A Toast to the Pigs

A Toast to the Pigs

  • WpView
    Reads 20
  • WpVote
    Votes 5
  • WpPart
    Parts 3
WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing1h 55m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Apr 20, 2025
Martinaise, '52. After several days of trying to make contact, Kim Kitsuragi gives up on hearing from the officer from Jamrock and arrives to the Whirling-in-Rags to investigate the murder that happened behind its building. The winter is waxing into spring and the air is still freezing and wet. By the time Harry Du Bois stumbles his way down the stairs and shakes his hand, reeking of alcohol, sweat, and body odor, Kim already knows that the next couple of days are going to be... exhausting, to say the least. A Martinaise retelling of Disco Elysium, exploring the implications of a story where Harry Du Bois didn't wake up that fateful day with no memory at all. There is no running away from your past, darling. It will always catch up in the end to possess your corpse and make it walk. Triggers will be listed at the beginning of respective chapters. Crossposted on ArchiveOfOurOwn Cover art by Wyrmlight
All Rights Reserved
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
Illustration

You may also like

  • One Word | H.S.
  • The Cruel Revenge | 🔞 | JJk X Reader |
  • Dirty Minho ~ MinSung (Part.1)
  • Until Proven Innocent  🤍  Net/James
  • The Mate of Savanaclaw Dorm's Housewarden and His Symbiotic Relationship Partner
  • Inevitable Destruction
  • 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 | 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜
  • Smoke and Mirrors (Sebastian Michaelis X Fem!Reader) COMPLETE :D
  • Hell's Name Is "Darling"

We're all mad here, it's Wonderland. ~ Harry latches onto my passionate on-beat arms as he keeps me from moving forward. "Are you fuckin' mad?" He grits through his teeth. "I'm in Wonderland, Pretty Boy," I throw my free arm in the air, motioning to the surrounding world. "Of course, I've gone a little mad." He flips me around as the level of infuriation rises throughout his clenched jaw, trying to remain composed. "Don't try and be something you're not, Presley." I rip away from his hold, furrowing my brows from the curt statement, the honest revelation that should've just stayed within his mind. "We'll never be the heroes, and you know that," he says, colder than the Arctic's towering waves. "We'll never win." We'll never find Purple. Purple, the color of the Star-Crossed Lovers.

More details
WpActionLinkContent Guidelines