#tw: graphic

[skeletoninthemelonland]

[Trigger warning]: Mentions of death and body horror.

This post is about my understanding of William Afton's possession of the Springbonnie suit!

One of the very few headcanons that I have is that, after his death, William Afton possessed both the Yellow Suit and his own corpse. It was more of an obligation rather than a choice. If he wanted to move around as Springtrap, he needed to bear the excruciating pain. Possessing a corpse meant striving to become "alive" again.

That probably explains why his body didn't fully decompose, even after 30 years: because his soul continuously struck it with jolts of energy, forcing the severely damaged tissue to function under awful conditions (cell membranes rupture and spill their contents after death, but they were forced back together). Here's an illustration:

To me, Springtrap didn't die once or twice, nor a third time. He died thousands and thousands of times and kept on coming back.

"I always come back."

The springlocks weren't the only cause of his suffering. It was the hunger, thirst, lack of oxygen, sleep deprivation, and subsequent infections, paired up with the psychological effects of it all.

[myfandomrealitea]

Your post regarding specifc places for things and some places dont need a vent channel it helped me realise that the people i follow online were damaging to my health. They were constantly sharing real people who died horrifically and saying things like "if you dont share you're supporting violence " while i only joined social media to view art.

I actively speak about real life events offline with my family, we always talk about whats happening in the world once a week and mention anything new within the local and worldwide news. I didn't understand why social media was worsening my mental health around these topics since i could speak about it in real life with my family. i assumed i was horrible for simply not wanting to see it online, When your post about a safe space came up i realised why it made me feel so bad, the artists i followed no longer were posting art and were just constantly sharing news daily about horrific events. It became inescapable and i was unknownly doomscrolling for hours on social media while hoping to see art (that just made me feel bad viewing after seeing so much death) , my only escape was going offline. I already made new accounts just for art and Im so thankful for your post since i did avoid everything that was about real world events since the account is only for art and i feel so much more.. i guess happier.. but definitely more mentally healthy if that makes sense? It felt like my mind was drained or foggy when scrolling through social media, and i wasnt actually paying attention before but now its a lot more, clear, healthy and positive. Im able to think properly and actually pay attention and appreciate the good things online

I'm so glad I was able to help you on your journey to bettering your wellbeing. Its an aspect of why I run this blog and talk about the things that I do.

So very often people don't actually register or realize what parts of their lives are causing stress. They attribute it to 'working too much' or 'not sleeping enough' without realizing that there are direct causes for things like not sleeping enough. And I'm not saying every single part of life comes back to activism, but very often we don't even realize how much negativity and forced awareness we're exposing ourselves to.

I used to religiously follow accounts on Instagram which posted about animal abuse. Other than a handful of celebrities my Instagram feed would be the most graphic videos you could imagine of people hacking into live dogs with axes, boiling cats alive in huge vats of water, jockeys tearing at horse's mouths until their teeth were loose and they were leaving a trail of blood as they walked the winner's circle.

I used to think if I wasn't constantly forcing myself to acknowledge that these things were happening, if I wasn't constantly reminding myself the extent at which these things happen, I was a bad person. I wasn't a real animal lover. If I truly loved animals why wasn't I sharing these videos? Why wasn't I sitting there with thousands of other people acknowledging what animals go through while I sit comfy at home doing nothing?

It got the point where I'd be throwing up constantly, I refused to sleep because I was terrified of the nightmares and my hands would shake as I opened up the Instagram app because I dreaded what I'd see today.

It wasn't helping me. It wasn't helping the animals. I'm just as aware now of what animals go through without having to see any of it.

But now, I have the wellbeing to actually devote myself to meaningful activism. Not just tormenting myself to no outcome. Now, I have the willpower and the energy to sign petitions and do research and take steps in my own life to better the welfare of the animals in my care.

Now I can sleep at night and wake up well-rested with the energy and the motivation to do things both for myself and for other people. Now, I can scroll Instagram and leave polite, correctional comments on misguided videos about animals. Now I have the knowledge to devote my attention and my efforts to where it actually makes a difference and changes animal's lives.

It is such, such a hard thing to drag yourself out of. We're so conditioned into thinking suffering shared is suffering lessened. We're so conditioned into believing that by spamming words anywhere we can we are the direct cause of change.

Its a hell of a learning climb. A steep one. But I genuinely believe the world would be better off for learning and changing as we both had the courage to.

[aestariiwilderness]

This is still happening. This was organized. Iranian-funded Arab and Turk gangs hid in alleys to ambush and hunt down Israeli citizens leaving the match. Stabbing, assaulting, running over with cars, lynching. The Dutch police ARE ON VIDEO standing by and letting it happen. Israelis on Oct. 7th who escaped the massacre turned around and went back. They turned around and went back into hell on earth to save others, and they died doing it. And now the Dutch police just stand there and let it happen again, without lifting so much as a finger. This is 1938, and this is the opportunity so many people love to talk about -- how they would absolutely(!) hide a Jew and risk their lives to save them. Well, now's your chance, and at so much less risk to yourselves, to boot. You don't have to hide them. You don't even have to rescue Jews -- Israel is already on the way. But no decent person with a breath of air in their lungs should do anything right now but ask Israel, "how can we help?" This is a filthy stain on Amsterdam. This is a black mark on Europe. There needs to be accountability, and there needs to be justice for this. Justice for these innocents, on these terrorists and on every last Dutch police officer who stood back and watched.

A warning, for free:

Zechariah 2:8

For thus says the Lord of hosts: “He sent Me after glory, to the nations which plunder you [Israel]; for he who touches you touches the apple of His eye."

[bannysban]

*he groans, out of nowhere, having to put this legion together* I WILL SEND YOU OUT ON YOUR BLOODY ASSIGNMENTS IN A MINUTE.

*he heard snickering* YOU DON'T KNOW THAT I'VE SLIT THROATS BEFORE? YOU DONT THINK I CAN DO IT AGAIN! GLADLY. SHUT YOUR TRAPS. UNIFORMS WILL BE HERE IN A FEW DAYS, NOW JUST- AHHHH. I DON'T CARE!

[cptjimmy]

...I kissed Curly when he was drunk.

- ( @francisco-alvarez )

(ooc: it's me again, you'll never escape me...)

"No, you didn't and if you did it sure as fuck wouldn't be my Curly you kissed.

Cause if it was my Curly you kissed, I'd have to disembowel you and then shove your organs down your throat."

[the-ellia-west]

I feel evil for asking this but how would Jak hold up in a morge?? 😭🤣

Setting: Eynalis' home. Specifically the room where he keeps the failed experiments.

Thank you for the prompt and permission, @urnumber1star!

Tw: Gory, Graphic, References to Cannibalism

Contains Jak having vivid flashbacks at the sight and smell of corpses

For anyone who hasn’t heard his lore, Um… Be warned it is pretty dark.

--

Jakkon raised an eyebrow as he trailed a hand along the walls. He’d made the right decision. They didn’t need to be here. Especially not Ronan or Mangrove. Those kids had been through enough as it was. But as he carefully continued through the halls, steps muffled by the carpet, the scent of rot and metal grew stronger. He tried to calm his mind at the familiarity of it.

I’m free. I’m free. I’m fine. I can leave if I want. It’s just a spell. He would do this. It’s not a dead body. It’s fine. I’m free. It’s fine. But as he walked further, his thoughts began to run in circles in a mad attempt to break free.

He clenched his teeth, pushing himself forward. You’re fine. This has nothing to do with you. Calm down. Stop breathing so hard, it’ll only make it worse. You’re fine, you’re fine, you don’t need help. It doesn’t matter what you want, they need this, and you need to not fuck it up. Not again.

He dug his nails into his own arms as his thoughts fought against him and memories begged to surface. The scrape of ropes, the burn of smoke and flesh. Chains. Fire. Blood.

“HELP ME!”

He startled as soft footsteps echoed behind him, and instinctively flung open the nearest door, holding his breath as he pressed his eyes closed. But as soon as the door closed, a lock clicked.

Fuck.

Jakkon whirled back toward it, unable to hold his breath as his panic spiked and he rattled the handle. The Stench grew to an unbearable level, almost making him lightheaded as he fell back, turning to examine his surroundings. Maybe there was some way to escape.

But as he took in the scene in front of him, he found his chest tightening and his breaths not coming anymore. His hands found his damaged throat and he gasped. Tables, covered in white sheets. Char. Skin. Muscle. He scrambled backward, the door handle digging into his spine. But he hardly noticed as he slammed a hooved foot into the door, gasping for air as tears choked his desperate screams. “NO, NO, NO NO NO! LET ME OUT! PLEASE! NO!”

Ropes holding his wrists to rough rotten wood. The edge of a knife like ice on his skin. The cold, dead eyes of a woman he loved piercing into his soul like razors saying; Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Why would I ever love someone as useless as you?

The Satyr’s eyes widened as he grabbed at his hair, trying anything to get it to stop, slamming his fist into the door until his knuckles bled, everywhere he looked a nightmare worse than the last. Her corpse, the knife slicing through the back and into the heart of a little boy pleading for anything to stop the pain. The tight grip of tiny fingers on his arms slipping and falling with a thud.

The Roar of flames in his ears broken by the visceral tear of bone as a familiar silhouette ripped off her arm, wedding ring still glittering on her cold slender finger, jagged bones protruding from her clammy dead skin and perfectly preserved blood oozing from the charred bits of flesh. Hoarse pleading that the man with a knife insisted he couldn’t hear. 

With Every tormented second, he tried harder, until the bangs of ripping skin against a door that refused to budge turned to the sickening crunch of bones breaking in a desperate struggle to dig his way through the wood. Choking on tears and warm hands crushing his throat.

The Smooth calculated movements, the cold metal hooks forcing his mouth from closing through the gums, blood seeping into his skin so deep he could never wash it out. The slippery, greasy sheen of the lifeless eye glinting in the dim light, dangling from the empty socket of a severed head he remembered kissing. The taste of meat, some slimy metallic flavor he didn’t want to remember, the wet squish of blood and skin, the crunch of ash, the violent demand of voices in his head to rip his skin open to get it out, strings of fleshy, bloody fiber sticking between his teeth as he tried to reject it but the same needles sewed his lips shut, shards of bone cutting up the inside of his mouth.

His desperate attempt to spit them out before something yanked his head back and maneuvered his muscles so he could do nothing but swallow it. Every agonizing second of fire, hooks, needles, knives, and the terrible fact she would never be buried if there was nothing left of her to bury. 

“LET ME OUT! I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY…” He couldn’t tell between tears or blood as his burning, broken fingers scrambled to find the lock and he screamed until his voice wouldn’t come, eventually devolving into broken sobs as he resigned himself to his fate and tried to decide which method would kill him the quickest.

[foxedthecards]

"Jonas? Are you - hey - are you okay?"

In the past few days,Jonas had been working pretty hard. Maybe in fact just a little too hard. Pulling back-to-back shifts bartending over at the Four Queens across the street at night, canvassing during the day following up on possible gig opportunities. The little desk in the corner of their shabby little hotel room here at the Oasis 5 was littered with notebooks and scribbled napkins and paper because in the midst of all of that, he'd been busily working out ideas pertaining to a magic show.

But this night, he'd come in as quietly as a mouse, trying hard not to wake Artair. Poor guy was still recovering after all. He'd dropped down on the worn cushions of the lopsided couch by the window he'd taken up nighttime residence on. He'd really only intended to nap for a few hours at the most in preparation for the next shift at the bar but it hadn't been long before he was absolutely dead to the world.

Not for long though.

He didn't appear to have heard Artair's soft inquiry. He was sitting up but still partially sprawled out over the couch, one white knuckled hand digging clawed fingers into the arm of the couch, the other hand feebly moving around, scraping over the couch as if he was trying to dig his way out of something. His eyes were wide but they saw no shabby hotel room.

He was buried in mud and debris, trapped, rain pouring down, soaking him. His ears rang, his concussed senses barely functioning. Pain flooded his side. Blood obscured the sight in one eye.

But oh god, he wanted to be blind, he wanted to lose all his senses, let oblivion claim him. Anything to not be forced to stare at him lying there on the ground less than an arm's length away.

Most of his head and face were gone, plastered to the opposite wall of the trench. Maggots feasted on what remained. His remaining eye stared sightlessly at Jonas. One mangled hand stretched out towards him. He heard him screaming over and over: help me, help me, help me, help me but he wasn't alive he wasn't alive oh god, oh cruel unfeeling God...

" Evan..." Jonas croaked. Tears began to run freely down his face.

[playingpreggobby]

🌟 Roleplay Partner Search

I'm bored and in search of detail-oriented and creative RP partners (not replacing any of my gem of partners I have already!!) who share an interest in crafting a graphic and emotionally engaging birth RP scenario. I'm excited to take on the role of the Carrier (carrier only), and I'm looking for writers who are willing to explore this narrative with depth and realism.

🌸 RP Details:

- Character: I will be portraying the Carrier. Will need a seeder male for this RP.

- Genre: Realistic, graphic, and emotionally charged.

- Length: Looking for partners who can provide 1-2 or more paragraphs in each response.

- Writing Style: Descriptive and immersive writing is a must.

This RP will delve into long hours of pushing, hard pushing, long crowning, bleeding, water breaking, nausea and vomiting, passing out etc.

If you're ready to explore the challenges, joys, and complexities of this scenario in a respectful and detailed manner, I'd love to hear from you.

Please send me a message if you're interested, and we can discuss further details, preferences, and boundaries. Let's create a memorable and emotionally charged story together!

Please note I usually RP on discord to make things easier.

And I have a surprise coming soon teehee.

[99fish]

hi heres the entire twilight movie as a stamp

[and-corn]

shoutout to the "foolproof" bread recipe I fucked up entirely for inspiring this

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

How Bill was defeated and captured by Ford in my Gf AU! He basically just tricked Bill into accepting a deal that trapped him within Ford's mind and under his control :]

He may have gotten a little out of hand though....

>:)

Next post :]

[goatgutzupon]

my fav stamps (i have so many but these r a couple ive found)

[cheezitofthevalley]

Rare blinkies

idk if these are actually rare these are just some blinkies I've only come across once or twice when browsing resources and neocities.

PART TWO!!!

[bellamuertes]

CONSTANTINE (2005) dir. Francis Lawrence

[e-resources]

meat themed graphics?……..

🥩,,, MEAT GR4PHICS !!

[all-things-cutecore]