#trigger warnings ahead
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I had the let the brainrot out don’t worry were gonna get back to our regularly scheduled qsmp.
#art#dsmp#tubbo#c!tubbo#tubbo fanart#dream smp#drawing#digital art#artists on tumblr#rory does shit#trigger warnings ahead#smoking#drugs#Suicide#implied suicide#suicide attempt
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No more.
I was once living and carefree. I was happy to just be.
I was a child with so much innocence that I couldn't see, just what you were truly doing to me.
I thought of us as the same. Friends. Family. Sisters.
You entered my life when I was alone. You were the bird with the broken wing that just needed care.
I never thought you'd be the first to throw a stone. Yet, you weren't even there.
The light you held up to me wasn't warm and bright. There was no illumination.
It was cold, cruel and sterile. It was a beacon of desolation.
Every insecurity was magnified under your scrutiny.
Every anxiety amplified by your tyranny.
You had my loyalty, my love, my hope and my trust.
Was I just not enough?
The emotional blows should have been my first clue.
The tackles and hits the second.
But then again, it was expected from you.
I tried to endure. I really did, but 3 years is a little excessive.
All I wanted was your affection, now I doubt if it was worth your aggression.
I was called weak for leaving; disloyal and traitorous.
I tried to tell you why, yet you wouldn't hear of it.
Apparently, "stop" could only be used by you.
But the worst part is that my love for you is still true.
I may still be broken and spent. Left to gather the shattered shards.
I have the faithful friends beside me, just trying to escape spot free.
I know you want someone to blame and to you that’s me.
I am fine with that so long as you leave them be.
I am not okay, but I am done.
I have no strength left, but my reign has only just begun.
Now to heal my sores; I say,
No more.
#trigger warnings ahead#narcissistic abuse#bullying#i had to leave#i couldn't cope#i was going to do something stupid if i stayed#and you would have let me#i am glad i left#but not sorry i did#but i still love you all#poetry#dark academia#emotional triggers#emotional abuse#mentally drained#mentally unstable#sorry for being depressing#heartache
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There’s a little green something in the cracks of the road. Grian stares at it, and then he looks at Scar, who is humming cheerfully while he rummages in his bag, and then Grian looks back to the little plant.
Grian looks at Scar again. He takes a step closer to the plant. Scar, blissfully, does not notice.
Something fungal bubbles at the back of Grian’s throat.
He crouches, inconspicuous, next to the plant. He knows it isn’t grass, that it’s probably a weed, but he doesn’t know anything more. He doesn’t care to know anything more, really, and it won’t matter in a moment anyway. He reaches and-
A dull pain pings bright on his arm. He startles upright, wings flaring out, and Scar shoots him several more times with the Nerf gun. The little foam darts bounce harmlessly off of Grian’s chest.
“Bad Grian!” Scar scolds him cheerfully. “No plant killing! Bad!”
“But it’s a small one!” Grian protests immediately, startled and indignant at the embarrassment of being caught. Another foam dart hits him.
“Nuh-uh!”
“Ow- Scar, come on, it’s itsy bitsy,” Grian tries, wheedling now. “It won’t hurt anything.”
“Well, you know that’s not true. It’ll hurt the plant,” Scar answers reasonably. He waves his toy gun threateningly at Grian. “You know the deal, G. No pestulating in the Hoe-ly Spaces.” He uses his dramatic voice to say Hoe-ly Spaces. He always uses the dramatic voice to say Hoe-ly Spaces. Grian wants to punt Hoe-ly Spaces and all associated dramatisms into the sun.
“That’s not a word, Scar,” Grian says petulantly. He ruffles his wings and sits on the larger half of a broken concrete barrier. The vines that had been wrapped around the barrier writhe away from the spores that fall from his wings, so Grian vindictively shakes his wings more. This, at least, Scar does not scold him for.
“What? Sure it is.” Scar has gone back to rifling through his bag again. He keeps pulling out strangely shaped bottles of bright colours with baffling smells. Grian would be more alarmed, but he knows Scar has a weird thing with taking labels off of bottles. How the man ever remembers what goes where, though, he has no idea.
(He has some idea. Scar’s tongue is too many different colours, always, and he’s been almost poisoned thrice. By Grian’s count, the man should be dead.)
“Pestulate is not a word,” Grian says, doubling down.
“Then what is it?” Scar asks innocently. He pulls out a jug of blood and lugs it into the centre of the clearing.
“A nonsense.” Grian shakes his wings again. There’s now a full circle of empty asphalt and concrete around him, free of plant matter. His spores won’t root without living tissue, but he feels a little vindicated by every twitch of the green things moving away from him. “Are you done yet?”
“Grian, Grian, Grian, you can’t rush a good blood ritual” Scar exclaims. “Do you know what happened to the last guy to rush a blood ritual?”
“He di-”
“He died!” Scar presses a hand against his heart. “The plants swooped up and ate him! I found his bones, Grian! His bones!”
“We could just leave,” Grian suggests. “This is- what, the fifth blood ritual? We’re fine without them, Scar. I bet the Kingmaker doesn’t even notice.”
“Oh, pish-posh.” Scar holds out the jug and pours the blood straight down over the smallest unbloomed flower in the clearing. The jug makes awful noises as the blood chugs and glugs out of it, because Scar doesn’t care for any silly thing like fluid dynamics. The jug convulses like its gasping for air and it makes sounds that Grian thinks Scar would make if he were ever simultaneously choked and drowned. The red blood splashes across the green, seeps through the cracks in the asphalt, and gets all over Scar’s shoes. Grian draws his own feet up in distaste, but he’s far enough that no blood touches him. “You know that’s not his name.”
“He doesn’t get a name,” Grian says. “I’m mad at him.”
“Careful, Grian!” Scar says cheerfully. “That almost sounds like rebellion.”
Grian scoffs, loud, but he doesn’t say anything. Scar continues with his stupid blood ritual. Which is to say that Scar goes back to his bag, grabs a canteen, and returns to the plant. Without ceremony, Scar upends that jug over the plant too.
“Scar!” Grian squawks, scrabbling to his feet. “Scar, that’s all our water! Scar!”
“Oops!” Scar says cheerful.
“You only used a few drops for the other rituals!” Grian wails. “We just got that!”
“Oops!” Scar says again. He has no remorse. Grian snatches the nerf gun from where Scar had left it on the ground and shoots him with it. “Ow!”
“You’re the worst,” Grian says.
“Love you, too, G,” Scar says. He shakes the canteen to get the last few drops of water out. Grian watches them fall with despair. The water washes away the blood, dilutes it across the asphalt and towards the ring of vines and green things that surround them. Scar gives the little twice-baptised bloom a loving pat, and it opens in his palm. The petals are a different colour in each Hoe-ly Space, and the same holds true for here. These petals are unnaturally white, unsettlingly perfect, and-
“Is there another flower in there?” Grian demands.
Scar doesn’t lift his gaze. “Yeah,” he says. He touches a scarred hand gently to the second bloom, which shivers at the contact but doesn’t open. “Huh.”
“...Huh?” Grian echoes. “Scar?”
“It’s okay, G,” Scar says too fast. “Let’s just go shopping, yeah? All done here.” He steps back from the plant. He sees the look Grian is giving him and tries to give a bright smile in return. “Seriously, Grian, it’s fine.”
Grian has always had a knack for knowing when Scar is lying.
“...If you say so.” Grian watches Scar pack up his bag, holster the nerf gun, and throw the plant a two-fingered salute. He’s too quick. They haven’t been here for even twenty minutes, maybe, and normally Scar stretches the ritual to last an hour. Grian guesses that he’s not surprised that the blood-jug and the water are the only necessary components. The steps for the other rituals had been sporadically changed each time. “Ready to go?”
“Can we get ice cream on the way?” Scar asks, even though he knows that all the ice cream in the world has already melted.
“Sure,” Grian says, even though he knows that the corpses of the ice cream shop workers are ripe in their rot.
Scar steps up onto the concrete barrier, almost loses his balance then helps Grian up and almost sends them both toppling over. Grian doesn’t comment on it. Scar keeps casting glances to the weird plants, but stops when Grian opens his arms. Scar grabs onto him, tightly, and Grian holds tight in return. Grain’s wings start to flap (Scar sneezes at the spraying spores) and they step off the concrete barrier together. Soon, they’re in the air.
(Scar has cracked a Superman joke at least once every time Grian has flown him somewhere. This time he’s nothing but silent, and he keeps trying to peek back at the plant-filled bridge they’d left behind. Grian flies a little faster.)
—---
Scar lets Grian kill whatever he wants, most days. He doesn’t like mushrooms, or fungus, or mycelia-filled goo, but he doesn’t complain too much. It’s a good deal for both of them, Grian figures. Scar helps Grian with his whole ending-an-apocalypse-by-causing-a-different-apocalypse deal, and he’s good company in a world full of decomposing things that used to be people, and he lets Grian know when he’s getting too close to the rebellion line. The plants destroy anything that oppose them, and the last thing Grian wants is to openly oppose them.
Mushrooms are better. They’re kinder. Almost plant, almost animal, and there’s so much for them to eat. Much better than the violence of true plants.
Honestly? Grian shouldn’t even be alive. It’s pure luck that he found the mycelia before the plants could burrow into him, it’s luck that it Chose him, and it’s luck that it wants the world to end again.
(Sometimes, late at night, he wonders if he’d be happier if he’d been the first harbinger of end-times rather than the second. But, then again, mushrooms are components of decay. Scavengers rather than hunters- it makes sense, maybe, that the fungal spread occurs after the flora’s feast.)
Grian thinks he’s almost done. He used to be human, but now mushrooms sprout around him when he sleeps, and spores spread on the wind from his wings. He leaves large fields of fungus in his wake. Soon enough, he’ll have to actively hunt for the green and force it to recede. Soon enough, the old apocalypse will be ended, and the new ending can truly begin. That’s why Grian doesn’t mind carting Scar around to the last green places so much- Scar gets a free travelling companion, and Grian gets lead right to the green sources that Scar doesn’t want him to hurt. Grian doesn’t hurt them because then Scar will stop showing him where they are, and Grian is smart enough to bide his time. One day, maybe, Scar will die, and Grian will be free to kill as many green spaces as he wants.
(Grian shouldn’t have to kill him. The plants should have killed him. The fungus should have rotted him. Grian sometimes wonders what it means that he’s still alive. He licks poison and blood and shiny things that should give him tetanus, but he’s still alive.)
(Grian thinks about leaving, sometimes, but he never does. He’s always been too curious for his own good.)
“What’s that for?” Grian asks.
Scar freezes like a statue, weedkiller clutched tight in his hands. Slowly, as if Grian is a predator with poor eyesight, he hides it behind his back. Grian tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle his laughter.
“Scar. You know I can see you, don’t you?”
Scar deflates, shoulders slumping forwards as he pulls the weedkiller out again. “Okay, okay, you caught me, G,” he says. “I’m just… looking for a drink.”
“That’s weedkiller.”
“So?”
“...Okay, you’re not even trying now,” Grian says. “What’s with the weedkiller, Scar?”
Scar shuffles his feet and bites his lip, then huffs out a breath. “Are we alone?”
Grian, still smiling, raises his brows and looks around the store. Most of the shelves have been raided, several of them knocked over, and the only people in the vicinity haven’t been people in a long time.
“The plants, G,” Scar says impatiently.
“Oh, no, those are gone,” Grian says. “The mycelium works fast, you know that.”
“Right,” Scar says, and he goes quiet.
Grian eyes him, then gestures to a currently-indoor outdoor furniture set that doesn’t even have any blood on it. “Do you want to sit down?” he offers.
Scar makes a beeline for the furniture set, weedkiller still clutched tight in his grasp. Grian has barely figured out how to sit without crushing his wings when Scar blurts out, “The King’s called a meeting.”
Grian almost falls out of his seat. “What?”
“Yeah,” Scar says. “And I have to go, or, you know.” He jerks his head towards the nearest corpse. There are vines wrapped around its neck. “I was hoping you could give me a ride?”
Grian gapes at him. He feels his mental gears spinning frantically, completely tractionless. “Okay- wait.” He runs his hand through his hair and ignores the mushrooms that brush against his hand. “The King called a meeting- why? He hasn’t done that before- do you think he knows you’re working with me? This is probably a trap, Scar. You know this is probably a trap.”
Scar looks at the weedkiller on his lap. “Yeah.”
Grian stares. “Oh.”
Scar grimace-smiles. “I figured- you’ve been a good friend, Grian. I have… loyalty, to the crown, but I won’t let them kill you.”
“Oh.”
Scar shrugs a little self-consciously. “It’s the least I can do, you know?”
Grian doesn’t want to say it. He likes Scar, though, and he would feel guilty if he didn’t point out, “What’s stopping me from killing them, then? You know what my goals are.”
“Rebellion, Grian,” Scar says automatically. Grian winces and raises his hands in apology, and Scar continues. “I figured- well, maybe you won’t if I ask you really nicely?”
“That can’t be it.”
Scar shrugs. “You haven’t touched the spaces,” he explains. “And all I did there is ask you nicely.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Grian fumbles for a second. “That’s- it’s- like- chopping off a head will kill a body?” he tries. “Like- the spaces are the hands, and the King is the head, so that’s- yeah.”
“Are you going to chop his head off?”
Grian is quiet.
“Please, Grian, don’t kill him,” Scar says. He holds the weedkiller carefully, and his fingers keep nervously tapping at its sides. “Neither of them. None of them. Just- keep being your mushroomy, birdy self, okay? You don’t even have to talk to them if you don’t want to.”
Grian is silent.
“Please?”
Grian caves. Mournfully, he thinks of the Hoe-ly Spaces, and he thinks of the quiet rule he has to kill those whenever Scar dies. It feels wrong to delegate something like killing the King to that same rule, but- Scar is right. Beheading the King sounds like it comes too close to rebelling, anyway. “Okay.”
Scar lets out a breath, then gives Grian a winning smile. “Okay!” he says. “Okay, perfect! Hey, I think I saw some chocolate earlier, maybe it won’t be expired.”
“It’s definitely expired,” Grian says, but he stands and offers Scar a hand to help him up.
Scar takes the hand and pulls himself up to his feet. “It’s always good to have hope, G,” he says brightly, and they continue to ravage the store.
—---
The place Scar takes him to isn’t green at all. It’s white and red and brown, like old and new blood on white petals. Well, Grian shouldn’t be thinking in similes here- there is literally old and new blood staining old petals almost everywhere he looks.
The border of the Tree’s territory is made of wood, or whatever it is that roots are made of. They drip red onto the white flowers that make up the groundcover. It had been relatively easy to get past the border- it opened up when Scar approached, peacefully allowing him through. The roots shuddered furiously when Grian approached, but they didn’t kill him when he tucked his wings in and pretended to be demure, so he thinks that means he’s basically Scar’s unwelcomely welcomed plus one. He’s not sure if court people even get to have plus ones, but he’s not skewered by evil plant matter so he thinks that he gets to count as a plus one.
He’s maybe a little nervous.
The interior of the Tree’s territory doesn’t make him feel any more at ease, either. This, too, is a place that is blindingly white. The Tree itself sits in the very centre, painfully pale and looming. The King’s Spire sits to its right, a building of previously-white colours that has now been overgrown with green. Moss and vines, Grian thinks, but he can’t distinguish anything else. Beneath the Tree are several small figures that cause something fungal to gurgle in his throat when he looks at them too hard. Grian stays close to Scar and tries to turn his eyes to the ground.
It’s hard not to acknowledge the Tree, though. They approach it together, slowly engulfed by the leaf cover overhead and hidden from the sun. It’s almost dark. Grian feels very small. The last time he’d felt so small was when his human self had accepted the blessings of the mycelium. He’d been welcome, then, but there is no welcome for him here.
Scar, of course, seems unaffected.
“You’re late.” Grian chances a glance upwards to see a woman with dead eyes and red flowers sprouting from her hair. The fungal thing tries to crawl out of his mouth. He swallows hard and ducks his head. He’s suddenly questioning the might of Scar’s weedkiller against all of this. He understands a little, maybe, the might that would have been needed to bring the first apocalypse.
“I’m right on time,” Scar disagrees. “You’re just early.”
“Everyone else has gone.” The woman sounds unimpressed. “And who do you have with you? You know he wants these audiences to be one-on-one.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Scar dismisses. “Sym- synergy. We’re really synergetic. I couldn’t have gotten here at all without Grian.”
“Your funeral.”
“Ha,” Scar says. “As if.”
Grian is startled enough by this statement to look up at Scar, but Scar grabs him by the arm and ushers him towards the trunk of the Tree. “Hey, wait- what do you mean?” Grian hisses. It occurs to him for the first time that this could be a trap for him.
“Not now, G,” Scar mumbles to him. “Ask me later.”
Grian, ruffled, unruffles a little bit at that. After all, there wouldn’t be a “later” if Scar was going to kill him now, right? Grian is beginning to realize that Scar is wrapped up tighter in whatever- whatever this is a lot more than Grian had first assumed, and he does not like it. Not one bit. He hates this, actually, and he hates it more when Scar knocks on the trunk and the wood creaks as it twists and bends out of their way.
A voice from within calls, “Welcome, Goodtimes, to my most private of areas.” And Grian hates that most of all.
They enter the Tree. The Tree creaks and groans and it closes behind them. Trapping them inside. And Grian hates this so much.
He finds even more to hate as they delve deeper into the almost-room that’s waiting for them. The King sits on a throne in the centre, drooping like a wilted flower. He’s dead. Grian can tell that immediately- he wants to spread his wings and spread the spores, but Scar asked him not to, and-
Wait. What?
Grian looks again. The King continues to be dead. The crown sits golden on his head, shining and perfect. The King is undecayed, unblemished, but his eyes are flat, and he isn’t breathing, and Grian can almost hear the creaking as he scowls.
“What have you brought me?”
“Presents,” Scar promises. “Just as you’ve asked. They’re for you, too, Bdubs.”
Grian again begins to wonder if this is a trap. Before he can continue that train of thought, however, there’s more creaking as the Tree shudders around them. The walls shiver, and lichen sloughs downwards until there’s just a human-shaped lump of green left against the wall. The human lump turns around and looks right at Grian with its impossibly large eyes.
Grian almost bares his teeth. He knows that look. This is competition.
(Competiton for what? There’s so much to fight over, probably, if he really thinks hard about it.)
“Why is the bed made of dirt?” Grian asks.
Scar balks, the King pauses, and the lichen-man stares.
“I mean, not to ruffle any feathers,” Grian rushes, valiantly not ruffling any of his. “I guess I was just expecting…”
“What?” The dead King asks.
“More?” Grian says. “Pillows? Blankets? Uh. More gold, I guess, but I know people don’t really carry that around these days. Didn’t.”
“The crown is gold,” the lichen man says.
“Aye, but tis a tiny crown,” the King concedes.
“And the bed is made of dirt,” Grian says.
“It’s a plant apocalypse,” the lichen-man -Bdubs- says. “Of course the bed is made of dirt. It’s not like he actually needs any sleep.”
“I like to nap,” the dead King protests. “Royal naps are very important, Bdubs.”
“Of course, your highness, of course,” Bdubs says quickly. “But the dirt is fine, right?”
“I mean,” the King says. “A dirt nap is mighty thematic, all considering, but… You there, Goodtimes! Have you brought your king a pillow?”
“Uh- no, no.” Scar laughs a little, startled. “No, I didn’t.”
“Shame,” the King says. The Tree rumbles. “Then you have failed me. Goodbye, Goodtimes. You served me well.”
“Whuh-” Grian starts.
“Woahwoahwoa-” Scar babbles.
“WAIT!” Bdubs shouts.
The Tree stops rumbling.
“Yes?” the King asks.
Bdubs looks at the King, then he looks at Scar, then he looks to Grian, then he looks back to the King. “Scar - Goodtimes has displeased you mightily, my liege,” he hazards. The dead King nods wisely. “Right-right- but he has displayed his loyalty quite mightily, too! The blood sacrifices are always pleasing, aren’t they?”
“You would have me grant mercy?” The King sounds displeased. Grian shuffles. He wonders if it’s even possible to kill a dead guy. He wonders if his mushrooms can kill. He hasn’t had much practice spreading them on purpose, but maybe if he can get them in the eyes?
“No, no, no, no mercy,” Bdubs amends hastily. “Just- inconvenience.” He leans in and whispers loudly. “My lord, he has a friend with him. The oncoming rot? I’m just saying- two birds with one stone here.”
“Oh?” The King looks closer at Grian. Grian lifts his wings a little in a threat display. The King nods slowly. “I see, I see… Goodtimes, I offer you a choice.”
“I don’t want to make a choice,” Scar says, more weakly than Grian has ever heard him.
“Nonetheless you have it!” the King booms. “Goodtimes- you may spare your own life, or the life of the oncoming rot. You have-”
“To give you your gifts first,” Scar says loudly.
The King pauses. “You interrupt me?”
“For presents,” Scar says quickly. He pulls of his bag and rifles through it quickly. Bdubs shuffles over and Scar hands over several unlabelled bottles. Salvation. Hope rises within Grian until, alarmingly, he realizes that none of the jugs are the weedkiller.
“Scar,” Grian says quietly.
“It’s okay, G,” Scar replies quickly.
Bdubs opens each jug and sniffs it in turn, then brings them to the King and pours them at the base of the throne. With each bottle the King’s body twitches, making noises like an ancient rocking chair, and- it takes Grian a moment to notice, but each bottle emptied at his feet brings life back to the King’s features. He grins, wide and sharp-toothed, and Grian wonders if he’s lost his chance to escape.
“Now, the choice,” the King begins.
“No,” Grian says, and he lets loose.
He’s on the ground three seconds later.
Lichen fills his mouth, vines around his wrist and wings, bark already growing quickly over his legs to trap him in place. Bdubs wipes a stray mushroom off of his sleeve in disgust, and Scar stares with wide, despairing eyes.
Do something! Grian tries to yell back with his own eyes. Scar doesn’t do anything except let out a breath, and then start to smile.
Scar says, “Phew! That took you forever, Bdubs.”
“Huh?” Bdubs says.
“I started thinking you weren’t going to stop him at all,” Scar remarks, and Grian’s heart drops into his stomach.
“OH,” Bdubs says loudly. His eyes sparkle. “Oh, so this- oh, phew! You got me worried there, Scar! Really worried! ‘Why is he hanging out with the oncoming rot,’ I said.”
“I said that,” the King argues.
“Of course, of course,” Bdubs says quickly. “Anyway, I said ‘wow, I wonder why Scar is hanging out with the oncoming rot!’ But you just needed a bit of help with this one, didn’t you?”
Scar smiles widely. He rummages through his bag again. “Right on, Bdubs,” he says. “Can’t kill a fungus surrounded by fungus, right? It’ll just grow right back!” The two of them chortle together and Scar brings another jug out of his backpack.
In fragile hope, Grian’s heart begins to beat again because he recognizes that jug. It’s the weedkiller. Label torn off. Scar opens it, takes a sip, and doesn’t flinch.
Grian feels several emotions all at once.
Scar hands the weedkiller over to Bdubs just as the King says, “What are you waiting for, Goodtimes?”
“You still have my bow, King,” Scar says.
“I thought we gave that back…?” The King looks questioningly to Bdubs.
“You took it away again after Scar failed to provide appropriate subservience, my lord.”
“Oh, well have it back, then, Goodtimes.” The King waves his hand and more of the tree creaks and moans. A real and true bow and quiver are revealed when the floor pulls back. Grian wriggles frantically, fear spiking again. Scar still hasn’t wavered. Grian is starting to doubt the contents of the weedkiller jug. He tries to flap his wings but the bark has grown over the edges. He tries to let the fungus out but his throat is clogged by lichen. The wood around him dies and tries to rot but it’s just grown over and living again in less than a second.
Scar strides over, playing with the quiver. He kneels next to Grian, then pulls out an arrow. Grian stares up at him, making his eyes as wide and pleading as he can. Scar doesn’t look at him. “Long live the King,” Scar says, raising his arrow. Bdubs raises the jug to him, but doesn’t drink.
Consternation flashes over Scar’s face, and Grian feels another rush of emotion he doesn’t know how to parse. Then Scar’s expression hardens and he brings the arrow down.
It hurts. Grian yells against the lichen in his mouth. There isn’t any blood- Grian isn’t human anymore. Of course there isn’t blood. There is an arrow in him and there isn’t any blood and Scar raises his fist with a cheer, and the King raises both arms with a cheer, and Bdubs drinks the weedkiller.
The Tree shudders.
The King collapses like a puppet with its strings cut.
Bdubs shrieks. The weedkiller drops. It sprays over the floor. The Tree screams. Grian thinks he’s also screaming. Scar isn’t screaming. Scar is frozen, false smile plastered across his face, and Grian realizes with dizzying clarity that he has no fucking clue when Scar is or isn’t lying. That’s a weird thing to realize in the worst moment of Grian’s after-apocalypse life and it’s so silly he just starts to laugh. He stops laughing when a branch spears through Scar’s chest.
“Traitor!” Bdubs yells. Three more branches strike Scar through. He gasps at each one, but he doesn’t struggle. He doesn’t try to get away. He doesn’t stop smiling. He doesn’t start bleeding. “The King trusted you!”
“The King is dead, Bdubs,” Scar says. “And your apocalypse has been ending. The oncoming rot hasn’t been oncoming for a long time- it’s been here-” he gestures wildly to Grian, who has yet another flurry of unregistered emotions “-the whole time, and you’ve let it!”
“The plants-”
“Kill those who oppose,” Scar says. “But your court has been opposing you since the moment you raised them. You failed your own apocalypse.”
Grian feels dizzy. He isn’t bleeding, but he is dying.
Why isn’t Scar bleeding?
“...What are you?” Bdubs asks. He’s breathing heavily. Grian’s vision is swimming, but he thinks Bdubs has sunk down to the floor. “Why-“ another branch spears Scar through “- aren’t-” another “-you-” another “-dead?”
“I’unno,” Scar says. “It never sticks.” The Tree rumbles overhead. Grain can feel it through the floor. “How about you? Are you dead yet, Bdubs?”
There’s silence. “Bdubs?”
The Tree stops rumbling.
“I don’t think poision is supposed to work like that,” Scar says. Or he says something like it. Grian isn’t sure. He’s really tired.
There’s something warm pressed against his face. “I didn’t lie to you,” Scar says quietly. Grian makes a little noise. “I didn’t. I said I wouldn’t let them kill you. I didn’t say anything about me. Doesn’t that mean something, G?” Grian doesn’t answer. “Yeah, yeah…”
Grian breathes out, slow, through his nose.
“You’d hate it the other way around,” Scar promises quietly. “But you did it, Grian. Bdubs wouldn’t have drank that without you. That was you, alright? You did it, you won. New apocalypse, new you. That’s the way it goes. The King died, and now it’s you, and- and it won’t be like this. It’ll be better. I don’t like mushrooms, but I’ll learn to like them when they’re you, okay?”
Grian can’t reply.
“I’ll see you soon, Grian,” Scar mumbles, and he sounds so far away.
And Grian goes to sleep.
And Mother Spore wakes up.
---
written for the @pinchhitsfromthevoid event and for the @ghastspidergwen person! this got. wildly out of hand basically the second i started to write it. unfortunately i suffer from "cannot write a normal apocalypse au" disease but eyyy that just means its a two-apocalypse package deal, which was really fun to write. hopefully it's just as fun to read!
(also on ao3)
#i wrote this in like four or five hours and posted On the deadline#this is almost pure stream of consciousness babeyyyyy#mishapen words#grian#goodtimeswithscar#hermitcraft fic#<- lemme know if i need to add any more trigger tags#hello tag readers. i want you all to know how genuinely little i planned this fic going into it#i do not understand how there's several moments of foreshadowing#i cannot comprehend the fact that the consistencies outnumber the inconsistencies#this fic wrote itself and i was merely its possessed vessel for four-five-however-many-hours#anyway spoilers in the next few tags you have been Warned#look away now#have you looked away#it's okay i read ahead when i shouldn't too#these are the trigger tags for filtering purposes theyve got to be spoilery sorry about that#death tw#blood tw#body horror tw#<- im not sure the body horror really Applies but there you have it anyway#lemme know if i missed any
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hey sam I apologize if this gives you psychic damage but your lisaposting always makes me think about how I first heard of the game recently because someone on twt was like oh the game is about a strong manly father providing for his child only to have people correct them on the game actually dealing with parental abuse and ive been curious about the game ever since
NO IT'S OKAY
i have. seen that post. that person does not understand the game, to put it lightly
the game makes it really clear that while brad, the main character of the central game in the series, thinks that what he's doing is protecting his daughter, he is, in reality, perpetuating the cycle of abuse
tw for discussions of abuse below
brad is a deeply pitiable character, whose childhood was defined by physical, emotional and sexual abuse towards both him and his little sister, the titular lisa, at the hands of their father. brad's main goal as an adult is to protect his adopted daughter from the abuse he and his sister faced, which his sister did not survive-- so in his mind, when his daughter buddy goes missing in a (genuinely very dangerous) apocalypse, where she is supposedly the only girl left in a world of horrifically damaged men, he's protecting her by going after her. he's protecting her by teaching her to defend herself through any violent means necessary, he's protecting her by withholding physical and emotional affection, he's protecting her by completely isolating her from the world. and it's sad! it's pitiable! you can trace so easily how a man who went through what he did would come to the conclusion that this is the only way to protect his little girl, especially in a world where she can so easily be hurt
and the game doesn't even say he's wrong about the fact that buddy is vulnerable, and could be abused. the game never physically shows the worst acts of abuse, but it's clear that brad and lisa went through hell as children, and that buddy also goes through hell. she is abused after she leaves, people are disgusting to her, and even more "well-meaning" people still strive to take her autonomy away for the "good of the world"
... but she's also abused before then, even though brad never once lay a hand on her and would have rather killed himself than done so
because at the end of the game, (SPOILERS,) you kneel at your daughter's feet, dying a horrible death as your addiction consumes you in the most literal possible way, begging, telling her you only ever wanted to make it so nobody could ever hurt her, and she looks you in the eyes and says "you're the one who hurt me most." because you were supposed to be her fucking dad, and you kept her holed up in an affectionate-less home, down in a basement, training how to kill a man in case one ever tried to hurt her, refusing to even let her call you "dad" because of your own trauma around fatherhood, so trapped that she didn't even know what the sky looked like until she was like ten
and the last choice of the main game is you as buddy, trying to figure out if you want to hug brad as he dies, and his last words are asking you if he did the right thing
brad is a deeply sad character. he's a man who loved his daughter and wanted to do whatever he could to mitigate the harm that could come to her, to make absolutely sure she did not suffer in the way he and his sister did growing up... and he broke some of the cycles. he is not the type of monster his own father was, he really isn't, but he did abuse buddy, and that's the point of the ending. buddy didn't want to go back home, she couldn't go back home, because you never made it a fucking home, and you never acted like an actual parent
as a side note, there are other fathers you can pick up as party members in the game, none of which have still-living children. they are mad dog, olan, and birdie. thematically, i think they're incredibly important
mad dog is an abuser, full stop-- a man who killed his son for not being "strong enough," who hates his children deeply, whose views on parenting are the most social darwinist "survival of the fittest, we need a strong bloodline" bullshit on the planet. a lot of his deal embodies some of the horrible fears brad has about his own parenting, that he will become an out-and-out abuser, and some of the actions that brad really does take, in forcing buddy to kill to become "stronger." his reasoning is different from mad dog, but the abusive action is there, and the conversation you can have with him in the newest update is framed as if you're being welcomed into hell. it's hopeless, bleak, deranged and cruel. it's one of brad's worst fears for himself
olan is a genuinely pleasant, likable guy, who had two daughters before the end of the world. olan did not kill his children, he did not hate his children, he did not seem to ever lay a hand against his children... but he neglected them. he neglected his girls, he neglected his wife, "even when he was there, he wasn't really there." he would have rather spent his time in his garage, downing whiskey and practicing archery, and in the newest update, he tearfully tells brad that his daughters never needed him anyway, that girls never really need their fathers. brad was also neglected, his father was an addict, he is an addict-- olan is another facet of brad's family trauma, another fear of what he could be. someone who never knowingly hurts his children, who is never cruel, but someone who fails his kids anyway. we never learn olan's daughters' names. he talks about them, some of their traits, but he never names them. after more than a decade, it's possible he doesn't even remember them-- he's not responsible for their deaths, but god did he fail them
birdie was, as far as canon implies, a decent dad. (and my favorite character, he's my icon.) birdie is, in his current state, a sweet but incedibly messy alcoholic mourning the deaths of his boys, but pre-apocalypse, he was a single father struggling to pay for his sons' medical treatments. there is nothing in birdie's backstory that implies in any way that he abused them, was cruel to them, or that he ever purposefully neglected them. his son joey died to a serious illness "that couldn't be treated on a dock worker's budget." his son jimmy killed himself after the death of his brother. (i think it's notable to mention that brad's sister, lisa, also killed herself.) birdie could not cope with the loss of both his boys, and it kickstarted his addiction. brad, who grew up in poverty, who is raising a daughter in a world where nobody can know she exists, has never had resources. birdie also never had resources, as a single dad with a tight budget, and no other family ever mentioned. birdie, in modern day, eats himself up with guilt, does anything he can to numb the pain-- it's pretty easy to draw a parallel between his addiction, spurred by his inability to save his family, and brad's addiction, fueled in large part by his inability to save lisa. birdie did care, he didn't do anything wrong, but he also failed his kids, and he's also now been defined by that
mad dog is brad's fears that he will be an abuser. olan is his fears that he will be neglectful, (with fears due to his addiction being sprinkled in as well.) birdie is his fear that even if he technically does everything right, chance, a lack of resources, and things beyond his control could still make him lose his daughter anyway. (birdie also plays into his fears about addiction, i think, because while birdie's time struggling with addiction never overlapped with the period where his boys were alive, brad's still being faced with an alcoholic father, and someone who uses alcohol and drugs to cope with the loss of young family members and the guilt over being unable to save them. it's also worth mentioning that birdie has design similarities to both brad and to brad's horrible father marty, despite being the only "good" dad in the game)
there is no father in this series that saves their child. from the horrible, no-gray-area-about-it abusive monsters to the shitty-but-never-cruel deadbeats to the guys who seemed to genuinely be doing their best with the cards they were dealt-- none of them, none of them save their children. none of them, including brad, and the idea that lisa is about some righteous quest to save your daughter is so insane that even brad doesn't fully believe it by the ending moments of the game
#if you choose to play it do look at trigger warnings ahead of time-- genuinely i mean that#also there are some bullshit racist jokes in it which i'm not gonan excuse and wanna make sure people are aware of#it's a game i love deeply but it's insanely flawed
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I ranted about this in a voice call earlier but I think I should put it into writing here, as well as some extra thoughts.
Have you guys ever thought about how we can kinda start to woobify abuse victims? Or at the very least like. Not give them agency or even actively take away their agency? I've had that happen before with Solita and it bugs me.
Deity is her abuser. But they're her parent. Her best friend. Her most hated enemy. Her purpose and her downfall. You can't just take them away without even consulting her about it. Or on the flipside, take her away. It's like if you took away someone from their abusive S/O or parent by force, without verbalizing and convincing them that 'hey, this person is horrible.'
Solita NEEDS the agency to walk away from Deity. If she doesn't, she falls back into a cycle of toxic dependency on someone else at BEST. At worst, when her ties are cut from Deity, she will flat out end her own life.
I understand the sentiment of wanting to save someone from an abuser. That's an entirely natural reaction. But if the person doesn't understand, or believes that they deserve better, where's the closure? That's not a satisfying end, is it?
Solita will actively place herself in the way of any attempt someone may try to rid her of Deity, so it's not like she's gonna stand by and watch. SHE'S the roadblock every single step of the way. Going behind her back is only going to break a relationship or plainly just break her.
Easy solutions sometimes make the situation worse. Taking someone from an abuser, no matter how right morally it is, can still just be kidnapping.
#Fawn Speaks || OOC#kidnapping mention tw#abuse mention tw#abuse tw#trigger warnings may apply#suicide mention tw#i feel like with abuse victims its either uwu go ahead and forgive your abuser or#lemmie just get the abuser out of the picture FOR you#but theres still nuiance to explore#and i feel like a lot of people tend to write characters after the trauma of abuse#and ithink its because it can be difficult for both parties to navigate around that#theres nothing wrong with doing it that way#but for me- i want to explore how a relationship is navigated in spite of it
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writing update: it only took six chapters, but i'm finally going to go through the tags on THD and figure out what i need to update! (also shoutout to the post i saw a while back where the op mentioned that they compile a list of tags as they're writing. it's obvious in hindsight but it lowkey blew my mind that you can do that ahead of time instead of just figuring it out when you go to post the fic)
#fic: the hedgehog's dilemma#mostly posting this to make sure i actually do it#i 100% do not expect anyone to remember the fic tags or go check or anything#but if you ever had a moment of like. “this should be tagged but isn't” while you were reading feel free to let me know#especially for trigger warning type stuff that people might want to filter or be warned about ahead of time#but again this is only if something occurred to you off the top of your head. i am absolutely not assigning anyone tag-checking homework#(except myself)#kvetch oc
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I’ve never watched z nation before. What is it about/would you recommend it?
The premise is that the main antagonist (Murphy) gets injected with an experimental vaccine against the HZN1 (zombie) virus, and becomes the only person in the entire world with working antibodies against it. He is delivered accidentally to a group of survivors who become tasked with getting him safely from New York to California, so that a vaccine can be made and distributed to everyone that's left, despite the fact that Murphy does not want to do this. However, it has become the main protagonist's (Roberta) sworn duty, so he's going to Cali whether he likes it or not. Shenanigans ensue.
It is, for the most part, a light-hearted zombie show. Hope is a member of the group, traveling at their side from beginning to end. The group becomes a family, even when they are separated. They lose their way a few times, and get dragged back by the others. There are whacky adventures, but in the nice self-indulgent sort of way. I enjoy the diversity of the cast; the group is led by a black woman, the main protagonist is queer (and there are two more queer folk in the main group), they have a range of ages, and they pick up or meet all sorts of people along the way (this is actually often the case with Asylum films, I have found, they tend to have a pretty interesting group for the cast which is GREAT because I'm faceblind and having different shapes and colors means I can actually tell who's who as opposed to media cast entirely of square faced white boys and blonde white girls I absolutely cannot tell apart). It focuses largely on the plot and doesn't really do romance, it barely touches on sex (especially post S1), which is refreshing especially since there's clearly tons of LOVE going on, just not romantic love.
IMO it's a good show, and if you like the genre of media it's in, then I would absolutely recommend giving it a shot. It starts pretty good, and only improves from there; I actually think S5 was the best one. It's got excellent characters and good character development, it's got a good (if completely unhinged) plot, it's got a happy ending that satisfied me. It is a FUN show and that's evident in every part of it; you can definitely tell the writers had fun, the actors were enjoying it, special and practical effects people went ham… like there's a lot of love evident.
#z nation#asks#I will warn you that it has zombie-media-typical gore#you know like zombies being dead and putrefiying#kill shots not always being clean affairs#the occasional graphic zombie stuff#I have no ability to judge this on a scale#because it doesn't bother me in the least#I watch a lot of horror movies/tv and sci fi so#I've just gotten over it#If you wanna message me aside I can also alert you to any#like#squicks or triggers you may individually hold if I can remember#happy to spoil anything you need spoiled ahead of time#happy to keep my mouth shut otherwise#also!!! check out my z nation tag and I've talked more in depth#about some of the plot and characters
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(x)
TRIGGER WARNING FOR ABUSE/HARASSMENT
So, yeah, thinking of Izzy like this is kind of funny and all, he spent the whole s1 frustrated and it matches, right? But then we know how Ed responded to it and not only wasn't very nice, he started cutting his toes off and, at some point, Ed's actions resulted in my boy here needing to amputee his own leg. Izzy wouldn't be a proper virgin cause he was violated.
#TW#Trigger Warning#ofmd#ofmd season 2#ofmd s2#ofmd spoilers#ofmd 2#our flag means death#Izzy Hands#ed blackbeard#edward teach#stede bonnet#THIS DOES NOT MEAN I HATE ED NOW I'M STILL AN ED KINNIE#ok not the perfect place to say i kin ed but i won't be explaining ahead
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fancy tags are making me sad so as of rn, everything will be simpler. i just want to write and for some reason i always create smth that just's sucking the enjoyment with a biodegradable straw. until i find smth easier to tag that doesn't make the brain juice sad, i'll only tag the user.
#♱ vero stfu.#brain juice is now happy and thinking thoughts enough for me to respond to some stuff#also TRIGGER WARNING RANT AHEAD#irl i am always first to approach guys to talk about classes and whatnot#and today i was reminded why#the two girls i asked if the seat was taken said that it was (even though the seats ended up not occupied)#and there's this girl who has some health issues whom i offered to sit beside me since i was in front row#it's safe to say she walked away took a chair and stood like in the middle of the room#just so she wouldn't sit beside me#and whenever i try to talk to someone they look at me weird and dont say a word until i go away#at first i thought it was just inside my head the chronic anxiety and whatnot#but boy oh boy am i beginning to think i wasn't imagining things#a guy did sit with me and i could share my bad jokes so it wasn't exactly one of those days i dont say a word to anyone#but idk it just makes me second guess maybe smth is wrong with me#is this normal adult behavior im learning only after two decades???
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Announcement
I am sorry. I am going to scream into the void.
No one on this platform knows who I am or anything about me. This is the first place where no one knows my family and they can't see anything I do here. So, I am just going to vent and get it all out before all this internalising kills me. All my pressing thoughts, art, poems and shit-posting thoughts will be on this blog. Everything I can't say or do. Maybe someone here is in a similar circumstance and stage of life here and can relate to wanting a little freedom, if so, my heart goes out to you. If no one sees this, that's fine too. At least it's finally out there.
So, here I go.
This is my Freedom
#sorry for swearing#trigger warnings ahead#i want to be weightless#I am free#screaming into the tumblr void
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HI MAC. FINISHED SEASON ONE OF HANNIBAL. THOUGHTS: AHGHSGHFAHSGDKDFHKJGHKJGD OHGHGGG WILL GRAHAM THERE IS SOMETHING SO WRONG WITH YOU. i am holding him by the scruff of the neck and looking directly into his sad autistic eyes. i love this little guy. he needs severe medical and psychological help. i love him more than anything. dr lecter is so fucking interesting i need to grab him by the neck and strangle him he is such an awful person but such a cool character agh ough agh. he says he's will's friend but then he manipulates him and does all these horrible things and i just!! wanna know why!!!!! if he is your friend why are you hurting him!!!!! or is he actually your friend at all?? do you see him more as something to play with???? someone who thinks in such an interesting way that you wanted to know what lengths you could push him to???? I DON'T KNOW!!!! I WANT TO KNOW SO BADLY!!!!! pls tell me will doesn't die i am so attached to him i am putting him in my pocket and feeding him jellybeans <3 i am going to watch season 2 once my cold is gone because when i feel bad physically i feel bad MENTALLY so i am Not in a good like. headspace?? to watch it rn what with the death and blurring of reality and such but MAN. MANNNNN oh it is so cool i am kicking my feet and giggling i am so excited to watch the rest oghhh it is so fucked up <3 i love fucked up weird murder stories 10/10 amazing show no notes thank u for recommending it 2 me i love it v much :3
NORMAL HANNIBAL EXPERIENCE. OH MY GODDDD im so glad u sre enjoying it so farrrrr <3 its like. beloved piece of media to me but also it fucks me up in the brain. its a good horror reset for me . occasionally im just like. i need to feel weird about blood and gore and death and then i will watch a couple epispdes of hannibal and just sit there like
TAKE YOUR TIME. OF COURSE. dw dw i was the same way watching it for the first time because it gets SO weird and existential sometimes and. tbh the artistic gore kind of got to me in ways i did not expect ??? it can be so overwhelming sometimes and my exact feelings on it are very hard to articulate and i could sit here for hours discussing it and not actually ever get to a point . SO I GET U. it's just the kinda show you gotta take ur time with. and thats totally cool :) I CAN TELL YOU WITH. MINIMAL SPOILERS. will graham doesnt die . absolute mess of a man. u know that post thats like "what a beautiful man . i would love yo see him in a fit of despair" thatd me about will graham. and also covered in blood. and let me tell u this show fucking DELIVERS.
#well. he sure comes close a lot. it is a complicated question. but . i cannot elaborate further without completely spoiling some things#i am a big fan of doesthedogdie as a concept though so i am here 2 be ur personal doesthedogdie.#will graham gets soooooo fucked up but he DOES NOT get killed mid series. i promise u#have u seen the fisherman thing yet. i dont remember when thats brought up as a character trait but he likes 2 go fishing.#literally a character that was made 4 me .#extremely mentally ill guy covered in blood who likes dogs and fish. thats so mac ghostiezone core of him#THERES SOME. PRETTY FUCKED UP STUFF IN THE SHOW THOUGH so if u need actual like.#trigger warnings and such i am happy 2 provide those so u dont have yo look stuff up <3#bc while i am a huge horror enjoyer i also like 2 know vaguely what to expect ahead of time. like i said. big doesthedogdie user here#I LOVE U I LOVE U im glad u are taking care of urself <3333#asks#friends!!!#anachronistic-falsehood
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And I did end up finishing a strange and stubborn endurance and like major n s f w chapter late in the book that made my brain scream and was Unnecessary and I skipped half of (and tbh the shift in the last 1/4 more heavily toward romance detracted significantly from the narrative and character arcs imo) like absolutely far from a perfect book in SO many ways but also I cried multiple times and velasin is just. Oh. He's just like me fr Kinda guy. Fears and flaws and hopes and kindnesses, neuroses and talents. He's a false dutiful creature learning to inhabit himself. And so for all my apprehension and qualms I'm just. Oh. Oh my heart. The comfort and healing to have all those things on page, the quiet part said out loud. I only wish eReaders stored the highlights and notes you make on overdrive books, I have so many.
#franposting#anyway like. redacted fade to black copies of every book when#my OCD CANNOT TAKE THIS#but kid lit isnt cutting it i need dark and heartwrenching and trauma and love in extremis#it can be done in a way that isnt yuck or triggering. but often. usually. it is not.#ANYWAY bk 2 later this year.#will probably be less thrown if i know to anticipate skipping things ahead of time#need warning!!! like a few sentences or paragraphs fine. but PAGES? CHAPTERS? it's gratuitous after a point#and i only care abt character development#BUT VELS. WhOLE ARC. HIS WHOLE DEAL#i weep#anyway to be clear thid isnt purity police#i think sex and sex scenes can have a place in art and can be used licitly and artistically#i just think often. its just. hm. smutty. unneeded. and ALSO triggering to my OCD and scruples#but like my intellectual qualms are separate from the fact that i have a fucked up brain
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This is the final chapter of this story. I'm sure there will be more with Sparrow and Fenris, but this origin story has been an amazing journey for me. The last chapter (there will be a shorter epilogue) is quite long, but I feel like it's the proper send off. To everyone who has made it this far, thank you for sticking with me. I know the last few chapters have been sporadic but I wanted to do the story justice. I hope that you enjoy it and continue to stick around to read whatever comes next.
Much <3
Jacks
#the wolf's consort#final chapter#that motherfucker finally gets what he deserves#lots of trigger warnings in the chapter notes on AO3#but they're basically the same they've been since chapter one#this one is a roller coaster#with a smutty ending#because that's the best way to end things right?#smut?#sweet smutty smut?#i'm gonna go ahead and say 'yes' it is
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Is TUA s3 on par with previous seasons? I’ve been putting it off worried it might get worse. Would love the Claire take.
On god: season 3 might be my Favorite Season. It is absolutely Bonkers Insane and i gasped out loud during every single episode. It is a ROLLER COASTER of emotions and the craziest thing I've ever seen. it's chaotic and wild and unique and 100% recommended
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Scarlett Clark is an exceptional English professor. But she’s even better at getting away with murder.
Every year, she searches for the worst man at Gorman University and plots his well-deserved demise. Thanks to her meticulous planning, she’s avoided drawing attention to herself—but as she’s preparing for her biggest kill yet, the school starts probing into the growing body count on campus. Determined to keep her enemies close, Scarlett insinuates herself into the investigation and charms the woman in charge, Dr. Mina Pierce. Everything’s going according to her master plan…until she loses control with her latest victim, putting her secret life at risk of exposure.
Meanwhile, Gorman student Carly Schiller is just trying to survive her freshman year. Finally free of her emotionally abusive father, all Carly wants is to focus on her studies and fade into the background. Her new roommate has other ideas. Allison Hadley is cool and confident—everything Carly wishes she could be—and the two girls quickly form an intense friendship. So when Allison is sexually assaulted at a party, Carly becomes obsessed with making the attacker pay...and turning her fantasies about revenge into a reality.
#todays book#really enjoying this one but there are some trigger warnings i should give#mainly the story includes mentons of and then an active description of SA#im gonna go ahead and guess if youre reading about a serial killer youre cool with gore and violence#good news is almost everyone in this book is bisexual#book recs#queer reads
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I think its important to read heavy books in school for the value they bring to education but also I think teachers need better training on how to actually do that cause like why did we read a child sexual assault scene out loud in class with 0 forewarning or time to process. and was it really necessary to play the lord of the flies audio book that had squelching stabbing sounds and pig squealing. again with no heads up. like was that necessary.
#both were really good books and I did enjoy them ignoring how they were taught#but reading a highly disturbing scene is something I rather do as hoemwork when I have the space to process and handle my discomfort#instead of you know having to go to fucking math next#and I had it easy compared to others I was reading ahead in that first book after that scene and texting warnings to another classmate bc#it was triggering him#csa mention#animal death
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