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#tw violence mention

Into the Illusion (Coraline AU)

Oh, that shut her up. Maddie freezes instantly hearing this, her ‘eyes’ going wide with fear. That’s literally the worst case scenario for her: not due to Zeke, a close friend, being the one killing her; but due to her not having the guts to defend herself from him. 

'nonononononopleaseno’ These prayers swarming in her head. Seems her friends really were a weakness of hers, and a big one at that.


Your silence alone was enough to tell him that he just struck gold. “How do you think it should go? Maybe I could have one of them break all of your bones while the other lights you on fire? Oh! What if I had them fight eachother? Whoever wins gets the luxray of killing you! And maybe if I’m feeling generous, they can become my new puppet. What do you think?”

“Shut up.” Snatcher hissed, trying to keep some of his attention off of you.

“And maybe I’ll have my rats eat you alive.” He mumbled, glaring daggers at Snatcher.

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Into the Illusion (Coraline AU)

Maddie immediately tried to make a grab for Snatcher, but Ozzy was sadly quicker. She still tried to reach for him, only for Zeke to grab her arms and twist them around; holding them behind her back. 

Maddie tried to wriggle away, but Zeke’s grip stood strong turning them both around to face Beldam. She could hear Snatcher hissing next to her, a part of Maddie felt guilty for dragging the feline into this mess; she’d also accounted Zeke & Ozzy’s strange behavior to their missing amulets, but where have they gone? 

Maddie’s gaze fell to the floor rather than straight ahead. She didn’t want to look at Beldam, she didn’t need to; She could already picture the smug expression on his face.


He seemed to be a little annoyed by the lack of a reaction from you, but he forced his smile up anyways. “I hope you like what I’ve done with them, after all, it’s all thanks to you! Isn’t that nice? Without you I never would have gotten them to give themselves up so easily… And of course, you caught this pest.” He jabbed a finger at Snatcher, pulling it away when he snapped at him. “Honestly, I should be thanking you~” He clapped his hands, applauding you. “What should I do first, hm?.. Maybe skin one of them and wear them as a coat? They have excellent fur.” He mused, running his hand over Zeke’s fur.

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Pairings: None.

Word Count: 852 Words

Summary: Remus has to move on after Roman dies.

Warnings: Angst, Death Mention, Blood Mention, Violence Mention, Fighting Mention, Injury Mention, let me know if I should tag something else.

Notes: Based on this. This is my first song-fic, go easy on me.

The Next Right Thing

“Roman’s dead, Remus. We have to leave before she comes back for us.” Janus’ voice rang in his ears.

I’ve seen dark before, but not like this
This is cold, this is empty, this is numb
The life I knew is over, the lights are out
Hello, darkness, I’m ready to succumb

Their room is dark. Remus knows why. He can’t stand to see the empty bed so he’d rather stumble around the darkness. He can’t stand to see half-finished work and prized possessions perfectly placed in their specific arrangement that Roman last left them.

I follow you around, I always have
But you’ve gone to a place I cannot find

The hundreds of things he couldn’t bear to touch because it would ruin the work Roman did and destroy the only things left of him. He can’t help still crying, seeing vaguely the shape of Roman’s sash on the ground in front of him, blood still covering his hands from trying to save him.

This grief has a gravity, it pulls me down
But a tiny voice whispers in my mind

Every intrusive thought screamed in his head that he should join his brother, he should go after her as well. Revenge. But he could barely get up. He couldn’t stand the idea of doing anything but sit here, punishing himself with his own memories.

You are lost, hope is gone
But you must go on
And do the next right thing

Remus took a breath, staring at the sash. Far too bloody red for his liking, not when knowing the owner of the blood, knowing why it was there. Bloody white clothes and trying to hold his little brother’s chest, screaming echoed in his head.

Can there be a day beyond this night?
I don’t know anymore what is true
I can’t find my direction, I’m all alone
The only star that guided me was you

Roman needs him to be the Creativity now. Roman needs him to be stronger. Roman needs him. He grabbed the scarf, held it tight in whitening knuckles and bloody palms. This was his job now, he had to be King.

How to rise from the floor?
But it’s not you I’m rising for
Just do the next right thing
Take a step, step again
It is all that I can to do
The next right thing

Janus needed him or else he’d be fighting alone. He can’t lose him too. He can’t lose what he has left, he couldn’t bear it. He already lost Roman, he can’t lose the only other person to care about him. He forced himself from the floor, deep breaths. No more crying.

He flicked the lights witch, blinding himself but looked to the gold crown in its display case. King’s crown. It was faded at the edges. He’d already waited too long, he had to do this faster. Just looking at Roman’s empty bed made his heart ache and nearly made him collapse again. But he pushed himself over to the display case above the full length mirror, opening it and taking out their crown.

I won’t look too far ahead
It’s too much for me to take
But break it down to this next breath, this next step
This next choice is one that I can make

Remus saw the copper cape come into being, let the crown change him. Black turning grey and silver turning copper, green sash turning grey. King. He had to be King. Roman needed him to be King. He couldn’t stand to look at himself, hands still bloody.

He felt like he was drowning walking through the hallway to Logan’s room. Everything was too much. He couldn’t do this , but he had to. He knocked at the door, earning him a ragged-looking Logic, hair a tangled mess and clothes sloppily put on.

So I’ll walk through this night
Stumbling blindly toward the light
And do the next right thing
And, with it done, what comes then?

“Where’s Janus?” His voice was too scratchy for his liking.

“He already left at dawn.” Remus’ eyes blew wide and he dashed from the house, running blindly through the Monster’s Forest toward the field, shield bashing feral monsters from him, he could hear fighting. He could hear Janus running out of steam. He was so close.

The opening was around him in no time, trees parting to let him see Janus trying and failing to fight the dragon looming above him. A hand of claws went up and Janus tried to hit it with his crook, the wood splintering and snapping, claws connecting with Janus’ side and sending him backward toward the forest.

When it’s clear that everything will never be the same again
Then I’ll make the choice to hear that voice
And do the next right thing

Janus stopped hitting the ground, breathing heavy and his left arm, the one that held his crook, bleeding from impact. Remus pulled him away from the fire about to hit him, behind him, shield raised defensively against it, summoning battle axe. This was his fight. For Roman.

Taglist: @yeet-ceit

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Roman, a brand new stripper on his first night: Virge, Jan, how do you guys stay positive?

Virgil: My anxiety calms down whenever men will pay me just to exist.

Janus: I like dancing, the fact that I can get paid for it just makes it that much better.

Roman: And your confidence?

Virgil: The shoes.

Janus: The ability to stab a man to death with my shoes.

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⚔️ Characterization Hour : Vaas ⚔️

// It’s been a hot minute since I posted anything and I’m sorry for that. My motivation inexplicably tanked this week. I’m feeling a little better now so I’ll get around to my inbox and replies soon. In the meantime, I’ve been playing a lot of Far Cry 3 and analyzing the characters (both to pick up one or two more and specifically to study things for ship ideas and characterization of Vaas specifically).

// Mind the tags for trigger warnings. Far Cry 3 is dark as shit.

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Janus, hanging upside down on his dance pole: Remus, come here.

Remus: Yeah, babe?

Janus: *kisses him*

Remus: Hell yeah, I got a sexy Spider-Man kiss!

Janus: Help me down, I’m stuck.

Remus: Okay, babe. Don’t kick me this time. Not that I don’t like your shoes, I jus don’t like them implanted in my face. *holding him up by his back* Let go with your legs.

Janus: *lets Remus get him down and kisses him again when he’s back on the ground*

Remus: What a cutie of a boyfriend I got.

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Oh. He just.. Dove right out the window.. The bushes below them sprouted up to be a bit taller, catching him. If you were to look out at him, you’d notice that he had somehow managed to catch his beloved companion. And, after babbying it for a moment, his neck practically snapped when he turned to look at you, looking beyond upset. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that he knew he couldn’t kill you, he’d probably be up there stabbing you by now.

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I literally made a second blog just so I could ramble about books, welcome to the disaster everybody–

I’m thinking about Maedhros, once again(isn’t every Silm fan thinking about Maedhros, let’s be honest) and how amazing his character is even in a text that takes a folk tale style that lacks details. If there is one person that I think encapsulates how fascinating morality in Tolkien’s works is, it’s Maedhros. On one hand, we have a heroic character that could easily be considered a protagonist of the Silmarillion. He created the Union of Maedhros, he had good intentions and tirelessly worked towards the freedom of Middle-Earth. Even working under the constraints of the Oath, he still tried his best to minimize the damage. One thing I’ve never actually seen anyone mention before is that Maedhros tried to negotiate with Dior–which is, in itself, breaking the Oath. Dior took a Silmaril, and kept it for himself. “Whoso hideth, or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,” seems to fit that situation rather well, and so Maedhros should have just attacked. If Dior had agreed to the negotiations, Maedhros would have been letting someone go that the Oath mandated he kill. And of course everybody knows how he tried to find Elured and Elurin when Celegorm’s followers abandoned them to die.

But on the other hand(which Maedhros does not possess) we have a murderer. More than that, we have someone who attacked a refugee camp and drove an innocent woman to what was very likely a suicide attempt.

And they’re the same person! These things happen chronologically pretty close to each other in the grand scheme of the Silm, and there’s no dark turning point. Yes, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad happened, but Maedhros had already been a kinslayer before that. He had been a kinslayer before he had been captured by Morgoth. He’s an amazing example of how people can do both good and bad things, and how sometimes there’s not even a clear line between them. Was he good for helping Maglor take care of Elrond and Elros, or was he aiding in a kidnapping? Was the first kinslaying his fault, or can it be excused because of his ignorance of the true weight of his actions?

The lack of detail in the text means we can’t really tell what Maedhros’s true thoughts are, what Tolkien really intended. Was he supposed to be seen as a hero or a villain, or something in-between? Ultimately, I think he was just supposed to be someone so utterly human–even as an elf–that he mashes together a variety of archetypes he could have fit into and comes out not fitting into a single one properly.

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thomas hasn’t spoken about his  time in the military since he’s been back.  the subject had become a mine the club tip toed around  …  his mother  hasn’t quite  looked at him the same  since his arrival.   it’d seem like jax was the only  one willing to stand being around him.   his body had become  a shell  and inside a man  withering away  into a void.   darkness enclosing him  to face fears not ready to be battled.  

                      IS IT TOUGH ?  THINKIN’ BOUT IT ? YOU OKAY TOMMY?   

his brother’s tone is  concerned.   look of worry spread  across his face.   alcohol was the only  comfort  thomas had returning.   fingers fidget,   nails dug into his  hand as he made a fist.    thomas looked  completely tired due to  sleepless nights.   tossing and turning grow to be routine.   the boy who ran off  and joined the army  instead of the circus.   the tight rope he walked simply a line of  bullets  laid out for him with intent of killing if necessary.   the problem was  he never thought  he’d need  to pull the trigger.   it wasn’t a video game.  it wasn’t a movie.   thomas had pulled that trigger one  too many times until he was  known for it.   a soldier  …  mind didn’t feel  like accepting that title.


   you know it  wasn’t bad.  meetin’ other people  just wantin’ to be good people.  be soldiers for their country.  protect and serve[ he chuckles then  his head bows. he tries to prevent any tears  from dropping. ] lots of  good people  out there.  some not so good  …  but we were all  tryna go for the same goal.   

it’s brushed off so easy.   as if he hadn’t woken  up the club when he stayed over  …  or gemma and clay if  he slept on their couch.  those screams of agony  …  of pain and  anguish.  the man was far from okay  and yet he just wanted  to act as if it hadn’t happen.  whenever they stared,  he knew  they worried  …  but it’d mean  he was weak.  couldn’t take on being a real soldier  …- at least that’s what he’s telling himself.

                         TOMMY  … -YOU GOT THE CLUB.  YOU GOT ME.   

     you know one  time we was out  doing checks,    and everything seemed so quiet.   it’s like another  world when you’re there.    i had a friend,   mitchell.    he was on his second tour.   he’d always call me  some type of idiot for  liking root beer instead of actual beer.   [ he smirks,   remembering the mans voice  covered in sarcasm ]   pussy shit  …,   thomas sighs. the small smirk  he carried now gone …  slowly  a frown  begins to make it’s way to his mouth.  curving the lines  of his lips  to crease down.  it shakes,  lower lip quivering  …  bordering on  breaking down,   though he wanted  the story out.

              one day we were told  we had to do a round  at a base where our  information was comin’ through.   this lady,    she- …  - she had something on her  but i couldn’t see it.   heading towards a group  …  no one could see  she- …   [ thomas takes a breath before continuing.  ]  my ears  were ringing.   couldn’t hear a goddamn thing.   everyone’s yellin’.   he grabbed my arm to take cover.   bullets fly everywhere  and we were  cornered.   it took them maybe  five minutes  before more guys came to help.    he was shot in the head  …  dropped right next to me.    i- …  i seen too many people dying.    good people.    i think it was five days after that  i just broke


voice shakes  the further  into explaining what happen.   bodies flew in  every direction once that woman  was where they needed her.   thomas hadn’t expected much to happen.    train,  do a round  checking a location,  practice shooting  on base,  train,  do a round.  there had been “kill-or-be-killed”  moments,  but none quite like this.  every night it varies  but always the same thing.  a dream of  saving  his fellow soldiers  …   but no being able to.  being sent away while watching them suffer and scream.


                IT’S ALL I SEE JAX  …  E-…EVERY TIME I CLOSE MY EYES  …   

hands shake reaching  for a beer on the counter.   he seeks to soften the memory  …  intoxicate himself with the  bitter taste  of alcohol.  thomas knew it’d become something much more than just a drink  if he kept at it  …   then again it wouldn’t be as bad as  remembering.

      d-don’t tell gemma  …   she wouldn’t wanna hear any of it.  she hardly likes me staying at the house.  

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Written for Whumptober2020 theme no 22. “Do these tacos taste funny to you?” with the more specific prompt: poisoned.

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

The banquet hall is bright, noisy, and crowded, full of laughter and music and talking, and Janus is almost certain that the ambassador from Halledrin has just slipped poison into Logan’s wine.

No one else seems to have noticed. Janus can’t say he’s surprised. The formal dinner is over; now is the time for mingling, and everyone is deeply involved in their own conversations, their own social circles. Roman knows how to throw a good celebration, if nothing else, and now that the pressure is off of him to preside over all the little details, Janus spots him off to one side, shamelessly chatting up Virgil, who seems… exasperated, if not entirely displeased. He spares them a glance before turning back to Logan, who seems to be doing his level best to escape the conversation, but the ambassador— and just what is his name? Janus has entirely forgotten— is persistent, and Janus would think it no more than an annoyance if he weren’t fairly certain that he saw the man brush one hand against Logan’s wine glass while gesturing broadly with the other.

Which, no. That is absolutely not permitted.

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“My blood? No, no way, it’s uh…” Quick. Think quick, Arnbjorn! A million things happened in Skyrim every day. Miracles and freak accidents, more often than not a gruesome scene to say the least in the case of the latter. He could’ve been in Windhelm and gotten into a scuffle with that butcher character that was running around. No, no, that would bring about too many questions. Why didn’t he report it, why didn’t he say anything, how did he escape. All manner of questioning and tricks of the tongue the werewolf could barely wrap his head around in thoughts, never mind in action. Let’s see uh… wait, Wolf. Wolf. No- Bear! Perfect! “I got into an argument with a bear.” He shrugged with a half-hearted grin and a nod.

“Bosmer I knew there once told me the lands around it were ripe for pickin’ deer. Figured I’d try my hand at hunting. Damn thing came out of nowhere and tore off my quiver going for my neck. Luckily I had a dagger on me. It had me pinned for a minute but I managed to take it down at the last second. Gouge to the throat took it out, but it still landed on me when it went down, so…” he gestured to the crimson stains that seeped into his clothing. Vague but exciting nonsense with just enough detail he supposed. He certainly looked the part of a mighty warrior and noble hunter- all muscle on a broad frame and armor decorated in leather now turned red from the little scuffle. But even with his noble exterior, it was a lie in every sense of the word— or at least partially. A ruse to throw them off since Arnbjorn was still working on the art of misdirection.

He wasn’t lying when he said he’d killed something, nor that it had fought back with such unrelenting force in its struggle that the extinguishing of its life was left to the last few moments possible. It just… wasn’t a bear was all. It had been a person. A contract. A paid hit from someone desperate- or foolish enough- to perform the Black Sacrament. But his company didn’t need to know that. Didn’t need to know that his leather and metal armor was just a clever disguise to hide what he really was. Who he really was. What he stood for. “Ain’t hurt either way, just need a bath and a river to get the blood outta my armor. Know any good streams around here where I might be able to do that?”

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The Devil All The Time: Pros and Cons


~ 11/10 cast

~ Unconventional filming style (alinear time, not centered around any one person, etc etc)

~ Covers very very dark topics in a dusty old way (does that make sense?)

~ Phenomenal camera composition + soundtrack

~ Great sibling relationship between Arvin and Lorena

~ Excellent take on true gray morality and different types of villainy


~ Triggering; gore, s**c*de, PTSD, partner and parent abuse, and murder are all covered unashamedly and with minimal censorship

~ There’s also quite a bit of sex

~ The pace is a bit slow 

~ Confusing because of the alinear time framing

~ The one scene where the time frame is dated to 1965 but there’s a 1967 Chevy Impala in the background (that’s a tiny detail but I can’t believe they let that slide when they were hiring the background cars)


A very heavy story that was butchered by both the time limit and complexity. I think it needs to be told to a 20-30 yo audience; quick enough to follow but experienced enough to not be haunted.

This is a high-point of grimdark indie story-telling and you either really like it or really hate it.

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((TWs: Mention of Death, dying, violence, et cetera.))



Originally posted by trickingperson

Empty platitudes and hollow taunts danced about the edges of Damian’s mind, coming from something other than his own demons.  No, this was unlike anything he’d ever done.  The fever that had briefly cleared from his body had returned with renewed strength, and he spent the last several days locked and barricaded in his apartment, hiding from the world.  In truth, he’d felt the weakness leave him after only a few days, but now he lay, tormented, by his own mind.  By the deal he himself had made.

“Rejoice…” the murmur had said. “Rejoice… Damian Aldridge.”  He heard it, still echoing, a week later.  And it sickened him, now, somewhat, to still hear the same voice bubbling from within the darkest parts of his mind, which had only grown darker since he had taken that monster’s hand.

These days, he slipped in and out of sleep, his mind assailed by nightmares and vivid dreams of his past, blended together inseparably.  He saw vast oceans of nothingness, the blight-stricken corpse of his love, and the face Cameron had made when he’d learned of the deal he’d taken… and countless other things.

The argument that had befallen the two still gnawed at him.  The guilt, the shame, the hatred.  How Cameron had just… disappeared.  Damian had not seen him since.  In truth, he did not want to.  For him, the wounds were still too fresh.  The lies still stung like the crack of a whip across his back.

He stared up at the candle-lit ceiling, feeling tired beyond belief—which perplexed him—as he’d spent the last several days doing little else but sleeping.  Being awake was almost as agonizing as being asleep.  He reached over to the wooden cup that rested on his nightstand, drinking what was left of the water inside it.  He turned over in his bed, remembering briefly the nights he could drape his arm around Cam, and feeling the bitter sting of his absence once again.  He closed his eyes, drifting along and falling into a fitful slumber.

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This is a list of the popular topics that are trending on tumblr. When a topic is trending, that means a lot of people are blogging about it. You only see this on the app, not on the desktop website.

Here, I’m showing a screenshot of harmless topics trending on tumblr.

Sometimes the topics that trend are harmless and important.

Other times, the small thumbnail pictures of topics that trend on tumblr show gore, or explicit violence.

You can’t block or hide the thumbnail pictures by the way, even if the images are disturbing or violent.

It would be great if we were given the option to block or hide thumbnail pictures of inappropriate pictures.

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I’ve always hated how i kept grudges, how i can’t seem to forget and forgive not even years later. I still remember mere strangers insulting me, sure the memory gets fuzzy, but i don’t forget. It’s almost like some sort of “trauma.” i’ve always envied how other people can forget, but i can’t, i fucking can’t. They keep swarming my head and i can’t think straight because i keep fantasizing about violently beating the ever loving shit out of them. I’m practically marinating in my own rage.

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