TW: Torturous methods of forcing religion.
Short due to angst! Apologies.
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Knelt at the altar, hands and ankles clasped together by chain, neck dangled with threatening rope that touches the ceiling, you’re positioned in a praying stance.
To your side is Priest, completely normal besides the misty red vine that creeps to his waist from a hole in the ground below his knees.
You shift your head slightly to face Priest, to plead for this to stop, but the rope tightens at every adjustment and shift you make. You want to skin this Priest alive with nothing but your teeth for what he’s just done to you, but you refrain.
You have to, after all.
Finally, when the pebbles under your legs cause the blood to finally seep down the small steps, Priest stands. You gulp as the religious man snaps his head in your direction, the vine leaving his slutty waist of a mans body, and over to your torturous restraints and unbounds you.
Finally, you stand. Stomping on the vine and pushing Priest to the altar which causes the barely alive candles to spark and cling to his robes, burning the cultist. “My divine what are you doing?!” He screams to which you give him a very, very strong fuck you by slamming your body into the churches doors’ and leaving.
‘Don’t end up like that girl from the book. Don’t follow a cultist.’ You mutter to yourself, well-aware of the dangers. You stumble while running back to your home… the house, the pebbles caused damage to your flesh and even sunk into the tender muscles of your calves. You pant, reaching down and wincing as your hands pull or brush away the tiny, malicious, burning rocks.
—--------------------------------------------------------------
I look at the burnt church through my bedroom window, my back gremlin arched as I stare at the sight.
“It’s ashes because of you.” Mafia!Wally comments his arm around my slumped shoulders.
“I know.” I sighed, looking up at the whiskey drinker. His breath still smells like the beverage from last night. “I feel bad for hurting Priest, honestly.”
Mafia scoffed, pushing my shoulder slightly as he leaned closer. “Listen here, you little shit. Despite your attitude, you’re a nice person. Nicer than the majority of us, at least.” he spoke but soon diverted his eyes to the ashed church.
“I’m.. your own kindness will get you killed one day, y’know?” He finally spoke again, crossing his arms as he leaned back away. “Oh well, I certainly don’t care.” I shrugged, cringing as he blew, purposely, a hot breath of his stanky whiskey smelling air my way. I roll my eyes, shoving past him.
“Oh- c’mon! My breath ain’t that bad, Hun.. is it? I couldn’t fix it if I wanted to, anyway. Original stole it for some weird art tool..”
“Yes- you can use a toothbrush in art. It makes tiny specks or thick streaks depending on how you use it.” You sigh, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a small travel size toothbrush and toothpaste.
The things look like they’re for dolls in his hands. “Why do your hands have to be so big? It’s like you could pick up a Tsar Bomba and it would be just an apple in your grasp.”
“That is such an exaggeration.” He scoffs, looking down at the miniature dental care tools in his palm.
“..My hands are big- Maybe I could strangle Rf the next time he disagrees with me on business!” “Absolutely not, I’d place a landmine under your pillow so you’d explode when you try to sleep if you do that.”
He deadpans my direction; eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
“Where the fuck do you get your ideas?”
“Trauma, now shoo! Brush your teeth, you wannabe edge lord.” You shove him into your bathroom, somehow, and then treat him like a toddler with the toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Your breath is stinky!”
~~
“I hate you-”
You stand behind him, your hand in a gun shape as you hold your two middle and index fingers to the side of his head, your ring and pinky fingers curled and thumb up and slightly crooked at the middle knuckle.
“I’m brushing! I am BRUSHING- I regret what I said about you being sweet earlier, you’re psychotic.” He blabbers, toothpaste spilling from his mouth as he talks while brushing.
“You’re so gross-” You gagged, eye twitching as you leaned away and coughed at the disgusting sight. “You fucking forced me to do this, bitch-”
SLAM
“AH?!” He yelps, rubbing the back of his head. “Do NOT call me a bitch you dead rat looking self, lowkey lookin’ like Homer Simpson with that hairline! You overprivileged man child.”
You barked at him (No not literally, it's an aggressive way of quickly and loudly speaking. Don’t cancel me.) forcing him to the mirror again. “Keep brushing, I can STILL smell the whiskey. It is utterly repulsive.” You gag again, pushing him away.
“And people say I’m aggressive, damn! Go to a psychologist with that shit..” He grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I have four-” “WHAT?!” You smile, glaring nothing but hatred and love for the man before you.
“Words can't describe how much I hate you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
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Apologies for the short chapter!
I prefer to sink angst into the shorter chapters as it is easier to build suspense for what happens next.
Word count: 911 in total.
Love you guys! ❤️
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