#cause of horrors: purgatory

[dayssincethehorrors]

days since q!cellbit has experienced the horrors: 0

time since last reset: 31 days

[guckies]

Really really trying my best to listen to tubbo’s theories but they are so easily picked apart bc of his own bias and interpretation of the events that have happened. So I’m gonna go through it because I can and also a lot of people seem to just take it at face value which it really isn’t. There are a lot of factors that play in here.

The Maze - why would they have been brought to the maze and to the spinner room directly if not to spin the wheel especially since the way in was fixed the same day. They were brought there by evil cucurucho(who is connected to the watcher) for a reason and it was to spin that wheel, so blue was always meant to exist. Also it was 3 of them there so they’re all guilty of letting it happened it wasn’t just tubbo who was at fault for spinning the wheel.

Eggs on egg island - it’s likely but if he had the eggs on the island previously, he could have also just killed the eggs then but he didn’t because they’re leverage and mind games bc how do we even know if he has the eggs. Also how would the eggs even be able to give info or know the future unless they’re with the game maker. The eggs being split into 3 teams on the island also confirms it was meant to be 3 teams. Therefor blue isn’t an accidental team.

Why would the game maker make blue cursed, try to eliminate blue if they were never meant to exist and therefore kill the eggs cause they’re cursed? (Tubbo was talking along these lines i just paraphrased because how do you simplify it)- By that logic it makes red the cursed team because it was only meant to be green and red; and the cursed team has always existed as far as we know, it wasn’t just invented bc a team got in when they weren’t meant to. It’s so obviously the game makers design. Either way if there wasnt meant to be a third team then he would have just made two teams but he didn’t, cause the wheel spins are connected to the eggs by the info given. As well if he cursed blue despite them supposedly not meaning to exist to kill their eggs, makes no sense. Then he would have no power over them because he has all the info, so him “trying” to kill “cursed” blue wouldn’t make sense.

The egg war - blue didnt even try, even with the makeshift agreement not everyone actively agreed agreed to it, they all just assumed. Their egg was removed because blue was basically dead bc they didn’t prep, green maimed the egg almost all the way, blue had low team numbers and they weren’t enjoying it, so they were taken out to speed the game up.

The egg videos before they arrived at egg island - the videos are kinda bs because they were only on twitter and it is essentially the eggs motivating them to win because they don’t want their parents or siblings to die especially if they’re all separated. So basically just promotion. Also how could the eggs know anything happening in their game, the game maker would just make a new game cause it would ruin his fun. Also also the eggs literally never ever have outside knowledge apart from richas and his separate identity so it doesn’t really add there either.

Tickets - Most custom tickets are on red apart from quackity who isn’t there because ElQuackity took his place and stole his ticket so how are we meant to know if Quackity is actually meant to be on green. Because the watcher would know if it was or wasn’t Quackity. I think he was just playing along with ElQuackitys game because he wants them to suffer. ElQuackity being in the green was probably a move to make it “fair game” or some bullshit or also to make him work with other outside knowledge people like Fit, antoine or kameto. Still doesn’t change that red have 2 out of 3 known custom tickets (4 out of 5 in meta but yk). Also if they were meant to have custom tickets, Bagi would have had one because she’s had hers for like a month maybe, literally ever since she joined also carre would have to but they don’t so obviously they have to mean something.

The screen of people - this has happened before with foolish during the election arc. They had a screen of people who were connected to the feds by a direct way except foolish. Who at the end of the election arc only got a cucurucho task to arrest tazercraft which is just normal cucurucho things tbh; He wasn’t connected to them in away way we know of. Also I think the admins often put some relevant lore people to show that they are being watched and that the game maker has info because it wasn’t everyone on all teams on that screen just a select few people. Aside from that I think it was more to do with him watching the 3 groups on quesadilla like the fed, the order and the code revolution.

A little thing about the train - Out of everyone who came on train the only team to have all active members that played the event come through the train was red cause half of their players are missing. Both green and blue had members just show up at purgatory (ElQuackity, Mariana and Pac).

[nerice]

HAPPY GIDEON THE NINTH

HAPPY IANTHE TRIDENTARIUS ON MY BRAIN FOREVER NOW. HAPPY HOUSE OF THE SIXTH PERMANENT RESIDENCE IN MY HEART. HAPPY ALL THAT'S ABT 2 STEAMROLL ME STILL

[imfelinefinee]

Conceal and Hunt

Pairing: Seb.as.tian sol.ace x reader (Platonic / Romantic)

Summary: Hide & Seek

NSFW DNI

Notes: Saw a fish man, moral of the story. I like fish man, I'm gonna give him fish fingers for dinner.

Warnings: Soft vore / Nonsexual vore ( If that wasn't obvious), predator/prey behaviour, fearplay ig? Horror elements (it's a horror game), mild swearing, brief mention to trauma etc Remember to take careful of yourself and drink water! And sleep, that's important too. I kinda am posting it at 1am dont mind me-

Words: 4.7k+

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Hastening the shivering drenched legs threatened to topple and plummet down to the floor; The clunky oxygen mask clung to their neck loosely with rubbery straps, repeatedly colliding with the skin of their neck and mouth. Small bruises formed from the more prominent hits from the face cover. 

The comlink that held for dear life within the dwelling of their ear, a hand reaching upwards to tug it back into its place, feeling almost like an earphone that threatened to fall out after so much jogging, a hindrance and distraction.

Attempting to regulate their breathing despite their racing heart, skipping a beat every so often amidst their panic. Their throbbing lungs sent a pang of pain every time they exhaled, accelerating in an attempt to soothe their lungs. Only causing the pounding discomfort to worsen each time.

Desks aligned the walls, lonely without their occupying chair. Coated in a thin layer of dust from a vacancy of use. Calculators, stacks of papers, pens, cups from even the occasional plant. More importantly, though, was the currency down in the depths known as data.

Data was an important asset as it allowed for trading with the facilities merchant, otherwise known as Z-13. Trading the facility’s data in exchange for important supplies such as code breachers or med kits. All essential in the survival of the hell that was the place they roamed. 

Urbanshade Blacksite is the literal embodiment of purgatory in which “sinners” undergo harsh environments to endure and complete the mission of collecting the facility power supply, a powerful important crystal.

To a point where they were willing to redeem heinous criminals of their crimes if they were successful in their attempt to get the crystal. Not only that but the crystal held a bounty of a large sum of cash as well, meaning that they’d be rich by the end of it too.

Not all the convicted were criminals though, some took it as their only chance to escape from their guilty sentences. Only to fall to the same fate as all the others who came to Blacksite, besides one survivor in particular.

 It was a miracle they’d made it thus far.

The occasional locker that housed an abandoned lab coat made of the essential lifelines within the facility, was used as a covert hiding place from the monsters that lurked in the dark. The only sanctuary given to the people down in Blacksite. However, it wasn’t always the case as a creature occupied the lockers at times.

Tentacled beasts that camouflage themselves within the locker, threatening the only safety towards the expendables. Given the name, the void. If one hadn’t looked for their multiple piercing purple eyes that glowed under the light, they’d either be consumed by the creature if no one nearby came to the rescue.

The memo was simple. Trust no one. Trust only yourself.

Sprinting down the hall, only for it to appear longer than usual. The door seemingly moved further and further away into the distance as their hopes held low as they clung to desperation for their chances at survival. 

Everyone inevitably died in Blacksite, it was a miracle they’d make it thus far into their journey as they did. But, it likely wouldn’t last much longer. It wasn’t their fault they were convicted, it was an act of survival, as it always had been. 

Death almost embraced them at every second, something they were far too acquainted with in surface life and the depths of Blacksite. Tears clung to their tear ducts, pouring out like an overfilled glass of water.

The occasional sob escaped them, reminding them of so many dreaded horrible memories. They yearned to see their family, their friends, and their pets that awaited their return. To curl up in the safety of their home, within the blanketed sheets of warmth. Oh, how they missed it.

They wished they hadn’t taken advantage of it when they did, as it only served as a weight to their pain. Filled with regrets.

In spite, their disassociation halted. Leaving them confused as they bashed into the door. Quickly, they woke up to the reality of their situation. Realising that they’d reached their destination, flimsily pulled the lever with a sweaty palm. 

It took far too long for it to remember its function and open automatically, with shaky breath. They entered the next chamber, revealing another long corridor lined with nothing but a steep hill and windows. 

It seemed silent, too silent for it to be peaceful. With far too many encounters under their belt, they knew not to trust the atmosphere. It felt oddly reminiscent of a maze, with no end in sight as to where they were and how far they were from achieving their goal. 

The only comforting thing was the familiar hum of the ocean current outside the window, acting as a makeshift wind to the outside world. The only reminder of the world behind them with the sound of the occasional fish passing by, they would have spent their time there if it weren’t for the looming threat of death.

After taking a moment to compose themselves with a chug of bottled water, the irony of drinking water within the depths of the sea. Yet, essential to their continuous survival. It wasn’t every room they got to take a moment to themselves.

Listening for the sounds of growls, metal clanks or screams. It was all silent aside from the sporadic dripping sound of a leaking pipe or the sound of metal succumbing to the underwater pressure. 

Taking a step forward, tensely holding onto the rail that accompanied the stairway as a means of stability to their wobbly legs. Each footstep up the corridor sent them into exhaustion, their means of transport begging to rest and surrender. Yet, they refused and continued forward.

In the corner of their eye, they spotted movement. Their head snapped towards the window only to see something disappear into the darkness before they could fully spot what the lurking creature was. In case they were deluded, they checked behind them for a dweller. Only to find none.

Continuing onwards only to reach halfway through the steps with no issue. They refused to believe that it was merely their imagination, that they were hallucinating after going through so many of the same repetitive spaces of isolation. Looking back to the window with a grimace, eyeing the window with suspicion. 

Nothing.

Perhaps they were mistaken? Shaking it up to their imagination, though still bracing themselves in case of an encounter. Their thoughts went back to Sebastian, their “friend” down in the darkness. The two of them had a fair share of mutual exchange, both benefiting from one another.

The only friendly face that didn’t wish to kill them and they clung to that attachment for the sake of their sanity. Many times they had to hold back the urge to cry in front of the giant beast in favour of not hindering him with their pathetic cry of pleas. 

Small talk was the usual between them, hardly knowing more than necessary than the other. Yet after some time, they considered him a “close” friend. Perhaps even holding back some emotions and feelings towards him. 

After their initial brief encounters, the more they met up, the more familiarity grew between the two. Even a level of “fondness” from Sebastian as he always welcomed them warmly into his cramped shop, even being generous as to allow them to rest there when they needed it, desperately.

And right now, they needed it. 

Their stamina was at its limits, their body shivering from the lack of heat. Their body was unable to properly produce the warmth they needed after being drenched with water after having to go diving from the flooded areas they’d gone through previously. If they weren’t careful, they could succumb to hypothermia. Which wouldn’t be the most comforting way to die.

Endless, infinite. A relentless maze of torture, horrors beyond human comprehension. The only driving force going forward was the hope of familial warmth and the instinct for natural survival. 

It compelled them.

Turning their head towards the window instinctively, their vision blurred and dazed as they believed themselves to be falling asleep due to exhaustion. Their eyelids were heavy, although their panicked breaths remained the same.

As they made eye contact, an influx of pain shot up to their head like a pounding migraine. Quickly realising that they’d been compelled like a siren’s spell by the Eyefestation, its many green eyes staring into the depths of their body.

Fighting back against the urge to glance back, they forced themselves to peer away from the Eyefestation, little by little. The incoming headache increased its pressure, making them wince and groan in pain from the sudden weight on them.

Its glowing neon green eyes were like venom to their psyche, breaking down their already mentally weak barriers and taking advantage of that weakness. To make them succumb to it, as it somehow processed an ability of telepathy.

Gripping the handrail into a deathly grip, the only means of keeping them upright and balanced in the situation they found themselves. Biting back the urge to belittle themselves for letting down their guard, they pressed on.

Their free hand gripped the hairs atop their head harshly, taking out a few strands in the process, irritating their skull. Slowly, they made their way to the top and hurriedly jerked the handle on the door. Retreating into the safety of the next room. 

‘Please… Give me a break…’, they sighed as their head became dull and numb, a lingering headache from the encounter. Which was likely to interfere with their focus later on if they weren’t careful. How fortunate were they today?

Begrudgingly, pulling themselves from the wall they found themselves leaning up against. Fluttering their eyes open in an attempt to clear up the haze that clouded their vision, only to spot a dash of light upon them.

A bright red one.

“Shit…”. Picking up the sound of whirring machinery as it worked, hearing small clunks of metal. It became all too apparent to them that it was the sound of reloading bullets, right towards them. Their eyes shot to a stack of metal crates.

Ducking as a barrage of bullets was shot at them, sending a wave of shivers down their spine as they tucked into a roll, narrowly dodging the bullets with the skin of their teeth. Taking shelter behind the crates as the shots continued to fire.

The spot they’d previously stood at now lay with holes in the walls and floor, black marks of oxidation of the metal that housed them. If they hadn’t moved when they had, they likely would’ve been shot to death. Instantly.

Leaning back against the crates for cover, their hand reached for their beating heart in an attempt to calm down as the organ threatened to burst out from their chest. The turret halted its attack in favour of surveying the area in case they’d escaped, lurking around the area.

They held back the urge to cry in relief, which was far too close for comfort. They watched as the light went around in a linear pattern, left to right. A basic means of monitoring the area, leaving it vulnerable to blindspots and its activation panel across the room.  Which was their only way of getting out of their tight spot.

Yet, they couldn’t help but curl up against the crates. Hiding themselves from the sight of the AI that controlled the turrets, holding back the whimpers with a bite of their lip. Their fear catching up with them they held their shaking palm, holding it to their chest as everything slowly came back around.

They weren’t sure why they kept going on, why they kept fighting after everything they went through. A tear slipped past their defence after they held back the urge to break down and cry their lungs out, the stress of everything coming full circle. 

Barely holding themselves together, they couldn’t help but notice that it took just a little longer than usual for the turret to register that they were there and fire the bullets. Perhaps they surprised PAInter or didn’t notice until the last second, it was usually very fast to these things.

Sitting up into a crouch, they peeked out to look at the possible coverage from the turret. Only to notice a lack of defence. And knowing the turret, it would shoot at them the moment it noticed their movement.

But there was an opening if the turret looked in the opposite direction. It allowed them to run past it towards the panel if they were fast enough, it only required the right timing to do so, and seeing as they’d gotten through this many times before, they were capable of accomplishing the infuriating task. 

Waiting, and when they spotted the perfect opportunity to strike, they took it. Charging towards the panel and yanking the lever to turn off the dangerous machine, letting out a sigh of relief as it shut down.

“UGH- Come on! You’re no fun at all!”. The well-known high-pitched robotic voice cried out, a visual screen appearing on the door’s HUD. An annoyed scribbled face stared down at them with its frowny brows and upside-down smile. 

Crossing their arms, they glared back at the face on the monitor. The two of them stared at each other before the screen animatedly rolled its eyes, disappearing and returning the screen to its usual display of numbers.

No idea why a corporation wasted its funding on electric signs, it was impractical as the AI had long since taken over the security of the base. Putting the thought aside, they rummaged through a desk, finding the keycard necessary to unlock the door. Making their way through to the next area. At last.

The next room consisted of pitch-black darkness, letting out a groan as they grabbed their flash beacon off their holster and flashed the room like a flash grenade, using the light to momentarily scan their surroundings.

Spotting no threats, they continued towards the corresponding sound. They were really unfortunate with the amount of encounters they had with the occupants of the facility, hoping to make it back to the safety of Sebastian’s dwelling. It couldn’t come sooner.

<...>

Treading forward with the cramp in their leg, rubbing their eyes in an attempt to soothe their soreness. Exhaustion was shown in their poor posture, leaning forward with frustrating back pain. Complaining about it like they were an elder.

Stretching out as a yawn escaped them, the sound of cracking bones as their joints and bones clicked back in place, relieving them of the tension that had built up. A sigh of relief allowed them to feel at ease. At least temporarily.

With the moment of relaxation over, they progressed to the corresponding room. After so many rooms, it was tiresome at this point. A repetitive cycle of entering rooms, responding to threats, and going forward. It was necessary but infuriating.

They stopped when they heard the distant continual clang of metal, their senses returning to the same state of alertness. The familiar dread of fear returned as it burned at their chest, glancing behind them in distress just in case it was another wall dweller stalking behind them. 

It confused them to hear the sound, it wasn’t anything they were accustomed to. It was something heavy moving through the vent, which was rather suspicious considering nothing they knew occupied the vents. Unless it was a monster, one they didn’t know.

With caution, they moved forward into the next mundane chamber. The banging only got louder, sounding closer and closer as it roamed above them. As if the creature were right above them within the ceiling, the only thing separating them was the thick layer of metal that likely wouldn’t hold long with the power the beasts held in Blacksite.

 The lights malfunctioned, flickering as their power struggled to maintain its current of electricity. Reacting speedily and swiftly, they raced towards the nearest locker with a quick scan of the void’s eyes before ramming open the doors and diving in, bracing for the screams of the angler or fighting back against pandemonium if it had spotted them. 

Which wouldn’t be easy, especially on their poor hands. They’d have to waste some of their precious medical supplies on the scratches and bruises on their hands, repeating the process rooms later. 

A loud bang of metal rang around the room, tearing the vent entrance off its hinges with a mere punch as it echoed and reverberated off the walls of the room, sending it flying against the other wall as something pulled itself out of the vent. 

It wasn’t the tip taps of a wall dweller's stumpy footsteps, nor was it the sound of moving water or the sound of a rushing angler. It wasn’t any of that, it was the noise of something rustling against the floor. Movement without the help of walking with two feet. 

A low yet audible hissing rumbled throughout the room, constant as whatever moved across the floor stalked the room like a hungry predator, hunting for its prey. It knew they were in the room as it refused to leave, pursuing them as it checked the room constantly. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

To conceal themselves further, they held their hands over their mouth to hinder the sound of their breathing, refusing to move even a single muscle in fear of being found by the thing. Only hearing the sound of their heartbeat, their hot breath and the lingering hissing of the creature as it sounded far too close for comfort.

Too close. 

Suddenly, another blooming bang rang out, louder and thundering as the heavy metal object collided with the floor. Followed by the break of ceramic as a potted plant was flung across the room in the beast's frustration. Letting out a monstrous growl in the process as it continued to throw down lockers and desks in its rampage.

They couldn’t help but hold back a flinch every time something was sent flying, the thundering noise crashing only getting louder and louder as it drew closer towards them. 

Only for it all to stop.

Instinctively they held their breath, the sound of taps against the locker door beside them. As if knocking to come inside, an incentive for them to send them screaming. But, they refused. Not budging an inch in its attempt to scare them. 

Biting down their wounded tongue to a point they nearly hissed in pain, staying as quiet as possible so as not to hinder their hiding spot. Although they likely had been spotted long ago, the monster continued to toy with them as a form of entertainment.

It sent shivers down their spine, their arms shaking in pure terror of the beast on the other side of the door. It played with them like food, like prey. 

<...>

A shriek of horror, screaming as the doors of safety were suddenly sent flying open as claws ripped open the doors off the body of the locker. Leaving them open and vulnerable to the attack they were about to face, they quickly sprung up into action and ran past the beast's side towards the door.

Only for its claw to grasp their neck, a tight grip that threatened to rip open their throat or choke them to death. The safety of their foothold was stripped away as they were held upward from their neck, their feet kicked and squirmed as they struggled against its grip.

Their hands held onto the claw like a lifeline, their grip tightening on the wrist that held them as they struggled for breath. Tears poured from their eyes like a flowing waterfall as they cried out in pain.

“P-please! Let me go!”, the words barely made past their weak hoarse voice, begging the monster to free them from their cage. Almost choking on their spit as the beast let out a cackling laugh at their pathetic cries.

They opened their eyes.

What they saw was a sight that petrified them to their very core, sending a wave of dread and fear. Their mind panicked for fight or flight as they struggled to conclude, only to simply stay still as if playing dead. Their body ceased in their struggles as they witnessed the frightening sight before them. 

A large, cavernous maw with rows of jagged sharp teeth threatening to pierce their flesh. A bioluminescent muscle of a forked tongue dripping with saliva like a predator awaiting its prey after a long hunt of patience and struggle. 

Dangling them above its open jaw it prepared to crunch and chew them down with ferocious hunger, pressing them against their tongue as it tasted them for delicious flesh. Letting out a ravenous growl as it impatiently sampled its meal, dragging it across their face.

It pulled them closer, closer into their awaiting maw. Laying their face down on its tongue, narrowly missing the teeth. The mouth pooled with saliva, rapidly kicking out as they began to struggle against it, struggling to escape from their incoming fate.

Anxiety and adrenaline were their only company as they kicked out against the grip, attempting to bite down on the hand that held them. Only for a piercing growl to threaten them, silencing them for a moment.

Allowing the beast the opportunity to swallow.

A loud gulping sound as the monster swallowed them down into their anticipating stomach, strong in its pull as it only took a mere few gulps to send them down into its throat. Struggling was futile as the cramped oesophagus pushed against them, refusing to let them budge an inch. Leaving them with no option other than to wait for the pit that was the stomach of the creature. It could swallow them whole, like a bite of a morsel. Meaning they stood no chance against the offender, surrendering to their fault.

That was how it was going to end. With them being a beast's meal.

After a wait for the inevitable, the muscles pulled them down as they made their way into the belly of the monster. The walls dripped with mucus as it was spacious enough to house them within the cramped space. As if they were just the size for an appetising meal.

The stomach glowed faintly with blue bioluminescence like starlight littering the walls that would’ve otherwise been a comforting blanket in any other circumstances. It reminded them of a night sky as they curled up as much as they could within the claustrophobic space. 

Surrendering to their fate, they let out a whimpering cry.

<...>

“Pfft- You should’ve seen your face!”, a mocking voice reverberated around them. A voice they were more than acquainted with as they immediately recognised it. The chamber that housed them vibrated as the host let out a series of laughter.

Wiping away a tear from their eye, they punched the velvet wall with the hardest punch they could muster in their position. The predator let out a hiss of pain in between his laughs as he reacted to the pang of pain.

A hand crept its way to the wall of bruised flesh, rubbing it soothingly as it attempted to quell the pain of their hit. The wall collided with their diving suit, flinching away from the touch as they braced themself.

It halted.

“You… Okay?”, a worried voice called out to them. His tone was concerned yet hesitant as he asked the question as if the words were unfamiliar on his tongue. The walls pressed against them, his stomach tensed as if he were checking as if they were still there occupying his stomach.

Their body remained tense in their foetal position, sniffling as they held back the tears that threatened to leak out from their eyes. They’d already cried so much, they didn’t need to worry him with their fear.

Remaining silent, unresponsive as a whimper broke past their quivering lips. Barely holding their composure as they held back the urge to scream and cry out in a breakdown. Gripping the hairs atop their head.  A way of relieving stress.

He let out a thoughtful hum, seemingly understanding as it took him some time to think of a response to their reaction. Only to spill out a few words;

“I really scared you… Didn’t I?”. Sebastian was never exactly great at comforting people, after isolation for so many years. You learnt to threaten your way through, not to comfort the people who showed kindness to him. He hardly knew how to react at the time, often responding with distant words and a display of discomfort. 

This time, however, he was to blame for their fear.

“You think so?!...”, they snapped with a venomous tongue. Glaring at the stomach that encased them like a reluctant hug. The stomach quickly tensed at their words, and the hands that held the stomach yielded as he physically surrendered to their words.

The atmosphere was tense as the two of them couldn’t speak, Sebastian not too sure how to respond to their anger and them, keeping their mouth shut in fear of upsetting Sebastian and causing an argument between the two. 

Neither of them wanted to break the silence.

Eventually, Sebastian let out a sigh. His hand returned to their backside and rubbed it in an attempt to soothe and comfort them in a tender embrace. He’d never audibly apologise, the words poisonous to his vocabulary.

Letting out a sniffle, they leaned back against the touch. Accepting his makeshift apology as it was, finding comfort in the only touch of a friend within the depths of Blacksite. Allowing them to slowly relax and surrender to their exhaustion, letting out a yawn.

It was nice to be in another company, whether it be outside or inside. He seemed to chuckle as they relaxed against his touch.

“Tired, eh? I’ll have you know… I’ve recently decided to charge expendables to spend the night with me, a fair exchange. And seeing how you’ve already made yourself comfortable- And seeing as I caused you an… inconvenience… How about I offer you a discount?”. He played off his theatrics as usual, tending to prefer to lean back into his facade of dramatics.

“A discount?! After all that bullshit-”, they called out his ludicrously, crossing their arms in a frustrated huff. Of course the merchant would take any opportunity to seize money out of their customers, such was the life of a salesman.

Yet, he quickly surrendered. 

“Alright! Alright! How about I cut you a deal? Seeing as you’re a loyal customer, how about I let you use me as a sleeping bag for…”, he drew it out with the slurring of his tongue. “Free!”, he seemed to pat his stomach proudly at the idea of such a deal.

Annoyed by his dramatic acting, they pulled back their fist as they prepared to punch his flesh once again. He seemed to sense their movement as he quickly reacted against their retaliation. 

“Okay!- I’ll stop!... You should rest though, you’ve been through enough today”. He spoke surprisingly softly, and the hand that stroked their back gently continued in its path. The tender touch was enough to send them into a lull of safety, falling asleep mere moments later after his encouragement.

He held back a chuckle, allowing his occupant to sleep soundly in the comfort of his belly. The faintest of smiles on his face as he carefully navigated his body through the vents, attentive as to not wake up his loyal customer. Or should he say, friend? He wasn’t sure but knew that his attachment was going to be a hindrance to him one way or another.

It didn’t matter though, so long as they were safe.

He was surprised, to say the least. They managed to get pretty far away from him after their clumsy escape, perhaps it was a result of his stupor from the recovery of a flash beacon pointed into his eyes. Usually, he wouldn’t allow that off of any expendable person. But, he made an exception.

Maybe, too many exceptions. He was going to chase after them anyway, they had asked to practise against the horrors of Blacksite. And what better than the apex predator?

[ramons-elevator]

I just wanna take the time to list the fucking bugs on the QSMP because they range from mildly inconvenient to this has changed history forever and they are the weirdest fucking bugs

Broken hearts: this is the bug of when people log in, it shows half of their hearts just being blacked out and it take someone smacking you to get them back. Its very funny when an egg or someone randomly goes "hey hit me". Honorary mention is when someone gets withered and the withered hearts stay. Very angsty I love.

Broken voice: this is many things, but mainly when someone has to deafen and undeafen when someone relogs. It was a big problem in early days because people didnt know and it was annoying, but now its just common knowledge.

Sweeping edge: Me and my homies hate this bug. Basically it was a line of code in one of the mods that got bugged and instead of sweeping edge dealing 0.5 of the damage of a hit, it would deal 5 time more. For example, when Etoiles and Bad were testing it out, Pomme hit Bad with a weapon and it killed Etoiles who was next to Bad. This is more than likely the cause of deaths for Tilin and Juanaflippa. Im glad it got fixed, but it still installs fear into OG islanders to this day.

Dorime bug: The funniest and stupidest bug of all. Dorime randomly playing out of nowhere and the only way to get it to stop is to turn musicbox noises on and off. It happens enough that people usually have their musicbox noises turned off at all times

Sound bug: Sounds be loud. Even from hundreds of blocks away. This is elevator sounds, monster/demon sounds, camera sounds, etc. Its normal at this point, but it sometimes freaks people out and think admins are fucking with them.

Dapper's flying hammer bug: A recent bug, but when Dapper and someone fight and Dapper hits them with their hammer, they start flying indefinitely or until they relog. The first time this happened was fucking insane because it was Dapper and Ramon doing their usual fighting and then Ramon started flying away. Fit, Bad, and Dapper all had no idea what to do and were all freaking out/crying laughing.

Ramon's duping bug: A bug that's been fixed, but Ramon figured out that if you sling shot something in a certain way (I think it was in the Copacabana ocean?) it would dupe a whole stack of whatever was shot. This also lead to Ramon and Fit figuring out that if you sling shot a waystone, it fucking crashes the server. Which led to a day where everyone was using that so they can keep doing Lucky Ducks.

Death bug: This is when someone has the visual of "0.0/100.0 Time left 00:00:00" stuck on their screen. Usually leads to someone BEGGING someone to let them kill them. Pretty funny and dumb.

Eggs being tall: Aka eggs models not loading for people. It usually makes people try to roleplay their way out and being scared of tall eggs. I.E. "Tall Richas isnt real" or Cellbit screaming in horror in purgatory when the lil eye guy model wasnt loading and saying the castle is haunted.

Teleport bug: Not very common, but some times if someone is trying to use their warpstone, they particles start to fly around them and they dont stop until the person lets go of the warpstone. This can make a wall of purple particles around someone.

Egg names: This is a very early "bug". In the beginning, in order for the parents to name their egg, they had to right click their eggs and name them. This made people accidentally name their eggs stuff like "eee" or "Wwww". Also other parents naming other eggs other names (Mariana named Leo "shit" and Foolish named Juana "Marianaisabitchjr"). On the first day, for some reason, everyone was named "TILIN" for like 5 minutes. This 'bug' also got the iconic clip of Phil right clicking on the OG code and he got a chance to name it and it freaked him out.

Im pretty sure there's a lot more, but I love how insanely modded server has the weirdest bugs known to man. Feel free to add any you remember.

[tremblingmuse]

Omg you're a godsend I love your stories so damn much. Could I request “You’re lucky you’re cute.” “Thanks! Wait…” and/or “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re flirting with me.” “I am.” “Excuse me?”

With Nico? Or wally

Thank youuuu!!

I’m killing two birds with one stone for this one!

Thanks everyone for being so patient! I took a little break. It’s the start of summer blues.

Prompt 8 for Wally Clark

“Well, I do.”

Y/n has known Wally for years. When you’ve been stuck at the same high school for a few decades you tend to become friends.

Sometimes you know each other so well, the friendly conversations can turn into flirty banter.

The gang was having their monthly round of hide and seek. Rhonda was seeking, she loved chanting “Come out, come out. Where ever you are…” in a creepy tone down the vacant halls.

Y/n found the perfect spot, a small crawl space in the back of the art room. Wally just had to follow her.

“No get out of here!” Y/n whispered, trying to shoo him.

“You don’t just get to claim spots, we can share!” He told her, scooting into the small space with her. He covered it up with a piece of board that was over it before.

“Just because I’m the reigning champion does not mean you can freeload off of me.”

It was true. She was unfindable. She always spent all month preparing different spots. A few she can run from and then too, just in case.

Wally always tried his best but he was always found first.

“But you’re so selfless, and kind. I was hoping you’d be willing to make an acceptation for your dear friend.” He loaded on complements.

“Awe, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were flirting with me.” She told him in a sarcastic tone while rolling her eyes.

“I am.”

She looked at him, well tried to. It was dark and she couldn’t make out his face well. But it didn’t seem like he was joking.

Her breathe hitched. It was stuck in her throat.

“What?” She whispered, questioning if she heard him right.

Because if he said what she thinks he said, that would be absolutely ridiculous.

They both froze when they heard Rhonda’s taunting voice. She opened the door and stepped in the room.

Y/n covered Wally’s mouth. She’d deal with him later, she’s not loosing because of him.

Her heart raced as heat radiated off him in the small space. Also because Rhonda’s footsteps made their way to the counter. Where they were hiding.

After what felt like hours of waiting for the worst. It sounded like she left. Her voice trailed down the halls as she sang and teased her next victim.

If Y/n was a master hider, Rhonda was the perfect horror movie villain she was hiding from.

She slowly removed her hand, Wally swallowed hard.

“Did you say you were flirting with me?” She asked, hushed.

He didn’t skip a beat.

“Yeah, did you not know?” He asked as if it was the most obvious think in the world. “I have been, for like ever.”

She relaxed back to her original position. Contemplating.

He had been flirting with her? For how long?

“No, I didn’t know.” She quipped, crossing her arms.

Wally let out a small laugh. He corrected it immediately.

“Sorry, it’s just- I thought you...” He cleared his throat.

“I thought you liked me? No way.” She interrupted.

Wally tilted his head. Of course he liked her. He has since she’s been stuck in this horrible purgatory with him.

“Well I do.” He stated. “And now this in awkward.”

He shifted in place, trying to find something other than her face to occupy his mind.

“Why?” She asked, filling the painful silence.

It wasn’t hard for him to answer.

“Cause, you organize all these games. You make being dead kinda fun. I’ve been a lot less miserable since you came around.”

She paused, trying to find a response that didn’t make her sound uninterested or desperate. She settled on a simple explanation.

“Well it’s the least I can do, you guys have helped me a lot. I wasn’t always like this.” She told him.

“I know.”

Her head jerked to look at him, in question. She was a little disturbed. “Okay, stalker.”

“Wait no-“

“First you follow me to a small dark room, then tell me you know what I was like before I died. Sounds stalkerish to me.” She laughed.

Of course she was joking, she knew most of the living kids by names. Knew their schedules and lives. She wanted what was best for them, she was pretty protective over the kids at school. She hoped Wally felt the same when she was living.

“It’s just… I always kinda saw you.” He looked at her with those eyes again. The eyes that wanted something from her.

“Well what do you want? This is flattering but I’m not sure what it means.” She admitted not so gracefully.

“Well I’d love to kiss you, but you have your game face on.”

He’s right. She took these games very seriously.

“Meet me when I win this thing. Now out.” She pointed to the board between them and the classroom.

His eyes told her. “Come on.”

“Go on, out. Plenty of time for flirting when I’m victorious. You’re bad luck.”

“Fine.”

“And don’t rat me out! You’ll pay…”

[dovithedarklord]

Stucked - Part 7

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader, König x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, injury, some body horror, and drugging. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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

Author's Note

The climax of the story is getting closer and closer, and now you meet someone who knows what kind of place you're stuck in.

Hello!

Sorry for the long delay, but I was finally able to get back to writing! The story is slowly coming to an end and the last important character enters.

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

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

The eerie silence of the forest penetrates every unprotected pore of your cold body like a latent sickness, as if the ominous uneventfulness would be a precursor to a deadly disease that can push you into a sick bed festering with ulcers at any moment. And you know that this calmness is only a fleeting mirage, because in every dark corner, in every hidden hole, something terrible can be lurking, which can ruin the unsettling ease with which you fled from your pursuers. Even though you're surrounded by the soft breeze of the night, the sighs of the branches dancing in the wind passing through the trees, the frightened shuffling noises of the feet of animals coming to life under the dead leaves, and even though the owls try to lull your suspicions with their melancholic songs, you already know this horrible prison all too well. And thanks to the last few hours, you won't make the mistake of trusting in its mercy again. Because in this fever dream, there is no benevolence, no compassion, only survival. And you do everything to win, because there is no other way out.

The time you spent wandering in the woods in the pitch-black night seems endless, and even though you know you're far away from the lake and the deformed creatures that turned the water into a putrid graveyard, the dull stabbing pain in your lungs reminds you of with what hurry you managed to disappear from the watchful eyes. You were just a hair's breadth away from being caught in the violent embrace of a beast, and if you hadn't found the pearls, you wouldn't have had a chance to make that daring escape with which you threw yourself into the thick of the forest before. 

If you had any hopeful foolishness left in you, you'd think the game had given up on its cruel pursuit of fun and finally presented you with a generous gift. But you know that this goddamn purgatory feeds on the sweet nectar of suffering and will do everything to squeeze every last drop of luscious misery out of your flesh and bones. And as it flashes before your mind's eye, how the red and purple stains of the damaged blood vessels drawn into the tissues disappeared from your leg following the cool caress of the beads, you become more and more certain that it was all just a morbid coincidence. Maybe even this nightmare-like torture chamber can make a mistake, because you doubt that it offered you this miracle voluntarily. Like when a bug appears in a video game, causing the world embedded in pixels to slip for a moment, and through the distorted chaos, the system reveals secrets that you should have never seen. And maybe it did. Maybe this diabolical place is finally starting to crumble under the weight of its own evil. 

But you know that now is not the time to ponder how the well-known hell will turn into a completely new kind of horror, because you only need to take a look at the map resting in your hand to know what your task is. On the yellowed page, the unknown gray building stands out with such definite outlines, as if someone had painted it there with liquid metal, and for a minute the sharp lines of the rough sketch seem to dance in front of your tired eyes. While trekking through the wild vegetation, you had time to decide where your path should lead you next, and although the knife-like anxiety in the depths of your stomach relentlessly pumps the warning acid of uneasiness into your limbs, you're aware that this new location didn’t appear without purpose. There's something there that makes this place important enough to have a prominent spot on the map, and that's enough reason for you to risk another disastrous adventure. After all, you have nothing to lose, right? A new killer, a new death, another damn mark on your skin, but a chance to find an exit. And at this point, you're ready to seize anything to get out of here.

It's almost cartoonishly comical, the way a small blood-red line on the stained page traces your journey so far, like a path sketched up with a crayon in the middle of the splotch-like woods, and this small detail only makes you even more certain that you're stuck in a grotesque game. The system keeps track of your progress, and although the knowledge that you cannot hide from the invisible gaze only increases the uncomfortable tightness in your chest, for once this atrocity has at least some benefits. For the dull edge of the gray building emerges with an uncanny glow from behind the dense curtain of foliage and branches, like a glimmering fragment of the imagination that may fade away at any moment. Even though the game follows your every move, it helped you to reach this point, and you're terribly grateful for it.

You keep your eyes fixed on the slowly approaching house with an unbroken focus as you carefully thread through the thicket of dry bushes, and it’s only due to random luck that you catch on your periphery those tiny, uncertain little blobs that rest serenely on one of the nearby trees. And when your brain finally registers the stimuli, you suddenly halt in your march, as if an unknown force had severed the nerve fibers wiring your muscles. There is something sickeningly familiar in the way the small human-like figures sway between the withered branchlets, and it dawns on you a few seconds later why your mind thought it was important to stop here. Because you saw the same dolls made of sticks at the shrine, where the map was waiting for you, and no matter how much this is a sure sign that you're moving in the right direction, you're unable to banish the instinctive sinister feeling stirring in your brain cells. At first, you thought that maybe they had erected that hideous monument in honor of the tentacled creature that lived in the lake, but now you know that they wanted to pay homage to something completely different. And whatever that unknown entity is, it doesn't bode well for you if teeth pulled from jaws, brown with blood, and clumps of hair lead to its grace.

But a completely new kind of confusion comes over you when you shift your attention from the sprawling tangle of dead twigs and finally spot the boot lying on the ground, almost hidden under the dry crown of curled leaves surrounding it. Perhaps you could chalk it up to a morbid coincidence, a background element without meaning, which fades into oblivion eventually, but the game has engraved in your mind with blood and pain that nothing here is just an insignificant detail. And as you step closer and examine the forgotten footwear, you discover those tiny, white shards on the faded leather covered in muddy dirt, which shine under the filtering moonlight like glitter. However, there is something quite unsettlingly velvety in the way the crushed pieces stand out from the grimy material, and as your vision finally sharpens enough to recognize the tiny red specks between the zig-zagged edges, you know what sits so innocently on the surface of the boot. Small pieces of grounded bones, which cover the abandoned object as if someone sprinkled it with granulated sugar. And this makes your stomach turn with such an elemental force that you stagger back from the horrible surprise, as if the very sight of it could breathe death into your cells. Because however that bone dust ended up on that unfortunate shoe, you don't want to suffer the same fate as its owner.

However, you’re jolted out of your stupor by an unexpected crack, which deafeningly pierces into the motionless quite between the tree trunks, and you crumple the map deep into your pocket with reflexive panic and turn in the direction of the noise, as if someone was pulling you on a string. And a completely impossible relief ripples through you, loosening the tennis ball size knot your stomach has shrunk into, as you find yourself face to face with an old woman, who freezes with her wicker basket full of chopped-up wood clutched to her chest, her face pale with a look of horrified shock like yours. You see the fright reflected in her eyes, as she looks you over slowly, and the thought arises in you that maybe you yourself might not present a more inviting sight than the boots. Because although the mementos of your wounds, colored with bruises, have disappeared, your dirty, wet clothes clung to your battered, paralyzed body, and at this moment you're quite sure that with your eyes widened with fear, you must remind her of a trapped wild animal.

A torturous, tense moment of stillness passes, and when you see the frail, worn-out old figure relax, anxiety releases its grip on your insides as well, and you let out the breath that has been trapped in the supple prison of your lungs with painful tension until now.

"Oh my… are you all right, sweetheart?" Comes the sincere question in a strangely accented voice, and the tenderness in her words hits you completely unprepared. And although an intimate, motherly concern moves between her features, as her thinning eyebrows meet under her gray hair with worry, you still can't suppress the flicker of doubt that whispers from the back of your skull to be careful. You don't dare to trust anything anymore, and a stranger rarely means good in this damn world. Yet, your tortured soul yearns for the tiniest spark of humanity with such pitiful force, that you involuntary let your spine loosen the painful stiffness that resides in it.

"I'm lost." You answer, carefully rolling the syllables on your tongue, savoring the caution that instinctively settles in your mouth and restrains your sociability. Although the woman seems defenseless, you already know how unnoticed a beast can hide behind the mask of sweet kindness. At best, she’s an insignificant NPC, an additional character who merely fills the void, who, like Pam and Rebecca, is condemned to eternal death, and waits unsuspectingly for the killer to appear to strip her of her aged flesh. And you want to hope that she's just a helpless puppet of the storyline and not another threat, because you want more than anything to have someone else suffer instead of you finally. Because you lost the compassion that would be appalled at this thought long ago.

"How about you come to my house?" She makes the timid offer, and as her gaze catches the thick layer of mud embedded in your T-shirt, you can see how her mouth curls into a line full of doubts. As if she would understand without asking any questions, that you've been through an endless hell that has soaked itself into your pores through the soft cotton, and can't be expressed with words. "I'll find you something warm to put on." She adds, and you feel the awareness with which she tries to dispel the restless rigidity radiating from her to not frighten you. As if she were talking to a trapped fawn, which would be able to take flight at the slightest thoughtless move, even if its shackles would flay its legs, trapped between the razor-sharp metal, alive in the process. And it makes you realize how pitiful it is, that the events of the never-ending night transformed you into a raw, pulsating nerve so easily. But you suspect that this is what has kept you alive until now.

Although the suspicion of the stranger has already settled into the depths of your consciousness, you still make yourself nod, because even if you don't know the woman and have no idea what might be hiding behind the defenseless exterior, you're aware that you're serving yourself as easy prey for the monsters in the forest.  And you know it's only a matter of time before they catch a scent and appear breathing down on your neck.

"Alright... Come on, I don't live far from here!" She motions towards the building resting in the distance with her head, and you immediately know where her home could be. And if you had doubts, now you're quite sure, you've become involved in a new storyline, no matter how accidental this unexpected meeting seems. The game can always surprise you with new horrors, but as merciless as this world is, it's also as predictable. Because it's addicted to its habits, and you have learned to interpret its hidden signs. There are no coincidences, only tools that lead to your doom. And if you were already on your way to another trouble, then you let yourself be lead into its open mouth.

She hesitates for a few seconds, waiting to see if you change your mind and retreat into the desolate depths of the forest, but when you continue to stare at her like statue frozen in place, she turns around with the ghost of a small smile on her face, and beckoning you with her knobby fingers, she aks you to follow her. And you join her a moment later, keeping that respectful distance that speaks more to the mistrust swirling in your belly than to the thoughtfulness you feel for her. Perhaps an onlooker would think that you're just a scared little girl tagging along with her in the maze of tree trunks, but you feel the energy slithering through your legs, ready to run off at the very first odd move. You may be a slow learner, but you could repeat this lesson even after waking up from a dream. Don't let yourself be fooled. Because you've outlined the ideal possibility, but even the whirlwind of your imagination cannot authentically paint the worst-case scenario for you.

After a few meters spent in wordless peace, as the last remnants of the wild vegetation, frozen from the autumn cold, disappears, the concrete building, for which you decided to drag yourself through the goddamn forest, emerges almost abnormally in the small clearing. It stands out from the dark foliage as strikingly as an old silver ring forgotten in a black velvet box, and there is something quite unsettling about the way the tiny windows stare down at you from the monotonous walls. Like hungry mouths, waiting for a victim that they can grind up with their glimmering glass teeth. And you notice, what grotesque similes your brain is making, but you're unable to suppress the voice in your head that tells you, that there is no one in this artificial world who would call this their home with peace of mind. Because the structure looks more like a slaughterhouse with its inhospitable, barren frame, on which the holes from the crumbling plaster and the dry carpet of faded lichens bordering them gape like scars left behind by smallpox. The building may have been standing here since the game's universe was created, and in light of this, it’s even more baffling to you why it appeared only now.

But you can't ponder on that now, because you reach the house, and the old woman hurries to the shabby entrance with an agility that belies her age, pushing in the thick wooden panel covered with flaking red paint with a light movement, and opens the door of her home to you with the same helpfulness with which she led you here until now. Even though she doesn't say a word, you still understand the gentle plea with which she invites you in, because you see the worried light dancing in her eyes, with which she examines the uncertainty glued onto your features. And you want to believe in this softness more than anything, but what helps your leaden legs move the most is the knowledge that you know you can't turn back. Because Johnny and Simon are out there looking for you, and even if you were to avoid them, you'd already delved into a new thread of events. And you fear how the game would punish you if you were to deny its generous gift. Therefore, gathering all your remaining composure, you force the faint curve of a weak smile into the corner of your mouth and head towards the interior of the house, fighting the instinctive feeling that makes it seem like you're walking straight through the entrance to the scene of your execution.

As you cross the threshold made of rickety boards, the characteristic smell of old houses snakes into your nose, the fusty stench of moisture that has soaked into the walls over the decades and the stale essence of powdery, old perfumes, which awakens nostalgia in you with an almost visceral force. And there is something extremely homely about the old chest of drawers, forgotten in the small hall, and about the lace tablecloth spread on the top of it, chewed by time, on which a bouquet of worn plastic flowers sits in a glass vase, like the last witnesses of a couple of long gone, sentimental memories. The old nick-nacks accumulated over the years rests in neat order, and even on the walls, the frames, covered with pale gold, hang with measured precision, with black and white photos of unknown people in them, testifying that perhaps, according to the story, the woman might not have lived here alone once. They looking into the camera with blank expressions on their grim faces, and you swear that they're staring into your soul with their dull, dot-like eyes.

And when the woman rushes past you towards the inside of the house, disrupts the thin layer of dust that settles on the worn surface of the furniture, and as the musty smell traveling with the tiny particles settles into your nose, it occurs to you that, despite the homely atmosphere, it's as if no more than a few stray ghosts would actually live here. And your subconscious warns you about this small intuition, which makes you sneak after your host with careful cat-like steps, like a curious child who knows she's straying into an area that adults have told her a thousand times not to venture near to.

The lamp hanging from the ceiling is the only source of light as you enter the kitchen after the the old woman, and the light bulb casts filmy, yellow rays from under the milk-like porcelain onto the battered furnishings of the little room. She’s already busying herself, and shoves chopped pieces of wood into the dilapidated stove, scaly with peeling white paint, glancing over her shoulder as she hears the shuffling of your shoes on the worn linoleum.

"Sit down, I'll make you some tea to warm you up!" She speaks up, and by now all uncertainty has disappeared from her voice, giving the impression that it was not a torn stranger, but an old friend who appeared in front of her humble abode in the middle of the night. And, as she digs out an ancient teapot from one of the cupboards, and the faucet turns on with a loud creak, as she steps to the sink and fills it with water, you wonder what will come next. Now you can't rely on your routine, with which you were able to tell exactly which breath followed the other in the cabin, and this creates an uncomfortable, gaping hole in your insides. And that sends a robotic rigidity into your limbs as you walk over to the table in the middle of the kitchen and settle down in one of the thick oak armchairs, because fear begins to twist in the bottomless pit that anxiety has opened in you, as your eyes scan the room for danger. You should feel bad that you're so persistently looking for a trap in the woman's hospitality, but you have experienced firsthand how big a mistake it is when you let yourself to be overconfident.

"A few minutes and it's done." She comments on her haste, and turning towards you, she leans against the shabby kitchen counter, finding you with her searching gaze again. Now that you have entered the scene of another dangerous mission, your consciousness automatically accepts the stimuli that your brain may have tried to push away until now. And you see the sparks of interest swimming through the pools of her eyes, but despite the soft expression still sitting on the worn face, the stress is too strong for you to let your guard down. You'd like to think that only your paranoia brings out this visceral suspicion, but you're smarter than that. "How did you get lost?" She formulates the completely legitimate question, and your ear once again discovers the accent that, despite the light tone, gives her words harshness. As if tiny little pebbles would be gurgling in her mouth, making every consonant flow out a little harder from her paper-thin lips. Maybe Russian?

"We just went for a walk with my friends. I lost them." You finally break your silence with a half-truth, which is just honest enough so that your tone is not colored by the sound of lies. You have no reason to tell her what happened during the endless torture of the past hours, and you have a gut feeling that it wouldn't help you if you mentioned to her what kind of monsters this demonic place has entwined your fate with.

And when the telltale shadows of doubt creep across the old face, you become quite sure that you have made the right decision. You can tell from the little quiver that makes the corner of her mouth twitch that she doesn't believe you, but there's just enough goodwill in her not to try to inquire further. You see how suddenly her throat jumps as she swallows the demanding questions, and you're quite sure that she knows exactly what happened to you. She must have resided in the middle of the forest long enough to know its every evil nook and cranny, and you doubt that her innocent facade is what has kept her alive. Whatever the purpose of this storyline, it is not a coincidence that she lives here in the middle of nowhere, and there is even less chance that it was thanks to some harmless tricks that helped her home to stay so undisturbed. This also raises a series of dangerous assumptions in you, and you can almost feel how the buzzing of suspicion in your head sharpens as a result.

A sudden whistle interrupts the thread of your thoughts sinking into ever darker pits, and the woman, breaking your silent examination, settles back into her caring role, turning to the teapot angrily steaming on the stove amid soft curses. And you take advantage of this to explore the hidden corners of the room, searching for small signs that can reveal what you're dealing with. It’s quite obvious that another important clue will be hidden here, and you have to do everything you can to find it, because you don't know how much time you have until the two men or another killer find you, one who has been lying dormant waiting for the opportunity to play with you until now.

And now that you take a closer look at the room, you discover more and more little details you missed when you wandered in here. You can see the touch of old hands in the order that resides in the small hole of the kitchen, but you can spot the silky blanket of spider webs that weave the plates decorated with flowers on the shelves, as if no one has used them for decades. There are rich bouquets of dried plants hung on nails on the wall, but below them, you can clearly make out the yellowed newspaper articles written in a language unknown to you, on which the same black and white people you saw in the hall look back at you. And when you squint and try to observe the figure emerging from under the withered flowers of one of the herbs, you see how a little boy, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, is cut through by the unknown mark, which almost decapitates him with the edges engraved with graphite. At first, the drawing may seem like a simple scribble, but you recognize the needle-sharp points of a star in it, as if someone had carved a grotesque crosshair there…

The knocking of the mug's porcelain jolts you out of your investigation, and you wince with the surprise of a small child caught in mischief, turning your gaze back to the woman, who takes her seat across from you with a much tighter smile than before. And the tenderness on her face turns into something completely cold, as if only habit would keep the friendly curl in the corners of her mouth in place, and the softness that used to be able to inspire sympathy in your soul has disappeared from them. Now her expression transforms into sharp lines, which are deepened into gloomy furrows by the yellow light filtering down from the lamp, as if would the woman transform into someone completely different in an instant. Someone you shouldn't be around.

"Drink up. It will help." She pushes the cup towards you, and you know it's not just your ears when you feel the impatient tone in her voice, from which the offer sounds more like an instruction than a well-meaning nagging. And you don't react for a tense moment, and despite the anxiety churning in your stomach, you try to keep your cool, because now you recognize the fleeting shadow that hides under the gentle warmth. Like a hawk waiting to strike, she follows your movements as you wrap your fingers around the handle of the mug, but she can no longer deceive you, because you've seen the same expression before. Although it's not Johnny's handsome face and the sparks of his sky-blue eyes that want to divert the suspicion that is scratching your insides, the disguise of an old woman feigning cordial concern would just as effectively put anyone's doubts to sleep. But she can put on any mask, you're already able to distinguish the vileness under the sickly sweet surface. And this woman wants to hurt you, you're sure of that.

Still, you pull the steaming beverage in front of you with almost automatic movements, trying with every cell not to let her figure out that you suspect something. You need her to reveal herself, because that's how you can get her to lead you to the clues that can get you out of here. There is something hidden in this damned house, and you feel it in your bones that it’s important to find out what it is. All your fake innocence seeps into the way you touch your mouth to the porcelain, and the luscious scent of herbs and fruits snakes into your nose. And although you don't feel the sting of poison in the steamy clouds rising from the tea, it fills you with a bad foreboding when the woman leans forward with artificial benevolence frozen on her face, watching with almost intrusive interest how you start sipping the hot liquid. And you feel more and more tense with each passing second, like an ant stuck under a magnifying glass, which has just begun to feel how the rays of the sun breaking through the lens burn its legs into charcoal stubs. And you see the dissatisfaction when you hesitantly lower the cup.

"Drink it all. You need it." She encourages you, almost cooing, and her accent is more reminiscent of an impatient mother who tries to dictate medicine to her protesting child with a barely controlled temper. Gentle, but just as much as boiling water forgotten under the lid. And you feel how the little hairs rise on the nape of your neck, as her glassy eyes fixate on you with unblinking persistence.

Uncertain silence settles in the tiny kitchen, which makes the saliva in your mouth thicken into molasses as you return the woman's stare. Under the flickering light of the old bulb, everything seems to change, and out of the corner of your eye, it looks as if the flowers painted on the wall would turn into wax, dripping off the plaster dirty from grease. But you’re unable to turn your gaze away from her, as she studies you with the immobility of a predator, and you have to forcefully suppress the trembling that awakes in your hands as you raise the mug to your lips and take another small sip. And the excited light that passes over her features does’t escape your attention for a minute, as she follows the almost painfully sweet liquid traveling down your throat. And now you're sure that no matter how harmless this elderly woman seems, evil is hidden under her frail frame. Because the pearls hidden in your pockets come to life with an almost warning glow, as the strange, bitter aftertaste sits on your taste buds, which the sugar has been able to suppress until now.

Under the pulsation of the little red spheres, the light buzz, that the brew wants to envelop your brain in, has no chance of spreading, but you know you have to pretend that she was successful, whatever she smuggled into your drink. Because there's a reason why she's trying to knock you out, and maybe if you make her believe that you let her trick you like an unsuspecting fool, then she'll reveal what she's up to. That's why you let the fatigue throbbing in your limbs creep onto the fibers of your muscles, numb with lactic acid, and you let the exhausted yawn loose that, now that you're finally resting, falls through your mouth sincerely. And you hear that satisfied little hum with which the woman finally leans back, when she assesses the unexpected force of the sleepiness washing over you.

"Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here for the night." She offers, and there is nothing to unsure about the way she presents her proposal to you. A selflessly offered opportunity, behind which lies a statement to which no opposition is expected. And it’s exactly this determination that dispels the previous softness, and fills her old joints with an almost youthful energy, when she springs up and starts towards the kitchen door, giving you one last, almost painfully fond look. "You just stay here and rest." She adds, and you feel nauseous from the kindness under which the poison of cruelty ripples, and which creeps into your ear canals with snide unsolicitedness.

When, after an uncertain nod, you lay your head down on the table with languid weakness, she hurries away towards the maze of the corridor giggling, with such immense glee, as if an unexpected present had fallen into her lap. And you, closing your eyes, order every part of your body to remain motionless in anticipation, slowing your breathing to a trembling evenness, listening through your own shivering for the woman's footsteps. You have to remain unnoticed because you're sure that if she realizes that her tea has failed to relax you enough, she'll come up with something much more painful to get the desired effect. You're not sure what her goal is, but you don't have time to create unnecessary excitement for yourself.

For minutes, only the soft puffs of the air flowing through your nose fill the room shrouded in an almost disturbing quietness, but despite your pulse pounding in your ears with an almost deafening noise, you wait until all the sounds die down between the old walls. And when you decide that you have wasted enough time, you carefully push yourself away from the worn furniture and stand up with your eyes fixed on the shadows beyond the door, watching for an unexpected visitor with every move you make. But, when nothing happens, and only the low buzzing of the light bulb and the hooting of the owls filtering in from outside travel through the empty house, then you sneak towards the hallway.

As you step out onto the corridor, it takes a few uncertain seconds for your eyes to get used to the dense darkness, and when you're finally able to make out the pitch-black outlines of the furniture, you set off into the unknown. The age-old parquet floor creaks under your shoes, reminiscent of the soft squealing of a mouse, and with each step you take, the presentiment tightens its grip on your insides. Because you have no idea where the old woman could have gone, and the fact that she can appear from behind any of the doors lined up next to each other is just enough to awaken the needle-like prickling of stress in your muscles. As if a thousand tiny ants would be crawling under your skin, and clenching your teeth, you fight the tempting compulsion to escape. You know you're wading into the swampy abyss of certain danger, but you also know you have no other choice. And not finding a clue is not an option. You have to move on or you'll be stuck here forever.

You wouldn't be able to tell how deep you ventured into the uninhabited house, but everything turns into an unsettling uniformity as a dull entrance follows another insignificant door, and the pictures hanging on the walls serve as your only companions in your wanderings.The lifeless eyes following you send shivers down your spine involuntarily, because although they're nothing more than the imprints of strangers lingering in the past, yet there is something bleak in the faces of the people on them. But when you discover something familiar, you stop dead in your tracks to take a closer look at the many of photos hidden in the frames, and you don't have to think long to recognize the boy from the kitchen. Although he may be much older here, and the childish roundness of his face has already been banished by the hormones of adolescence, but the light eyes stare at you with the same stern expressionlessness as they did from the shadows of the herbs. There is something hard in them, something angry, lurking beneath the frozen stillness, waiting to strike. And the longer you stare, the more the unpleasant feeling intensifies in you, which plants the impossible idea in your mind that the next moment he will come to life and, reaching through the scratched glass, wraps his pale, thin fingers around your neck.

A thunder-like bang tears into the empty quiet of the building, and you, shaking in terror, break out of your paranoia-woven imagination to spin around and start searching for the noise with the alarm of a frightened animal. And when the sounds don't die down, but are enriched by the clanking of a chain and the murmur of a muffled conversation, then you come upon the worn door, ajar, on the tattered surface of which a star-like scribble greets you, roughly sketched up with blood-red paint, the same that someone drew on the boy in the newspaper article. And you become aware with an uncomfortable certainty that the game has finally revealed your next destination to you, no matter how much every cell of yours protests against venturing towards the source of the increasingly loud clamor.

Every single nerve of yours tenses as one, as you move closer, keeping your eyes fixed on the cracked varnish clinging to the wooden surface, considering each step before the next, and the closer you stray, the sharper the violently snapping words become, and even though you don't understand them, you can feel the simmering ire in them. You open the door with your trembling fingers wrapped around the doorknob, and the saliva crawls down your dry throat almost like shards of glass, when you try to dispel the lump that has grown there. But nothing welcomes you, only a set of stairs covered in faint light, which leads you down into the uncertain darkness, and you feel the force of fear twisting your guts, as you muster up your courage and set off to the rickety steps.

The lower you go, the wider the hidden world of the basement opens up in front of you, and the more painful the horrible smell, mixture of the sweet stench of rot and the sting of sweat, pierces your nose. With each breath, the stagnant, moldy air penetrates deeper into your lungs, and if your brain weren't occupied by terror, you would wonder what kind of disease you're filling your chest with so voluntarily. Although to your own ears, every noise your shoes mak on the old stairs is ear-splitting, you know, even through the uncontrollably roaring fear inside you, that the sounds of your arrival will be drowned out by the wild discussion unfolding on the other side of the wall bordering the stairs. You recognize the woman's voice in the furious foreign expressions, but that's not what makes you halt hesitantly on the last step. It's that unexpected, raspy male baritone that stops the momentum of your curiosity from taking you any further, because even though you can't see the face associated with it, you feel the deadly threat traveling in the growl-like rumble.

"ублюдок!" The woman erupts, and even you cringe instinctively from the caustic rage that sits in her tone. "You ungrateful wretch!" She spits in a way that you finally can understand, and you hear the crunch of the dirt and dust sliding under her shoes as she take a step forward, as if she were moving closer to someone, but further away from your impromptu hiding place. "I should have let them take you!" The end of the heated cursing snaps, and with this the stormy exchange of words turns into painful silence, as if the shadows hiding on the dirty floor had absorbed not only the rays of the faintly flickering light, but also the sounds. And from this, even you know that something came out of the woman's mouth that shouldn't have.

The basement falls into an icy stillness, and the tiny hairs on your skin rise as you lean against the wall and listen, wondering if you made a mistake by coming down here. However, as your frightened eyes wander around the dimly lit room, you discover something in one corner that catches your eye with its golden glow. And you lean forward like someone who has been mesmerized, trying to decipher through the dying light of the old bulb hanging on the ceiling, what might be hiding in one of the shelves under the piled-up, dusty mountain of junk. And the relieved joy that washes over you when you notice the lost key that leads to Johnny's attic, is almost ridiculous, and for a fleeting moment, you're sure that it's just your eyes playing games with you. But the tiny little object winks back at you with an unmoving serenity a few long seconds later, and you already know what your task is.

"Oh, my little boy... don't be angry! Mommy loves you, you know that, right?" You hear the apologetic shush, and you're filled with an ominous feeling as you lean forward from behind the wall, clinging to the crumbling bricks, to see how safe it is to get the key. And your eyebrows knot together in confusion when you're greeted by nothing more than the old woman, who, stepping towards one of the dark corners, spreads her arms as if waiting for someone to fall into her arms. Although at first, you're sure that age and loneliness have warped her mind so much that she imagines one of her loved ones in the shadows, but as your gaze falls on the mattress, brown with dirt, lying by the wall, and the plates soiled from the rotting leftover food, you dismiss your naive assumption. Someone is here, and based on the dried, yellowish stains on the torn bedsheet, they weren't forced to retreat here now. But you don't care about that. Whoever is imprisoned here, you're not here to help them.

"I found a new friend for you... She is much prettier than the previous ones! You want to see her, don't you? If you're a good boy, I'll bring her down for you... You do as mommy says, yes?" The woman continues, mumbling the kind words with an almost atoning tenderness, and it becomes painfully clear that whatever lives down here, this old bitch tried to drug you because of it. And when you remember the boot sprinkled with bone dust found in the forest, you banish the idea of thinking about what could have happened to those who were dragged down here before you. You have more important things to do than brood over the deaths of imaginary strangers… as cruel as that may sound.

But just as you finally take the first brave step and leave your hideout with careful stealth, the chain rattle comes to life again, and you freeze, forgetting about the key, when a dull crack silences the old hag. Like when a ripe, juicy melon cracks and splits into two when a knife sinks into it, but deep down you know that it's not fruit juice you hear splashing on the floor in fat drops. And you're unable to resist the pull of fear, which draws you in the direction of the noise against your will, but as soon as you see the woman slowly staggering back from the dark corner, you immediately regret giving in to the impulse. Because when your eyes find the handle of the large knife protruding from her head, you clamp your hands to your mouth, trying to force back the horrified scream that rises in your throat. 

The woman clumsily stumbles backward, and you see the uncertain surprise in the trembling hands with which she reaches for her hair, slowly covered into a crimson veil from the blood, touching the wooden handle almost in disbelief. And there is something quite pitiful in the way she turns around in confusion, amidst frightened whimpers, brushing away the strands stuck to her eyes by the red streams running down her forehead. And you, swallowing the bitter taste on your tongue, take a terrified step back, as you suddenly see how impossibly tight the skin clings to the edges of the bones emerging from the sunken face, as if a parasite were about to break through a thin membrane. The pale tissues look unsettlingly papery, and you have a lingering fear that the dull, matte white of her jaw might penetrate them at any moment, as the woman's mouth opens in a silent scream. Unfocused eyes find you, and you're horrified to realize that maybe she wants to ask for help when she wobbles towards you with shaky legs, but you're frozen in terror, as you stare at her motionless, like a deer stuck in the headlights of a car. And you watch in shock, when after what seems like eternity, she, with a gurgling rattle, finally sprawls out on the dusty ground, like a sack full of rotten potatoes.

"You're finally here." You hear the hoarse voice from before, and as you look for its owner in terror, you see how a strong figure emerges from the darkness of the shadows, dragging the heavy shackle of the chain hanging from his thick neck behind him with a metallic clang. But what worries you even more than the muscles hidden under the torn clothes, is the pair of impossibly blue eyes that emerge from under the mask covering the unknown man's face, which look at you with cheerful interest, as if he had found a small bird with a broken wing. And from the cruelty glimmering in them, it immediately becomes painfully clear that he is the kind of person who would rip your wings out by the stem to free you from suffering. "I was waiting for you, Bunny."

(ублюдок (ublyudok) - bastard).

[fivelasanctum]

Dark Fivela *Five Edition*

Update on the nightmare sequence. Apparently they filmed it with five which hits hard in the feels. He could be holding on to his own sanity but it's precarious at best. Would be romantic but also depressing if Lila and Five had the same nightmares of losing the other to insanity. Lila has been called 'Crazy Lady' but it's five who has danced with madness multiple times in his life. Some outwardly, some from his past and emotions/feelings underneath the surface. Ironic given the from the montage, he seemed like he was her rock. Which makes sense since this is Lila's first rodeo with dealing with it to this degree. Five here, doesn't look as unhinged as Lila but might be worse. He stares listlessly at her. No emotion. The opposite of love isn't always hate but apathy. He surrenders to the impulse to give up. Foreshadowing of his suicidal, broken hearted mindset at the end of the season. If he doesn't have her, he rather let the world burn. Go back to their purgatory alone to be lost physically and in the mind or worse...end himself. He saw himself when he was on that course but in the end...death would happen. Just about how one dies. (Least they had a chance to communicate with their eyes and hold each other) He slowly backs away from her. Abandoning lila to it all. Going into the light of the cracked open subway. Symbolically it's beautiful. Where as they cursed the subway often for their predicament; it was their safe haven from the horrors they could face outside of the time stops. A place for them to laugh, share stories...where they truly sat down to know each other. In this case, can represent the mind. Given how five was going towards the broken opening of it. It's ambiguous given the short clip but if you look between the lines, Lila's own fears were manifesting. Yes being alone like Five suffered for 45 years but something more there with him walking away. Not having warmth in his eyes. Not caring (loving) her anymore and shutting down. Leaving everything behind. This was early in their subway travels so could show that she did already love him but was hidden under denial and how it would look like. Perhaps, scared if she did reveal her feelings too early...the judgements from Five since one would think he would be more loyal to his family over someone who cares for him (at this point she could have been unsure) The fear of losing him by misreading the emotions but also the domino effect of the entire family closing her out if it wasn't reciprocated. Their is her complications with kids and still being married and all ^^; Or this was a sobering moment in the nightmare, causing her to realize how much she had grown to care for him (outside of reliance for survival) if she lost him completely to insanity. Much to ponder with these clips. This song came to my mind with this whole concept. If we had more darker fivela scenes I could imagine all the edits with the song. Missed opportunities... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qn862pSFe_M

[sancta-seraphina]

THE DIVINE TRAGEDY

Hi writeblr, I'm not dead! Have some updated descriptions for my novels.

Text of the novel descriptions is under the cut. For ease of length, I did not include the last two slides, but will make them available on my page somehow—

[patreon] [instagram] [ko-fi]

THE DIVINE TRAGEDY The Divine Tragedy is a series of three novels about the lives of the Fallen Angels. 

The series takes inspiration for its name from the Divine Comedy, which provides the basis for the Hell, Heaven, and Purgatory within the novels.

Additionally, each of the novels has a unique parent work. Holiest is inspired by the Book of Revelation, The Harrowing is inspired by the Gospel of Nicodemus, and Heresiarch is inspired by Paradise Lost.

The novels are presented in reverse order of their timeline, but they can be read in any order since the books are not dependent on each other.

HOLIEST GENRE | Biblical Horror CONTENT WARNING | Mental illness, torture, self-harm, body horror DESCRIPTION | Told in nine parts, Holiest is a false apocalypse caused by the devil’s inability to distinguish between Revelation and reality. The tribulations begin when a treacherous cherub is thrown into Hell with catastrophic consequences, rekindling ancient strife in the Fallen Host and  inciting Hell’s demons into vengeful destruction, all while a mysterious manuscript with black pages haunts the dreams of Hell’s prince and eventually his waking world as well.

THE HARROWING GENRE | Biblical Horror CONTENT WARNING | Mental illness, torture, destruction, body horror DESCRIPTION | The Harrowing reveals the struggles of the Fallen Host after Christ’s descent into  Hell: the circles are broken, the infamous gates are destroyed, Hell’s prince is imprisoned, and Hell’s governance is left in the hands of Beelzebub. Picking up where the Gospel of Nicodemus leaves off, Lucifer must answer to Heaven for his grievous actions against the Son of God, and not all of the Fallen Host accept his consort Beelzebub as their new sovereign.

HERESIARCH GENRE | Biblical Horror CONTENT WARNING | Mental illness, torture, war, destruction, body horror DESCRIPTION | Heresiarch is the ruinous foundation of the world’s first heretic. The story follows the host of rebel angels through their war and violent expulsion from heaven, through Lucifer conspiring with Lilith over the temptation of man, and ending with the binding of the Fallen Host and subsequent establishment of Hell. The origin of Lucifer’s pride is revealed, as well as his tragic friendship with Abdiel, and his cunning involvement with the seraph Bael.

[dayssincethehorrors]

days since q!cellbit has experienced the horrors: 0

time since last reset: 14 days

[ghosts-and-glory]

Imma be honest, Narinder deserved purgatory more than his siblings. I'm glad you gave him the fate he deserves, and I'm excited to see what horrifying abomination had taken his place in the cult. (I desperately hope it's Nothing There from Lobotomy Corporation, but that's wishful thinking lol.)

I’m sorry bestie but I’m not the Nari anti you think I am, I just like putting my faves through the horrors™️

In writing tragedy I want moments of catharsis. Narinder is a character destroyed by his own actions and punished beyond human comprehension. I don’t have a desire to write his infinite torture, more to play with the questions the post game leaves me with. I honestly can’t help but read the stories Narinder and his siblings as one of tragedy, where they are ripped apart by their flaws and reduced to play things in the cult.

Honestly what we know about the crown bearers there’s an argument to be made that Narinder has committed the least atrocities. His ass is the only one who hasn’t done a war crime in facilitating a genocide against the lambs. We are never given in cannon what he did to get banished or how the betrayal went so I can only theorize on the severity of his past actions. The conclusion I have come to based on mostly his, ??? (Mystic seller or whatever you call it, to me it’s Kevin) and Shamura’s dialogue is that he did something to attempt to reverse the natural order of things, mostly like relating to death.

I’m gonna ramble cause I’ve been chewing at the bit waiting to be asked about my au. There’s also some art under the cut. Hehe hoho I’ll be so normal with my interests.

Going into my au, that I really really need to name, The Lamb executes Narinder after he’s defeated. Partly for revenge, for their dead family and for damning them to serve the crown, but at the same time they feel empathy for him, as a servant of death they know that to die is to rest. What The Lamb did not forsee was that killing Narinder would damn him to purgatory just as it did his siblings.

I have a early concepts of, who I’ve affectionately dubbed Not-Narinder, with Purged Narinder.

I don’t wanna divulge too many details on my plans for the au, but Narinder does eventually end up in the cult. After two thousand years in service of the crown, another thousand years in chains, and then a hundred years in purgatory stripped of his senses. To some level the cult grounds are its own prison but does he not deserve a chance to carve out his own life? I will however tease a half written script and doodle of The Lamb and Narinder’s conversation after he’s freed of purgatory.

Unfortunately for me my thoughts and plans for the au go back thousands of years before the plot of the game and then another few thousand years after. It’s like the Star Wars timeline, as in its a big mess.

[todorokies]

what is a youth - suguru geto

contents: nsfw, nipple play, dry humping, fem!reader, reader cums from nipple simulation, japanese mythology/supernatural, religious themes, suguru is sooo inlove with the reader

a/n: like the nerd i am, i did some research to make this as accurate as possible (and added my own touches), … inspired by the song what is a youth by joanna wang

scorching summers in japan were infamously known for the season of yūrei. eerie unsettling tall-tales get told and passed down to different generations for the mere purpose of inciting fear or a sense of comfort to ease the erratic mind about the afterlife. that their loved ones’ life doesn’t necessarily end once the heart stops pumping blood, that they linger between purgatory and the real world, attempting to tie up loose ends and reassure the mourning family that they will visit again under the divine moonlight at the yearly obon festival.

some yūreis are cursed with misfortune, leading their demise to be tragic which prevents them at a peaceful crossover. allowing their blackened soul to harbour animosity and haunt their unofficial gravesite and those who dare to step a foot near. these types are called onryō.

onryō, funayūrei, zashiki-warashi; suguru believe it’s all a load of bullshit. he prides himself as a practical man, favouring facts over fiction, listening to his head and not his heart when difficult situations arises while still displaying sympathy for others.

he can’t help but wonder why people choose to believe in such things. why subject your own mind to horrors that don’t have a reliable source? it’s not as if those who’ve encountered a spirit are still present in society to tell the tale. nonetheless, suguru isn’t the type of man to argue about beliefs. he’s content with people picking and choosing what to believe in and who to follow as influences, so long nobody gets hurt in the process.

he doesn’t believe in angels, spirits, or someone higher up, however, when you come strolling in the shared living room with a frown so indented on your face he almost stood up faster than his feet could process to kiss your sorrows away. to melt at your feet and oblige to every command that utters from your soft pillowy lips like you’re a transcription of a newfound religion.

you started rambling about how your body is going through a phase where everything is heightened. —ovulation is what you called it, due to it, your boobs are much more tender and plum which is causing you discomfort.

“help me feel better?” sweetness coats your tone. that was that you had to say to make suguru swiftly settle you in his lap with big hands finding residence at the curve of your hips. he’s so infatuated that it’s almost sickening. with the way you shiver under his fox-like gaze desire impetuously bubbles in the pit of his stomach. suguru feels something sinister albeit soothing take over his usual laidback persona . . . you both had an itch that he’s willing to scratch.

“may i?” he gestures to your black laced tank top. even with such impure thoughts coursing throughout him, he stills finds the courtesy to ask permission to please you.

you nod eagerly which results in his hands to tug downwards at your tank top making your perky tits pop out. suguru nearly sobs at the mere sight, unabashedly ogling at your round breasts your nipples are already growing hard from the cool ventilation in the area. you slightly squirm from the unneeded staring.

“don’t hide yourself from me my love, they’re beautiful. you’re beautiful.” he uses his thumbs to create circular motions on your nipples then leans down to attach his hot mouth onto your hardened bud circling around it whilst occupying his free hand to massage your left tit. the fat spilling out of the crevices of his large hand, you can’t help but to throw your head back as a broken moan escapes your mouth. you’re already getting ruined and he has just begun.

his tongue flattens against you hollowing out his cheeks to loudly suck, suckling and wet slurping sounds evade the silent night along with heavy panting. his sharp teeth gently tugs at your nipple. he has completely lost himself within the burning clouds of lust as he watched you crumple against him angelically like withering rose petals.

are worshippers suppose to indulge in such lewd acts to please their gods? what values separate a sinner and a worshipper, how similar are their beliefs and what differentiates them?

a hiss abruptly rings through his ears, “too rough..” you whine weakly. your hips gain momentum as you rock yourself back and forth on his clothed crotch to ease the bone-aching throb between your legs, already feeling slick accumulate in your panties meantime, your hands nested snug against the nape of his neck.

“‘m sorry darling, jus’ got too carried away…” he slurred his words like an unfortunate drunk, pulling away from your swollen nipple with a thin string of saliva following along. using his thumb and forefingers he begins to softly pinch your bubs, twisting and turning them to get a needed reaction.

“does that feel good? too soft or too rough?” suguru doesn’t even pay attention to the words trembling out of his own mouth; too damn hypnotized by your fucked out expression as you now mindlessly grinding on him. your lips are chapped, chest heaving, hair disheveled, and moans exuding out of your throat like rapid-fire. you looked like a dream.

“y-yes it’s perfect! so damn perfect.” suguru swears that through his half lidded eyes he sees a glowing aura cascade around your body as if you were an entity. an elegant glow that lightly illuminates the dim living room.

has your entire existence consumed every corner of his mind to the point of seeing hallucinations? is he able to formulate a single thought without you being present in the back of his mind?

“oh m-my goddd! mmh shit, feels s’good…” your hips stutter while riding out your high desperately grasping to his shoulders for stability with your panties now drenched and sticky. you bow your head down to place your entire face in the cook of your boyfriend’s neck, visibly embarrassed of basically cumming untouched like a virgin.

a breathless chuckle falls flat in the air, “no need to feel embarrassed you did so well for me.” suguru doesn’t believe in angels, spirits, or a god higher up nor has he thought about life after death.

he hadn’t made a will yet, written an epitaph, he’s unsure of what kind of flowers he’d like at his own funeral but he swears to whomever that you were personally made for him. sculptured with such tenderness and precise movements under scrutiny to be perfectly gifted to him with a giant bow.

but what he is sure of, is that he would follow you to the afterlife and beyond without doubt. he could wait a century or three just to reunite with you.

he also swears, in that very moment, he had gotten possessed by the spirit of takahama and that you were his bewitching white butterfly; akiko.

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3 here is the referenced white butterfly folktale

[the-burd-lord]

Finally am confident enough to post my redesign of Charlie. Buckle up cause it’s a lot!

Kept her simple since I think her original design is kinda alright, but went with the doll aesthetic more.

Made her design simple enough for it to stand out in most any environment within Hell. Should probably have made a colored version for her, but I'm keeping the white and pink from her original design, but making her outfit yellow to compliment the reds of Hell and the blues of Heaven.

Here’s the newest design although I'm still fiddling around with different variations for the marks on her face, shown later in this post. Might lean towards stop motion look with how the mouths of the characters are always a separate segment from the face.

Eventually she goes from bellhop to more of a concierge roll as she gains more confidence in running the hotel, and eventually becomes the defacto ruler of Purgatory.

More on that later.

Also lil Lucifer resign too. Might make a whole post about him, but the basics are that I decided to go more “biblically accurate” angel for him.

He made Charlie's body, with Lilith drawing up the design for what she would look like. Overtime Charlie got to choose what she wanted to look like. She has accrued many bodies over her thousands of years of living.

Their relationship is close as although they don't see each other in person as often, Charlie always makes time to have at least one phone call a week with her dad. Especially with his worsening depression.

He doesn't fully believe in the hotel idea, but he’s willing to support his daughter anyway he can. Although he is hesitant when she requests to have an audience with Heaven as he knows how fickle they can be.

Especially when her first meeting with an angel is spent talking about rock bands.

I also changed up what Charlie is as not only is she a doll, but she is also the manifestation of “free will.” Spawned from Lilith and Lucifer’s union being an action that goes against "god's plan."

Although she barely remembers it, her actions caused Adam and Eve to eat the apple. She partially made the hotel out of guilt for condemning humanity, feeling as though she has to make it up to the sinners she condemned.

This makes her super hesitant to push the patrons to get help as although she knows that it'll help them in the long run it must fully be by their own free will to want to change. This hesitance also leads her to not fully interfere in their afterlives either, even when she knows a push is all they'll need.

She is able to literally be anyone or anything, and she is scared of this fact. Kinda getting decision paralysis. Also being that she is a being made out of pure energy this essentially means she's a bomb.

This is the result of what happens to her once her form is broken.

These are the old designs, went with a more streamlined look later.

Heavily inspired by the final form of the Princess from Slay the Princess. A game I highly recommend!

When in her "chimera form" she accidentally kills Adam, leading her to take him on as a guest at her hotel. It also leads her to convince Heaven and Hell to use Mount Purgatorio for her new liminal hotel. Kinda using Adam as a bargaining chip to show heaven that if angels can fall, then that doesn't mean sinners can't climb up the mountain to Heaven.

Overtime, with more horror influences I kept adding into her character and design I accidentally just made her into a creepy doll with some analog influences.

(It's almost like my subconscious is trying to tell me something 🤔)

Vaggie and her scary gf.

Decided to go for a more psychological route for Charlie’s abilities and personality. On the surface appearing normal, but still standing out in most environments because of her simplicity. That there's just something about her that doesn't quite fit anywhere.

Her character finally clicked for me after watching Paranoia Agent. She's not really based off any characters from the show, but some of the themes and imagery are baked into her character.

Along with the banger opening.

Eventually she builds her hotel in purgatory, and essentially becomes its ruler. Much to the chagrin of Heaven, who still only sees her as a demon. Even though she was technically born in the heavens.

Even though Charlie uses Adam as a bargaining chip they don't really care that he fell. But they don't want to be proven wrong either, so they reluctantly agree to the idea.

Also lil bonus of Charlie and Vaggie in nightwear. Gotta make another post for Vaggie, but I’m still working some things out with her story and character.

I apologize if so much of this post made no sense. I didn't realize how much I had written for Charlie. Although makes sense as she is supposed to be the main character.

I am happy to answer questions if y'all want more clarification.

[irrealisms]

c!wilbur + death as catharsis

A Temple of the Holy Ghost - Flannery O'Connor // The Gods Show Up - Michael Kinnucan // tumblr post by @oneheadtoanother // tumblr post by @nonsenscialghosts , tags by @annabelle--cane // tumblr post by @notbecauseofvictories

[IDs under cut]

Image 1: She could never be a saint, but she thought she could be a martyr if they killed her quick.

Image 2: The tragic hero attains something like divine completeness, except that for human beings completeness is death.

Image 3: A photo edit of a person with their hand on their head saying "HELP! I'M UNHAPPY". Another person offers them a sword, labeled "OKAY, HERE'S GRADUAL CHANGE THROUGH DAILY HABITS". The first person replies "NO THANKS, I WAS LOOKING FOR DRAMATIC ESCAPE"

Image 4: a tumblr post by nonsensicalghosts, reading: “denied the catharsis of punishment” is an underappreciated but hugely effective narrative consequence imo a reply to it reads: "#it’s so tasty and it comes in so many flavors#does the character self-loathe and feel anguished by what others intended as an act of forgiveness and grace?#does the character know they need to change but sort of madly wish they could trade the unceasing exhausting improvement journey#for a flash bang of slate-clearing repentance so they don’t have to think about it anymore?#is is a creeping horror as the character realizes no one is going to punish them because everyone else still thinks what they did was okay?#does the character have to live the rest of their life just feeling ever so slightly untrusted by everyone with no way to stop it?#sorry for leaving pretentious tags on tumblr dot com it will happen again Peer-reviewed tags by annabelle–cane"

Image 5: a tumblr post by notbecauseofvictories, reading: "Honestly though, thinking about martyrs in the context of “your death, while touching and deeply meaningful, actually isn’t your death for real bc obviously life everlasting—gear up for purgatory, mate” is a wonderfully cruel thought ……and then failed martyrdom, where you attempted to sacrifice yourself in the name of some great and Good cause, to become something more than the bounds of your skin and instead you’re stuck in the same old morally muddling-grey world, hiding the scars where the flames licked at your calves or swallowing meds to deal with the chronic pain from the breaking wheel stigamata not as this blessed gift turning your mind to the suffering of Christ but really annoying reminders of that time you were strung up by your wristbones and almost asphyxiated and you still need an inhaler" tags: #''dying is easy young man living is harder'' #to quote #I love martyrs but mostly because they are so narratively satisfying and robbing them of the narrative satisfaction is weird cathartic #''HAHA you have to stay in the confusing and uncertain world with the rest of us #instead of discovering the answer to one of the essential questions of humankind'' #''sucks to be you''

[tragedycoded]

OC fight game tag!

Loves @sableglass [x] and @leahnardo-da-veggie [x] unlocked the DMLS DLC for Tumblr Kombat.

I've definitely envisioned them as party members in a shitty RPGMaker horror game, so they port into a fighting game np.

Cole Sullivan

Health: 12 Strength: 10 Speed: 4 [the leg situation] Armor: 5 Cunning: 8

Special Attack: Peacemaker, a hit-scan ranged attack that will halve your HP if you don't perfectly time your dodge; Crutch Strike, which will knock you on your ass and leave you vulnerable to a follow-up: Cavalry Saber, an absolutely unfair combo attack.

Weakness: Limited mobility. Tank-like. Noticeable input lag when blocking; the developers will never fix it.

Idle Animation: Stands at attention on crutches. Occasionally frowns or adjusts his grip on the handles. If he's left idle too long, he will unholster his revolver and confirm the chamber is fully loaded. Sometimes Royston will run into his animation to smooch him on the cheek and run off again, which leaves his sprite with blushy cheeks and a :3 thought bubble.

Erik Hofer

Health: 8 Strength: 8 Speed: 6 Armor: 4 Cunning: 8

Special Attack: Ether Fist. An unchoreographed punch that heals 30% of his HP if it connects.

Weakness: Easily stunlocked.

Idle Animation: Black bag in one hand, cigarette in the other, he looks from side to side with a bored expression until he finishes smoking. Will roll his eyes if left long enough to finish smoking.

Arthur Royston

Health: 6 Strength: 8 Speed: 10 Armor: 8 Cunning: 12

Special Attack: Death From Above. Will climb any environmental structures (trees, railings, walls, etc.) and jump down on top of his opponent. Don't let him do this if you're less than half health or it's one-shot. Also has Talk Shit, which will debuff either Speed or Cunning.

Weakness: Easily distracted, poor impulse control. Short. Poison attacks are 50% more effective against him.

Idle Animation: Bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, twirling a hunting knife, waggling his eyebrows. Will eventually throw back his head in maniacal laughter, throw the knife, and run off-screen.

Melanie Gott

Health: 8 Strength: 5 Speed: 6 Armor: 6 Cunning: 10

Special Attack: Leg Sweep. Causes knockdown, leaves opponent vulnerable to having the shit beat out of them with a broom. Also Shotgun Blast. Exactly what it sounds like.

Weakness: Her punch attacks are ineffective against opponents with high Armor.

Idle Animation: Holding a shotgun with the barrel aimed at the ground, she rolls out her shoulders. Looks like she'd be rather be anywhere else. Every 60 seconds there's a 1% chance Royston will run through her idle animation, which makes her make the -_- face.

I know all of y'all have been tagged already, but tag! And it's open.

@cowboybrunch @finickyfelix @saturnine-saturneight @ashfordlabs @autism-purgatory

@noblebs @aintgonnatakethis @the-golden-comet @asablehart @mauvecatfic

@leahnardo-da-veggie @sableglass @gioiaalbanoart @words-after-midnight

@lavender-bloom @jev-urisk @wyked-ao3

[sweetie-peaches]

No one talks about how fucked up the air of purgatory is, what with all the disasters and radiation, if you took a Geiger counter to that island it might explode

Tubbos hybrid features move more into the realm of horror as purgatory continues. The deadly air of purgatory mutates him, to the point where it’s hard to tell where he started

his shapeshifter genes trying to adapt to the weather and climate but can’t because of its rapid changes, ending up changing him, amplified by his own fear, paranoia, and constantly changing attachments.

I can’t describe it cause I’m shitty at writing body horror, but horns breaking through his head only to fall off, multiple at once, crowding against each other because of his need to feel safe, to protect himself

His skin splits as eyes open, they follow the lightning scars on his face. Old tissue ripped open again as he shifts and mutates to satisfy the need to always be vigil, always alert

Sharpened nails grow under his fingernails, pushing them up and off, tearing away the sensitive flesh underneath them, so he can scratch his way to victory, if it’s even in sight. Even as he tries a diplomatic approach the claws are still there, still gleaming and slick with blood

Boney masses break through the skin of his ankles, what could’ve been the structure of wings, missing their feathers, stained pink with blood, just as quick to fall away

The skin of his lips and mouth tear to make room for sharp teeth that are soft and lack any real bite, gums stringing apart

The of fear on his team mates faces that they try to hide, or the pity, watching his transformations. Hybrid features fall away, or pierce through skin again. There’s always so, so much blood.

Think of the dogs of Chernobyl, changed forever. Mutated but still the same

Think of canaries, changed in odd ways to meet with the demands of human breeding

Tubbo is mutated but still the same, as hybrid features grown and fall away, he’s still the same. He promises he’s still the fucking same.