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ioveartfilm · 3 months

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SERPENT'S KISS

The shackles ensnaring Satoru's frame gnawed into his flesh, rending it asunder, while he fervently endeavored to break free. His gaze was obscured by tempestuous emotions—fury, fear, and remorse. Bound by a gag of fabric, his voice remained imprisoned, save for the plaintive whisper of your name, a desperate plea lost to the void. This was not the future he had foreseen. He was supposed to protect you, shield you from everything, but in the end he has failed. Bound by his own failings, he bore witness to your suffering.

“I despise the way his fingers graze my skin, the audacity with which he proclaims ownership over my being,” you confessed, your words heavy with revulsion as you sought solace in the shelter of Satoru's embrace. Satoru, understanding your distress, enveloped you in his arms, his touch a gentle caress as he pressed a tender kiss atop your head.

“I understand, and I deeply regret subjecting you to this ordeal. Rest assured, this torment shall cease soon.” You lifted your gaze to meet Satoru's captivating eyes, your grasp unwavering in its intensity.

“For you, I endure this hardship, for I would have surrendered were it not for your sake.”

Aware of your unyielding loyalty and deep devotion to him, Satoru understood the extent of your commitment. However, he realized he had erred in leveraging your loyalty for retribution. In the stillness of the night, once your task was fulfilled, Satoru gently aided you in the cleansing of your attire, washing away the stains of the blood from your hands and weary visage.

“Fear not, he is no more. You have executed your task successfully.” Satoru reassured you, his voice a gentle balm to soothe your troubled mind. After ending the life of your target in the throes of passion. You retrieved a concealed dagger from your robes, driving it into the chest of the man beneath you. You became a killer, for the first time in your life, and you did it in the name of love, for him.

Satoru believed they had gained a significant advantage, seizing the high ground by executing the demise of an important figure from the rival kingdom. Utilizing your seductive prowess, you lured him into a moment of vulnerability, ultimately erasing him. Yet, he ought to have realized, never allowing one's vigilance to wane. Before him stood a man with a contemptuous grin and words laced with venom, wanting nothing more than to rip his tongue out. “Satoru,” the man spat, his tone dripping with disdain, “Did I not forewarn you to never dare set foot within my territory?” Satoru clenched his teeth in a fit of rage, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to launch at the man. But the chains, unyielding and relentless, shackled him to his place, denying him the satisfaction of retaliation.

“Not only did you dare to trespass into my domain, but also dared to spill the blood of my kin,” the man accused, his voice laced with venom and simmering rage.

Satoru's scoff reverberated in the tense silence, a stark defiance against the accusations laid bare before him. “How dare I? How dare I indeed, when it was you who first betrayed us,” he countered, his voice filled with righteous indignation. "You were the mastermind of my kingdom's downfall, the traitor who sold out our family for promises of wealth and power. You're the one who murdered my parents and allowed our enemies to overrun us. But why spare me that night? Why leave me to witness their slaughter, to fester in rage and thirst for revenge all these years?” Satoru's voice rose with each word, seething with pent-up fury. “It was all part of your twisted scheme, wasn’t it? You knew I would come back and that I would strike, by killing your bastard brother. Tell me, isn't this enough? SUGURU GETO!!”

Suguru’s chuckle rang out, “If you knew you were destined to fail, why persist in your futile endeavors?” He taunted, his tone laced with derision. “Some things never change, do they?”

“I shall not find peace until I see you dead.”

Suguru’s ominous hum filled the air, as he monitored for the guards to open the cell, allowing someone’s entry. As they complied, Satoru’s eyes widened in horror as you were flung into the room, chained and helpless. “How can you speak of witnessing my death when your own demise is inevitable? But before we address that, I believe it’s only fitting to execute the punishment for the one who drove the dagger into my brother’s heart. Don’t you agree?”

“Stay away from her—!!”

Suguru deaf to Satoru’s warnings, he instructed his guards to chain you to the wall. With a predatory grace, he advanced towards you, his touch like ice against your skin as his fingers trailed across your cheek. “Imagine my surprise to find you’ve been keeping this whore away. And here I thought we were friends once, yet you hide such an interesting secret from me.”

Satoru’s gaze flickered with confusion as the guards handed him a strange cup, his grip tightened around it as he glanced toward Gojo. “But first,” Suguru announced. “Let us partake in a toast. To our long-standing friendship, to your enduring innocence that has allowed me to thrive in this world of boundless wealth and power.”

Before proceeding further, Suguru halted, a smirk curling upon his lips. “Doesn’t the aroma strike a chord of familiarity?” He inquired, his tone laced with a sinister edge.

Satoru’s heart sinks in realization. “Poison.”

Taking a sip, Suguru turned towards you, his grip on you unyielding as he forcibly pressed his lips against yours. Despite your struggles, his strength prevailed, coercing you to relent and open your mouth, unwittingly allowing the lethal toxin to infiltrate your body.

“No—!!” Satoru’s cry of anguish reverberated through the room. He could only watch in horror, as Suguru ensnared you in a deadly embrace, sealing your fate with a venomous kiss. Your cries were muffled as a piece of fabric was forcefully pressed over your mouth, preventing any chance of expelling the poison, and condemning you to an agonizing fate in suffocating silence. Muffled by the cloth gag, Satoru's anguished cries mirrored your own as both of you strained against the unyielding chains, thwarted in your attempts to reach each other. Tears streamed down his cheeks, a silent testament to his despair as he watched helplessly, unable to intervene as you faced a slow and agonizing death. He begged for just one more opportunity to hold you close, to share a fleeting moment before you succumbed to eternal slumber. Bound and forsaken, Satoru stood at the stake, hands tied behind him, a captive audience awaiting the downfall of the last scion of the Gojo lineage. It was his fault, he realized, with his promises of a life together to you, his assurances of love despite social barriers before his kingdom crumbled. It was his love that had led to your death, and now he faced the consequences. Satoru's gaze drifted skyward, lost in a reverie of memories from his youth. He remembered the days spent with his dear confidant, the friend who ultimately betrayed him. And then, there was the day he met you, his most cherished memory. With a heavy heart, he surrendered to the consuming fire, knowing that his end marked the culmination of his own tragic story. Despite the imminent embrace of death, the prospect of meeting you once more assuaged his fear, casting a gentle warmth amid the inferno's fury.

Author’s Note Ah, I love writing Suguru as a villain, he’s insanely good at it hahah! Thanks for reading, check out my other works on my page!

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slocumjoe · 1 year

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what the companions get canceled for

Ada; thinks lost and found is a freebie box, will walk into your home if the garage door is open and try to haggle for your shit

Cait; The new Giddyup Buttercups just released, a riot broke out in the store, she emerged the winner. because, y'know. she was fighting moms and their children

Codsworth; assault (ferociously wiping bbq sauce off a strangers face)

Curie; chasing anti-vax protesters with disease samples on q-tips

Danse; slurs

Deacon; the most insane kin drama you have ever seen unfold

Dogmeat; peed on a prized show poodle at the park

Gage; exotic animal ownership and driving a truck that is holding on with duct tape and a prayer. no one finds out about the...other things

Hancock; went to Nuka World, popped some bad, expired chems, and spent a week living in the walls of the attractions, planning an assassination on Cappy

MacCready; chasing anti-vax protesters with knives

Nick; exiled by the Italian community for how he makes spaghetti in the microwave (he's a busy man, it's convenient, it tastes the same, what's the fuss about?)

Old Longfellow; sport hunter

Strong; rushes the stage at a production of Cats and attacks the actors ("Bustopher Jones~, is not skin and bones~, in fact, he's remarkably fa—AAAAAAAAAA–")

Piper; the most insane twitter political hot take thread you have ever seen unfold

Preston; broke HOA rules to start a community garden and sicced children on the HOA board members

X6-88; the only HOA board member that's willing to throw children into traffic if it means digging up Preston's illegal green beans

#this is stupid and. doesnf fit the premise #but cmon mac would hate antivaxers #fo4 #fallout 4 #paladin danse #preston garvey #nick valentine #piper wright #x6-88 #robert joseph maccready #hancock #companions react

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spooky-donut-ghost-house · 5 months

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The Proxy Laws

TW for cultish activity, enslavement, loss of anatomy, loss of freewill, death,

By Proxy Law, you are obliged to follow to following rules, specifically and exactly; otherwise, you shall be executed. Failure to follow the rules, without question, result not only in the loss of your life, but the promise of any kin to take your place, from birth. In this document, the term “Master” shall henceforth refer to any being that retains ownership over a proxy, and the term “Proxy” shall henceforth refer to said individual thus owned.

Law 1:

All those who are adopted as Proxies to any being no longer have individual volition, also known as “free will”. As the Master decrees, said Proxy shall perform, to standard, any decision or task they are commanded, without question.

Law 2:

Should said Proxy lose it's Master, a new Master may either claim said Proxy, or remove said Proxy from the environment.

Law 3:

Reins may be placed on a Proxy, in the form of an illness. Prolonged distance from the Master shall cause the Proxy to feel extreme pain, or suffer from a lapse in memory, which shall allow the Master to possess the mind and bring them back.

Law 4:

No Proxy is immortal. The Master shall allow a Proxy to live, for as long as they are important; as soon as a Proxy loses it's value, the owner may remove it from the environment, or dispose of it's body.

Law 5:

No Proxy has any ability to defy it's Master; escape and evasion are the closest to defiance that a Proxy can manage, and even then, they suffer from the effects of Law 3.

Law 6:

No hybrid, of any kind, can be initially chosen as a Proxy; only humans can be controlled by the Master, as stated in Law 3.

Law 7:

Any form of rebellious action is subject to a subsequent series of punishments, as deemed fit by the Master; should aforementioned punishments show no promise, the Proxy will be executed, to purge further instigation.

Law 8:

Interaction with other Proxies is permitted, pursuant to the consent of their Masters. Should the Masters forbid interaction, Proxies shall be subject to Law 7.

Law 9:

As stated in Law 3, the Master has sovereignty over the Proxy's mind. The Proxy's body is merely a tool for the Master; ergo, the Master may control the mind of the Proxy, as the Master sees fit. This may cause the Proxy to lose memory.

Law 10:

No Proxy may be traded for another; only in circumstance stipulated in Law 2, may a Proxy be moved.

Law 11:

Proxies may not have sexual relations with the opposite gender of any kind of being; should the Proxy become impregnated, the next of kin shall become the replacement Proxy, and the parent shall die.

Law 12:

No Proxy can be transmutated, from human to any other kind of being; should the Proxy metamorphose, the Proxy must be executed, in fear of retribution.

Law 13:

No Proxy may communicate to anyone of their previous life, unless commanded by the Master to keep said relations.

Law 14:

Sleeper Proxies are permitted, but shall only be awakened if the Master uses them as a last resort.

Law 15:

Should a Proxy be captured by an enemy and the Master can sense it's distress, the Master can either remove all memory and function, or force the Proxy to die, to preserve any important information in the possession of the Master.

Law 16:

Should the Masters be threatened by another, and Proxies be caught between both parties, said Proxies are permitted to fight to the death, unless the Master deems otherwise.

Law 17:

Any Proxy with a special skill may be owned, but any potential Proxy with special abilities may not, in fear of retaliation.

Law 18:

No animals are permitted as Proxies, though, if trained, they may aide a Proxy.

Law 19:

When a Proxy is claimed, regardless of age, they are removed from their former life and retrieved for training. No Proxy remains in their former life, after being claimed.

Law 20:

The Masters may permit weapons; if the item is prohibited by Master it cannot be used. If the weapon cannot be successfully concealed, or fails the test of practicality, said weapon is prohibited.

Law 21:

Proxies may fight, or be obedient to, each-other, should neither be killed in the process, as it is understood that they are items that, ultimately, only serve their Master.

Subject Law 1:

Any Master may change how Law 3 affects their Proxy, but no other Proxy; should a Proxy be reclaimed by another Master, the previous effect is made null and void.

Subject Law 2:

Interactions between Proxies and other kinds of beings may be permitted or prohibited by their Master, as long as they do not conflict with Law 11.

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lux-lost · 6 months

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The angel moves through the halls on soft soles, cautiously quiet. The entities around it are not safe. The angel can feel their eyes on the back of its head. The taste of their gaze lingers on its skin, whispers the things unsaid into its ears. They think the angel is their kin, if suspiciously unusual. But in truth, it is a foreign object that sticks out and could be hammered down at any moment if it draws too much attention. They presume ownership over the angel, and that makes them dangerous.

The angel’s exoskeleton is tight around its ribs. It warms and hides its form, and yet, that’s not enough. The angel feels the machine in its chest stutter and stumble nervously every once in a while. Every moment is stolen, could be the last. It breathes carefully, holding onto its core for stability.

Someone pulls the angel into a hug and it lets its body be soft and inviting. It feels the same softness from the other side, but none of that makes it past the bright glow of the angel’s aura, which conceals the hard shell tightly laced around its vulnerable parts.

The angel consumes and enjoys some very fucked up things. It is a deviant one, a pervert. Nonetheless its core is so pure and clean, any contact with the outer world could sully it. The angel is not ugly inside, not like other beings. Peeling back the layers only lays bare rosy flesh and silvery scar tissue. No rot, no maggots, no danger.

It is of vital importance to protect its angel core, to conceal it from prying eyes and prodding fingers. If someone witnessed that core, they’d judge the angel for it. They’d think it childish. Or lifeless. Or boring. Their ugly thoughts would dampen its glow. Some might even actively seek to ruin it.

To keep itself safe, the angel needs to be very closed off. But it cannot be solely solitary. After all, the angel’s presence is a service, a service to those around it. It has to say and do the right things when in the presence of other beings. To uplift. To entertain. To make itself worth their while.

For this purpose, the angel may occasionally draw upon its core to extend its glow to others. Its light can be used to illuminate the innocent, protect and nurture them as well. It’s the angel’s treasure, all it has to offer to other entities. When it is in their presence, the angel forfeits itself to them. It needs to be invited. It needs to be dismissed. It needs to be told what to do. The angel can provide something to those who need something, but it can’t really take anything.

The angel has to be very careful about what it invites back in when it puts out. Many people have a lot of beauty in them, but then something ugly as well. When eating apples directly from the tree, one has to watch for worms and mold.

The angel cannot just go around getting close to people carelessly. They may bait the angel with beauty, but then trap it in ugliness. They may try to tie it down with tendrils of need and despair, integrate it into their ugly lives, compel it to commit sin. It’s not their fault for having ugly parts, of course. The world is an ugly place after all, it poisons and corrupts.

The angel is not immune to this corruption either, it gets infested sometimes as well. When that happens, it has to isolate and cleanse itself. Burning the poison away hurts, of course, but better than letting it fester for too long.

The angel does not demand a pedestal, but it is certainly constructed to be put on one. To really be safe and fulfill its purpose, it needs to be put on one. Even when sullied, it still remembers and longs for its former purity. It’s this need for perfection, the yearning to be a shining idol on a pedestal, that drives its machine parts.

The pedestal, freely given, is its only form of power, the only power a being of its kind is allowed to hold. The angel actually can’t do shit. Its power is fully derived from those who put it on its pedestal. The angel’s light is a farce, nothing but smoke and mirrors for those who want to believe in it.

You have to understand, you may need the angel, but actually, the angel needs you more. It needs you to need it. It only has the worth you give it. It only has value in the needs it can meet. Without your need for its light, it has no reason to pretend it’s shining. It can’t really help you through your misery, but you can feed on its light until you feel better. If you weren’t miserable, you wouldn’t really seek out the angel, would you?

You can draw the angel in by making it feel needed, bind it with attention and affection. It doesn’t take much, just a little bit of kindness. It will attune itself to your needs. You can trust it, it’s loyal. When you don’t need it anymore, it is safe to just abandon it. It is safe to just forget about it. You don’t even have to tell it that you’re discarding it, it will figure that out itself after a while.

#empty spaces #angelposting #not a person #microfiction #angel

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amethystfairy1 · 3 months

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Hello! Just finished reading chapter 4 of "You're On the Other Side of the Storm..." and first off let me say it is incredible! Loved watching the Duke get a taste of his own medicine.

I also have two questions. I've seen in a previous ask that you answered that you said when a hybrid's owner dies, the ownership of the contract and hybrid transfers to the next of kin that the owner denotes in the contract when they sign it. My first question is: can someone who holds a hybrid contract go back and change the designated next of kin at any time, and if so, can they do it themselves or is there like the equivalent of a lawyer or someone else who has to change the paperwork officially?

Also, I assume multiple next of kin can be listed, just in case, but then my second question is this: if the owner of a hybrid contract dies and the ownership transfers to someone else, but then all of the next potential inheritors die or are already dead before a new contract can be made (so more inheriters haven't been designated yet), who gets ownership then? Can anyone step in and claim the collard hybrid? Or are there like built in fail safes where the collar then goes back to being controlled by whoever made the collar? Or a previous owner who sold them?

Sorry this is so long and prpbably confusing to follow, I just love getting caught up in tiny details.

Hello, hello! ✨

I'm so glad you enjoyed seeing the Duke have karma catch up to him!

For your first question: Yes! They can change the next of kin written on the contract at any point, it's magic and enchanted specifically to make that possible. But only the owner of the contract is able to make adjustments to it...so for example if a hybrid got ahold of their own contract, they couldn't like...make themselves the next of kin and then kill their owner or something. That wouldn't work.

For your second question: Yes, multiple next of kin can be listed! If all the potential next of kin die, the collars go inert and essentially function as though they don't have a contract. The runes trace the contracts, but they just won't enforce any one specific voice until a new contact is sealed. For example, Scott and Jimmy ran away during a contract transfer, so their collars have no orders in them right now. They both are technically under contract right now, yes, but their owner is nowhere nearby, so the only thing that can happen with their collars is, like, getting hit rune trigger, that sort of thing!

Don't apologize, I love getting asked about tiny details! That's the best part of having opened my asks here on tumblr is getting the chance to ramble about all the little details that don't ever get to be laid out in full in the stories! So thank you for stopping by! 💖

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #hermitcraft #traffic smp #traveling thieves au #worldbuilding #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands

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sansxfuckyou · 6 months

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I've got the beats, I've got the bass (I've got the treats, for you to taste)

Summary: Floyd doubts there'll be a lot of him left to save when his brothers find him

Warnings: cannibalism, gore, amputation, Floyd is going through it, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: inspired by the Troll Twins AU by @ohposhers, im aware the cannibalism post was like, not official to the au, but the inner phan demanded i write this. title from DJ Whore by S3RL, hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checking out the ao3 port

edit 2023.12.28: WE GOT A SECOND CHAPTER OUT NOW!! it displays a small amount of comfort edit 2023.12.30: the third and final chapter has been posted, it's also been turned into a series because I have so many ideas about it

It's a little bit twisted, and a lot bit fucked up.

But they can't sing, they're Trolls and they can't sing, maybe if they were Classical it wouldn't be a problem. But they're born Pop and they can barely hold a note despite the fact they want to be famous so fucking badly. So they turn to the next best option, run away to Mount Rageous and make it big with a bunch of jello jointed freaks.

Of course, they still need an iota of talent to make it with even a bit of success.

Their method for getting that talent is beyond cruel, beyond human, beyond anything that could be conceived by a Pop Troll. But Velvet's everything but a Pop Troll these days, sadistic, uncaring, greedy- she'll get what she wants and she'll take her brother with her. She'll take her brother and the first unfortunate thing that has talent at that, figure out how to use that talent for herself and keep it.

Veneer always stared, unable to do anything as she worked, "Vel, this is-"

"Genius? I know," Velvet always answered with as she shucked slices of meat from the Troll under their ownership, paper thin and raw on a plate she'd hand to Veneer, "Eat up."

And he always did, he always fucking ate it. He always took his half and she always took her half, rejuvenating the talent they lacked with a small tray of raw meat from their own kin. She smiled this darling smile the entire time their captive watched them devour him, and Veneer tried to do the same.

"You two are fucked," Floyd argued as Velvet would bandage his arms and block off the bleeding because she had some civility despite everything. He'd clench and unclench his fist just to make sure he still could considering how spindly he was with how much they took away from him.

Velvet just giggles, "Maybe we'll take off your whole arm next, let you bleed out a bit," She traces a sharp nail across the joint of his shoulder. He shudders and tries to jerk away, the cuffs on his wrists make it shockingly hard to do so.

They get famous while he wastes away, chunk by chunk. They're erring closer to having a fame that reaches outside of Mount Rageous and he's erring closer to them having to nibble on his bones for his talent. The idea almost makes him laugh, but then he remembers that laughing hurts with how frail he is.

It's when Velvet enters the room with a hacksaw and a breaking knife that he cries for the first time. Tears welling up in his eyes and he can't bring himself to stifle them or wipe them away even though the cuffs are gone. He just sobs, aware of the fact that this is it, they're finally going to lop off his head.

"Oh don't be a baby," Velvet chided as she grabbed her marker, bright red, paint instead of ink, and dragged it along Floyd's thigh, just above his knee. She left a dotted line around his leg and he tries to stop crying.

"Do you have any anesthetic?" Floyd asked, trying to be smug.

Velvet gives this falsely contemplative hum, "Maybe," She lays down the jagged end of the hacksaw at the line, "But probably not."

Then she starts to cut, back and forth across the flesh with enough pressure to snap a rib. Teeth tear him open and he yowls, nerve endings fraying as his blood pools around him. It's shiny, not glittery per se, but definitely holding an almost opalescent sheen due to his Pop origins. It makes Velvet's mouth water, the fresh scent hitting her nose and she could tear into him with her own teeth right then and there but she doesn't.

No, she just forces further down through tendon and fat alike. His meat is both lean and marbled quite nicely with the diet they've been feeding him. Just enough to keep him alive, but fatty and carbohydrate heavy to make his flesh taste better and less tough. She presses the breaking knife beside the hacksaw when she hits the knob of the femur and presses hard until she hears something splinter. The scream accompanying it confirms her suspicions that she broke it as she cuts through marrow without any remorse.

He just whimpers and bites his tongue, hot tears still roll down his face as he watches her try and tear it the rest of the way. Twisting and yanking and it hurts so fucking bad but he can't do much to stop her. It comes off with this terrible sound and he wails as Velvet just lops off the skin with the breaking knife, aware she'll have to go at it more finely later.

"Shut up," Velvet demanded, tossing aside the leg and grabbing the bandage, "I'm not gonna let you die, or sleep through it."

He just nods as she bandages up his jagged stump, not even bothering to slice it smooth with her knife so the nerve endings aren't everywhere and torn every way possible. She bandages him with some semblance of care, he is their talent, he is their guinea pig, she can't just let him die. That'd be too nice of her considering how much talent is left on his bones, how much skill they can pilfer from his flesh.

"Hey Vel! We're running out of seasoning!" It's Veneer whose shouting down the hallways and Floyd hears.

"So I'm not good enough raw?" Floyd questioned, trying so very, very hard to be smug despite the pain coursing through every inch of his body.

Velvet scoffed, taking the leg and standing up, "Don't flatter yourself."

There's this stench of decay in Floyd's holding room by the time the twins are actually taken down. Even at that they aren't really taken down, just put in the slammer by their ever present assistant Crimp who would occasionally sneak some iron supplements into his food. She was nice, she was trampled on but she was nice, learned how to play ukulele to Floyd's singing and the such.

But she couldn't put back the flesh they stripped him of, tearing him down to his bones and even at that lopping limbs off. He's missing a leg below the knee and his entire right arm, shoulder down, and the rest of him is worryingly thin. Not because he was starved, far from him being starved, by the time he started running out of meat on his bones they upped his diet to try and make him last. It was futile really, they still tore off his skin and the flesh underneath it till all he had was bones with a paper thin layer of nerves and red wrapped in bandages.

The floor and walls are thoroughly saturated in the scent of his blood, his tears, and the medications they used to keep him from dying prematurely. Tranexamic acid to thicken his blood so he wouldn't bleed out. Midazolam to help him keep breathing even with the frailty in his everything. Benzodiazepines to stop his anxiety and force his muscles to ease up so his flesh wouldn't be so tense. Morphine, acetaminophen, risperidone, the list went on and on, he's pretty sure the nights he spent vomiting them up only hastened his wasting.

Dying would've been better than this though. Being torn apart, picked apart, used for his talent, having the life ripped out of him. At least none of his brothers had to see him like this, at least Branch didn't have to see him so ruined. He'd be the worst brother ever if Branch had to see him like this, if any of them did. Traumatized for life, he doubts he could live with himself if any of them got nightmares from seeing him in such a zombified state.

He winces when the door opens and light filters in, the rush of uncontaminated air doesn't reach him through the overpowering scent of decay. He can barely make out the silhouettes as Trolls, and instead of being defiant like he usually is, he crumbles. He can't fight it anymore, he's on his last leg to a literal degree and he knows he'll die if they take anymore.

"I'm out of talent," He begged, tears welling up once again, "I'm dead, just look at me," His voice catches on a sob.

They take one step further in, "Floyd?"

Floyd barely recognizes the voice, but he still sobs, even harder knowing it's one of his brothers, "I told you it was a trap, John," He's laughing now, it hurts so much but he's laughing regardless. He tries to shove himself up but everything hurts too much to do so, "Why did you bring our brothers?"

"Cause last time you were in a diamond holding cell! Now you're in a fucking closet that smells like shit," John snapped before stepping even further in, one step at a time. He was still getting used to the low light, his three younger brothers followed in suite.

"Don't! Just, leave!" It's a plea, it's the closest Floyd can get to a demand. He desperately thrusts out a paw like it'll stop them even though he knows it won't, and the action rubs the bandages against his raw nerves the wrong way. There's a hiss of agony, "Please, don't."

"We came here to save you," Bruce butted in with.

"I left my tribe to find you, Floyd," Clay said, stepping more gingerly than the others, "We're taking you home."

"Do you want to stay here?" Branch questioned.

And Floyd just sobbed, raising his paw to his face to try and hide himself away from them, hitching his good leg to his chest to hide the bandages. He whimpered and cried as they finally stepped close enough to see him in all of his ruination. The footsteps stop and he knows they're all riddled with disgust, riddled with fear, with regret, with shame. Their brother who looks like he was sent through the wood chipper, their brother who promised he'd come back, their brother, destroyed.

"I told you to leave," He whispers the word, eyes shut and body limp because he can't bear to see their disgust, "I fucking told you."

Paws gently lift him up, cradling him in a set of arms and he keeps sobbing, curling into whoever held him. He doesn't know which one it is because they all wear vests and open front shirts, in the past at least. He just knows he's holding on tight and apologizing for all the blood he's getting on their fur despite the repetition of 'its okay' being spoken back softly.

-/-/-/-

Floyd is out cold in the back of John Dory's van, strapped down with strips of the emergency roll of scrap booking felt that Poppy always brings with her. Branch has never been more pleased in his entire life that his girlfriend is a weirdo who always needs to scrap book because it's keeping his brother secured. He still feels absolutely sick to the stomach and he's not sure if it's the vile smell of rotting blood or the disgust with what Velvet and Veneer had done. All of them feel nauseated.

"Is he gonna make it?" Clay is the one who breaks the silence.

"Of course he will, we have the best doctors across any genre," Branch snapped back with, the sharpness of his voice unintentional.

Clay shrinks back just a bit, but shoots something back just as sharply, "Sorry to hit a nerve."

"Can we not argue right now?" Poppy asked, leaning between the two with this nervous look on her face, "Please?"

Branch crosses his arms and slumps against the wall of the van, Clay mirrors the motions.

Bruce clears his throat, "Poppy's right, we should just get Floyd under medical care as soon as possible."

"Is he even awake?!" John shouted from the front, eyes still firmly fixed on the road but body riddled with concern and fear and so many other things.

"He passed out!" Bruce shouted back.

Branch leans up against Poppy, "I'm scared," It's a whisper, it barely comes out at all. He never thought he'd admit an emotion as vulnerable as fear to a Troll as loud as Poppy.

Poppy just wraps an arm around his shoulders before whispering back, "It'll be okay," even though she doesn't know if it will.

"What if it isn't?" Branch asked just as quietly.

Poppy doesn't have an answer.

There's this low groan from the back of the van, no one up front dares to move because Bruce is already back there. They don't want to send Floyd ricocheting into another freak out, "Where am I?"

"In John's van," Bruce answered with.

Floyd tried to move but he couldn't, panic shot through him. His breathing hastened just a bit, "Why am I tied down?" He tries to quell the fear resting so heavily on his voice, weighing down on his calm and cool exterior.

"Because you're not doing so hot, it's for safety," Bruce said, trying to keep his voice soft, slipping into dad mode without even realizing it, "We'll take them off as soon as we get home, okay?"

Floyd gave this weak semblance of a nod, "Okay, is Branch here?"

The aforementioned brother scrambles to get to the back of the van, "Of course I am."

"Sorry you had to see me so messed up," Floyd apologized and Branch feels like crying at the comment because it's so fucked up that Floyd is saying sorry for being destroyed when he could do nothing.

"Floyd, it's fine, you couldn't," Branch tries to speak, he really does, but a whole lot of nothing comes up. He just holds onto Floyd's paw desperately tight, "We should've been there sooner."

"You had your own lives," Floyd countered with, "Thanks for saving me anyways."

"We'll always be there to save you, Floyd," Bruce supplied in place of Branch who was just rendered nonverbal.

"Is he gonna walk again?" Branch asked.

The doctor shook her head, "Even with prosthetics using Funk technology and Rock materials, he still doesn't have enough meat on his bones to properly move them to their full extent."

"Can't you give him a graft?" Clay asked, "I read about it, skin grafts, muscle grafts, take some flesh and use it somewhere else."

"I absolutely would but the thing is," She gives this sigh before gesturing to Floyd's body.

He's near skeletal, not enough of the right bio chemicals in him to scab up everywhere, he's torn up and raw. With the bandages removed he looks even more zombie, even if he is asleep over a hospital cocktail with light analgesia. It wasn't supposed to knock him out, just ease the pain, but apparently he was destroyed enough that the small amount of alcohol did knock him down. His arm is as thin as Clay's, in some places stripped to the bone. His good leg and his other thigh have chunks ripped out of them, whole sections of muscle and tendon alike removed but not quite to the bone there. His ribs are pronounced, so are his collar bones, and the crests of his pelvis, not enough flesh to keep the sharpness hidden.

"There isn't anything to take and use elsewhere. He's a shell of his former self, if we're lucky we can stabilize him and keep him on light foods until he fills out a bit. Then he'll be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, if we're lucky he'd be able to use a prosthetic with crutches on a good day," The doctor explained. A deep sense of horror knotted itself onto the brothers stomachs. Not enough flesh to do a graft, of course there isn't enough leftover, he's a skeleton for fucks sake! They're glad Floyd isn't awake to hear about his brand new future (they don't know he'll take anything so long as he isn't in the hands of Velvet and Veneer).

John Dory won't stand for it, "Hey doc, if you have a donor with the same blood type or whatever, it could work, theoretically speaking," He's grasping at straws really, but he doesn't want his baby brother to live a life without dancing, or going on walks, or any other thing that he can think of. He'd sooner die than use a wheel chair, his life was the mountains, his life was rough terrain. And even though he doesn't know if Floyd feels the same, he doesn't want his brother robbed.

"Are you insane?" Was what Bruce said before the doctor could answer.

"I was in the woods living off of swamp scum and bird carcass for twenty years, I absolutely am," He presses a digit to Bruce's chest as he speaks and shoves him back, "I want my brother to walk with us, to dance with us."

"He can do it in a wheel chair," Bruce countered with, "Medical advances have been made, we've come really far in twenty years."

"Guys," Clay butted in with, they both snapped to glare at him, "Let the doctor speak before you tear your heads off."

"It could work, hypothetically, but if his body rejects the graft for some inane reason he might not make it through the night. Although he might not make it either way given his current condition," The doctor said, "It's up to you four to call the shots because he's out cold."

They all share a tense glance.

"We all have the same blood type," Branch got out quietly.

"Blood type O, universal donor, can only take other O's," Clay tacked on.

"And our fur would match his, he wouldn't look totally frankensteined," John said.

Bruce stayed quiet.

"It's up to you, Bruce, this could work," Branch pressed.

"Fine, just don't take too much off of me," Bruce said, "I have a wife who would not appreciate me coming home butchered."

"Bruce, this is about Floyd," Clay said rather sternly, "We all know your wife will love you no matter how bloody you are."

"Guess some things never change, like your whole 'gotta look good' thing," John teased.

The doctor cleared her throat and all eyes were on her, "If we want to have enough time we'll need to put you under for surgery in the next hour or so, the clock is ticking."

"I'm doing it,"

"Count me in,"

"Me too,"

"So am I,"

-/-/-/-

All of them are unconscious when they're stolen from, strips of flesh taken from their serratus anterior and latissimus dorsi so no one has to see the scars when it's over. They're carefully cut open and extracted, a little bit of skin came with it because Floyd didn't have enough skin himself these days. At least when he still had the bandages on they could lie and say he had scabs and skin, lie and say the stench was because he hasn't had a shower in months, not because his blood refused to dry properly and rot and infect instead.

Mismatched muscles are stitched into the gaping lacerations across his body, surgical glue used around the edges just to make sure. Patches of his brothers skin from where their flesh was taken are stitched atop to try and hide the raw flesh, bright red and shimmery, it might help stimulate his body into trying to regrow his own skin. Otherwise he'll always have scars a deeper hue than his blood beside skin held on with stitches like he's one of Frankenstein's monsters, unfinished and abandoned.

Except his brothers are risking their own hide to try and bring him back from his virtually undead state, so close to death he might as well bury himself. He has four brothers letting themselves be butchered so he'll be able to move his remaining limbs, so he'll be able to live without the risk of developing a medication tolerance too strong. He has four brothers that are giving a doctor permission to take a piece out of them to sew into him instead, maybe if he were awake he'd say something about how poetic that is, how they'll never be apart again.

But he isn't awake, instead he's blissfully asleep on a small shot that was supposed to make him more sociable and numb the pain. He passed out rather fast after taking it, and then his brothers could begin discussing the truth of the matter without Floyd. If he was awake when they brought up the graft they know he would defy it, they know he would say it isn't right for them to make that sacrifice. They also know their brother would waste away without their help, waste away without any extra meat, exposed bone doesn't scream 'healthy' in Pop Village.

There's an extraction from Bruce first, tactfully cut from his lower back and laid atop Floyd's rib cage. Slid over top the painfully thin muscles in thin slices, some if it was placed along his hips to add padding to his painfully prominent bones. To make him less skeletal, it was mostly cosmetic on that front, but if he tripped and fell he could shatter like glass with how exposed they were. He'd shatter and there'd be so much blood it would leave someone scarred for life, so much whimpering because punctured lungs leaves no room for screaming.

The doctor takes from John Dory next because of how insistent he was on the procedure, how insistent he was to make sure Floyd could have flesh again. It's taken from one thigh, a solid chunk taken out and replaced with an almost jelly substance. He'd collapse when he walked without a substitute of some sort, he'll be reduced to crutches until he gets used to it. A consequence perhaps, or just cruel fate that he has the perfect cut of meat to fill one of the larger gaps in Floyd's good leg. He's restitched with most of his skin, but again, a good chunk of it goes to his little brother, to keep him from drying in the sun.

"What's happening?" It's Floyd, waking up strapped down and held open with someone holding a piece of meat. He instantly goes to thrash, scared, afraid, oh god he thought he escaped. What a cruel dream, imagining his brothers would actually pull through, he's still stuck.

"Calm down, Floyd," The doctor said, "We're in a hospital, giving you a surgery, your safe, your brothers are safe."

Floyd tries to nod, "Why am I awake?"

"Analgesia knocked you out, it just wore off," She said, grabbing a needle, "So please, hold still."

He does as told, needle sliding through his skin with ease. It only stings a little bit as he anesthetic pushes through his veins rather sluggishly. The doctor falters on using another needle to actually knock him out and only chooses against it when he drifts back to sleep. There's a long pause of no motion, no advances, just in case he wakes back up again, but when he doesn't she continues.

Placing John's flesh into the cavity of Floyd's leg and stitching it closed, surgical glue to keep it in place after he's been closed up. The stitches almost match his fur, thread off by a single shade, just a bit darker than he is. And it keeps staining on the blood inside of him when the needle goes through, keeps picking up that red pigment that shines like liquid gold. She'll rinse it clean after the surgery is done, after he's patched up using chunks of his brothers who love him so much they'd tear themselves apart for him.

She hesitates to take anything off of Clay because he's already spindly. But he wants to give as well, he's the one who remembered their blood types were all O despite the odds. He gets the exterior layer of skin from his lower back shucked off unforgivingly, he's too thin to take his muscle, that'd put him in danger. The flesh is stitched onto the nub just above Floyd's knee, where he was amputated without any reason. The jagged gore won't connect to a prosthetic very well, it's smoothed with a scalpel before the skin is put into place. Definitely not the average surgical move, but whatever it takes to keep a patient alive, including slicing off bits of meat in need of replacement. It's rotten flesh anyways, always exposed to air and never allowed to properly heal, it reeks of death like the rest of his body.

Branch is the final one taken from, strips out of his thighs spliced into Floyd's arms length wise. They fill out nicely, rest atop the bone in such a fashion they look like they belonged in his arm instead of Branch's leg. The hue of the flesh and the hue of the skin didn't match, the gray that Branch experienced still held strong even upon being cut up and stitched to a new body. It really makes Floyd look chimeric, like a rotten, decaying, beast of mythology that shouldn't be able to exist. And if he makes it out alive he'll fit the description perfectly because his heart rate should've dropped off the face of the planet by now, but it hasn't, he's still alive somehow.

He's still alive and so far his body isn't rejecting the sacrifices his brothers are making for him. It's a miracle really, them getting him to the hospital on time to get him stabilized for a surgery is also miracle. And maybe the defiance John Dory held over letting Floyd be forced into a wheel chair will bring advances to the medical field, probably not. But this in itself is amazing, the fact he's getting pulled together by thread and woke up not coughing blood is absurd.

Maybe when he wakes up at the designated time he still won't cough up blood.

-/-/-/-

John Dory wakes up last, "What happened?" He swings his leg over the edge of his bed and hisses because it hurts real bad.

Bruce is face down on his bed, "We gave Floyd a muscle graft, remember?"

"Right," John answered with before going to stand, he instantly collapsed, heavily leaning on the small table. Crutches, he grabs them instantly to prop himself up, knees shaking, "Where's Floyd?"

"I'm over here," Came Floyd's voice from the other side of the room, he was hobbling over with his new leg. It looked sleek, a lovely metallic sheen to it due to the materials and the Funk craftsmanship ties it together, the shape similar enough to an organic leg. He's using a crutch to walk over, fresh flesh in his thigh sore, but working with a bit of weight alleviation.

"You look great man!" Elation is heavy on John's voice as he tries to take a step over with the crutches. He nearly falls, "Whose are these?"

"Yours, the substitute for the chunk they took out of you is still fresh. It's gonna take time to walk 'normally' with it, but crutches are easy after a bit," Floyd explained, "Thanks."

John sits back down on his bed, "Well jeez, your welcome bro, but I may have to take that flesh back if I can't walk."

"You're lucky you aren't in a wheel chair," Bruce stated boldly, rolling onto his side just a bit, "The doc said that it was almost so bad you'd need one, you're lucky."

"Say, where's Branch? And Clay?" John asked, changing the subject with ease.

Floyd shrugged with one shoulder, the prosthetic not responding as much as desired, "I'm pretty sure they're in the room next too us, still asleep. When I asked the doctor she said they were still alive."

"They fucking better be, I'll crush her skull with these stupid crutches if they aren't," John snarled out.

"See, you're already in love with them," Floyd teased, "I'm sure Branch will outfit them to your style once he's done with his recovery."

Bruce gives a laugh, "Karma."

"Shut up," He pointed the end of his crutch at Bruce threateningly.

Bruce just batted it away with his paw, "How dangerous."

"Guys, neither of you are in condition to get in fight,"

"Beg to differ,"

"I could kick his ass no matter what,"

Floyd sighed, taking a couple disjointed steps closer to take a seat at the foot of Bruce's bed. He leans his crutch on the edge, "You could not, you're a dad."

"Makes me even better at tossing little shits around," Bruce countered with.

John is quick to try and breach the small gap, he ends up face first in Bruce's bed. It garners a loud laugh, "Shut up," it's a muffled plea, "How long are we gonna be in this place for?"

"A considerable while," Floyd offered nervously, "It varies between us. Me, you, and Branch are gonna be here the longest because we need some physical rehab, might be permanent for you and Branch, it will for me."

Bruce hoists up John fully onto the mattress, "I'm regretting saving your life," Bruce clips the back of his head for that comment.

Floyd just laughs, "Gee, I love you too."

#troll twins au #trolls world tour #trolls fanfic #trolls floyd #velvet and veneer #trolls #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #tw gore #tw body horror #tw cannibalism

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nervosims · 11 months

Text

my gameplay rules

I constantly allude to the existence of gameplay rules, but I've never outright made a dedicated post about them... so here it is! I'll make a dedicated video for this at some point, but enjoy this lovely wall of text <3.

link to the dedicated video: here!

general gameplay style

I'm quite fast and loose with my gameplay. I'm primarily wants-based, but sometimes I want sims to do certain things so I'll just make it happen. If a sims doesn't roll a want to do certain things, however, then I won't make them do it (i.e going to college). If they roll the want to skip work, sometimes I'll let them do it 'cause it brings chaos.

So, basically, if anything sounds fun, I'll probably do it. I find it hard to stick to rules that are too strict, so most of mine are general rules of thumb. If I ever find myself getting bored, I rarely ever blame the game. The game is pretty kooky, so if nothing crazy is happening, it means I'm simply not allowing anything to happen.

I play with 7 day rounds! Using this mod that makes seasons 7 days long, I just play the whole week. Plus, any holidays I may want my sims to celebrate will be on the Sunday!

🧓 aging and death

Marticore has a great video on Sims 2's aging system, so I pretty much abide by that. Aging sims up when they receive that one day until their birthday notification. I use the Nice Lifespan mod, which adds a bunch of days and makes things make a bit more sense. I also edited the mod to age them up at midnight (because 6pm aging makes no sense).

Because my lifespan is so much longer, I recently started playing with slower skilling all-around. Using the 6-hr version of this mod.

Also, a higher a witch/warlock's alignment is, the longer they live (with the help of BO's slow aging controller). That's why Olive is still very much alive in my game, she's max alignment so she ages once a week.

When a sim is nearing death, I keep in mind inheritance. I use SimNopke's Inventory Inheritance to give away any stray items to their next of kin. If the sims owns a house, then the ownership goes to the child with the highest relationship. If the sims doesn't have any kids, then it goes to their spouse. If they aren't married, it goes to a very close friend. If they don't meet any of those requirements (bro how?!), then I sell the house and give the money to the orphanage.

I also really like playing with trans sims! I'm nonbinary myself so I need to project, obviously <3. So I roll a 5% chance of transing their gender... as a little treat. I'm still in the process of figuring out this mod, that'll let me have the memory of transitioning.

Death is also final in my game (with some extreme caveats). So, sims can't get resurrected unless the sim resurrecting is lvl 10 paranormal, and max witch alignment. And, anyone who's besties with tha sim gets to resurrect a sim of their choice. It's sort of a punishment for letting a sim die.

🌠 aspiration and personality

Sophie the Puffin has an absolutely killer aspiration calculator. I calculate everyone's secondary aspiration, and usually set them. Though, this can change depending on how I'm feeling. If I feel like it doesn't suit them, then I simply just won't set it.

I use the aspiration calculator to age up sims from child to teen as well! Using this interest age mod, it allow child sims to have more varied interests. I kinda stick to their secondary aspirations, because I can't be bothered to change it.

💼 career, education, and finances

I tried using Edukashun is Gud and… it just doesn’t make sense that I can’t be a Lvl 10 Criminal because I don’t have a degree. Like, that’s so silly. So I use Doctors Need Degrees that’s way more detailed.

Unless a sim wants to go to college, I won’t make them go. They need to roll the want on their birthday (or the day before). Once they do roll that want, I note down the day they moved out and play the family as normal. I play a whole round before I move the sims back in, to simulate time passing while they were in college. College is free, because you should never pay for education, but accommodation isn’t so sims will probably need to take out loans (4% interest rate) to pay for bills and the like. If my sims don’t want to pass the year, they won’t (but if they roll a fear of failure, they can pass). I just play it by ear.

Of course, semester changes is used… I’m not a lunatic.

No 20k handouts is an absolute godsend, so that’s an absolute must for me. Usually, graduates move out into apartments, but with the Tenancy and Landlord mod by Monique, I can have them rent out a house. This is what I’ve currently been doing with my La Fiesta Tech grads.

Child support is also a thing! It’s super handy, and also adds some challenge to managing finances.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 family

Romance sims have a 35% of giving their child up for adoption (or giving their child to their partner). They don’t wanna get bogged down with responsibilities! Similarly, they can’t try for baby (unless secondary family). Unless they roll a fear for having a baby, I won’t put them on birth control. And I’ll only take them off of birth control when they roll a want to have a child. If they roll this fear while pregnant, I terminate the pregnancy (1st trimester only).

I also nabbed this rule from a reddit thread:

Though, I’ll still give the child away, family sim or not. I think it’s pretty realistic to feel in over your head with something as major as a child.

Getting your child taken away is also harder in my game, because I play with kids and pets unattended. You actively need to be evil for your kid to be taken away.

Aliens can impregnate/be impregnated regardless of the situation. They’re aliens! Don’t think about it!

I don’t have a hard and fast rule for number of children permitted (how dystopian), but I have a general rule of thumb. A romance/pleasure sim won’t want to have 3 kids probably, so 1 or 2 is alright.

No super fertility because I love my life! And I play with a quads mod, so I truly do not need it.

And if a gay/infertile couple want a genetic child, they need to either be lvl 10 of the science career (or be best friends with someone who is).

💞 romance

ACR my beloved <3. And romantic standards! I find ACR makes everyone horny freaks, so having romantic standards adds some challenge. Plus, it makes it much harder to just force a relationship. I don’t play with teen/adult romance — nor do I play with teen pregnancy. There’s no rush to have kids! They have the rest of their lives.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Anyway hopefully this adds some context to what I’m thinking of when I play the game. Maybe you’ll adopt some of these rules too? Maybe I’ll add some more? I’ll be sure to update when I do!

#ts2 #sims 2 #sims 2 gameplay #ts2 gameplay #gameplay rules #long post #c://ts2.exe #nervo.exe #nervo.mp4

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