raving from the grave | basilton pitch

raving from the grave | basilton pitch

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Baz is closed in the coffin and it doesn't seem like someone is going to get him out of it any soon. All he can do is think. Think, think, think. Think about what he's going to do to those disgusting numpties when he finally gets out of there, even though "when" is disturbingly starting to look more like "if", think about that no one is probably looking for him right now, think about how hungry and tired he is, and think about how he could break the coffin and kill those bloody creatures, but he can't. And sometimes about how much he hates Simon Snow and his unrealistically beautiful eyes. Actually all the time. *** Baz jest zamknięty w trumnie i nie zapowiada się, że w najbliższym czasie ktoś go z niej wyciągnie. Jedyne, co mu pozostaje, to myśleć. Myśleć, myśleć, myśleć. Myśleć o tym, co zrobi tym obrzydliwym bezlikom, gdy tylko się wydostanie, nawet jeśli "gdy" coraz bardziej przypomina "jeśli", myśleć o tym, że prawdopodobnie nikt go teraz nie szuka, myśleć o tym, jak głodny i zmęczony jest, i myśleć o tym, jak mógłby wydostać się z trumny i zabić te cholerne stwory, lecz nie może. A czasem też o tym, jak bardzo nienawidzi Simona Snowa oraz jego nierealnie pięknych oczu. Właściwie bez przerwy. *** Welcome to Baz's chaotic inner monologue. It's fanfiction, not canon! Eng/Pl art credit - @vkelleyart on tumbrl
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Once Caleb reached the bottom of the stairs he quietly opened the door and tiredly switched on the light "Jayden it isn't morning yet buddy you need to-" he froze in place staring at a man he didn't know standing in his living room. The man stared back at him like a deer in the headlights, he looked a few years older than Caleb, had stubble growing around his face, dark brown greasy hair that wasn't styled in any particular way and was wearing full black aside from the muddy navy blue trainers he was sporting. "Who the fuck are you and what are you doing here?" Caleb demanded in a hushed whisper, he also noticed the black backpack the stranger was carrying and the open living room window he'd clearly used to gain entry, the vase that was previously rested on the windowsill lay in pieces on the ground, that must've been the crash that had awoken Caleb from his tranquil slumber. "Just a passerby, no one much" the strange man whispered back an air of mystery hanging about his every word. "Inside my living room?" Caleb replied folding his arms and sizing the man up, after his beating earlier in the evening he wasn't exactly fighting fit, the intruder was also taller and muscly, there's no way Caleb would win if it came to a fight. "Consider me Santa Claus alright? Now go back to bed kid" the man answered calmly pointing at the door as if Caleb was a child. "I'm not a little kid anymore, I'm 18. Santa isn't real" Caleb responded harshly taking a step forward, the man noticeably took a step towards the window eyeing Caleb up with a smirk. TWs (these will not be appearing at the top of chapters so take this as your final warning) Abuse Self Harm Smut Rape Homophobia Themes of Suicide Murder Mentions of Disordered Eating This story is not promoting, encouraging, romanticising or glorifying topics such as suicide, self harm, disordered eating, sexual abuse/misconduct, it is just showing what the affects of it can be like especially for LGBT+ young people.

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