Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The name Tumblr is derived from "Tumblelogs", which were hand coded multimedia blogs.

Trending Blogs
#tw: blood

“ɪ ᴍᴇᴛ ᴇᴠɪʟ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴡᴀs ᴏɴʟʏ ᴀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ.”

( nina dobrev, 28, female, she/her) Have you seen MILENA WASHINGTON around ?  I hear they’re an CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATOR who can sometimes be VINDICTIVE & DEVIOUS. But I also heard they can be DIPLOMATIC & VENTURESOME, if you catch them on a good day. They’re usually hanging around THE PINT in their spare time. I sure hope they’re alright ! ( emma. )

tw: mentions of rape, tw: rape, tw: death, tw: torture, tw: murder, tw: blood. 

Keep reading

crvmsdecorum
crvmsdecorum
1 notes · See All

This is based in an AU from a roleplay that I’m writing currently. Spencer works as a professor, Aaron still works in the BAU. They live together, and there is an additional child, Amanda, who’s like… one. Just so you have a feel for the scene.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Like there was a hand wrapped around his neck. Or like his heart had stopped beating. It might as well have.

He’d never run so fast in his life. Not to save his own ass, not when chasing an unsub, never. If it was possible, he would have thought there was more adrenaline pumping through his system than blood.

When he opened the door, it was immediately clear that something was off. The shoes, which Spencer kept meticulously straightened by the door were in a disarray. The dinner dishes were still left on the table. There was a board game left on the living room floor that was only half way done.

When he climbed up the stairs, it was easy for anyone to see that something was wrong. There was a lamp that was overturned, a smear of something that looked suspiciously like dried blood on the wall, the doors flung open haphazardly, the lights left on.

He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see what he knew was waiting for him. He didn’t want the final push that would send him over the line into reality.

But he had to. 

He took a deep breath and reluctantly pushed the door to his and Spencer’s bedroom all the way open.

Red. Everything was red. There was so much blood. On the carpet, spattering the walls, on the sheets. He was laid down on the made bed, his eyes wide open, his arm reaching off the edge of the bed, towards the night stand. He’d been so close, so close to grabbing the gun he knew was under the socks, so close to saving himself. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to look. It was like a train wreck. So horrible to see, but he couldn’t look away at the same time.

He wanted to reach over and grab him, to hold him, to push the strands of hair out of his face once last time, to give him some dignity and close his eyes. But the rational part of his brain knew that that would be contaminating the crime scene, and that it could very easily come back to slap him in the face.

So he quietly shut the door again and stepped away, pressed himself back flat against the wall, tried to regain his composure, to try to breathe, but it felt as though his lungs couldn’t quite inflate all the way.

He could see the light spilling from Jack’s room, the door left farther open than his and Spencer’s had been. He barely found it within himself to check on them, and though he was fairly certain of what he would see, had to know for sure. Very reluctantly, he pushed the door open and regret surged through him in a great big wave.

His baby girl, and his little boy, holding onto each other for dear life. Jack held Amanda in his arms where they laid, collapsed on the ground.

Everything was gone, he had nothing anymore. Nothing.

If only he’d been earlier. If only he’d been home when he said he would. If only…

He woke up in a cold sweat. His immediate reaction was to pat the right side of the bed where Spencer was supposed to be. He felt the cold hand seize his heart again when he found that it was empty. 

He quickly detangled himself from the sheets and rushed out into the hallway, and carefully pushed open the door to Jack’s room.

There he was, sound asleep and snoring peacefully. His little boy, he was alive, he was breathing, he was okay.” He quietly shut the door behind himself and moved on to the next room, pushed open the door and tiptoed inside. 

There was Amanda, clutching her teddy bear to her chest, and alive. He carefully pulled the blanket up over her shoulders before quietly leaving the room.

It was fine. Everything was fine. He could almost breath again. All he needed was-

“Aaron?”

He turned his head so fast, he was just about sure his neck snapped. “Spence.”

He could breathe again.

 He reached forward and pulled him into his arms, hugging him so tightly that the other man had to tell him to let go. “You’re alive.”

“I just went to get a drink of water. What’s the matter?”

“I’m just… glad you’re okay.”

“Of course I am.” He brushed his thumb over his cheek. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. Did something happen?”

“I just… Just a bad dream.”

5 notes · See All

You gave us plenty to work with here!  This is a fun older fic that’s a different take on the Ocean’s Eleven premise, featuring sassy pickpocket Neil, Kevin as Danny Ocean, the rest of the Foxes pretending to be Neil’s favorite customers, and the potential for a whole lotta money.  Enjoy!  -F

The Foxhole Eleven by Greenninjagal [Not Rated (we’d say T), 7533 words, Complete 2018]

“No,” Kevin snapped, “Put him in the chair. I can’t get a look at him when he’s on the ground.”

“That’s funny,” Neil hissed, “I thought you were used to looking down on people. You know, being Kevin fucking Day and all.”

It was satisfying to hear the sharp inhale that came from the raven haired man, even if the blond shoved his head violently into the ground for it. The world went dark for only a second and pain splattered his senses like paint. By the time Neil had focused again he had been forced into one of the vacated seats and the blond was pointing his weapon impassively in his face.

“You’re going to shut up,” He said.

“I don’t suggest becoming a psychic; you’re really bad at it.”

***

aka Neil takes things that aren’t his, but that isn’t the same as Robbing a Casino no matter how much everyone seems to act like it is.

(tw: blood, tw: gun)

16 notes · See All

Send sexy pictures of your muse to see how mine reacts!

image

@scarred-by-monsters​: “ just another day at the office.”

image

At first, Amelia was startled when she walked in and found Matty sitting there, topless, bleeding, with part of a blade still embedded into his shoulder, and smoking. “What–What–What is this?!” she demanded, stammering, only to get his nonchalant reply.

She sighed heavily. “You know there’s no smoking in here,” Amelia told him, pointing at him, before she put on a pair of gloves, prepping to remove the metal from his shoulder. “Do you want anything for the pain?” she asked, her voice gentler.

0 notes · See All

The future Is what you make of it. Just know that your supplies are limited.

Welcome to Desert Bluffs


image

Me? Trying to cosplay? I wanted to try and give a shot to Kevin from Nightvale for a very long time and I finally decided to do so. It’s not a perfect cosplay, and I have a lot of work to do, but it’s a good result 😁

And always remember… Believe in a Smiling God


image
3 notes · See All

Sometimes, when you read or hear a scary story, you will be given a way to avoid those events. Don’t look at it, don’t speak to it, don’t tell it anything and maybe you’ll survive.

This is not one of those stories. Once you see the old man, your days are numbered, and there’s nothing in the world that can stop that.

The old man appeared outside my window on an overcast summer afternoon. He didn’t look like someone I knew, yet I recognized him. He had patchy white hair, and his skin was wrinkled but not sagging. He wore no hat, and a brown tweed suit with a black shirt underneath. His eyes were a yellow-brown, and they held no emotion.

I had been going through my small collection of books, putting some aside to give away, when I felt the urge to go to the window. So I did, and there he was. He waved to me. I waved back. I was on the second floor, and I guess I thought that he couldn’t hurt me.

And oh gods, how I was wrong.

He told me good afternoon, and he said that he’d heard I was giving away some books. Confusion pricked at the back of my skull. How had he known that?

Wanting to be polite, I pushed my confusion aside and told him that yes, I was getting rid of some old books to make room for some new ones.

He asked me if he might have one. If I could pick one for him. And like a fool, I told him yes.

When I returned to my pile of books, there were books there that I didn’t recognize. Not only were they books I’d never owned, but they were books I’d never even heard of. I still remember a few titles. The Vampire’s Bastard Child, Chimera, one didn’t even have a title. It was just a photo of a grinning human skull. This was the book I chose for the old man.

When I returned to the window, the book vanished in my hand. I didn’t notice that it was gone until the old man began to speak again. He told me that it was rude to ignore an old friend. And then, before I could question him, he told me to wash my hands.

This struck me as an unusual request, but something in me made me oblige. The same feeling inside that had drawn me to the window. I walked into the bathroom across the hall. I didn’t close the door behind me.

When I looked down at myself, I saw a tattoo on my right arm. I’d only ever gotten one tattoo, and it was a tiny thing on my left arm. But this tattoo was on my right arm, and it was huge. The image of a burning city, in black and grey, and beside it was a young man with a predatory smile. The young man was the only part in colour.

Now, when I say his smile was predatory, I don’t mean he looked like a perv. I mean he looked like a creature who had just cornered its prey, and was savoring the moment of the kill. I could just barely make out blood on the edges of his smile. I don’t remember anything else about what he looked like, as he disappeared when I glanced away, and never reappeared.

But when I looked up, I saw that same bloody smile on my reflection. It was not my smile. It was too wide for my mouth. It was not my face looking back at me in the mirror. The bathroom door slamming shut was enough to startle me out of my shock and I screamed.

I grabbed the door handle, rattling it desperately, trying to unlock a door that was not locked, but it was no use.

When I looked at the mirror again, I found that my reflection hadn’t moved. While I had moved toward the door, it was still standing in front of the mirror, still with that predator smile. I could just barely see needle-sharp teeth in its mouth. I noticed that my reflection did not have eyes, only bloody holes.

My reflection disappeared when the lights in the bathroom went out. Now, when I say that I don’t mean it was too dark to see. I mean that when my eyes adjusted, when I stopped desperately flicking the light switch, I looked at the mirror and I no longer had a reflection. The mirror reflected everything else, but not me.

I was trapped in there for what felt like days. Every time I looked at something after having looked away, or sometimes even after blinking, it was different. The towel was fine one minute, and dripped with blood the next. The bathtub would be empty, then full of water, then full of piranhas. The ceiling was made of skulls. A dim blue light glowed under the door.

The only thing that never changed was the mirror. The mirror held the world I remembered, and I reached for it in a moment of desperation. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t to fall through. And it definitely wasn’t to recognize myself screaming on the other side. Myself from the very beginning of this mess. I touched my face, and realized that I had no eyes, and I could not stop smiling. I don’t know how I saw without eyes. I don’t think it matters. The lights were on now. I went to exit the bathroom, hoping to end the nightmare, and found that where before I could not turn the light on, now I could not turn it off. No matter how much I flipped the switch, it was on, and brighter than it should have been.

I still see that eyeless face, that predator grin, every time I look in the mirror. I don’t know how I know this is the old man’s doing, but I know. I know I’m not his first victim. And I know, like I know the burning city in the tattoo is in ruins, that I am going to die. I only hope his next one finds my warning.

2 notes · See All

hands ✰ an akaashi x reader drabble

a/n: a while ago i was sent a request by an anon to do headcannons for some hq boys with a s/o who does competitive gymnastics. whenever i get sports headcanons requests, i usually talk about injuries- which brought me to gymnast wrist. i am not an expert, but gymnast wrist is an irritation/inflammation of a growth plate on your radius (one of the two bones in your arm.) the plate can completely tear and thus put a gymnast out of action for a significant time. again, my info may not be accurate, so if i got it wrong, let me know! :)

edit: ohkay what in the world was this- it’s a mess but- I left the ending kind of ambiguous? I actually kinda rushed to end this but.. :((

tagging: @lceiji @raevaioli

warning: just mentions of pain and injury; slight blood 

Enjoy! xx

image

Originally posted by sailorwvenus

Keep reading

59 notes · See All

The air above the world, above the cosmos, was so thick with the smell of blood. There were thousands; millions; septillions of innocent lives that had been lost to the attack that he had ravaged the stars with. Planetoids, near and far, were utterly decimated by the largest sum of power he could ever muster; SUPERNOVA. It’s blast careened through every system of planets that he dared to destroy. It was all to unravel the hope in these foolish hearts. To give the greatest despair, long after the death of one of their dearest… A flower consumed.

Chances. He had given them so many of those. This path could have been avoided. It could have been changed. Had only their leader, the one from Nibelheim; His enemy, his obsession. If only he had listened to his offer, then perhaps this could be different. Yet, Sephiroth had been spurned too many times. His patience was gone. The great deity stared at all of them, the last heroes that remained to try and fight him off. His wings were out, pearly-white among a single ebony-black that had monstrously replaced his right arm, and he let them continue their futile assault, while his form solidified fully. It was as if he had been born anew, and destruction was all his craved. He was allowing them this last bit of despair, up until he decided that their time was up.

His piercing gaze settled onto two of them, and in the blink of an eye, a single raise of his winged limb was given. The two that surrounded the young woman with dark hair, whose name that he could care less about, they collapsed from the power he emitted. It was an attack that he purposely did to them, just to hear what terrible sound she would make. They were not gone from this plane, not yet. He had made sure of it; made certain that they would last for as long as he willed it. Though the blood that came trickling from their noses and ears must have not been a good sign that they were fine… His lips twisted into a grin, and he felt as if nothing could touch him. He was beyond their mind’s sense of knowing. He was unstoppable! Now his gaze turned to her, watching with glee as she assessed her friend’s state of life, while they lied near-lifeless on the plane in which he allowed them to remain on.

| @fearlessmonk |

2 notes · See All
image

“He stripped them from me when I made the deal to become his servant. I have to prove myself worthy before I can get them back”

Need paused, looking as contemplative as one can with a mask on.

“It may sound like a strange agreement. But he did give me something in return to start my journey into servitude. Wings in exchange for dark magic long banned”

Ash seemed to find no need to explain his new magic further. Why was he explaining anything, anyway? This was a letter he was speaking to. It’s not like the person who sent it could hear him. Or…perhaps they could, considering these strange letters kept coming.

“Besides, when I prove myself, I shall gain power beyond one’s comprehension, and serve as his right hand stallion”

7 notes · See All
Next Page