#Extreme Violence

[asterdisaster06]

Rottweiler's Callsign Story

platonic 141 x reader

summary > The mission was supposed to be an easy in and out stealth operation; however, you getting cornered by enemy guards that weren't drawn out by the team's distraction left you to desperation. Such circumstances resulting in unsavory acts needed to get out alive and back to your team. Half the blood on you might not even be yours, but you're out alive and safe.

word count > 5.6k

warnings > graphic description of blood and violence, like i'm not kidding. medical terms used to describe some of the gore. reader is described like a feral dog.

ao3

You had always been quite animalistic in your ways, vocal on the battlefield with snarls and hisses escaping your lips through the sheer effort of your tyranny. Grunts and growls being a point made to enemies you faced before absolutely thrashing them to death. Your skills with a gun whether a handgun or an assault rifle were top tier, your training made sure of it, but your real talent laid in hand to hand combat. Specializing in utilizing your own body and surroundings to tear your enemy down. It was something that had confused and yet impressed your teammates on the taskforce. They stared at you with something akin to visceral horror and pure adoration when you save their asses more than they can count. 

Whether that comes from tackling the one on top and pinning them by their throat or managing to spot an enemy that they had missed on their six. Either way, any way, they were significantly impressed by you and your prowess. Your expertise offered something new to the group. Your bones held your pride that was either to be completely snapped or remain unwounded. Your muscles flexed to show the pride that was your mortal self. Your teeth were bared to the world like a stray dog. And in a sense, that was what you were.

You were found by Laswell and Price with your fur matted and your teeth too sharp from eating trash-thrown bones. Metaphorically of course. Literally though, they were your saviors. She took you off the previous military base you would’ve died on and Price raised you like his own flesh and blood. He took the limping, ugly mutt and showed a kindness you had always heard directed at others but never you. You learned to not bite at the hand that feeds you. 

The others came later once you were settled in - learning very little of your past; only knowing what you had seethed through tight lipped smiles. At that point you were known simply as ‘hound’ to them. You’re not entirely sure how or when it came about, but it seemed to fit you for the moment. 

You weren’t exactly talkative, similar to Ghost in that aspect. That’s not to say that you didn’t learn to open up and trust, especially when you were on a mission that required trust and teamwork. Collaboration and communication were the foundation for the taskforce, and it wasn’t something you could opt out of. You mostly sat back and smiled at a few of the jokes shared, but the one time you spoke to add onto the dark humor from Simon scared the shit out of them. Even Simon was a little caught off guard despite his vehement denial. It was the start of the blossoming friendship between you and the team. 

This particular mission was no different than the others. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. Unfortunately, the world had different plans in mind for you and the boys. 

Soap had been talking your ear off and you listened in with a small smile on your face at his antics. It was amusing to you that he wasn’t put off by your scars, both physical and mental. He looked past them, not quite ignoring them but not pushing for you to spill the story behind them all if you weren’t ready. You were forever grateful for that. Gaz was in a similar vein, learning to eventually see you for who you were. Sometimes he poked and prodded you, but only in the intentions of helping you. Especially when you refused to see a therapist. Not after the last incident.

Ghost respected you at face value. The mask was who you were to him, and it didn’t make a difference in the slightest for your identity. It was a refreshing contrast to the other two who were not exactly openly prying, but their curiosity emitted from them like radiation. And you didn’t need a geiger counter to see that being near them would eventually unravel your DNA containing your secrets. Ghost simply left your skeletons in the closet lie. A needed deviation in your life. 

This mission required you to sneak into the compound in order to collect intel about nuclear weapons that a recent terrorist group had gotten their hands on. Obviously, that was a paramount issue that Shepherd had wanted the taskforce to take care of. Your boys would be creating a distraction away from your position, eventually creating a path to your location for a safe exfil after they had planted bombs around the compound. This establishment wasn’t going to be left standing after you guys were done with it if you could help it. 

“Is everyone clear on their positions?” Price’s voice breaks through the disassociation your mind had thrust you into. 

The ringing in your ears faded as the chatter began to quiet down and focus was injected into your veins. There was a small nagging feeling in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off as simple leftovers of anxiety growing mold in the fridge of your consciousness. You responded with a simple affirm alongside the rest of the team, eyes beginning to lose the dazed look within the cornea. You blink once and then twice as you take in your surroundings and run your tongue over your sharpened canines. 

Your muscles tense with anticipation, letting your legs carry you out of the truck that was about one klick from the objective. You were to be going on foot from here to avoid raising suspicion. The treeline would offer some cover for the infiltration attempt, the leaves in full swing. Unfortunately that also meant so were the bugs and thorns. You would just have to deal with it, although Soap wasn’t so easily placated.

“Fucking hell,” Soap exclaims, swatting at a very vague buzz that was swarming him.

“Here,” Gaz says, throwing Soap a can of bug spray. 

The droning and whirl of wings belonging to insects that lived long before humanity came about offers you a weird amount of comfort. It’s almost a commiseration of sorts between the creatures that nobody wanted around. You and the acarids. Nonetheless, you cover yourself in a self assumed shield of the spray that sticks to your skin in a way that makes you almost uncomfortable. The thorns and sticks pricking you through your tactical gear brings you relief. The opposite from what you presumed the others were experiencing.

It’s not like you were a masochist, peace and comfort have just never quite been something you’ve gotten used to. It’s what you’ve known most of your life and it’s what you’ll continuously go through. Much to the chagrin of your boys.

Speaking of, they appeared to be having varying levels of reaction to the harsh woodland environment. Soap has been openly complaining, although you knew it was mostly to break up the monotony of the trip alongside easing the anxiety of the others. He knew just how to utilize his personality like that and he wasn’t scared to come off as brash or even semi-annoying. You try to humor him enough to keep that spark going in his soul. That’s honestly a thought that keeps you up at night; Soap becoming like you or Ghost.

Gaz was experiencing his classic bad luck; truly trying to avoid any muddy spots or tripping on an exposed root, but it appears that it wasn’t working out for him. He had tripped over his own feet two times, an exposed root five, and almost twisted his ankle thrice. It was almost as if the woods had it out for him. You wince and make that last thing four times now as Gaz tripped over a small pebble and had to execute an almost ballerina-esque move to avoid falling face first into a puddle. It made you huff out a laugh, earning you a middle finger in your direction. Gaz truly does try his hardest in everything he does, placing expectations upon himself that nobody else even thinks of. Pressure mounting upon him that moves you to make sure he takes care of himself. You’ll be damned if you let him drown himself in the same way you do. 

Ghost was similar to your apathy, although you could tell from his body language that he was in as much discomfort as Soap was expressing. He refused to let even a slip of a grunt or groan escape from his sealed lips. His combat boots were sinking into the mud as much as Gaz, but he had significantly more coordination and confidence in his steps than Kyle did. You observed him quietly, seeing thorns stick into his skin - likely releasing the red ichor of his mortal body. Nonetheless, he braved on with only a slight wince betraying his emotions. It reminded you of how he faces his own torment and demons with nothing showing to anyone around. Not unless they’re particularly attuned to him and his distinctive micro-expressions. You know this as well as anyone, so you make a conscious effort to try and get Simon to open up to you. Not a lot, and sometimes not at all, but enough to sand down the roughness around his edges. Enough to heal him one scar at a time. 

Price was admonishing Soap for being so loud and semi-obnoxious. All in good fun, at least, at the distance you were away from the location. Given that Price was back at the car, you couldn’t exactly see what he was doing or his own personal quirks. However, you had known him long enough to know his personality and behavior. You had spent a good chunk of time analyzing the man that had offered you not only a position on this team, but a hand to help you up from your back-alley way of living. He was a tired man that needed some positive affirmation in his life if you were being honest. He had this entire team on his back alongside his position that designated him to a life chained to his work. His title delegated him to the duress that came with everyone expecting victory from you. It’s probability is down right improbable for him to always come out on top. Although, you doubt that he’s come to terms with that idea. You try your best to offer support in your own way, realizing that words alone aren’t going to cut it. You try to guide him to sleep if he’s too caught up in paperwork or offer him a cup of coffee just the way he likes it if an all-nighter is inevitable. You want to be there for him like he is for you. 

Laswell’s voice cuts through the comms and snaps you from your stupor. Kate Laswell. She offered you kindness while others offered you chains. She let you into her life instead of caging you like a feral animal. She took the muzzle off of your maw and let you speak. She presented you with a purpose outside of being a killing machine for your previous team sent in with no regard for your health or happiness. She gave you a life. One of your own. A team that you could rely on with a street of protection that goes both ways. Possibilities were opened up that you had never dared to dream of beforehand. You owed her your life, and that’s what you fought with on every mission. 

“You’re closing in on the base. Can we get a general overview of how it’s going?”

You smiled and shook your head before the Scot even opened his mouth.

“How’s it going? Oh wonderful, absolutely joyous,” Soap spoke with mock annoyance, good-natured humor shining through despite his tone.

“All is well, the intel we were given appears to be good. There should be no difficulties from our view over here,” Ghost answers, genuinely. 

“Affirm, I’m all set and ready here, Kate,” Price speaks, his commanding timbre sending rumbles down your spine and through your nervous system. 

“Remember, get in and get out, don’t get caught up in the blast,” Kate reminds you all, as if you could forget. 

A chorus of proclaimed agreements echoes throughout the trees of the forest. The silence that falls over the group afterwards makes you tense up and get into the mindset of the feral mutt that has kept you alive for this long. Your breath ends up heavy, saliva coating the inside of your jaws as you harshly swallow it down - almost choking every time you do. Your shoulders rise and fall in time with your respiration. Ghost checks in with the group one last time before you’re sent off first into the craw of the compound. Being a sacrifice is nothing new to you, but it still causes you to shudder in anticipation. Goosebumps rise all across your skin despite the temperature dictating otherwise. 

You wander forward, joints creaking in protest as you sneak around the side of the building. It’s inevitable that you have to utilize your knife, but you use it sparingly - not wanting the alarms to ring because some unfortunate soul stumbles upon the body of their fallen comrade. It’s almost second nature to you at this point and you would’ve zoned off if it wasn’t for the pure adrenaline rushing through your system.  You finally reach point A in which you reaffirm with the rest of the boys that the plan is a go and no complications have arised. 

You hear a plethora of acknowledgements before you begin to move forward with the permission of Ghost and Price. You snake cam the door before lock picking it after deeming it safe. There didn’t appear to be any enemies nearby much to your satisfaction. The less possibilities for this plan to go wrong, the better. It’s a waiting game as you come upon the stairwell door leading up to the room you were meant to infiltrate. The clock ticks down, the beats of your heart sounding out in your ears as a unit of measurement. 

Boom.

It’s the signal for you to proceed as all of the cameras are abandoned with the clicking of the gun trigger replacing the clack of keys in the office. You were all set up and ready to acquire the real reason your mission was handed out. Pushing past into the stairwell, you’re met with the surprise of an elbow to the face, effectively causing a gush of blood to start trickling down your face. Despite the advantage the enemy had from his effort of concealment working to catch you off guard, you gained your balance back quickly, and the pounding of your head did nothing to quell the vexation that led you to putting a knife in the guy’s eye. You shoot a bullet straight into his cranium with a glare, just to cover your tracks. 

You lick your chapped lips, tasting the metallic mouthful you had gotten from your little scuffle. You didn’t hear a crack, but it was definitely going to be a pain in the ass the next day. Nonetheless, you pushed on, aiming to be more aware of your surroundings. There was an odd lack of guards around the area for what seemed like the main structure. It set off warning bells in your head, but there was no turning back now. From the gunfire sounding out from below it seemed that the others would be too caught up to engage in a verbal conversation regarding your worries. Not like you weren’t confident in your own abilities, quite the opposite, but Price had managed to drill into your head that not everything had to be faced alone. Jokes on him, this situation had the appearance of it being a one man operation. 

You and your blood soaked sleeves made your way to the computer where you gathered yourself into a semi-coherent being in order to upload data from their system. The hard part was already done for you; all you had to do was plug a hard drive into a computer and wait. And that you did. You almost felt sorry for getting their keyboard all slick with your carnage escaping from your sinuses. It also felt as if you had bitten your tongue during the altercation, your mouth being yet another outlet for the liquid escaping you. You spat on the floor, maroon saliva staining it. 

Running down your neck, the blood seemed to stop at that point, trickling off into a simple seeping of gore. You consider yourself lucky, just in time for the information to be uploaded onto the hard drive you were given. You report over to Price and Laswell, a slight lisp imbued into your words due to the tip of your tongue suffering from puncture wounds your teeth had embedded into the soft muscle. They understood you perfectly fine however, and you were instructed to continue with the orders you were given. At that moment however, the lack of communication on your part about your suspicions of an ambush was coming back to bite you in the ass. Almost literally. 

A gloved hand smothers your mouth, effectively suffocating you. If the arm around your throat and its connected hand stifling your ability to productively breath wasn’t enough, there was now a knife lodged in your side. Your attacker drove the knife you suspected he took from your gear even further into your abdomen, twisting it like he was wringing out the last of his laundry. Except you were the clothes and your blood was escaping you, much to your chagrin. Fortunately for you, this particular guard was practically brain dead when it came to medical knowledge, so you were pretty confident that you were going to live. That is, if you could escape without being asphyxiated to death. 

You maneuver your maw into an opportune striking position, opening your jaws like a dog being thrown a bone. The coincidental nature of that thought would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t currently on the verge of being slaughtered and gutted like a pig. You chomp down and dig your teeth into the metacarpals of his skeleton, relishing in his grunt of pain and attempt to recoil. You were like a dog with a bone though, and you’d be damned if anyone tried to take it from you. His attempt to pry your jaws open with the hand that soon abandoned the knife in your side after the puncturing of his palm. You ground your teeth into the fat of his hand before realizing the glove was going to be an issue. You turn your teeths’ attention to his exposed wrist, aiming for his radial artery. Unfortunately for him, your fangs found their intended target and perforated his skin. You threw your head back, grasping his arm with your other hands - clawing at it like a feral beast. 

You effectively were one, your mouth full of flesh and muscle that didn’t belong to you. Although, you suppose that one could argue it didn’t belong to him either. Not anymore. You spat out the pulp of tissue, realizing that he had let you go. You put a bullet right through his eyes, spraying blood and brain matter across the room. Well deserved for someone like him. You drive your boot into his lifeless corpse, really kicking the man while he was down. Your joke, although knowing nobody alive was around to hear it, made a hysterical laugh claw its way out of your throat. Your larynx had really betrayed your deranged and volatile behavior. Your manic nature had kept you alive so far, so you supposed you had only yourself to thank. 

You shoved your bloodied tongue around your mouth, hoping to wash out the taste of human flesh. It wasn’t the worst thing you’ve tasted - that goes to Ghost’s attempts at cooking - but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. You wiped your mouth against the back of your hand, quickly realizing that it too was bloody. Red wasn’t really your color right now, otherwise you would have appreciated the look. You quickly checked over your supplies, knowing that you could make due with anything around the room or at the very least your hands, but feeling comfort in the weight of the metal contraption that delivered death at a much quicker rate. Hemorrhaging from either a knife or a gun was much more effective than your bare hands. Or teeth. 

It appears that your enemies didn’t appreciate your sentiment though, ambushing you only to take away such things from your grasp. There were two this time. They almost reminded you of Soap and Ghost, if those two were actively trying to kill you. Your boys only sometimes did that, and most of the time it was pitiful attempts. You were actually the one that got quite a few new rules implemented during training - but seriously, who stops in the middle of a fight to ask if something is legal? No-one, which is exactly why you simply did what was necessary to survive, to quote verbatim what you had said to Price as your excuse when Soap had ended up in the med bay. 

Be that as it may, these guards weren’t who you thought them akin to. Therefore, everything was on the table. Especially since they had made the grave error of giving your standard weapons a place on the backburner. Now, the only thought in your mind was kill. At all costs necessary. Your sharpened canines glinted in the dim lighting with a scarlet staining the pearly white as your mouth opened. It’s unfortunate for them that they didn’t have a muzzle on hand. 

Before the one in front of you had an opportunity to shoot you through any vital organ, you used your body weight to shove the one holding you to the ground - the bullet whizzing above you. A guttural growl escaped your throat as you turned your attention to escaping the grasp of the poor soul restraining your body. You grasp his upper arm, twisting yourself to use his body as a human shield. It would’ve made you gag if this was the first time you’ve done this. Regrettably, you have quite a bit of experience in this particular experience. 

The bullets pierced the soon to be corpse of his comrade, narrowly avoiding you except for one that grazed your side. You really were losing a lot of blood today. Making your way to safety was your biggest priority; however, that was proving difficult with leftover guards that were actually doing their job semi-well. You untucked yourself from under the weight of the stiff remains and threw yourself at the unlucky fellow who had just run out of ammo in his weapon. A simple click is all you heard as the gun escaped his grasp in favor of his bare hands. You were thrown into a chokehold yet again. These guys really did like their chokeholds. His hand gripped the knife slick with your own blood from your hands and ripped it out, leaving you to bleed to death. His mistake though was only using one hand to contain your rage filled body made of torn flesh and bones. 

You tore yourself from his grasp, with the worst luck in all of history happening with the knife getting knocked down the stairwell - sounding like a fork being dropped in the sink on its way down. You were in no condition to run or even jump after it, and the only other weapon was out of ammo, so it seemed you were yet again stuck using your bare hands. They trembled as you gathered yourself, preparing yourself for what you were being forced to do in order to escape this ordeal alive. You settled your weight into your haunches and launched yourself at the enemy, vision bloodshot and tinted red. An animalistic growl escaped yourself, sounding almost like a hyena’s maniacal laugh. Your lunge proved fruitful as your claws came into contact with his facial features, digging into his eyes to blind him. The texture of the soft tissue under your sharpened nails flexed and then ruptured. The front layers of his cornea gave way to the gooey gel similar to egg whites that filled the orbs. 

A visceral scream escaped the man below you, causing Price to finally check in over comms. At least, you think so, it was getting hard to hear with the ringing in your ears. You didn’t respond either way.

You knew that even blind, the man was still a liability. Or maybe he wasn’t, but to your addled brain firing neuron after neuron that drove you with the only thoughts occupying you being: survive and kill; well, the feral nature of yourself pushed you to make sure he was dead. You had your training to thank for that. You knew that the rest of his body was protected by the structure of his epidermis, much to your dissatisfaction. Your thoughts wandered back to the first enemy you encountered as you loomed over the blinded man. Your mind was made up.

In a split second decision, you descended your fangs into his throat, sinking your teeth into his trachea and hearing a sickening squelch of his bare flesh. The muscles gave way as you shook your head like a rabid dog, separating his tissue from their home within his body. You didn’t stop until you felt his carotid artery begin to hemorrhage. You shakily stand up, staring at the massacre you had left behind. Your jaw would definitely be sore the next day. There wasn’t a surface of you that wasn’t absolutely drenched in blood, and you couldn’t tell where yours began and theirs ended. The corpse beneath you had stopped screaming after the first puncture of your teeth - at least, you’re pretty sure. The haze surrounding your mind made thinking about it too hard. It almost fills you with a sense of regret at letting the monster you once were out of their muzzle yet again. The halfway decapitated body was left as you limped down the stairs and out a back door. 

You shambled out into the woods, faltering only twice to prevent yourself from tripping since you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to get up again after that. The rush of blood in your head faded as the sounds around you finally cascaded back into reality. You swore you could feel the dripping of blood spurting out of all open wounds in time with your heart. The chaos finally sunk in, the screaming over comms for your response demanding your attention.

“I’m,” You break up your sentence with a cough. “I’m fine,” Your voice sounds crackly and hoarse. Not that you’re surprised.

“Where the fuck are you, you were supposed to be out of there five minutes ago,” Price yells out over the radio. 

“I don’t exactly know. Somewhere out in the woods?” You respond, your head pounding.

“Ghost, find them!” Price had apparently discerned that you were in no condition to be taking in your surroundings accurately enough to ascertain an accurate location. 

“Fuck, I think I see them. Hound!”

You think you hear a faint yelling of your name, although it doesn’t quite register to your unhinged and disoriented brain. All you could tell through the muddy fog of your mind was a person. Enemy. Kill. Survive. Escape. You felt their hands on you, your throat closing up in response as you preemptively expected to be strangled half to death. You let out a snarl, baring your teeth and coming into contact with what you think is a hand. Either way, it doesn’t matter to you and you bite down with the force of a wild animal. A yelp is heard, only cementing your actions in your mind. 

“Calm the fuck down Sergeant.”

A voice cuts through the haze like a hot knife through butter. You fall limp in the grasp; whether it’s because you recognize the voice or you simply are accepting your fate is up in the air. Nonetheless, your surroundings begin to load in, your eyes stopping their constant darting around and focusing on a singular face. Or, faces. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. They had found you. You were safe. You notice Soap has a bleeding hand - your own handiwork without a doubt. Guilt floods you, your behavior similar to a puppy hearing the words ‘bad dog’ for the first time in their life. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You did great, Hound,” Soap begins to say. 

“Come back to us, Love,” Gaz whispers, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” You cry out, finally feeling the effects of your pure exhaustion. 

“I don’t blame you, Jesus, you’re gonna have a hell of a story to tell us when you get all patched up again, Hound,” Soap exclaims.

“How much of this blood is yours?” Ghost finally cuts in.

“Not a lot, just where the knife was and I might’ve gotten shot.”

“Might’ve?” Soap laughs.

“Mission, guys,” Price finally interrupts. “I’m glad you’re safe, Hound.”

The mission continues, you leaning on Soap since you’re pretty sure stumbling down the stairs strained one of your ankles. You spewed out numerous apologies for his hand, but he didn’t want to hear any of it. The go ahead for the air team with Laswell to level the building was given, and the exfil point was finally reached by your ground group. At that point, you were barely conscious, hearing echoes of pet names assuring you only a little longer and to stay with them. They plagued the darkness that overtook you and greeted you as you woke up to the blinding light of the medical room. 

“Welcome back to the world of living,” Soap says. “The doctors hadn’t seen anything like you before,” He laughs. 

“Do you want to explain why they found human tissue in your mouth?” Ghost asks, his tone inquisitive.

“Shit man, let them have a bit of a break before we interrogate them,” Gaz chuckles, offering you some water, much to your appreciation. 

You gulp down the water like it was the last time you would ever get the precious liquid, your body thanking you. You sheepishly hand the empty cup back to an amused Gaz. You clear your throat, not quite ready to delve into the specifics of what you had to do to survive, but knowing you had to. Being open in communication was a non-arguable point to being a part of the taskforce. 

“Most of the blood on me when you found me was probably belonging to the man I might’ve,” You pause, “ripped the throat out of?” You rush that last part out as quickly as you could, knowing that despite your efforts, they’re going to question you.

Both Soap and Gaz’s eyes widened almost comically, both quickly exclaiming different curse words. One being Scottish curses that you could barely make out from his accent. The other being aggressively British expletives spilling out of Gaz’s mouth. Ghost simply looked upon you with what seemed to be both admiration and affirmation. You had known he would be the most likely to not be surprised at your actions. He knew what it was like to have an untamed beast within you. 

“What in the bloody hell did you say?” Price was apparently looming in the doorway, keeping himself hidden until this moment.

You cough, and ask “Is now a good time to mention I also might’ve done the same to a man’s hand?”

Soap had a horrified look upon his face. “You’re saying I could’ve lost my precious hand?”

You had almost forgotten about Soap’s injury, and stared at him with a semblance of guilt flashing across your face. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” You say quietly. 

“What happened to the good ole knife or bullet?” Soap asked, offering you his bandaged hand to hold in an offer of forgiveness and trust.

“They stole my shit, and my knife ended up kicked down a staircase after it was ripped out of me,” You pouted, the drug concoction of morphine and other such things loosening you up to talk. 

“You’re quite a rabid beast, ain’t you?” Price said, his tone betraying the fact that he was in fact quite proud of you. It wasn’t meant in a derogatory way and you knew that. You smiled in his direction, jokingly baring your teeth at your Captain. 

“Aye, I think you’re more than a baying hound at this point. Maybe Rottweiler would serve you better. That mouthful of teeth sure does remind me of my childhood,” Soap says, shivering at the thought of being the victim of your maw. 

“I hate to think of the final view those soldiers saw of you,” Gaz laughs. 

“I think Rottweiler suits you,” Ghost says. “Fearless yet loyal.”

The rest of the team nods in agreement, surrounding you with support and love. Something that still unsettles you to this day, but not in the same way facing down the barrel of a gun would. It’s a warm embrace in front of a fireplace that sends a jolt of something new down your spine. A fondness spreading like wildfire, adoration deep seated in your bones to those around you. Just like a dog, you were a fierce protector of your family, but with them? You were a tender beast that rolled over at their feet. 

You couldn’t think of anything better than that thought which warmed your heart. 

[fsokov]

⚠️EXPLICIT GORE

⚠️EXPLICIT GORE

⚠️EXPLICIT GORE

I guess that’s our goodbye, Leon.

[jaubaius]

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That’s so smooooth!

Source

[unforgivenn]

Whumpee who considers being tortured by their master as a gift. They thank whumper every time they torture whumpee. To test their limits whumper gets more and more brutal but whumpee doesn't even flinch. Maybe at some point they finally shed a tear and what happens after that? It's up to you, maybe whumper realises they enjoy whumpee crying and torture them in even more gruesome ways or maybe whumper feels bad or maybe smn completely different? ¿ Bonus points if you can write about whumpee's training into becoming so open to torture

0.0 excuse me what?!! I love this idea so muchhh!!

CW: Torture, psychological manipulation, blood, phsyical and emotional abuse, creepy ass whumper

Whumpee knelt in the dimly lit room, the cold stone floor pressing against their bare knees. Their eyes were closed, a serene smile playing on their lips. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the walls, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Despite the bruises and cuts adorning their body, they radiated an unsettling calm.

“Thank you, Master,” Whumpee whispered, their voice trembling with genuine gratitude.

Whumper, standing tall and imposing, looked down at Whumpee with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Each session had grown progressively more brutal, designed to break the spirit of any ordinary person. But Whumpee was different. Different from their previous victims. They never begged for mercy, never cried out in pain. Instead, they thanked their torturer, each time more fervently than the last. As if they deserved all that was happening to them.

"My, my whumpee. You truly are something else y'know?"Whumper sneered, picking up a serrated knife from the table laden with cruel instruments. The blade glinted menacingly as it caught the light. "You think this is a gift?"

Whumpee's smile widened, their eyes opening slightly to reveal a glimmer of adoration. "Y-Yes, Master. T-They are proof that I am worthy of your attention."

"Well then," Whumper murmured, stepping closer, "let's see how far your gratitude goes."

The knife traced a slow, deliberate line across Whumpee's chest, carving a deep, jagged wound. Blood welled up, trickling down in crimson rivulets. Whumpee's breath hitched, but the smile never wavered.

"Thank you, Master," they gasped, voice tinged with a peculiar blend of pain and bliss that was barely noticeable.

Whumper's eyes narrowed, anger simmering beneath their cold exterior. They wanted to see Whumpee break, to hear them scream, to witness the raw agony they inflicted. And yet, Whumpee's unwavering gratitude was a constant mockery of their power.

Whumper's hand tightened around the knife's hilt with a smile, before it was plunged into whumpee's shoulder and then twisted it cruelly. Whumpee shuddered, a soft moan escaping their lips. "T-Thank you."

Whumper's hand clenched around the hilt of the knife. This devotion, this blind obedience, it was intoxicating and infuriating in equal measure. They wanted to see Whumpee break, to hear them scream, to shatter that serene composure.

With a sudden, savage motion, Whumper plunged the knife into Whumpee's side. Blood welled up, a dark, glistening pool that soaked into their clothing. Whumpee shuddered, their breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. Yet, even as pain contorted their features, they managed to whisper, "Thank you" which was now repeating in their mind again and again. They wanted whumpee to beg. To beg and break down.

And for that, they were now ready to do anything.

Whumper pulled the knife free, their eyes searching Whumpee's face for any sign of true suffering. The cuts grew deeper, the wounds more grievous. But still, Whumpee did not falter. They trembled, they bled, but they did not break.

Days turned into weeks, and the sessions became a macabre dance of agony and gratitude. Whumpee's body bore the marks of countless tortures, yet the same gratitude kept escaping their lips, even when whumper had left them half dead.

One night, as the moon cast pale light into the torture chamber, Whumper approached Whumpee with a new instrument. A branding iron, its tip glowing red-hot. Whumpee's eyes widened slightly, but they quickly lowered their head in submission.

"Do you still thank me, Whumpee?" Whumper asked, their voice a low, dangerous purr. "Do you still see this as a gift?"

Whumper pulled the branding iron from the fire, the metal now glowing a fierce, angry red. They hummed to a song that was painfully familiar to whumpee as they waited, standing there as if they were doing something as simple as brewing tea. They approached Whumpee slowly, savoring the anticipation that hung heavy in the air. The iron hissed ominously, and the heat radiating from it was almost unbearable even from a distance.

The brand seared into Whumpee's flesh, the smell of burning skin filling the air.

Then, a single tear slipped from Whumpee's eye, cutting a path through the blood and sweat on their face. It was a small thing, almost insignificant. But to Whumper, it was everything.

Whumper's eyes widened, a twisted smile spreading across their face. They reached out, fingers brushing against the tear-streaked cheek. "Beautiful," Whumper murmured, their voice filled with a dark, sadistic pleasure. "Do it again."

Whumper pressed the hot iron deeper, looking as the skin seemed like it was disintegrating leaving hot red liquid behind. Whumpee's breath hitched, multiple tears going down with a barely audible sob.

The smile on Whumper's face only grew from that. They stepped back, raising the branding iron once more.

"Let's see how many tears I can wring from you tonight."

[allthegeopolitics]

Warning this article contains extremely graphic details of children experiencing extreme violence and injuries. I'm putting the entire quoted section under a read more. It is important, but I also don't want to trigger people.

In the United States we would never dream of operating on anyone without consent, let alone a malnourished and barely conscious 9-year-old girl in septic shock. Nevertheless, when we saw Juri, that’s exactly what we did. We have no idea how Juri ended up in the Gaza European Hospital preoperative area. All we could see was that she had an external fixator — a scaffold of metal pins and rods — on her left leg and necrotic skin on her face and arms from the explosion that tore her little body to shreds. Just touching her blankets elicited shrieks of pain and terror. She was slowly dying, so we decided to take the risk of anesthetizing her without knowing exactly what we would find. In the operating room, we examined Juri from head to toe. This beautiful, meek little girl was missing two inches of her left femur along with most of the muscle and skin on the back of her thigh. Both of her buttocks were flayed open, cutting so deeply through flesh that the lowest bones in her pelvis were exposed. As we swept our hands through this topography of cruelty, maggots fell in clumps onto the operating room table. “Jesus Christ,” Feroze muttered as we washed the larvae into a bucket, “she’s just a fucking kid.”

Continue Reading.

[radioblueheart]

The Toxic Avenger (1984)

Dir. Lloyd Kaufman (as Samuel Weil) and Michael Herz

[spiderywigglerodstuff]

Freshly hatched and ready to destroy

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

𝔄𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔫 𝔎𝔬𝔰𝔷𝔬𝔴𝔰𝔨𝔦 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤’𝔰 ℭ𝔶𝔠𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔴𝔬𝔩𝔣 (յգՑՅ)

[mikhaila-bobersky]

Sweden finally joins the military and NATO!

[brienneoftarth1989]

Undercover part 6

Miranda Hilmarson x fem reader

Previous / Next / Series

Summary: Miranda didn’t like the show you had put on for her to the point she ended up leaving. You confronted her there and then to which you were told that you were messed up for doing that to people.

Warnings: gangs, extreme torture: use of wrench (breaking bones), car battery (electrocution) and pliers (teeth removal)

Requests open

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Once Miranda arrived in the white room she was shocked to see the scene in front of her. The man she brought in just days ago was strapped to a wooden chair with a heart rate patient monitor attached to him via the chest. They did not look like they were in great condition at all and then there was you.

You were standing there with a smug expression plastered on your face while standing next to your table of torture devices. On your table you had a jerry can full of petrol, a car battery with crocodile clips attached to the battery, a wrench as well as a pair of pliers. Miranda could only imagine what you could possibly do to this poor man. “Miranda! I’m so glad you could join me. I really do have a show for you today. I’m sure you’re going to love it” you said quite happily.

You ran your hands over the selection of tools that you had laid out in front of you trying to come to a decision. You finally came to the decision of using the pliers. “Now are you going to tell me what I want to know or will I have to rip your teeth out?” you smirked at the man in front of you.

You could tell he was scared even if he was trying his best not to freak out. “Please! I really don’t know what you're on about. There must be a mistake. I don’t have any dirt on you at all” they begged you. “Yeah, I’ve heard that line before. Well at least you won’t have to go to the dentist anymore” you laughed as you gripped one of his molars and started to wiggle the tooth before ripping it out of his mouth completely. The scream that came out of his mouth didn’t even sound human. “Don’t worry I will leave some teeth left in your mouth! Maybe like ten” you laughed as you continued to rip his teeth out of his mouth.

You were also keeping a close eye on his heart rate making sure he didn’t get to the point where he would die. That takes out the fun of all this plus if he is dead then you wouldn’t get the answers you wanted from the motherfucker. You looked over to Miranda to see how she was doing and the look she had on her face was not the look you were hoping for. Normally your crew love to watch stuff like this but Miranda looked distraught.

You decided that maybe he had has enough teeth taken out and moved on to the next torture item. You placed the blood covered pliers on the table and picked up the wrench. You turned back to your victim to see tears streaming down his face. “Come on my friend, if you just tell me what I want to know this will be over very soon. You’re just going to make life more difficult for yourself” you laughed.

“Ple..Please” he coughed “my gang. They are after you” he mumbled as blood dribbled out of his mouth. “I’m sorry but I’m going to need a lot more information than that. You gripped the wrench before swinging it at one of his shins which caused the leg to break instantly. You heard the bone break before the room was filled with his deafening scream.

“The Banner Riders! They want to destroy you” he sobbed to himself. It was clear that he didn’t want to give out a lot of information because he knew it was going to get him in trouble with his own gang. The problem is though if he doesn’t get talking soon he might not be alive to go back to his gang. “Now we are getting somewhere. Unfortunately I’m going to need more information than that in order to stop this torture” you smiled at him.

You placed the wrench back onto the table and looked between the gasoline and the car battery with the crocodile clips. You turned on the battery letting it charge up so you could torture him further. “Are you sure about this?” Miranda asked you from across the room. “Why are you questioning me Miranda? Just you remember who I am. If I want to torture my victims like this then I will and I don’t expect anyone to question my decisions! Is that understood Miranda?” you started to shout at her.

“Yes Boss” Miranda responded, making sure to use the phrase that everyone else has to use. “Good now don’t interrupt me again or there will be consequences” you said sternly. You picked up the crocodile clips which were bound to have enough charge in them now. “Now I’m only going to ask this once. What does your gang want with me?” you asked your victim.

“I honestly don’t know. It’s all top secret. Not even I was supposed to know” they pleaded. “Wrong answer” you laughed before attaching the clips to his nipples sending waves and waves of electricity running through his body. You were quick to take the clips off letting him breath for a second before reattaching the clips back to his chest.

“Stop it for fuck sake! I think you have torture this man enough! Honestly y/n you are one sick motherfucker!” Miranda screamed as she stormed out of the white room. “Fuck you Miranda! Just you remember who the fuck you are talking to!” you screamed back at her. You so desperately wanted to finish what you were doing but you couldn’t leave it like this. “I will be back” you told your victim before placing the clips back on the table and following after Miranda.

“Miranda wait” you shouted after her. Thankfully she hadn’t got too far and she had heard you shout after her. She knew better than to keep walking so she stopped and waited for you to catch up with her. “What was that about Miranda? I was putting on a right show for you. Do you know how many people in this gang would love to be in the position that you were in? People would pay me so they could watch that kind of action. I thought you would have enjoyed it considering you joined my gang out of all the gangs out. You knew what I was like so if this isn’t for you why did you join?” you asked Miranda.

“Honestly y/n you are just fucked in the head and you’re just one sick motherfucker. I know you want an answer but there are better ways to go about it” she argued back. “Actually Miranda there is not. Do you know what being in gangs means? You not only have to prove to your gang that you mean business but you also have to prove it to your competition. No gang in the history of gangs have ever gone the right way about things because that is unfortunately not how you gain respect. I don’t understand why you still want to be in my gang if this is how you feel?” you questioned Miranda.

“I can still be a part of a gang and not agree with all aspects of it. I’m happy going out and listening to intel but I draw my line at whatever kind of display that was” she said before storming off to her room. You were getting angry at this point and couldn’t deal with it anymore. You left Miranda to her own devices before heading back to the white room to finish the business you had started.

[jxnisnotfunny]

before i go to bed once again. i just saw the most disturbing thing. and ofc i must talk about it, because it's ever so important.

(tw: discussion and censored presentation of extreme graphic violence)

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honestly there's no beating around the bush here, i'm just gonna get to the point.

(additional note from op: "Btw I censored the @ cause it was censoredmen which I heard is a right wing account using palestine for clicks")

i saw the uncensored image too. just about an hour ago. on here, in fact, through a screenshotted instagram(?) post from motaz... idk WHAT within me wrenched the second i saw it, but something did. this photo is absolutely horrifying, harrowing and disturbing.

before anyone gets morbidly curious, let me describe the image. and let it be known that i'm not trying to be funny when i say this:

imagine if someone was lying on the ground, and all of a sudden, 90% of their body turned into splattered tomatoes. no face or head, no torso, no legs. that's what it looks like. that was a man. maybe even a boy. he was someone's someone. and now he's gone. in this most mangled form, no less... and it doesn't even stop there. the exposed right arm (still uncensored even in the embedded tweet)? you can tell where the treads ran this man over because his upper arm is completely flattened. his other arm is indiscernible. his right leg was completely destroyed into nothing but saggy flesh and a protruding tibia bone. you can't even see his organs clearly, he's just a heaping mound of red and yellow, with the only things "remaining"- aside from his right arm- being his clothes... my explanation hasn't even scratched the surface.

listen. i'm not easily disturbed by things. i've seen and heard a lot about this world and how scummy people can be... but this did it for me. i can't believe my eyes. my body is actually still somewhat shaking and sore from shock. if you're one to get easily sick from violence even leagues less gruesome than this... welp, this is your warning.

frankly, i really ought to have stopped looking at the picture longer ago, but part of me couldn't... everyone says "don't look away" when referring to the silence of you and the world as these atrocities are photographed, filmed and posted in real time... but for a good 10-20 minutes, if not more, i just kept looking. part of me wanted to argue morbid curiosity, but at the same time, it couldn't be...

i think of it now more as the epitome. the weight of the situation was just presented to me, clear as crystal. this is what palestinians are dealing with constantly while i'm safe and well at home. i couldn't imagine what this feels like, physically or mentally, but they're experiencing it right now. meanwhile, "israelis" are living as usual, pretending this is actually a two-sided war...

"israel" and everyone else complicit and/or participating must never be forgiven. this needs to end. NOW.

and the timing could've have been better for me to see this and make this post. today is the global shutdown for palestine. today is the day where we can show the world that these actions are beyond unacceptable. this picture, censored or not, should fuel your rage and urge you to take action. the plight and suffering of palestinians will end someday, as long as we keep working as a collective society and fight like hell. it HAS to.

[sgt-shivers]

[superstupendoussims]

Simstober 2022 -Bloodcurdling

[blubfishblue]

Ivory wins competitions, and she wins them alone. It's always last man standing, no matter who your teamed with.

Not to mention she's well equipped with the blood lust to tear her opponent's throats out with her teeth if she has to.

Not that a bite would be a good strategy in a fight; no, that would leave her too exposed and with little line of sight on the enemy's weapons. But, if it came down to it, there would be no hesitation to taste her foe's blood. She has in the past, and. It's not all it's talked up to be.

Besides, her horns are far sharper if she needs an attack and her arms are full. But given a choice, she sticks to her axe or her claws. It's a pain to pick viscera out of her long hair after using her horns to kill.

Violent bloody murder fic! Come one come all, watch Ivory girlboss all over the place and kill people!