#tw graphic

[fxtalitygod]

X. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 6-10x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, child death/murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), dubcon/noncon (not any actual smut other than vague mentions of sex), implied postpartum, implied survivors guilt

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Today is a new day and after I got home from work and did some fine-tuning, I finally posted the FINAL CHAPTER (not including the epilogue) of Survival!!! I honestly find it funny that I had originally planned for this story to be a short series and it just spiraled into two years of writing! HAHAHAHAA!!!

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

Emptiness.

It was a feeling that you bitterly greeted after having abandoned it six years ago. It was disappointing, but welcome nonetheless. You wished it was under different circumstances. You did not know which circumstances but knew it was anything other than this.

After the destruction of your life, everything went back to the beginning. You were rehomed in a new village and a different temple, though you could not tell much of the difference. Those blank walls still drove you to insanity. The marriage ceremonies had resumed and more children began crawling the halls in a matter of months.

Sukuna had seemingly lost interest in you after the incident. You had finally snapped, extinguishing the anticipation for the hopes that you would one day. Despite his seeming lack of interest, you were still watched over with diligence, still resided in his chambers, and still acquired a caretaker.

Your mental forces were deteriorating, and it was clear from the blank expression that graced your face. You assumed that Sukuna acknowledged that and decided to have a sitter stay on top of you if you were to do something unexpected– much like what you had done to your village.

The curse user knew the extent of your rage, but he did not quite expect you to leave your home in ruins, to burn your family into nothing but ash. Little to your knowledge, a part of him admired you for that; however, the words that left your mouth after the act had been done brought him a discomfort that neither himself could explain.

From the way he was rutting in you currently, you could not tell. Another attempt of impregnating you. Years ago, you would have had a mind to beg him to stop, and when you could not accomplish that, feign pleasure. You used to want to please Sukuna not for his benefit but your own. Now all you cared about was embracing the feeling of that emptiness as you merely felt the man fucking you: soundless, motionless, thoughtless.

It took a matter of months before you were with child again; however, unlike before, this pregnancy was worse. In the physical aspect, you were overall healthy, but your mental health was far from good. You were a husk of the woman you once were, having lost all ambition for your future. Even when spontaneous thoughts of what life would be like outside the temple, you could not help but feel nauseous.

Guilt.

There were times you wished you could have blamed it on your pregnancy and escape the reality of the issue, but your mind would not allow it. You were repulsed with yourself and could not help but feel like you were betraying your twins by just the simple notion that you were alive, and to think of a future for yourself without them revolted you beyond compare. Your pregnancy did not make it any better.

Most women in the temple thought of pregnancy as a fresh start after losing their previous offspring; a new chance to impress their husband– a sickening point of view; however, you could not be upset with them. Deep down, you believed they had been just as afraid as you were upon their arrival when their village elders proclaimed them the next tribute to Sukuna. They more than likely had a plan to make it out of this hell and made promises to return to their families, but somewhere down the line, all the manipulation, physical strain, and mental stress, caused them to accept their fates and try to make the best out of it, losing themselves in the process.

You were not so lucky.

If pregnancy was a punishment before, it was a curse now. Knowing you were to have another child brought you great remorse. Anytime you were to look or even feel your bump, you could not help but think of the past... to think of your twins. It felt like you were betraying them, trying to unconsciously replace them even though your pregnancy was out of your control.

The way you would eat at yourself could have been considered torture.

Besides the normal work around the temple, you would spend most of your evenings in a dark and unoccupied room, keeping to yourself. No one dared to disrupt you, mostly out of fear due to the knowledge of your power. Few left you space out of respect, knowing the pain you were going through; however, sometimes you wished they would walk through that door, hoping they would attempt to comfort you.

It would have been a good distraction from your running mind.

Those dark and quiet rooms gave you time to think and reflect. You realized there were many things you had undermined and denied for your own sanity. The list could go on, some minor, some major…and the major miscalculations stuck out like a sore thumb.

Trimester One.

Despite your efforts, your village nor your family would have ever accepted your children– Sukuna's blood coursed through their veins, and that was enough to consider them a monstrosity. Your hopes of escaping with them and living a happy life were an illusion you conjured up to keep a drive in you.

Trimester Two.

Whether you liked it or not, your twins would not stay innocent forever. The twins were under Sukuna's guidance, no thanks to your pact, and they absolutely adored him. The twins blindly trusted him with their entire beings and would have believed anything Sukuna had taught them was for good, and you knew for a fact that is how your partner would have spun it. Their acts would have been malicious and cruel and they would not have even known...and despite your want to tell them the truth, the constraints of your pact would have stopped you from doing so.

Trimester Three.

Even if you had successfully run away with your son and daughter in hand, the life the three of you would have lived would have been far from peaceful. You and the children were proven valuable assets to Sukuna; to think that your husband would give you all up so easily was foolish. The curse-user would have hunted you down to the ends of the world until you were back in his grasp.

And as you sat there holding your new baby girl, tears streaming down your face as you listened to her whimpers, you hoped she'd grow up to be a fool; a strong, but foolish girl. If your daughter grew up to be a fool, the world could not hurt her as it had hurt you. If she becomes a fool, she would not have to feel the burden you were feeling.

You hated that you hoped for her, hated the fact that you loved and cared for her after laying eyes on her small figure. The whole scene was pitiful. The arms of a mother holding her child close to her bosom as if shielding them from the world– the effort could be appreciated but was futile because the looming threat was already hovering over you as he inspected his creation. If his presence was not unsettling enough, his hum of satisfaction horrified you, causing you more tears.

"I should have killed myself that morning. It would have saved me a lot of heartache..." you whispered, repeating the words you had mentioned over a year ago.

Months back into motherhood you found yourself questioning yourself and your emotional availability every time you looked at your daughter. You were doing all the right things, but performing the tasks felt heavy on your shoulders, and the smiles you painted on your face felt like they were caked on. None of it felt real. There was no doubt you cared for your little girl, but you had to admit that the task was tiring– caring was tiring.

You thought the feeling would end, believed it was temporary, but days turned into months, and months turned into a year.

You had just finished your daughter's first inspection and were now in your sleeping chambers with your husband. You both stood there silent and unmoving, staring at each other with hardly any indication of who was willing to speak first. Fortunately, your daughter was the first to break the silence, whining as she clung to you. You sighed as you understood the child needed attention, moving the baby into a better position to lightly bounce her, attempting to calm her down.

"You know, I thought you would be overjoyed to be blessed with another child, Y/n," Sukuna sounded as he studied you.

"Whatever do you mean? I am nothing but pleased," you blankly responded, focusing entirely on the little girl bouncing in your arms.

Silence once again.

You could feel his stare burning into you; feel his agitation radiating off his skin as he looked for a real answer. Sukuna was not an idiot, you were aware of that, but his meaningless probing was getting on your nerves. You would much rather he got to the point than play his mind games. If he was going to be indirect, you would only do the same.

"Do you think of them when you look at her?"

There was a halt in your movements, breath hitching as you did so. You slowly moved your head to look at the man before you, your gaze piercing. You had every intention to avoid the question, but your mouth betrayed your mind.

“What do you think?” You snipped, a grimace forming onto your features.

“I could make you forget, simply remove them from your memory to rid you of this…ailment.”

For what felt like the thousandth time of your life, you could feel your eyes widen, however, this was the most appalling statement your husband had made. Had he really suggested ridding your memories with your twins? Had he no remorse? Of course not, why would he? The children were a means to an end, nothing more than a few pawns in his plan. Any love and affection the father had shown his son and daughter were shown with calculation and precision– there was no meaning behind those affections.

"You sick bastard."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Y/n, I would advise that you watch your tone," a warning glare, "If I did not know any better, I would say that you were speaking out of turn when I am offering you such a gift– I do not offer such things lightly."

"Well it is good that you know better," the seething anger bubbling in your chest was choosing your words at this point, "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"I am doing you a mercy, Y/n, you are letting the past consume you from the inside out, and sooner or later you will become the image of your agony."

"You know nothing because if you did you would be in the same state as I am. You speak as if you know sympathy, but your words are honeyed to keep me in your grasp!"

Your breath was heavy as you confronted Sukuna, glaring daggers into his soul as you watched him step closer.

"Your perception can be quite bothersome at times, Little Flower; however, I believe it is what I admire most about you. I think it is why I chose you...why I love you."

Love.

Love.

Love.

"Love."

Your laughter was hysterical. The tears welling up in your eyes from pure disbelief and humor. Sukuna Ryomen himself has admitted to loving you for the second time. This time claiming he chose you because he loves you.

What a joke.

"Love me?" you choked between giggles, "Sukuna, you would not know love if it hit you in the face. Like I said before, your words are coated with the sweetest sugars to keep me around, to bring me hope, and quite frankly, the sweetness has become dull and bitter," a pause as you caught your breath, "You do not love me Sukuna. As I have stated, you love what I can provide you."

Silence had greeted you both for what seemed like the millionth time, but you could have been wrong, you lost count at this point.

"I understand the concept of love, more than you think, Little Flower; however, love has little meaning. So you are right, I do not love you, I value you. Is that not greater than love?"

You scoffed.

"You are going to die alone and I am glad that you will."

A soft chuckle sounded from your husband before feeling a strange feeling at the back of your head. You could feel the kanzashi pin moving in your hair as Sukuna played with the accessory.

"I highly doubt that."

Those four words had caused your heart to sink, bringing you more fear than you had ever experienced in your entire life. Without thought, you backed away from the man towering over you. You shook your head as you held eye contact with Sukuna, almost stumbling on your feet as you felt for the door and clumsily exited the room. You had your daughter close to your chest as you entered the hallway.

What little you had of your life came crashing down instantly as the gravity of your reality unfolded to its full extent.

You would never be free and although that was a realization you had made long ago...this time you had no hope to convince you otherwise.

So what did you do?

You ran.

You flew through the corridors to the gardens, arriving with heavy breath. Scanning the grounds you searched for the only individual who could help you right now. The moment your eyes registered the woman, you quickly approached, hardly paying attention to anything along your path as you made your way over.

"Y/n-"

"I have something for you!" you interrupted, holding out a pin you had stored and concealed for years, never knowing the right moment to give it to the woman before you.

The woman who had lost her sick and poor son on your very first inspection day.

You watched as her eyes welled up immediately, taking the pin and inspecting it as if to make sure it was real. When she was able to confirm the little trinket was indeed not a figment of her imagination, she held it close to her chest, letting her silent sobs escape before looking at you.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But why are you giving this to me?"

You looked around hesitantly before pitifully looking at her, letting your walls crumble to reveal all your pain and suffering.

"I need your help."

"Uraume!"

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the right hand responded.

"I would like you to gather the women and children from the inspection, I have an announcement."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama, I'll get right on it."

With that Uraume disappeared, leaving Sukuna in his quarters alone. The man paced in his chambers, reflecting on the prior conversation from earlier. The talk did not have the most satisfying ending, but much like the other unfortunate discussions that had been held between the two of you, this would be another problem that would resolve itself in due time.

The move would help move that process faster.

This village had quickly bored the tyrant, as they were quick to promise vengeance and destruction upon his empire. Same-old-same-old. So with that, it was time to move on to the next village after leaving this one behind in ashes.

"Sukuna-sama, the women and children do not appear to be in their chambers or the gardens, the workstations are abandoned too.

"What?"

Without a thought, Sukuna stormed out of the room and into the halls, those blank walls making the temple look more abandoned knowing that everyone had seemingly disappeared. He looked through every room he managed to pass, even using his abilities to sense the faintest amount of cursed energy. For a while, he came up with nothing, but after catching a familiar aura, he briskly started to follow the direction it was coming from.

The curse-user found himself in the main hall, where he saw his wives and children gathered. The husband would be lying if he claimed he was not confused with the situation, but he would not show that. Instead, Sukuna decided to try and decipher the scenario.

Upon first glance, it had seemed that the women and children were gathered for a usual gathering, but upon closer observation, something was off. The looks of the individuals in the room seemed to differ. Some women seemed relieved, others looked almost proud, and others...well, the last of the women looked as if they were being held there against their will.

As the monster-of-a-man continued to scan the room, he finally managed to find you, standing in the center of the room, your head held high; however, you looked exhausted, broken. It brought that familiar discomforting feeling to Sukuna, the same feeling when you had spoken those words after you had burned down your village.

"What is this, Little Flower?" Sukuna questioned with some amusement behind his voice, masking his indifference.

"Do not call me that," you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as it softly echoed in the room.

"Y/n-sama ple-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" you yelled, successfully silencing the crying woman who had shouted for you.

The atmosphere was tense, and he would tread carefully because Sukuna was no fool.

"What do you want, Little Flower? An apology? I can, obviously, give that to you, but we both know it would not solve much. So what is it you truly want?"

"To leave..." you weakly announced, watching as Sukuna gradually approached before stopping in his footsteps.

"Well then, Little Flower, you have gathered yourself and all your companions just in time, I was ready to announce our departure from this village. You get what you want, righ-"

"That's not what I want." you interrupted.

Sukuna was silent, his brow twitching in irritation as he stared at you, stopping mid-stride.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want the offer you gave me back on the table?" you quickly responded.

"And what offer would you be referring to, Little Flower?"

"On my very first inspection with my twins, you offered me to kill everyone in this room– I want to change my answer."

Your husband chuckled, "Do you not think the circumstances have changed a little, my dear? I gave you that option years ago, what makes you think that is something I am still willing to offer?"

"Because you love me..."

"Now you are willing to embrace that love?"

"Only if you do this one last thing for me. I will let you love me until my last mortal days, and me in return, just as long as everyone in this room dies."

A sly smirk, "As you wish, Little Flow-"

"By my hands!" you interjected.

Delight was an expression that Sukuna could not hold back at those words.

"It's a deal, Y/n."

"Perfect."

With those words sealing the pact, you took no further wait in your next actions. You ignored all the shouts and screams of those who wished to live, ridding yourself of whatever empathy you once had– you had to admit, it made things a lot easier when setting the room ablaze. Hearing their screams of agony and pain was a lot easier when you managed to wash out the humanity within you.

You could only feel relief after hearing all the shrieks and wails die out into nothing but silence. The room was filled with nothing but fire, bone, and ashes, the smell of burning flesh was prominent; however, that did not stop him from approaching you.

"I love you, Little Flower." Sukuna proclaimed, bringing his forehead to yours before softly kissing you.

He pulled away to look into your eyes, admiring them momentarily before smiling softly. Some may have mistaken it for a look of endearment, but it was a look of satisfaction. He had successfully taken your pride, dignity, and hope– he had taken all of you.

"I love you too."

And because you had no pride, dignity, or hope, left to hold on to...

It made it so much easier to bring that poison-coated dagger to your flesh and slit your belly.

For Sukuna everything went in slow motion, immediately swatting the dagger from your hand to the ground before cupping your wound, blood covering his hand in seconds. The desperate individual tried using his reverse curse technique to revert the damage, but it was pointless as you were resisting. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt genuine fear as he watched you slowly slip away from reality. And as everything started to play back to speed, Sukuna had a realization.

"Where is our daughter?!" The four-armed monstrosity yelled upon notice of your empty arms, continuing at attempts to stop your bleeding with little success.

Your smile made his heart drop.

"Gone." you sputtered, blood slipping from your cooling lips before going completely limp.

"...Gone where? Little Flower..."

"Little Flower!"

"LITTLE FLOWER, ANSWER ME!"

"Y/N!!!!!!!!"

You upheld your deal...you loved him for your last mortal days, it just so happened that day was seconds into a day, and as Sukuna sat there holding your motionless form, he could not have regretted anything more in his life. Making that deal was the best thing to happen in your life because in the end...

...You won the game of Survival.

And you hoped that your daughter could one day do the same.

Until the epilogue yall... (｀∀´)Ψ

Taglist:

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya@pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident @fourcefulcupid @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @esposadomd @ali2426 @anmath @yazzzmints @lovingnahida @sincerest-one @rosemaydone321 @j0dios @k-ki3rd @maki-zenin1944 @shadowywizardarcade @ae-mius @xiangping-28 @loaves4me @aloraaaxcrystalzx

#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fanfic #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna #tw stockholm syndrome #tw death mention #tw dead body #tw suggestive #tw child murder #tw sui talk #tw arguing #tw body horror #tw g0re #tw grief #tw sucidal ideation #tw pregnancy #tw postpartum depression #tw graphic #tw blood #tw death #tw dubcon #tw noncon

[4ft10tvlandfangirl]

Timestamp on this is about an hour ago. I'm seeing reports that a few are using roaming SIM cards so a few things are getting out.

Please don't turn away from this. A lot of horrible things are happening with the support of western powers. I'm ashamed to say my country didn't even vote today, didn't even have the balls to admit that we are in the USA's pocket so we have to stay silent on genocide.

I can't stay silent and I'm begging you all not to stay silent. Speak, share, just something.

Gaza and the West Bank need a CEASEFIRE NOW!

Free Palestine 🇵🇸

#Gaza #gaza blackout #free gaza #free palestine #Palestine #pray for palestine #tw graphic #air strikes #tw injury #israel is a terrorist state #gaza under attack #gazaunderfire #gaza genocide #war crimes #crimes against humanity #ceasefire #ceasefire now #human rights #endisraelsgenocide #israeli war crimes

[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.

#cw death #cw mention of death #cw body horror #cw: death #cw: body horror #cw: mention of death #starbstalks #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #tw death #tw graphic #tw mention of death #tw body horror #tw: body horror #tw: death #tw: mention of death #tw: graphic

[onejellyfishplease]

SnapDonnie, Containment Breach, Part 4

(First) (Prev)

:D

... Well that's the end of the cold open episode!! for more, please see the masterpost

I hope you all enjoyed this little dally into horror, I know I did!

(Masterpost)

#snapdonnie #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt leo #tw violence #tw blood #tw needles #cw needles #cw blood #cw violence #tw graphic #tw gore #cw gore #tw cannabalism #just a lil #tw dismemberment #tw violent imagery

[malt-o-meat]

song “i wish that i could wear hats” by brian david gilbert

this took. like 48 hours. and also 3 months to get back to.

#blorbo from my shows #my art #homestuck #dirk strider #tw flashing lights #tw flashing #tw graphic #dave strider #bro strider #brian david gilbert #homestuck animatic #if it isnt clear #dirk and dave and by proxy the rest of the strilondes are black in this #because i couldn’t figure out dirks hair and this made more sense #plus fuck hussie #and their idea that the kids arent black #so thats why #this has been rolling around in my brain for forever

[moonlayl]

They told them to flee to the south. And when they tried to flee to the south tried, they got killed on their way there. 8 children.

They were slaughtered. This is what Israel’s doing in the name of “self defence”.

This is what y’all are justifying when you say “we’ll they warned them! Hamas needs to be destroyed! If they didn’t wanna due they should’ve evacuated!”

Evacuate to where? They get bombed if they stay out, they get bombed heading to the area Israel literally told them to go, they get bombed in that area, they get bombed by the border, they get bombed in refugee camps, and they get bombed when seeking refuge in a hospital, AND they have no way of leaving Gaza. Where are they supposed to go? And what on earth could justify THIS?

Has humanity collectively lost its damn mind? How can you NOT see this for the genocide that it is??

⚠️ graphic content

#I can’t stop crying #tw child death #tw graphic #graphic violence #free palestine #Palestine #Israel #israel is a terrorist state #free gaza #gaza #gaza under attack #genocide #occupation #current events #important #ya Allah protect them #May they reach firdous Al a3la ya Rab. #انت كريم يا رب

[wackytheorist]

In a poetic mood today but the angst and bittersweet potential of bad's corpse?

Imagine a beautiful house that you live in! Now imagine a bit further away, only barely in eye site, you never really thought about it much but now.... Imagine sitting with the flowers is the rotting corpse of your father who has been missing for 4(?) days.

You've been worried about him and he was always in your vision, hidden.

I believe BBH's corpse area doesn't smell like rot, it smells quite sweet actually, lavender disguises the odder of a corpse quite easily. There is lavender everywhere, they tends to the corpse like an open casket.

The disfigured bits due to radiation were the perfect home to fungi, mushrooms sprouted from his body. Vultures never preyed on him, they knew better than to drink "demon blood" but due to that his body was decomposing slowly.

His hands are in a fist, one stretched out and the other relaxed. His last moments were in panic after all! His eyes were ones that understood and accepted his fate, after all he knew what was to come for 6 months. They had a bit of light in them, glowing in the night when fireflies come to rest on him.

He is one with the lavenders, peacefully laying as his children continue to grief.

#qsmp #tw corpse #tw graphic #cw gore #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp writing #badboyhalo qsmo #q!bbh #q!badboyhalo #qsmp bbh #writing #qsmp headcannon #(not a fanfiction) #just a poetic descripition on how I think bads corpse looks like

[thebearme]

Olimin comic [WARNING GRAPHIC]

#tw graphic #tw corpse #tw angst #pikmin #pikmin 4 #pikmin fanart #pikmin olimar #captain olimar #olimar pikmin #olimin #ok it might not be that graphic but still going to give a heads-up

[sorcerous-caress]

Dead men's thrones | Minthara

[ Dark content, descriptions of gore, choking, smut, gender ambiguous reader, after moonrise fight]

[ dark urge Reader ]

In a way, you thought, this scene did look familiar. 

The same cold stone walls unburdened by the soft lighting of the candle flames, the same rows of wooden pews lining up from the entrance. Several gods had come and gone long ago, giving a resemblance of a purpose to the cathedral and religious imagery that Ketheric adorned his throne room with.

It was exactly like the first day you took a step here, the first time you really saw her truly desperate, the way they relished in breaking her. Sadistic hearts beating at the sight of a powerful drow woman almost falling to her knees.

There was nothing you wanted to do more than to bathe in their blood at that moment, only then will whatever filth they dragged Minthara into be cleansed.

And yet, when you look at her in this moment, the stone throne does suit her much more than it did for Ketheric.

Adjusting your position on her lap, you took a good look at the very put together women below you. She was whole again. It was you who pulled her over the edge, you who's path was littered with the corpses of both the innocent and the guilty, sacrifices for her sake. Be it innocent tieflings or the chosen of Myrkul.

Wrapping your arms around her neck, you leaned into her even more. Wanting to feel more of her, smell more and taste more. 

With a slow drag of your tongue against the side of her neck, you bit down on the spider web tattoo that marked it. And to think you almost gave in to the urge to snap her neck back during your first time together.

Minthara's hand took a hold of the nape of your neck, pushing you further into her as if to encourage you to bite deeper.

She never shied away from your teeth or claws, in fact she seemed delighted. Maybe because she knew even a feral dog will stay loyal to their mistress. Or maybe it was the pleasure she took in disciplining you, getting you to obey and behave, but only to her.

Power and authority suited her, it was in her blood from the moment she was born as a possible matron for the Baerne house. It's so deeply engraved inside her that it might as well be a part of her.

She thinks she is incomplete without it, and so you'd gather all the power in the world at her feet like any loyal dog should.

Pulling away from her neck, you met her crimson eyes with your hunger filled ones. Moving your hips against her thighs, wanting her to touch you, finger you, fuck you, choke you, stab you and even murder you right here and now. To your holes filled brain, every option seemed even more arousing than the last.

You were burning too hot, the primal urge inside you tearing at the seams of your brain and threatening to pour out in a parade of gore and sex.

Maybe she sensed that, she was always exceptionally good at reading people, too good at seeing through you. 

The same hand on your nape guided you back to her, anchoring you amidst the raging river of bloodlust just like you anchored her amidst that storm in her brain merely a few weeks ago. 

Her delicate lips met yours, slowly giving you a taste of what's to come. She took her time as she kissed you with deep passion, a controlled calm pace to match your hungry desperate one.

Your noises echoed through the empty room, the two of you were the only souls left in the entire tower.

The more she kissed you the quieter these voices became, the calmer the river's stream turned. How expertly she stole the lead from you and made you melt on her lap, how the taste of her lips will be the only thing you'd be able to remember on your deathbed.

Would she be next to you then? Or will her toll come before yours. 

You hoped that the thought of death stealing you away from her would fill her with jealousy, that the envy at seeing her favourite pet be taken would be enough to convince her to take your life herself.

A shiver ran up your spine at the idea, heat pooling between your legs as you kept seeking relief with your movement on her lap. If you had no choice but to go out, then parting with this world through her hands was your catharsis.

Her other hand spread your legs on top of her even more, fingers pressing against your lower stomach and slightly pushing your needy insides against each other. Trailing lower and lower at an agonising pace, feather light touches teasing you and toying with you.

It was getting harder to contain yourself, leaking through your clothes and dripping against the stone seat of the throne. Each of your legs were hooked on an armrest to keep you open for her. 

Yes, this was definitely a much better use for this throne than whatever Ketheric was doing with it. It was meant for Minthara to sit on as she made a leaking mess out of you, one that'd surely stain it.

Part of you would kill to see the look on his face now, alas corpses weren't known for being very animated. 

But maybe if you hadn't killed him so fast, dragging him in front of his own throne as he watched the mad dog and their mistress indulge in various acts of blasphemy. 

Tainting the paladin's holy room of prayer and worship.

Your cum and his guts, that was the perfect decoration this room was missing.

Breaking the kiss, Minthara eyed your clothes before looking at you expectantly. Removing yourself from her lap as you stood up, you stripped off everything that might get in her way, completely naked and defenceless as you sat back on her lap. 

Her own clothes and leather armour were freshly out of battle, blood covering it and latching onto your skin the more you pressed your naked body to her.

It was intoxicating.

A satisfied smile painted her lips at your obedience. Her hands start feeling up your body, squeezing your thighs, feeling the inside of your hips, teasing the sides below your waist.

She was focused on you, eyes memorising every curve and blemish on your skin. 

Reaching your chest, she toyed with your nipples and squeezed, making them even more sensitive the longer she went on. 

Arching your back, your hands trembled with each flick and pull. Breath getting heavier as she unravelled you completely with a simple fondling to your chest.

More wetness collected onto the stone below, maybe if she leaned over and bit them you'd actually finish completely untouched. 

But her hands retracted, leaving you a panting mess, much to her satisfaction and amusement

She was getting off on this, you knew, nothing got her pussy wetter than her power over you. Nothing made her ache more than having you naked at her mercy while she held the end of the leash to your collar.

Electric pleasure shot through you as you felt her touch between your spread legs, her hand soaking in your mess as it moved against you.

You moved your hips to meet her rhythm, grinding against her hand.

Nothing else mattered in that moment, nothing but the way pure pleasure numbed your brain and quieted your thoughts. Her fingers felt just right as they soothed the fire in your core. 

You felt like you never wanted her to stop, even after you become an overstimulated sensitive mumbling mess, even if  Bhaal himself came through these doors right now, you wouldn't want her to stop. Gods be damned.

The sound of your obscene moaning filled the room, not a grain of shame in your mind as you let Minthara know how much you enjoyed this.

You were getting closer. 

You were getting closer and she is still fully clothed.

You were getting closer and the fresh dead bodies awaited just outside, in the halls.

You were getting closer and there was still a tadpole in your brain, squirming and threatening to burst tentacles through your skull at any given second.

You were getting closer and the shadow curse still loomed outside these walls, threatening to swallow the two of you and marking this throne as your gravestone.

You were getting closer and still can't fucking remember anything besides your own cursed name since the second you awoke on top that damn ship.

Her hand sped up, your vision blurred.

The holes in your brain, who did it, who the fuck did this to you.

Your moans got louder.

You're almost there, pain and pleasure mixing together, intoxicating agony, the white flames from the depths of Stygia itself bubbling through your veins as the burning ice of Cania bled down your throat and spread through your lungs.

Her other hand took a hold of your throat, never stopping her relentless pace.

You're going to cave their skulls in, you're going to peel off their flesh and sew it back on. You'll drown them in a puddle of their own piss and blood, you'll pluck out their eyes and force them to swallow it. You'll stomp out their face until none of their features are recognisable anymore. You'll perform all kinds of vivisections on them as they watch their organs extracted before choking them with their own colon.

There's a burning in your lungs, you're out of air.

Her grip on your throat tightens.

You've never felt greater pleasure before.

With a final stutter to your hips, your orgasm sparks through you like an explosion, tensing every muscle in your body as it sets it on fire, melting your bones and blackening your vision.

Minthara releases your throat.

Her wet fingers press against your lips, after you regain your breath, covered in your own cum.

You lick them clean, tasting yourself mixed with traces of blood.

Guiding you by the nape again, she kisses you softly. Putting you back together after completely tearing you apart, making you whole again in her embrace.

#♡minthara #minthara x reader #bg3 x reader #minthara baenre #♡Smut #bg3 smut #smut #♡angst #angst #tw dark content #tw graphic #tw choking #♡dark content #Dark urge reader #♡Durge reader #Minthara x dark urge

[storeecbrcod]

Whump Drabble/fic where Soap suffers realistic trauma from MWIII (though we’ll put a bandaid over his ultimate fate lol).

TW: explicit medical injuries and treatments, angst with a bittersweet ending, will likely be inaccurate in some way seeing as I’m not a medical professional nor a trauma doctor/nurse (I’m just a girl fr), Ghoap✨

Ghost had been wrangling with this worm of guilt that chewed at his heart, something that he thought he had grown accustom to over his life but was now back with a vengeance. When he wasn’t clawing his skin from his bone to try and find the fucker, he was with Johnny.

He had thought the hardest part of this would be overcoming that guilt, but he quickly realised the coma was much worse.

He’d followed soldiers after they’d suffered significant GSW trauma before, of course he had. He’d caused many himself, knew how to engineer one that would guarantee a kill, knew how impossible it seemed yet possible it was to survive a shot to the temple, nearly point blank. He knew what recovery entailed.

Yet, he didn’t know what recovery entailed when it made the soft birdsong in his life silent and still.

He was a sniper and a stealth operative, he was used to sitting in one place during recon, unmoving and hyperaware for hours on end, days or weeks or even months at a time.

Yet, he wasn’t used to searching for a heartbeat and willing it to keep going rather than aiming to stop it.

He’d never felt so restless in his life, cataloguing every detail of the man on the bed in front of him every day. He watched as bandages turned red, watched as the side of his head swelled and bruised and went so black it was like staring into space. He read the words ‘Pressure relief DO NOT TOUCH’ scribbled on the vacuum-sealed, open wound on the back of a window in his skull over and over and over until swelling bowed the dressing and the words didn’t make sense.

He watched air be pumped through tubes down his throat when his brain couldn’t do it for him, and saw urine pool in a bag next to the bed. He watched nurses exercise his body, watched the shut door as they cleaned him up with sponge baths. He’d watched the codes be called and watched from outside the room as ribs were broken in the frail, pale body that was a fifth of the size it used to be and void of the usual tan.

He watched it all. He watched everything.

Just watched.

He knew people in comas could often hear what’s going on around them, he’d learnt that when he rushed Tommy to the hospital after a particularly bad overdose. But it was like his lips were fused together, vocal cords totally lax and frozen. He couldn’t speak, wouldn’t speak, scared of what would tumble from his tongue and leave in the open when Johnny couldn’t even respond.

Spontaneity was a common tactic on the field, as much as they tried to negate it. It wasn’t very often a plan went totally right. Damage control and problem solving were heavily exercised skills that Ghost possessed.

But he couldn’t solve this. He could wish death on Makarov as much as he did before, he could research the best trauma surgeons and doctors and nurses and therapists in the UK, he could monitor Johnny’s condition obsessively all he wants, but he can’t fix it. He can’t heal the snapped neurons, he can’t dig into Johnny’s veins and fish out the blood clots that continued to threaten his life or limbs. He couldn’t crawl into John’s skin and nest there in his warmth, protect him and feel protected. He couldn’t.

Helplessness wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time, but he’d much rather be clawing out of his own grave as ravens cawed again than have to put John in one, still and unable to dig to join Simon.

So when Soap eventually does wake, it felt like an endless tunnel came to an abrupt end with blinding lights and trees, waiting for birds to call their greeting.

He made his own greeting, his imposing yet solid presence next to the bed as tubes were removed and the body was propped up and assurances were given. He was eager, after 4 months of pure silence about to be filled with music again.

But it was off key.

“Where am I?”

“Hospital, Johnny.”

A furrowed brow.

“Who th’ fuck ah you?”

Simon thought that the worst part of all this was the coma, the silence, but he was wrong. It was the recovery.

Simon had learnt that the temple was the perfect place to locate the parts of the brain responsible to speech, decision making and rationalisation, and memory. He’d learnt how irritating it could be re-explaining the same thing over and over every few minutes could be, he learnt of the shame that followed the irritation knowing that Soap couldn’t help it. He learnt how much it hurt to be escorted out of the room for routine check-ups because the once unrelenting trust between him and Johnny had relented to the shadow of unknown.

He had learnt that nothing is permanent.

His visits became less and less. Unsurprisingly, John (not Johnny; only his family calls him that) didn’t want a mountain of a man, full of angst and anger and sadness, haunting the corners of his hospital room. He only wanted his ma and pa, and as much as it hurt Ghost, he respected his wishes.

For months, Ghost isolated himself, got lost in his work. For months, John worked at recovery, regaining his smart mouth and witty remarks, slowly relearning his impulse control that wasn’t really as much control as it was pure will power to restrain himself.

For months, Ghost sought birdcall in the gurgles of his enemies’ throats, revelling in the garbled melodies that never matched the one he remembered, but breaking off just the same.

Beware the mockingbird, Johnny would say.

Yet here he was, searching for a blue jay’s song among the mouths of the unknown and wicked.

He got so used to the warped record that he often found himself forgetting what the original chords sounded like when they reverberated through his chest, right to his heart. Was it sweet, like the pull of a blade through supple skin? Was it explosive, like the crack of body armour in the hap between Kevlar plates? Was it deafening, like the rounds discharged that aimed for his heart?

Was it quiet, like an unmonitored heartbeat over nighttime?

Was it gentle, like the lingering touches left on his waist that still burned his skin months later?

Was it still there?

“Simon.”

Ghost blinked, looking up to Price. He hadn’t realised that he’d let his gaze wander, his mind even further.

“You need to go see him.”

There’s a cry of a broken-winged dove in his ears, overshadowed by the croon of a raven. Stability and chaos, broken and mended in one.

It hurt his head.

“He asked me to leave,” Ghost reasoned.

“When he first woke up, yes,” Price conceded. “Back when you honoured your callsign very proficiently, mind you.”

A scoff erupted from Ghost’s chest, under his crossed arms.

“Look, Simon,” Price sighed, leaning back against his desk, blue eyes of cobalt melting the sulphurous gleam of Ghost’s brown ones. “He remembers, now. Remembered Gaz in a matter of moments, recognised me soon after.”

There was a pause, pregnant and heavy as Ghost kept his mouth shut, luring Price to continue. Daring him to try and push past the raven’s sharp talons to help the dove.

A hand reaches towards the nest.

“It might be time for you to try again.”

The raven hesitates.

“The hospital staff spoke to us about how helping Soap’s brain reconnect the broken neural pathways from the trauma could help him recover faster.”

The dove coos.

“Please, Simon.”

Outstretched fingers.

“Fuck, I can’t watch two of my men crumble at the same time.”

A flurry of feathers, the screeching of breath through gravel, rubber on road, nails on chalkboard. It’s overwhelming, sending his heart into overdrive and rationality to the wind.

“Fuck you, Price.”

Yeah, the recovery hurt the most.

Looking in the mirror during recovery, specifically, hurt like a bitch. Scars that pulled over once unmarred skin, hollow cheeks where laughter and smiles once grew, gnarled soul and memories where purity reigned. It was all thrown back at you, as insistent as a murder of crows at your doorstep.

He could see the way John, not Johnny, sifted through his memory like a locked filing cabinet while trying to place Ghost, desperately searching through the unlocked drawers over and over for the file he needed, all while the closed drawers taunted him with kept knowledge. It was all right there, yet he couldn’t access it.

“Ghost, aye?”

It’s met with a grunt. Silence stretches out, black feathers shielding the delicate white ones.

“And ye were my… lieutenant?”

He was going off of information fed to him, his brow furrowed in concentration, still trying to place Ghost. He couldn’t tell where the darkness around him ended and Ghost started, obscured by inky blackness.

He doesn’t sound right. It’s not the same teasing, playful lilt that danced in the air. It’s not pronounced the same, not said the same, it’s not the same.

It’s some… imposter. Something that looks the same and smells the same and tastes the fucking same, but it’s different.

A cuckoo’s egg in a nest.

“Price ‘nd Kyle were telling me some stories about ye,” John noted with a small smile. “You’re quite the stunner out field, ‘pparently.”

It’s an olive branch, a bridge built half way. An offering to meet in the middle, to talk and revere and remember.

But Ghost didn’t remember, and neither did John.

Recovery never ends, you know. It goes on and on and on, haunting your nerves and your wits for the rest of your life. You’ll always have some sort of ache or pain, a reminder of what happened to you.

John never ended up recovering fully. He was medically discharged, left to nurse a broken cage and a silent heart. He did well, considering; it wasn’t hard when you didn’t remember the song that beat with the rhythm of your heart.

He still joined the team on outings sometimes, staying in a local hotel when everyone was back at base. They’d have a meal, or go to a pub, catch up. Re-establish connections once lost.

Ghost rarely joined them, to save his own torment.

But of course, he had to honour the dove occasionally. Just as he was now, sitting across the table from the lively Scot and with his two other teammates, Gaz and Price. Beers had been served, a single glass of warm whiskey for cold hands. The table was lively, fun, rambunctious in all the best ways.

The cuckoo had hatched in earnest, Ghost found.

It was easy to see the progress John had made, loud and bright and cheeky like he used to be. Demanding of attention, hungry for every scrap of past he could swallow to try and heal old wounds. Listening to stories about himself and his old crew when they were all together, as if it was another version of him. The right version of him.

And by god, were the scraps from Simon the most nourishing of all.

John’s mouth felt desert dry, cactus dust caking his tongue as he bit desperately into every glimpse of Ghost’s bare face, lips wrapped around glass and breath smelling of potent, liquid gold with every word. It hurt, it tasted awful, and it was impossible to rid himself from. It hurt so good, feeling his heart pull and swell in ways he didn’t understand anymore.

He felt like glass, he felt like the air, he felt like expensive liquor, he felt like it was meant to be him in their places, held and touched and breathed and consumed. It was overwhelming, leaving him starstruck and staring, a flutter in his chest reawakened.

Ghost’s own nest was erupting with displaced wind, white wings desperate to spread and carry it away, escape the raven’s hold. Right now, meeting Johnny’s eyes, he realised that the time spent captive in the nest had only lent to the dove’s healing. It was stronger now, bigger and fiercer and so, so hopeful.

The cuckoo cackled, loud and leering. Mockingbirds whistled and cawed, off key and haunting. The raven keened, shaken and damning.

The white dove flew.

The blue jay sang above the bramble.

And the two nested together, among the dappled branches of a birchwood tree, cool and calm and surrounded by colour year round. Above the bramble of the past.

Ghost had learnt one thing over everything else; a lesson that was recurrent in his life, stubborn and overwhelming. It swallowed him in waves, crashing him into the sand bank below.

Nothing is ever, ever permanent.

Admittedly, his retirement had gone well. The down payment was easy, the renovations smooth, moving in a sigh of relief. They’d have their harder days, where getting out of bed and walking without aid was difficult for Johnny, but they’d have their good days, too. They’d have their days where they’d go for walks across the countryside, watch as their service dog bounced around through tall grass, tongue lolling from her mouth.

They’d have quiet days, relaxing days. They’d have loud days, rough days.

But they were all days where the sun would rise and then set.

They were all days when the blue jay sang.

Simon had forgotten silence. His life was filled with sound, and love, and content.

Maybe… maybe the worst part of it all was loss.

Maybe the worst part of it all was the unmoving body, still warm.

Maybe the worst part of it all was the frantic screams that drowned out the silence.

Maybe the worst part of it all was the silence.

Silence.

A/N: bandaids don’t last forever

Idk if this is coherent or cohesive or any other co-words meaning readable and enjoyable. Maybe I’ll rewrite it, who knows. Probably not, I can’t post consistently as it is lmao

#tw mcd #tw medical procedures #tw violence #tw graphic #idk what this is #enjoy #I hope #there’s so much symbolism/metaphor in here it’s crazy #it probably doesn’t make sense #call of duty #cod mw ghost #call of duty modern warfare #cod fanfic #ghoap #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #angst #whump

[u5an5]

only on tumblr will you have fanart of a thing that looks like cross between a skinned ostrich and a hermit crab with pile of garbage and skulls instead of its shell and vagina full of teath instead of its beak or an eyeless (they are gouged out) thing that looks like it's skin was taken from misfigured week-old dead body after it was ran over and repeatedly experienced bungee jumping with a rope around its neck that has bloated stomach and is at least three sizes too big and was strung up onto skeleton of some kind of quadraped animal that was also ran over, that was trying to behave like a human and not only will it be appearance-wise almost exactly what I just described, but also see multiple people making them wear maid outfit or say that they def would whimper and are their babygirl and be pretty sure they are not joking

#dead by daylight #dbd #the dredge #dbd dredge #the unknown #dbd the unknown #tw graphic

[malt-o-meat]

bring in the cadaver sniffing dog

#tw graphic #tw death #homestuck #dave strider #jade harley #jadedave #davejade #my art

[brysbeddixt]

I think the reason Adam’s death hurts me the most is that from the moment the key goes down the drain, he’s doomed. He technically won his game and survived, he even admits, screaming, “I want to live!” But from the moment Lawrence gets the second phone call from Zep, the second the timer runs out and he wins, things get so absolutely irrevocably fucked sideways that he dies anyway.

His last 20 minutes of relatively unharmed, not-actively-dying life are so ridiculously traumatizing on their own. You hear a mother and her daughter get brutalized and possibly killed over the phone while the father can only listen. The father, whose name you know and you know he loves his daughter, that’s about the only damn things you know for certain about him.

And then you watch this man, who to be fair is kind of an asshole but has also had MULTIPLE chances to kill you and hasn’t legitimately considered a single one, SAW THROUGH HIS ENTIRE FUCKING FOOT while you can only watch and scream.

And then he shoots you, while you beg for your life but again you can’t move. And you aren’t dead, but now somebody’s trying to kill him, and it doesn’t matter that he just shot you; you don’t want to watch him die. So you, who have never seen a dead body in your life before today, bash his attacker’s head in with a toilet tank lid.

And then the man who has been your only constant through hours of hell, who you can finally touch, is crawling away and leaving you chained to a pipe, having just been shot.

And just as a final ‘fuck you,’ the man responsible for all of it - who has been in the room with you the entire time - gets up off the floor like a fucking zombie, drops the bomb on you that you were doomed from the very beginning, and leaves you screaming in the dark with no way out.

And you die there. The tape lied. It was always going to be the room you died in, there was never a choice.

#if they ever make another Saw then I don’t want Adam to be alive #I want a scene of his vengeful fucking ghost haunting the shit out of Hoffman in that bathroom #saw 2004 #adam faulkner stanheight #tw graphic

[artistsfuneral]

(this contains graphic description of violence and is absolutely skippable if that's not your thing!)

the VOTE and FANART are UNDER the cut because of this

✨🌿🌼✨

The Road to Kaer Morhen - p.6

“Gentlemen,” he greeted the soldiers with a face-splitting grin and a courtly bow of his head. “It appears, there has been a misunderstanding.” The men stared at him, unmoving, tense. Behind them Aiden was still caught in his rage, not able to recognize Jaskier by his scent or sound anymore. “Why don't we all just sit down and talk about this like civilized people? I'm sure we can find some common ground.”

The bard's smile never wavering, he took a step forward only for the five soldiers to draw their swords at him. Steel for humans, Geralt's voice echoed in his thoughts as if any of that mattered. Silver had never stopped Jaskier before. Holding his hands up in what he knew was commonly understood as a surrendering gesture, he cocked his head to the side, watching as the archer reached behind his back for his bow. “How about some tea? I have this lovely mixture of zerrikanian spices that goes great with the apples you can buy around here. Oh, that reminds me! I wanted to keep some for apple cakes! Which would mean we can't use all of the tea, but surely some of you would prefer chamomile anyways, there's always one person that-”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Jaskier's mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth. His initial smile had fallen off his lips as he stared at the man that had interrupted him with pure bewilderment. “Well that was incredibly rude. You are not getting any tea from me now.”

“I told you to shut the fuck up!” The same soldier as before yelled at him, spitting towards Jaskier's boots as he did so. The bard pulled a face in disgust.

“In the name of the crown of Redania, you are under arrest to be executed in the capitol!”

The forest was quiet around them, silent except for the wind in the trees and the metallic sound of the redanian soldiers readying themselves to arrest him.

The bard stared at them unblinking.

“Drop to your knees, this instance!” another soldier ordered harshly.

Jaskier's head fell back as he started to cackle loudly. The sound coming from deep inside his chest and forcing way through his throat like creature of its own.

“I don't think so, darling.”

Jaskier took a deep breath and exhaled it as the world slowed down around him.

They had hurt Aiden. Five soldiers in front of him, despicable creatures, faceless and worthless. Throats easily accessible from above. Exposed ankles. An unprotected back.

The Archer; almost too easy to kill.

A sixth trying to sneak up on him from behind. Useless.

His pack and lute slipped from his shoulders. The dull thumb cushioned by the forest floor. Aiden cried out in pain.

Jaskier inhaled and spun his body around, faster than any witcher ever could. His short sword was off his belt and in the man's eye socked before the soldier could even react. It popped with a horrible squelching sound that turned into the cracking of bones as the blade dove deeper and deeper into his skull. He was dead before his scream could form in his chest. Jaskier took hold of the man's throat and pulled his sword out, blood and chunky bits of soft tissue being forced out of his skull. He had been the one that made fun of the scar in Aiden's beautiful face. Now his body dropped to the ground lifelessly. Jaskier released his breath.

An arrow seared past his head and struck the bark of a tree not an arms length behind Jaskier. The archer's face lost all color as he watched the body of his fellow soldier hit the dirt floor. Freezing blue eyes fixated on their new target. Pulling a knife out of his blood splattered sleeves, Jaskier mourned the death of his favorite teal doublet and threw the barbed knife at the archer. He dropped to his knees like a puppet who's strings had been cut, cradling his stomach as a fearful scream broke from his lips. They always screamed in the end.

Running towards the next soldier, Jaskier couldn't help but to roll his eyes when the archer pulled the knife out, gutting himself in the progress.

The horses whinnied in panic, fighting against the reigns. Aiden snarled.

The soldier closest to him raised his arm high above his head, ready to strike down at the bard. Jaskier scoffed. Angling his own short sword upwards he closed the distance between himself and the other man and stabbed him right into the pit of his raised arm. The tip of his blade tore through flesh and bone until it hit the underside of the soldier's shoulder guard. Jaskier's opponent let out a primal howl as he dropped his sword to the slowly reddening forest floor. The bard ignored him, jerking his blade back out with brute force and kicking him to the side, eyes already focused on the next one.

Their swords met, loudly crashing against each other. The screeching sound of steel carving into steel seemed dull to Jaskier's ears. He inhaled and the world slowed down once more. He easily parried the next attack, taking hold of the man's elbow and twisting both of their bodies around, so they were chest to chest. As a result the redanian soldier that had tried to surprise Jaskier from behind found his sword stuck in his comrade's back. Jaskier slit the wounded's throat without hesitating and shoved his dying body towards the other soldier who easily crumbled under the unexpected weight. Mercilessly, the bard jumped on top of the fallen man's chest, breaking his rips and crushing his organs within seconds. This one had dislocated both of Aiden's shoulders for fun. Now he was choking on his own blood. He deserved worse.

Jaskier snarled and took hold of a stray sword, ramming it into a whimpering mess of human flesh on the ground. Two left. His face-splitting smile was back.

Aiden woke to the familiar taste of swallow in his mouth and a pounding headache. His first attempt to open his eyes failed miserably, the midday sun so bright it hurt enough to make him hiss out loud. It still hurt like a bitch the second time, but Aiden was now prepared for it and could work through the awful sensation, thinning his pupils through sheer will.

He found himself lying on the floor, free of chains and rope and with his wounds slowly mending themselves together thanks to the potion. The bard was kneeling right next to him and when he noticed that the Cat had woken up, his cornflower blue eyes softened with relief. During the last month Aiden had been in this exact same situation often enough that he could call it familiar. And yet something in the back of his mind was gnawing at him like a feral dog. “Thank goodness, you're awake again. You honestly had me worried there for a moment! Didn't I explicitly told you not to get caught?” Jaskier scolded him lightheartedly as he helped him to sit up. Nothing about the bard's gentle scent or the typically playful behavior warned the witcher about what he was moments away from seeing.

Aiden's breath caught in his throat as he took in the fucking massacre around them.

The corpses of the redanian soldiers that had overpowered him a few hours earlier littered the floor, broken and mangled as if they'd been mauled by a full pack of werewolves. The stench of blood and death was overwhelming and yet, Jaskier was completely unharmed.

His hands and face were covered in drying blood, as well as his boots and the rest of his clothes, but the bard himself had not a single scratch on him as far as Aiden could tell. “I thought about searching through the camp, see if I can find anything worthwhile, but I wanted to be here for you when you wake up. I hate waking up alone, but the troop leader had a sword that could possibly replace your broken one and hopefully we can find some spare clothes and other useful stuff. If we take their horses with us we can carry a bit more,” Jaskier babbled happily on, completely oblivious to the witcher's inner turmoil. “Not like they need the horses anymore,” he laughed.

Aiden grabbed him by the wrist, finger nails digging into Jaskier's blood-caked skin.

please like and reblog if you voted!

please tell me if you (don't) want to be tagged!

✨🌿🌼✨

@mirrorthoughts @dwintu @whump-der-it-is @beneficialfondue @sinfulpetgirlrd @chaoticfandomthot @fingons-rad-harp @basilikum7 @siriusly-the-best-bi @snailqueen42 @cowboybuttconnoisseur @reluctantbroodingdads @starlghtstarbrite @merthurmagic @wren-of-the-woods @araglas1989 @joestarlight @alaskawho @kore888 @toapoet @thehorrorandme @inanoldhousewrites @dinotree506 @gregre369 @life-as-a-gamergirl @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @singerin @cinary @dragongrowlings @thrive4good

currently 3 of you need to check their tag settings

side blogs cannot be properly tagged

#the witcher #witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #jaskier #witcher aiden #road to kaer morhen fic #canon typical violence #tw graphic #cw graphic #graphic descriptions of violence #cw blood #tw blood

[dxnna-noble]

could you imagine though if the earlier series of doctor who weren’t so family friendly, not in their subject matter, but in their depiction? specifically i’m talking about donna noble’s death in turn left.

cause, while maybe it’s done the way it is for some directorial purpose, it always strikes me somewhere in the back of my mind that donna is simply laying down, not a scratch on her, looking- out of context -unharmed.

could you imagine the dread that the viewer would feel if donna looked like someone who had just been hit by a truck that big and averages 25 tons? i understand why, but there would be this whole new horror to rose tyler walking up to a horribly splayed and broken donna and not having time to offer her comfort because she’s dying, yes, but she still needs her to take a message with her. a whole new heavy heavy weight to rose saying “i’m sorry”

#tw car crash #tw graphic #? #doctor who #donna noble #rose tyler #tenth doctor #turn left