#tw extreme violence

[igottatho]

A new world is possible, my friends. Le Guin famously said: “The profit motive is often in conflict with the aims of art. We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable; so did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings.”

We WILL free Palestine

[conkreetmonkey]

nature is interesting

song

[blunt-force-therapy]

Wait no I'm gonna have to edit the thing.

i like the term "gallows humor" because it always makes me think of someone getting sentenced to death and being like "i have GOT to be the funniest person at my public execution"

[velichorus-k]

The second installment of this comic right here. In which the gang hangs out :) pages under the cut!

[baltharino]

Love Live! Sunshine!! | 1x02 "Catch the Transfer Student!"

[fenrichaita]

Sometimes I wonder if people understand that you cannot make people stop comparing mentally ill and neurodivergent people to like serial killers and horror movie monsters without abandoning most of how we conceptualize and categorize mental illness. It's not like an ableism that comes from outside of the DSM or ICD from laymen, it's entirely baked in. The entire mental health system is about categorizing mentally ill and ND people as threats, liabilities, and inconveniences, while blaming it on intrinsic brain illnesses based on the ideas of typically incredibly biased and bigoted psychologists from several decades ago which are not founded in evidence (and said ideas persist mostly unchanged with the reasonings merely altered or justified with a shrug). The fact that after every mass shooting there is more posturing of "mental health awareness" and increasing MH services, when most mass shootings are committed by radicalized cis (and usually white) men tells you that a lot of this is security theatre. The MH system really just makes it more unsafe to seek medical help but it helps "neurotypical" people feel better, and it is the comfort of "NTs" that is most prioritized by this system. And of course, anyone who commits acts of extreme violence like mass shootings will likely be labeled mentally ill first (rather than radicalized, exc.) because of the circular logic that no one can be a Threat without being mentally ill. Do you see The Problem?

[fsokov]

⚠️EXPLICIT GORE

⚠️EXPLICIT GORE

⚠️EXPLICIT GORE

I guess that’s our goodbye, Leon.

[awyeahitssam]

Based on the idea that Malfoy could not get the vanishing cabinet to work effectively, and decided to mention, instead, that Hogwarts was taking the Great Hall wards down for a six-fucking-week course on Apparation. This is what wouldn't happen. But it's where my mind went, first. Warning: Graphic Violence

A loud crack signified the first successful Apparition. 

Harry’s eyes, closed in preparation for his own attempt, snapped open and his head turned. It wasn't a student standing at the other end of the Great Hall, though. Harry jolted for his wand as other students began to turn to the cloaked figure, but before he could take aim there were four more sharp cracks. 

Dark-robed, masked Death Eater’s were apparating directly into the Great Hall, the only place the castle wards were down for Hogwarts students to learn how to do the same. 

Bellatrix LeStrange was the first to appear sans mask, having no need for discretion. She took in the scene with a cackle, batting away Harry’s immediate curse effortlessly as she cooed, “Aww, look at the wittle student's trying to learn!” 

In his periphery Harry saw Neville lift his own wand, and they cast simultaneously. This time, Bellatrix twisted out of the way. “Do the wittle babies wanna play?”

“Sectumsempra,” Harry hissed with malice, fully aware of the spell's effects, now. Bellatrix’s eyes widened a bit even as she turned out of the way, quick as a dancer. The Death Eater behind her fell to their knees as their body was pulled apart by deep, horrible gashes. 

More cracks sounded; Harry began to send out indiscriminate stunners, hoping to catch the intruders before they realised they were being cast at. They all came prepared for battle to have begun, shield charms springing around them immediately. 

“Bombarda!” Ron called grimly. 

“Expulso!” shouted Neville. 

“Protego Maxima,” murmured Hermione. “Accio Susan Bones. Protego. Stupefy—students to the teacher's entrance!”

The frozen bodies of some of their yearmates seemed to jolt, realisation settling. Many students turned tail and ran. 

Susan Bones, having narrowly been pulled out of the way of a powerful cutting curse that had gouged into stone walls by Hermione, was casting stunners, petrification hexes, and disarming charms. Harry was not nearly so restrained, once he realised the stunners were ineffective. Sectumsempra broke through shields like a battering drill and Death Eaters were falling, ripped apart by his fury. Curses flew from Harry's wand as fast as he could think of them: conjunctivitis, blasting, jelly-fingers, reductors, even slug-vomiting. He conjured six venomous snakes that shot off without instruction, knowing his will. Yet again and again, Harry came back to the Half-Blood Prince’s spell, the most devastatingly effective of them all. People were dying from its effectiveness, but Harry didn’t care, because they had dared step foot in Hogwarts—  

A horrible pressure was building in Harry’s head as half the hall emptied. A wand prodded Harry’s spine, and he stilled, shaking with rage and adrenaline. “Call—call off the snakes, Potter,” a somewhat familiar voice demanded shakily.

“I’d rather they bite your father, Nott,” said Harry coldly. “Drop your wand before I have to make you regret it.” 

The wand trembled, for a moment, against his spine. “C-Cruci—”

Harry drove his elbow back, hard, and slammed down one foot on Nott's. The taller boy stumbled back in pain, and it was no great difficulty to stun him. He hit the floor, hard, and Malfoy’s grey eyes were large and frightened as he stared at Harry, still as prey. 

At once, Harry realised what he had done “You,” he said, scar pulsing horribly. “You did this. You brought war to a school filled with literal children, you stupid, useless brat. You're scared of what Voldemort will do to you? Just wait, Malfoy. His punishment would be bliss compared to what you deserve for this.”

“Such a temper, Harry Potter,” came Lord Voldemort’s cold voice. He had made no sound as he apparated, not like his followers, but Harry’s viciously prickling scar had made his imminent arrival clear. “You have done well, Draco. You will be… rewarded.”

Malfoy’s eyes darted in fright from Harry to the Dark Lord, and Voldemort was barely in time to hiss “Stop,” to the snake that had snuck up on the boy. 

“You don't obey him,” Harry hissed, “you’re mine. Do what you’re made for, dear one.”

Draco turned just in time to see the snake strike out at his neck. It vanished before its fangs could load the boy with venom, and Harry turned his hateful scowl to Voldemort, who’s gaze already rested upon him, intent, heavy and fascinated. 

“Deal with it, Hermione,” he snapped. 

“Harry—” came Hermione’s warning voice, but Harry couldn’t listen, had to dodge out of the way of Voldemort’s spell. The Dark Lord tilted his head, stare thoughtful, and then turned his yew wand… away. 

Harry watched him with a wariness not misplaced: Romilda Vane, nearly out of the Great Hall via the Professor’s entrance, fell to the cruciatus curse with a cry of pain. 

“Drop your wands, children,” the Dark Lord said, red eyes still locked on Harry as his soft, cold voice echoed through all corners of the room, carried by wandless magic. 

Harry grit his teeth at the seeming opportunity, well aware of Voldemort's objective. And yet, truly, he could not have picked a worse target to try and bring Harry under his control than the girl who had nearly raped him. He cast a wordless sonorous on himself to refute the order: “Don't give an inch. There are First Years in these walls. Do to them what you would to Umbridge. They're twice her threat. Any student who raised a wand to help Voldemort’s sect will be treated as hostile. See how I handle my enemies, Goyle, and ask yourself if that cheap shot is worth your life.”

Even as he spoke, Harry turned from Voldemort, dismissive, and focused on thinning the herd. Thirteen Death Eater’s still stood, including Bellatrix, who was engaged with Neville and Ron. Harry used every spell that came to his mind, even those from the Half-Blood Prince’s book he had not tested before. One man was effectively eviscerated, much to Harry’s disgust. He only used that spell once.  

When he saw one of his snakes change course he pulled the magic from them, an effective banishment, cold eyes finding Voldemort again. He had not heard the man speak parseltongue, and indeed he was still holding the crucio, face twisted strangely as he watched Harry. 

“My, my,” said Voldemort, immediate once he had regained Harry’s attention, two more of his people fallen, “so vicious, little snake. Does Dumbledore know you have venom?”

“I don't give a fuck what he knows,” Harry said harshly. “This is a school.” This is my home. “Focus on the bloody Ministry, and leave children out of it.”

Voldemort had the gall to laugh, high and cold. “This is not merely a school, Harry Potter,” he said. “There is a reason you children stand your ground and fight. This is where Dumbledore trains his small, young army to go to war and die, as their parents did before them.” 

Wrath bubbles in Harry, heavy and explosive, and he must look as unhinged and inhuman as the man watching him as he cages it behind his teeth. He flicks a shield charm around Bones and Abbott before a reductor hits, and a disarming charm hits the perpetrators back. He breaks the dark-wooded wand into two pieces the moment he catches it. 

“You truly think Dumbledore has taught us anything? Even my ‘private lessons’ with the man are just memories of your life, as if I care that you got away with murder when you were still sixteen.” Hermione pulls Vane’s still writhing body from the room, and Voldemort’s cruciatus ends, but he does not seem to notice or care, eyes locked on Harry. “The only reason I fight is because I do not believe in the world you are trying to create. Because you say things like ‘magic is night' and still try to subjugate witches and wizards, as if the fresh magic in their veins is poisoned by the muggles they're born to. I defy you, Lord Voldemort, because you decided your best course was killing a baby over a half-heard prophecy, and still try to kill me to this day. I am not going to stand here and let you. I don't believe ‘magic is might’. I've already killed many of your people tonight… but that—that wasn’t over ideology. That is because I will kill as many as it takes to keep your grasping, greedy fucking hands out of my school.”

[igottatho]

First tweet on Hamas statement can be found here

Second tweet on PLFP can be found here.

[torawro]

i like ‘em a little insane, covered in blood and severely mentally unstable <3

[your-dxrling]

decided i'd add a tag for my more extreme yan stuff!! block "extreme yan" if u don't wanna see it :> basically anything particularly violent/extremely toxic

cw implied sh scars, intimate violence, non-sexual nudity, somewhat detailed description of cutting

i want to have a cute, romantic bath with my partner.

i want to gently cuddle each other in the warm water, one laying on the other's chest, letting our heightened body heat seep into each other. it could be as fluffy and cliche as they wanted--rose petals, sweet-scented bubble bath, our favourite drinks and snacks.

their pocket knife sits on the side of the tub, blade freshly sharpened and cool to the touch. the water makes it easy to gently lift me up and adjust me onto their lap. they carefully shift the side of my leg out of the soapy bubbles, their fingers gliding over my old scars, baring the skin to the cooler air of the bathroom.

they retrieve the blade and slowly align it with my flesh. its pointed edge presses against my thigh, and i feel nothing but trust and love for the one holding it. they kiss my cheek as they press the blade down, slowly swiping through the skin, letting me watch as the blood begins to fill the wound. they're so much more precise than i could ever be. i cling onto their chest as they go for another swipe, this time harder and faster. it barely hurts at all, and yet i'm crying, maybe just from the joy of being so intimate.

the gentle flow of blood dyes the water a light shade of pink. i relax entirely, closing my eyes and leaning onto my lover as they continue to slice delicate lines across my flesh. the sensation isn't painful, merely a sharp reminder that they're here with me, that they care about me enough to hurt me so gently.

i dunno i think that'd be really cute :>

[unforgivenn]

Whumpee who considers being tortured by their master as a gift. They thank whumper every time they torture whumpee. To test their limits whumper gets more and more brutal but whumpee doesn't even flinch. Maybe at some point they finally shed a tear and what happens after that? It's up to you, maybe whumper realises they enjoy whumpee crying and torture them in even more gruesome ways or maybe whumper feels bad or maybe smn completely different? ¿ Bonus points if you can write about whumpee's training into becoming so open to torture

0.0 excuse me what?!! I love this idea so muchhh!!

CW: Torture, psychological manipulation, blood, phsyical and emotional abuse, creepy ass whumper

Whumpee knelt in the dimly lit room, the cold stone floor pressing against their bare knees. Their eyes were closed, a serene smile playing on their lips. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the walls, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Despite the bruises and cuts adorning their body, they radiated an unsettling calm.

“Thank you, Master,” Whumpee whispered, their voice trembling with genuine gratitude.

Whumper, standing tall and imposing, looked down at Whumpee with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Each session had grown progressively more brutal, designed to break the spirit of any ordinary person. But Whumpee was different. Different from their previous victims. They never begged for mercy, never cried out in pain. Instead, they thanked their torturer, each time more fervently than the last. As if they deserved all that was happening to them.

"My, my whumpee. You truly are something else y'know?"Whumper sneered, picking up a serrated knife from the table laden with cruel instruments. The blade glinted menacingly as it caught the light. "You think this is a gift?"

Whumpee's smile widened, their eyes opening slightly to reveal a glimmer of adoration. "Y-Yes, Master. T-They are proof that I am worthy of your attention."

"Well then," Whumper murmured, stepping closer, "let's see how far your gratitude goes."

The knife traced a slow, deliberate line across Whumpee's chest, carving a deep, jagged wound. Blood welled up, trickling down in crimson rivulets. Whumpee's breath hitched, but the smile never wavered.

"Thank you, Master," they gasped, voice tinged with a peculiar blend of pain and bliss that was barely noticeable.

Whumper's eyes narrowed, anger simmering beneath their cold exterior. They wanted to see Whumpee break, to hear them scream, to witness the raw agony they inflicted. And yet, Whumpee's unwavering gratitude was a constant mockery of their power.

Whumper's hand tightened around the knife's hilt with a smile, before it was plunged into whumpee's shoulder and then twisted it cruelly. Whumpee shuddered, a soft moan escaping their lips. "T-Thank you."

Whumper's hand clenched around the hilt of the knife. This devotion, this blind obedience, it was intoxicating and infuriating in equal measure. They wanted to see Whumpee break, to hear them scream, to shatter that serene composure.

With a sudden, savage motion, Whumper plunged the knife into Whumpee's side. Blood welled up, a dark, glistening pool that soaked into their clothing. Whumpee shuddered, their breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. Yet, even as pain contorted their features, they managed to whisper, "Thank you" which was now repeating in their mind again and again. They wanted whumpee to beg. To beg and break down.

And for that, they were now ready to do anything.

Whumper pulled the knife free, their eyes searching Whumpee's face for any sign of true suffering. The cuts grew deeper, the wounds more grievous. But still, Whumpee did not falter. They trembled, they bled, but they did not break.

Days turned into weeks, and the sessions became a macabre dance of agony and gratitude. Whumpee's body bore the marks of countless tortures, yet the same gratitude kept escaping their lips, even when whumper had left them half dead.

One night, as the moon cast pale light into the torture chamber, Whumper approached Whumpee with a new instrument. A branding iron, its tip glowing red-hot. Whumpee's eyes widened slightly, but they quickly lowered their head in submission.

"Do you still thank me, Whumpee?" Whumper asked, their voice a low, dangerous purr. "Do you still see this as a gift?"

Whumper pulled the branding iron from the fire, the metal now glowing a fierce, angry red. They hummed to a song that was painfully familiar to whumpee as they waited, standing there as if they were doing something as simple as brewing tea. They approached Whumpee slowly, savoring the anticipation that hung heavy in the air. The iron hissed ominously, and the heat radiating from it was almost unbearable even from a distance.

The brand seared into Whumpee's flesh, the smell of burning skin filling the air.

Then, a single tear slipped from Whumpee's eye, cutting a path through the blood and sweat on their face. It was a small thing, almost insignificant. But to Whumper, it was everything.

Whumper's eyes widened, a twisted smile spreading across their face. They reached out, fingers brushing against the tear-streaked cheek. "Beautiful," Whumper murmured, their voice filled with a dark, sadistic pleasure. "Do it again."

Whumper pressed the hot iron deeper, looking as the skin seemed like it was disintegrating leaving hot red liquid behind. Whumpee's breath hitched, multiple tears going down with a barely audible sob.

The smile on Whumper's face only grew from that. They stepped back, raising the branding iron once more.

"Let's see how many tears I can wring from you tonight."

[scorchedearthyearning]

the incessant transphobia i witness day to day is slowly starting to radicalize me to absolutely despise cis people.

all i want is to live my life. none of you, and i mean none of you, were even aware of what the word “transgender” meant until you were taught to hate us. you are easily led. you are gullible. you are a vulnerable, easily manipulated individual.

man, that’s all transphobes are: easily swayed vulnerable people. the issue is, at a certain point, these individuals become so entrenched in their learned hatred that they become a danger to us.

of course there’s outward, physical violence against trans people— but where are these people radicalized? the answer is in the arms of their fellow transphobes— by hearing lies about our “predation” or “hatred of women.” spewing false propaganda about trans people is dangerous, and it is violence.

if your words intentionally discriminate against an oppressed class of people, and that leads to violence, you are a dangerous individual who has committed violence by proxy. this is the same thing as incels spreading hatred against women, only for someone like Elliot Rodgers to act upon that hatred literally. you are culpable in the harm against the communities you outwardly hate.

at some point, your hatred and violence against us is going to backfire— and we will start hurting you. when that happens (and it already has begun in areas like the uk,) just remember that our blood is on your hands, and we are taking revenge.

[devileaterjaek]

[l0ve-v1ol3nce-omg]

If I love you,

let me lock you up, cut off every part of you, let me drink your blood and eat your flesh, after I've beaten you to my heart's content, my last act will be to slit your throat, but before that I want to hear you scream and see you struggle for your life... ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ

[ejunkiet]

I- do not like New York city.