#tw knife wound

[quacaserous]

And so, the scene begins

Your cries become the wind

A desperate plea best left unheard

Then my contrived goodbye

A poet's pantomime

A drunken jester's final words

implied sh, uncropped under the cut

[27spoons]

DOUBLE TAKE (14/19) SOPHIE THATCHER and COURTNEY EATON as NATALIE SCATORCCIO and CHARLOTTE MATTHEWS Yellowjackets | 2.04— Old Wounds

[thaumollusca]

you can't run from it forever.

[serickswrites]

Better Me Than You VI

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7 Part 8

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, forced to watch, forced to hurt, electrocution, knife, cuts, blood, wounds, unconsciousness

"I can't do this," Smallest Teammate sobbed. They couldn't do what Whumper had ordered them to do.

"If you can't, I will. To you. And I won't be gentle about it." Whumper sounded bored. "Just get it over with, Smallest Teammate. Once you do the first one, the rest become easier."

Smallest Teammate shook their head. They took a step back away from Team Leader. "I...I--"

"It's ok, Smallest Teammate. It's ok," Team Leader said gently. They stood with their wrists cuffed over their head. They gave Smallest Teammate a wan smile. "It's ok. Do as they say."

"Cut along their right shoulder. It doesn't have be deep. Just enough to get the blood flowing," Whumper ordered again.

Smallest Teammate flinched as Team Leader hissed as the blade split their skin. "It's fine, Smallest Teammate. It just stings."

"Excellent. Now put the cattle prod on the wound and pull the trigger. Now, Smallest Teammate. Or you won't like where I cut you open."

"I'm sorry," Smallest Teammate whispered as they pressed the cattle prod to the wound and did as Whumper ordered.

Team Leader's body jerked and convulsed as the electricity jolted their system. Blood flowed down their arm from the wound as they moved. This was worse. Definitely worse than before.

"Keep going," Whumper ordered.

With each cut, Smallest Teammate begged Team Leader's forgiveness. With each cut Team Leader's blood flowed. With each cut Team Leader became weaker and weaker. And with each cut, Whumper's grin grew and grew.

"Please," Smallest Teammate sobbed, "let me stop."

Whumper considered a moment. Team Leader had slipped and slumped over in the cuffs several shocks ago, but Whumper had refused to allow Smallest Teammate to stop. At this point they doubted Team Leader was feeling anything, they were so deeply unconscious.

Still, Smallest Teammate's sobs and quiet begging had its own appeal. But, as they watched Team Leader's blood dribble onto the ground, Whumper decided they could always continue this later.

"Fine."

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Smallest Teammate dropped the knife quickly as though they had been shocked by it. "Uncuff them. I'll be back in a few hours." Whumper tossed the key to Smallest Teammate.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," they heard Smallest Teammate murmur to Team Leader's unconscious form. They heard the satisfactory thud of Team Leader's body hitting the floor as Smallest Teammate failed to catch Team Leader.

Tags: @aarika-merrill @gala1981 @lthrboy @bookworm7543 @echo-of-umbra

@whump321 @st0rmm @whump-lover-and-reader @corbytheking @acer-whumpstuff @annng567

@defire @artisticdemon @tender-traps @crazytechpersonzreal @orangeduckweed

@st0rmm @a-living-canvas @whumpy-mountains @pic-star01 @mousepaw

@jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump @steh-lar-uh-nuhs

@celestialsoyeon @ay5ksal @corbytheking @dragonfireridge @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@painsthegame @theslaughterrrrrr @a-living-canvas @lthrboy @dragonfireridge

@pepeniascat

[mio-nika]

Disgusting Part 3: Reminiscence and fish

[bound-and-bruised-boy]

[wellthisissomething]

AI-Less Whumptober Day 4 - Non-Con Body Modifications

TW---This post contains a lot of blood, gore and violence.

My Name - Ep. 3

Bloodhounds - Ep. 1

Fak Fah Kiri Dao (ฟากฟ้าคีรีดาว) (My Himalayan Embrace) - Ep. 3

Two Worlds - Ep 4

SilHaa KonKla Tah Atham (Zeal 5 Kon Gla Tah Atam) - Ep. 94

Rurouni Kenshin (2012)

Extracurricular - Ep. 7

Tien Bromance - Ep. 10

Tomb of the Sea - Ep. End of 1 & Beginning of 2

Previous 4/31 Next

[obsessivefangirl]

Hello Gravity Falls fandom! (Talking to a grave)

[wosieposiecozy]

Tw// blood, knife, wounds,

I did emotion request stuff on twitter, here's the them!!

...so many tags....

[waywardsunlight]

She’s okay.

[orchid-draws]

may I interest you all in my favorite horrible little homosexual (emile honkai impact 3rd)

my design philosophy for this was a mix of a feral rabies infested racoon and a pretty anime bishounen (the idea of pretty anime boy emile has stuck in my head for so long purely because I find the irony amusing) the result is a guy who rolled out of hot topic and then fist fought a bear. so I consider that a success

also extra special doodle of gay MOTH trio my everything ever

[thegifmakersapprentice]

[do-not-burn]

Joyride/Nervous Pt. 1 [Ghostface]

It's been a minute for me, sorry.

*1.75k word count*

------

The thrumming of my racing heartbeat had been indistinguishable from my footfalls. Well, they were before the rain started. The soft “shh” of the late night shower was just loud enough to dull the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. The moon was hiding behind the few rainclouds, letting slip two slim beams of light - one just barely lighting up the surface of a nearby puddle of gasoline and rain. I was hiding too - trying to steady my breathing as I squatted behind some abandoned grey sedan in the parking lot of a closed cinema. He can��t hear me. He can’t see me. He can’t hear me. He can’t- “Wanna go for a ride?” His low, gravelly voice cut harshly through the static of the rainfall. He didn’t have to catch his breath.

A shriek was supposed to leave me if it wasn’t so hard to breathe - much less, scream - with a leatherbound hand gripping my throat, begging to crush my windpipes. Can he feel my pulse? A minor reprieve came when the hand shifted to take hold of my jaw, turning my head up to face him. Faceless him. His mask was a mockery. Like he knew he’d catch me terrified, slack-jawed, and paler than death in the too appropriate glow of the cowering moon. He stared - or so it felt - at me with his head cocked to his left, like he was waiting for a real response. Was that a real- Does he actually want me to answer? I continued to stay silent - positive there was no right answer. “How rude. Maybe you didn’t hear me—” 

My body was jerked upright to my feet, his hand planted firmly around my neck - my head went light from the motion, his hand like a noose - so he could speak into my ear. “— do you hear me now?” 

The mask’s gaping mouth brushed against my cheek as he shifted my head to face him. With his body shielding me from the drizzle, the water trickled down the forehead of the mask and struck between my eyes, forcing me to blink. The rain was getting heavier, louder. The clouds were shifting to expose more of the moon, casting faint light onto the mask - just barely through the mesh of the sunken, sloped eye sockets. If I really looked, maybe I could see his eyes through the mask. Or maybe it wasn’t mesh. My head was getting lighter and thinking was getting harder. I nodded once and slowly, lifting my hand to his - the one still squeezing around my neck. A glint of the second beam of moonlight caught my eye from below. Why hasn’t he stabbed me yet?  “Oh come onnn,” his voice dripped with amusement in his enunciation, his stress of each word, “Use your words, doll.” 

Doll? I certainly felt like one in the moment, virtually dangling from his hand, growing more and more useless the longer he held me. Tap. I tapped his hand. Please. I was tapping out, almost blacking out. I can’t play along if I can’t breathe. His fingers pressed into my neck, tensing at the contact - either from shock or resistance. Another tap and a tug at his glove. Please. A beat. Two beats. The pressure let up. Just a bit. Just enough. Enough for me to cough and wheeze out a pathetic little response. “Yes, I wanna go for a ride.” More words than I expected from myself. More enthusiasm than I meant to offer.

“Good. I was starting to think you don’t like me.”

.

.

.

While I had never been chased by a killer before, I was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to let you sit in the front seat - let alone drive you to the dumpsite while you’re still breathing. He had hotwired the sedan and broke the clock adjacent to the stereo. None of the stations were playing anything quite to his liking, so he took to softly singing Rooney’s “When Did Your Heart Go Missing?” between muttering to himself and fiddling with the windshield wiper switch - all while driving with one hand. The other remained attached to the hilt of his knife - an extension of his being, as far as I was concerned - the blade of which he pressed into my thigh through my damp, clinging jeans. My skin is crawling. I hope I live to take these pants off.

The rain was getting heavier. Droplets colliding with the windshield like they wanted on the ride to nowhere. Where are we going? I hadn’t really thought to ask. A part of me hoped that, if I was quiet - or boring - enough, he’d ditch me on the side of the road, alive. Well, that would be a first. I had to give him as little material as possible. And that proved more impossible - the more he drove, the higher he dragged it up my leg, the deeper he pressed it into my leg. It hadn’t broken skin yet. Not that I would have noticed. He had been letting the rain build up on the windshield and dodging imaginary obstacles to earn a reaction, get my blood rushing - the face of frozen shock focused on me more than the road. Every jerk of the car made me jump in my seat… and onto the knife. “Oh, don’t be such a backseat driver, doll.” Doll. He must think it’s a game. 

And it was. For him. It was life or death only for me. I was the only one in that car at the mercy of a known murderer. The only one sitting silent in fear. He, on the other hand, was laughing. A soft, soulful chuckle. Much more unsettling than the expected maniacal cackle. It was as if the scene tickled him inside out. As if my visible fright and discomfort brought him genuine joy. Imagine how his laughter seemed to consume the night, drowning out the downpour once he pulled over to the edge of some forest on the far outskirts of some park that should have been closed at that hour. How each pause in his laughing fit sent a shiver down my spine. How still I became when he lifted his blade away from my leg and up, up, up to my chin all while still laughing. Then he stopped. As suddenly as he began, he stopped. He didn’t even have to catch his breath. “Do you want to drive instead?”

What?

“Did you not hear me? Or are you trying to hurt my feelings?” His weight shifted in the driver’s seat, blade pressing into my neck, mask level with and close to my face. I should have felt his breath on my nose, my cheek. I wasn’t free to move. I can’t speak. I can’t-

“Geez, doll. Here I thought you were warming up to me. Did you not like my serenade?”

I can’t speak. I can’t speak. He expected an answer. I couldn’t imagine what he would do if I didn’t answer. He was growing visibly impatient - or so I could see in the dim light of the moon and a distant, dying streetlamp. “I—” Ow. “I- I don’t want to…” Fuck. I think I might bleed if I speak anymore. “... t-to—” FUCK. “—to drive.” Am I bleeding? Maybe I’m just being dramatic. 

“Good. I thought maybe you didn’t like my driving. So,” the tip of the knife dragged along my jawline, “Why were you squirming so much?” It halted. “Do I…” The dragging resumed, now up and back down the side of my face. “... make you nervous?” 

He touched the flat of the blade to my cheek, earning my full attention - not that he ever lost it. Nervous is an understatement. He reeks of blood. Blood, petrichor, and… mint? Has he been chewing gum the whole time? It doesn’t matter. It really didn’t. The smell of blood - decay, even - was written in the human code to inspire unease. I nodded curtly, terrified of nicking myself from any sudden, loose movement. The mask tilted to the left. I just realised he never had a seatbelt on. I did. He strapped me in himself. The knife fell from my face. A controlled fall, the weapon never once leaving his hold, just my view. “Wanna know something?”

Another short nod. He’s so close. Why is he so close? Why are you so close? I can smell your gum. You smell like wet dog. Why are you asking me so many questions?

His other hand entered my view, thumb and forefinger closing on a dangling zipper I hadn’t registered. What the hell is he doing? I responded. I answered. I should’ve used my words. Ziiip. It was an agonising moment. The sound of the unzip at a harsh juxtaposition with the steady roll of rain beating against the roof of the car. 

“I wanna know.” Another sound. A strange, wavering voice. My strange, wavering voice. He has no retort. He just pauses for a beat, before continuing to unzip his giant black hoodie. If I looked closely - and I did - his fingers were trembling.

“You make me nervous too, doll.” He took a breath for the first time that night. “Very nervous.”

I didn’t know the car had a sunroof until he opened the hoodie, because that was when the clouds decided to further expose us to the moon. The light spilled into the car, painting his chest a nearly true white. Oh my. No wonder he lifted me like I weigh nothing. No wonder he smelled of blood. Spotting his sculpted abdomen were bandages and patches of gauze still turning red. The others fought back. Why is he showing me this? Are you calling me weak? Are you mocking me? Further still, there were scars freckling his chest. Claw marks, bruises. There was a brilliant and startling contrast between his… his trophies and his natural skin.

“I hoped I would be healed up by now. But I got impatient.”

I nodded again - eyes never leaving his bare chest. Who put those marks there? Who fought tooth and nail and still lost? Whose legacy is now just one of too many scars on some deranged guy? “I am so sorry.” Sorry? For killing so many people? For kidnapping me? For taking so long to get to killing me? “They meant nothing to me. I just…” His voice dropped to a whisper that made something in a deep, dark part of me twist. “... needed to practise. To be perfect for you.”

-----

Sorry for the abrupt stop. I might build on this later. I just wanted to get out of this slump by trying something new (ie. fanfiction) lol. Please feel free to give feedback!

[serickswrites]

What Happened?

Warnings: betrayal, knife, stabbing, blood, wound, collapse, unconsciousness

"There you are," Team Leader said with a smile as they saw Teammate Two approaching. "You're late, that's not like you, what happened?"

Teammate Two's face was guarded as they approached. "I got distracted and then traffic....you know how it is."

Team Leader smiled softly. "I do. I'm glad you're here. The others will be joining soon, too. It must be a helluva traffic jam." Team Leader started to unpack the large picnic basket they had on the table. "We won't get started without them, but at least we can get it all set up."

Teammate Two didn't respond. They merely stood by Team Leader. Team Leader noticed how quiet they were, how they barely engaged. How unlike themself they were. "Are you ok, Teammate Two?"

Teammate Two frowned. "I've had a rough morning. I could really use a hug."

Team Leader looked at Teammate Two, really looked at them. Teammate Two looked on the verge of tears. Team Leader opened their arms wide. "I would love to give you a hug."

Teammate Two walked towards Team Leader's open embrace. Team Leader wrapped their arms tightly around Teammate. Two--just the way Teammate Two liked it. Teammate Two's lips brushed Team Leader's ear as they spoke. "I really am sorry about this, Team Leader."

Before Team Leader could respond, they felt the knife go in just below their ribs. Their breath caught in their chest as the pain threatened to overwhelm them. The pain of being stabbed. Mostly, the pain of Teammate Two's betrayal.

Team Leader's arms fell away as they felt Teammate Two pull out the blade. Their body felt so weak as their head swam. They started to stumble back, but Teammate Two wrapped their arms around Team Leader. "It's nothing personal. It had to be one of you. I'm sorry it was you. I didn't want it to. But you were the first one here."

"Wh-Wh-Why?" Team Leader managed to choke out around the blood filling their mouth.

Teammate Two pulled back, their eyes now cold and distant. "It had to be one of you. You just happened to get here first."

Team Leaders knees gave out and Teammate Two released them. Team Leader couldn't breathe around the pain or the blood filling their mouth. Couldn't breathe around the hurt of betrayal filling them. And as Team Leader's world began to go dark and Teammate Two disappeared from their field of vision, Team Leader couldn't breathe around the fear of what Teammate Two had planned for the rest of their team.

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

31st Story, Part 2

TW: Blood, implied past captivity and torture, stitches, wound description, angst, corrupt system, issues regarding figure (brief), bruises, angst, knife, touch starvation

Part 1

Guess who's back with a hella long piece. vacay from college for some time with semester 1 over, woo! enjoyyy 💙

“So how did you sleep?” the vigilante asked as she walked downstairs to find the villain sitting cross-legged on her couch. 

“Well,” he answered evenly, emotionlessness overtaking his tone as usual. It wasn't a complete lie; he'd slept better than he had in a long time, but his eyes had wrenched open a little after sunrise, even though he wasn't a morning person. He couldn't relax too much into this life, the knife he took shoved into the pocket of his sweatpants, but she didn't need to know that. 

“I'll make us breakfast,” she announced.

“I'll help you out,” he offered, even though he knew she could probably infer what his motives were. He still wasn't taking any chances anyway. 

She nodded curtly in response, leading him to the kitchen. And he'd almost wished someone had warned him about the whiplash of doing something so outlandishly casual with your enemy, as he watched her make a sandwich and soon enough followed suit, still hyper aware of the knives and the boiling water in the kettle. 

And of course, nothing was lost on Vigilante, even if she probably wasn’t half as nervous as he was, the half-frantic, wild animal wrapped in the poorly fitting garment of someone calm and collected. “Are you always this tense?” she questioned as she sat down at the table and he sat opposite from her.

“Just hungry,” he shot back smoothly, a seasoned liar. Sure, he technically was half-starved, trying to eat slowly just so he wouldn’t retch, but if that was the case, he would’ve relaxed when he ate.  

The vigilante said nothing as she took a bite of her sandwich, but her disbelieving eyebrow raise needed no further additions. 

The villain’s grip tightened on his mug as he worried his frayed bottom lip between his teeth,”What do you want? If you’re going to question every micro-gesture of mine, then why’d you bring me here?” His voice was hoarse with exhaustion, probably from all the screaming he couldn’t muffle, not that he cared.

“I get it,” the vigilante said placatingly, even though it was clear she was somewhat irritated. She wasn’t a goddamn bleeding heart just oozing compassion and patience, not that he expected any different. “You’re afraid of getting hurt.” 

“I am not afraid of crap, Vigilante.” It came out softer than he’d intended, almost as though he was the one trying to calm the situation, a new trait of people-pleasing a new and heavily despised survival skill he’d recently acquired. 

The vigilante wanted to argue, but she also knew that from the day she’d walked into his cell and pulled him out, that she’d been walking on thin ice. That the man in front of her wasn’t his normal, unflappable self that could dish out a lot worse than whatever she dared to throw at him, so for the rest of this tense, awkward breakfast, they both remained quiet. 

It had taken them about two hours of trepidation spent in the opposite ends of the living room for Vigilante to break the silence. “So, about the plan,” she started.

“Yeah?” he asked, now turning to face her. 

“We can’t fight her by traditional means. We don’t have the time to amass an army big enough to rival my sister’s own. The main thing we need to do is find some way to desecrate that shining image of hers,” she explained. 

The villain let out a low hum as though he was contemplating something, but the slight shift in the nature of his gaze indicated he’s noticed something. “Knocking your sister off of her pedestal is surely going to gain you some traction,” he noted. 

“I don’t care much for the spotlight,” she countered. 

“I know. But you seem to care about making sure your sister doesn’t have everything. Still, that isn’t the issue anyway.”

And again, he was right. There is something so utterly sickening of being born in someone’s shadow, of having all your power from someone else’s name. Vigilante was only formidable in people’s eyes because it was required of Superhero’s sister. Again, she’d never claimed to be dramatically selfless.

Still, she took note of how the villain made no effort at eye contact, his eyes trained on the pattern of her wooden coffee table, but she refrained from commenting. “Right. The general idea is, if the adoring public find out what she does to the people in her custo-”

The villain, in his most daring act of the day, had let out a sardonic snort. “Oh, save it. I don’t think you realise that how people like me are treated doesn’t really irk anyone. Because that’s how the world works, it’s easier like that. I’m not the most notorious, but it’s safe to say I’m ‘famous’ enough,” he made air quotations with his fingers, “People usually want to know about the trial, when it comes to people they’ve heard of, but no one gave a damn. No one cared to know I never really got a trial in the first place. Because they were just relieved that the Big Bad Guy was off the streets. Locked up somewhere. It doesn’t matter that my record says I’m guilty of crap I’ve never done. Because technically, I’ve committed my fair share of my crimes, what’s more to the pile? Hell, if it keeps me locked away for all eternity, then why not?” 

This time, the villain’s gaze was steely, his teeth gnashed together and his tone harsh, and yet before she’d even commented, the villain was quick to force the muscles of his face to work on pulling it into a blank expression, his hand going to his pocket. 

Where, unbeknownst to Vigilante, the knife from yesterday was. .  .

It took her a moment to register his words and realise he was right. The likes of Villain wouldn’t garner the sympathy of the same people that cheered when they were locked up, at every suffocating press conference where her sister’s airy voice seemed to ring in her ears. 

But how else was she supposed to rouse some sort of public outcry against her sister? She needed the key, the concept, the idea, and from that she could form a plan. It was why she thought of asking the villain in the first place. 

“Then what should we do to get people to notice?” 

The villain’s pale hand made its way out of his pocket, his expression still nearly unreadable. “Your sister’s clever. She’s almost untraceable, and uncovering her shady past would be difficult. Or actually, more difficult than having her do something terrible now.” 

“So you’re saying we somehow force her to commit some sort of terrible crime?” 

“Force is the wrong word. It wouldn’t be a choice she wouldn’t make on her own accord. And that’s our selling point. No one needs to make her pull underhanded crap because she’ll take that choice anyway. And from then, whatever it is you want to reveal is actually going to have a basis.” 

The villain straightened his posture, pulling his now slightly loose fitting hoodie down so straighten a wrinkle only for it to come down with a strange difficulty, like it was stuck to his skin, the man letting out a soft hiss. 

“You alright?” she asked. 

“Fine,” he answered curtly, getting up. He knew exactly why his jacket had stuck to his form in the first place, and he really didn’t need Vigilante’s supposed concern. There’s a lot worse he’d seen in his life, in those three months alone than some old scratch reopening. Walking into his room, he shrugged his hoodie off in front of the mirror only to notice that the stupid scratch was in an area he could barely reach, deeper and uglier than he thought, blood running down it in crimson rivulets, exposed tissue that was barely healing showing too. He didn’t know where the gauze was, or how he’d even manage treating the wound. And somehow, his past vanity, or rather basic awareness of his appearance that he now called vanity hadn’t completely faded away considering he noticed bone and skin where muscle used to be and the ridiculous amount of bruises adorning his figure in various shades of dusty purples and browns; every sign of how his captors had turned him into a punching bag for all their sadistic cravings. 

“Villain?” 

Hell no. He didn’t want anyone in this room with him while he looked like this, frantic again and wishing he could rip his hair from its roots. He almost didn’t care that he was still bleeding and it hurt to shift even slightly, or that his wound felt warm to the touch and was probably infected. He sat there on the bed, gripping onto the sheets like they were the only thing tethering him to the world around him. “Just,” he faltered. As much as the villain hated it, he couldn’t do crap right now without her help. He bit his lip again and exhaled slowly. “Come in.” 

She cursed softly when she looked at the wound, the scarlet already snaking down his lower back now. It didn’t take her long to come back with a whole lot of first aid equipment. “This’ll hurt,” she said slowly. 

All she got was a low grunt in response as she pressed antiseptic-soaked gauze to his back, and even though he barely let out a noise, didn’t move out of the way, his shoulders still tensed up under the pain. 

Involuntarily, she stroked a hand through his hair, a reflexive action even though the vigilante wasn’t particularly touchy, especially with her enemy turned ally of convenience. He turned to stare at her, looking nothing short of surprised, but not irritated or afraid. He turned around again as she stitched up his wound and tended to his other scratches, surprised how well he was holding out. The villain barely flinched through the process, but again the man had always been surprisingly enduring.

The villain seriously didn’t remember the last time anyone had tended to his injuries, even before getting captured. He’s sure someone did, during the times he couldn’t do it himself, but no one had ever run a hand through his hair when he’d tensed up or anything of the sort. He despised the fact that it hadn’t irritated him, instead he was left there dumbfounded, half-wishing she would do it again and half-grateful she refrained from it, from making him feel so bloody exposed like that. This entire ordeal, how strangely gentle the vigilante had been with him, how he slowly relaxed even though the idea of being this vulnerable, this close to one of his enemies terrified him.

The villain didn’t like to feel things that weren’t dry, controlled anger or smugness or absolutely nothing. So he didn’t, pretended he couldn’t until he believed it. 

Every lie dies in the end, no?

The vigilante had got up to hand him a new t-shirt that he slowly pulled on, minding his wounds but still refusing any help with it. “Thanks,” he mumbled awkwardly. 

“Y-you thank people?” she asked, half out of genuine surprise and half to lighten the mood. 

The villain didn’t smile, but his lip twitched up ever so slightly with a half-smirk, “I’m a villain, but I’m not a complete tactless bastard.” 

“I guess you could say that, and you’re welcome. I’ll just go clean up. Put your jacket in the basket over there.” The vigilante looked down at her bloodstained hands, and the villain gave her a curt nod. 

He was lucky she hadn’t taken the jacket herself, or noticed the knife somehow, and he could still keep it. It felt even scummier after right now, when she could’ve just let him bleed out, or made it worse since she was this close to him. He didn’t even know what she would try the second he was no longer useful. 

Carefully, he lowered his form onto the bed, letting out a soft groan. This was the strangest stage of his life yet, he presumed. 

So many times, life is about choosing the worst option, the choice you’d swore to never make, about condemning yourself to being at the mercy of the unknown. People will scream at you to avoid the lion’s den, but sometimes it is the only shelter from a raging storm ready to destroy you into nothing. And yet, maybe there is wisdom in the most foolish decisions, and safety in the most dangerous risks. Because even if you’re riddled with deep wounds and scars, even those can heal under care, even in the most unexpected places.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

[landonkirbyappreciation]

insp.