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thatmooncake · 8 months

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Is it okay to randomly have the urge to throw sun off a cliff or burn him alive?

*daycare theme plays in a chilling key*

#fnaf #sundrop #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf dca #fnaf security breach #fableasks #fablesketches #tw violent imagery #wkskdjdfjs #ummmmm #SECURITY ALERT SECURITY ALERT #WOO WOO WOO WOO

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digital-domain · 1 month

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slip

Feitan x Reader drabble // word count 1.5k

In which you dream about someone you shouldn’t, and talk in your sleep.

Tags/Warnings: yandere, kidnapped reader, mention of blood and gore (past and imagined), knives, implied noncon, implied threat of death (to reader), implied murder (not reader), reader is gonna be fucked up over this forever

A/N: first time writing this man, not sure how I feel about it but it’s either post or stare at it forever

As always - 18+, read the tags, if you don’t like the tags then don’t go below the cut. Thank you and enjoy.

There is a knife against your throat, and you barely know how it got there, much less why. You didn’t do anything. Didn’t run, didn’t try to shove your tormentor away, didn’t tell him that you wished he was dead, or worse. You wouldn’t have had the time to do these things, even if you wanted to. You hadn't been awake for a second before his hand stirred from where it had lain on your waist. And now - the blade twitches, slightly. It doesn’t press quite hard enough to make you bleed, but certainly enough to make you picture what would happen if it did. If it kept going, long past the point where red rivulets stained the threadbare sheets beneath you.

A small noise escapes your mouth. You get nothing in response. It takes time for Feitan to speak, when there’s something on his mind.

It’s taking too long, even for him.

Last night, you thought you were safe. He kissed you, after meticulously washing a stranger’s blood out from beneath his nails. He watched you fall asleep, kept a hand on you until exhaustion finally forced you to nod off in the early hours of the morning. The strange affection he gives you is worse than any cruelty you could imagine, but not nearly as bad as the thought that somehow, you’ve managed to lose it. There are no words in your mind, now, only scattered images of what might happen, what you might become, the barely-recognizable thing strewn out across the floor -

“What were you dreaming about?” Feitan’s voice is dull and quiet, as always. Like he’s asking you this over breakfast, and not on what could be your deathbed.

You don’t remember, and you don’t answer. There is no air left for you to speak.

“What were you dreaming about?” he repeats. It’s almost the same voice, but there’s a hint of urgency, now. The barest hint - but you’ve grown used to interpreting the faint indications he gives you. “Talk.”

“I don’t”- You gasp, but seem to take in nothing. “-don’t remember”-

“You were talking when you were sleeping.”

Statements like these are dangerous. He expects you to understand what he means, always. He does not like to elaborate.

“I…” You screw your eyes shut, try to forget where you are just enough to remember where you were. “It was night. In the dream. And I was…” Oh. No. You can’t say that part out loud. Never, ever, ever. When you open your eyes, your vision is blurry. They close once more, of their own accord. “I was sitting with someone. Talking.” Someone. Someone has no face, no name - you pray that he’ll let you leave it at that. That he won’t ask for more.

“You said…” His face is close to the back of your neck, and yet, you cannot feel his breath on your skin. “When you were sleeping, you said I love you.”

Your stomach threatens to infringe upon your throat. You curse your sleeping mind for giving you something beautiful to dream of, and for letting it slip out of your mouth. Beautiful things do not survive here, and your mouth is always better kept shut.

“Who?”

You’d think, in your present situation, that you wouldn’t have enough room in your head to feel terrified for anyone else. But you do. Terrified enough to try something stupid.

You’re sure Feitan can feel the tension in your body, the instinctual way it readies itself for a fight (you would lose instantly) or an attempt at escape (you wouldn’t make it an inch). “It wasn’t about”- you choke on your own breath, try again. “It wasn’t about anyone real. Just a dream-person.”

“Bad liar,” he accuses. You do not protest. It was pointless to try.

And yet, you try again. You know that your answer matters. Enough for you to force more lies across the blade that still presses against your skin. “Someone I used to date. A long time ago.” Really, it was only a few weeks before Feitan….found you that things ended. But time is subjective - it certainly feels like a long time has passed since then.

“Oh.” If he suspects that you’re lying again, he doesn’t say it. But he does tend to leave a lot of things unsaid.

“He”- You suck in a breath as the knife twitches again. The movement is not an accident. It’s never an accident - his hands are unnaturally steady, when he wants them to be. “He ended things. I don’t think he thinks about me anymore.” This needs to be true. He needs to believe that it’s true, or-

“But you still think about him.”

Your stomach churns. “It was just a dream.” Technically not a lie, either. You’d have to say no for it to be a lie.

Feitan pauses for a moment. You’d have expected him to be furious, to take this out on you in some unimaginably awful way. Instead you hear a single sigh, feel it soft against your skin. “He let you go.” He sounds almost confused, his muted voice drawn out just enough to make his resentment clear. The knife turns slightly, and this time, you’re not sure if it was on purpose. “He must be stupid.”

You bite down on the inside of your lip, sharp and hard enough to tear a bit of the lining away. It’s awful when he says these things. Words that could be sweet, if you removed everything around them.

“I can’t control what I dream about,” you whisper, almost too quiet to be heard. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” He withdraws the blade, swings his feet off the bed - the floor, decrepit as it is, should creak when he stands, but it never does. “You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

You know better than to be relieved, so you turn over, to your other side, and fix your gaze on the floor. Watch him carefully, indirectly. You listen, your breath almost as silent as his, as he picks up his jacket from the end of your bed, puts it on.

And he smiles. His face is covered, but you see it in his eyes. “I can figure out the rest.”

The rest.

Your heart hammers, but your blood stands still. Frozen in your veins. You know why he’s put on his jacket. Why he’s leaving. Where he’s going.

The knife still dangling from Feitan’s hand catches a shard of your reflection, a smudged picture of a terrified eye that disappears before you can look any closer.

The rest. Name, face, address - all too easy. There are clues in your confiscated possessions, in the place where you used to live.

It’s as if the knife is still held to your throat. No. It’s as if your skin has already broken beneath it. You do not think in words. You think in gory pictures, infinitely clearer than the haze you see before forcing your eyes shut. Your blood, mixing with what you’re sure will be on that blade by day’s end. Skin-gushing-red-bones-out-something being buried, dirty hands returning to you, staining your face, your clothes, the things underneath, silent breath coming alive, painfully soft in your ear -

You open your eyes. You want to scream at him to stop, to stay. But your mouth stays shut.

“I won’t draw it out.” For a moment, he looks down, and you swear you see his face color. Like he’s said something overly sweet, and can barely stand it. “I promise.”

It’s enough to make it real. Enough to unseal your lips. “Don’t…” You should be yelling. But it’s all you can do, finding enough strength to make a near-silent, desperate appeal. “Please. You don’t have to. I’m not going to - to run. To him or anyone else. I’m not gonna do anything. I don’t - it was just a dream…”

“Stop.” His smile drops, eyes narrow. Voice even quieter than usual, deathly calm.

You go silent. Perfectly still.

“If you keep trying to save him, I’ll break my word. I already want to.”

You forget how to breathe.

This can’t be a choice you have to make. This can’t be in your hands. There are words in your head, finally, and you can’t say them.

You have to say them.

“I’m sorry.”

"Okay." He stares at you for far too long, unblinking. For seconds, or maybe hours, or maybe days - they’re all the same, to you, now. “It’s okay.”

No. He is unforgivably wrong. Nothing will ever be okay again. You’re in some other world, in your mind, and it’s going to take more than you have to yank you out of it.

You can barely see him in front of you. His voice reverberates strangely in your head. But when he moves, it’s like your senses pull themselves together. You realize that your eyes are wet, that a tear is rolling down the bridge of your nose, that you can breathe after all, but only in ragged gasps…

“You look…nice…when you cry.” He drops his gaze once more, tugs up on the cloth that covers his face. His smile is back, creasing the corners of his eyes, and it is the ugliest thing you have ever seen. “Wonder if he thought that, too.”

#feitan x reader #yandere feitan #tw blood #tw yandere #tw kidnapping #tw violent imagery #tw implied noncon #tw implied murder

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paper-ketch · 10 months

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Cucurucho versus — Bobby

Cucurucho, buddy, you simply can't handle the uber instincts of Bobby's uber chingon prowess.

see also: tilin (& juanaflippa) ao3 version (or check '#cucurucho versus' for more)

+ thank you @/tinylittlesimp for checking if the spanish dialogue is correct! ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ

bonus: explanation as to why the scanner didn't picked up the guns

/claps hand/

Okay, so.

The short explanation is that Bobby's front pocket isn't considered as in-game inventory, because the overalls is an attire, or it is considered as a Minecraft skin to be exact. The scanner camera only scans in-game-on-person inventory, or anything that shows you the inventory interface if you click on them, which is why the two guns bypassed the scan and remained undetected.

Were Roier and/or Jaiden aware of this? I'll leave that up to you guys' interpretation.

Also, there was an alternative choice to have Maxo be the one giving Bobby the guns, since he might be someone who probably figured that out one way or another.

But, I settled on Roier and Jaiden because it is quite funny to me if those two didn't knew about the loophole and didn't realized that they accidentally gave Bobby what he needed to wreck havoc in the afterlife (^^ゞ) + get revenge on that one time he died at the hands of the binary monster.

(Also, apparently according to the wiki, Bobby prefers the non-coloured sign because he likes the basic ones. But, he did have a teal/baby blue sign which he occasionally use.)

#qsmp #cucurucho versus #qsmp fanart #qsmp comic #qsmp cucurucho #qsmp bobby #bobby the egg #qsmp huevos #qsmpblr #tw gun #tw gun shot #tw gun use #tw violent imagery #tw implied death #this is the most effort i put in a fanart #q!bobby #q!cucurucho

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the-bibrarian · 1 year

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I do want to object to the idea that it’s easy and safe to protest in France tho. And that our beloved anti-riot police isn’t also pretty militarised…

Look at that last picture, look at the hatred on the face of the police officer, and look how those protesters seem dangerous and armed to the teeth. A perfectly proportionate answer right?

They just ordered a bunch of these for “peacekeeping”.

This is going on all over the world. This isn’t a US-vs-France thing. If you’re not part of the richest 1% or a cop, we’re in it together 🤝

#tw violence #tw violent imagery #protests #police brutality #france #upthebaguette

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snick-cooler · 4 months

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Also while I'm at it, fuck it, check out my stupid Angel Hare AU

It's based off that False Gabby vid from the creators, but False Gabby trains Jonah to become a formidable, lumbering serial killer.

Jonah is now a mostly mute behemoth of a man, hiding his identity with a Bunny mask Gabby gets him after his face is burnt and disfigured. He's a bit absent-minded since instead of being taught life lessons, he was being guided on how to clean up crime scenes, but with his "angel" by his side, he can't ever fail.

Gabby (or False Gabby) is a bit of a mystery, whether she's the true Gabriel or not is never stated. However, she still cares for Jonah in her wicked, odd ways. Her words can be harsh, and she's a bit ill tempered sometimes, but loves him regardless. Unlike her more wholesome counterpart, she can sort of "manifest" in the real world by causing people to hallucinate her. If you see Jonah, expect to see her soon after.

Jonah's hometown is constantly haunted by rumors of the Bunny Face Killer, and any remnants of Jonah or the Whitman family disappeared years ago to a flood. Only a miracle from the heavens above will be able to free the town of this bloody curse...

youtube

(also take this song I HEAVILY associate with them huehue)

#Serial Jonah AU #Jonah Whitman #Jonah #angel gabby #False Gabby #angel hare #tw violent imagery #Youtube

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imactuallyreallycool · 6 months

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Day 4 of @bylerween2023 Attacked by Vecna

Mike (after getting out of vecna’s curse): “I felt your arm breaking in my hands…”

The average ReallyCool fan to me(😎) right now:

😶🔪 😎 🔫😶

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nobrashfestivity · 1 year

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Toshio Saeki

#toshio saeki #tw violent imagery #Illustration #japanese art

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thetrashppl · 6 months

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religious crisis and angst aside i just think they have so much potential to be so horrible and ridiculous at the same time. they'd have had the wildest, *most* embarrassing discord roleplays in history