#tw: graphic content

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Nice to me!?

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"Just A Volunteer" (Book 1) | "The Lost Files" (Book 1.5) | "Of Feathers And Venom" (Book 2)

Merry Carcasses and have a Happy True Fear!

(Warning: this chapter is NSFW so hit the mature version below the cut if that is your preference!)

[eternally-frozen]

Private lessons

Synopsis: Dottore got kicked out of his studies due to various concerns about his psychological wellbeing. You, on the other hand, are currently majoring in biology - human anatomy and psychology. When he met you, you we’re still bright. Eager to learn and eager to follow the school system that ‘withholds’ true knowledge from it’s students. Dottore takes his opportunity to show you how things really work.

Warning: Dottore is crazy. you’re kidnapped but there’s no actual kidnapping scene, he tries to teach you about the brain by showing you a brain, he cuts the skull of a living dude, he also drugged the dude, you vomit, mentions of snot, dark themes in general, awake brain surgery, implied intimacy, hude dead dove do not eat, 

Note: This is a modern setting, but everything is still in Teyvat. The akedemiya doesn’t get mentioned - you go to a different school. No visions mentioned, no clones mentioned. Idk why I wrote this - an angry spirit probably possessed me /j

Song recommendation: In pieces - Madison York

You used to study biology. Human anatomy and psychology, to be specific.

You used to, and somewhere along the way you got acquainted with Zandik.

Perhaps if you weren’t as busy, you wouldn’t have been fooled by his charming façade. Maybe you’d have noticed the obvious insanity in his eyes, Il Dottore, the second of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, before it was too late.

But despite all your attempts at resisting, he remains stubborn.

You are so in love with your major, and who’d want that passion to die down because studies are held back due to ‘morals’ and rules.

You can’t imagine his reaction should the moment come where you find the courage to tell him you never wanted to study your major in his way.

Months prior, he crashed into your life like a bullet flying out of its barrel and straight into someone’s chest.

He’d cause a sequence of terrible events, ranging from one of your friends dying in a gang fight – to being disowned by your family after you’d gotten expelled with student loans suddenly driving you into debt.

All you had, was no more. And he was to blame.

Your life was done for, even if he opted to keep you alive for whatever reason he had in his deranged mind.

But, it wasn’t all bad at first. Dottore might’ve seemed like a normal man at some point. A bit intense, but previously never dangerous in your eyes.

He’d been your saviour only a few months ago. If not for him, you’d still be stuck with your thesis. It was mostly your fault for choosing a subject you didn’t particularly like, and yet, he’d spend his free evenings tutoring you, explaining the things you failed to understand with patience and reward.

You used to like talking with him.

At one point he brought you comfort and joy. You couldn’t help but search for his crimson eyes within the crowds of Sumeru city, hoping to catch him before you’d head to your next class.

But everything comes to an end eventually, and when you finished your thesis you stopped visiting him.

You wonder, had your choices been different – had you kept visiting him – would you still be in bliss, unaware of those crimson eyes stalking you?

And despite everyone close to you either dying or getting hurt, he only lost his temper with you once.

It must’ve been a petty argument, you can’t remember what you two had been screaming about, but knowing him, it must’ve been related to your studies.

In the heat of the argument he grabbed you by your arms with enough force to make you fear him. His grip was strong, leaving you no place to escape until you’d finally admitted you were the one in the wrong.

Zandik does not feel any emotions – you know this. His eyes are always distant, thinking about something that’s probably incomprehensible to you. The only time he ever had emotion in his eye was during that argument. Almost like a light returning, if only for a split moment.

It had taken a full week for the bruises to fade away. Not that it mattered much, no one was able to see the bruises on you. Only a few hours after the argument, he made up his mind; he’d take you.

Whatever that light in his eyes was, it had been a clear sign. Somewhere along the way you had provoked him to kidnap you and take you away from everything you knew.  

You have a huge gap in your memories of that time. For you it felt like you woke up in a different nation after the argument with Dottore. When you first woke up and asked him about it, he calmly told you it was your punishment – or whatever that was supposed to mean.

He’d taken you from Sumeru all the way across different nations until he reached his destination in the frozen lands of Snezhnaya. On your first day there he told you his real identity and his affiliations with the Tsarista.

Even with that information, his motivations remained unclear. Confusion floods your mind at night when you lay next to his sleeping body. Why would he keep you by his side? Why does he insists on doing this? Is he toying with you?

You can only imagine him wanting you to lower your guard.

Not that he’d ever let you though.

As hard as it is to admit, He likes you. Your reactions make his heart beat faster and he wildly encourages you to do the craziest things.

A sick smile paints his face whenever you hurl objects at his face, probably entertained by your futile attempts to harm him. Furthermore, the way he condescendingly lures you into discussions only for him to explain why you’re in the wrong.

You hate him.

You really fucking hate him.

The door behind you is locked, you checked it moments before.

Is this another one of his lessons?

“You wanted to learn more about human anatomy, correct?”

Dottore’s voice is steady, never revealing any emotions to you. His eyes move up, watching your glare waver when you meet his crimson gaze. You continue to linger by the exit, despite it being locked.

“No.”

Your voice is weak. It breaks and the tone wavers. Dottore watches your eyes dart around the room. He had made it clear; there’s no exit, not without him granting you one.

And how he loves your wide eyes looking everywhere aside from the person he drugged and laid on an operation table. Your hands are in fists, occasionally clenching together before slightly relaxing again, undoubtedly clampy from the sweat. It’s precious. You’re anxious.

“For someone who is so passionate to study behaviour, you’re awfully weak at acknowledging your own.”

He’s mocks you.

You try to even your breaths, in- and out again. You’re uncertain what he’s trying to teach you. Yesterday he’d gotten a random set of organs for you to study. Today? The drugged man on the table, the tools laid out on a sterile table..

Fuck. You’re so fucked.

Dottore lifts up a pair of latex gloves. White, the same type he made you use yesterday.

His voice continues,

“Did you ever get the joy of participating in the lectures of the human brain? Or did I get you expelled before experiencing them?”

He keeps his relaxed smile but slightly tilts his face down, eyes taunting you to lash out at him.

Still, you reply with as much control as you can muster,

“Yes.” - the basics you know. “I experienced…the first few lectures.”

Your voice trails off as you watch him move around the operation table. He helps the person on the table upright before attaching him to a device, something to keep his head from moving around.

You try to stand your ground. Part of you wants to believe him. He always tells you, ‘You know I can’t hurt you, bunny’.  But what truths do his words hold when he failed that promise long ago?

“Did you know, in the third year or so,-“

You watch him circle around the table. His fingers move down towards the tools, he lifts up something connected to a wire. You can’t see what it is exactly, so you move your eyes back to him.

“They showed us a brain.” He laughs, “Of course not a ‘real’ one.”

He walks around the person, stopping at the end where his head lays. The male in on the operation table tries to move his head up, but the frame keeps his head restricted.

Dottore continues,

“The academia used ones that were preserved and taken from people who lived an average life. They all died at old age, but not before signing a contract to donate their bodies to science once their family had mourned them.”

He waves his hand towards the chair that is placed in the middle of the empty room. It’s facing the side of the operation table. Probably set up to get a clearer view of both the ‘patient’ and Dottore.

“Sit down.”

You gulp down hard. The room itself is big, but smaller than any others you’ve seen.

The manor he resides remains largely unused. By now you’re used to the piles of dust and the spiders that hide in the corners of each room.

When you first explored his home it looked abandoned. Untouched and deprived from anything ‘homey’. But after a week or so, familiar items started to pop up.

Books previously in your possession, ranging from children stories to the sappy romance ones you used as your little escape, they all found its way here. It created a weird sense of safety – and he probably planned it like that.

He had also obtained multiple portraits. There’s one in the grand hall that paints a way too accurate version of yourself next to Dottore, his arm encircled around your waist as you both smile forward.

You hate the paintings.

But the creepiest things he obtained is the collection of stuffed animals that you used to sleep with.

When you first work up in his manor you’d been tucked into a king sized bed with fluffy blankets, multiple pillows and the nostalgic plushies. Your new bedroom was designed like your old one. Similar and comfortable, but after a week he decided to put an end to that safety.

You can only assume he burned the stuffed animals along with the pictures of friends and family that’d long been replaced with his face.

Though, you wonder how he’d gotten them in the first place. Part of you was worried for your family. Had he been at your parents’ home? It couldn’t be, why would he go through all that effort…

The floor creaks as you move your legs forward to the chair. He keeps his gaze on your form, and you return his gaze fiercely. Any form of fear he’ll take as submission, leading to worse ‘lessons’.

Still, your thoughts are less controlled. Will he lunge forward when you sit down? What’s up with the operation setting? What will he gain from this? What’s todays lesson?

He gives you a small smile when you sit down onto the chair. It’s not close enough to the table for you to feel intimidated. You’re still three meters away from Dottore. You pull your legs together and try to pull your dress down more. You feel exposed in the empty room.

You can do this.

“Book.”

You panic for a second and he smirks before tauntingly pointing his index finger towards an item on the floor; the book.

It’s nearby, so you lean down and grab it.

You recognise it. It’s the same one you were studying before he kidnapped you.

You remember the first few chapters. It contains an introduction about the anatomy of the brain, dividing it in parts, telling the reader what each side does, and how the brain works when stimulated in certain circumstances.

You remember only diving deep into the functions of the frontal lobe. You fail to recall them now, you’re too stressed out.

Despite the stress, you’re able to figure out today’s lecture.

Dottore speaks up, “Lesson one,”

His red eyes watch you lift your chin up. Your eyes are wide and shaken. Your chest is heaving up and down as you start to hyperventilate. Dottore’s breaths in deeply and his pupils dilate.

‘Smart girl.’

He inhales sharply though his nose, “A human can undergo a conscious brain surgery. You know how it works, I assume?”

You part your lips slightly, horror in your eyes as you weakly shake your head.

The guy on the table is a male. Average in height and weight. He has no noticeable features and seems to be only a few years older than you. You can see his skull from your position. There’s a dotted line drawn across his forehead.

He’s going to exercise a conscious brain surgery.

“Dottore.” You breath out, eyebrows furrowed together. “Please.”

You only see the side of his face, but you get a clear view of the grin that breaks free.

“Don’t worry. He signed a waiver of agreement to make you feel more at ease.”

He flips on a button and the tool in his hand starts buzzing. You recognise it now, it’s a medical drill, something to cut bones with. When he moves it up to the patient’s skull and you quickly avert your gaze.

You feel bile starting to rise from your stomach and you gag in response. Your fists clench onto the book, trying to keep you grounded. You can hear Dottore’s voice, though the words don’t register in your brain.

Water pools onto your lower eyelid and you lift a hand up to your mouth keep yourself from puking. Your eyes are casted onto the ground. Each inhale though your nose physically hurts. The disgusting aftertaste of vomit remains in the back of your throat.

Is it too late to pray?

The buzzing sounds continue for longer than you like, and when it stops you remain in your position, frozen in place.

You focus on breathing. In, and out again. Your body is trembling and you jolt when you feel two hands place themselves onto your arms.

“Please,” Dottore’s face is only a few inches away from yours. Within his strong grip you’re at his mercy. He watches you struggle a few more seconds before he sternly tells you to quit it.

You let out a pathetic sob, leaning forward into his direction, letting your head fall down in defeat. Tears and snot run down your face. His hold on you is the only thing keeping you from tumbling down onto the ground.

“We will continue this until you’ve properly learnt your stupid biology. It’s up to you to decide how many people get to die. Understood?”

You shake your head weakly. “I can’t.”

He groans, “You must, and you will.”

He releases his grip on your arms. When your body falls forward he puts a hand on your sternum, pushing you back with ease.

His fingerprints burn onto your skin. The latex gloves are no longer sterile, you can feel the blood staining your dress and skin, but you doubt he cares.

Dottore watches as you slowly compose yourself. It takes a bit, but he remains silent.  

“There we go.” He removes the hand that’s been pushing you into the chair. “Wasn’t that hard was it?”

Your eyes remain fixed on the floor for a few more seconds. You listen to Dottore’s footsteps. He’s gone and you feel your body start to tremble again.

You don’t want this. You never wanted this.

Something tells you to look up.

You wish you didn’t.

The upper part of the man’s skull is removed. You have a clear view of the brain that’s been exposed to the air. The removal was done with precision, not a part of his brain is harmed.

A drop of blood floods down from the open part of his skull to his eyes. You watch the male groan weakly in response.

He’s still alive.

Dottore watches your body hit the ground before you vomit. You sob, whine and gag. Your small hands fly all over the place. One placed on the ground, trying to keep yourself from falling into the pool of vomit, while the other is busy wiping away the snot, vomit and tears that fall from your face.

A warm smile creeps up on Dottore’s face as he watches your intense reaction.

“Y/N.” He snaps his fingers once.

You stop your movements.

Are you going to die? Is he mad because you vomited? You lift a shaky hand up to your mouth.

His shoes come in view once again. His head is close to yours, he’s crouching down in front of you.

Time seems to stop as you gaze back into his crimson eyes.

“Hello?” He snaps his fingers in front of you.

You blink and you move your eyes back to the ground. The pool of vomit makes you sick again.

”S…sorry-“ You sob once more.

He rubs his fingers between his brow, a revelation hitting him.

With a somewhat sudden movement he stands up, frightening you and making you sob even harder.

You’re no sight to behold at the moment. Covered in vomit, tears and snot running down your face, and reeking of sweat.

He undoubtedly put himself in a less than favourable situation.

After today he’s going to have to deal with delays in your study and those nightmares that you get.

Whatever.

A small miscalculation on his part.

He takes off his white lab coat and throws it onto the male on the operation table, covering the exposed brain and likely injuring it in the process.

He has no intention to keep the patient.

The experiment had long lost his privilege to live.

Dottore’s experiment started to lose organ functions a few days ago. It’d eventually lead him to die without ever completing the tests Dottore put him under.

Truly unfortunate, but Dottore still gifted the dying man one last gift.

As Dottore turns his attention back to you he realises he might’ve fucked you up a bit though.

No worries.

He’ll patch you up again.

Tomorrow’s lesson can wait for now.

[scourgeeternalblackout]

SEB Chapter 6-1: A Remedy for the Future page 20

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Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 ||

[livingininsomnia]

In the darkness of the night, Silver watched as you drew an initiation circle with exacting care, runes drawn to stunning perfection.

The prey he’d come after lay behind you, bound in the knots of a sacrificial rite, an honour more than it deserved.

The only light in the forest was the candle to represent fire in your circle, a flickering unnatural thing that danced shadows across your body.

And you, immaculately adorned with precious stones of the earth upon your body, clothed in a bloodstained dress, were breath-taking.

Silver should have only stayed to verify the prey to be dead, an enemy slayed by unexpected hands.

But at the first sight of you, his heart had thumped, and so stunned was he, that he couldn’t say if asked, what he’d stood there for.

And as he’d watched as you carved into the bloody carcass of that fae body, heart still bloody and beating furiously, his own heart had sped up to match.

He put his hand against his chest, which beat so furiously against its cage, as if it could leap out and take the place of the one in your hands.

Oh. Oh.

[00violens]

The Collector and The Collection are great movies actually

[a-manicured-lawn]

Pickle juice WIP?

Ah, PICKLE JUICE! AKA Drown the Boy in Pickle Juice, my WIP name for “do not go gentle into that good light”!

This one actually made it out of my WIPs ages ago, but there’s a few more…. Graphic snippets that I left out that shall lie untouched till the end of time so I counted those.

TWs:

[yharnam-is-a-fuck]

What would Bloodborne Weapons do to people in real life?

And, which one is the most brutal.

This is my 100th post. And I've been pondering this topic for a while so here goes. This is mostly just speculation. Also, while I won't be showing any gory images as examples, some of the injuries described could be disturbing. So be warned. First off, the Saw Cleaver/Saw Spear. These are pretty brutal when you think about how they are designed. The Serrated edges would get stuck in whatever you try to slash, dealing even more damage when you get it unstuck. In the trailer for Bloodborne, we actually see a hunter exerting quite a bit of force to pull it out of a Yharnamite they kill. Perhaps the purpose of the serration is to mangle the corpses of beasts, so nobody can recognise them as human?

The Hunter Axe Despite being an Axe, this weapon is described as mostly Blunt damage. When Transformed, this thing is definitely being swung with enough force to crush bones. And it's high rally potential points to huge amounts of blood being spilled.

Threaded Cane Untransformed it isn't much of a weapon, and the most you could do is just beat someone with it. But when you do transform it, the serrated whip is stated to be capable of flogging beasts.

Ludwig's Holy Blade/Kirkhammer/Holy Moonlight Sword. Untransformed, these are all just swords. Pretty basic slashes and stabs. But transformed they would all do a ton of crushing blunt damage. I imagine the Holy Blade would be more of a bone breaking thing, while the Kirkhammer would be straight up turning things into mush. For the Holy Moonlight Sword, I like to imagine the transformed mode actually cuts quite cleanly, leaving some moonlight glow along the wounds.

Blades of Mercy/Rakuyo These two are both 1000 cuts type of weapons, though the Rakuyo does a mix of stabbing and slashing compared to the Blades.

Amygdalan Arm. Untransformed would just be pure crushing force, the attack animation of repeated slams would be enough to turn a beast into mush. The transformed mode gaining that weird slashy appendage would probably make it less damaging to be honest, that thing does not look like it is swinging itself around with much force.

Beast Claw It's a claw. The claw gained by transforming probabably does a lot more ripping and tearing, while the fake claw seems to do a lot of piercing damage. But the fury of Beasthood probably encourages the hunter to keep attacking even after their prey is dead.

Beasthunter Saif Unlike the rest of the Old Hunter weapons, this one is probably less brutal than the modern Saw Cleaver. The sharp edge would sever a limb compared to the ripping serration of the Cleaver. Its quick flurry attacks in the unextended mode could also slice something open pretty easily.

Beast Cutter This one is, in my opinion, the most brutal weapon in all of Bloodborne. If you were to slash at someone with the transformed version, and their arm or leg were to be caught inbetween two segments as the come back together... that's gonna crush anything. And don't forget that it is also serrated in both modes, so the club can crush and rip apart at the same time while the whip can catch on fur or skin and tear it off. Also, the transformed heavy attacks are enough to flatten just about every enemy in the game, so this thing is being swung with insane amounts of force. Bloodletter A pretty sharp and spiky club even before you stab yourself with it. I'm not really sure what the extra Blood would be doing to its victims, but it makes it larger and more weighty.

Boomhammer This one could honestly be tied with the Beast Cutter. Hitting people with a giant hammer is already going to be dealing a lot of damage, but slamming them with an explosion as well is enough to obliterate them. Getting a hit with the explosion while something is up against a wall or the ground would reduce it to nothing.

Burial Blade This one is like the Saif, very clean with it's slashes and cuts. Along with the person who created it wishing to give victims a peaceful death I don't think it would be doing much besides decapitations.

Chikage It's a katana. It gets Blood magic. Probably just makes it slash harder. Not much else to say.

Kos Parasite Considering only the tentacle attacks and not the vomit and arcane explosion, I imagine it would be like getting stung by a jellyfish. If you weren't crushed by the tentacles, you would probably end up with a bunch of space diseases. Logarius' Wheel While all you actually do with it is crush people with the wheel, this weapon is actually based on a medival torture device. Perhaps the Executions strapped defeated Vilebloods to their weapons as they slaughtered the remaining ones. Reiterpallasch/Rifle Spear This one is a pretty elegant rapier. Lots of stabbing and not very brutal. The worst it could inflict is a point blank shot from the attached pistol. The Spear is about the same, but it has a shotgun attached instead and is desgined by crazy Hunters.

Simon's Bowblade The curved sword could cut something up pretty cleanly, similar to the Burial Blade. The bow shots would also inflict a lot less damage than a gunshot. Stake Driver The charged up stake blast could probably punch straight through your chest, but without that all you can really do is slash and poke.

Tonitrus Being beaten with a big metal ball would probably break bones if they swung hard enough. Adding in the electric damage would also hurt quite a lot, and would probably leave behind a lot of charred corpses and crushed skulls. Whirlygig Saw It's a buzzsaw. Being smashed into things while also spinning. This thing can and will tear shit apart. Untransformed its just a club.

I didn't go over any of the guns because... they're guns. But if you really care about the sidearms, the Cannons would blow you up, and the Fist of Gratia is just ye olde brass knuckles.

[midnightmare-fics]

I Promise I'll Save You

Ship: Mungrove (Eddie Munson/Billy Hargrove)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,767

Warnings: DEAD DOVE, graphic descriptions of violence and blood and injuries and vomit, sword-fucking, Vecna/Billy non-con, Vecna uses Billy as a puppet to gain the Shadow Monster's powers, Eddie will stop at nothing to save Billy, established Mungrove, emaciated Billy, victim Billy, savior Eddie, heavy angst/hurt-comfort, happy ending (I PROMISE)

Summary:

Eddie's laid his life on the line for his friends, accepted his fate, and hoped with this he could be reunited with his lost lover. Nothing goes according to plan... Well, mostly nothing. Wandering the Upside Down lost and injured, Eddie finds a (semi) familiar face: Billy, the love of his life. Except Billy looks nothing like himself, he's wasting away as Vecna's puppet, but Eddie doesn't care. He will do anything to save his love.

Events:

@mungroveweek - Day 1, Upside Down

@harringroveson-bingo - Card Three, Prompt B3 - "It's giving me the heebie-jeebies."

@billyhargrovebingo - Card One, Prompt C1 - Sword Fucking

@eddiemunsonbingo - Card One, Prompt B1 - Numb

Link:

[bookinsey]

WARNING: JOTTO M/V contains violent and graphic images that may be disturbing or triggering to some viewers.  Please note that any and all parts of this M/V (characters, storyline, etc) is an imaginative work of fiction and should be viewed as such. Viewer discretion is advised. 

[dino-boyo-agere]

First of: TW!!

╰→ mention & vivid description of severe injury

╰→ use of uncensored swearwords! (f*ck & s*it)

╰→ but no graphic pictures in this post!

.･｡ﾟ×ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ.✧.ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ☆ﾟ×ﾟ｡･.

So on July 14 of 2020 I lost my left middle finger by trying to fetch a ball from my pal's dog he threw over a fence the day before.

Here is the full story:

It was raining and half way over the fence I decided to ditch the idea, since the fence was fairly slippery and I 'didn't want to get hurt' lmao.

So, on my way back down I obviously slipped, my ring got caught on the fence and degloved my left middle finger.

I felt a hard tug, no pain at first, tho I had a feeling what just happened... My first thought was: "Do I look at my hand or do I just go home?" Obviously, I looked down and "fuck." was the first thing I said.

I grabbed the bone and remaining flesh with my unharmed hand, to stop the bleeding and looked at my friend (the one with the dog).

I calmly told him: "[Name], don't panic but my finger is gone, call an ambulance. I will lay down on the ground now, okay?" At first he thought I was fucking with him and didn't believe me. Because I stayed strangely calm since he has severe panic attacks and I didn't want him to get one in this situation, since that would be anything but beneficial for the both of us. He only realized I was for real, when he saw red liquid dripping out my hand.

My friend hastily rung all the doorbells of the Apartment building across the street, to ask someone to call an ambulance. (I didn't have my phone on me he had his phone, but forgot that you can call emergency numbers even without mobile credit.)

At one point a guy rode past us on his bike, my friend tried to flag him down, yelling something along the lines of: "Hey, could you please call an ambulance? He (gesturing at me, lying on the ground, bleeding) lost- had an accident." And I'll never forget this mans answer, after throwing one glance at me, in a cheery sing-sang voice he just said: "Noo, I don't have time, sorryy.~" while riding of with the brightest smile. That is still the funniest thing to me lmao. That guy had a great day and was not willing to care for anything or anyone else. Honestly.. Good for him!

Anyways, back to the ambulance-calling problem..

My friend managed to get an old lady to step out on the balcony, where she could see me and she called an ambulance right away.. Well she actually got a little confused and called the police, but they informed the hospital to send an ambulance.

Another lady also approached me to just be there for me, I think. She just rubbed my back and tried to comfort me, which was really sweet. Especially seeing she was the one crying, overwhelmed by the situation. She also shielded me from the rain by covering me with her umbrella. I hope shes okay, she was an absolut Sweetheart.

I was lucky (I guess?) since a woman, who lived across the street I was laying on, saw me through the window and came to check out what happened. And wouldn't you know, she was a nurse! She introduced herself to me as such, stating: "Hey, I saw you through my window, are you okay? I might be able to help. I'm a nurse and brought my first aid kit, what happened?" So I detailed the incident to her and showed her my injury. Upon seeing my mangled hand she let out an audible gasp and a whispered: "oh, fuck." At which I couldn't help but laugh, saying: " 'oh, fuck'? As a nurse? It's that bad, huh?". She apologized and tried to back paddle a bit, I think she was trying to not freak me out to much, saying something along the lines of: "No, it's just- I just didn't expect that." To which I replied: "Well, to be fair, I  basically had the same reaction, so it's alright." The kind nurse bandaged me up and waited for the ambulance with us.

At that point the pain was pretty bad but not to much to handle. I mainly focused on my friend, constantly telling him to: "Stay calm and breathe!" since "I can't bleed out, so it's alright."

The ambulance (and police) arrived about 15 minutes after the call (they normally would've been there faster but we had a lot of road work in the area at the time). The officers tried to figure out what happened and kept asking weird questions like: "Did your friend pull you down?", "Did the dog eat the finger?" and "Did the dog pull you down?" Etc.. They also 'searched?' for my finger (they basically just looked in and around the bush where it happened from a distance for like thirty seconds lmao) and said they couldn't find it, so no finger saving for me. The EMT's knocked me out with some seriously good shit and drove me to the hospital. At that point the shock settled, I went in and out of consciousness. At the ER they gave me local anesthesia by shoving a needle in my mangled finger and shooting some thick liquid in there... THAT was the most pain I ever felt in my life so far. But right away, just milliseconds after, no pain at all.

In this moment I actually got to look at it in depth for the first time. It looked gnarly. Most of my skin and flesh was gone but the two bigger bones (wich where astonishingly bright white) of the finger, as well as the main tendon, where still intact. I could actually move my fucking bone-finger!! So I did just that, opening and closing my hand in awe, observing how exactly 'the strings work'. It was fascinating! 

They also took some pictures and I managed to message the clinic for the photos of the degloved finger because... YES. You can find the link to those photos at the end of this post. ! Be warned tho, it's literally med. gore !

They gave me another local anesthetic, for the operation, this time numbing the whole arm. They couldn't put me under since I've already eaten that day.

Even though my finger couldn't be 'saved' since they 'couldn't find it'. I found the ring three days after the incident tho so that's cool, I guess.

I asked if I was allowed to 'keep' the bones they removed but the doctor said: "That's not allowed, since it's a bio hazard." (stupid German laws).

They send me home the next day and I got a cute little tattoo after everything healed up nice. (A little pair of scissors on a dashed line, because I'm funny like that.)

When I got home I picked up my dog from my friends apartment (yes, the same friend) and the first thing I said to him was "pew pew" while doing the Spider-Man 'web shooting gesture' with my hand.

I don't really have many long lasting difficulties in regards to the missing finger except for occasional phantom pain or the even worse phantom itch. Both of which mainly occur when the weather switches.

I'm a pretty positive person, so I'm just thankful that it was only one finger and a unessential one, on my non-dominant hand at that.

All in all I'd give the situation a solid 7 /10.

Pos. (+)

The hospital food was good.

The staff was nice.

Neg. (-)

I'm still a little salty about not being able to take my own bones home.

I physically cringe every time I think about the incident. (Wich is annoying because I basically live next to the place it happened and have to see that darn fence daily.)

Indiff. (¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

The pain was bad, but manageable.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask!

And as promised → here ← are the (uncensored) pictures of my injury, if you're interested!

✧✧.✧✧ Sorry for any spelling / grammar errors ✧✧.✧✧

✧✧✧.✧✧✧ English is not my first language ✧✧✧.✧✧✧

.*･｡･｡ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ｡･*.ﾟ.↓DNI↓.ﾟ.*･｡ﾟﾟ｡･*.ﾟﾟ｡･｡･*.

･｡»･⁠°✧❗I don't consent to NSFW interaction❗✧°･«｡･

banner by @froggy-clubhouse

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

I just finished what you've written up to this point! I love your series so much!

Thank you so much. I know this ask is old but I wanted to continue going forward with it!

Enjoy your holidays!

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"Just A Volunteer" (Book 1) | "The Lost Files" (Book 1.5) | "Of Feathers And Venom" (Book 2)

[coramatus]

A Submas headcanon about train mass casualty events, so disaster-averse people beware

Of the two, Emmet is the slightly more morbid twin that likes learning about train disasters, mainly to learn from others’ mistakes. Can and will go into depth about the Swiss cheese model, do not tempt him. Safety first!

On the other hand, Ingo really doesn’t like learning about train disasters because he doesn’t like thinking about people getting hurt and dying horribly. The ones where the victims die suffering really bother him.

Emmet: “And because the air brakes were not properly set, this train slammed headfirst into another train so hard it telescoped into it. Everyone in the first car and the driver all basically got turned into chunky marin—”

Ingo: “Emmet, I told you to stop describing people getting crushed to death with that term. If I knew you were going to talk about this, I wouldn’t have brought pasta for lunch…”

[kidelune]

TW: Mature themes, death, violence, blood, all that jazz. Read at your own discretion.

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight

It is said death with the tongue is useful, but I find words too soft an instrument to smash a man’s skull. And tongues useless.

featuring @chenosias

[August 29, 2023, location: confidential]

The basement is a fleeting nightmare you enter with your conscience and cognition far detached from yourself. And as you ascend to the surface again, everything you've seen and heard below, unless significant in any way above, stays behind on the backdoor's threshold. These were the rules for as long as Kijun could remember, an onslaught of repeated relays to you in the car on the way; and really, of such importance they were that everyone who dared come and go here were adamant on the notion of colouring within the lines of this rule. At least if you wanted to keep your head.

Valuing his sleep and sanity, Kijun never dared bring even a toe overline and nevertheless, he couldn't ever truly get accustomed with the unseeing nor the forgetting. But coming here had sometimes been a necessary part of his job as a mediator, and given how seriously he took mediating, he'd eventually taught himself brute force and found enjoyment within the process of tricking his mind with the pleasure of pulling teeth. Thus forcing himself apart from lesser men that cowered, while mitigating some the guilt that often came with memories and dreams.

This they called bravery or balls, and said that if you did it enough times a numb void would become of your heart, as his did—a silence that he could never return noise to again. It grew like a tumor, held his heart hostage and made his work easy, much like a basement in and of itself, for many years of reflex. But for how long could the heart remain obscured and content in the dark?

Car tires come to a screeching stop in front of a plain-looking duplex residence, unobtrusively sitting between two others alike and in an alley so narrow it can only fit one car at a time. Behind the veil of tinted windows, it appears as some sort of anomalous, jagged figure bled into reality by helter-skelter shadows and the sun. Off it wafts the unease of staring into a void you can sense is bottomless. Yet that's all it takes—one glance as a flicker of the switch inside Kijun's heart. It retreats into the darkness with one final warning from the driver, before the car door unlocks for his emptied ribcage.

Expectedly, Yunho is the first to greet him on the way in through the backdoor, which extends to a naturally lit alcove preceding one of the empty living areas. As it is outside, the abode's pale bowels are cold and barren as a wasteland; made in plain sight that this was, after all, not a home made for living. After all these years, eerily, it hasn't changed.

"Glad you decided to show up, kid, even though you're recovering. Didn't sound like you would over the phone back then."

"Sure. Is it just us?" Asks Kijun blandly, as he tightens his signature leather jacket around himself and discards the memory of his initial hesitance. And drawing the blade tucked against his ribcage that much more within reach.

Yunho, perpetually amused and properly clad in his formal suit, extends an arm within the general direction of the basement's entrance somewhere down the right hall. "Everyone else's downstairs."

Lead by his stare alone, Kijun follows.

Two men are on standby on each side of the doorframe, and the two bow with a fleeting stiffness when they approach, their neat black suits creasing and dimpling through the motion. Used to gang formalities, Kijun keeps his head up and his scowl tightly chained across his features, his guard so high it heats his blood and draws pinpricks up to the back of his neck. Neither of them return the favour on the way in.

Soon to be discoverd below is what Yunho meant by everyone, being just the two of them and the other men that belonged here in the undigestible stiffness of the basement, rendered to inconsequential heaps by lack of light—at least for now. There are precisely two of them as well, suspended upside down on thick ropes and stagnant time by their ankles, tied wrists reaching for the floor. Like slaughter hung up to dry.

When Yunho flickers on the basement lights, irrefutable proof of days spent without a meal or much water lay palpable between concave abdomens and protruding ribs. Bruises and dried blood tell tales of long and painful beatings on either side.

The one on the far left is slightly larger, his fingers seeming to have grown swollen and purple with shatter and then neglect. Kijun, who's completely unphased by the tableau in front of him, wonders if the broken bones were a just punishment administered after an attempt at escaping. Remembers how often it had to be done before—how many times he'd partaken in the beatings himself.

After all, if given the chance, dogs on tight leashes often bite their way to freedom.

Noticing Kijun's fixed stare, Yunho chimes in from the side, "That one on the left'd almost killed you last week," He says, "But this one's your guy. Caught him sneakin' around the club on Sunday and apparently, he knows plenty. Here—"

A bucket of water Kijun knows is ice-cold immediately follows the smooth voice pouring over his shoulder, which is almost caught amidst the sudden deluge were it not for his reflexes. The water splashes as intended onto the target body hanging on the room's right, resurrecting him from a deathly stillness with some seconds of vigorous floundering. He's alive.

This is Kim Woosik, Yunho had informed Kijun on the phone earlier in the week, while extending his invitation to this questioning. Woosik'd been working undercover as a messenger for the Green Gang leader for a while, recovering and buying information from accomplices working in the club. Their job this morning was to find out just how much he knew, and who, exactly, it was that told. If there was one thing Kijun was good at, it was carving out rats with only his tongue. Then his knife.

"Kim Woosik," Kijun calls out as he finally tunes into his other self, merciless and unforgiving if he'd ever seen it. The heavy bass in his tone passes and reverberates across the damp walls and limbs with a commandeering urgency, Woosik immediately stopping his squirming to listen as he no doubt hears nearing footsteps in the echoes, then feels Kijun's presence when he crouches down by his head.

In this moment, everything happening outside the two of them ceases to exist, Yunho's lighthearted warning not to break him too soon falling upon deafened ears. This place was made for breaking, and breaking alone.

Kijun rips the soaked sack off Woosik's head to begin, and—briefly freezes. Met with two eyes he instantly recognizes, all bloodshot and reflecting shock and the vivid memory of mourning staring back up at him, Kijun feels icy blood and dread rushing up to the back of his skull. Has to quickly war confusion off his brows by aggressively ripping the piece of duct tape off Woosik's mouth. The latter screams as his dry lips split red, alive. He should be dead. I saw you die.

"Who the fuck are you?" Demands Kijun from the ghost turned rat, overtaken by a surge fury so profound it tears and shreds through him thoroughly enough to quickly become all he can feel.

But nonetheless, Woosik smiles a dangerous smile, like he knew all along that this day would come. Spits blood and teeth at Kijun and earns himself a square punch in the face—the sheer force of that singular blow so hard it cracks and skews Woosik's nose completely. It also throws him off balance, erratically swaying on the rope as the walls reflect broken moans and convulsions that can't be muffled by hands. Neither should they exist today, to begin with.

Kijun figures he'd question Yunho later in favour of satisfying his current rage instead. Grips onto Woosik's hair hard enough to sting the scalp bloody, too, and spits, "You fuckin' traitor."

"You fuckin' idiots. Yeah, it's me." Woosik chokes on every syllable he can't grind out without hurting himself, tongue too large in his mouth in this position and agony. But his eyes—oh, how the fire never falters. "Y'thought I'd ac'ually go and die for that greedy fuckin' bastard y'call a boss? Fuck 'ou— I'd rather be a traitor than a fuckin' dead on this turf."

A violent silence ensues at this, lasting only a few laboured breaths from the hanging men, but enough for everyone to feel it's onslaught ten times over. Kijun stands with it, shoving the head in his grip away from him with harsh dismissal. Takes a few extra moments thereafter to produce a smoke from his pocket and light it up, then another, for him to gather some manner of composure back into his voice, in spite of the fires that are laying waste to his insides. Blood, fresh from his split lip soaks into the circumference of the cigarette.

He stars over, while effortless, long strides bring him around this Woosik far too quickly for the other to keep up with, "So, that's why you decided to fake your own death to get out? Just so you could go die for another greedy fuckin' bastard? S'that it, Jung Hyungmin?"

The name tastes filthy and bitter on his tongue; not because he cared that much about Hyungmin's loyalty. Until this day, Jung Hyungmin was supposed to be simply a good friend from the past; someone Kijun had known well since they were seventeen and nineteen. And most importantly of all, he was supposed to be dead. Yet no matter how hard Kijun tried and tried again, life then knocked on his door and proved itself a force he could only bend when it came to his own death.

He had wondered what Yunho meant when he'd said on call, nowadays, we can't even trust death to do it's job. Now he knows; the explanation being a bloodied nose, ugly stabbing scars Kijun recalls stitching openly stretching across the length of his spine and abdomen, and a snake tattoo etched into his inner bicep. Green Gang.

"Yes, Kijun. Y'd be surprised t'know how many have done the same shit. People get sick of bein' manipulated to fuckin' hell, from bein' lied to practically all the time and worked literally to death for personal gain. I didn't choose this life t'be someone's fuckin' toy, and neither did you."

Kijun sneers, though he's merely playing along now after having detached himself from the past, "You know nothing about me. And I ain't surprised at all. Found that informant of yours at the club—works as one of my boys. He told me as much." He crouches next to Woosik again, this time bringing with him a confident lie and the blade he had sheathed under his jacket. Before Woosik can find the strength to surge forth, Kijun brings the tip of the knife up to the base of his throat. Smiles the smile of someone who knows.

"That's before I cut his fuckin' tongue out'ta his mouth, 'course. Future proof problem solved."

Maybe it's because he's wet, starved, desperate and upside down, because the lie connects immediately. Woosik is suddenly reduced to an eerie stillness again, his toes so white it must feel like death slowly encroaching into his skull. His mouth becomes a thin line, his eyes a thousand slices through Kijun's flesh. The latter doesn't mind.

"There it is, Yunho hyung. The truth." Lifting off again, this time off the air off success, the blade follows Kijun's generous height all the way up to Woosik's abdomen. Aimed precisely where Kijun knows his vitals are. "He knows it."

"Yes, and we only need a name."

"Fuck—y'selfish fuckin' bastards. Cut out my tongue. 'm not givin' y'all jackshi—" But Yunho shoves the water bucket under his head before he can finish disagreeing, the implication of it becoming all the more horrific when Kijun brings the sharp end of his blade back to the tender flesh at his throat. Tuning his stare downwards, he recalls how Hyungmin had been many things, but a hero had never one of them. "Wait, wait, wait, okay, okay I'll fuckin' tell you! Jus' don't—"

If anything, he was always just another traitorous coward.

"Then spit it out, bitch."

"K—Kim Namseong. He knows everything."

/

[September 2, 2023, location: confidential. / ft @chenosias]

"Now, let us pray."

Two ancient hands raise skyward in avid calling of the holy spirit. Summoned along with them are long, white robes of cotton, suspended properly by gleaming, silver cuffs, and at opposite end, presumably God in the action of thousands of feet stomping upright in the pews, hands joining. Kijun checks his watch and notes that it's been about an hour since the church hall had become fully occupied, with both him and Osias included in the mix, at whichever God's mercy. The prayer drawls on without his own participation, though wholly embraced by his searching gaze.

The pastor remained as he always remembered him; an old, hunch-backed mausoleum of sin and holy nightmares. And perpetually equipped with a frown that always haunted his face, provoking unease at rest. To the others around them, he may be a devout zealot and Messiah, drawing garbs of cotton, modest silver and a large crucifix around his neck, blessed directly by the God they pray so heartfully to. But all Kijun sees is a crook in a suit and tie, well tucked beneath a hard mask like a second skin. He was a cartel knave at heart and he was good at being so. As was Kijun, though.

In the pew next to him sits Osias, dark, brushstroke brows shifting and settling repeatedly to and fro on his face. He carries curiosity on his sleeve; catching details in the crowd ahead no average joe would ever see, then releases them with the occasional stray nudge or remark into Kijun's shoulder. Watching and listening to him quickly becomes half of Kijun's mind, counting freckles like stars whenever the hall erupts into drab musical bumps and leaves him only with long, black coils and a perfectly smooth, tan cheekbones.

The moment Osias finds the truth in backhanded preachings from the pulpit, though, by way those eyes skew dark brown and stare sidelong with did he just fuckin' say what I thought he just said? on the tip of his tongue, Kijun figures he'd done well by rejecting Yunho's company and bringing Osias instead. The growing glint in them susses out philosophy and cartel poetry he's probably heard many times before, both in Korea and America, the realization doing something most glorious to his handsome features that Kijun, satisfied and amused beyond imagination, would never forget.

Never trust the preachings of a gangster priest. Presses his elbow to the one beside him and murmurs blasphemy through repeated worship, all to be occasionally shushed by the grandmas sitting behind them.

But they steadily lose interest as the service itself ultimately has no place in their itinerary tonight. The person they're actually here for stands five pews ahead with his fingers crossed and eyes closed. In worn hoodie and jeans he appeared as benign as it got, far from the clandestine chamber of secrets he actually was. What would a man like that pray for, wonders Kijun.

It's ironic how society has always taught the next about how and when it's important to fear God, rather than fearing the immediate violence of being alive instead. After all, the only hurdle between man and the God they bend the knees at night for are themselves.

A prayer can only save you if you are alive.

"In the name of the father, son and the holy spirit, Amen."

That's their signal and purely by design, as well as everyone else's. Unhurried and careful to keep small and out of sight, Kijun raises from his seat as the crowd surges and begins to drift towards the exit doors, wordlessly nudging Osias behind him for that extra overlay of obscurity. Five pews behind them now, Kim Namseong, none the wiser, claps his bible shut and thinks of his successful attendance as a telltale sign of safety within the same breath he fails to register the head full of luscious coils sprouting ahead of him, as the only sign of yonder bloodshed.

They tail him out, that blissful ignorance lasting him four whole blocks and a brief convenience store trip to home though at his front door, it becomes a carelessness that would be taxed at the cost of a tongue.

A risky operation soon ensues within strict Green Gang turfs, and is executed by just two men and their trusty blades.

It begins and ends in a back alley apartment block just two preceding buildings shy off the main road, the residence itself a narrow and unkempt street-level hall that reminds Kijun of his days spent in Gyeonggi prison. The thought even tickles a bitter chuckle out of him given the recollection that were this to go completely wrong, he would end up either dead or in prison yet again. Osias hears him in the silence, of course, sounds self-assured enough for the both of them as he echoes off a smug grin a sentiment off the side, just his boyish excitement and encouragement pulling Kijun's shoulders back with an immediacy that arrests him into resolution.

So it goes, the Green bastards, grim reaper and pigs all be damned. Blood can only be paid back with blood.

"Go on, then." Speaks Kijun only around the last corner up to their destination, encouragement returned in kind with a firm clap on Osias' rear.

Their plan was a simple one for the sake of avoiding too many complications and potential injuries: After Namseong gets home from his usual church service schedule, Osias will knock on his front door a couple minutes later and make conversation about anything random. Which, if he's not immediately recognized, would in turn allow Kijun just enough time to sneak up to the scene once Osias gives the clear, and pounce on Namseong. Palm muffling the screaming and an arm locked beneath his jaw, they'll have to knock him unconscious as soon as time and the ferocity of Nameseong's squirming will allow. And then that'll be that.

The only thing that manages to slip past them is a stray punch in the jaw behind him, which later in the night at their own hideout, Kijun will spend nursing with a half-frozen can of Terra beer, Osias already drunk and going off about something in English.

For now, they work in silence, speed and efficiency of it's use within their tandem paramount to their success. This was neither of their turfs after all, so a throbbing jaw would have to wait until their fates are once again only theirs to determine. While Kijun strips and ties up the unconscious body by the joints, Osias searches the room for anything that might alert the Greens of their meddling, smashing Namseong's phone and watch for good measure. Then he's hauled into the only armchair in the neglectful goshiwon space and gagged. His head silently hangs as though shame plagues him hushed and visionless, his neck bruising purple from their recent struggle. Kijun almost allows a pang of guilt grip his heart, except he can't seem to find it anywhere himself.

"A'ight, we shouldn't wait." Scarcely speaking, Osias murmurs as he pulls off his hat, then mimics Kijun by sinking into a relaxed crouch. "Gotta get what you need and get the fuck out posthaste. Surely they'll know somethin's wrong after an hour or two."

"Did'ya find anythin' in his stuff? Just to be sure. Still don't think we should kill him, 'least this— ain't the right place for that..."

"Yeah, yeah whatever y'say. Found these, though."

From Osias' jacket pocket to the center of a palm, then the next, appear a pocket knife and a burner phone. Kijun has to refrain from rolling his eyes and laughing too loud, but the approval is there, resonating in thick contorting eyebrows, his snickering and the soft popping of his knees as he stands again and casually cracks a slap across Namseong's right cheek, so unforgiving even the walls reflect the sound.

Kim Namseong jolts violently awake in the chair, his eyes falling wide as the moon upon a living nightmare he's probably had before. Once his gaze at last crosses Kijun, the air in his fury shifts to an alternative avenue; icy and tart with a fear he can't expunge quickly enough off his smooth face. The same reoccurring snake tattoo peeks at him from an inner left bicep, thus defining the other's ultimate stance. And that twists some ugly, raging, swelling thing inside Kijun as it clearly spells a dreaded mistake out for him: a massive oversight on his part, that'd almost costed him his life.

After laying out all the warnings and going through necessary intimidations, the captive emerges with dense pulps all over his body and two deep black eyes, sponsored by Osias' uncontrollable fists and Kijun's unrelenting refusal of wanting his partner to halt the pummeling. Until Namseong is choking on blood and air and begging through tears.

"Tell me what exactly you know now about the Green Gang's intentions with the ring and we'll leave it at this. Simple." Kijun attempts with a firm clap on Namseong's shoulder, "Why did you fuckin' traitors attack us?"

The next few minutes stretch for what feels like eons and naught, every second spent stalling another sentence of death upon the two who didn't at all belong in this space. Kim Namseong was a stubborn opponent, the type of gangster that rarely fought with his fists. He was slightly older and thus a handful wiser; better informed than most, and Kijun could tell. But Kijun has also learned over the years that to win against the odds, you must first take away their greatest asset. And we gotta do it quickly.

The idea emerges through the heat and pleasures of the moment like a fish out of water,and Kijun finds himself impulsively knocking Namseong out cold, for this final stretch. His fist flares bright red and purple with a fresh pair of reaped blotches, when he says, all wide-eyed and feral, "Hold his head back f'r me, O."

"What? The fuck're you doin'?"

"...Makin' sure he'll never snitch again."

Totally contrary to the wild, searing numbness overtaking his hands, the knife feels light and icy in Kijun's fist as he lifts his sweater and unsheathes it. So light it is that he feels he could toss it upwards and it would somersault on and on until it skewers the sun. But he grips it with a surgeon's precision, and sees only red.

"May God bless you."

The tongue is a soft collection of muscles and nerves that yield with mind-boggling ease to the blade. Such is the enormity of the cruelty behind survival.

[thatspecificanomaly]

WARNING

Gore and other shit that's probably not suitable for some people

[dizbunny]

Bloody Bunny Massacre 2!

This was a journal prompt for my writing class and I really like what I came up with so here.

I was inspired by 80s slasher movies mostly Friday the thirteenth.

Tw: Graphic violence with blood. Death mention also.

[harleyacoincidence]

Greetings and Salutations!

Today is FairyTale Tuesday!

So, today, we will be (once again) exploring the world of twisted fairytales! Today, your OCs or favorite characters will be exploring not just one twisted FairyTale but several.

Today, they will be in a world where all the fairytale stories and their characters live. Now, on with the madness!

How many fairy tales will your characters be exploring?

Which Fairytale stories are they?

How did your characters get to this fairytale world?

Which fairytale do they stumble upon first?

Do they meet any characters?

Is there anything slightly off about the characters?

Do your characters get an odd feeling around the fairytale folks and creatures?

Like they're always watching them?

What an odd feeling!

Anyways!

Why do your characters leave the current fairytale they're in?

What fairytale do they walk into next?

What's slightly off with this fairytale?

Do the characters seem a little odd to you?

Maybe even a little bit weird or creepy?

Do your characters move on from this fairytale as well?

If so, why do they leave?

Okay, now things are beginning to seem obviously wrong.

The world seems to be shifting and changing into something far more sinister than what it was when your characters first got here.

What are those changes?

What makes your characters desperately want to get out of this once seemingly innocent and magical land?

How do your characters try to get out?

What went wrong with their plan to get out?

Are your characters scared?

Why are they scared?

Something is watching them.

They are watching them.

Who is "they"?

Are they friend or foe?

Does the thing watching them appear to be a friend but is actually a foe?

Or is it the exact opposite? And they appear to be foe, when they are really friends?

Either way, your characters are now running away from fairytale characters gone mad!

They run until they reach a temporary safe area.

What is this safe area?

Do your characters find anything that can help them here?

Do they find something that can bring them home?

What is this object that can teleport them home?

How does this object work?

Oh no! Your characters are being surrounded by fairytale creatures!

Hurry up and use the object!

Okay, phew!

We're safe now!

We've made it back to your characters original world!

Yay!

But, wait, something seems off.

What it is it?

Do you get the odd feeling that something is watching you?

The sky looks rather odd.

The clouds don't look right.

The grass is different.

Everything seems slightly different.

Are you sure you made it home?

Nice to see you, friend! Thank you once again for the ask! I thought I’d run out of characters for this, but I have a few in my pocket from a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, as well as some from an old WIP.

Introducing….

Alodar Dresden, a Fallen Aasimar, who is also a Warlock and Bard multiclass. He constantly flips between a soul haunted by his past and a sadistic lunatic when he gets controlled, possessed, or influenced by his patron. In terms of his kit, he is more based around utility and control than damage, since the party he was originally for had two other warlocks already, alongside a sorcerer, a paladin, and a barbarian. However, this makes sense for his character, as he would rather strike fear into his enemies’ hearts, watching them collapse, stop hunting the party, or try to escape rather than kill them outright. While he is almost never out of his patron’s influence, he does have small moments of clarity that show he has a guilty conscience and wishes to atone. He often uses this desire to fuel his evil when he does not have full autonomy. An example of this would be giving inspiration to a party member while they were gambling to ensure their victory. A more extreme situation was when he traumatized an entire hoard of ogres who were attacking the party and taking their second in command, Grokk, captive. He and Grokk would go on to have a healthy but strange master-and-servant relationship that bordered on friendship.

Selene Hargrave, an average human who happens to be best friends with a certain idiot who summons demons in their free time. She is more calm and collected than most in her friend group, regardless of demonic possession. She enjoys staying up late and writing short stories. She’s a very simple character, and helps to lead the rescue operation to retrieve Henriette after she is kidnapped. She and Hadeon have a decently strong bond as of this writing. I might change this in the future, but I currently am not planning on it. She is a minor character in the WIP she’s from, so she is far less complex than Alodar. Oh yes, her main weapon happens to be a sickle gifted to her by Hadeon while on a certain expedition. However, she was not allowed to keep it and will not have it this time around.

The short-tempered demon himself, Hadeon. While he’s not entirely sure how he came to be, he’s beginning to suspect that he was once a human soul that was judged to be the perfect sort for a demon. Despite this strange beginning that is considered lowly by other demons, he is quite high-ranking in their hierarchy. While he isn’t all-powerful, he sure hides what he can’t do well. His prized weapon is a pistol he keeps hidden in his pocket. While he might occasionally take a more shadowy form, he does have a more humanoid one if he needs to blend in anywhere. Oh yeah, he might have been a shapeshifting serial killer in his past life. Just a thought.

Anyway, to the fairytale spinner it is! This time, we’ve gotten Sleeping Beauty, The Snow Queen, and The Master and His Pupil, giving us three to go through.

Since these characters are from different works of mine (looking at you, Alodar), they’ll obviously have to get in through different ways.

I can see Alodar’s patron sensing future chaos in these fairytales and opening up a portal for him to get through. Unfortunately, Grokk would not be there to enter as well.

Hadeon would most likely have to report back to Hell not only to gather his strength but to find something to do. I can see Lucifer casually being like “Yo, if you want chaos, I can get you to an entirely different world. Just take this dagger, it can create rips in the multiverse. Have fun, and stop preventing me from taking human souls!”, or something. He’d return to the human world, as everyone knows its the easiest place to make a portal in, and he’d pick up Selene (I can see her bugging him to let her go so she can find material for her next short story).

Since I feel like going out of the order I got the tales in, they would find themselves in The Master and His Pupil first, where they would all meet each other (as well as the characters). I can see them having a rather rough introduction and being genuinely confused about each other for a bit.

Of course they’d meet some characters! I can see them sneaking into the room where the pupil is summoning Beelzebub. What would be a better time? I could see Alodar and Hadeon exchanging eye contact with Beelzebub and being like “Hey, I know you,” while this story’s Beelzebub stares at them in confusion. Selene would be taking notes on the mistakes of the pupil.

You know that around here, something’s always slightly abnormal. The room would continue to fill with water, as per usual, but Alodar would be able to create a safe dome for his “new party” to remain comfortable in. The master would enter the room, and I could see him let his Pupil drown before having Beelzebub banished. Selene, who is quite familiar with many fairytales (including this one, coincidentally) would remark that this was not how the story was supposed to go.

After hearing this, Alodar would be uneasy and considering torturing the master to find his motivation for murdering the boy. Hadeon would be put on edge entirely, willing to kill him off if it was the beginning of a pattern of abnormality and could be stopped near the start. Selene would not allow either of these things to happen after considering said options. According to her, killing the master most likely wouldn’t fix the issue, if it was larger than just this event.

Instead of seeming wary of the group, the master would simply stare blankly at them, entirely devoid of emotion. He’d watch them leave too, entirely without blinking. Alodar and Hadeon would be tempted to make him scream at least once. Selene would become creeped out by the character, insisting on their departure. Hadeon would double back for a second to do something stupid, like share a couple gestures with the master.

Next, I could see them entering (and promptly getting lost in) a large forest. This indicates their exit of The Master and His Pupil and their entrance of Sleeping Beauty.

They don’t make it very far in this tale, mostly because the trees start talking to Selene and Alodar. As soon as Hadeon realizes this, he drags them the heck out. He isn’t dealing with tree spirits today. Of course, he happens to steer them in the direction of where a certain young lady is asleep. This has him internally panicking, especially when he sees some sort of sharp object in her hand and senses that she isn’t actually unconscious. Hadeon doesn’t feel like having anyone he knows get stabbed, so they turn in another direction and immediately get hit with the faint bite of frost. It’s time to enter the world of The Snow Queen!

Luckily for the group, no cursed mirror shards are around to turn them cold (not like two of three would need them anyway). Instead, they find the body of a young girl in a river. Her lips are grey, and her hands seem shrivelled, like she has been in the river for a while. There seems to be a sort of bloody froth in her throat. Selene recognizes the corpse to be that of Gerda and theorizes that when she went looking for her brother, she slipped and fell in the river, unable to get out.

Alodar and Selene shake off their disgust and horror as the trio travels north. They come upon the Snow Queen’s palace, Hadeon being suspicious of it all and not wanting the group to enter. Selene offers that if they could maybe return Kai to his family or find an alternative happy ending, whatever’s wrong with the fairytales might resolve itself. Alodar has more faith in this plan than Hadeon.

Upon entering, the group finds the Snow Queen sitting atop her throne, a very much frozen Kai before her. Selene is extremely disturbed by the human popsicle and how proud of it the Queen seems. It’s revealed to them that she wanted to make sure Gerda never found her brother, so she drowned her. To hide any remaining evidence of Kai being gone, she next plans to lure the townsfolk to her lair and freeze them permanently. Alodar asks if Kai is dead, but it turns out that he is quite alive and currently conscious, just a popsicle. How considerate of her.

Alright, planned intermission time! Go hydrate or get some food.

Alodar and Hadeon team up to interrogate her inside a mental prison at gunpoint. Apparently, some characters from different fairytales held a meeting, complaining that they got tired of having to relive the same story again and again whenever their books were opened. So, they decided to do whatever they wanted on a whim. Since then, their lives have been more enjoyable to them, at the consequence of their stories suddenly fitting into the horror genre.

For instance, the master was sick of having his pupil never learn from his mistake of opening the book without permission and almost dying. He decided to let his pupil drown in hopes that he might remember this mistake and not use the book the next time the story restarted.

Rosamund (I’m basing the name for the girl in the Sleeping Beauty segment after the version associated with the Brothers Grimm) was tired of being cursed and taken advantage of. She decided to fake falling asleep and instead of having men come and fall in love with her without her consent, she chose to murder them and force their spirits to possess the trees of the forest. She thought that this would deter any new passerby from coming near her. However, if she heard any footsteps, she would return to the place she had decided to pretend to sleep at.

Unfortunately, if they were out of control, the stories were also out of control, changing their tone entirely. Instead of seeming happy or whimsical, fear lurks around every corner, causing nobody to want to finish their stories. Due to this, their tales cannot restart and they are trapped in a mess they created. They do not know how to fix things themselves, and often have flashbacks to their terrible actions, seeing them for what they were, whether just after the deed or much later.

All but the Snow Queen are terrified. She informs Hadeon and Alodar that the others seem to want things to return to normal, no matter how annoying or tedious they might be. The Snow Queen, however, is perfectly fine with her outcome, as it gives her everything she truly wanted. Alodar and Hadeon leave her mind but do not release her from her mental prison, instead changing it so she believes she is free.

Selene is nowhere to be found, and the distant greenery seems to rustle and move. Alodar and Hadeon take off after the movement.

They find themselves back in the forest from Sleeping Beauty, but Selene is nowhere to be found. A twig snaps to their right, but when they look over, nothing is there. Strangely, the trees are entirely silent this time around. The pair is completely lost. Hadeon makes an offhand comment about having a dagger that can make portals if they need to make a quick escape. Alodar begs him to use it, but Hadeon is insistent on leaving with Selene.

Another rustle is heard, and Alodar calls out to where it had been. If it weren’t obvious before, something is watching them carefully.

A cry is heard, and the pair approach the source silently, discovering Selene being held hostage by Rosamund. Hadeon pulls out his pistol and Alodar is ready to blast through everything, but Rosamund holds something to Selene’s throat. It looks different than the object she held the last time they came by. Hadeon’s pocket suddenly feels a lot lighter, the weight shifting to his shoulder as guilt an regret try to crush him.

“One more step and she loses her pretty head,” growls Rosamund.

Selene tries to kick her captor, but is backhanded across the face. She groans again. Her captor glares at Selene’s rescue team, showing no fear of killing their friend.

“Why are you doing this?” Alodar asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

Rosamund seems enraged. “Do you think I enjoy being cursed AS A BABY, FOR NO GOOD REASON, and then TAKEN ADVANTAGE OF BY SOME JERK WHO THINKS HE’S ENTITLED TO MY LOVE? I’m breaking this cycle permanently this time, I am not going back to the beginning. Nobody has any business screwing up my life, not even the people reading my story.”

“What’s Selene got to do with this?” Inquires Hadeon, finger waiting on the trigger.

“She knows my tale front to back. She’ll know how to fix it,” Rosamund explains.

“…You want her to make people see your horrifying story as part of the horror genre?” Hadeon clarifies, puzzled.

“No, idiot. I want a world where nothing that keeps happening to me ever happens. No more of that curse crap, and especially no creepy princes.”

Selene looks at her captor, baffled. “You kidnapped me to ask me to write you fanfiction?! You could have just asked.”

Alodar sees his opportunity and touches Hadeon’s pistol, making it shine with blinding light. Rosamund, who had been staring forward, cries out and covers her eyes. Hadeon pockets his glowing weapon and releases Selene, grabbing the dagger. The three make a break for it through the forest. Rosamund shouts from behind them, and the trees begin to uproot themselves and make their way towards the group at an inconceivably fast pace.

Hadeon wields the dagger and slashes at the air in front of them, creating a large tear in the middle of nowhere. They jump through and Hadeon seals it just before anything else can get through.

The trio takes a moment to breathe as they look around. The place seems familiar, alright. Just not in the way any of them were hoping. The sky is filled with greyish-lavender clouds and everything seems devoid of life. The nearby forest’s trees have been damaged, some of them fully uprooted or snapped in half. Alodar readies a blast of eldritch magic just in case, and Selene is given Hadeon’s dagger as the demon pulls out his (still glowing) firearm.

The forest seems thinner than the one they just escaped, perhaps due to how many dead and destroyed trees there are. It’s like some sort of gigantic monster made its way through here, chasing some sort of prey…

Sure enough, Alodar points out some sort of blob ahead of them with a small gasp. It reminds Selene of some sort of abomination made of several people…But that couldn’t be the case, could it?