[FANFIC] Like Pinning Butterflies (Eight)
Title: Like Pinning Butterflies (Eight)
Author: ienvy
Fandom: South Park
Pairing: Craig/Tweek
Rating: NC-17 (just to be safe, no smut but plenty of violence)
Summary: Craig Tucker is sick. And Craig Tucker is madly, irrevocably obsessed with Tweek Tweak.
Warnings: This story is NOT for those who are easily disturbed or upset. This story is intended to be very morbid and macabre and will contain subjects that most of the population find upsetting. In case you're wondering, these subjects will be along the lines of: stalking, torture, morbid/macabre love, death, suicide, rape and so on, so forth. EXTRA WARNING: This chapter alludes to rape from the victim's perspective. This WILL be disturbing.
Notes: This was inspired/based off of 'The Horror of Our Love' by Ludo.
A/N: Took me about... five months to update? And then it takes one day just to write the chapter because I have this entire story in my head already, I just need to get into gear and write it... Anyways, now that school is over I will have a lot more time for this and probably will get back to updating a lot more often. We're almost done though, how sad! And there will be a playlist posted for this soon, for those interested! Enjoy your disturbing fic, kthnxbai.
Directory of Chapters
Ancient language
Speak through fingers
The awful edges
Where you end and I begin
---
Lying is like cancer.
It consumes its prey slowly at first, creeping up over the skin like a black shadow, tickling, soft, unseen until the day comes when an accidental brush of a hand brings rapt attention to the shadow. Inspection comes next, a careful examination to determine the exact nature of the thing, to commit to record and mind that it really is cancer. And then hell breaks loose.
There have been those crazy enough to try clawing the anomaly from their flesh, those devastated enough to shot a bullet through their gray matter, those deranged enough to convince themselves it is not real, it is not happening to them.
Turned side by side, cancer and lying blend into one shapeless, hateful entity, only one stark contrast between the two sticking out like an awkward appendage.
No one willingly spreads cancer.
But Tweek remembers being raised to survive encounters with those who want to hurt him and he knows that the only way home is through Craig’s hideous, black veil of love. If he can only just squeeze through it… he should be able to run home, lock the door and insist on either the police jailing his old friend or securing a padded cell for him somewhere far, far away. And putting him on the ‘No Visitors’ list.
So Tweek lies. He reverts to the oldest of techniques, relied upon by thousands who never learn from the previous mistakes, and he lies to Craig to open the veil, at least enough to build enough trust that maybe Craig will take him home and maybe he’ll be able to survive the cold night.
And the kiss hurts less than he would have guessed it would, it barely makes Tweek’s muscles tense and the tenderness Craig displays is almost sweet, had it been more consensual. Just a little bit longer… just a little bit more… Craig is pinning him down to the frozen lake, is holding him there, making sure he can never escape, not until Craig gives him permission.
This is right, right? Tweek trembles, shivering from not the cold but the whisper soft touches Craig leaves against his skin and the slow gathering slickness from the dripping shoulder wound, the soft drip-drop-smatter of blood against their icy honeymoon sheets. Craig is breathing heavy now, whether from the cold or from the run or from the pain or from the heat building between them, Tweek cannot tell. He holds his breath, refusing to breath in the toxic air that Craig exhales. He turns his head away appropriately as the other’s lips meet his neck, attacking it with sharp bites that draw waterways down Tweek’s pale cheeks.
This is survival. If he wants to get home, if he wants to live another day - how will he live another day, after this?
Craig is moving to undo their pants now and Tweek’s mind goes still, drawing him away like an angelic savior, sweet and protective. Hush now darling, do not be afraid. Tweek can hear them singing to him, can hear their soft whispers in Craig’s guttural grunts and groans. He feels hands upon his skin for only a second before the angels rub the feeling away, erasing it from his flesh, promising this will only hurt for a moment and that he does not have to be afraid anymore, we will protect you and Tweek believes them, even when a sharp pain spreads up his spin, alerting his brain that something is wrong. But it was ok, because the angels were there and they were going to take care of him.
Craig’s face, contorted with pleasure, dripping with sweat, looms over him and he gives it the briefest of attention before diverting his mind to the moon that hangs over his nightmare’s good shoulder. Fat and heavy with its burden and lightening the earth, it glistens against the snow, merrily teasing his mind into alert, calling it forward, drawing it away from his hell on earth. He sighs, wishes he could chase that moon and then there’s darkness and light all at once and Craig is stroking the side of his face, buttocks clenching as he thrusts rhythmatically into his blonde and there’s pain and angels and there’s a soft promise of salvation and there’s those god awful grunts and…
Craig is collapsed against him, whispering softly, telling him, lying to him, about how much he loves Tweek. His fingers are running over his skin and Tweek lays there, allows Craig’s face to burrow into the nape of his neck as he gazes up at that moon. It hangs so low that Tweek is tempted to reach out, to just… grab at it. He blinks, it glistens cheerfully and as the flood begins and Craig recites countless promises of love, he wonders why… why do tears always look so happy to the person who is crying? Why? Why? Why?
---
Craig lays against Tweek, breathing heavily, the hot sticky mess shared between them cooling rapidly, reminding him that they cannot lie here beneath the moon forever, no matter how content either of them are.
It’s so sweet here. So peaceful. Quiet. Lovely.
The dark inside is ebbing away, hiding from the moon, from the glow of their love, unable to stand something so undeniably pure. Craig smiles softly against his love’s skin, giving it a soft kiss to display his appreciation for the other. Tweek does not reciprocate the ‘I love you’s at first, but slowly he begins mumbling some things that sound close enough to what Craig wants to hear. Poor thing is probably tired, is all, needs some rest, is all. He’ll be singing I love you before there was much time at all, he would be of course because they were in love after all.
After all.
In capturing Tweek, in making love to him, Craig feels secure. He curls closer to the body beneath his, continues talking little nothings, just to fill the silence between them because there can never be any sort of gaps, ever. Craig knows who he is now. No longer scared, no longer driven mad by the insatiable desires, no longer emotionally empty.
In ending Tweek, he has found his beginning.
---
The moon smiles at him through the curtain of tears, she tells him the pain will go away, she tells him that everything will be fine, just hold on tight to reality, just remember that we will keep you safe.
But Tweek is blissfully oblivious as to the meaning behind her words. He remembers nothing, feels nothing, hears nothing, sees nothing of the last ten minutes, only just now have his senses been reactivated, allowing him to ponder over what has just happened here while dancing around the evidence, purposefully remaining blind to it. The hot mess below, the pain, the blood, the sweat. It was immaterial. There was another meaning to all of this. Had to be.
“I-I want to go home.”
---
They’re ten again.
Tweek stands beside the river, looking in at himself, watching the jittery movements, questioning himself, pondering who he is now and who he will become. At least Craig was wondering in that way, he wasn’t sure if Tweek saw those questions or if he only saw those silly, characteristic jitters of his and a malnourished child looking back at him.
Craig saw nothing when he looked down at his reflection. He saw a darkness that spread across the surface of the water like oil, poisoning, killing, devouring. He saw only a cancer, a burden. A filthy, shit for brains, fucking mistake of an abortion. He regarded the darkness in apathy, face drawn blank, daring the shadow monsters to fight, to rise up and see what he could do. He could fight back. He would never let anyone push him around ever again, never let anyone else hurt him.
But Tweek appears beside the darkness and it does not consume him. It shrinks away, it quivers from the bright splotch of color beside it. Craig looks up to the boy, seeing him in real time, and Tweek smiles, taking his friend’s arm and leading him a little ways down the stream, guiding him to a new place. The water pools here. Remains still like glass. And his reflection is there, beside Tweek’s, looking up at him with the sort of apathy to which he regarded his monster. And though Tweek looks happy, Craig sees into his reflection, knows it’s the same thing, only changed. You can never change a mistake, only cover it up with a disguise to make it look nicer.
Found you.
---
The butterfly is still stuck in the sheets, its tragic, captured innocence reflecting the look of growing horror within Tweek’s eyes. The shadows creep over them and he panics, wings stir, feathers scatter, bird in flight. Help me, someone just please help me. Because, just then, Craig had something that sent his inner bird all a flutter and scared. Craig had just said,
“We’re already home.”
And then had kissed him gently, promising an eternity of this.
This…
Welcome home.
---
Author: ienvy
Fandom: South Park
Pairing: Craig/Tweek
Rating: NC-17 (just to be safe, no smut but plenty of violence)
Summary: Craig Tucker is sick. And Craig Tucker is madly, irrevocably obsessed with Tweek Tweak.
Warnings: This story is NOT for those who are easily disturbed or upset. This story is intended to be very morbid and macabre and will contain subjects that most of the population find upsetting. In case you're wondering, these subjects will be along the lines of: stalking, torture, morbid/macabre love, death, suicide, rape and so on, so forth. EXTRA WARNING: This chapter alludes to rape from the victim's perspective. This WILL be disturbing.
Notes: This was inspired/based off of 'The Horror of Our Love' by Ludo.
A/N: Took me about... five months to update? And then it takes one day just to write the chapter because I have this entire story in my head already, I just need to get into gear and write it... Anyways, now that school is over I will have a lot more time for this and probably will get back to updating a lot more often. We're almost done though, how sad! And there will be a playlist posted for this soon, for those interested! Enjoy your disturbing fic, kthnxbai.
Directory of Chapters
Ancient language
Speak through fingers
The awful edges
Where you end and I begin
---
Lying is like cancer.
It consumes its prey slowly at first, creeping up over the skin like a black shadow, tickling, soft, unseen until the day comes when an accidental brush of a hand brings rapt attention to the shadow. Inspection comes next, a careful examination to determine the exact nature of the thing, to commit to record and mind that it really is cancer. And then hell breaks loose.
There have been those crazy enough to try clawing the anomaly from their flesh, those devastated enough to shot a bullet through their gray matter, those deranged enough to convince themselves it is not real, it is not happening to them.
Turned side by side, cancer and lying blend into one shapeless, hateful entity, only one stark contrast between the two sticking out like an awkward appendage.
No one willingly spreads cancer.
But Tweek remembers being raised to survive encounters with those who want to hurt him and he knows that the only way home is through Craig’s hideous, black veil of love. If he can only just squeeze through it… he should be able to run home, lock the door and insist on either the police jailing his old friend or securing a padded cell for him somewhere far, far away. And putting him on the ‘No Visitors’ list.
So Tweek lies. He reverts to the oldest of techniques, relied upon by thousands who never learn from the previous mistakes, and he lies to Craig to open the veil, at least enough to build enough trust that maybe Craig will take him home and maybe he’ll be able to survive the cold night.
And the kiss hurts less than he would have guessed it would, it barely makes Tweek’s muscles tense and the tenderness Craig displays is almost sweet, had it been more consensual. Just a little bit longer… just a little bit more… Craig is pinning him down to the frozen lake, is holding him there, making sure he can never escape, not until Craig gives him permission.
This is right, right? Tweek trembles, shivering from not the cold but the whisper soft touches Craig leaves against his skin and the slow gathering slickness from the dripping shoulder wound, the soft drip-drop-smatter of blood against their icy honeymoon sheets. Craig is breathing heavy now, whether from the cold or from the run or from the pain or from the heat building between them, Tweek cannot tell. He holds his breath, refusing to breath in the toxic air that Craig exhales. He turns his head away appropriately as the other’s lips meet his neck, attacking it with sharp bites that draw waterways down Tweek’s pale cheeks.
This is survival. If he wants to get home, if he wants to live another day - how will he live another day, after this?
Craig is moving to undo their pants now and Tweek’s mind goes still, drawing him away like an angelic savior, sweet and protective. Hush now darling, do not be afraid. Tweek can hear them singing to him, can hear their soft whispers in Craig’s guttural grunts and groans. He feels hands upon his skin for only a second before the angels rub the feeling away, erasing it from his flesh, promising this will only hurt for a moment and that he does not have to be afraid anymore, we will protect you and Tweek believes them, even when a sharp pain spreads up his spin, alerting his brain that something is wrong. But it was ok, because the angels were there and they were going to take care of him.
Craig’s face, contorted with pleasure, dripping with sweat, looms over him and he gives it the briefest of attention before diverting his mind to the moon that hangs over his nightmare’s good shoulder. Fat and heavy with its burden and lightening the earth, it glistens against the snow, merrily teasing his mind into alert, calling it forward, drawing it away from his hell on earth. He sighs, wishes he could chase that moon and then there’s darkness and light all at once and Craig is stroking the side of his face, buttocks clenching as he thrusts rhythmatically into his blonde and there’s pain and angels and there’s a soft promise of salvation and there’s those god awful grunts and…
Craig is collapsed against him, whispering softly, telling him, lying to him, about how much he loves Tweek. His fingers are running over his skin and Tweek lays there, allows Craig’s face to burrow into the nape of his neck as he gazes up at that moon. It hangs so low that Tweek is tempted to reach out, to just… grab at it. He blinks, it glistens cheerfully and as the flood begins and Craig recites countless promises of love, he wonders why… why do tears always look so happy to the person who is crying? Why? Why? Why?
---
Craig lays against Tweek, breathing heavily, the hot sticky mess shared between them cooling rapidly, reminding him that they cannot lie here beneath the moon forever, no matter how content either of them are.
It’s so sweet here. So peaceful. Quiet. Lovely.
The dark inside is ebbing away, hiding from the moon, from the glow of their love, unable to stand something so undeniably pure. Craig smiles softly against his love’s skin, giving it a soft kiss to display his appreciation for the other. Tweek does not reciprocate the ‘I love you’s at first, but slowly he begins mumbling some things that sound close enough to what Craig wants to hear. Poor thing is probably tired, is all, needs some rest, is all. He’ll be singing I love you before there was much time at all, he would be of course because they were in love after all.
After all.
In capturing Tweek, in making love to him, Craig feels secure. He curls closer to the body beneath his, continues talking little nothings, just to fill the silence between them because there can never be any sort of gaps, ever. Craig knows who he is now. No longer scared, no longer driven mad by the insatiable desires, no longer emotionally empty.
In ending Tweek, he has found his beginning.
---
The moon smiles at him through the curtain of tears, she tells him the pain will go away, she tells him that everything will be fine, just hold on tight to reality, just remember that we will keep you safe.
But Tweek is blissfully oblivious as to the meaning behind her words. He remembers nothing, feels nothing, hears nothing, sees nothing of the last ten minutes, only just now have his senses been reactivated, allowing him to ponder over what has just happened here while dancing around the evidence, purposefully remaining blind to it. The hot mess below, the pain, the blood, the sweat. It was immaterial. There was another meaning to all of this. Had to be.
“I-I want to go home.”
---
They’re ten again.
Tweek stands beside the river, looking in at himself, watching the jittery movements, questioning himself, pondering who he is now and who he will become. At least Craig was wondering in that way, he wasn’t sure if Tweek saw those questions or if he only saw those silly, characteristic jitters of his and a malnourished child looking back at him.
Craig saw nothing when he looked down at his reflection. He saw a darkness that spread across the surface of the water like oil, poisoning, killing, devouring. He saw only a cancer, a burden. A filthy, shit for brains, fucking mistake of an abortion. He regarded the darkness in apathy, face drawn blank, daring the shadow monsters to fight, to rise up and see what he could do. He could fight back. He would never let anyone push him around ever again, never let anyone else hurt him.
But Tweek appears beside the darkness and it does not consume him. It shrinks away, it quivers from the bright splotch of color beside it. Craig looks up to the boy, seeing him in real time, and Tweek smiles, taking his friend’s arm and leading him a little ways down the stream, guiding him to a new place. The water pools here. Remains still like glass. And his reflection is there, beside Tweek’s, looking up at him with the sort of apathy to which he regarded his monster. And though Tweek looks happy, Craig sees into his reflection, knows it’s the same thing, only changed. You can never change a mistake, only cover it up with a disguise to make it look nicer.
Found you.
---
The butterfly is still stuck in the sheets, its tragic, captured innocence reflecting the look of growing horror within Tweek’s eyes. The shadows creep over them and he panics, wings stir, feathers scatter, bird in flight. Help me, someone just please help me. Because, just then, Craig had something that sent his inner bird all a flutter and scared. Craig had just said,
“We’re already home.”
And then had kissed him gently, promising an eternity of this.
This…
Welcome home.
---