Just a few basics about me, although I will try to keep this account less personal and more for rants or projects.
General:
My name is Sloth. I use exclusively he/him pronouns. I speak Romanian (native), German and English, along with a little Spanish and French.
I like to write short stories and create original characters, both of which often include themes such as religion, death, guilt, and identity of self. I hope to post about them here.
I have also been writing fanfiction recently, mostly about JSchlatt. If you would like to request something, I have my "rules" linked HERE.
Likes:
Music: The Rolling Stones, Queen, Fleetwood Mac, Tyler The Creator, Jschlatt, Supertramp, Steely Dan, Eagles
Games: Animal Crossing, Undertale, Deltarune, Pokémon, Hollow Knight, Minecraft, Omori, most Mario games
Other Media: Spiderman/Spiderverse/Venom (Marvel), Batman (DC), Lord of the Rings/Hobbit (Tolkien), Animal Farm (George Orwell), Black Cat (Edgar Allan Poe), Death Note (Tsugumi Ohba)
I am also a big fan of animals and nature :)
Dislikes:
AI, Mihoyo, Loud noises, Most sports, Spiders, Cryptobros, Wasps, Raw eggs, Silence, Coffee, Spiders again (fuck those guys, Bald people, Texas
Characters:
Roman Stan (First image by @luaa-moon, second by @belobogsroach):
Jericho Shepherd (Images by @belobogsroach. This might just be Jschlatt):
Lucille (Image by @belobogsroach) and Starboy and Scribble (Image by me):
Hard to say. I do still have a handful of WIPs laying around that I might finish if I get back into Jschlatt and his content,, but right now I'm not even sure I can get my old requests done
Schlatt's new glasses and lack of hat have made him look insanely different to me.
Do you get me?? He went from vaguely republican relative to guy crying in the middle of a coffee shop. If it weren't for the thumbnails and I had to guess in which video he rants and rages about furries,, I would not get it right. I feel mildly insane saying this but he just looks aggressively bisexual now.
The one time I have some free time on my hands I am all out of ideas. Poison pt4 is in the works,, but I'd still like to write a one-shot or two. So please, if you have any, send your requests in!
I mostly write for Jschlatt (× readers, shamefully enough), but I'm open to expanding.
Click HERE for my guidelines. You can reach me through asks or DMs.
Tags❣️ Established relationship between Schlatt and reader, Gender-neutral reader, No use of Y/N, Christmas celebration
♡☆♡☆♡
Happy Holidays to all <3
An unusually short and somewhat cheesy Christmas Special, in honor of the season.
The year had gone by too fast and now, quicker than felt natural, Christmas Eve was upon you.
In your excitement and anticipation you had managed to finish most preparations, now only adding another decoration or two while you waited for the evening to end and the gift exchange to start.
You stretched, standing on the tip of your toes in an attempt to hang a mistletoe above the doorframe.
Just out of reach.
Luckily, Schlatt had excellent timing and a few extra inches in height.
The very moment you meant to give up and grab a stool, he came around the corner, a black turtleneck embracing his torso tightly as a red Santa hat sat proudly atop his head. A sight you had no reason to complain about.
“Here, let me do it.”
In spite of your disappointment in your own failure, you complied, handing the twig over.
Within seconds, it was put up.
“Thank you, honey.”
“Oh, you know how you can thank me… I mean, we are under the mistletoe.”
A grin spread across your lips before you closed them, pressing them against his, quick but warm.
The spark had not dimmed in all the time you had spent together.
“I meant to ask you about the presents-”
Before you could finish half of your thought, you were rudely interrupted.
“No, we can't open them yet.”
You pouted and a whine followed.
“Why not?”
“They're supposed to be opened in the morning, you know that.”
“Not always! There are people who open everything on Christmas Eve.”
Your stubbornness earned you an eyebrow raise already.
“Have you ever done that?”
“... No.”
“Exactly.”
With that, he took your hand and began pulling you away from the door, towards your couch, where he sat down and invited you to do the same.
“You just have to be patient.”
“But there's no fun in that…!”
At this point your protests, weak and childish as they were, began amusing him. It was nearly endearing to see you like this, enough to make him laugh along with a subtle shake of his head.
Truth be told, you were far more excited for his reaction to what you had gotten him than what you yourself were to receive. You had put plenty of time and effort into it after all, hardly giving you the chance to think about what he might have gotten you.
Since he had been showing more and more interest in fragrance lately, you had bought him a perfume, a sweet scent with notes of cinnamon.
Making sure he had not tried it already was a pain, but you were certain it would be worth it in the end.
Additionally, you had gotten your hands on a porcelain figure of a sumo wrestler and written him a letter.
Would he like it? You certainly hoped so, but you had no way of truly knowing. Not until morning.
Curiosity was killing you and the fact that the gifts were already underneath the tree was not helping.
At least it looked neat, you figured. You had done a decent job with the ornaments and Schlatt had helped plenty too.
While you were lost in thought, staring at the blinking Christmas lights and glistening ribbons, he grabbed the remote and began looking for a good movie to watch. One you hadn't seen countless times already, preferably.
Once he had found a promising one, he turned it on and put an arm around you, pulling you closer to his side. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek before settling down.
How long had it been since you last spent the holidays without stressing about relatives and get-togethers? Long enough to make you wish you had thought of just staying in years ago.
This was all you needed for tonight. A warm embrace and a mindless film to lull you to sleep, shared with the man you loved most while snowflakes fell from the sky and a breeze blew gently past your window.
[Requests are open!] -> Get your Holiday requests in if you have any!
❣️ Warning!❣️ [Mentions of smoking, Uncomfortable reunions]
☆♡☆♡☆
“Nostalgia has us all acting foolish.”
Despite growing up by his side, you never could've imagined anything between you and the neighbor's son. Not until you came back home, only to find yourself more flustered in his presence than you would've liked.
For as long as you could remember, your parents wanted you to spend time with the boy next door.
The two of you were around the same age and went to the same school, not to mention your families met up on plenty occasions. It would only make sense for you to at least consider friendship.
Unfortunately, neither of you truly wanted that.
The issue was much less that you couldn't get along- there was no bad blood on either side-, much more that there was no opportunity for you to connect.
No common interests, no mutual friends, no topic you could possibly think of besides your classes, which you were frankly sick of going on and on about.
The closest you had ever gotten to friendship was the month or two during which he tutored you, which you were sure you hadn't needed.
At least, you told yourself you didn't. Nevermind how much higher your grades were by the end of the year.
This led to most, if not all, of your conversations running dry rather quickly, awkward silence taking up more time than actual words.
In all honesty, you had nearly forgotten about him over the years, having since moved out of town and only rarely visited.
Sure, you had his number, but you hardly ever texted him, the only exception being the occasional holiday wishes or a “Happy Birthday” if you remembered to wish him one in time.
Today, for the first time in ages, you managed to make it back home during your university's summer break.
With the heat clinging to you along with your shirt and the sweat running down your back, you fumbled through your pockets, searching for your keys.
Yet before you had the chance to find them, the front door opened and you were greeted by the sight of your mother standing before you, her smile as wide as her arms were open.
“Oh, baby, you made it!”
Without giving you as much as a second to react, she wrapped her arms around you in a tight embrace, nearly enough to cut your breath off.
“I did, finally.”
“Honey, you gotta let go of the kid. Squeeze him any harder and he might pop.”
Your father, whom you had hardly noticed walking up to the door, gave you a greeting nod as he put a steady hand on your mother's shoulder, knowing she hardly paid any mind to his words.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty, maybe?”
“I thought we were having dinner with the neighbors.”
At least, so you were told. A week before you had even finished your classes, your mother had texted you about packing nicer clothes, as you'd need them right on your first day back. Something along the lines of celebrating their sons’ return.
Sons, not son. So Schlatt must have moved out too, some time after you left, and returned for the time being.
Bright minds think alike, you supposed.
“We are, but that doesn't mean you need to starve until they come over! Come on, I'll fix you a plate.”
“I'm fine, really. Fine for now.”
You dropped your bag onto the ground and slipped out of your shoes, knowing you would get an earful otherwise, and stepped inside.
After quite some time spent on the couch, chatting with your parents, telling all there was to tell about your trip back home, which was quite the long drive, taking you from the first crack of dawn until the early afternoon, you simply couldn't take it anymore.
If the AC was running, you were certain it was busted, because the same insufferable heat you had to endure outside was burning just as strongly inside, your body nearly melting away.
You had to hit the showers.
Which, despite how horribly dreadful you would have found it under any other circumstances, you had done with cold water. Anything above freezing point and you wouldn't have survived.
Now, with a towel wrapped loosely around your waist and a feeling of freshness, you headed into your bedroom, where your mother had been so kind as to bring your bag.
It was nearly identical to how you had left it, down to the toys and trinkets that had stayed behind, the dust settling around them as if to mark their spot.
Nothing had changed. Sure, perhaps you had not been away for as long as you had thought, but that made the sight no less enjoyable.
Only when your phone gave a faint buzz to get your attention did you manage to tear your mind away from your personal little time capsule.
Picking it up, you were met with a notification from someone you hadn't quite expected.
It wasn't an old friend or a nearby relative that had reached out, not even a former classmate. It was him.
Schlatt: “Back home for the summer?”
How nice of him to check in. Strange as it was for him to find out so quickly, perhaps his parents had let him know or he had seen you parking your car.
When you glanced out of your window, however, originally to look for an indirect sign of his presence, something caught your eye.
A silhouette, shameless and bold, stood at the window across from yours, staring back at your insufficiently covered body through the glass.
Shit.
Suddenly wishing you had closed your blinds, you took a step to the side and laid down flat on your bed, dodging his line of sight.
At least, you assumed it was him. You had hardly gotten a good look before turning away, your burning face now a near-concerning shade of red and your heart beating quick enough for you to both feel and hear the blood rushing through you.
There was still a chance he hadn't seen you, and if he had, he was the one who should be ashamed for peeking and spying on his neighbor, not you for the accidental display.
The thought did not help you stay calm in the slightest.
How humiliating, to be a fully grown man acting like a middleschooler because of what? Another man?
With your fingers hesitant and your mouth run dry, you began typing a response.
You: “Yeah :) staying for a couple weeks”
Schlatt: “Don't worry. Wasn't staring”
As if that did anything but make you worry more.
Schlatt: “Not that I would mind a bit of a show”
He even lacked the decency to let you think about an acceptable answer to deliver, leaving you without certainty if that scorching sensation spreading suddenly across your chest was shame or- supposing you had fallen for such sinful temptations- possibly an early stage of love.
You: “Real funny. Just don't tell that one at the dinner table”
Schlatt: “I would never”
Dinner, you reminded yourself. You had something to get dressed and ready for, which you began, making sure to avoid standing still in front of your window and giving him an encore.
Not much later, you were setting the dinner table in a button-up shirt that fit tighter than you remembered, hoping that you could finish before the doorbell rang.
Which it did ten minutes sooner than it was supposed to. The neighbors were early. Of course they were. Whatever happened to the art of being fashionably late?
Between cooing, greeting and welcoming, you heard a handful of the same old phrases you had grown so used to. “Look at you, how much you've grown”, “He really takes after his father”, the works.
Didn't matter how miniscule a change, old family friends, much like distant family members, were sure to make it seem as if you had swapped out your skeleton for a newer model on sight. Seemingly, it was no different for Schlatt.
When you turned your head, however, trying to catch a glance of your guests as you set down the last of the forks, your jaw nearly dropped down to your feet.
You forgot what you had meant to say or do and stopped moving at once, unable to do much except for staring.
He was broader, much broader than you remembered, and most definitely taller too. Hell, the guy was big enough to pick you up and dribble you like a basketball.
The guy was big enough for you to let him.
Not to mention that pretty, clean-shaven face had since grown sideburns, almost making him look tough in a way.
Whiplash.
This was no friendly neighbor, much rather a man. One who had seen you half-naked no less than an hour ago and was now stepping towards you with one hand reaching out for you to shake, a subtle smirk playing on his lips.
Trying your best to be polite, you set the silverware down and took his hand, although with an unusual amount of hesitance.
It was supposed to be quick, fleeting, just enough to stop him from picking up on how much you were sweating. For exclusively weather-related reasons.
Yet the very moment you wanted to back off, he pulled you towards him, trapping you in a one-armed embrace without ever letting go of your hand.
Lord have mercy.
It felt far from a kind, warm gesture on his behalf. Much rather like him knowing exactly what he was doing and how it was working you up.
“It's been a while.”
Even his voice had changed dramatically, notably deeper, with a much stronger accent.
“Yeah… It has.”
You didn't even want to know how obvious your embarrassment was or what either of your parents were thinking. From the flush on your face to the stiffness of your posture, you were no good at brushing this off.
Once you felt he had held you hostage for more than long enough, you began pushing him away only slightly, which was certainly no easy task, redirecting your attention to his family and silently praying your face had not yet taken the color of Rudolph’s nose.
‘’Just go ahead and take a seat. The food should be done any minute now.’’
It was hard to remember the last time being in your own home felt so incredibly wrong, so unfamiliar.
There was something about sitting across from Schlatt and struggling to swallow your food while getting damn near interrogated by his parents that made you wish you could simply get back into your car and drive off, never to be seen again.
“Any luck finding a girlfriend yet?”
Of course this question would come eventually, it had to, and naturally any and all other conversations at the table would die out as soon as it was uttered.
With more pairs of eyes than you were comfortable with fixed on you, his included, seeming equally indifferent and curious, you gave a half-hearted laugh, which came out nearly as shaky as your hands.
You were anything but confident. If only the people at this table knew which way your preferences swayed these days.
“No, not yet. I've been focusing on uni and haven't quite had the time to look for one.”
“Oh. Well, everything has its time, right?”
“Right.”
Such a polite way of judging you.
Your focus briefly shifted back towards your plate, before curiosity began creeping up on you.
Schlatt had been awfully quiet and you knew so dreadfully little about him already. What was the harm in asking what you wanted to know?
Pointing your fork at him, you spoke up.
“What about you? I assume you're luckier than me.”
Chewing away at his food, he gave you a slight shake of his head.
“Barely. Haven't found anything really… serious yet.”
Good to know, even if there was nothing you could do with your knowledge yet.
Dinner went on the way you had expected it to: vaguely uncomfortable and for longer than you would have liked. At least the food was good, you figured.
When it was time for the guests to take their leave and bid their long-overdue goodbyes, a certain sense of relief began washing over you.
Finally.
It was nothing personal, you simply could not wait to unwind again. You were never any good at smalltalk, especially with people you had grown so far apart from.
What was there left to do, now that the sun had set and the night had gone quiet, but go to your room and rest up for the night?
The plan was to head straight to sleep. You were tired, you were worn and you were ready to embrace the day of tomorrow.
If there hadn't been a new message on your phone, you would've followed through with it.
Him again.
Schlatt: “Look outside”
You: “Returning the favor?”
Schlatt: “You wish”
With less hesitation than you might have needed and not a clue regarding what would come, you stood by your window, opening it as you turned on your desk lamp so he could see you. The moonlight was not known for being particularly bright, after all.
He had done the same, leaning onto the windowframe with his phone in hand, watching you with a smile you could only describe as cocky.
Schlatt: “Ever smoked?”
You: “Why? You a cop?”
A small light went up in the corner of your eye, catching just enough of your attention to make you look up. A lighter.
You watched as he used it to light a cigarette, letting it dangle between his lips while his other hand went on typing.
Schlatt: “Just looking for company”
Oh, to hell with it. As if you would've stayed clean for long anyway.
From the front pocket of your bag, now laying half-unpacked at the foot of your bed, you grabbed a pack and lighter of your own before making your way back.
Schlatt: “Hell yeahh. Now we're talking”
You: “You that excited?”
Schlatt: “First time in a long time I'm not having one of these alone. Let me have it”
Not much more happened that night, despite how much longer you spent by your window.
Only meaningless conversations, a light breeze and the smell of smoke that was sure to cling to your clothes, a beautiful scene to behold.
It was enough to make you wonder why you hadn't been able to connect with him in the past, why this had never worked out before.
Still, just for that one night, you could enjoy it. Enjoy chatting up the boy next door.
I love how people are acting as if Schlatt has quit everything and he's never coming back to the internet!!! He's never coming back!!!
Did we listen to/watch the same things? Did we understand?
The fact he's taking a break and caring for himself is a good thing. He's not 'dead'. He isn't disappearing. He's quitting his main channel (which, to be honest, I don't think I ever considered his main), and that's good for him. He's still doing other shit: music, voice acting, making content. We know that, right? We gotta know that.
~1.9k words, folkore!Schlatt and genderneutral!reader
[Requests are open!]
❣️Warning!❣️ [General horror, NOT a romantic fic, Reader is held against their will, Spooky scary skeletons]
☆♡☆♡☆
In honor of Halloween, a story about an eerie forest, a strange encounter and an awfully intriguing man.
You were never one to scare easily.
In spite of living in a small town where myths and superstitions were more common than stars on a clear night's sky, none of it ever stuck with you.
They were stories parents told their children to get them to behave, or tales teenagers shared around the bonfire to give each other a fright, nothing beyond that. Why should any of it intimidate you?
It wasn't real, none of it.
Even as you walked through the forest, the primary location for these legends, you were at ease, for you knew nothing supernatural would occur.
No witches would put a curse on you, no vampires would bite at your neck, no werewolf would lunge at you to tear the flesh from your bones, nothing.
The worst thing that could happen was a bear encounter, which in itself was unlikely, as most of them should be in hibernation by now.
So if you were not actively searching for trouble, which you weren't, as you simply meant to clear your head on a peaceful evening walk, you would be perfectly fine.
However, you couldn't help but feel an uneasiness rise within you, crawling up your back, breathing down your neck.
Something was off.
Perhaps it was the trees, standing too tall, or the clouds blocking the soon-to-set sun, slightly too dark, but it made you fasten the pace of your stride.
Paranoid. Surely, you were only being paranoid.
There was nothing lurking in the shadows or the bushes, nowhere.
You were safe. You had to be.
This was pleasant.
Lost in thought and with vision blurred by irrational concern, you failed to notice something ahead of you in the path.
Between trunks and leaves, a sheep stared back at you, unmoving and stiff, as if frozen in place.
It did not blink. You were unsure if it even breathed.
To see a sheep around these parts was not particularly strange. It was a rural area after all, every other resident lived on a farm.
What was strange was to see a sheep alone. They were herd animals, what reason would they have to venture on their own?
None you could think of on a whim.
Perhaps it was wounded, perhaps it needed help.
You figured you had enough basic knowledge to be useful in one way or another.
Yet when you tried taking a step closer, intending to seem somewhat approachable to the animal, its mouth fell open to reveal teeth, sharp and plentiful enough to put a Great White to shame.
The sound it made along with this, deep, guttural and unnatural, as if it was coming from something else, something that was not quite meant to burden any regular being, was more than enough for you to know exactly what to do.
Run.
Run for your life.
Whatever it was you had come across, you knew it had personally crawled up from the deepest depths of hell and would be more than thrilled to eat your soul if it had the chance.
With little to no care for anything other than your fast escape, you began looking for the next best way out of the woods.
Still, no matter how quick your pace or how unpredictable your turns, you could hear that beast, that foul, wretched call close behind you, chasing, waiting for you to stumble or waste all your energy.
You hurried past familiar hiker landmarks, jumped over bushels and into overgrown areas, hoping to lose Mary's Little Devil, relentlessly following your every footstep.
Now it was more than certain that the trees were watching you. They were judging too, potentially rooting against you.
Nevermind them. You had a home to get back to, a door to lock behind you.
Townsfolk would think you crazy, make up all sorts of insanities about you if they saw you like this.
Sure, they had their stories, but you never saw them running about, yelling about how they were being chased by a piece of folklore of their choosing.
Come to think of it, you had never heard of any sheep-related myths.
Moths, bats, wolves, the usual, but never a farm animal.
Suddenly, you came to a halt.
Not by choice, rather by sudden impact.
In your preoccupation with fleeing what was behind you, you had seemingly failed to pay any mind to what stood in front of you. That being a man, taller, wider and visibly older than you, with thick sideburns and a moustache, looking down at you, concern written across his face.
His left hand held an axe while his right was on your shoulder, large and calloused, his grip strong, nearly enough to hurt.
He had kept you from falling. Likely out of reflex, but he had done it nonetheless.
Somehow, you still felt far from saved.
“Well, I've certainly seen nicer ways to introduce yourself. What's your deal?”
The way he asked you, lighthearted and playful, contradicted his notably low and grainy voice in a manner that would have intrigued you in any other situation. Not to mention that accent, more northern than anything you heard around these parts.
Before you managed to formulate any response that would even begin to make sense, you realized that the horrid screech or bleat, however one might call it, had gone silent. Now, your labored breathing was the loudest sound, with the only competition being the faint breeze getting caught in the leaves above.
“I- I thought… I could've sworn there was a-”
His chuckle cut you off, derailing your train of thought. Had he not heard any of that? Was he taking you seriously at all?
“Forest got to you, didn't it? Pretty easy to see things as they seem and not as they are in here.”
Finally, he let go of you and stepped back, allowing you to stand on your own two feet once more.
“Tell you what; my cabin's nearby and it's clear as day you need a place to gather your thoughts, calm down if you can. How about I take you with me?”
As if he wasn't threatening enough before he opened that mouth of his.
“No, no, I couldn't. I've got people waiting for me back in town.”
”Oh, come on. Once you're all better, I can take you home.”
“I appreciate it, but-”
“If you appreciate it, you'll accept.”
What a day to leave your pepper spray behind. How dreadfully convenient.
It was about as obvious as it would get that you had no means to get away. He would drag you along however he could, whether that meant kicking and screaming or beaten unconscious.
Compliance was the least likely to get you killed.
As soon as you gave in, he grabbed you by the arm once more and began following the path you had diverted from only moments prior, barely giving you enough time to finish muttering your half-hearted “If you insist”.
His cabin was admittedly much more welcoming than you had expected.
Where you were ready to encounter a rotten shed, surrounded and embraced by various vines and grasses, stood a proper home, made of wood that looked far too expensive not to take care of.
Indeed, a handful of weeds grew around it, but they were overlooked with ease.
The inside was all the more inviting, decorated tastefully, from the paintings on the wall to the rug beneath your feet, their soft, warm colors pairing beautifully with the soon-to-fall leaves hanging by the branches outside.
It all reeked of false security.
You watched as he stowed his axe away to make sure the glowing coal in his fireplace wouldn't go to waste, taking two logs from the basket by the front door and adding them to whatever remained of the fire.
His lips were still pressed together tightly in a smile that you were yet to see him lose.
“Just go ahead and take a seat at the dining table. I'll fix you a plate in a minute.”
“And my shoes?”
“Keep ‘em on. Floor ain't clean either way.”
So you listened, quietly walking down the hallway until you found an open door that led to the kitchen.
On one side stood a handful of cabinets under a mahogany counter, an old stove with an oven and a fridge that had seen far better days. On the other, a decently-sized table with four cushioned chairs around it.
Looking over your shoulder as if you were afraid he was watching you, you pulled out one of the seats to sit down.
There was a chance he was simply a nice man with a more direct approach than most. There was a far bigger chance you would die if you dared say no to him.
Usually, you were quite patient. One of the things you valued most was privacy, both your own and that of others. Additionally, you had a tendency to keep to yourself and avoid poking around as much as possible.
Just not on that particular day.
More than enough time had passed, over twenty minutes if you had to guess, for him to finish with the firewood. He had not mentioned any other business, yet he was still nowhere to be seen or heard, not even near the kitchen.
If you still had time, how much could looking around truly hurt?
Curiosity began taking the better of you and you soon found yourself away from the table, rummaging through his utensils as silently as you could.
Nothing of interest. Not so far, at least, not even a particularly noteworthy engraving on the silverware or an outstanding piece of decoration.
The only place you hadn't looked was the fridge, humming at your side.
Hesitantly, you stepped towards it, fingers curling around the handle.
The paint was chipping, clearly had been for ages, and the single magnet attached to it was faded beyond recognition.
It wasn't right, but did it truly matter? You were knees-deep in shit no matter what, might as well enjoy it.
With more effort than you would have thought necessary, you pulled the door open, only to be hit with a foul smell.
The sight, however, was far worse.
A severed head, as if on display on the topmost shelf, staring back at you. Most of its skin had peeled off and it was missing both its eyes.
A rotting corpse.
The little face it still had left was almost familiar. Was it someone from town? Someone you knew?
No time to mull it over. None at all.
Your main focus was getting out, escaping that damned place, doing so as soon as you could.
If it was still possible, if you still had any chance at all.
“Looking for anything?”
Suddenly, from behind you, right behind you and far too close for comfort, the man spoke, not a hint of disturbance in his voice.
When had he walked in? You hadn't seen, let alone heard him.
You wanted to reply, wanted to plead, to beg, to at the very least try to talk yourself out of this, but he didn't let you.
As soon as your lips parted, his hand raised to cover your mouth with a damp rag, pressing hard.
Anesthetics.
Any attempt to fight back was futile. He was stronger than you, larger than you in every way that mattered.
Your fingers failed to pry his away from your face, your kicks landed, but had little effect, and soon, your world went dark, your very last view being those awfully pointed teeth.
