[FANFIC] Like Pinning Butterflies
Title: Like Pinning Butterflies (Seven)
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. ALSO! This chapter references religion (Catholic).
Notes: This was inspired/based off of 'The Horror of Our Love' by Ludo.
A/N: Almost two months since I last got around to updating this! D: Sorry for the delay, but I promise that I WILL be seeing this one all the way through. I haven't lost inspiration, I've only lost time! Also, I'm super proud that I've begun to include symbolism within this chapter and the chapters to come, so be on the look out for it. And give me your ideas to what some of it could mean, cause I love to hear thoughts and see how my writing has different affects on different people. Anyways, enjoy!
Directory of Chapters
Such unholy heaving.
The statues close their eyes,
The room is changing.
Break my skin and drain me.
---
There exists in this world such a heaving of the physical being that it often drives deeper and tangles, infects, the inner core beyond repair. In physical weakness, no matter how brief or little, any sort of crack and all the thoughts from one's mind and spirit leak out like horrible venom. And in this state, it is so much easier to say things that one would not normally say, or agree to the unagreeable. Clouded judgment always leads to clouded answers and clouded problems and with so much overcast, it's very quite impossible to know what is really hiding beneath it all. The body, unlike the mind, is such a weak and most fragile thing. It is always held in suspension, struggling restlessly somewhere between dark and light, unable to resist the tendrils of darkness for very long and always unable to float freely in the light. The body is a useless, bothersome thing and Craig rarely experiences pain or weakness anymore, a state for which he is very glad he had conditioned himself to. It is, generally, of an extreme advantage to him.
Until now.
He stumbles from the confessional, nostrils scorching with the reek of incense, with the putrid smells of impurities and now with the acidic burn of his own bile. He gasps as he doubles forward, body buckling as the noncontent of his stomach travels up and lands sickeningly on the floor to add its own stench to the melody already assaulting the should-have-been pure air. He closes his eyes, tries to drag in deep breaths of poorly ventilated oxygen, so tainted, so sickening that it chokes him as he struggles to swallow it down and he arches again, heaving his sick all over the dirty floor. Another gasp takes his lungs and another upheaval rises him up and then knocks him back down. After the third time, he is left on his hands and knees, staring down at the slowly spreading bile, gasping and gulping for the polluted air that burns so bad and leaves his head aching.
The sick smiles up at him from the floor, glinting black and deep red in the poor light.
The echo of his own thoughts is so loud that he cries out and clasps his hands over his ears, kneeling and rocking his body in place, dark eyes staring at the white Mother of God who is missing her pupils. Her hands are spread out slightly at an angle from her hips, palms upward. She is not quite smiling, but one could infer that the Mona-Lisa look on her face was pure, unless one looks closer and begins to wonder just what that tilt at the corner of her mouth could truly mean. Craig's eyes waver on her blank ones, undoubtedly meant to inspire fearful, obedient respect. His eyes eventually fall away from hers, traveling down and over her upturned palms, her cold, welcoming arms, the folds of her robe until they reach her bare feet with perfect stone toes curled around a black snake atop of the globe.
Craig wonders, his stomach and heart going so still, if Lucifer knew that he was falling before it he hit the bottom. Or if, like so many others stricken and sick with hurt and love and confusion, he simply thought he was tripping.
His heart picks up a beat or two and his blood courses violently through his body and he's falling once again to the ground, gasping for air as his spine arches and his body jerks. The smell of incense rubs up against his nose and he cries out pitifully: why? why? why? It's a circle, a loop, and he's stuck inside of it and there's no God, no Holy Trinity, no love, no connection between the surreal and the real and most importantly, there is no existence. No source of life or conscious aside from him, himself and Tweek. Amen.
---
The stench is bad enough to make his eyes water. He grips tightly, with his good hand, onto the cool altar, groping blindly for the beginnings and endings of his binding, praying for just a moment longer, just a breath more of uttered insanity, so long as Craig stays gone. And, oh yes, he can hear all that unholy screeching, like a monster possessed by something unidentifiable, some demon that has wormed inside and makes Craig scream like there's no end to the world.
He jumps and jitters at every shriek, winces when it's too loud and begs his mind to slacken for the noise to just please. stop.
It's too much. Silence draws a breath. I'll never last.
And he takes a moment to grit his teeth together, as if trying to hold everything inside and that troubling thought rises like such a troublesomely slow bubble and all he can think of now is that stupidly troublesome thought and it's there, troubling him to no end.
I'm going to die.
He's going to die.
---
Craig slides his hand over the smooth globe, his fingers struggling to find some hold to sink into but finding nothing, nothing at all. It's so perfect. How inaccurate.
He doesn't know that he is screaming, he isn't aware of the noise that resonates in the cathedral like devils possessed, not aware of how loudly and how desperately he moans and groans.
All he sees, all he hears, are held within the contents of his own scrambled mind.
He stands and buries his head within the bosom of Mother Mary, breathing in her stone scent and wondering, wondering how much longer it will be.
---
The blond trembles and clutches more violently along the bottomside of the stone cold altar, sobbing. He pulls on something and it gives and he brings it up very slightly, letting it catch the light so he can see it. It's a cross. A bronze cross. He cries out in anguish and he can't understand what he's done to deserve this, can't imagine that this sort of torment is happening simply to happen, cannot possibly believe that this torture, this punishment, simply exists because it does. He cannot grasp the idea that true evil will hurt true good without cause or reason. What he knows is what his religion has taught him, what his parents (however cold and distant they may be) have taught him. Good behavior warrants rewards. Bad behavior promises punishment.
Poor, naive Tweek.
Parents are funny like that sometimes. Lying right to their child's face, no hint of remorse. Oh, the mental torment and trauma it brings in the later years.
There is always a monster in your closet.
Tweek's head tips to the side and his leaky eyes are met by Mother Mary's. Her eyes are grey. He lets out an anguished wail and later regrets doing it but he couldn't be expected to hold it in, not really. Because what his eyes met after a moment of staring at the heavenly mother was something of an unidentifiable horror.
There is a monster in the candlelight.
Features lit up like some sinister thing, he walks forward, dark holes of black shadows gazing at the offering. He seems to be moving so much faster and by the time he reaches Tweek's altar, the blonde is just about done with all his screaming and thrashing.
"Everything's fine."
Tweek thinks that this is the worst lie he has ever heard.
The monster's fingers graze across the quivering and pale and bound body, lips dragging up and up to reveal those carnivorous teeth that would love so dearly to sink into the lovely flesh, laying so nicely on this platter all for him.
Tweek can tell that he's thinking these things because he is muttering them beneath his breath as he traces odd, shapeless patterns onto his chest and stomach. When the monster is down and close to Tweek's ear, his eyes close tight and he hopes to God that please, please, don't bite me. Please, God, please.
"I'm going to let you go, Tweek." Craig whispers into his prey's thoughts. "Please don't run. I want to talk to you."
The original idea that this may be a cruel trick is soon dismissed when the bonds loosen noticeably and he is able to sit up completely, the restrictions on the floor, abandoned. Craig patiently waiting, staring, loving.
"I will always love you." The grey-eyed boy whispers, leaning forward slowly to touch Tweek's wrist. Tweek flinches. Craig's mask flickers and he drops his hand onto the other's, squeezing it within his own now, smiling as if in reassurance. Tweek doesn't feel reassured. "I hope that, in time, you will come to terms with your own emotions as well."
Tweek closes his eyes and Craig's hand travels up, slowly, leisurely, stopping to rest on Tweek's forearm.
"It makes me sad," Craig ventures to say, sighing as if it is too much effort. "to think that you are lying to yourself like this." Tweek trembles beneath his weighted touch and squirms nervously, wishing he wasn't there, that anything would take him away from Craig.
He opens his eyes, the nightmare welcomes him once more through those grey eyes that Know.
"I Know you love me, deep down. We've been through too much together. We've seen the same death, shared blood and heard the devil calling us in the night. We are meant to be. I Know It." Tweek doesn't bother to mention that Craig had caused all of those things, figuring it would only make him angry. He merely nodded. And his fingers tightened around that cross made of bronze. His tongue ran out to wet his dry, cracked lips and for the briefest of moments, he swore he heard a third voice, urging him on. Do it. Do it now. Do it. Now.
"You'll see," the monster wasn't Craig anymore, he had that hungry look again and Tweek knew it meant bad for him. "Even if I have to make you see." He said with a slow smile and turned his head up to stare intently and lovingly at Tweek.
Tweek thinks grimly. How can you do that if even you won't be able to see?
And he lunges forward with the bronze cross, aiming for those grey Knowing eyes, his own closed tight with fear. They remained closed, even when he felt the pressure of his weapon sink into Craig and he doesn't bother to look, just release and run, darting for the door and blindly searching for the way out.
And with blood rushing madly he can only think of his own survival. I'm going to make it.
---
Craig screams in agony, reeling back as the cross connects with his shoulder, sinking enough into his skin and muscle that it practically stays in place all on its own. He sobs as his fingers grip onto the cool-hot bronze and he pulls, separating it from his skin with heavy pants, hissing as he lets it clatter to the floor.
Grey eyes glance up and find a blond head as it ducks out the doors and into the cold. It has gone miserably wrong.
Tweek is escaping from him. After all the blond has made him feel and he's gone, again, and yet those feelings are still there, securely in place. The love is amazing.
His legs move of their own accord and he manages his way sluggishly to the door, where the furious cold enters his lungs and stings his alertness back to life.
"Tweek," is all he whispers before beginning after the boy in the dark.
It wasn't meant to happen this way. It should have been beautiful and wonderful and make Craig feel human again. It, he came to realize as he walked serenely through the blistering cold, would never be able to make it into reality. It would reamin trapped neatly in his skull, quieting down when the monster decided to emerge - like now. It is drowning and It is screaming soundless bubbles. The monster pressed on. It drowned horribly.
Craig is apathetic as his feet touch the snow, crunching it underfoot, loving the sound of melting ice compacting and freezing again. The monster is taking over and it wants so much blood he wonders if its appetite could ever be sedated. He doubts it. He breathes. Ice crystals form right before his eyes and he wants to kill them.
His grey eyes dart upward and he sees Tweek stumbling across the snow that had only recently melted only to freeze once again. The blonde is going to hurt himself, running like that on such a slippery surface.
And then Craig is running after him, his hands grabbing the air as Tweek runs, screaming and begging him to please stop this madness. Craig knows he has heard this before, but it doesn't stop his heart from beating faster.
Tweek slips and goes sprawling onto the snow, a rather loud crack from beneath him signaling he had stumbled and was now laying on a sheet of frozen water, the only thing keeping him from drowning at the moment. He looks so vulnerable now, so docile, so innocent that Craig doubts it was Tweek who had stabbed him in his shoulder with that bronze cross. Tweek looks ready to surrender, ready to admit his feelings to Craig. Craig loves the look on Tweek's face. Tweek can't swim.
He draws himself up, trembling, cheeks and nose bright red as Craig approaches him slowly, feet gliding over the snow covered ice as if he were born on it. His eyes are still as they take in the sight of the boy on the ice and he moves to crawl down onto the frozen water, on all fours, moving forward until his hand is cupping Tweek's jaw. Tweek flinches, like before, despite the slow and gentle nature of his touch. His grey eyes search through Tweek and the blond looks away quickly with a soft gasp. Craig's thumb runs lightly, lovingly, across the surface of the other's skin, loving the paper dry feeling and sound the action produces.
"I will never hurt you. I will always love you, Tweek."
There is a butterfly stuck in between two sheets of ice, frozen there. It's orange. Bright, beautiful orange against the grey snow and ice and sky and thoughts and eyes.
Their lips meet in the quiet dead. Tweek doesn't flinch.
"I love you forever, Tweek. I will always protect you."
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. ALSO! This chapter references religion (Catholic).
Notes: This was inspired/based off of 'The Horror of Our Love' by Ludo.
A/N: Almost two months since I last got around to updating this! D: Sorry for the delay, but I promise that I WILL be seeing this one all the way through. I haven't lost inspiration, I've only lost time! Also, I'm super proud that I've begun to include symbolism within this chapter and the chapters to come, so be on the look out for it. And give me your ideas to what some of it could mean, cause I love to hear thoughts and see how my writing has different affects on different people. Anyways, enjoy!
Directory of Chapters
Such unholy heaving.
The statues close their eyes,
The room is changing.
Break my skin and drain me.
---
There exists in this world such a heaving of the physical being that it often drives deeper and tangles, infects, the inner core beyond repair. In physical weakness, no matter how brief or little, any sort of crack and all the thoughts from one's mind and spirit leak out like horrible venom. And in this state, it is so much easier to say things that one would not normally say, or agree to the unagreeable. Clouded judgment always leads to clouded answers and clouded problems and with so much overcast, it's very quite impossible to know what is really hiding beneath it all. The body, unlike the mind, is such a weak and most fragile thing. It is always held in suspension, struggling restlessly somewhere between dark and light, unable to resist the tendrils of darkness for very long and always unable to float freely in the light. The body is a useless, bothersome thing and Craig rarely experiences pain or weakness anymore, a state for which he is very glad he had conditioned himself to. It is, generally, of an extreme advantage to him.
Until now.
He stumbles from the confessional, nostrils scorching with the reek of incense, with the putrid smells of impurities and now with the acidic burn of his own bile. He gasps as he doubles forward, body buckling as the noncontent of his stomach travels up and lands sickeningly on the floor to add its own stench to the melody already assaulting the should-have-been pure air. He closes his eyes, tries to drag in deep breaths of poorly ventilated oxygen, so tainted, so sickening that it chokes him as he struggles to swallow it down and he arches again, heaving his sick all over the dirty floor. Another gasp takes his lungs and another upheaval rises him up and then knocks him back down. After the third time, he is left on his hands and knees, staring down at the slowly spreading bile, gasping and gulping for the polluted air that burns so bad and leaves his head aching.
The sick smiles up at him from the floor, glinting black and deep red in the poor light.
The echo of his own thoughts is so loud that he cries out and clasps his hands over his ears, kneeling and rocking his body in place, dark eyes staring at the white Mother of God who is missing her pupils. Her hands are spread out slightly at an angle from her hips, palms upward. She is not quite smiling, but one could infer that the Mona-Lisa look on her face was pure, unless one looks closer and begins to wonder just what that tilt at the corner of her mouth could truly mean. Craig's eyes waver on her blank ones, undoubtedly meant to inspire fearful, obedient respect. His eyes eventually fall away from hers, traveling down and over her upturned palms, her cold, welcoming arms, the folds of her robe until they reach her bare feet with perfect stone toes curled around a black snake atop of the globe.
Craig wonders, his stomach and heart going so still, if Lucifer knew that he was falling before it he hit the bottom. Or if, like so many others stricken and sick with hurt and love and confusion, he simply thought he was tripping.
His heart picks up a beat or two and his blood courses violently through his body and he's falling once again to the ground, gasping for air as his spine arches and his body jerks. The smell of incense rubs up against his nose and he cries out pitifully: why? why? why? It's a circle, a loop, and he's stuck inside of it and there's no God, no Holy Trinity, no love, no connection between the surreal and the real and most importantly, there is no existence. No source of life or conscious aside from him, himself and Tweek. Amen.
---
The stench is bad enough to make his eyes water. He grips tightly, with his good hand, onto the cool altar, groping blindly for the beginnings and endings of his binding, praying for just a moment longer, just a breath more of uttered insanity, so long as Craig stays gone. And, oh yes, he can hear all that unholy screeching, like a monster possessed by something unidentifiable, some demon that has wormed inside and makes Craig scream like there's no end to the world.
He jumps and jitters at every shriek, winces when it's too loud and begs his mind to slacken for the noise to just please. stop.
It's too much. Silence draws a breath. I'll never last.
And he takes a moment to grit his teeth together, as if trying to hold everything inside and that troubling thought rises like such a troublesomely slow bubble and all he can think of now is that stupidly troublesome thought and it's there, troubling him to no end.
I'm going to die.
He's going to die.
---
Craig slides his hand over the smooth globe, his fingers struggling to find some hold to sink into but finding nothing, nothing at all. It's so perfect. How inaccurate.
He doesn't know that he is screaming, he isn't aware of the noise that resonates in the cathedral like devils possessed, not aware of how loudly and how desperately he moans and groans.
All he sees, all he hears, are held within the contents of his own scrambled mind.
He stands and buries his head within the bosom of Mother Mary, breathing in her stone scent and wondering, wondering how much longer it will be.
---
The blond trembles and clutches more violently along the bottomside of the stone cold altar, sobbing. He pulls on something and it gives and he brings it up very slightly, letting it catch the light so he can see it. It's a cross. A bronze cross. He cries out in anguish and he can't understand what he's done to deserve this, can't imagine that this sort of torment is happening simply to happen, cannot possibly believe that this torture, this punishment, simply exists because it does. He cannot grasp the idea that true evil will hurt true good without cause or reason. What he knows is what his religion has taught him, what his parents (however cold and distant they may be) have taught him. Good behavior warrants rewards. Bad behavior promises punishment.
Poor, naive Tweek.
Parents are funny like that sometimes. Lying right to their child's face, no hint of remorse. Oh, the mental torment and trauma it brings in the later years.
There is always a monster in your closet.
Tweek's head tips to the side and his leaky eyes are met by Mother Mary's. Her eyes are grey. He lets out an anguished wail and later regrets doing it but he couldn't be expected to hold it in, not really. Because what his eyes met after a moment of staring at the heavenly mother was something of an unidentifiable horror.
There is a monster in the candlelight.
Features lit up like some sinister thing, he walks forward, dark holes of black shadows gazing at the offering. He seems to be moving so much faster and by the time he reaches Tweek's altar, the blonde is just about done with all his screaming and thrashing.
"Everything's fine."
Tweek thinks that this is the worst lie he has ever heard.
The monster's fingers graze across the quivering and pale and bound body, lips dragging up and up to reveal those carnivorous teeth that would love so dearly to sink into the lovely flesh, laying so nicely on this platter all for him.
Tweek can tell that he's thinking these things because he is muttering them beneath his breath as he traces odd, shapeless patterns onto his chest and stomach. When the monster is down and close to Tweek's ear, his eyes close tight and he hopes to God that please, please, don't bite me. Please, God, please.
"I'm going to let you go, Tweek." Craig whispers into his prey's thoughts. "Please don't run. I want to talk to you."
The original idea that this may be a cruel trick is soon dismissed when the bonds loosen noticeably and he is able to sit up completely, the restrictions on the floor, abandoned. Craig patiently waiting, staring, loving.
"I will always love you." The grey-eyed boy whispers, leaning forward slowly to touch Tweek's wrist. Tweek flinches. Craig's mask flickers and he drops his hand onto the other's, squeezing it within his own now, smiling as if in reassurance. Tweek doesn't feel reassured. "I hope that, in time, you will come to terms with your own emotions as well."
Tweek closes his eyes and Craig's hand travels up, slowly, leisurely, stopping to rest on Tweek's forearm.
"It makes me sad," Craig ventures to say, sighing as if it is too much effort. "to think that you are lying to yourself like this." Tweek trembles beneath his weighted touch and squirms nervously, wishing he wasn't there, that anything would take him away from Craig.
He opens his eyes, the nightmare welcomes him once more through those grey eyes that Know.
"I Know you love me, deep down. We've been through too much together. We've seen the same death, shared blood and heard the devil calling us in the night. We are meant to be. I Know It." Tweek doesn't bother to mention that Craig had caused all of those things, figuring it would only make him angry. He merely nodded. And his fingers tightened around that cross made of bronze. His tongue ran out to wet his dry, cracked lips and for the briefest of moments, he swore he heard a third voice, urging him on. Do it. Do it now. Do it. Now.
"You'll see," the monster wasn't Craig anymore, he had that hungry look again and Tweek knew it meant bad for him. "Even if I have to make you see." He said with a slow smile and turned his head up to stare intently and lovingly at Tweek.
Tweek thinks grimly. How can you do that if even you won't be able to see?
And he lunges forward with the bronze cross, aiming for those grey Knowing eyes, his own closed tight with fear. They remained closed, even when he felt the pressure of his weapon sink into Craig and he doesn't bother to look, just release and run, darting for the door and blindly searching for the way out.
And with blood rushing madly he can only think of his own survival. I'm going to make it.
---
Craig screams in agony, reeling back as the cross connects with his shoulder, sinking enough into his skin and muscle that it practically stays in place all on its own. He sobs as his fingers grip onto the cool-hot bronze and he pulls, separating it from his skin with heavy pants, hissing as he lets it clatter to the floor.
Grey eyes glance up and find a blond head as it ducks out the doors and into the cold. It has gone miserably wrong.
Tweek is escaping from him. After all the blond has made him feel and he's gone, again, and yet those feelings are still there, securely in place. The love is amazing.
His legs move of their own accord and he manages his way sluggishly to the door, where the furious cold enters his lungs and stings his alertness back to life.
"Tweek," is all he whispers before beginning after the boy in the dark.
It wasn't meant to happen this way. It should have been beautiful and wonderful and make Craig feel human again. It, he came to realize as he walked serenely through the blistering cold, would never be able to make it into reality. It would reamin trapped neatly in his skull, quieting down when the monster decided to emerge - like now. It is drowning and It is screaming soundless bubbles. The monster pressed on. It drowned horribly.
Craig is apathetic as his feet touch the snow, crunching it underfoot, loving the sound of melting ice compacting and freezing again. The monster is taking over and it wants so much blood he wonders if its appetite could ever be sedated. He doubts it. He breathes. Ice crystals form right before his eyes and he wants to kill them.
His grey eyes dart upward and he sees Tweek stumbling across the snow that had only recently melted only to freeze once again. The blonde is going to hurt himself, running like that on such a slippery surface.
And then Craig is running after him, his hands grabbing the air as Tweek runs, screaming and begging him to please stop this madness. Craig knows he has heard this before, but it doesn't stop his heart from beating faster.
Tweek slips and goes sprawling onto the snow, a rather loud crack from beneath him signaling he had stumbled and was now laying on a sheet of frozen water, the only thing keeping him from drowning at the moment. He looks so vulnerable now, so docile, so innocent that Craig doubts it was Tweek who had stabbed him in his shoulder with that bronze cross. Tweek looks ready to surrender, ready to admit his feelings to Craig. Craig loves the look on Tweek's face. Tweek can't swim.
He draws himself up, trembling, cheeks and nose bright red as Craig approaches him slowly, feet gliding over the snow covered ice as if he were born on it. His eyes are still as they take in the sight of the boy on the ice and he moves to crawl down onto the frozen water, on all fours, moving forward until his hand is cupping Tweek's jaw. Tweek flinches, like before, despite the slow and gentle nature of his touch. His grey eyes search through Tweek and the blond looks away quickly with a soft gasp. Craig's thumb runs lightly, lovingly, across the surface of the other's skin, loving the paper dry feeling and sound the action produces.
"I will never hurt you. I will always love you, Tweek."
There is a butterfly stuck in between two sheets of ice, frozen there. It's orange. Bright, beautiful orange against the grey snow and ice and sky and thoughts and eyes.
Their lips meet in the quiet dead. Tweek doesn't flinch.
"I love you forever, Tweek. I will always protect you."