#would you still love me if i was a worm? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bg-brainrot · 10 months ago

Text

Would You Still Love Me? (Astarion x Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: When you ask the question, 'would you still love me if I were a worm?' Astarion's response surprises you in more ways than one.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, silly goofy mood, act 3 unascended Astarion

Word count: ~1.7k

You’re chatting with Astarion over dinner at the Elfsong when a question strikes you. It’s an odd one, and you’re not sure if you should ask it. Your curiosity builds as you consider Astarion’s possible answers though and, by the next lull in conversation, you can’t help yourself.

“Astarion?” you ask, spearing a potato on your plate.

The vampire swirls his wine glass, watching the red liquid fall into place before answering, “Yes, dear?”

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?” The question spills out of you, sounding even sillier than it did in your head.

Your lover blinks at you, as if he couldn’t possibly have heard that properly. But when your expression doesn’t change, your eye contact doesn’t drop, no admission of jest is to be seen, he finally says, “Darling, what kind of ludicrous question is that?”

“Well, would you?” you counter, pointing at him with your fork before popping the potato in your mouth.

His face grows pensive as he thinks. It’s a few seconds later before he asks a follow up question, “What type of worm?”

You finish chewing as you think of the worms you know. Not many admittedly– life in the city meant that free patches of earth are few and far between. So you answer the only worm that truly comes to mind, “The earthworm kind.”

“And I would know that it’s you?” he asks, leaning forward now. It seems like he’s invested in the question now, despite his initial reaction.

You nod, as if that’s a given. “Yes, you saw me transform.”

“Hells, I was hoping I could pretend not to know,” he says with a smirk.

“Wicked man,” you retort, shooting him a responding smile.

Astarion’s face looks thoughtful again as he considers the developing situation. “Could I turn you back?”

Now you shake your head vehemently. What use was the exercise if magic would fix you? “No, nothing could turn me back. I’m simply a worm from now on.”

“Hmm, and are you certain that you would love me?” He raises an eyebrow at you in challenge, as if he’s cornered you in your own mischievous little game.

“Of course,” you answer immediately. “I don’t think my little worm brain would be able to think of much else.”

“How sweet… I think,” he says, cocking his head. You suppose it is, though you had meant it as fact. “Well then, one final question, if you would?”

You nod, gesturing for him to continue with your fork. “Go ahead, I’m an open book. Or worm, in this case.”

“How long do worms live?”

You blink, having not expected such a question from him– and truthfully also due to not knowing the answer. “I don’t know. Maybe Halsin would?”

Astarion locates the druid, sitting a few tables away talking to Wyll and Karlach. He raises his voice to be overheard in the din of the tavern. “Halsin, be a dear, how long do earthworms live?”

“A fantastic question, Astarion!” The druid’s voice carries easily with excitement. “It truly depends on the conditions of the worm, but anywhere from a few years up to eight years.”

You balk at that fact. A worm can live how long?

“I’m happy to tell you all about ideal soil conditions–”

Astarion cuts the man off with a loud, “Thank you!” Then he turns back to you. “Well, there you have it.”

“Have what?” you ask in response, confused at the turn in conversation.

“You would live at most eight years. I’m immortal, my love. I think I can manage less than a decade of loving a worm,” he says, rolling his eyes at you.

You’re not sure how to take the casual way that he speaks of your impending wormy death, but you find it oddly comforting to know that he would in fact still love you. You honestly hadn't expected that. “So you’d keep me around? Made sure I stayed healthy and safe?”

He nods, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Naturally.”

You can’t help but laugh at the idea of him keeping you as a pet worm. It seems almost unbelievable. “You wouldn’t throw me into the nearest patch of dirt? Or worse yet, let a bird take me?”

“Gods below, dear,” Astarion responds, aghast, putting a hand over his heart as if he’s been truly, deeply offended. “I would never.” Then he gets a far off look in his eyes and adds, “Well, maybe never. I suppose it depends on if I needed you as bait. But I’m certain I would be able to rescue you after the fact.”

“I would allow it,” you say, with a short nod. “If you’re using me as bait, it’s likely for good reason.”

"And after you pass? I would miss you terribly of course," he says solemnly, with his most maudlin, tragic expression.

"You'd better. And I expect the best soil for my burial," you say, pointing your fork at him threateningly.

“Of course, darling,” he says, only the hint of his smile visible from behind his wine glass. He takes a sip and looks at you again. “Now, why would you ask such a thing?”

You shrug, entirely convinced it was just a passing thought. But, as you poke and prod at your food, you find yourself answering, “I don’t know. What if, before this all ends, something happens to me. I already come with my own scars and problems, gods know how much worse it can get.”

Astarion stares at you over his wine glass, processing what you've just said before responding, "My love, believe it or not, I'm a vampire. I have 'scars and problems' of my own. If you think that anything could happen to you that I wouldn't be able to handle, you'd be sorely mistaken."

You hadn't expected him to say such words so sincerely, and you find yourself a bit taken aback. You love each other, you'd said as much on the night Astarion had been freed from Cazador, but it still feels a bit intimidating to know how deep that love could run. Apparently earthworm deep.

The idea that this man, who would rather bathe in blood than touch an inch of dirt, would continue to love you? Well, despite the inane premise, you find the warmth in your heart to feel very real.

"What about you, darling?" he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. "If I were to become a worm, what would you do?"

You answer quickly, "Easy. I would still love you, probably keep you on my person, and offer you blood or other sustenance when you need it."

Astarion looks at you aghast. "Sweet hells, do not put me in your pocket."

"And why not? I would be extremely careful, and then I would never lose you," you respond, explaining yourself logically. "Besides, even as a worm, who knows what kind of trouble you'd get yourself into."

"I should be saying that to you," he says, placing his wine glass on the table, serious now. "I can't believe you would put me in danger like that. I fully expect you to place me somewhere nice, like the lawn of some pampered Upper City noble."

You think about his proposition for a second before shaking your head. "But then I couldn't take care of you. What if you get stepped on?"

Astarion considers your counterargument with narrowed eyes. “Ugh, fine. I shall stay in your pocket. But I expect you to clean it regularly. And I demand that you get a new lining for it. Silk, preferably.”

“Easy enough to do,” you say, nodding along. “You would be most comfortable worm this side of the Chionthar.”

At that, the man looks pleased, picks his wine glass back up, and reclines back in his seat. “Good. And, for what it’s worth, I'm sure you would make a very cute worm.”

You’re not sure if that’s meant to be a compliment or an insult, but you suspect it’s the former. “Thank you,” you say, smiling at your lover. “You would make a dashing worm yourself.”

“Are you both expecting to turn into worms any time soon?” you hear from behind you. You turn around to see Halsin standing tall over you. His tone is friendly, warm as he continues, “I would be happy to take care of either of you.”

You can’t help the blush of embarrassment that comes over your face. You’re also not sure how to take the words. Is he asking to adopt you both, as worms? Gods, how did you end up here… So you look back to Astarion who is now shooting you a look that says, Now look what you’ve done.

“Err, no Halsin. It was just an odd little conversation we were having. Sorry to cause you any confusion.”

“No need to apologize, my friend,” he replies. “Though if you ever do need help, you know where to find me.” He gives you both an affectionate smile before heading off.

While it’s nice to know that others would care enough to take care of you as a worm, you’d meant the question to be solely for Astarion. You’re left burying your face in your hands to hide your shame.

“So, darling… what did we learn?”

“To never ask Halsin about earthworms,” you mumble through your fingers.

Astarion gives you a ‘tsk’ before responding. “No, my dear. If either of us turns into a worm, we must hide that fact from Halsin." He scrunches his nose in distaste before continuing, "I refuse to live in whatever healthy soil he’s found for us.”

You snort at Astarion’s conclusion, but still find yourself agreeing. “Fair enough. Better yet, let’s try to keep ourselves at the very least bipedal.” The two of you share a laugh, but in the back of your mind you’re already thinking of your next question. I wonder if he would still love me if I were a mimic? I suppose there’s only one way to find out.

#astarion x tav #astarion #fanfic #rogue + rogue #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #would you still love me if i was a worm?#there's no right answer ofc

555 notes · View notes

myhusbandsasemni · 2 months ago

Text

The Writhing

Author's note: A short story for a friend of mine! I am very broke right now so I am paying for trips out with friends in goods and services, so you might see more random short stories from me in the future. This one is to pay for a virgin strawberry daiquiri and taco bowl.

Masterlist

Content warnings: Themes of death, creepy horror stuff OOoooooOOoooOoOoh, body horror, Main character death

.....................................

Basil sighed, dropping his bag just inside the door of his house. It was still new to him, and empty. It had belonged to his rather elderly mother who had him on accident at the age of 52, though she always loved and cared for him as though she were in her 20s. The house had been his grandfather’s before that. It was made ancient wood that seemed to highlight the loneliness of the place. Especially after his aunt had ransacked the house, taking everything that hadn’t been explicitly given to Basil in the will.

He closed his eyes for one moment, bracing himself before he closed the door. He shuffled toward the kitchen, tired from work and from the gloomy depression that had fallen on him ever since his mother died. He had been distraught about her death, watching her deteriorate so quickly only to find himself in possession of the old house, creepy without his mother’s lively presence here.

Basil ran his hands through his hair, shaking out the knots at the ends by his shoulders. He’d kept telling himself he’d get his hair cut, and never went and did it. Probably why his girlfriend left him. His mother died and he just couldn’t keep to commitments anymore. What was the point? What was the point of making it to a party on time if they would die anyway.

He tried to keep that thought out of his head. He knew he would get over this, that he would find joy in life again, but it was hard doing it on your own. None of his friends seemed to really care when his mother died. There was the stray, “Ah, that sucks dude,” but no serious help. And when he went to his girlfriend looking for comfort she chattered at him, never allowing him a word in edgewise, being silly in that air headed way he usually loved, but this time he snapped at her. And they had gotten into such an argument they’d broken up.

Now it was just him. Just him and this lonely old empty house, gutted of it’s soul and spirit. And he was alone.

He stopped in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and fought the urge to cry, to punch something. He could cry when he was comfortable in his room. All alone. With only a piece of toast for company. Maybe he should cut his crying session short to look on Facebook Marketplace for furniture and art to make this place feel more like a home again.

He reached for the bread, wiping a hand across of his face when he felt a warm burst of air on the back of his neck. He jumped and whirled around, but there was nothing there. Just his empty kitchen.

He shivered and went back to making toast, wiping at his neck to get the phantom sensation to go away.

After he had made his toast he climbed the stairs to his room, the only room in the whole house that felt safe to him anymore. The only room in the whole world, it sometimes seemed.

He crawled into bed, pulling his laptop into his lap and looking through to find a video before he ate his toast.

Just before he could click on an interesting looking on, the wifi went out, leaving him with a spinning wheel of death that very nearly sent him into a breakdown. He ate his toast, fighting back tears. He was fine. He was going to be fine. He should feel so lucky to have a house, even if the lights in the bathroom had begun to flicker the night before and the wifi was a little shoddy. In this day and age a house was an unspeakable gift, but he just wanted his life back. He wanted to be where he was three months ago, with his old mother letting him stay here when he wasn’t at his girlfriend’s apartment, friends that took him out to crazy parties, and a life just in general. He wanted to go home. This place wasn’t home anymore.

He curled up after his finished his toast, exhausted, and closed his eyes, falling asleep mercifully quickly.

…………………………..

Basil pattered about the house feeling marginally better. He hadn’t slept that well in a while and he had the day off from work. The world didn’t seem so bad now, though melancholy hung in the air of the house. He supposed that was only fair since its owner had passed away.

He found himself stopping and patting the counters and railings, windowsills and walls. “I’ll take good care of you,” he said. “Things like us have to stick together,” he told the house warmly. He tried not to dwell on the fact that he was talking and making promises to a house. He supposed he should be given some grace and leeway as well. He was mourning too.

He dug around in closets, finding cleaning supplies left behind, and old memories hidden behind that. He found a baseball cap with his old nickname embroidered on it. He smiled and loosened the strap, sticking it on his head after checking it for spiders.

Soon, he had a decent spread of cleaners on his counter and all he needed to do was get to cleaning the kitchen and bathroom. Then he would start looking into furniture and he would be on his way to getting better. At least, he hoped so. Cleaning his mother’s old house felt like the right step on the path to feeling better.

He was about to take his meager dishes out of the cupboards to wipe them down when he heard a thud behind him. He turned to see one of the bottles of Lysol had fallen on the floor.

He frowned. Basil didn’t think he had left anything sitting that close to the edge of the counter. He leaned down and picked it up, putting it back on the counter before turning around to get back to cleaning, only to hear a thud again.

The Lysol was once again on the floor.

“Is there a cat in here?” he asked himself, grabbing it and putting it on the counter, careful to center it on the marble.

He looked around and listened carefully, but didn’t see or hear any sign of a cat.

He turned around and went back to cleaning, but only had a couple of minutes of peace before there was a horrible sound of cleaner bottles slamming into one another and then onto the floor.

He turned in time to see all of the last of the bottles fall to floor, as though someone had swept them off violently.

He stared at the mess, some of the cleaners oozing across the floor, and then he was running. He didn’t know what was going and he didn’t want to find out.

He grabbed the handle of the front door to jerk it open only to stumble back, cursing and holding his hand. The handle was hot, but there wasn’t any fire he could see through the stained glass window in the door.

He turned to run for the nearest bathroom, intent on getting his burned palm under some cold water since it stung badly, but skidded to a halt in the doorway.

On the glass, in drippy red lettering, were the words, Oh, worm?

He stared at it uncomprehendingly for a long moment before the pain in his hand drove him back to the kitchen, hopping over the mess on the floor to run his hands under the tap.

He hissed softly at the pain and glanced nervously over his shoulder at the mess. How did that even happen? Had he done it? He knew grief did strange things to a person, so maybe he had swept it off and had been too distracted to realize.

Then what about the words in the bathroom? Or the burn. Well, he might have burned himself on the stove and didn’t notice until he tried to grab the door handle? This didn’t make any sense.

As soon as the burn on his hand had cooled and he had patted it dry, he apprehensively walked towards the bathroom, looking around the door at the mirror.

There weren’t any words on the mirror.

“You’ve been alone for too long, Baze,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He’d go out somewhere with people after he cleaned up the spilled chemicals. That would do him some good. Ground him back in reality. He had never done well on his own anyway. The house was big enough for a roommate. Maybe he could rent the place out. Some extra cash and a friendly face making some noise about the place would be good for him.

Basil finished cleaning up the spill, made sure his burn was taken care of, and headed toward the door. He slipped on a jacket and put his shoes on. It had been raining all day, soft and dark. He would have thought it cozy back before the house became so empty.

He stepped out onto the porch, reaching back to close the door when he looked down at the sidewalk.

Thin, pale bodies slid across the pavement, enjoying the rain above the ground. Normally, seeing so many worms on the pavement wouldn’t be so strange to Basil, but after the strange day he had, and those red words on the mirror? It made him rather uncomfortable now.

But they were just worms at the end of the day.

He stepped down off the porch, careful to avoid stepping on any worms as he made his way down to his car, and with that, he was off to the nearest pub.

……………………………………

Basil woke with a terrible hangover. He had enjoyed the pub, perhaps a bit too much, and had a couple of decent conversations with people. He’d felt human again, though this hangover was trying to take the humanity right out of him.

He groaned, sitting up and reaching blindly for his phone, finding it and looking at the screen through squinted eyes to try and save his brain from any more damage.

He frowned when he saw the time. 3:00 AM? What was he doing awake now? The hangover that was surely only going to get worse should have had him down until at least noon. As it stood, he’d only slept for 2 hours.

Maybe he was hungry. Or needed to go to the bathroom.

He sighed and got up, swaying a little as he did so before he found his balance in the dark and made his way to his bathroom.

He sat down on the toilet, leaving the lights off as he wiped at his face, hoping that the sleepiness would stay long enough for him to finish up here and go back to bed.

He got up and sighed to himself, pulling up his pants and stepping towards the sink. He screamed as he stepped in something wet, warm, and sticky.

He scrambled back, banging his elbow on the wall in his search for the light switch. As he got the lights on, he was met by a puddle of red liquid, spilled across the floor and sink counter, letters painted on the mirror. Most of it was nonsensical, but there was one thing he could make out.

Basil. I’m coming for you, Basil.

He fished his phone out of his pocket, lifting it to take a picture. He had to get a picture. He needed to know this was real.

His phone was knocked out of his hand, landing with a soft and sad plunk in the toilet.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a demonic female voice hissed with malice.

He pressed himself against the wall, looking around furiously for whoever had knocked his phone away and was speaking to him.

“Who’s there!?” He made his way, trembling, towards the door of the bathroom, but when he got there and touched the doorknob, it fell apart under his hand, clinking on the floor as the knob rolled off under a cabinet.

“It’s me, Basil. Look.”

He stared unseeingly around the bathroom again, shoving his shoulder against the door uselessly. That’s when the movement caught his attention. Something writhing on the counter amid the puddles of blood, sending little splashes here and there.

Basil woke up.

He gasped for air, clutching at his chest as his hair fell in his eyes. He leaned forward against his knees with a groan, his head throbbing from his time at the pub. Why did this have to be his life? He had one okay evening and then had a nightmare about a worm writhing about in blood.

He laid back down, curling into a little miserable ball.

………………………………

The worms were getting into the house.

Basil was not the superstitious type, but this was getting ridiculous. He tossed them out whenever they came in, but then they started arriving in little pairs, then small groups. It was getting to the point where he would toss them out on the pavement and squash them all viciously. He hadn’t had time to call any pest control about it this week, but as soon as he could, he would. Though the internet wasn’t very clear about if regular pest control could even do anything about worms. He had grown up with the understanding that they were supposed to be helpful little creatures, and he’d never heard about them getting into houses like this, sitting on the floors and waving their little heads around. He didn’t know how he knew, but he just knew they were screaming.

Basil sat down at his laptop after work on Friday and stared at the search bar for a minute before typing.

Worms keep getting into my house

He hit enter and scrolled down. There was general advice about how to board up cracks where they might be getting in and a couple of recipes for DIY worm away agents, but there was a forum on Reddit that caught his attention. He hovered his mouse over it and opened it up.

Hi reddit. I don’t know if this is the right place for this, but I really need help. I don’t know if there’s something wrong with my house or if I did something weird or what, but there are worms everywhere. Garden worms, you know? They’re everywhere and they’re forming little groups and, I don’t know, screaming. I know worms can’t scream, but I know they’re screaming! I’ve gone to the doctor, been on meds, checked my house for gas and have even had family members come look at the worms and they are very very real. My mum didn’t seem to think they were screaming and seemed pretty excited about them, actually. It was really weird. She normally hates worms. But my dad agreed with me that they were screaming. If you know what this is about, I could really use some advice. I’m so tired of this, and this morning I woke up with worms on my face. I just can’t take it any longer. Sorry about formating issues. Mobile.

Basil stared at the post for another long moment, his heart beating faster in his chest. No, this wasn’t right. And this couldn’t be real, especially since there were no other posts on the guy’s account since this one. People lie on Reddit all the time. It was fine. He was going to be fine. He’d just have to try some of those worm away recipes and this would all go away. Yeah. That was it.

………………………………….

Basil woke up on Sunday with something crawling over his face.

He bolted upright, flinging two worms off and into his sheets.

He screamed, scrabbling back away from them and spilled out of bed.

“That’s it! I’m done with this place!” he declared, running to his closet and grabbing handfuls of clothes so violently that some of the hangers broke. “I’m getting out of here! Never coming back.” He’d have a realtor sell the place for him and he’d crash at a new work friend’s place until he could get set up in an apartment.

He turned to grab his backpack, only to drop it as worms overflowed out of it at the disturbance, writhing and screaming.

He turned and made for the door, squashing worms under his heels and slipping on their broken bodies.

The door was jammed, and he screamed out in frustration and fear, slipping back through the worms to get to his phone.

He brushed the pile of worms off of his phone and tried to turn it on, only to find it unresponsive as slime leaked out of the charging port.

Desperately, he turned, trying to find some sort of escape, but the worms were everywhere and seemed to be penning him into the corner.

“This can’t be happening,” he whispered to himself, backing up and dropping is phone, watching as it was engulfed in worms.

“Oh, but it is.”

The demonic voice from his dream was less demonic now, and somewhat familiar.

The worms stopped and turned their searching heads in unison towards the bedside table.

On top of the lamp sat a particularly large and grotesque worm.

“Hello, Basil.”

Basil stared at it for a long moment. “You’re… you can talk? Worms can talk?”

“Oh, don’t be so dense, Basil. Remember me? It really hasn’t been that long.”

“I don’t know what-”

He was cut off as some sort of command went through the lesser worms from the worm on his lamp and they pushed him back, crawling up him faster than he thought physically possible, pushing into his mouth and down his throat, slowly suffocating him. He tried to fight back, but the worms held him there, pushing back as though they were all strands of tissue in a set of powerful muscles.

“Now, now, Basil. You really were much better when you didn’t talk so much.”

Basil’s eyes widened as he finally realized what, or rather, who was talking to him.

Jane. His ex girlfriend. But what in the world was going on here? Why was she a worm? He didn’t understand a single thing going on here, and it scared him. He was terrified as he tried to cough the worms out. He had to fight to keep breathing even as sweat poured down his neck and his adrenaline spiked, a ringing in his ears almost drowning out Jane’s next words.

“Do you remember, Basil, what our fight was about? The one we broke up over?”

The fat worm undulated, moving like a worm belly dancer.

Basil tried to shake his head, gagging against the worms so hard he saw stars.

“I asked you a simple question, and you couldn’t answer me. Remember?”

Basil couldn’t hardly think, but it came back to him. That night, devastated by his mother’s death he had gone to Jane. He had come to her apartment looking for some comfort, but she had pestered him about him missing another one of the football games she loved going to at the college. She had complained that he didn’t make time for him, and she had gotten a strange look in her eye as she asked, “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Cold panic settled in all of Basil’s nerves as that realization only brought up more questions, and he sensed more malice rolling off of the Jane worm.

“You failed the test, sweetheart,” she said, sickly sweet. “And now you pay the price.”

Basil couldn’t even scream as the worms flowed into his lungs and stomach, bursting his organs from the inside.

Pain consumed him, writhing deep within him, blood pooling everywhere. He was dying! He couldn’t breath and he was dying!

Jane’s laughter echoed through the old house as his legs gave out and the press of worms broke his ribs, a distant sensation as death approached, cold and quiet in the face of the slimy stir of worms and Jane’s laughter. He was glad when it took him.

………………………………….

Detective Mulberry slouched his way out of his car, making his way up the stairs to his house. He had seen things today that he never wanted to see again. A young man, dead through unknown causes, bloated with something that could not be pried out, surrounded in dead worms. He shuddered, trying not to imagine what the young man had been up to.

He was greeted by his wife, who saw the look on his face and reached out, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Bad day?” Delia asked.

He nodded with a shuddering sigh. Unbeknownst to both of them, a fat slimy body freed itself from under the detective’s collar and slipped into Delia’s clothing.

The detective pulled back and sighed heavily. “This job, Delia. I’m aging years at a time, I swear. After this case I’m taking time off. We should go somewhere else. Where did you say you wanted to go on vacation to?”

Delia’s face lit up and she said, “I would love to go to Brazil! Oh! I am so excited, though it is depressing that this is only coming about because your job has stressed you out so much. When should we go, so I can get time off from my job?”

The detective sat down on the couch and sighed. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll figure out the details tomorrow.”

He slid off his coat as his wife sat down next to him, patting his hand. “Alright, dear. That sounds wonderful. What would you like to eat tonight? I can take care of it.”

“Oh, no, it’s my turn to make dinner. I don’t want you to-”

“You’ve had a rough day,” she said firmly. “I will handle it.”

“Oh, alright. I was planning on making spaghetti if you want to make that.”

“Sounds like a plan. Are you okay to do without the meatballs.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Maybe I should just come in and help you warm up some vegetables or something.”

“Oh no,” Delia said, pushing him deeper into the couch before standing up. “You stay right there. I will handle it.”

She had almost left the living room when she paused for a moment, scratching at her ear.

She turned slowly, a strange look on her face as she tilted her head at her husband. She smiled and asked, “Honey?”

“Yes?” he replied, peeling off his shoes and socks.

“Would you love me if I was a worm?”

The End

#writing #short story #the writhing #horror story #worms #would you still love me if I was a worm?#I love how this story turned out #It wasn't supposed to be so serious #but it turned out very serious #depression #themes of death #main character death #gruesome death #body horror #Hopefully I got all the tags here #we vibe

3 notes · View notes