#cw graphic

[the-star-rigel]

it’s the way Apollo doesn’t believe prophecies condemn their heroes and that they act more like guides. it’s the way all of ToA is about breaking out of cycles/narratives, such as Frank and Hazel breaking their curses. it’s the way Zeus believes prophecies do condemn their heroes. it’s the way Jason did believe he was meant to die, for real, no way out. it’s the way he’s the only character to succumb to his narrative.

[quarterlifekitty]

based on this. cw: graphic violence/descriptions, fatal wounds, gross stuff.

You ask yourself, often, how Soap fell into this life. He shows up at your door with trinkets, flowers, blushes and smiles– all while he pays the same rates as everyone else for a night in your stock-standard room. He’s a member of The Flock, a cutthroat organized crime family. They run the city you live in, they own the room you live in, and their members take up a vast majority of your clientele.

And you killed their Shepard. For reasons that seem so far away, now. Some old grudge that clung to you like the glue from a peeled-off sticker. It made dirt stick to you.

For a time, you acted like everything was normal. That’s how you get away with murder, isn’t it? Life goes on– why would a whore cry over the boss of her clients? And it works. Johnny visits like clockwork, always at the end of the night if he can– hates having to get out of the bed when he’s finished. He’ll take sloppy seconds gladly, but his face sours when he has to make room for other clients.

And then that stupid little corner store comes forward. A camera they’d thought had been broken flicked on for a few nights. Enough to see you leaving the wrong place at the wrong time.

The city is an above-ground sewer. Labyrinthine, dank, and full of garbage. You run barefoot– not able to dig up your years-old tennis shoes in time when dress shoes thundered through your building by the dozen. Building to building, alleyway through alleyway, seemingly at a dead end when you’re suddenly pulled inside of a door. The suit you know so well, a half-palm glove on the hand gripping yours, a mohawk. You don’t stop running. It’s unnerving– hearing nothing but his breath when he’s never shut up for as long as you’ve known him.

After what feels like miles, you’re headed off by a woman you’ve never seen. Her scowl looks so natural you imagine her smile is downright terrifying. Soap’s face is twisted in recognition as you’re pulled behind him. He tries to back up, but as soon as he turns to run with you the other way, a bullet connects with his skull. Bad dog, bad. His last gesture points the way and you run. You can’t waste his sacrifice. Your lungs feel like they rip and tear as you heave, blood like phlegethon trickling through your system while the acid bursts at the back of your throat, fortelling bile. Johnny, he told you one night, bathed in the neon from the signs outside diffused by your curtains, tha’s my real name. His name was Johnny.

When he wakes up, there’s a starburst ready to form, fresh and pink and raw on the side of his head beneath the bandages. There’s a heaviness to his insides, a fragility to his outsides– like if he leans over far enough his belly will split open and spill lead onto the floor. He can remember a face. A woman’s face, drenched in sweat and ready to burst with tears. Nothing else. Not even his own name.

A man with a smarmy smile and a hairline scar greets him in his room as soon as he can sit himself up. He’s holding a picture– dead ringer. Feels stupid, but he has to ask who she is. 

The whore that shot you, that’s who she is. Ready to go on a hunt?

Hunting. He remembers hunting. Explains what lodges in his throat and pounds inside his skull when he thinks of your face. Must be hate. Must be anger. Must be betrayal. The last being worst of all to a creature who lives on loyalty (which he’s told he is).

The city is on a complete lockdown– no way in or out. Your cheap scent should be easy to catch.

You won’t be getting away with murder a second time.

[teal-fiend]

Someone keeps a large bowl/jar full of tinies that they offer to guests. 

One day, a guest is over, they are offered a tiny from the bowl, which they eagerly accept. The host leaves the room for a while, busy with something. 

When they return they are surprised to see the guest Sitting with an empty bowl resting on their full stomach - Wincing uncomfortably, and complaining about a tummy ache.

The host is a little annoyed at their guest for being rude enough to eat all of their snacks at once; they were only supposed to take one, maybe two. But they let them take their time for their stomach to settle. The guest hiccupping and groaning, whining about how their stomach hurts. 

They can hear the belly slosh as the pred lies down on their side, the many bite-sized prey being jostled around in there. The host can see tiny imprints on their guest’s stomach now and again. The prey try in desperation to escape the giant prison, which is at capacity.

The guest asks if the host would give them a belly rub. The host agrees, to be polite. When they press down on the pred’s stomach, they can feel each tiny body under the skin. It’s a pulpy, almost crunchy texture, in the belly. It’s pretty gurgly too, the host hears a sloshing noise every time they press down. 

The increased surface area over many small prey, compared to one large prey, means that they are much easier and quicker to digest. It doesn’t take long at all.

Later the guest feels better. Their belly is still round but not wriggling so much. Much more energised, feeling smug, having enjoyed a free meal. They won’t be invited back any time soon.

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Kingfisher dethroned

more Bastille! cw for death and graphic art

She emerged from the makeshift tent where she was kept for the duration of her surgery and slowly headed out to the spacious courtyard of Château de Tourbillon. Her step was still unsure from the lingering effects of opium and the left side of her face pulsed with intense pain, but she held her head high, for the courtyard was full. All of Switzerland's remaining combat dragons were kept here, in their rather pitiful numbers, and most were busy hurling insults at the French fighting force who were responding in kind. But one by one they were falling silent as they took notice of her.

Bastille observed them all with feigned curiosity, slowly turning her eye to this or that dragon. Some have lowered their eyes, but to her dismay, there were some who challenged her. Mostly those lightweight Swiss whelps, but what was more infuriating, a few of the French seemed to have forgotten their established hierarchy.

How dare they.

Still keeping her relaxed poise, she continued through the courtyard to the lower parts where most of the Swiss dragons were sat. She let her gaze slowly move from one to another, studying their unfamiliar faces and enjoying their growing antsiness. At last, one of them truly caught her interest. In the back on a slightly elevated platform there rested perhaps the oldest dragon she had ever seen. The Pêcheur-Couronné was more grey than blue and when his eyes met hers, she could see a gray film of blindness. The dragons closest to him raised themselves up on their haunches and shot her warning looks but remained still. Even the tallest of them only reached up to Bastille's shoulder.

This elderly dragon fascinated her. He seemed so well-fed and soft and the only marks on his scales were the result of age. Has he never seen battle?

"My, are you an old one," she trilled and squinted at the Pêcheur who immediately bristled.

"I beg your pardon?" Apparently unused to such crudeness, he pushed himself up on rheumatic feet, matching her height from his platform. Some of the other dragons joined in with annoyed huffs and grunts.

Bastille closed her eye. "Please forgive me. My head must not be quite clear yet. I would never wish to offend an honoured dragon such as yourself." To show her remorse for her transgression, she bowed to the elderly dragon.

Then she struck.

"Oh. I am so very sorry," she said, her tone unchanged as she slowly turned around to face the others in the clearing.

"He was on my blind side."

[xx-w1ndv4l3-xx]

OOC: Content warning! Plenty of violence in this one and it’s a bit graphic, I’ll leave a TLDR in the tags for anyone who doesn’t want to read that.

{Audio recording begins}

Fuck fuck fuck why did I do that?! Just need to get out of here and get to DOJ, give myself up, get this recording ou-

BANG

{Clangs of a mech/hardsuit approach}

Fuck!

You think I’m stupid Raindance? You think I can’t see my own Ra damned code?! You’re dead, you understand me? Worse than dead even!

I’m done doing this! This is over! Union knows where we are, no matter what happens, you lose. I’d rather be in the corrupt hands of Union then waste another second of my life with you and these Anthrochauvanist scum!

Lose?! Are you stupid!? I don’t know how to tell you this, but neither of us are ending up in Department of “Justice” hands, do you get that! You don’t get to fuck me and go schmooze off back into Union hands.

You petty little rat, it’s fitting you pilot a goblin you know. Because you’re nothing more then a greedy, unbearabl- HCK

{The sound of someone slamming to the floor. There’s distant gunfire, and yells of battle}

Petty? You want petty, you backstabbing little coward!? I’ll show you petty!

HOW’S THIS. FOR FUCKING. PETTY.

{Windvale’s yelling is punctuated by the sound of metal on flesh}

{The audio feed goes silent save for static and pained whimpers}

Please… I just want to go ho-

{A pained yell as the sound of bones popping is heard}

Your staying with me Raindance. We’re both getting off Etruscia tonight. Together. You and me, because you said we were partners, and partners don’t leave each other behind.

{Windvale pauses, breathing heavily}

Time for plan C.

{End of recording}

[qin-qin16]

Im in a yapping mood today

I present to you "creepy ass dream"

Its just that

Dream fresh out of stone unaware how to be a person and not knowing anything about monster or human culture, manners, or anything

Dream staying by blue or whoever you want, because they need a place to stay

Dream, pawing/scratching at their torso, big fucking eyelights staring: i want in

Blorbo, very concerned for their safety: t-the bed or my ribcage..

Dream: its too warm to go in the ribcage for now, i want in bed

Blorbo, very concerned about the "for now":..right

Blorbo spends rest of the night wondering if dream was gonna rip their ribcage open and go in it if it wasnt that warm

In my head this might happen if dream was trying to go somewhere else at first and ended up in a horror au for a while

girl what the fuck was that..... did i like it? Not gonna lie i did

I find it interesting that Dream acts more on some animal instinct after coming out of the petrified state he was in for so long.

Everything is so heightened, so intense that he can't do anything but obey what his body wants to do first, whether it's growling at any small threat to his vulnerable state, or wanting to hide in the safest place he can find

This time, it's the inside of the being that gave him shelter, it's so warm, so soft, it would make a beautiful den if Dream didn't know that it would be fatal for his new friend

[0lliecl0wn]

NEW FANFIC JUST DROPPED RAAAAHHHH

so i got kinda mad at the fact that we never find out what happened to crispin because fred just kinda.... chases him away... so we never get any closure.....

SO I FIXED IT

FRED STRANGLES AN ORDERLY BOYS

HERE YOU GO

(read the tags please)

[howtoliveasahumanbeing]

Mitsuyo lore drop!

Inspired by @findyourfuckingdignityplease

Warning for pretty graphic descriptions of violence

Their ability formed very young (around four years old) after a near death experience, their ability keeping them from bleeding out after a limb was nearly removed. After finding this out, their parents began testing that, cutting into their own child to see what could and couldn’t be fixed by their ability, Mitsuyo being completely aware of what was happening.

When they were five, a local lab asked their parents about them and their ability, and their parents gave them up without hesitation. It was much worse in the lab, since they had surgical equipment and didn’t just go skin level like their parents had. The scientists at the lab would half amputate limbs and see if their ability could heal it, as well as seeing if their body would function without certain organs, and they’d be fully conscious for all of these experiments. The scientists also wouldn’t feed them since whenever their stomach acid started dissolving their stomach, it would just heal.

Safe to say once they escaped the lab, they now think that they’re not worthy of being considered human anymore since they don’t even know what’s inside them or if what’s inside them is even their own, leading to them start hurting themself a lot to try and prove to themself whether or not they’re still human.

[bumblebeehug]

hehe i crushed his legs and ribs and he's gonna die >:) but not before i make him watch Lucy die from losing blood or something... on that note, i really gotta do some research on this stuff. though i'm just gonna say adrenaline makes everything possible

[djshityourpants]

hmm yeah... "just jokes" apparently.. ok brah

[skulldetergent]

being a COD artist is not for the weak, every time i want to look for HEALED scars or gunshot wound references google just shows me pictures of literal corpses that have been stabbed or shot

WHY

[quarterlifekitty]

Uhm fucked but I can’t stop thinking about

Ghost who forces you to indulge in the greatest sin

cw: cannibalism/anthropophagy uhhhh this is dark and also gross

I see so many potential scenarios where this could happen. An apocalypse, a plane crash, being deep in the dungeons of fear and hunger.

He sees you as such a soft, pathetic creature. It nearly disgusts him. But everyone needs something to live for, and that includes beasts. You have no will to survive, to do what has to happen, so he’ll have to fucking do it for you. You’re not allowed to die, not when he needs you.

Finding bodies is not ideal. He can’t know how fresh they are exactly, how they died. He prefers to hunt for his food. Only the best for you. Fresh, bleeding, sinewy. He doesn’t mind the fear that toughens the meat.

If he’s feeling kind, he’ll carve it up before it’s brought back. Make the pieces unrecognizable so that you can lie to yourself a little bit. Butchery is no chore when it’s for you.

He simultaneously dreads and gleefully anticipates the moments when you can’t take it. When the strain has become too much, the knowledge of what you’ve done, what you’ve stood by and allowed to happen. You won’t do it anymore, you tell him, you can’t. He gets to hold you with an iron grip in his lap as you struggle, wrenching your mouth open to shove a dripping morsel of fatty tissue into your mouth.

He doesn’t care that you cry. Maybe he likes that you’re still capable of it. His hand bruises your jaw when he forces you to chew, pinching your nose shut so your body forces you to swallow so it can breathe. He fills his mouth with wine and kisses you, forcing it into your mouth. He’ll let you wash the taste of blood down, if only because it keeps you from throwing up and wasting all of his hard work after. The wine will help you settle down. The burn washes over sickly sweetness.

He tells you that choosing not to eat would be tantamount to suicide, which is an even worse sin.

It doesn’t help.

[m4ggotm0ld]

I read smut for the first time so here my reaction to some parts idk(all on the notes app btw)

the authors grammar was so bad istg☹️

it just cut to the smut so quickly so I was reading it just like :0

and then it became super funny after that

is it normal to find graphic smut funny

[kitchen-of-the-flesh-glutton]

"Gggha.. ugh.. I can't see, I can't see- where am I..??"

*Some.. silver colored humanoid-like toon stumbled in and- oh my that is literally the top of their head gone except for their eyes.. what the hell happened?? Also looks like some sort of attenna in the middle of their head that has a singular cymbal, seemingly dented from force being put into it.. how are they even alive??*

(If you know about Incredibox Sprunki.. then you know who it is..)

CW GRAPHIC

Like. Really. If you know what sprunki is you know what this guy looks like. you can just scroll past if you dont wanna see that

" wwhat the-"

Cosmo just stares for a long while, a bit concerned and probably even horrified. Like yeah he knows what he does himself of course but whatever twisted did that is.. wow. red blood too. thats new.

" .. gardenview. "

[michael-the-warrior]

Michael’s Mission

((Tw for graphic depictions of violence, heavy manipulation, gore, torture, severe angst, suicidal ideation, and religious themes after the cut.))

@nadia-nicole @crimsonknightly @morningstarscratch

((Part 1 of 5))

[loujestrous325]

cw horror/graphic content

peekaboo!