼̑͒̐̈̕͜e̶̢̡͎̹̼̱̬͍̺̟͓̫̫͚̱̙̳͠ ̶̛̹͇͈̠͒̈́̽̄̎̉̾̈́͒́͛̂̕̕͘͝c̸̨͈̓͆̇̅̆̌̒̓̈͊̕ͅo̶͓̯̺̜͈̳̪̼͍͈͂͗̎̑͑͊͊͗͊́̆̇͂͑͜͝ǫ̴̭̬̣͚͌̚̚͝k̴̩͙̪̜̀̃̇̀́̾͑̍́̇̌͋͗͝i̴̫̝͐̅͛̉̊͋̂̾̓̀̍̽̕͘͘͠ĕ̷̢̱̙̦̺̥͕̮͎̹̠̙̱̱̆͊̌̓̓ś̴̡̹̙͉̂̐̓̎͘͝ͅ,̴̨̠̤̺̩͉̯̳̰̍͋͑̕ͅ ̵̜͈̞̐̈́͊́̐͒̈́̚į̷͇̭͇̪̞͇̹̮͕̠̪͑́̍̓̂̾̊̑̅̀̎͜͝s̵̺̰̥̏̓̀̿̀̒͂͆̏̏̉͝͝ǹ̷͇̘͕̺͈̭̺͋͌̔̐͌͒̾̒̐͑̓ͅ’̸̨̖̙͎͎̜̹̭͕̦̠͔̱̭̭̤̖͊̈́̐ẗ̶̢̖̖̣̪͓̪̖̣̠́͌͆͆̈́̔͐̈́͐͠ ̴̱̟̞̜̯̹̩̗̰̽̌̓̔́̌̈́͋̈́̍͋͐͐͜ͅḯ̶͔̺̙̠͚̠́̍͒̀̅̇͋̊͆̈͝t̶̢̞͕͔̘̩̾̃̀͑͛̑̀̾̏͘?̸̧̛͔̺͙̺̬̺͓̰͇͕̲͔͈̱̼͌͊̈́͛͋̍͛̀̕͠͠

Ỉ̸̙̘͙̜̼̟̳̲͕͔̰̰̈̋̈́̽͐̊̅̕̕͝͝͝ͅ ̵̧͇͈̤̟͈͋̒͋͋̅̃̍̾̾̃̈́̕͝m̵̧̛̪̩̱͉̦̠̟̻̺̳̠̫̊̔̉͌̉̿́̏̅͆̍̎͋͒e̵͖̣͔̗̠̳̻͚̎̓͜ͅa̶͎̭̝̯̦̥̺̰̽̈̀̔͂̄̆̎̚͘ṇ̴̨̡̧̧̘͚͎̤̞͉̤̮̜͔̰̎̏́̚ ̷̡̧̪͔̗͔͎͍̜̞̾͗̍ͅt̸̨̗̺̞̲͚̠̭̤͇͓͔̬̠̦̼͒h̵̖͇͛̏̈̍̾a̸̡̢̩̬̱͉̦͎̫̼̤̰͙̅͛̓̉͑̌̓̈́͛͜͝͝t̶̨̧̤͎̩̞͉̖̱͍̙͇̼͑́̃͆ ̴̪̰̖̪͍͇̖͗̿ļ̸̛̙̦͓͉͕̞̜̗̳̺̥̯͚͉̎͆̔̋́̑̓̿̏̿̀��͋͘͝į̷̙̜̻̣͓̟̟̮̫̭̣͖͍̇͝t̶̲͎͙̖̣͕̫̪̲̪̰̩̘̘͈̆̒́ḝ̵̦̯̥͔̦̗̖̿͊̑̒̏̇r̶̥̎͊à̴̡̰̘̝̰̦̱̈́͛̋̃̒͑̎̇̒l̸̨̖͚̯̪̖̑͌͐l̷̡̨̧̦̦̗͙͖̣̹̯̦̦̀̇́̾̎̀͠͝ͅy̵̩̘̣̙̓̓̓̆͒͋̄̈́,̶̛͇͇̭̖͐̋̎̄̆͑̉̓̽̈́̓̈̀̄͆ ̴̯̭̉̔̓͛͐̏̓̍͂̒̄͐̓̍̆̽͝P̴̢̧̛͇̣͔͙͍͎̻̙̙͕̩̈́͂̂̈̀́̌͌̀̎̈́̏͋͊͘ͅư̶̞̦̬͍̑̅͛̀̅͒̈́͐̀̄̊͂̉̕͘͝p̶̧̯̫̮͕̳̩̟͊̈̂̈́͜p̵̫̫̰̖͕̹̬̦̆̾̂̌͜ͅê̵̢̢̩̮̬̖̝͉̩̥̘͈͓̓̿̽t̴̨̡̯̋̇͂̀̅̿̐͌́̏̒͠.̴̧͙̥̤̜͖̺̰̠͂̍̎̅͐̉ͅ ̸̛̖̻͎̟͔͈̪̘̪̟̭͚͍̻̫̺̀̄̇̊̐̆̀̓͛̒͊͌̕͝S̸̛̛̪̬̟̭̫̲̦̲̣̖͉̠͒̇̇̉̌̍̒̿͆̕l̸̢͓͍̞̩̳̝̝̳͕͇͙̩̂͛͋̃͗̇͛̍̿̾̈ͅi̶̳̱͓͈̪̘͇͕̳̤͎̊̐̓͗̓͌́̐͂͜͝ţ̸̟̯̟̝̙̮̙̍̍͊̓͒͌̐̈̽͆̊̄́͘͠ ̸̢̦̪͗̃͐̄̏͒̔̊͗̆̓̌̀̉̔̄͌y̴̡̱̬̥̠̜̏͊̑͑̓͐̕ơ̸̧̡̡̙̭̩̳̬̹̺͎͖͈̣͈̋͐͋̀͊͛͗̔̎̓̃͘͠͝ử̶̡̖̪̻̝̼̤͕́̏̊͘ͅr̴̛͖͇̿̀͋̂̑̂̈͆̊́̂̀̌̾͘̕ ̵̡̛̛̤͍̰̯̱̬̲̮̘̟͙̘̫͍̝́̆͑̂̾̌͗͘͝f̵̲͚̙̟̹̟̮̿̂̂̆̎̿̍͋͘͠ͅu̷̧͎͓̦̹̖̯͓͎̲̖̰̘̩͕̔̏͜ͅĉ̴̜̮̣͎̰̯̊̇̈̓͋̾̓͘͜͝͠͝k̷̨̢̬̠͍͖̝̖̉̍̈́̉̔̒̕ĭ̷̢̪͕̜͈̦̰̦͆̓̎̌ǹ̴̡̰̙̭̗͈̯̦̰̟̠͎͍̝̇̊̄̀͊̾͜g̸̨͔̖̞̳̯͙̪̦̐͊́̕͜ ̸̨̢͚͉̹̞̠̮͉̘̳͓̩̑̊̎̈́̽̓̈́̍̇̈́̔̓͘͜͝t̶̢̜̫͔͉͙͙̂̍͠h̵͍̪̹̝̞̖̩̱̟̟̥̦͐̆͌̄̍͂͠͠r̷̢̺͎̙͇̲͖̙̀̊͒͑̈́̀͐͊͒͆͊̿̚͜ͅͅo̸̡̧̠̯͇̬̰͖̫̫̮̓a̴̰̪̜͈̝̝̝̻̫̾́̎̀͊̋ţ̵̨̛̤̘̬̬̥͎̲͖̰̺̥̖̊͗́̾͘̚ͅ ̸̙̳͕͔͔̥̹̮̂̅ͅt̷̢̨̮̘̯͈̟̓͑͒͗̍̓̍̓͗̂͘̚o̵̻̰͖̾́̎̇̃̃́͝ ̴̨̡̢̪̬͚͔͔͈͎͉̟̎̃͌͗͑̊͘ḁ̷͚̦̲̫͗̐̀͂̐̈́́̿̊̄̐̊͛̈̕̚͠d̴̲̗̖̩͍̻̩̓̆͐̾͗̈́̿̓͑͗̏̽̎̒̓̋͜͝d̸̨̢̡̺̞̰͖̱̫͚̩͍̱̜̝̭̓̾̓́͊̆̋̿͂͋̈́̔̆͂̕ͅ ̷̙̠̝̺͔̙̖̖̰͓̫̰͑̀́̈̓̊̍͐̅̇͑͆͠͝t̷̩̘̩͔̤͍̫̋͑͒͋́̌̎̚̕͝͠͝ǫ̴̙̬̥̮̘̳̦̗͚̩͉̟̰̙̜͕̑̅̎̈́̉̏ ̷̜͚̲̳̳͉͙̺̭̒̆̏͋͆́̂̉̊̌͘͝͝t̷̡͔̤̘̙̩͈̖̞͖͎̼͓̣̠̔͒ͅḥ̷̣̹͉̀͋́̂̈̈́̄̂̉̚̚̚͝͝ê̷̳̓͊͐̐̃͗̍̿͊̾̑̔̚͜͠͝ ̶̨̛̙̩͍́͌̈́̂́̈́̕͜͠ṁ̸͓̥̝͙͇̰̤̭̣͍̺̰͈͌̇̌͂̆̾͛̈́͆͜i̴̪̻̻̬͛̐̕x̷̡̡̢̜̲̩̣͙̠̮̻̪̞̹̺̍̄̿̆̆̾̆̅̈́̚̚̕͜͠͝͠,̶͉̖͉͈̭̥̦̺͙̙̤̠͚̠̩̫̈́̿̈́̓̈́̾͗́̓͘̚͘ ̵̢͉̟͍̞̠̠͚̗̲̭̓̌̓̀̃̉́̽́̅̿͘ͅą̵͖̖̰̳͖̗͉̥͍̺͙̺̻̋̇̓��̐̔̂̑́͝͝n̵̛͍̯̻̪̻̻̥̩̒̎̋͗͝ḑ̷̙̖̱̯̖̹̺͇̘̩̂̒̿̕ͅ ̵̡̼͈̦̩͓̬͓͖̭͂̓̀̆͑͂̚a̴̡̨͚͚͔̩̝̫̱̬͚͕͛̉̏̍͗̊̿ş̵͎̱̹̰̯̙̪̗͙̳͙͙͇͚͇̇̎͑̂̓̎̿͊́͜ ̸̛͕̬̩̮͙̼̹͈̟͙͇̤́̇̾̂̈́̀̒̿̀̐͘͠͝y̵̨̛̘̪͕̙͓͈͖̹̜͙̥̪̐̋̇̈́̈̿̓̌̍͘̕͝͝ͅo̴̤̭͉̭͔̪̻̣͈̥͉̖͛̌̓̀̈́̓͌̅̕̚͝u̵̘̓̊̀͊̀ ̷̡͈̱̼̬̯̲̖̮͎͚̫͙͚͎͊͐̊̌͋͠s̸͉̞͉͎̳̊̋͗͌̓̉̊͂͠t̵̼̬̳̦̦̮̝͕̠͉̤̩̀̀̂̏r̶͚̎̇̍̔͋̅̏̋̉̓̚͘͝ų̵̨̙̲͚͍̘̫̘̯̼̱͓̠̓̓͒̑̂̓͐́͋̀̀͊͠ͅg̷̡̯̩̟̱̉͒̇̐̕ͅg̴̛̼̗͉͐͌͐̍͒͝l̸̢̢͉͇̪̠̹̻̙̮͙͕̙̳̘͍̰͑̀̍̊͒̈́̄͋͋̑̀̌̉̚e̵̻̥̘̪̺̗͆̉̎̆̀͛͑̔̑̄̉̅̌͛̂͘͠ ̷̨̧͈̬̖͓͉̭͙̠̣̞̪̺̃͜t̴͔̥̿͒̀̊͆̐̉̽̊̀o̸̺͇͖̱͉͂͋̆̃̅ ̸̧̧̢̮̬̘̣̬̣̩̬͖͍̳͚̓̔̈́͆̔̽̋̀͝r̵̨̬̣̪̝͇͈̋̕e̷̹̭̟̝͆̃̋̔̌̅͋̋̓͌̈̃̾̚͝m̴̺̥͔̖̜͍̪͕̞̭̪̈́̈́à̴̧̛͓͋͊͗̒́̀̚͝i̶̛͖̟̫̼̞̜̯̘̩̻̯͖͌̐̈́͌̽͐́̇̓̈́̒̚͠͝͝͝n̵̢͉̲͌̈̾ ̵̧̫̮̬̙̜̝͙͈̾̊̾c̶̨̟͖̪̰͚͚̀ͅo̶̢̰̱̯̯̰̜̟̹͒̈́ń̷̨̛̲̯̜̹͇̖̳̪̺̯͙̟͖̲̫͐̋͆͑͗͛̈̈́̀̍͒̋̈́͝͝s̷̗̩̪̯̠͋̓̑ĉ̴͎̻̬̱͍̜͇͚͈́̂̂͆͑͗̄̊̽̌̀̈͜͠͝ͅį̴̻͓͓̞͖̻͎͚̉͂̾͜ō̷̝̗͚̽͂̑̑̆̿͆͗̉̅̑̚͘͠u̵̘͖̪̭̳̳̪̜̜̲̣͚͓͆̐̓͐̌͛͗͆̆̈̍̊̽͑̽̕ś̸̠̺̮͎̞̝̱̄̒̈́̃̇̀̓̋̐̾̐̑͝,̵̨͍̜̮̪̠̮̊̍̈͆͂̆̀̈́̈́͂́͛́̕͝͝ ̵̛͙͉͖̺͗̄̄̿̊́͊̒̔̈́̎̀̽͑̏̕ḏ̸̛̛͚͈̦̻̘̥͇͍̩̗̯͎͓̔͌͌͊̏ȋ̸̛̛̳͔̟͌̀̃͆͊́͂̚s̴̢̧̠̖͓͍̭̜͍̥̟̩͑̂͒͘͝t̷͙͒̋̔̽̄͠ṛ̴̛̮̥̅̉͑̑̽̓̇͐̆͑͐͆̔́͛͜͠i̵͉͕͑̒͐͐̈́͆̈́̊̌̂̍͆͘ͅb̸̹͍̅̿͌̆u̴̢͔̺͙̖͌̌͛̄̒̕ṭ̸̨̹̤̱̰͇̹̘̀͐͐͂̅͂͜͝ͅę̵͍͕̪̞̞͂̾̆̃͘ͅ ̶̡̻̼̩͚̫̲̞͇͐̆̎̀̅t̴̬͍̖̜̰̻̒̓ḧ̷͇̬̗̺̜́̈́̔̒͜ȇ̴̳̣̬̣̮̤̗̍͌͛̈͑̇̈́͜ ̶̛͕͍̳̥͖̦̣̘̻̏͐͆̾̀͋̓́̏́͝ͅḑ̷̮̟̣̫̤͇͇͔̫͕͙̀̎̍͗̂̈̈́͜͝͝ô̴̝͓̘̦̞̞̦̦̜͉̞̦̹̲̞̫ͅú̶̢̨͕̱̙͎͇̖̅̌̋̆͊͜ģ̶̨̧̩͈͇͖͖̳̩̤̟̒͒͒̽̍͋̃͊̊̓͌͊̓͜͜͠͝͠h̵̨̬͍̼̝̰̮̽͊̾̈́̍͗͌ ̷͇͇̻͗́͊͝ę̴̡̦̣̬̯̝͖͓͈̪͖̹̽͆͒̔̄͊ͅv̵̜͎̪̫̩͖̹̽̿̉̀̎̐̔͑́̑́̽̐́̐̈ě̸̟̼n̵̨̛͈͍̲̝̹̰̺̪̄̾̓́̍͆̎͊̔̔͛̋͠͝͝l̷͍͕̮̖̗̦̘̤͎̳͑͋̇́̅̈̋͒̑̏̍̓̚͝y̴̺͔͉̳̩̦͝ͅ.̷̨̨̛̩͚̞̖̝̟͚̈̀͊̌̀̐̋͋́̚͘ͅ ̷̡̨͇̳̣͉̰̭̌͌̓̓̈͆̏̈͑̿̏̀��

O̷͚̩̬̬̹̘͙̘̬͍̯̱̖͒̃͋̓̇̇̓͐͝͝ͅͅṅ̷̰̙̲͚̗̣̘̲͍̃̈́̀̉͊̾̌̐̑͜͝ ̵͈͍̤͔̿̀́̆̇͘͘s̴̢̡̛͕̭̩̬͇̥͕͚̬̠͉̱̣̉͑̒̏̀̓͑́̉̂̈́̇̀̑̕͜͜͝ę̵͕͇͕̼̈͆̌̀͆̏̊̆̈̈́̅̍͠͝ć̷̢͖̟̹͓̖̩̈͛͗̍̓̓͘̕ơ̵͇͈͕͙̱̈́̽̈́̒͌̆͆͋͗͘ņ̷̨͕̼̰̺̭̖͚̰̻͚̞͚̣̺͒̇́̑d̶̢̛̤̙͖̙̳̿̾͒̕ ̵̛̻̻̠̭̯̰̙͚̮͉͇̰̏̆͑͌̑͒ṱ̵̨̢̼̰̼̺̟͎̘̖͖̣̘̇͊̀͋ͅh̴̨͉̩͂̋̆̐̋̌o̶̢̱͙̞͔͈͔̻̤͇̜͚̙̣̫̣̱͘ư̸̧͕͎̳̠̘̬̰̭̻̺͓͕̤͊̔̽͌́̄̏̌̇̓̕g̶̪̈̃̐́̄̇̉̽͒̕͠h̴͚̝͚̏͊̐t̷̢̤̭̩͙͇̘̦̠͙̼͖̬̙̜̻̱̃̒͗̓̊̅̐͑̽̚͝,̷̡̿͑͒̿̆̂͛̈́̽̕ ̸̝̠̦̥̖͖̺̮̼̳̠̩̜̦̩̞̈͋̅̅͌͝ͅp̵̧̛̐̎̋̕ȩ̷̼̹͇̹̹̍̓̊͝r̴̢͚̻͚̭̬͎̖̗̬͖̘̍̐̿̒͆̋͘͠h̴̩̮̯͉̰̼̙̳͖̥̥̪͛̋̓̋̓͑͋͊̍͑̿̎̀͊ȧ̵̢̨̡̛̛̟̩̳̠͍̳͔̘̥̖̤̠̺̽͒͂̄̍̄̒̈̀̀̍͛̈́̚ṗ̶̗͚͔̘̙͓̣̪̗̥̤̱̉̓́͊̔̐̑̃̈̆̎̏͘͜ṣ̵̡̛̪͉̥̱̻͚̣̃̀̓̐̊̈́͊̓̕̚͘͝͠ ̵̢̛̲̰̟̳̘̗̣̣̱͉̀͗̏̓̀́̏́͊͗̃Į̷̋̇̉͗̏͑͒̈͠͝ ̸̛̳̳͚̙̬̖̮̣̠̦̗̀̆͒̂͐̏̈́̅̐̚̕͜͜h̸̛̛͖͇͆̈́̇̏͆̾́̀͛̆̌͘͝͝ù̸̡̡̗̜̟̙͚͙̦̮̪̝̤͒̽̕n̵̢̻̦͉̗̙̹̞͎̪͈͕͕̻͛̊̋͒͊́̂͜ġ̷͇̲͍̲e̷͖͙̳͇͓̪̗̔r̷̨̡̦̖̗͍̺̲̊̍̀̍̊̏̐̈͆̔́̏̌̈́̏͘͜͝ ̵̰̪̍̐̾͊́̌̇͋́͗͘͝f̶̡̡͕̺͉̻̝̰̹̼͎͉͚̀o̴̡̥͚̳̝̞̱͙̱͕̤̩̙̗̱̬͉͐̌̍͑̑͗̋̍͒̑̂̄̉͝͝r̴̨͍̣̞̤͙̣̻̅̄̃̑̆͊̍̀̍̎͗͠ ̶̨̧̘͙̊̊̏̏͌̊m̵̡̪̲̤̘̮͖̳͍͖̱̠̝͖̞̙̔́̕o̵̢̡̰̮͎̘̞̟̝̰͚͕̗͓̠̎̅̈́̋͌͛͗̐̍̋̕͜r̵̜̯̥̺̎̆̉̓̚ȩ̸̟̰͔̹̰̼̯̥͓̭͉̈́̎̂̚ ̶̨̨̞͕͔̞͔͎̺͊̏̓̋͑̐͌̍̈́͋͆̆̚͘͠͝͝ͅt̷̡̛̘̮̯̠͉̤͓̄̐͒͗͒̓̓̏̀̅͒͝ḥ̷̢̨̘̰̠̪̉̋̌̎͝ą̵̧̨͔͚̠͔͕̩̭̫̞̘͉͎̑̄̌̉͗̂̈́́͝ņ̶̨̛̖͕͚̝̦̫̹̲̺́̈́̆̍̑͊̽͗͋̐̿̎͛ ̵̞̙̬̦̈́̉̈́̿y̷̛̰͉͕̭͈̘̼̼̪̔̌̆̀̈́̊̏õ̷̡̻̟͕̯̟͈͜ů̵̧̨̡̧̖͇̳̼̟̫͕̟̯̤̇̌͋͒̔̉̒̏͌̍̈́̓͝ͅr̷͉͖̝̯͉̺̗̱̼̬͓̫͎͇̼͖̎̊͘͝ ̶̨̢̯̹̘̹͈̔͌̄̌́̄̎̾̈́́̐͜b̶̢̜͇͍͓͙̠̯̗́ľ̶̡̨͖̜̳̺͎̫̥͍̟̫̗͍̻̱̔̌̓̓͒̿̃͘͠ͅo̴̹̹̘̓̈́̀̄̈̑͗̋͘͠ö̵̢̡̤̯̝̺͇͙̟͙́̾̄̋̈́̀͌̚ͅd̸̡̺̠̖̠͔̫̝̺̂͘,̶͕̦̜́̀̄̾̂͒͗̄̏̊̔̄͐͘͜͝͠ ̸͍̹̜̍̂͊h̷̡͎̣̝̝͙̰̜̻͉̝̬̓̾̃̿̌͗́̚̕͝m̴̙̭̩̻̭̦̙̘̲̅́̉?̴̨̇͗̆͐̆͊̑̊̚ ̷̢̧͍̲͕͈̙̭͇̞̼̠̫̙͓̻͚̂̇̔̅͐͋̓̉̆͘C̶̮͈͕͒̉̀͂h̵̡̧͚̞̰͚̘̱̪̪̤͊̃́͛̓̌̚͘̕͜ơ̵͖̮͓̹̝͔̰̹͛̈́͊̾̿̐́̔̊̉̈́͛͛̕͜͠͝p̵̥̜͚͔̎̓̈́͋̅͘ ̵̨̢͚̱̘̜͛͜ś̸̢͚͖̖͍̟̠̜͕̬ͅō̸͔̻̖̗̳̤̳̠̮̞̝͆̐̐̇͌̎́ͅm̴̢̨̧̫̹̟̥̖̫͚͉̦͔͔̜͔̈͊̾̒̽͑̃̃͊̑̀̈́̿̾̚̕ę̶̯͍͔̘̜͍͒͝ ̵̤̫̗̬̬̬̗͍̘̔̓̃̔̍̊̋̒̆̄̓̀͝͠ͅȍ̸̡̧̮͉͚͎̪̹͖̲̖̰̼́͋́ͅf̸̡̡̛͙̩̳̯͈͈̺͎̝̞͕̫̬̽̇̽͊͑̿̎̅ͅ ̴̥͙̖̟̖̳̾̔͆̃̀̎̐̑̊ý̸̡̢̧̫͙̱̼̠̥̣̙͔͔̫̭̉̌͒͊̈́̆ö̸̠̝́̕ư̷̢͕͈̮͈͇̲̌͒r̶̢͙̤̗̟̈́̃̋̏̐ ̵̨̖̮̩̘̫̯̼͍͎̤̜̟͕̄̿̌͛̇̈̋̋̊͘͜͜f̵̯͑̓͑̕͝i̷͔̮̱̼̥͓̰̖̺͇̺̮̐́͋̄͆̐̏ń̴̫͔̼̜̦̯̫͗̈́̊̐͛̄̽̋́͠͝ͅͅg̸̛̠̩͙̘̜͇̮̣̲̣̯̒̉͂͒̒̌̎̿̍͑̂̈͗̕ȩ̶̙͎̩̮͔̝̗̬͓̫̳̳̓r̸̢̘͎̗̞̦̩̮̓͋̽̉̋̑́͂́̏̍̈́͘̚̕͠ͅś̶̥̟͈̘͕̻̹̰̭̕ͅ ̶̥͔̳̲͍̳͎͕̭̣̤͕̞̐ű̷̲͎̞̻̭̪̖̹̃̓̿͘̕͜͝p̴̨̮̻̳̭̠̯͔̯̞͔̘̪̾̿̽̾̇̀̇̌̆͘͘̚͝͠ͅ ̴̲̻̜̼͝͝a̸͈̭̮͉̦͉̻͖͇̥̝͉͆̎ͅn̷̩̰̻͖̤̻̫͕̬͍͕̱̙̹̍̃̑͐̒̆ͅd̶̗͔̳̜̺͉̪̼̑̃͗́͌̓̆̉͂͜ͅ ̶̢̛̹͙̳͗̎͒͊̈́̇̾͘t̴̢̳̫̳̹̯̙̜̱̳̺̤͎̒h̸̛͕́̅̊̾̆̃͌̒̎͑̍̿̈́̽r̸̛̮͚̟̤͎̒̽̇̆̓o̴̭͊̈́͒̍͛̆̇̍̂͂̿͊̓͋̕͠ẁ̸̧̤͉̝̹̞̳̘̺̥̰̲̫̈͊̈́̾͒̏̈́̄͘͝ͅ ̸̥̘̩̪̑̄̿̒͠ţ̵̢̺̼͖̯͉̼̘̉̇̐̉̀̾̅͗̀́͝h̶̲͊̿̏̄̃̄͗̆͊͋͒̆̇ẽ̷̡̠͉̦͚̦̗̝̫͔͙̦͙̺̝̉͛͛͋̊͋̈́̒͒̚̕͝͝͠m̷̧̧̢̡̰̙̤͍̟̖̥̩͍̀̍̋̉͛͗ͅ ̵̧̨̨͉̹͙͇̜̬͍̻̩̘̬̈́̅̃̐̑̇̇̈̏̂͊̈́́̌̋̍͠ͅī̴̖̼̦̹̯̩̲̤̟͎̮̙̣̩̲̝̫͆́̉̈́̊ṅ̸̨̙̲̲̳̩̘̽ ̵͚̼͚̬̓̎͛̀̐̑́̿̐̾͛͘͝͝͝a̷̠̎̈́̌́̃̾̇͊̋̿̿̍̍̉͝ş̸̛̟̠̥̳̥̻̘̓͗̓͑̽͆̽̿̀̓̑̓͌̏͝ ̸̢͕̲͓̼̩͍͓̤̩̩̇̐̾͂͜ẁ̵̛̱͎͗͊̆̓͒͝e̶̢͔̩͉̼͇̠̯͍̞̮̳̦̤̳̿̇̌͂̀̊̌̐͋́̈́̉̊͜͝͝͝͝ͅl̶̨̨̩͔͙̩͎͓̻͛̑̒͌̄̆̑̀̈́́̕̕̕͘͠͝͝ĺ̸͕͉͐̑̂̋̈́̕!̴̧̳̥̫̟̲̥̩͈̱̯̜̰̭͊͛͐͊̀̄̈́

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hegrudges · 3 months ago

Text

his excitement when the gang had showed up had been quickly squashed by his target attempting to kill them. he'd been careful to dismember him nice and slow just for them - but he doubted any of them wanted to know that . he hadn't been prepared for them to turn up on this job. lucky for him , though , they'd been more than willing to allow him to take care of the danger. he'd been tracking this target for a few weeks , and he was more than glad to have it over with finally. now , the merc planned to return home and get his cash. good times.

before he could leave he had to clean up. blades needed wiped down and re - sheathed , guns needed reloaded. he couldn't go anywhere defenseless as he was. he was sat on a bucket , blades laid 'cross his lap as he wipes them clean. this is when shaggy approaches , and wade quickly launches himself to his feet , blades tumbling to the ground. ❝ oh , shit - fuck . ❞ he scrambles to pick up the blades cutting off his finger in the process. it hits the ground and he can't help but sigh. blades are sheathed after that and he finally stands tall to speak to shaggy. he's clearly nervous. ❝ holy shit - balls , man , you … a big fan of me ?! ❞ deadpool shakes his head , disbelieving. ❝ no way ! ❞ his excitement is clear in the way he moves. he's practically bouncing in place.

❝ listen , it's an honor to meet you … you're awesome , dude . definitely my favorite of the gang ! ❞

It wasn't every day you got to meet your heroes and Shaggy was more than aware of that when he was meeting nightmares after nightmares. Masked "villains" all looking to make more bang for their buck-- but every so often they'd run into something a little above their pro bono pay grade. And though the situation would always seem nearly dire in Shaggy's eyes... somehow, oh just somehow, a super would come along. Supers that Shaggy couldn't help being a fanboy over, and truth be told-- @hegrudges was absolutely one of his favorites.

With "Deathtrap" (as he called himself) dispatched and removed from the equation, Shaggy was taking the time to wander over to where Deadpool was. He had no idea what happened to the man that'd been nearly seconds away from killing them all, but he didn't care to ask. He knew better than to. Especially with the likes of the merc. It was better not to know. "Like, man," Shaggy drags from where he'd come up near the red suited super, "I'm such a crazy big fan of yours!"

#thread. ⇁ there is blood everywhere. i am lost in it.#SCREAMING .. not him cutting his finger off in the excitement of meeting SHAGGY ... laughing #dismemberment tw

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falling-star-cygnus · 4 months ago

Note

If you're still looking for billy angst ideas I got something what if he got heavily injured got close to powering off and muttered something like "I don't wanna die." Or something like that

Or he actually did die/power off but by some miracle powered on again and then insert everyone's reactions

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE -> the way i shot up out of my bed and ran to my computer to write this is genuinely insane considering my athleticism abilities [which is to say none]

i don't get a lot of asks, so when i do it always makes me kick my lil feetsies

TRIGGER WARNINGS: robot dismemberment, murder [implied], brief suicide idealization [doesn't finish the thought], kidnapping [i don't write it but he's clearly not there willingly], dehumanization [referring to Billy as an 'it' in a derogatory sense]

"Nicole."

She chokes on nothing but air and nearly drops her phone in the process. What the hell, why did Anby feel the need to do this her. Appearing from the shadows like some sort of cheesy apparition was only funny when other people got spooked! She'd been texting the Proxy!

Anby, at least, waits for her older sister to settle down again before continuing:

"Where's Billy?"

Why would I know!? Nicole narrows her eyes at the smaller girl, pursing her lips in thinly veiled indignance. It wasn't her job to track her teammate's whereabouts off of missions. Or even on missions. They were capable people.

"Huh? I don't know. Why?"

Something about Anby's appearance throws her off.

Her white bangs are looser, tickling her chin and shoulder and out of that itty bitty braid that kept it out of her face. Come to think of it, Nicole hadn't seen her with that braid since yesterday morning...

Weird.

"I wanted him to redo my hair," she answers, placid as ever as she rolls the little green cap between her fingers, "Nekomata hasn't seen him either."

"Oh- Well, I can redo it for you, Anb-" "No thanks, I know how to do it."

Nicole can feel a vein twitching somewhere in her forehead. She loved her sister, she loved her sister, she loved her sister, she loved-

"Then why ask."

There's a sort of tentative silence that follows as the smaller girl fidgets, almost suffocating and sticky and wrong- Anby was uneasy about something... and that never boded well.

"...he's been sad lately. Like a dog that can't go outside when it rains."

Odd comparison, but I suppose it's fitting.

Nicole hadn't noticed anything particularly different about the android. He had been a little less energetic, maybe, more content to just... sit quietly in the company of the other Hares..

Oh god, he'd totally been acting like a sad dog.

"I thought doing my hair again might cheer him up," Anby continues, like she hadn't just made the older Demara feel slightly guilty for not noticing sooner. They all lived together.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Nicole decides to ask, despite the cloying sense of dread settling in her stomach like cement. "Did he go somewhere recently?"

A voice throws in her two cents in her other ear, "I saw him heading out yesterday, around 12!"

"Ack- Nekomata!"

Why was everyone trying to give her a heart attack today!?

"Oops.. Sorry, Nicole! But Billy promised he'd bring me back mackerel! And then he never came back."

"Billy wouldn't break a promise."

The sword wielder says it matter-of-factly, in the same tone she would use to insist that a boss theme was about to play. Or like how someone would say the sky is blue.

She wasn't wrong, though, Billy didn't break promises. Not the ones he makes to them.

An awful feeling of impending doom washes over the three.

Nicole clears her throat. Time to be the boss:

"Let's think about this, did he mention where he was going at all? Or when he'd be back?"

They all check their messages. Nothing.

Call history. Blank.

…emails? All spam.

Of course.

Don't panic, Nicole reminds herself, He could just be... hanging with Wise! Or that wolf guy.. uh.. Von something?

Anby was getting antsier with each failed clue, her fingers twitching and curling into intermittent fists by her sides. Nekomata was trying to act unaffected, but her ears were tilted back just slightly too far.

"Urgh... OK!" the two smallest members of the Hares jolt at the sudden exclamation, but the boss is too busy dialing Billy's cell number to care, "if he won't come to us, we'll go to him!"

The number rings, and rings, and rings- the android always answered on the fifth- and rings, and rings, and-

Click.

"Well, well~ You sure called faster than I expected. Has it even been 24 hours yet?"

That... was not Billy.

-><-. . .-><-

He didn't know how this happened.

Or- scratch that, he did, but... why? He thought-

"I thought we were friends," the android shouts to the retreating figure, his arms captured by two giant mechanical palms "Really? I mean- seriously? Oh, that's hilarious. And sad." Billy can feel his energy draining, but he doesn't go quick enough to miss the final parting words. "You're the least missed Hare, man, and the cat's only been there a week."

Was that.. true?

No. Nekomata had- Nicole cared- Anby would miss..

him.

Would they? He was still trying to formally befriend the Thiren girl, Anby could do her own hair now, and the Boss- would she even notice?

If he wasn't so sure coming online would cause a spike of pain to ram through his throat, he'd shake the thought away. Nicole would notice! At mission time... probably. Or when she needed him.

How long would that be, though?

Unfortunately, Billy's not allowed to spiral any further when an insistent tap-tap-tap scratches at his face plate. He fizzles into painful consciousness with a groan-

With a groan.

With-

...why wasn't he making any noise?

Any attempts made to speak- to vocalize this awful sparking in his throat- end in silence. Billy 's eyes widen, and from his peripheral he can catch the odd glimpse of wiring sticking out under his chin.

...No- no, no, no- no no.

Raucous laughter breaches his sensors, and suddenly his face is pulled up to see the same man that had betrayed him- grinning and amused.

"What's the matter, android," he jeers, releasing his face to drop something on the ground, "Cat got your tongue?"

That 'something' bounces once before landing in a sizzling, unassuming lump right before Billy's glitching eyes.

...his voice box.

-><- . . . -><-

Anby snatches the phone out of Nicole's hand.

"Where's Billy," she demands, shocking the other two Hares silent

She can't bring herself to care at the moment, the way rage is boiling under her skin. Her voice has never been particularly emotive, neither has her face, this she knew intrinsically. A fact of her life that she didn't care to fix.

But Billy was her friend.

Billy understood her. He did her hair whenever she asked, tried to protect her when she didn't need it- not because he didn't think Anby was capable but because he wanted to. Billy explained things she didn't want to, gave her an in to conversations-

"You really care about this thing?" "Billy's not a thing. Where is he." Anby would not ask a third time.

The voice on the other end snickers, amused for some unfathomable reason. And it's like Nicole can sense her impending neurosis, because she pries her phone out of the smaller girl's hand.

"We won't ask again," she emphasizes, fully in Boss mode now, "Why do you have Billy's phone?"

"Calm your tits, ladies."

Nekomata hastily pries the phone out Nicole's hand before it can be crushed.

"What I mean is- relax! Look.. if it'll make you feel better, I'll return it to you. Er- it's parts anyway. Hah!"

It. He was calling Billy... an it.

Something dark poisons the room.

"Just kidding! Anyway- Keep better track of your things, Hares! Finders keepers, you know?"

Click.

...

"Anby. Nekomata."

The girls stand at attention, awaiting the instructions sure to follow their stormy faced Boss.

"We're going to Random Play."

-><- . . . -><-

...everything hurt.

His throat, what was left of his right arm, what was left of his left leg, his torso where red wire hung out like streamers.. The traitor- because it brought some sort of vindicative relief to call his tormentor that- hadn't been joking about selling him for parts. At all.

Pieces of prior 'conversations' looped themselves over and over again like a broken record- a snake eating it's own tail- and at this point Billy couldn't tell if it was his own busted thoughts or if the man had taken his mind too.

"Wow~ an android with a pain threshold.. that's rare. You can feel all of this then?" Billy, of course, couldn't answer with any more than a twitch as pliers hacked away at his wiring. "Bet we'll get a pretty penny off you then."

"I don't really get the point of androids, you know? This tech could be so much better utilized for prosthetics."

"Called your buddies earlier." That had sparked the most reaction out of him so far, that got him to raise his head with worried eyes. "Oh-ho! What'd you get excited for? They're not looking for you."

His voice box still sat on the ground in front of him, mocking as it hissed out sparks from time to time. At least that could still make a sound.

Were the Hares... really not coming for him? Would there be anything left to find if they did?

Billy could hardly open his eyes as it was, even if the Hares could find him in this Hollow- would they even want him around if he couldn't do anything?

Maybe... it would be better if he just-

The metal doors screech open again.

-><- . . . -><-

The tacky feeling of blood, whether caked under her nails or smeared over her cheek, would normally bother her.

This she wears as a badge of honor.

They had been lucky, all things considered, to have connections to the former Phaethon siblings. It still took too long, in Anby's opinion, but Belle and Wise had found the seller that had listed- for a lack of better phrasing- Billy's parts.

"'Ethically sourced' my fine ass!" Nicole had shouted at the monitor, barely restraining herself from grabbing it and shaking.

Anby flicks her blade to the side, watching disinterestedly as blood splatters against the scorched pavement.

"Alright, you guys," Belle- in Eous' body- piped up, "Billy should be behind this door."

What's left of him, goes painfully unsaid.

None of them want to open the door, not when it could confirm a truth they've blatantly ignored the possibility of. Billy could be nothing but wires and lost data behind these doors.

Schrödinger's Android.

Anby takes the plunge and shoulders the creaky metal open.

At first, she's worried that they had the wrong warehouse. The inside is dark- quiet- and she can't immediately see anything with the rubble blocking the way further inside.

That was fine, Nekomata was the only Hare that could marginally compete with her in speed anyway. Sooner than she could really blink- or think about it- the smaller Demara finds herself atop the rubble pile.

There he is.

Billy is in the center of the warehouse, powered off and forced to his remaining knee by robot palms clamped around what's left of his limbs. The wires in his torso hang out like entrails, frayed and stripped at the ends and wrong.

Anby trips over herself to get to him, uncharacteristically uncoordinated as she finally- finally reunites with the android.

"Billy," she breathes out, watery and insistent as she presses her bloodied hands to his cold face, "Billy, wake up. We're here."

Please wake up, please don't let this be for nothing-

Familiar, warm, yellow eyes finally flicker open. It's a struggle, both to watch and to experience probably, as the Hares' big brother reluctantly comes back online.

Reluctantly. Billy shouldn't be reluctant.

There's no talking, no glitchy recall of her name, not even a whisper of pain- or any sound- as his eyes widen disbelievingly at her. Billy shouldn't be quiet.

This was wrong.

Something sparks in the corner of Anby's eye, and the realization that comes with it makes her wish she had done more than dull her blade. Billy's voice box, crudely ripped out and left in plain sight...

"Anby, did you find him?"

The android's warm yellow eyes somehow widen even further at the sound of Nicole's voice and Nekomata's footsteps. When the two come into view, the faceplate under the smaller Demara's hands trembles.

Anby recounts what she learned, making sure to keep her hands on Billy at all times as the reunited Hares' get their metal teammate free. Obviously, he can't walk- he can barely support himself- and they should really wait to celebrate until they're out of the Hollow, but...

"Billlly," Nicole all but sobs as she pulls the android into a hug he can't reciprocate, "you idiot. We were worried sick about you! You're never leaving the base without telling one of us ever again!"

Nekomata joins in from behind, wrapping her thin arms with exceeding amounts of care around Billy's torn neck. She doesn't say anything, but the way the Thiren girl buries her face into his synthetic hair says enough.

Anby hadn't re-braided her fringe since noting his disappearance and the loose hair sticks uncomfortably to the blood on her cheek as she bullies her way under his remaining arm. Belle stands off just slightly to the side, touched by the family reunion but unwilling to interfere with the tender moment.

The Cunning Hares' had missed their resident big brother deeply; now that he was back, they weren't ever letting him go again.

AND THERE SHE IS!! FINITO, EL FIN, FINIE! sorry if the ending was kinda rushed, but i hope you enjoyed! lmk what you thought and, of course, if there's anything else you want to see me write or elaborate on!

#i honestly think about anby and billy's friendship SO much #cut out some bits bc this was getting too long for tumblr #zzz #zzzero #billy kid zzz #zenless zone zero #billy kid #cunning hares #zzz nicole #anby demara #nekomata #nicole demara #found family #nekomiya mana #zzz billy #zzz fanfic #the ramblings of a fallen star

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whumpshaped · 1 year ago

Note

WHUMPEE THINKS CARETAKER IS NEW MASTER

the FEAR

THE MISUNDERSTANDINGS

ESPECIALLY IF CARETAKER IS STRONG OR OTHERWISE POWERFUL?? MMM

ALSO WHEN PAIRED WITH VIOLENT CARETAKER THAT BEATS THE SHIT OUT OF WHUMPER

GOOD SHIT

~🪴~

ah yes. a classic. caretaker being violent and powerful isnt that classic within the trope so naturally im going w that bc i LOVE THAT SHIT

tw murder, captivity, caretaker new master, conditioned whumpee, knives

"What the fuck did you think was gonna happen?" Caretaker tightened their grip on Whumper's neck, threatening to snap it altogether. Whumpee watched from the corner of their cell, absolutely petrified. "Did you think no one would find out? Did you think you'd get away with it?"

"I hoped so," Whumper choked out, which only caused more anger and Caretaker slamming them against the wall a second time.

"Well, you were fucking wrong."

Whumpee was shivering violently from the cold and the fear as they watched Whumper's eyes eventually roll back. They passed out. They might bleed out as well, depending on whether Caretaker would allow them medical attention. God... they were alone with Caretaker now. The only two conscious people in the room.

"P-please don't hurt me," they squeaked. "I'll be good..." When Caretaker turned to look at them, they immediately lifted their hands to shield their face, whimpering. "Please, p-please, I've been trained, I'll do whatever you want–"

"Okay, okay, let's calm down. I'll finish the job here and then we'll talk."

Finish..? Whumpee peeked out from between their fingers and saw Caretaker pull a knife from their belt. Oh dear god. They couldn't even fully comprehend it when they saw the blade be buried deep inside Whumper's throat. They could only stare and cry.

Medical attention... as if.

"I realise how this must look to you," Caretaker said calmly as they wiped the knife off on Whumper's clothes. "I'm sorry you had to see it. But the thing is... Whumper was a vicious fucking murderer, and I'm not in the business of letting those kinda people live." They glanced at Whumpee before taking the keys to the cell from Whumper's pocket. "Are you a vicious murderer?"

"N-no, no, Master." The title came instinctually, and Caretaker didn't bat an eye. It was expected, then. Probably. They wanted to point out the apparent contradiction of being so against murderers while murdering them, but decided against it.

"Then you have absolutely nothing to fear." They unlocked the cell and walked inside, and Whumpee was beginning to realise just how much bigger and stronger Caretaker was. Bigger than them, yes, but also bigger than Whumper. Stronger too, by the looks of that corpse.

Whumpee forced themself to lower their hands and get into a proper kneeling position, no matter how much their body trembled. They had to be good. They had to be perfect. "D-do with me what you will, Ma-Master. But– but please know I'm, I'm very well-trained, I don't need to be hurt to follow orders, I– I know my place, so please–"

"Oh, quit it." The order was gentle and quiet, and Caretaker just scooped Whumpee into their arms afterwards. No questions asked. "You don't need to be 'good' anymore. You're free."

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan

#asks #plant anon #whumpsday #whump #whump drabble #rescue #murder #captivity #caretaker new master #conditioned whumpee #knives

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seijorhi · 2 years ago

Text

SHAKE

Choso x female reader

a Valentine’s Day Collab

tw: murder, blood, dismemberment, stalking, yandere themes

The message from your friend said you’d be wearing a red dress. Choso counts four women, all wearing varying shades of red, three of those being dresses. Fitting, he supposes, considering this human holiday of yours.

Ultimately, the descriptor is unnecessary. Choso could pick your face in any crowd.

You glance up at his arrival, that expression – that hesitant, hopeful smile – searing its way through him. It falters, slightly, when you get a good look at him, and your lips part. “Oh– Sorry, I’m waiting for someone and I thought you were–”

He cuts you off by speaking your name, a short smile of his own to put you at ease. You’re not quick enough to completely mask the confusion that flashes across your face, but to your credit, you do try.

“Ah, you must be Jin, right? Sorry, I– my friend said you’d be–”

“Choso,” he corrects.

“P-pardon?”

He pulls out the seat across from yours. Sits. “My name is Choso. It’s good to meet you, I’ve been looking forward to this for a while.”

You blink at him, the words clearly taking a moment or two to process. He doesn’t blame you for the hesitance, for your confusion – no doubt his name, his appearance, the cursed nature of his spirit that’ll never truly feel right to you, it all goes against the image you’ve created in your head, perhaps even what your friend told you to expect.

But Choso’s come to know you better than you know yourself. Those gears tick over behind your eyes, your mouth opening and closing, you flounder for words and then–

“You’re… my blind date? Mikako said…” you swallow, shaking the thought free. “I must’ve gotten mixed up, I’m sorry.”

Choso’s lips quirk upwards. That’s four times now you’ve apologised.

“You look beautiful.”

Your smile warms a touch with the compliment, and Choso treasures the sight. “Thank you. So, um… you work with Mikako? In accounts?”

“Mm.”

The waiter comes by with a wine list, and the menu’s already set – Choso pays it no mind. He cares no more about the food than he does the odd looks from the couples seated around you.

Which, judging from the slightly forced nature of your expression, cannot be said for you.

“So um, Choso,” you draw out the syllables of his name, “tell me about yourself. Mikako mentioned that you’re into photography?”

Photography, huh? No. His ‘hobbies’ as such are not so mundane, and definitely not dinner time conversation.

He could tell you about his desire to slaughter the sorcerer who delighted in toying with his human mother and tried to manipulate him into killing his younger brother. He could tell you about his cursed techniques, and the blood mark that extends across the bridge of his nose – the one you’re trying valiantly not to look at – and what it does.

Choso could tell you that aside from the world of curses and jujutsu sorcerers, he spends his time consumed by thoughts of you, and with every moment he can spare, he keeps you safe, watching, following from a distance. It’s how he knew of this date of yours, where you were meeting, what you’d be wearing. Who you were supposed to be meeting with.

He could tell you what he did to the man, this… Jin. How dispatching him quickly was a mercy, yet Choso couldn’t quite bring himself to make it painless.

“Please– please! Whatever you want– you can take my wallet, you-you want my watch? Take it, it’s yours!”

He’s shaking, clumsy fingers fumbling for the gold strap as Choso advances. The blood that oozes from the self inflicted wound glides through the air, spinning into razor-sharp discs that circle his hand.

“Please, what do you want?!” the man begs, the front of his pants darkening, pissing himself in fear.

Choso could make this clean. He could make it quick. The grudge he holds with the human is not a personal one – he’s simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

… Interested in dating the wrong woman.

Choso’s resolve hardens.

The first blood chakram severs his right arm.

The second rips through his thigh. He’ll bleed out before any help can come.

A third forms around his fingers. He keeps it there for a heartbeat, listening as the man chokes and gurgles, the pitiful whimpering as blood drains from his body.

Choso sends it slicing through the man’s throat.

He could tell you these things, but he doubts you’d appreciate them. Instead, he shrugs, “I’d rather hear about you.”

“Oh, there’s not really much to tell, I’m kind of boring,” you laugh.

Choso begs to disagree.

Despite that, he lets you talk, tell him things about you he already knows. The wine comes, and then entrees. You eat and carry the conversation, more out of discomfort, he thinks, than any genuine desire to share.

That’s okay, he’ll take what he can get. With you, Choso wants to be greedy.

And then your purse vibrates.

You wait a few minutes, thinking you’re being subtle and shoot him an apologetic smile as you slip it from the back of your seat and onto your arm, “Bathroom,” you say.

But it’s when you return, your fragile, human heart racing like a hummingbird’s, and that strained smile is altogether gone that he knows this little game of his is up.

“I’m sorry, my uh… there’s an issue with my apartment, I’ve– I’ve got to go, but it was nice meeting you, really.”

You truly are a terrible liar.

His hand snaps out to seize your wrist before you can so much as turn.

“You should stay,” he tells you, exerting just a fraction of his considerable strength when you attempt to tug it free. Your eyes go wide, an instinctual sort of fear taking hold as cursed energy all but bleeds from his person.

Blind to it you may be, it poisons the air around you.

“We aren’t finished with our date yet.”

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere choso #yandere choso x reader

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forwhump · 2 months ago

Text

a/n; sorry I’m posting again :’) I’m losing track of what I’ve posted because I’m not posting in any sort of chronological order so if I’ve posted anything about the auction (technically it’s a fundraiser but I’ve always called it the auction) then this is a prequel !!! if I haven’t then >:) enjoy this totally innocuous thing, nothing horrible happens after this at all

also I’ve been losing track of the names I use for the background soldiers since the very beginning so if I ever use a name more than once it’s up to you whether it’s the same guy or two guys w the same name <3 LOL

tw/cw: dehumanization, captivity, mentions of dismemberment, implied rape/noncon, misgendering, transphobia, grievous bodily harm, stabbing

living weapon whumpee, military whump, creepy whumper

Any night that Silas spends with Wren is a good night.

It doesn’t matter how much he’s bleeding, or how much he hurts, if Wren is nearby and Silas is sure that he’s okay, that he’s safe, then it’s a good night. He’s died happy knowing that Wren is safe.

There’s something to be said about the nights, however, that Wren is safe and he’s okay and Silas isn’t bleeding. He isn’t in pain.

Silas is sitting on the floor, back against the side of Wren’s bed, head tipped back against the mattress. Wren is curled up nearby, his hand in Silas’ hair, and he’s reading quietly, something Silas isn’t really following, fixated as he is on the soft sound of his voice, on his strange, Wren accent. Silas has his face turned, cheek against grey sheets, watching Wren as he reads to him, holy, even more inhuman than Silas in his beauty. In the yellow glow of the lamplight, cast from Wren’s desk, his hair glows something golden and his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks.

It’s a good night.

It starts that way, anyway.

“You’re beautiful,” Silas says, because he’s beautiful and Silas is nothing if an honest, maybe blunt person.

Wren looks up at him and he wishes, for a moment, that he could draw like Wren can, because it’s a picture he’d like to remember and he doesn’t think he will. He doesn’t get to remember very much. But Wren smiles at him, soft and sweet, and Silas forgets about anything that doesn’t make him so pleasantly warm it makes him a little uneasy. “You’re not listening to me at all,” he says, “are you?”

“I’m kinda listening to you,” Silas says, “mostly I’m looking at you,” and Wren laughs, pushing his face away with the hand in his hair.

Silas turns his face back to try and bite his fingers and Wren laughs again, a sound that makes Silas feel so warm all over he might flush with it. Wren is beautiful, arguably, all the time — some really ugly things have happened to him, have been done to him, but Wren, at his core, interwoven into his DNA, is so beautiful that Silas sometimes has a hard time looking at him. It’s like staring too hard into surgical lights, too bright, it makes him see the same sort of spots. Wren’s always most beautiful when he laughs.

He doesn’t laugh often — not often enough, anyway. But Silas has gotten good at bringing it out in him, and he’s best at it when he doesn’t try. At the end of his life, when his brain is removed from this thing they’d turned him into and what little is left of him is destroyed, if they bother to ask him what his proudest accomplishment was, this is what he would say. That he got to make Wren laugh.

“Sorry,” Silas says against his knuckles, and he tries to bite him again and Wren bats him away with a smile that makes him dizzy.

“I don’t believe you are,” he says, and Silas can’t help the smile that pulls at his own mouth on one side.

“I’m not,” he agrees, and the way Wren laughs reverberates through his chest.

“I picked this for you because I thought it would hold your attention,” he says, and the way he smiles at Silas would probably give Silas a headache if he let it.

“I want you to read the one that Hal wanted you to read,” he suggests, just because Wren keeps telling him no.

“No,” Wren says, predictable, and Silas smiles against his knuckles. “Hal wasn’t being nice. You won’t like it.”

“I’ll like anything if you read it to me,” Silas says.

Wren has a very peculiar way of looking at him sometimes, soft and sweet, eyebrows pulled together in the middle. He looks at him like that now, and it warms Silas in almost the same way his laughter does, even if he doesn’t quite know what it means. “Not Frankenstein,” he says, but he laughs again when Silas ducks his head and obligingly presses a kiss to his hairline. “You’re cute,” he says with a smile, “but still no. I’d read you anything else.”

“Just not what I want,” he says, and Wren laughs.

“You don’t even know what it is!” He protests, which makes Silas grin, despite his best, most valiant attempts not to. “You just like to argue with me.”

“I like to do everything with you,” Silas says, kissing his knuckles.

Wren snorts out a laugh as he pushes his face away again. “Shut up,” he says, and he says it with a sort of fondness that makes Silas’ chest constrict. He reaches towards him because he can’t help himself, grabbing Wren around the waist and hauling him off the edge of the mattress. Wren laughs again and Silas smiles properly. “What are you doing?”

Silas pulls him into his lap. “You’re not close enough.”

“No?” Wren says, and he puts on the voice he uses when Silas is in trouble but his smile is blinding and he leans his weight into Silas’ chest, arms around his shoulders. Silas’ hands span the entirety of Wren’s back and Wren is looking at him really closely, a little pink across the bridge of his nose. His hand on Silas’ cheek is almost painfully gentle.

He’s so close. “You’re beautiful,” Silas says again, because he is, and it bears repeating. “Even more beautiful up close.”

He’s so close Silas can see perfectly well the way he flushes, pink, beneath a splattering of freckles Silas only ever sees when they’re this close. It makes him grin, which makes Wren laugh again, pinching his cheek. “Shut up.”

But he’s so close. He’s so close that Silas can see freckles splattered across his face, clustered closest across the bridge of his nose and along his hairline. He’s so pale, and his hair is so light, but his eyes are so dark, and they’re huge, and he’s so beautiful but Silas has thought it’s given him a surreal sort of quality, that sometimes he looks even less human than Silas. “More than beautiful,” he says softly, because he doesn’t quite know how to put it into words. “Extraordinary.”

Wren angles his head and his smile takes on an odd sort of softness that never fails to make Silas’ face feel hot. “You’re too sweet to me,” he murmurs.

It’s kind of a dumb thing to say. “I’m in love with you,” he says softly, because he thought as much was obvious.

He can feel the way Wren’s breath hitches against his chest, and that’s all the time he gets before it all goes to hell.

The door is kicked open with a force that makes it sound like it’s been blown to pieces. Wren flinches with his entire body and Silas holds him protectively to his chest without even really thinking about it. A man called London, with an accent Silas doesn’t like, stands in the doorway and his lip curls back from his teeth as he looks down at them, his gun at the ready against his chest.

To Wren, he says, “I thought we told you no dogs in your room.”

“No dogs on the bed,” Silas says, and if his eyebrows lift, challenging, he can’t help it. “I’m not on the bed.”

London’s lip curls back a little further. “Common room,” he barks, accent grating. “Both of you. Let’s go.”

“Why?” Silas says.

“A talking dog,” London remarks, sharp. “One that talks back. How peculiar.”

Silas starts to lift both his middle fingers and Wren quickly pushes his hands back down. “We’re coming,” he says, and he says it in the weird, kind of saccharine voice he only ever uses with the soldiers.

Except London’s gun is still drawn. Except London isn’t wearing the usual black tactile uniform of the soldiers on patrol. He’s wearing a black uniform only Silas has ever seen, because it’s the black uniform the soldiers only ever wear in active combat. Whatever’s waiting for them out there, it isn’t good.

“Wren,” he says softly.

“Silas,” Wren pleads, even quieter. “Please.”

Silas grunts, but Wren had said please so Silas would’ve been obedient if he’d asked him to amputate his other leg. He heaves himself up, into his chair, and follows close at Wren’s back. London falls into step at Wren’s side, and tells him, “beastiality doesn’t suit you.”

Silas says, in his best imitation of London’s accent, “cunt.”

London pivots and hammers the barrel end of his assault rifle into Silas’ hollow eye socket in one, fluid motion. Something in his face, something that feels like his cheekbone cracks under his skin and he grunts in pain.

Wren starts to gasp, “Silas,” but London silences him with a snap of his gloved fingers and a crude point.

“Move,” he snaps.

Wren turns towards him anyway. “Silas —“

From the end of the corridor, from the common room, Hal’s voice says, “Silas?”

Silas stops trying to dry his bleeding eye socket with his sleeve. The throbbing headache of his broken cheekbone dulls to a beat drowned out by the roar of his heartbeat. Being summoned from his room in the middle of the night is one thing. Wren being summoned, too, by a soldier in full combat uniform is another. Hal also being called on —

Wren feels it, too, because his hand finds Silas’ arm and his fingers are shaking. “Hal?”

“Wren? What the fuck is going on?” Hal calls.

London growls, “move.”

Wren looks down at Silas, who turns his head to kiss his sleeve, as soothing as he can manage.

He should’ve grabbed his fuckin’ leg. He’s still new to needing it — to feeling this fuckin’ helpless without it. What’s going to happen to them? How is he going to get Wren out of it with one fuckin’ leg?

Hal isn’t alone in the common room. He’s standing with Robin and June, huddled close in a space crowded with soldiers. Every one of them is dressed in full combat uniform.

Point stands proudest among them, and he looks up with a grin.

Silas groans. He can’t help it.

Wren pinches him through his sleeve. “What is this?” He asks softly, not quite looking at Point, who looks at him intently and like a predator.

With another lecherous grin, he says, “field trip.”

Wren makes a sound that would probably be amused in any other situation. “What?”

“Field trip?” June repeats.

Point holds up a hand, quieting her without looking at her. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us,” he says. “Let’s move, soldiers.”

And the whole thing is kind of surreal, clouded by Silas’ worsening concussion and broken orbital socket, pooling with blood. Hal, June, and Robin are led down a different corridor than Wren and Silas; Wren and Silas, flanked on all sides by soldiers and Point, are led to a service elevator.

Silas, in all his years in the district, has never been outside. This isn’t really any different.

The service elevator lifts them to a section of the district like any other — dimly lit, chipped grey concrete. Down a corridor, a huge metal grate had been lifted out of the way, opened to the back of an armoured van, doors closed and secured.

It’s Point, of course, that unlatches and opens these doors to the back of the van. It’s crowded with soldiers, with Point’s favourite men, crammed on the benches lined along the inside, standing along the back. Point jumps up into the van and whirls back around with a bizarre sort of flourish. “The girl will ride with me,” he announces. “Animal transport will be up next for the dog.”

Wren’s voice has gone flat, but his accent is probably the thickest Silas has ever heard it when he says, “you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

Point grins with all his teeth and he looks even less human than Silas. “You know I don’t kid ‘bout you, cowgirl,” he says, mocking, and Wren takes a quick step back, knocking into Silas. “I ain’t playin’ with you, neither. Get on up here.” He pats his thighs, beckoning.

“Fuck you,” Wren says, but his voice sounds brittle and his accent sounds even thicker. Silas curls a protective hand around his hip.

“C’mere, girl,” Point says, and whistles, patting his thighs again. “C’mere.”

“Fuck you, I’m not getting in the rape van,” Wren snaps, and Point’s jovial mocking drops off his face. It’s like he’s been wiped clean, replaced by something totally and uncomfortably blank.

“You’ll do whatever I fucking tell you to do,” he deadpans, “or I’ll make your dog bite the bumper and you’ll be forced to watch as I crack his ugly head in half. And then I’ll fuck you anyway, mm?”

He takes a step back down from the van and Wren’s whole body tenses. Silas pulls him close, into his lap, away from Point, who pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t start with me, freak,” he says. “I don’t want to kill you while I’m hard. Give me the girl.”

“You’re a fuckin’ weirdo,” Silas tells him, and something twitches in Point’s jaw.

“You’re a failed fucking science experiment,” he snaps. “An crippled fucking dog. A waste of fucking skin, and I fuck your girl better than you do. Give her here.”

Silas raises his eyebrows. “I’ll tell you what, Darren,” he says, and Point’s eye twitches, this time. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

“Silas,” Wren breathes.

Point’s lip curls back from his teeth. He angles his head at a soldier standing close, Haunt, who quickly lifts his gun and shoves the barrel hard against the nape of Silas’ neck.

Whatever, what’s another gun to the head? But Wren gasps, reacts, human, and he’s distracted just long enough that London’s able to grab him by the arms and haul him out of Silas’ lap.

Time warps. Slows down.

Wren screams.

Point grabs him around the waist, lifting him off his feet as he struggles.

Silas reaches for him and he’s stabbed quickly in the throat.

It happens so quickly that his crewneck is already sticking to his chest before it even starts to hurt. Then the pain starts to gurgle at the back of his mouth, sucked into his chest as he takes a wet, choking breath in. Point doesn’t look at him as he opens his jugular, but he looks up with a grin as Silas bleeds, wrenching the buck knife out of Adam’s apple. A rush of blood follows the blade, and Silas’ prison greys are already black, soaked with blood.

He thinks his ears are ringing, but when the blood stops rushing he realizes Wren is screaming and Point is laughing at a garbled, cackling pitch.

“I was waiting for you to try something,” he cackles. “You’re getting predictable, Silas.”

Silas raises a hand to the wound and his shaky fingers dip into the opened meat of his throat, gagging him.

With an ease that makes him gag in much the same way, Point pulls Wren’s hands behind his back and lifts him as he struggles. He throws him into the back of the van, onto the floor between the benches, and as soon as Wren hits the ground, face down, a soldier steps down hard on the back of his head, pinning him. Wren screams bloody murder and it sounds nothing like blood rushing in his ears.

A different soldier peels down Wren’s waistband with the toe of his boot and the way Wren screams echoes between Silas’ ears, bouncing off the inside of his skull. It makes him vomit, but he doesn’t know blood or bile, but most of it seeps from his opened throat and only a mouthful makes it to his tongue, long numb and useless.

Point pats his cheek twice, hard, and Silas vomits into his lap. His chin finds his chest and he doesn’t have the strength to lift it off again. “You’ll follow in the med van,” he says, and Silas hears him in odd bits and pieces. Somebody close is making horrible, wet gasping sounds and he has a really sick feeling it’s him. “And you’ll be good as new by the time we get where we’re going. We got a long ride ahead of us.” Silas can’t see anything except blurry red spots, but he doesn’t need to see Point to know he’s grinning when he says, “your girl’s gonna be in good hands the whole time. Don’t you worry.” He knocks Silas over the back of his head and his laugh is a cackle.

Silas doesn’t see it, but he can hear Point jump into the back of the van. There’s some kind of sound that follows it, skin on skin. Wren sobs loudly and Silas vomits down his chest. “Alright, girl,” he says, loud and theatrical, probably more for Silas than Wren, in a sour, mocking version of Wren’s accent. There’s a creak of the hinges as he grabs at the doors. “Time to get fuckin’.”

The doors close loudly and something in the sound feels like a bullet to the brain, a sudden, sharp explosion of pain that ricochets behind Silas’ eyes.

He doesn’t remember anything else for the next three days.

#i was lying btw MANY horrible things actually happen after this #whump #whump community #whump scenario #whump scenes #whump story #whump stuff #whump writing #whumpblr #whumpee #wren & silas #whump blog #whump series #whump tag #emotional whump #whump things #whump snippet

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paranoidginger · 2 months ago

Text

The Gunslinger Incident

Characters: Engineer (TF2), Spy (TF2), Medic (TF2)

Relationships: Engineer x Spy

Tw: Graphic depictions of Gore, Self Harm, Dismemberment/Self Mutilation

Carefully, the man wiped his arm down with rubbing alcohol, resting his arm beside the mechanical hand and marking in permanent ink where it would sit on his arm once his project was completed.

It was a free day on the base, and the resident engineer of the team was seated at his work table, a mechanical hand wired to his arm through electrodes as he flexed the fingers and wrist of his own flesh and blood hand. This was his breakthrough, no delayed movement, no stuck joints. It moved perfectly. All he needed to do was attach it to his body.

Once fully marked, the Engineer pulled a small tarp across his cleared table, setting the mechanical hand aside and exchanging the rubbing alcohol for hard liquor that he had borrowed from Tavish's stock as he set a cleaned saw on the table, taking a deep breath as he rolled up the sleeve of his right arm and tied a leather strap around his bicep.

Dell took a deep breath, sighing quietly before taking a swig from the bottle of high-proof scotch whiskey. Placing the bottle down, he yanked the belt tighter and tighter, until he could tighten it no longer, tying it securely in a knot.

He bit onto the leather strap, holding the loose end in place as he wedged a small metal dowel into a loop he had left in the knot, twisting it and tightening until he began to lose feeling in his fingertips and the pain of the leather digging into his skin was enough to cause tears to prick at the corners of his eyes.

Once the leather strap was sufficiently tightened, he took a quivering breath as he tied the loose end so that the metal rod wouldn't come loose, gulping down another large mouthful of scotch before picking up the saw he had chosen for the job, setting it back down as he grabbed a clean rag, stuffing it into his own mouth before picking up his tool of choice once again. Carefully, he lined up the toothed blade of the saw with the line he had marked on his arm, beginning to saw through the appendage.

The rag had been a good call, muffling his pained cries and whimpers as he bit down on it, the teeth of the saw catching and tearing through the flesh of his arm. He could feel as tendons snapped and meat ripped apart, tears running down his face and stinging his eyes as he forced himself to continue through the nauseating pain, and the blood spilling across the table.

Hitting bone, he finally paused, gasping and sobbing silently as he pulled the rag from his mouth, downing more of the burning liquor and drenching the rag before putting it back in his mouth, beginning to saw once again.

Finally finished, he looked down at the hand on his table. His own flesh and blood, once part of his body, now pale and cold. He laughed, he couldn't help himself, blood still spilling from the stump of his arm, running off of the edge of his table back onto himself. Warm and sticky... He'd had to use a pair of scissors to cut the last bit of skin that held his arm to the rest of him... The sound alone had been nauseating, even with the nerves too overwhelmed to feel the pain of it anymore.

Blood still seeped slowly from the stump of his arm. God he'd already lost a lot... Shakily, he placed the rag on the bloodied table, leaning back for a moment as he grabbed hold of the bottle of whiskey, taking another swig before attempting to stand up, his vision going dark.

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

It was thirty minutes past dinner... Thirty minutes. Dell was never that late for dinner. Not without some warning at least. Despite his improper care for himself when it came to meals and sleeping, dinner was not something the man often missed, even when he was completely engrossed in a project he never went more than ten minutes before showing up. Half an hour, and Spy had begun to worry.

Mikhail had brought dinner to Ludwig in his lab, as per usual, but the Engineer was not one who often needed food to be brought to him, and whenever he did, he always requested it beforehand.

Finishing his serving, the Spy excused himself from the table, stuffing down any worried expressions he may have held as he left, only allowing his facade to falter once he was out of sight from the other mercenaries.

"Laborer? Are you alright?" The silence in the room was deafening, and the Spy braced himself as he slowly looked inside.

Softly, he knocked on the door of the workshop, exhaling to gather his composure as he awaited an answer that he did not receive. No matter... Maybe he hadn't knocked loudly enough.

After another knock without a response, the Spy reached for the door handle, turning it slowly and cracking the door open.

His heart dropped as he saw the desk, covered by a tarp and soaked with blood, the unmistakable form of a human hand laying in the overflowing pool. Then he saw him, his vision following the dripping blood off of the desk as the Engineer's unconscious form came into view.

He covered his mouth for a moment, rushing to the smaller man's side, stripping a glove off of his hand as he pressed the back of it against the Engineer's forehead, making sure he was still warm before feeling along the side of the other man's neck. He breathed a small sigh of relief as he felt the man's pulse, no matter how small or weak it may have been.

Gently, he shook the Engineer by the shoulder, pausing to cup his face in his hands as the smaller man made a small, incoherent sound.

"Please, laborer... I need you to wake up!" The Spy spoke with a concerned urgency, ignoring the warm, damp sensation as he knelt down in the small pool of blood at the shorter man's side.

After nothing but incoherent mumbles and slurred speech, the Spy gave in, wrapping his arms around the other man as he pulled him upright, doing his best to fight down the nausea he felt as he laid eyes upon the stump of the other's arm.

Spy swallowed hard, gritting his teeth as he pulled the Engineer's left arm over his shoulders, hoisting him to his feet and holding him steady.

"Come on... I've got you, mon ami..." He spoke quietly, feeling as Dell was able to half walk alongside him, even in his barely conscious state.

The Spy half-dragged the engineer out of the workshop, knowing that he wouldn't be able to carry the small, stout man. Normally he would be frustrated, ruining such an expensive suit, but in the state his bank account was in, a couple thousand dollars was pocket change... And besides, he was far more worried about his dear laborer than he was about his suit.

Once down the hallway, and closer to the medical bay, he paused, catching his breath as he held the engineer upright, the smaller man's breathing quick and unsteady.

"Docteur!" The man shouted as loudly as he could, adjusting his grip on the Engineer as he faded in and out of consciousness, the Spy continuing to pull him along towards the laboratory as worry continued to permeate his being, hoping that maybe someone else would come along to assist, but they never did.

It took some time, but Spy managed to pull the Engineer along to the med bay, the Medic having clearly not heard his shouting as he shoved the door open with quiet panting breaths, holding the smaller man up beside him.

"Docteur please! The Engineer is injured!" The Spy's breathing was heavy, and he quickly shifted to get a better grip on the smaller man in his grasp, watching as the team's Medic paused his paperwork and meal, rushing over to the door with a barely concealed grin, despite his shared worry.

Carefully, the Medic took Dell into his arms, picking him up fairly easily and moving him to one of the handful of operating tables in the room, carefully looking over the shredded stump of the other man's arm.

"I'm rather disappointed zhat he did not tell me he vas going to do zhis. I could have done it myself vithout half of zhis vorry!" The Medic began to hum, pulling his medigun over and turning it on, watching as the amputated surface closed and grew over with fresh skin, cutting the tourniquet off of his arm.

"I'm surprised you didn't just come get me! Look at you, sacrificing one of your suits for zhe Engineer!" The Medic teased, picking up a small flashlight and opening one of the Engineer's eyes, shining the light into it before repeating the process on the other side before looking back to the Spy, who had moved silently closer, gently holding the Engineer's hand.

"He'll be fine, mein freund. Hungover, but fine, I promise." The Medic reassured, seeing how worried the other man looked, even beneath his mask. "I'll go get his vorkshop back in order, Ja? Any excuse to not do zhese forms. You go ahead and stay vith him! I'm sure he'll be glad to see you vhen he vakes up." Ludwig grinned, waving as he left the room, leaving the pair alone as the Engineer slept.

The Spy did end up staying, discarding his bloodied jacket and gloves as he sat beside his dear laborer, running his fingers gently across the smaller man's stubbled scalp. A gentle sigh escaped him. How could a man be so intelligent, yet such a fool... And how in the world had the Spy managed to fall for him of all people?

#tf2 #team fortress #tf2 spy #tf2 engineer #spy tf2 #engineer tf2 #tf2 fanfiction

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selineram3421 · 1 year ago

Note

I love true crime, call it an obsession or a hyper fixation. But may I request a one-shot Ft Modern-day Human! Alastor x Reader, where the couple have lived happily together for a while ( is even engaged), and the two are on the couch, snuggled up, and their favorite show is interrupted by the news late one night. Like a breaking news broadcast of a string of multiple murders of criminals, drug dealers, and rapists that have occurred in the city comes on.

Maybe the reader notices Al gets really tense and they ask whats wrong and he passes them off gets up and just goes to bed without a word. Meanwhile days pass and the reader notices Alastor is on edge, maybe not showing up to his job, calling out constantly, not planning their wedding, coming home super late, maybe she finds some bloody clothing in the laundry- just weird things yknow (just a lot of off putting things they've just started to notice)?

They confront him when he comes home at a stupidly late hour of the night demanding answers of why he's acting so strange, if he doesn't tell them they're basically going to take off their ring and leave him then and there.. and he just breaks down emotionally to the reader?

I dunno /) . (\ throw all the Angst and Fluff you'd like to. I just love this idea lol.

Pssst! What does Ft mean?

As The World Caves In

Human Alastor X Human Reader Oneshot

Warning! ⚠

⚠ using she/they for reader, food, tw mentions of rape, murder, dismemberment, fluff/angst, hurt/comfort, blood, all caps for really angry shouting dialogue ⚠

You met Alastor during college.

He was majoring in communications and journalism for radio/television broadcasting. The building was right next to the one you had your classes in.

One day you both happened to bump into each other and just clicked. Not a day after was it boring, both of you causing slight chaos by telling cringey jokes and being weird.

It was nice though, having someone to be weird with you.

He liked your weirdness and you liked his.

Then one day he asked you a strange question.

"What would you say to someone who asked for your hand?"

"It depends on who's asking.", you reply. "Oh, and if you like it put a ring on it.", you finish, holding your left hand out as if waiting for someone to do just that.

"Hmm..", he hummed and held your hand as if examining it. "Ok."

Bringing a ring out of nowhere, he places it on your finger and nods with a look of satisfaction. Meanwhile you look at him with your jaw dropped.

Alastor just smiles at you.

"I put a ring on it."

"Geez, take me on a date first!"

❇

"We did it!", you cheer after both of you cleaned most of the apartment and did laundry.

"Finally!", Alastor said and dramatically sat down on the couch, acting faint. "Now we rest."

"Want to order take-out?", you asked sitting down next to him.

"Don't we still have yesterday's leftovers?", he says and pulls you close by the waist, placing a kiss on your cheek. "I could heat it up."

"That sounds divine.", you smile, also giving him a peck on the cheek. "I'll get things set up here while you get our food?"

"Sounds like a perfectly good plan.", he agrees with a nod and gives you one more peck before standing up. "Don't miss me too much darling~!"

He jokes while walking to the kitchen.

"Too late.", you respond and turn on the t.v. with the vox-b remote.

There's a chuckle from behind you as you flick through channels, looking for your show. After what felt like a long scroll down, you finally find the discovery channel. With a grin you click on it and wait for the show to start up with the end of "How Its Done."

"Almost Got Away is going to start after a commercial!", you tell your fiancé.

Its been a few years since that day. You still couldn't believe that it happened but the proof sat on your finger, and it was also archived on your Instu story.

The food doesn't take long to heat up and Alastor returns with two bowls of beans with sausage and rice, with a little bit of spice.

[can be seen as frijoles charros or cajun beans]

Both of you get comfortable on the couch, eating and occasionally talking about wedding plans, remembering to get drinks and taking a quick trip to the kitchen to get them from the fridge.

Just as you got comfortable again and the episode was starting, a flash of red and blue appears on the screen with bold letters.

"Breaking News!"

Two news anchors sit at a big blue table. One holding papers as the camera zooms in on them.

"Katie Prig and Tom Fosse bringing you some breaking news!", the woman, Katie starts. "There have been a number of crimes recently. About a forty-eight percent increase."

Tom chimes in. "A total of three missing persons have been found dead in the forest. Police say that the victims were female. Beaten and raped, before being killed and left in the woods."

"We are waiting to hear from police if any more bodies have been found.", Katie interrupts. "Let's check in with Mike."

Live feed is shown of a police cars parked at the start of the woods that has caution tape wrapped at the trail entrance, with k-9 dogs sniffing around. The camera zooms out, revealing a man in a blue jacket, with a news mic.

"I'm here on the south side of the city and its only been an hour of searching, the police have said there might be more bodies. One of the victim's bodies was found cut open and slightly dismembered.", he sniffs and moves his finger to wipe his nose.

From how close you two are sitting, you can feel Alastor tense up slightly as the corner of the man's lip on the screen turns upwards, its mostly covered by his hand and its gone within a second. The man goes back to a neutral expression.

"As you can tell the temperatures are dropping and since it'll rain tonight the officers are trying to cover as much ground as they can before any evidence is washed away."

A few dogs start to bark and the camera focuses on the k-9s and police officers running.

"Looks like there's a lead.", Mike says. "I'll send it back to you and Tom, Katie. We'll keep you updated."

When the screen switches back to the show, Alastor puts his bowl on the coffee table in front of the couch.

He's really quiet.

You look over at him and notice a frown starting to form on his face.

"Al?", you place a hand on his shoulder, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts as he turns to face you. "You ok? What's wrong?"

"Nothing Love.", he smiles, grabbing your hand off his shoulder and placing a kiss on your knuckles, just above the ring. "I just lost my apatite is all."

You nod in understanding and set down your bowl as well. "Wanna head to bed early then? I'll clean up, don't worry."

"Yes, thank you.", he agrees, letting go of your hand and stands up. "I'll get the bed ready.", he says before placing a kiss on your forehead and walking to the bedroom.

Cleaning up is quick, and you wash the dishes. Leaving the bowls on the drying rack before turning off the kitchen light and making your way to the room.

Alastor is already in bed when you walk in. After changing into comfortable sleep wear, you get in bed and turn off the lamp on your nightstand.

"Good night.", you say but don't hear anything back.

Assuming that he already fell asleep, you lay on your side and doze off.

A week passes and Alastor has been acting a little strange, but everytime you ask he just brushes you off with an "I'm fine."

You start to worry when he begins coming home late.

"Does the station really need you till 10 p.m. today?", you ask.

"I'm helping out a coworker with moving boxes and supplies.", he explains while getting his keys. "Don't worry, I'll call you if I leave early."

"Ok.", you say and follow him as he gets to the door. "Drive safe."

He smiles and gives you a peck.

"Don't stay up late for me. Lock the door and windows.", he says and walks out into the hallway. "Can't be too safe."

"I have a shift tomorrow around six in the evening.", you remind him, but see that he pauses.

"Darling..", he says with furrowed brows. "With all the crime going on, can you ask for earlier shifts?"

Now its your turn to smile.

"I can take care of myself. After all, I have Mr. Stabbington.", you say picking up a sharp pair of scissors and he frowns. "But if it makes you feel better knowing that I'm not out at night, then I'll ask for earlier shifts."

He grins.

"Ok now go! Or you'll be late!", you poke at him with your fingers and wave as he leaves.

Its not long till you're washing clothes that you spot what looks like a smeared blood stain on a pair of his pants.

"What the?", you say confused and try to remember if your fiancé got any recent wounds.

You set the pants aside for proper cleaning and continue to put the rest of the load in the washing machine.

A few days later after work, you get a call from the station Alastor works at.

"Hello?", you answer the phone, thinking Al is calling wanting an opinion on dinner or for something he forgot.

"Hi! I'm James, a coworker of Alastor's. I was calling to see if he is sick or something?", the man over the phone says.

"Sick?", you ask confused, walking up to your apartment building and going inside the building.

"Yeah, he didn't come in today and isn't picking up. The boss is kinda pissed. Is he alright?"

"He left early this morning..", you mumble quietly to yourself and wave to the security guard, making your way to the metal door and punching in the code to unlock it.

"Oh! He had a fever this morning but its going down now.", you say a quick lie.

"Ok, thanks for letting me know! Take care!", James says before saying bye.

You hang up and there's a sinking pit forming at the bottom of your stomach.

Why would Alastor skip work?

That feeling didn't go away and you started to have trouble sleeping.

When a scheduled wedding plan day came up, you got excited.

Flowers and colors were already picked out, today was supposed to be food. As you got the laptop open and notebooks set out, Alastor was dressed as if he was heading out.

"Were we going somewhere today?", you ask confused.

"We?", he says also confused.

"Yeah, its planning day Red.", you say smiling and walk over to him. "Remember its the food this time?"

A flash of realization crosses his face as he turns to look at the calendar on the wall nearby the kitchen.

"Oh."

Your smile goes away after noticing that he looks conflicted.

"Let me guess, you forgot and made plans.."

"I'm sorry. I was going to visit my mother.", he says with a slightly guilty tone.

A sigh escapes from your lips.

"Its ok. Go visit her and take some flowers.", you give a small smile. "Need any cleaning rags for the headstone?"

"No. I've got some in the car.", he says and pulls you into a hug. "Thank you darling."

He leaves soon after.

The thing you find odd is that he doesn't send you a picture of the cleaned headstone with fresh flowers like he usually does.

Weeks pass by and Alastor has been leaving work early or not going at all. Then arriving home late, lying to you about "his day at work" and now taking over washing the clothes after you asked about the red stains.

That sinking feeling gets worse, and now there's a burning sensation on your chest to accompany it. An aching in your heart.

One night you decide to wait with coffee.

Its late.

Hours have passed and the coffee has gone cold, both in the cup and in the coffee maker.

Sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket, staring into the coffee as you waited. The cup is half empty, and over time your gaze shifted over to your ring.

As you put the cup on the coffee table, you hear keys unlocking the door.

Taking a quick look at the time, you see that its three in the morning. Laying down, you pretend to sleep on the couch, pulling the blanket up to hide your mouth.

❇

Alastor was exhausted.

Keeping up with the news, working at the station, doing research, visiting the crime scene areas once they were opened to the public again, and lying to his fiancé.

He felt terrible.

They were so excited about the planning but he had to turn it down every time.

That murdering rapist and other scum were still on the loose in the city. He had got three, but still needed to get the one from the news.

He had to make sure she would be safe. They loved talking walks in those same woods. The smiles that she would show him every time they looked up at the trees, seeing the sunlight kiss their face. Looking like glowing freckles.

He had to.

Opening the door, he walked into the apartment quietly and closed it as soon as he could. Making sure to lock it and put up the door stopper.

After hanging up his jacket, he sees them asleep on the couch. As quietly as possible, he sets his keys down on the entry way table before taking off his shoes and making his way over to them.

He sighs, seeing the cup of coffee on the coffee table. "I told you not to wait for me.", he mumbles, kneeling down and goes to pick her up.

"Its 3 a.m."

Alastor flinches back, surprised that she was awake.

They sit up and look at him with such a sad gaze, the blanket slides off and pools around their lap.

"Why are you out so late?", they ask.

"Work at the station has been hectic-", he tries but she interrupts. "I've been getting calls from your coworkers saying you've been skipping work or asking why you left early."

Shit.

"Try again.", they're glaring at him now.

"I've been visiting-", he tries to come up with another excuse.

"DON'T USE YOUR DEAD MOTHER AS AN EXCUSE!", they snap and stand up from the couch. "Why are you lying to me!?"

"Darling please-", Alastor stands up as well and reaches out for their hand.

"No, don't touch me.", she backs away, crossing her arms.

A look of hurt crosses both of their faces.

"Why are you lying to me?", they ask softly.

The dim lighting in the room helps him see a small glint of light reflecting off of the tears staring to form at the corner of their eyes.

"You've been acting strange for a while now, you're coming home ridiculously late, lying to my face about work, and I know you're not visiting your mother!", their voice rises as they continue, the tears start streaming down their face. "You would have sent me pictures of her headstone like you always do when you're done cleaning it! And then I find red stains on your clothes!", she hiccups.

He calls out their name and tries to reach out to them again but they step back and shake their head side to side as to say no.

It hurts to see them crying.

"We..we had a conversation. If any of us found someone new, we would tell each other before anything happened. So no one got hurt and so we could have time to accept and adjust."

"My love, that's not what's going on. I promise!", he quickly denies what they are implying.

"Then what is going on!?", she shouts. "If its not that then what!?"

Alastor looks down at the floor, wondering if he should tell her or not.

Would they still love me after knowing? Will they leave? Would they hate me? Would they see me a s a monster? I did it for them..

The rooms becomes quiet.

She sighs, causing him to look up at her for the sudden noise.

"If you can't tell me, I'm going to walk out. Right now.", she says and goes to take off the ring.

He freezes.

No. No no no no no!

"Wait, please-!", he rushes up to place his hands over hers to stop her. "Don't do that, please. I love you! I love you!"

They are still trying, pushing his hands away and crying.

In a panic, he tells her. "I've been going after criminals!"

"What?"

He didn't know when he closed his eyes, but they were shut tight and it hurt a little bit. Seeking some sort of comfort, he held their hands closer to his chest.

A feeling that he hasn't felt in a long time settled in his stomach.

Fear.

He was scared.

"Remember the breaking news from a month ago?", he says, but they don't speak, likely waiting for him to continue. "I've been going after the murderers and rapists. A few others as well."

"Is that why you've been out late? And lying about work?", they ask. "What about the red stains? Have you been getting hurt?"

"No. I'm not getting hurt.", he reassures them, resting his forehead against theirs. "Its..not mine."

Finally opening his eyes, he sees that they are slowly putting things together.

"You've been killing?"

In that moment he breaks.

Legs giving out, now kneeling on the floor as he wraps his arms around their waist, hiding his face against their stomach.

"I did it for you!", he sobs. "I couldn't bear the though of losing you!"

The beating of his heart is frantic. It feels as if it'll burst at any minute. He doesn't notice that they've placed their hands on him, one on his shoulder and the other on the back of his head.

"You love taking walks in those woods, what if one of them got you? I'm terrified of getting a call from the police station and they say that you've been the latest victim! I had to do something, those damn pigs barely get the job done.", he rushes out, gasping a bit as he takes in some air.

Their breathing is the only thing they hear from each other.

"We're supposed to get married soon.", he finishes off quietly.

Feeling her start to move away, he begins apologizing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't leave me, please!"

Instead of leaving, they kneel down with him and hold his face in their hands, shushing him softly to calm him down.

"Alastor. I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving.", they whisper, using their thumbs to wipe away his tears. "Come on, stop crying honey."

It takes a moment for him to calm down and she pulls him into a hug.

"Thank you for telling me."

"You're not scared? Disgusted?", he asks, holding onto them tightly.

"I could never find you disgusting. Yes, its a little scary but you're doing more justice than the system.", they say and pull back slightly, giving him a small smile. "I'll always be on your side, even as the world caves in."

I don't deserve you.

He thinks as he stares at them in awe.

"I love you."

Finding his voice again, he quickly repeats what they've said.

"I love you. I love you, I love you.", he kisses them again and again, holding them closer. "I love you."

Alastor is so happy.

They didn't leave, they still love him, they aren't disgusted.

He's so relieved.

"You still need to make up for making me feel like shit though.", she says, causing him to chuckle.

"I'll make up for it, I promise."

Alastor really would do anything for them.

Even set the world on fire.

I heard the song during shuffle play and it was perfect for the title.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@i-heart-fictional-boys @naelys-the-aster @ducky-died-inside @stolas-thebirb @c4rved-pumpk1n @kiraisastay @scary-noodlesblog @willowaudreykeyes

I don't know if there's more 😅. I tried to find all of them.

ML Alastor🎙

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witchysolfan · 1 year ago

Text

The Hag in the Woods Part 3

She crawled and struggled.

Reaching out for the poppet the chicken witch made for her.

‘Fingers were needed for the potion’ The hag told the bleeding woman. ‘To save your husbands, what are you willing to sacrifice for them?’

The heavy stares waiting for an answer grew heavy. Waiting to pass judgment. Waiting to see what sort of answer the human would give.

Were they worth losing bits and pieces of herself? Paying in blood and flesh just to see them be alright and stable again over her own mistake?

Yes.

Absolutely, yes.

And if it’s fingers or more she has to pay with, then so be it.

But she will not allow herself to be devoured just like that.

She had teeth too.

What the witch thought was a hapless creature of prey was actually just as ferocious as a wolf. Even rabbits had teeth and in the dark wilds, so too do they eat meat.

A Princess stands with wild eyes and dares to defy the oncoming death looming over her. It was impressive how a once soft skinned daughter gained callous hands from work and fierceness to kill to survive.

Baba Yaga laughed.

She liked those eyes.

They peered beyond the veil and no doubt had many spirits and creatures seek her out for their own curiosity and mischief.

The hag wasn’t even bothered by the bite on her arm.

She wanted to see this woman become another witch in the world. Knowing what awaits her beyond the glimpse of time the hag has of this woman’s fate.

Who was she to deny the young God a future bride and more?

“Come here, child. I have much to teach you.” Baba Yaga beckoned. “I cannot give you back your original fingers but I may give you new ones. If, and only if, you agree to be taught under me.”

Vanessa listened to the details of the proposal of the witch.

No longer would she fumble about in her own studies of magic and alchemy. She would be taught by the same witch who created the chicken witch, who has forgotten many lessons from her creator and needs a good refresher when Vanessa returns.

“Time and the forest took away many of her knowledge. It is up to you whether to help her remember or not.”

Chica had always done her best to help Vanessa and Sun and Moon. Unfortunately, there was only so much she could do with what she retained.

“Do not eat me or take any more from me without asking; let me leave once the potion is finished and I shall accept.” Vanessa watched Baba Yaga smirk.

“Shrewd little rabbit. Very well.”

With a long arm, the hag reached out and sprouted new fingers for the woman.

It was not without pain.

For some time, Vanessa learned what she can under Baba Yaga’s tutelage while helping to brew the potion for her husband’s core. The eyes of a wicked man being the first ingredients used for it.

Vanessa was glad she thought to bring that as a gift to the hag.

The chores were hard but with the poppet’s help, it became easier to do.

It would take the next new moon for the potion to be completed.

Vanessa learned many things. Discovering books and journals left behind by Chica when she used to live here. She brought them and others back in a magic satchel that held so many things inside but still retained it’s small shape and lightweight.

Vanessa entered the forest as an ordinary human.

Vanessa left the forest as something more.

Previously

#the princess and the fools #tw blood #tw finger dismemberment #tw body horror #Vanessa #puppet #baba yaga

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eldritch-nightmare · 5 months ago

Text

hi im presently in an entirely different state rn on a mini vacation or sorts so here r some bots ive recently made to tide u all over in my absence!! idk how good they are. if u use them, i hope u enjoy!! it'll porbs mostly b creepypastas but i might toss in a few slashers nd dbd characters. mayb.

yandere ticci toby bot [requested] - general tw includes stalking and near murder

canon-compliant nurse ann bot? idk she doesn't really have a story rlly so. vaguely. - general tw includes off-screen murder of user, off-screen body dismemberment, and idk... zombies?? whatever u wanna consider nurse ann to be.

fake dating stu macher - no real tw. technically pre-canon, i guess?? vaguely?? idk stu and tatum aren't dating here that's it. coded so user doesn't know tht stu is yknow... ghostface...

canon-compliant homicidal liu bot [poll winner] - tw includes self-harm in the sense that liu doesn't care and sometimes will willingly let himself get hurt even if he can prevent it, but i think it's fairly vague?? it's more so implied than anything else.

pre-canon trickster bot - tw includes non-descriptive murder and like... yandere behavior bc jiwoon can't have a healthy relationship to save his life

sally bot - no tw. honestly just pretty light-hearted and silly in comparison to every other bot here lol. become a paternal figure of the poltergeist haunting your home today! at the cost of absolutely nobody wanting to spend the night at your house!

bo sinclair bot based on r.i.p. by 3oh!3 - mentions of very very vague murder i think. idk im not a fan of this one, bo is one of those characters thts just So so complex it's hard to capture him in bot format.

i was in the middle of making a nina bot, so maybe i'll try finishing it in my spare time while im here. but yeah!! posting this from my tablet, fingers crossed it doesn't fuck anything up teehee

#archived mind of v: thoughts and opinions.#character ai: ticci toby #character ai: nurse ann #character ai: stu macher #character ai: homicidal liu #character ai: the trickster #character ai: sally williams #character ai: bo sinclair

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hotchoclateszn · 1 year ago

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The man who keeps me captive. || chapter 1: The Box

Tw: forced relationship, pain, implied nsfw, kidnapping, dismemberment

You weren’t exactly sure what you expected when you opened the door to your familys small home, but it definitely wasn't the image of seeing a fatui harbringer with a big hat sitting at your dining table. Your mother, father, and the man all looked at your entrance as you walked in. You shut the door behind you quietly and were planning on going upstairs when your father motioned you over.

You put the flowers you had got from your boyfriend in your left hand and made your way over. Your father started with, "y/n, this is Lord Scaramouche, one of the Fatui Harbringers." You never quite got a proper manners class seeing as you never had a reason too. You lived in the small village of Qingce and never really planned to leave. Not to mention your shyness, which didn't help. "Hi, nice to meet you." You said as you held your hand out. He shook your hand out, and you could swear you felt a little bit of lighting, but you didn't mention it. The thing you noticed the most was his eyes. They looked at you full of lust.

Your mothers words pulled you out of the awkward silence, "Are those flowers from Keyat?" You nodded your head. "Who knows y/n? Maybe he will put a ring on your finger soon." You laugh slightly. "I dont think im ready for that yet, mom. I'll be in my room if you need me." And for a split second, you swear you see Scaramouche watching you leave with a glare in his eyes.

The next morning, you make your way to the dining table where breakfast is already served. It's not anything amazing, just oatmeal, but what matters most is the people you're eating with. Your family and the people you care for. You wouldn't trade it for the world. Your father sighs deeply and starts a statement, "So y/n, you know the man that was here last night?" You nod your head in the yes direction, "Yes, I didn't ask last night, but why was he here?"

"You might not know, but me your mother were deep in debt. We were unable to pay bills off, but we were able to get a loan from Northland Bank. But now the time has come to pay said loan off, and we dont have the money. So, Lord Scaramouche came and discussed options. Then, you walked in. And after you had left, he said that if he was to marry you, the loans would be paid off." Your heart sunk. Your mother spoke quickly, "Of course you don't have to if you dont want to. It's up to you."

You started shaking. This could save your family, and then again, you had your own life. Your own boyfriend and a life here. "Well anyways, you have until 1:00 to make a decision." It was already 11:00, but you're pretty sure your mind is made up. "I need to go on a walk. I will be back." They said their 'love yous,' and you headed out. You knew straight where you were going to Keyat's house.

You were so happy when he opened the door. You threw your arms around him. "Y/n, whats up?" "Nothing, I just missed you." And you both went inside his house. Little did you know a pair of purple eyes were watching you, and plotting.

By the time 1:00 came around, you knew what your decision was. You, your mother, and father were all standing inside, waiting for Scaramouche to come in. He entered, and your parents both bowed and said welcome lord. You didn't say anything. He seemed to notice this and didn't say anything. "Y/n has her mind made up." Scaramouche simly states, "Let's go on a walk." You want to refuse, but you can't. So you gracefully leave and give a pleading look to your mother.

The silence was deafening, nethier of you saying anything. The only other sound was the footsteps of the fatui agent following behind carrying a box. You wondered what was on the inside? You had both come up to the area where the path overlooked the small village. He spoke surprisingly gently, "So y/n what's your decision?" You stuttered a bit but finally got it out, "The answer is no. I will not marry you." He laughed a bit, but it sounded forced. More like he was annoyed. "If this is about that boyfriend of yours dont worry, that problem is taken care of." You lookes around worryingly, "What do you mean?" He snaped his fingers and the fatui agent brought teh box over. "Take a look." He said with a grin. You slowly opened it. You scremed and threw the box down. It was Keyat's head in tissue paper. Tears came down your eyes. "Why would you do that to him. Why would you do that to me!? The answer is still no!"

"Hn, are you really that dumb? You dont get a decision. The answer is yes." He says as he grabs your wrist. You rip his hand off and try to run only to be stopped by a stinging pain in your leg. You fall to the ground, shaking your leg around. Scaramouche bends down to your fallen form. "I think this spot fits you. You under me. Makes since. But see, you wanna start problems, so I just had to hurt you. Let's get you back." He snaps his fingers, and another fatui agent appears. They pick up your body and take you down the path. "What.. agh... not strong enough to carry a girl, yousrelf?" He smirks at this, "No, i just dont like touching trash. This poor village and your poor clothes. But once you're clean, I'll touch you everywheree, whenever i want. And ill also have to fix that mouth of yours. I always like to break people though."

Once you got back to your house, the fatui put you down into the arms of Scaramouche. He held your side and helped you walk. "Say bye to your family. You wont see them for awhile." You walk in with tears in your eyes and a goodbye to your family. You wanted to take longer, but Scaramouche grabs your wrist and pulls you back. "Let's go." You walked to the carriage and of course, had to sit with Scaramouche. He was filling out paperwork you could see. So, yes you looked. You were bored. "The only paper you should be looking at is how to be a house wife." He scoffed. You were going to be in pain the rest of your life.

#yandere fanfiction #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x reader

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cerbaros · 2 months ago

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FFXIV Write Prompt 16 : Third Rate

TW : Slight mention of dismemberment

Nobody expected this to happen. Life had been rather peaceful for as long as anyone could remember. Everyday was the same. Everyday never changed. It was never supposed to change. Yet here lay Berrolfafn, unable to move, barely able to stay conscious. Screams could still be heard echoing through the streets, pain vividly being carried alongside the noise.

All they saw was but a shadow before he fell to the ground. Unable to feel most of their body, burning sensations coming from their limbs, or what used to be their limbs. This is how it would all end. Scrambled into pieces by an unknown entity in the middle of the village.

Maybe they should have lived differently. Worked harder on learning the family craft. Procrastinated less. Instead, they would die a mediocre leather-worker at best. Not even able to complete the simplest of requests. Maybe this was for the best, this was punishment for failing so miserably at what should have been an easy life. Nature decided it didn't need them, and is taking back what is rightfully theirs.

The sounds slowly lessened, giving more time for thinking. "How did this happen? Why did this happen? What even did this?", but those where questions that would never get answered. Not to Berrolfafn at least. There where more important things to think about.

Their sight began to become foggy and dark, as the pain near their elbow changed. Going from burning as blood flowed out, to a sharp pierce. A familiar sensation from when they would accidentally stab a finger with a needle. Possibly a last ditch effort from a doctor to save them. But this was far too messy to be any stitching from the local doctor.

Raising their head with the little energy they had left, they could barely make out the silhouette of a small child. Quickly needling a forearm back on to Berrolfafn. A grin spanning across her face as she tried to sew what was obviously 2 pieces from 2 completely different sets together. A harrowing sight to behold. But not one to see for long, as darkness took over, and the pain disappeared.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv oc #ffxivwrite2024 #ffxivwrite

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purgatory-is-life · 7 days ago

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Mechtober day 31/alternate prompt-tragedy

Happy Halloween to all those that celebrate, and happy Thursday to all those that don't!! May your day be filled with fun and spookiness!

@mechtober-2024

Sing To Me, O Great Atrophy - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

Tw; gore, murder, gun violence, some minor dismemberment, disappearances, violence, character death, temporary character death, mass murder, body horror. blood, violence getting shot to death, there's absolutely something I forgot so please let me know what to add!!

---

There was a strange man. No one was sure where he’d come from, no one was sure how long he’d been there.

One day he wasn’t there, and one day he was.

He was a strange man.

All he ever did was play his violin, or maybe a mandolin, and wander around with no apparent purpose. Once in a while he’d ask if he could have room and board in return for playing one of his instruments. He never asked for food, only smirked and said music was enough for him. And after a day or a week, he’d disappear in the middle of the night, carrying with him the strange songs on the wind.

No one knew his name, no one knew if he even really was a man or if he was something else–a woman or laying somewhere in between. When asked, if you managed to get him to sit still long enough, he simply shrugged and gave that playful smirk. Whatever’s easiest, I’m not one to judge, he’d say. I’d never really thought too deeply about it. Feel free to call me whatever works best. So most people just called him the strange man. The songs he played were strange, and he claimed that they told stories of the things he and his friends had witnessed.

One day, at a bar where he was drinking and humming quietly to himself, he’d explained to a few people who were willing to listen– “I’d decided to take a moment away from their chaos. I love them, but it’s so easy to get Lost around them. So I needed somewhere quiet, and your lovely little planetoid had such a lovely and quiet Song to it. It drew me in. And here I am, now. Thank you, for having me.” And then he returned to playing a soft, romantic tune on his mandolin. Cinder’s Song, he’d called it. A song of lost love.

There was a strange man.

No one was sure where he’d come from, and no one was sure how long he’d been there.

He’d been wandering around for, perhaps, years. It must’ve only been a few months, really, but no one was sure how long he’d been around, so it could’ve been years.

He had a metal arm and distant eyes, always looking off into the distance with an odd look.

He played loudly and strangely, as if along to a symphony only he could hear.

He asked if he could play his music to people, expecting nothing in return.

He just wanted to play a song for them. Just a single song.

Most people agreed, and let him play.

He’d pull his violin from nowhere, and start to play.

And no one ever heard from those he played for ever again.

Did he ever really have an audience?

Still, he went around and played for anyone who was willing to listen.

There was a strange man. He’d been there for hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades. He did not die, and he only played strange music, his violin’s songs haunting any who heard it for days on end before they disappeared. He didn’t stop wandering, never stopped playing, as he moved from town to town to town. Even as his flesh fingers bled and blistered, even as his feet broke from the endless walking, even as he was injured by the rare few brave folks attempting to stop his music. He only ever continued playing and wandering endlessly. No one let him in, no one listened when he arrived to play anymore. But the music echoing from his violin was growing louder, and louder, and louder.

His music left people tearing at their hair and tearing out their hair and ripping their skin, screaming and crying as they begged for the noise to stop.

The music only ever continued. It only ever got louder, and louder, and louder.

One day, he finally collapsed from exhaustion, breathing slow and ragged, and a few brave people from the town he was in at the time sought to put an end to the Noise once and for all.

They approached, guns at the ready and any other item they could use as a weapon on hand.

The person at the head of the small mob stared down at the prone form of the strange man, who was just staring at nothing in the sky.

The leader shakily took their gun, aiming it at him. He simply grinned, eyes snapping clear and resolute as the two locked eyes with each other.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. You might make it louder. And it’s already so Loud.” The strange man didn’t blink, as he stared at the leader’s shaking hands. “That’s why you think you’ve got to do this, don’t you? Try to kill me for a moment of peace. Peace is frail, peace is a lie. Dying never quiets anything. Do you hear it? The death knells have begun, and it’s singing for something much greater than me. I’m just a string, a chord in Its voice box. I would imagine It would get very angry at having a string cut–most musicians don’t like their instruments being touched by another. Though you know that, too, don’t you? What is it you play?” They didn’t respond, and the strange man just sighed. “Well, don’t draw this out any longer. If you ask me, I’d say avoid the arm at least. It doesn’t like being damaged.”

The leader fired three shots into the strange man's chest, two into his head, and two into his right, metal arm, effectively severing it from his body.

He didn’t scream, he didn’t yell, he showed no indication of pain. Just smiled, as his eyes fogged over and the pallor of death took him.

And that was the end, they’d all thought with relief. That was the end. They’d be free of his haunting music.

That’s what they thought. That’s what they hoped.

But that is not what happened. It’s never what happened, is it?

It’s never that easy. It’s never that easy.

The now-corpse was dead, and everyone started to head back towards their homes, planning on leaving the corpse out for the carreon and rot. And then the corpse, of all things for a corpse to do, started humming.

Everyone turned back, to see the corpse. And they watched, in sheer terror, as the corpse started healing. The strange corpse’s humming echoed, louder than it should’ve been, as his bones cracked and repaired themselves. The bullet wounds through his body sealed themselves, and the mechanical arm made a sickening scrrreeeeeeeechhh, as it rewired itself into the body of the strange man. It could’ve taken only a few minutes, or maybe a few hours, but no one there dared to move or speak as the man regenerated. His humming stopped, all of a sudden, and his eyes cleared. He looked towards the party, eyes a little sad, a little disappointed, and he sighed heavily as blood dripped down his forehead as the wounds closed.

“I did try to warn you.”

His eyes glazed over, and he was holding a violin again. He started playing, something different. It was loud, chaotic, and it filled everyone around him with a bone-deep terror. Something was coming. Something was coming and there was no way to stop it.

And then the pandemonium started.

Breathe in the air

The last of its kind

The strange man stood as he started playing, and off in the distance, screaming started. The small mob abandoned the strange man, hearing their loved ones scream and shriek– in pain, or in terror, who’s to say anymore.

Feel the sun on your skin

Let it sink in

Clouds began rolling in, the sky growing darker, darker, darker still. People in the streets were writhing on the ground or clawing at themselves. Blood dripped from their ears, as people screamed their throats hoarse. Some people dug at the dirt, raking their nails through the grass and flowers as if it would offer some kind of relief.

We don’t have much time

Lightning crashed, and its thunder echoed like a drumbeat. The wind howled, high and piercing like a delicately carved flute, and in their homes people were reacting in many different ways to the noise and the renaissance of mayhem. People were throwing and breaking things, clawing at their eyes or their ears to try and quiet the Noise surrounding them.

There was no way to block out the Noise, to silence it, no matter how hard people tried.

Fawning, panting

Wondering when this will end

So many people were screaming that it sounded more like one homogenous, echoing note. People’s throats started to bleed, the liquid ichor flooding their mouths and dribbling out as they shrieked endlessly, and people were trying to tear their ears off in order to quiet the constant Noise.

Starving, hunting

Can’t tell my prey from my friend

Some people, in their desperate attempts to stop the noise, went for the throats of the people around them. Choking, slicing, stabbing, whatever to stop the Noise. Nothing worked. Nothing ever worked. The Noise never stopped, its symphony needed to be played, after all. It needed to be heard, and it was going to be heard at all costs.

Tearing, rending

The strange man walked through the town, as the screaming people tore each other to pieces. He seemed untouched by the madness, untouched by the violence. A few people went after him, tried to tear his violin from his hands, but as they tried their flesh boiled and melted off the bones, and their voice was pulled from them in screaming terror, singing a horrified Song that matched the unsteady and overwhelming tempo of the strange man. Words that made no sense, in no language any of them knew were pulled, bloody and painfully, from their throats, and they fell to the ground at the strange man’s feet. The strange man just continued meandering around the bleeding village, with no apparent destination.

Feasting, hunting

He did pause, at one person who was seemingly equally immune, clutching the corpse of someone that had torn their own heart out of their chest. The person looked up at him, tears and blood on their face as they stared angrily at him. “Why? Why did you do this?”

Tearing, rending

The strange man just smiled, a confused look on his face. “I’m not doing anything,” the man said, his voice echoing and overlapping as if he spoke with all the voices of those around him, “I’m simply the Voice for the thing that is causing this. The Eternal Symphony just wants to be heard.”

Feasting, hunting

And then the distant look returned, and the strange man walked away, leaving nothing but chaos and destruction in his wake.

Can’t tell my prey from my friend

(“Oi, you finally back? The fuck did you go?”

“Oh, you know, I was just taking a vacation. You know how it is.”

“Well, welcome back. Are you doing alright?”

“Thank you my dear drumbot! And yes, I’m doing quite fantastic! I hope you didn’t miss me all too much.”

“In your dreams, von Raum.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s nice to see you again, by any means.”

“There is a forty-seven point-three percent chance that everyone missed you to some degree, rounded down.”

“Oh, how you all wound me! Well, no point dwelling, I suppose.”

“How was your trip, Marius?”

“Oh, rather boring, honestly. It was nice and quiet, though! Exactly what I needed. Anyway, I’ve had my fill of Quiet, so let’s head on to the next adventure!”

“You never cease to confuse me, von Raum.”

“I think that’s the idea! Sound isn’t consistent, after all!”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Well-”

“…Did you have to shoot him, Jonny?”

“He’d get going on another fuckin’ tangent and we don’t have that kinda time. Let’s get going, shall we?”)

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