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skeletoninthemelonland · 6 months

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[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

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playingpreggobby · 6 months

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🌟 Roleplay Partner Search

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

🌸 RP Details:

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

- Genre: Realistic, graphic, and emotionally charged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I have a surprise coming soon teehee.

#birth kink #birth rp #tw: graphic #tw: birth #tw: vomit #tw: passing out #pregnancy lover #pregnancy roleplay #pregnancy kink #playingpreggobby

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lost-in-labradorite-halls · 2 years

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Celebration

My vampire whump muse, Kane, is an oc belonging to @whumpsday has struck again! Below the cut is an extremely graphic, violent, whump, prose/fanfiction I’ve written. Please mind the tags.

TRIGGER WARNING: Forced Amputation, Torture, Creepy Whumpers, Medical Whump, Broken Bones, Blood, Lots of Crying, Whump, Mocking, Burning, Vampire Whump, Medical Torture, Scalpels, Gore, Violence, Graphic Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Hallucinations, Fear, Lots of Fear, Restraints.

Celebration THUNK, THUNK, THUNK, that sound could be only one thing. It startled Kane awake and had him flinching into the furthest corner of the cell. Like that would do anything to stop what would happen. The cell door was flung open and the hunters swarmed into his cell. Kane was babbling his pleadings already, but it did nothing to stop the hunters from grabbing at him and dragging him over to the board. Struggling only meant more pain, it meant more silver pressed against his wrists and ankles. What more could they do to him? He hoped that it wasn’t one of the sun, or vivisections. Once he was secured to the board, flesh slowly sizzling away from the cruelty of the straps, the hunters hefted up the board. Kane whined as the movement rattled the silver against his flesh. The hunters did not take the path that led outdoors, thankfully, no sun, for now. But instead they took him to another room he knew all too well. It was the room where he had been subjected to multiple vivisections. Kane, in his buzzing terrified mind, knew that it would be vivisections today. He willed himself to pass out, knowing he wouldn’t any time soon. They would…they always kept him awake as their filthy hands desecrated his insides. They propped him up on a table and in came another hunter, it was a different one from the one who did the vivisections. But Kane’s eyes watered as he tracked this hunter, laying out tools and scalpels too similar to the vivisection tools. A couple of the other hunters sat around to watch. But this one, with the tools, did not take too long to prepare. That one made a nod to the others who stayed and Kane realized they were not staying to simply watch, but to assist. The hunter picked up a scalpel and the others forced Kane’s right hand down flat. One of them actually removed the burning silver shackle. Kane was certain the scalpel wasn’t silver, but for some reason they were sparing him the burn of the silver. Kane didn’t know why, he couldn’t understand what was happening. The hunter with the scalpel made the first incision. And it hurt, it couldn’t not hurt, not when the sharp blade went down to the bone. But Kane’s flesh didn’t burn, didn’t sizzle as blood touched silver, small mercies, Kane supposed. The hunter made another cut and then another and another. Kane was crying for the stinging that went down to the bone, for the loss of the blood wrenched from his veins. But he told himself again and again, “at least it isn’t silver, at least it isn’t silver, at least it isn’t-” The mantra he repeated in his head did nothing to ease the pain of his hand being flayed. Of nerves becoming exposed to the air, nor did it lessen the agony of the hunter slipping and his knife severing the tendons in his wrist. They weren’t sparing him from the silver, this hunter simply wanted easier access to Kane’s arm, to his bones and muscles, to be flayed open, for nerves to be stroked by gloved fingers. The hunter continued this work until Kane’s arm was opened like a package, the muscle pulled from his bones, his nerves meticulously stripped from their places. They held them up showing him these long strands that were still connected to his nervous system, but separated from his arm. The hunters joked about trying them out as guitar strings. The one orchestrating this torture stroked the longs strands. And it felt like his arm, but his arm was a mess of meat. Kane could see the gloved fingers touching the fibery strands still connected at his shoulder. He could feel the touch of fire where his fingers were supposed to be, but they were still being held down by the other hunters. And it felt like fire, exposed to the air, touched directly and not safely protected by his ruined arm. It was too much, it didn’t make sense. Kane was still babbling his pleas, but none of it made sense. There was a loud high pitched sound that hurt his ears and it took him too long to figure out that it was his voice, engulfed by unimaginable pain. “Press silver to it,” one of the hunters said. And Kane keened at the thought of it. “No, it’ll damage the nerves and ruin my study,” one of the others said. The one, literally holding a part of Kane’s nervous system in hand, laid it down onto the board, separated from his useless destroyed arm. He could barely feel it, his nerves that had been wrapped around his bones now just burned in the open air, laid out on the board. Such a strange sensation, horrible and painful. But Kane could see the ruined opened up limb and the long fibery strands of nerves. And where the nerves laid, that felt like his arm, and where bone, skin, tissue and muscles lay, that didn’t feel like a part of him. It felt alien. The hunter continued this, freeing his nerves up to his shoulder, carefully picking apart nerves from bone muscle and tendons. The hunter removed the meat, flayed the skin and cut the tendons. In mere moments Kane heard a thump of his arm dislocating and falling free from all that held it in place. Blurry eyed Kane wished he hadn’t looked, but he did. The hunters removed his arm. It was gone from his body. But the strands of live nerves were still laid out. It felt like his arm was still a part of him. But there was nothing but those strands, those strands that burned in the air. Those strands that couldn’t do anything but make him suffer, make him feel pain. One of the hunters leaned over and blew a breath onto his flayed nerves. It felt like knives, dancing up his arm. The other hunter was now stitching up his shoulder, using a wire instead of thread, making it more difficult to heal and regrow the limb. That hunter of course left the strands of nerves out and a small opening for them to be exposed. “I am going to put silver on those before the night is over,” one of the hunters said. Kane gasped out a, “N-n-n-nooo, puh-ple-ease, d-don’t.” But of course his pleas went unnoticed. The hunters nodded in approval. The other hunter, who had spoken up before said, “Maybe after I’m done mapping this. You can cut them off for all I care.” --------------------------------- Kane almost threw up when he realized what was to happen next, they didn’t stop at his right arm, they took his left too and also exposed carefully excavated nerves. They left him completely armless, which could have given some relief to the inferno of pain he suffered through, if it wasn’t for those cursed nerves they left intact. They continued to fire warnings of horrific burning pain up and down his arms. Or rather, up and down strands of nerves that made it feel like his arms were still there. Made it feel like the hunter was still cutting into him. But Kane's arms had been disposed of, into the garbage. He could see them, hollow fingers, lifeless from the corner of his eyes. It was so strange, he could swear he could still feel those fingers now. But he couldn’t move them, there was nothing but stringy nerves sending useless, wretched alarms to his brain. Kane passed out when he realized the same was to be done to his legs. The hunter worked on him for hours. And Kane was punished with nightmares of being in the sun only to wake up and still feel his nerves on fire, despite there being no fire. It felt like his arms and legs had been dipped in molten silver. But his arms and legs were gone. The hunter left Kane’s pants on, but added as he stroked Kane’s naked nerves of his legs. “I could take you further apart, I’m sure we could still have fun with you, even if you lacked your pelvic bone, but I don’t want to bother with any major organs.” The mental image alone was enough to turn Kane’s stomach. Kane was now just a head stacked on a body, on a torso. He could barely move for the pain he was in. He wasn’t even strapped down anymore. No limbs left to hold down. It didn’t matter, Kane held as still as possible, too terrified of shifting his freed nerves. The hunter who orchestrated all of this had a sketchbook, a large one, Kane’s blood stained portions of it. The hunter had detailed sketches of Kane’s nervous system, cataloged muscle, tissue and bone. As if Kane was nothing more than a specimen. The other hunters came and left, Kane couldn’t keep track of it. His vision was not right, his mind was broken with the pain. Every moment, every shift and movement of air that touched his exposed nerves felt like hot broken glass shoved along his arms and legs. When his body shivered from shock, the involuntary vibrations jostled his nerves, making the hot broken glass feel like silver, sinking further into him. The urge and need to yank it out of him came and he cried when he remembered he didn’t have limbs that could move. Like an itch he couldn’t reach, only it didn’t itch, it was like iron, glowing red from the heat, seared into his nerves an incineration on his arms that weren’t there, that he couldn’t move or escape from. Tears soaked his face, like an endless fountain. “Darling,” echoed a voice. Kane’s eyes opened and he tried to look without moving for that body that voice belonged to. And for a moment Kane saw him in the corner of his eyes. “B’llamy,” Kane cried. “H’lp me.” But the form of his friend wavered and disappeared like smoke. In his place was a hunter. “The leech looks ready to me.” Kane shook his head, but froze as it sent more painful movements through his nerves. Another grabbed Kane’s jaw, he flinched and cried out for the jolting of his nerves. His tears obscured his vision, or they would have if the stars dancing before his eyes weren’t so bright. “This is a safety hazard.” “So, muzzle the leech.” “Might hurt if we muzzle him,” someone else said. The spark of hope of not having that silver thing strapped to his face was much stronger than Kane expected and he was well aware of the danger that hope presented. “If you want to do something about it, be my guest,” the other hunter said. “Fine, I will,” said the one who held Kane’s jaw. He didn’t see it, but he felt something hard and metal, shoved into his mouth, forcing his mouth open. At the same time as the pliers clamped onto his fang, someone bumped into the nerves of his arm. The pain sent him into unconsciousness. ---------------------------------------------------- When he woke up, Kane wished he hadn’t. He wished he was dead. His arms and legs were on fire(weren’t there), his mouth throbbed as his own blood dripped down his throat from his missing fangs. And worse of all he was outside. His eyes flew open. There were a few lights littered around the area, lighting it up despite the darkness of the night. It was still night, very late night. Kane could smell wine and booze and somewhere there was a stereo playing upbeat music. Kane was happy to lay there, in the dirt and grass, to not move as much as possible. Happy, wasn’t really the right word. If the hunters could get drunk enough maybe they would just end him. But they’d brought him outside for a reason. At the end of this were they just going to leave him out in the sun? His poor heart thudded in panic at the notion, there was no other reasonable excuse for him to be out here. But even with his anxiety surfacing, Kane’s damn nerves refused to dry up and die. They stayed soft and fresh and wet, trying to regrow meat and muscle and skin around them. But Kane was so sick, so weak, so long he had been without blood. His fears and lack of blood and the unending silver forks digging into where his arms should have been was too much. There was no way he could even attempt to estimate how long it would take for them to grow back. But the fear of further damage, of further torment to delay his recovery haunted him. Even as he lay outside in the dirt, his fangs ripped from his mouth, his arms and legs gone, completely useless and he feared his recovery. They could so easily damage that said recovery and it would just be fun and games for them and so much more misery for Kane. Kane blinked and found himself suddenly surrounded. He’d lost time, his thoughts fractured amidst the agony. “I’ve never worn silver plated toed boots,” one of the hunters standing over Kane said. “Yeah and I’ve never played vampire soccer before either. This might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done.” “Yeah well it's my birthday and I wanted to play soccer, you all are the idiots for not providing the ball.” “We have provided a ball.” A vicious kick into Kane's side cracked a rib at the same time the burn of silver seared into his side. Kane rolled, or attempted to roll, limply over, he tried to breathe, tried to escape. But his vision turned red, then white as static filled his ears. Kane was pinned to the ground, one of them standing on his flayed nerves. And it is like a clamping, a painful burning weight. Like his nerves are going to be pulled up from the roots of his nervous system. He’s halfway into a roll, but held back, the entire weight of his body held by a few small strips of nerves. It is a wrenching feeling that he feels in his spine and a terrible pressure in his head. And then another silver toed boot rammed into his stomach and something tore. He felt like his hand had been torn off. Even though Kane knows it was taken from him hours ago. The term ‘nerve damage’ ran across his mind. But all he could feel is fire and a hand that should be there, that is gone. Generally he would say that a numb tingling feeling was a blessing, but that’s not what he felt. It was like his hand had been dipped into dry ice. Like his hand was pressed against something so cold that it burned. And there was no escape. The feeling of fire racing up and down his nerves burned and the feeling of ice, numb, tingling in his hand burned. And all of it swirled and rolled together as his broken, destroyed body was used as a replacement for a ball. Kane couldn’t even cover his face to protect it from swinging, kicking and trampling of feet, of silver toed boots. A swift kick to his throat crushed his windpipe, so he could barely breathe. Kane’s body flew limply through the air. Kane heard a sharp snapping sound when a well placed kick crashed into his neck. The burning of his nerves disappeared all at once, Kane would have sighed in relief, if it wasn’t nearly impossible to breathe to begin with. The pain of his nerves were gone, from his neck down. Not that there was much below it. The hunters didn’t seem to notice. They continued their game further, further mutilating Kane’s remaining body, the silver was still a problem, of course it was. It burned his face and eyes when a kick went wrong. They kicked in his teeth, damaged his ears, but Kane wasn’t there anymore. He was floating on a cloud that freed him from the pain below his neck. ----------------------- Kane woke up, broken, he was so very broken. He could barely see, for all the burns and swelling of his face. But what woke him was a faint clink in his neck that followed a sharp pain at the base of his throat. It hurt and he cried. But he also breathed. Kane blinked and looked up. He couldn’t see well, but he could just make out the figure of a Hunter. Kane yelped in fear, or tried to, just a strange gasp shifted out from his lungs. The hunter leaning over him had taken a knife, cut a slit into his throat, just above his collar bone and had jammed something metal and hollow into it. It allowed Kane to breathe without using his broken throat. It only took him another moment, after that first gasp of real air, to realize it was made of silver. Kane whined, or tried, but the air movement bypassed his crushed windpipe. Just the stuttering of wet gasps as air passed in and out from his lungs to the base of his throat. Sometime in that moment there was the smallest of movement, of a shift in his neck that pinched the main nerves in his neck. Immediately Kane could feel the rest of his body, or what was left of it. But he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. Oh, he knew that they had been taken, but the greatest relief that Kane felt, was that someone, or something had severed his exposed nerves. Kane laid on the floor of his cell as an armless, legless, useless, pathetic thing. It was going to take forever to heal. The worst part was the hunter still in his cell. With all that delicious blood being pumped around by a healthy heart. Kane could do nothing more than just lay there and breathe through the silver tube. Burning away.

#whump #tw: graphic #violence #medical whump #vampire whump #Kane #whumpsday #fanfiction #not my oc

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thestargayzingetherian · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra) Characters: Catra (She-Ra), Horde Prime (She-Ra), Adora (She-Ra), Horde Prime Clones (She-Ra) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Ending, Blood and Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Zombies, Self-Sacrfice, Post-Episode: s05e13 Heart Part 2, Post-Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse, Virus, Computer Viruses, Past Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Angst, Horde Prime's Ship (She-Ra), Disk Drunk | Infected Adora (She-Ra), Based on a Tumblr Post, Unhinged Catra, Catra is in Love with Adora (She-Ra), Everyone is Dead Summary:

She-Ra is dead, The rebellion has fallen, Horde Prime has taken over Etheria and slaughtered its population. Only Catra remains, with one last gambit to avenge those she has lost and the woman she loved. (Catradora, Canon-Divergence, Angst)

#Catradora #She-Ra #Fanfiction #tw: graphic #tw: body horror #tw: horror #This fic is very very fucked up #reader discretion is advised #lemon #just to be safe

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and-corn · 1 month

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

#something different from what I normally draw!#I said this when I realized the bread was NOT making it and I made myself laugh out loud #also...if you happen to really like this it's available in my threadless shop - acorn.threadless.com #tw: cursing #typography #lettering #graphic design #illustration #original art #digital drawing #digital illustration #comedy #humor #relatable

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something-in-the-seas · 1 year

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Tyre Nichol’s mother has set up a memorial fund to help pay for mental health services for his family and a memorial skate park in his name. If you cannot donate, please share.

#tyre nichols #rest in power #blm #his parents are unable to take time off from work due to not having unlimited pto #and he has a very young son #please consider donating #tw: graphic imagery #for the link there is a graphic image

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dhawanmasters · 2 months

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CONSTANTINE (2005) dir. Francis Lawrence

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uncanny-tranny · 11 months

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One of my biggest pieces of advice for those taking injectable hormones is to make sure you're injecting at the right angle

For intramuscular (IM), you inject at a 90° angle.

For subcutaneous (SQ), you inject at a 45° angle.

Here is a graphic depicting what the angle of your injection should look like:

An image description is provided in the ALT text.

#trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #ftm #mtf #nonbinary #trans advice #just did my IM shot and that's why i'm making this #i've saved myself a LOT of pain once i actually started paying attention to the angle i am injecting at #i was so much more focused on making sure everything else was right and i slacked on being sure i'm injecting at 90°#hopefully the ID makes sense 👍#i pulled the graphic off the internet which is why dermis is included. afaik dermis isn't a technique used for HRT #needle tw #needles tw #injection tw #described images #image description in alt

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4ft10tvlandfangirl · 6 months

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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 🇵🇸

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violetbudd · 8 months

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raw meat blinkies made my me / free to use

#raw meat #tw meat #blinkies #web graphics #my blinkies #free to use #do not claim as your own #flashing

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angelnumber27 · 1 year

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The Tyre Nichols Memorial Fund

Tyre Nichols was loved by his community and was known to be gentle, kind, and joyful. He loved skating and was originally from the Bay Area in California. He was known as someone “you know when he comes through the door he wants to give you a hug” and that “he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“He had never been in trouble with the law, not even a parking ticket. He was an honest man, a wonderful son, and kind to everyone. He was quirky and true to himself, and his loss will be felt nationally.”

Btw, the link includes a photo of graphic injuries. View with discretion.