#Trigger warning implied amputation

[faux-ecrivain]

Frightened Ex x Yandere reader

“When Cupid gets it wrong, goodbyes can be messy.” - that private eye who worked for the HPD for thirty years from that one episode of Hawaï Five-O where that girl in a red dress died and the private eye was narrating the story

(Trigger warning: murder, death and amputation are mentioned/implied.)

(Also, you, the reader, are the yandere here)

(Sixteenth Official Post)

(Merry Christmas)

(Happy Holidays)

(name is Anthony)

          When you and Anthony first started dating he thought you were an absolutely wonderful person, he admired you and would go out of his way to please you. Then just 4 years into your relationship, you started to behave… strangely. You were more possessive and would often isolate him from his friends (regardless of gender).     

         Sometimes, you would makes jokes about locking him up and killing all his friends, which made him very uncomfortable. Luckily, after expressing his discomfort, you quit joking like that, but now he was wary around you and he was considering breaking up with you. However, when he expressed this decision to you, you informed him that you wouldn’t let him leave and would make sure he knew his place.

——————————————————————

   Anthony’s breath was muffled by his hands, his eyes squeezed shut as he prays that you won’t find him. He doesn’t know why you’re acting like this, treating him like a prisoner and trying to lock him away in your dreary, albeit big, house. He shuffles further into the closet, his knees up and his legs pulled close to his body. Tears fall down his face and he sniffles, what once was a beautiful, loving relationship, was now massacred beyond fixing.

         He listens as you creep through the hallway, he hears your ominous voice call out to him and he fights the urge to run into your arms. Yes, he’s scared, but often when he was scared you would be there to comfort him. Your footsteps grow closer, the floorboards creak and you stop in front of the closet. You taunt him, calling out for him, even though he’s certain you know he’s in there. “Anthony, baby, wheeere are yoou? Are you hiding from me?” Shivers wrack his body the moment he hears a haunting giggle escape your mouth. 

          “That’s not very nice, Anthony. Didn’t your mommy ever teach you manners?” Anthony’s tears fall faster as you bring up his mother, he’s sure you’ve done something to her, probably killed her. You begin moving again, the creaking of the floorboards lessen in volume and he assumes you’ve moved away from the closet. Still, he doesn’t leave and instead waits inside the closet for a matter of minutes. He listens diligently for your footsteps and hopes you won’t come back. 

          After at least 20 minutes have passed he cracks the closet door open, his eyes roam across the expanse of the hallway and his fear lessens once he sees the hall empty. He sneaks out of the closet, quietly closes the door behind him and sneaks in the direction opposite of the way that you went. For a moment, Anthony believes he can escape, he thinks he can make it to the door and run away from you. He thinks he came leave you behind, but he was wrong, so very wrong. 

          His heart stops when you call out to him, your voice smug and haughty. “There you are, baby, trying to escape, again?” He turns around and his body freezes as you approach. His heart beats erratically and he can barely form a single thought in his brain. Then he quickly snaps to when he realizes the distance between you two is slowly closing. He wills his legs to work and, when they do, he rushes off in a random direction. One that will hopefully allow him freedom or a moment’s salvation. 

         You groan when he runs off again, it was getting quite annoying and each time he ran it made you want to immobilize him. You snicker at the thought, but since you have no desire to traumatize him, more than you already have, you decide against such an idea. You stalk after him, taking your time as you knew he was likely lost in the maze of a house you own. Your throat vibrates as you begin to hum, a tune much too joyful for the present time. You hear Anthony crack open the door to the left wing of your house, well it isn’t actually your house, but does that really matter? 

          Anthony closes the heavy mahogany door behind him and wince at the loud slam it releases. He wrings his hands together and begins to walk down the darkened hallway, he’s never seen this part of the house before, it’s all worn down. He exhales and continues walking, his eyes glancing around his surroundings and taking in the strange decorations hanging up. Some of them seem entirely too old for such a modern house, some seem to be straight from the eighteenth century. 

          He doesn’t have time to dwell on your strange interior choices, as he hears the mahogany doors creak open and slam shut. His hearts begins to race, once more, and he knows you’re near. He fears that he might never escape and that you would catch him. He’s so scared, so frightened. He doesn’t know what to do, should he run or should he hide?

(I know everyone voted yes go back to my old style, but I didn’t know how else to write this oneshot. Don’t worry though, I’ll still listen to you guys and will continue writing in my old style, but I might also write this way.)

(Hope you enjoyed and hopefully you guys are excited for the next part!)

—————————————————-

(Don’t worry, I’m going to post all three (or two) endings, I just need to know which one you want first.)

(Expect another post around 12:30 this afternoon)

[spacedace]

Here have a quick blurb I wrote partially inspired by that AU where Kon thinks Danny is a clone of his that has been mixed with Kryptonite, but it's Elle who's just escaped from the GIW instead (as always feel free to use this as a writing prompt if anyone is interested):

Trigger warning for mild gore in the form of implications of dissection/vivisection, torture, dismemberment/amputation as well as implied starvation. Nothing too detailed, but Elle is in bad shape and I want to give fair warning that it is there.

-

Kon was the closest when the glowing green tear in space and time ripped open in the sky above Metropolis.

Which meant he was the first to see the tiny, injured figure falling out of it, plummeting to the ground in tattered hospital scrubs stained red and green. He moved before he could think, darting forward in the air to grab the battered body, not caring what else might come out of the ominous tear in reality above them. He didn’t care if he got chewed out for being careless, not when the body in his arms was so light and the hazy eyes looking up at him were so scared.

It was just a girl.

White hair darkening to black at the ends, blue eyes ringed with glowing green, little fangs and ashen skin with an arm severed at the elbow and a horrible Y incision carved into her chest seeping through the thin fabric of the medical scrubs she was wearing. She couldn’t be any older than Jon, weakly grabbing at his jacket with her one remaining hand as Kon flew her away from the - thankfully? - closing portal and towards the nearest emergency medical team as quickly as he could. Super strength meant he never really felt the weight of anyone he carried, but there’s something about how gaunt and thin she was that made her seem as solid as sea foam and shattered glass in his arms.

“D…anny?” The girl asked weakly, voice a painful rasp full of such weak hope as she blinked up at him through tear filled eyes. Her head lolled so she was tucking her face into his chest, fragile body shaking with sobs she wasn’t really strong enough for. “Th-ank you, thank you.”

He looked down and saw this injured girl and all that’s been done to her - her green-red blood is seeping into his uniform, her body going cold, cold, cold - and all he wanted was to crush her close and give her the kind of protective hug he’d give Jon after a rough battle. He was too afraid of hurting her more to dare to try though, instead settling on the soft hushing reassurances that she was going to be okay, that he was going to get her help as he pushed himself as hard as he could to get her to medical as quickly as possible.

When he touched down at the nearest JL base, a swarm of doctors and nurses already there and waiting with a stretcher and a crash cart, the girl in his arms gave a weak wail of terror, clinging to him as hard as her frail body would allow her to. “Please don’t let them take me again, Danny, please I can’t - I can’t…”

“Hey, hey, hey,” He shushed her, “It’s going to be okay,” He said, careful as he gently shifted her down onto the stretcher. “They’re here to help. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” It took barely a touch to pull her too-thin hand from his jacket, her small body trembling as she laid there looking up at him. The green was bleeding further into the blue, but the glow of it was starting to dim. The white in her hair sunk down further, leeching all the color out of the black, letting him see the green and red of her blood staining it as it did.

“Promise?” She was so small, Kon felt his heart breaking at the hoarse desperate whisper in her voice as she wept. He wanted to find whoever did this to this girl and tear them apart with his bare hands.

“Promise.” He swore, giving as much of a squeeze to her hand as he dared. “They’re going to fix you up and I’m going to be right here. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

—

Tim found Kon exactly where he expected to: curled up in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to the bed of the mystery girl in the med bay.

Kon hadn’t left since he’d brought the girl in, stubbornly staying at her bedside and only able to be separated from her for as long as it took for the medical staff to stabilize the girl. She’d apparently not reacted well to the doctors, even less so to the prospect of the sterile white medical bay, and Kon had been the only one that had been able to get her to calm down long enough for them to actually work on her. Eventually the doctors confirmed that she was at least enough human that standard sedatives and anesthesia would work on her safely and they were able to knock her out, but even then Kon had refused to leave.

Looking at her in person for the first time, Tim could see why.

Their young Jane Doe was cleaned up compared to the state she’d been in when Kon had caught her falling out of the portal, but she was still a long way from out of the woods. Bones predominant beneath thin, sickly skin. Bruising and scars evident and recent. Left arm already partially gone when she’d appeared, now amputated up to just below her shoulder due to the amount of damage the doctor’s had found when going over her injuries.

She was small, smaller than Damian, and best estimates had her at about the same age as Tim’s youngest brother. Same age as Jon, too. And with some of her features similar enough - the blue in her eyes, the black in her hair, the glint of fangs - that it wasn’t hard to tell that Kon saw a nightmare of the things that could happen to his baby brother when he looked at the injured girl.

There’d been a bleak joke, when medical had sent pictures over of the girl for their investigation, to try and break the painful silence that filled the room when they all looked at this battered kid. That she had Bat-adoption written all over her face and that Tim should get ready to have another sibling. Tim had a feeling though that Kon wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

“Hey,” Tim said quietly, knocking softly on the door of the room. Kon blinked up at him blearily, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, clearly tired enough to have not even noticed Tim’s arrival to the base. “She still hasn’t woken up?”

Kon shifted on the chair, rubbing his face with his one free hand - the other still firmly curled over the sleeping girl’s where it lay on the hospital bed - before shaking his head. “No. Doctor said it might be awhile. She has some kind of regenerative ability, but from what they can tell her body is so stripped of energy and resources it’s not able to fully kick in.”

Tim sighed softly, closing the door behind him before walking over to hold out the bag he brought. “I grabbed you a couple changes of clothes and some stuff from your apartment. I figured you’d need it.”

His boyfriend looked relieved, “Thanks. One of the nurses grabbed me some spare scrubs they had lying around, but uh,” Kon lifted his foot and wiggled it, showing off how short the pink and blue bunny scrub pants were on him. “They’re not exactly the most comfortable thing. Can you?”

He motioned towards the bed and the girl laying motionless and Tim nodded. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll watch her.”

They swapped places, Tim taking over the chair Kon had been keeping vigil in, his gloved hand reaching out to cover the girl’s instinctively as his boyfriend slipped into the adjoining bathroom to change. The girl was cool too the touch, another oddity that the medical team hadn’t been able to say for certain if it was normal for her or a sign of something wrong. She had an abnormally low heart rate as well, though any attempt at raising it to healthy levels hadn’t proven successful.

DNA tests had been attempted on the blood they’d gotten off of Kon’s uniform, but there’d been…difficulties…with the system. Bruce and Barry were working together to try and fix the strange errors they were receiving, but there was no telling how long that would take. With the portal closing as soon as it opened and no good explanation of what had caused it or where it had led to, their only real source for answers was the unconscious girl. A girl who, while perhaps not at risk of flat-lining any second anymore, was still hanging uncertainly in the balance.

“Any news on her DNA?” Kon asked as he stepped out of the bathroom, looking softer and more comfortable in a pair of sweats and a hoodie. He moved to curl up in Tim’s lap, neither of them caring that the chair was in no way meant to hold two grown men, his eyes were back on the girl again nervously chewing on his bottom lip as he did.

Tim shook his head. “No. Every time they try the system just,” Tim made a vague motion to try and explain went up in sparks, “Flash & B are trying to work it out.” He studied Kon’s face, noting the lines of worry that crept in at the corners of his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Kon curled an arm around him, other hand moving to cup the girl’s so that her frail hand was cradled between their larger ones. “I think…” He paused, huffing for a moment before letting out a soft rumbling purr. One of those that Tim understood was meant for self-soothing. “I think she might be Kryptonian. Partially, at least. She’s obviously has more going on but…” He motioned with his hand, “Here, listen.”

He pitched his purr a little higher, smoothing it out to that low murmur that never failed to pull Tim into a comfortable sleep. Tim kept quiet, head tilted as he waited for what Kon was showing him. It took a moment, but at length he did hear it. So faint he could almost dismiss it as the hum of the AC, but no. It was the girl, still unconscious, but softly, softly responding with her own weak little purrs.

Tim frowned, mind casting back to the fact that the girl had bled both red and green. They’d assumed it was due to her alien biology, but if she was at least somewhat Kryptonian…

“I’ll have B test the samples for Kryptonite.” He said, curling around Kon a little tighter as he saw his boyfriend’s eyes widen at the idea before reaching for his com. “It’s something they can look at while waiting on the DNA results. We have an antidote if it comes back positive.” He tried to reassure.

He kept his hand curled around the girl’s fingers twining with Kon’s. He would make sure she made it.

[chichirid]

big informational post on israel & palestine

before i start, i want to say that the end goal is not defeating one side or the other. we want peace, for both nations to exist together. there are innocent and good people in both israel and palestine. here is a thread with basic information on the conflict.

trigger warning: mentions of amputations, chemical weapons, burning, general death and blood.

right now, there is a genocide happening in palestine. israel is using banned weapons that may not seem illegal to use, but are being used to kill innocent people who had no intention of joining nor fueling the war. this is a war crime.

DIME (Dense Inert Metal Explosive) are explosives made to release shrapnel that amputates the skin. this leads to limb loss & bleeding out. even after the limbs are amputated, victims have a high chance of dying from cancer as DIMEs were found to have carcinogenic tungsten.

White phosphorus bombs. I cannot explain in words how horrifyingly inhumane these are. White phosphorus can be released indoors as smoke, and contaminate water. They cause 4th & 5th degree burns, indefinitely burning as they go up to 1499 degrees Fahrenheit (815 degrees celcius) and the human body can only handle up to 122 degrees Fahrenheit (50 degrees celcius). White phosphorus is also highly flammable, and can be reignited during treatment. here is a thread with more information.

Armor piercing bombs. As implied by the name, they can penetrate metal and travel long distances. Armor piercing bombs are designed to pierce through bunkers, warships, and heavily enforced targets. They can easily destroy buildings and famously sunk the USS Arizona in 1941.

boycotting

the main companies to boycott because they support Israel are Mcdonalds, Starbucks and Disney Plus. my main advice is to PIRATE ALL YOUR MOVIES! here is a twitter thread on all starbucks recipes, and a helpful thread on how to safely pirate content.

blumhouse, the studio behind, FNAF MOVIE supports Israel. pirate the movie if you want to watch it.

Google also supports Israel, and recently removed Palestine from Google maps. some Google alternatives are

Lingual search

ecosia

duckduckgo - however there is speculation of data tracking.

here is an INCREDIBLY helpful google docs of all windows browsers that they could find made by @friendofthecrows

how to help?

talk about what's happening. tell a friend, post about it, repost information. if you feel the anger and resentment that this is happening across the world, don't lose your passion. you CAN make a difference. you are not only "one person". there are thousands of people fighting for peace. feel passionate, and keep fighting.

donate to charities, if you can. here is a thread of trustworthy charities to donate to. if you cannot afford to, arab.org generates web revenue that is donated to Palestine. clicking every day can support freedom, for free. no registration nor credit card information is needed.

[fxliciq-a]

Masterpost for my entire account!

Hiya!!! My name's Leo! I'm a minor and I use he/they pronouns!

Mcyt blog: @idiot-swanwich

Tiktok: @/idiot_swanwich (added a link just in case 😋)

(stuff under cut)

The Wall.

(follow these ppl)

@heckitall @cosmocafe @yumeyumeappleo @allyheart707 @3mutantsinatrenchcoat @thatghoostguy @clanofjones @delicatechildwitch @randyzorra @sad-leon @karonkar @purple-the-turtle @sleepis4theweak @owliedoesnothing @cj-can-art @chaos-potat @hey-u-1233 @13hotbagels @friskebits @bluesgras @blue-star-doodles @bilerthetired @winkwonkblog @fandomandthefanatic @paytato435 @smuggonifico-lmao @dying-marshmallo @pandoramythics @triona-tribblescore @tinker-the-dragon @teainthesnow @adorabledrugl0rd @zeawesomeness @koolaidashley @theartofeverything @onejellyfishplease @qeelovestea @intotheelliwoods @sharkfinn @probably-not-a-rutabaga @imtherealyogurt @charlies-trainhopping @angela-tarantula @cuhmiluh-yuh @inherently-ungovernable-roadkill @irdk6969

Stuff I made!

[ Leo's TMNT Iteration ]

comic coming soon...

A slice of life version of the classic teenage mutant ninja turtles (+ Venus and Jennika) with some small teensy weensy little changes.

warning: things may escalate quickly at some points in the comic, trigger warnings for each chapter will be at the beginning.

《🌼Untitled ROTTMNT Separation AU 🌼》

The Rottmnt Separation AU where Splinter loses all of his kids and somehow adopts an orphan. Every kid is traumatized asf

Content warnings for themes of neglect, child abuse, indoctrination, cults, and dysphoria (plus some other stuff that I can't remember off the top of my head)

〔The old iteration masterpost〕

Basically just my own version of the teenage mutant ninja turtles. Has the classic 4 and, Jennika and Venus.

Content warnings for themes of child abuse and implied amputation

Random Art

(Added differently since there isn't much)

Kyle

Marjorine

Scene Kyle

Art Collab with @imtherealyogurt !

Michael Michael Afton

The Pokemon one

(credit to @sweeteruserboxes )

[lackablazeical]

💛☀️Kenichi Miyamoto☀️💛

Specific trigger warnings -

Unconconsentual/unnecessary amputation, unconsentual cauterizing of a wound, underage use of drugs, underage drinking

Specific boundaries w/ this character -

Do not imply that Kenichi needs/should have a prosthetic hand.

Do not give Kenichi a label.

General info -

Kenichi's birthday is August 26th. He is a Virgo ♍️

Kenichi's love language is Quality Time.

Kenichi is queer. He does not have a specific label for his sexuality.

Kenichi has PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.)

Personality traits -

Kenichi is stubborn, not welcoming to change, creative, helpful, social, a bit of a door mat, easily frustrated, optimistic, and can have a tendency to pick fights.

Kenichi really hates change. Especially in the behavior of people around him, but also for media he consumes, schedule/plan changes, etc. He gets frustrated and refuses to change his behavior to adapt.

Kenichi is an extrovert, but likes to keep to a small group of people he already knows.

Kenichi loves to be helpful, especially for one's emotional needs. He has a strong case of White Knight syndrome, and often feels the need to be a fixer. Typically, his presence may actually make the situation worse, such as if it involves Leo.

Kenichi has a very bright outlook on life, and often feels as if everything will work out as it should. He can seem a little naive for this, but it keeps him sane.

Kenichi, because of his stubbornness, may not back down from an argument. This can pose a lot of problems, especially because this is typically centered on picking fights with Leo.

Important details -

His Triggers -

Kenichi has an extremely bad fear of fire. The look, heat, and scent of it will make him spiral. This is especially amplified with fireplaces.

Kenichi has a fear of canines. Both animal and yokai, especially if they are larger then him or wolf-like.

Kenichi can't stand being pinned, especially on his stomach. He needs to be able to move freely, or else he will panic.

Cold areas help ground him, and he may suck on ice cubes or something similar if he's beginning to spiral.

His beliefs -

Kenichi's element is Earth.

Ken feels a heavy connection to stars/planets/space. He keeps extreme track of star positions, and loves astrology and astronomy alike.

Ken will often sit in direct sunlight as a part of his daily routine when able to. He always makes sure to celebrate on the winter and summer equinoxes.

Ken loves to infodump about space and myths/facts connected to it.

Kenichi loves celestial events like metor showers and harvest moons. He will stay up all night to make sure he can see/watch all of it.

Kenichi is the most devoted compared to his brothers, without fail never skimping out on preying or a ceremony.

His beliefs about Usagi's death -

Ken held onto the hope that Usagi was alive after his sister, Riko, insisted that she had seen him crawl out of his burial burrow.

Because of this, Kenichi is now somewhat convinced that all 'gut-feelings' he has are correct. This can cause issues, because Kenichi will insist he's in the right when he may not be.

Kenichi missed Usagi every day, and always had the dream that he was one day going to leave the estate and find Usagi again.

When the brothers found eachother again, Kenichi was upset to see how much Usagi changed, and wishes everything could go back to the way it was before.

His relationship with Mikey -

Kenichi and Mikey are close friends.

They originally bonded over their mutual hatred of Usagi and Leo being together.

Kenichi enjoys Mikey's energy, as well as his determination. He enjoys that he can be himself around Mikey, without judgement. He also likes how brave Mikey is.

The two often play-fight. Mikey always goes easy on Kenichi, but Kenichi is still always proud of himself if he manages to get a good hit in.

The two often argue about their views of Usagi. Kenichi dislikes Mikey's harassment, but Mikey excuses it as 'just a joke'.

Mikey is an asshole to Kenichi, but Kenichi is aware that's just how Mikey is, and doesn't take his words personally.

Fun facts -

Kenichi's favorite food is vegan, non-spicy curry, and his favorite drink is mango tea.

Kenichi has an incredibly weak stomach, and is unable to eat a lot of foods (including too much processed food, most types of red/game meat, dairy, etc).

Kenichi has a very low tolerance for drugs/medication (give him a melatonin and you could convince yourself you put him in a coma).

Kenichi stims a lot! He especially likes flapping his sleeves.

Kenichi is superstitious.

Kenichi likes being covered. His preferred clothes are thick, long sleeved things and long dresses.

Kenichi likes theater, as well as calligraphy.

Kenichi is a leftie, and still struggles with using his right hand to this day.

Kenichi likes to cook, but often needs help with the stove. Mikey most commonly does this.

Voice claim [Zach Callison] -

Tags that include Kenichi -

#addams! Kenichi, #addams! Michi, #addams! Miyamotos

[yanderes-galore]

Thank you ^^ and could I get prompts 5,9, and 14 from the yandere prompt list you made with yan!ganondorf from the legend of Zelda? Thank you in advance

Sure! No specific Zelda game so I kept it general. Implied to be either Ocarina of Time or Twilight Princess, though. I do love him as a villain... I just wish I could write him right-

Yandere! Ganondorf Prompts 5, 9, 14

"Manipulation? No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!"

"The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Forced kissing, Blood, Murder, Amputation, Kidnapping, Degrading behavior, Abuse of power, Forced relationship, Sadism, Possessive behavior, Manipulation, Swearing, Ganon's a cruel man obviously.

Ganondorf is a cruel king. He'd overthrown the old ruler and took over all of Hyrule. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time....

A simple servant is what you were. One that treated everyone in the castle with kindness. An innocent quality Ganondorf wished to taint.

In his mind, you were easy to break. A fragile being that would easily break in his hands. You were something to claim...

So a servant such as you became a cute pet for the dark king.

You weren't given freedom. You were treated better than other servants left over from the previous king, but freedom was unheard of. Ganon might as well slap a collar on you, the idea of keeping someone like you exciting for him.

He both tainted your bright and promising light, yet preserved it. He wanted to keep your kindness... but only for him. Only he could have you.

He has everything he could ever want. Power, the heroes dead, a land where he could control whatever and whoever within it!

Yet when he sees you he's overcome with wanting. He wants to break you. He wants you to roll over like a pet for him, expose to him your most sensitive spots so he can make you obey your king.

Ganon is also a very impatient king. He's quick to anger and if some creature tried to harm you... or some other servant tried to speak with you... his favorite?

Their deaths are swift at his hands.

He'd kill them in front of you if he felt you needed the message. Then he'd put on a facade of being concerned for you. It wasn't his jealousy that made him kill them.

He just wanted you safe.

"It's too dangerous in the world. You need me, you should know that!"

An obvious lie falls from his lips. One that's ironic when he shoves you onto his lap, hands bloodied from whatever or whomever he's slain. How were you supposed to believe him?

Ganon took over your home. He killed all your friends. He's the most dangerous being alive and ruling Hyrule.

But Ganon acts like he's protecting you from the world?

Your home has gone to shit because of him. There's nothing to defend you against! The only danger is him.

Ganon is a pathological liar. A manipulator that carelessly tosses together lies, thinking you're dumb enough to believe him. If you believe him or not doesn't matter...

As long as he gets to keep you on his lap, mouth shoved into your neck, he's doesn't care what you think.

You're his either way.

Then when your pretty mouth asks questions. When you say he's manipulating you? He swallows his anger and gives you another lie.

"Manipulation? No, dear, I'm just encouraging you!"

He feeds you lie after lie. He expects you to listen to him. If you don't, he'll show you what he's capable of.

He'll slay those who oppose him in front of you. He'll force you to look outside, eyes meeting a world of darkness. He'll tell you leaving him is pointless.

You'll miss his twisted affection...

If you ran then he'd hunt you to the ends of Hyrule, slaughtering anyone who keeps you from him, just to drag you back to the dark castle he resides in.

Defiance is not overlooked.

He hates your defiance when it shows itself. You talk back to him? You run away? Pain is in your future.

It's impossible to keep secrets from him.

Someone will tattle. Someone will rat you out to him to escape his wrath. They'll meet it in the end...

Yet you aren't forgiven.

The king corners you during an escape attempt. Perhaps you decided to test your luck and leave him. A horrendous decision...

A decision deserving of a fitting punishment.

Your eyes grow wide when he pulls his sword. You squeal pleas, cowering like the coward he knows you are. Disobedience will not be tolerated.

Who says you needed your leg anyways?

And so, he strikes

"The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

He says it so coldly, watching your leg gush blood onto the ground. He'd normally grin at your pain. A lesson to learn for later....

He's too overcome with rage to laugh at you.

This is a lesson you'll be unable to forget. You keep crying in pain when he sheathes his sword, calling for someone to patch you up. He'll give you time to rest...

But you're never getting rid of him.

As you rest from the lesson he taught, he visits your room. He sits by your bed and just watches. You don't look at him... he's feigning sympathy.

"I give you everything, only to have you run."

Even now he lies to your face.

"Your place has always been in this castle. You can't even serve in this state now. That's your fault, you know."

You feel your breathing become uneasy.

"... I still want you. I've grown too attached to get rid of you."

He turns you to look at him, holding you to his armored chest.

"You should know your place by now. Consider just losing your leg my mercy."

His grip is tight, another warning. What other choice did you have? You can't afford to lose anything else-

[didasgomas]

Like blood

Day 4 of @augusnippets

Prompts: Amputation/Degloving/Vivisection

Content and Trigger Warnings: Graphic gore scene, vivisection of an unanesthetized human (torture), cannibalism, heavily implied mass unknowing cannibalism

Side note: Chris -> Christopher Bilcanna

Small part of "In Mortality", an au of CDTA, a body and psychological horror story created by @missr3n3

Red - In its most destructive meanings, the color red represents hatred, heat, aggression, spilled blood and war. An evil person associated with red most often than not brings chaos and/or death.

May 26th, 1998

Blanche Solsgate was all but one more guest at Rose county's Wendigo Hotel branch. Having only recently found a new job after months of unemployment, she needed a place to stay that wasn't her friends' houses. She did try the cheaper motel options, but they were all at full capacity because of the summer tourists, so a small popular hotel it was.

The maximum length of stay was 30 days, and Blanche only intended to stay for four weeks, long enough to find an affordable apartment in the county's main district. However, on the penultimate day at that place, she had received a letter from one of the owners, Chris, that she could stay one additional day without having to pay for it, as long as she didn't leave her room.

In the evening of what was supposed to be her free extra day, he had knocked on her door and invited her to a secret room in the underground floor, said that they kept a real Wendigo skull in there. She agreed to it too fast.

She thought she had been shown kindness, been shown generosity. But the only thing she was seeing right now were her own organs.

It had all happened so quickly, she couldn't even scream. With his giant strength he had easily pinned her down on the metal table, and the next thing she felt was something stabbing her belly. She didn't even have time to notice he had lifted her shirt off.

It wasn't even a knife, it was a needle.

In rapid movements, he stabbed her again to make a tunnel, and then slid the needle upwards, tearing apart huge chunks of flesh to reveal her insides.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but we're in a hurry. Usually we'd get to talk a while."

She wasn't the first, and likely wouldn't be the last either.

He reached inside with his bare hands, and she could feel them in her intestines. Suddenly, her duodenum was ripped in half, and what little voice she still had to scream was drowned out by a sudden flood of blood in her mouth. Completely ignoring her face, he kept clawing at her other organs, brutally disconnecting her pancreas and stomach from the rest of her body with his hands alone, like the twisted experience of a surgeon.

With what little consciousness she still had, Blanche saw him hold her intestines in both arms and placing them somewhere out of her field of vision.

Ripped open and bleeding non-stop, Blanche Solsgate was dead in seconds, and her sudden disappearance would be just one more of the mysterious cases of that hotel's guests going missing the day after having supposedly left.

The hotel tried keeping the meat servings to a minimum on Summer, but tomorrow's lunch was going to be a meat dish, so even if small, they still needed an entire body to make sure they had seconds, which was often the case as the guests liked them a lot.

Chris took a small piece of meat that had fallen on the table, blew on it a bit, and took it to his mouth.

Not that he was too hungry or anything, but a small evening snack wouldn't hurt.

[wolf-in-a-trenchcoat]

I'm bored, so have a (possibly) triggering first chapter look-see of my Ouizzy fic "A Dance With The Devil" that I'm gonna post. I plan to rewrite it to be more canon-accurate but also throw in a little personal spice since I love writing angst.

Also! For those of you who happen to read it anyways, I'd absolutely LOVE some feedback. (That includes the negative feedback. I don't get better unless it's given, and I strive to better my writing). Alright, let me put the trigger warning so we can be prepared!

TW/CW: implied/explicitly expressed abuse, canon typical violence, panic attack, mild aggression, and mentioned amputation and consumption of a toe.

⚠️Reader's discretion is advised.⚠️

Chap 1: Izzy's Torment.

Edward was in a horrid mood again.

Well, Blackbeard.

As typical, Izzy tried keeping things running as smoothly as possible, only speaking when spoken to and snapping orders at the crew if any were caught slacking. He spent the majority of his day limping around the deck, weight leaned on his cane. His foot fucking hurt, and the bandages around it chafed and caused the somewhat healing wound to open and bleed.

Izzy bites back a curse. Literally just a week ago when Blackbeard returned from being willingly captured by the English, Izzy had been force-fed his toe. He remembered that night with very little fondness despite the relieving excitement that coursed through him seeing that dark, malicious glare from Blackbeard. He swallowed thickly, once again reliving having to consume a piece of himself. How fucking poetic.

Leaning against the railing of the Revenge, Izzy stared out into the expanse of water surrounding the ship. The sun was hanging high in the sky, beating down on the deck in exhausting heat. He pulls away, sighing roughly and turned heel towards the lower decks to check in on the crew, to make sure they weren't slacking. They had a tight schedule, and Izzy made sure of it so they would stay busy.

As he descended, he could hear soft murmurs and hurried conversations before they went completely silent. Izzy's stony glare cast over the crew as they stand awkwardly in a circle, eyes directed at the ground as if in submission. Maybe it was genuine submission- that's all Izzy had disciplined into them in his fourteen hour power-trip when Edward was gone.

"What's with all of this... nonsense? Having a little chat with each other? Talking feelings?" Izzy rasps in lilting sarcasm, leaning on his cane with a scowl. No one responds, all except Jim. Their eyes remained trained on the ground, something unusual and out of character to their normally intense glare.

"We need an intervention." Their voice was slow but sure, and then the intense stare strays to Izzy. There was a small shock that ran through him, so subtle he wasn't sure it even happened. He nods his head upwards, chin slightly higher in curiosity.

“An intervention, ay? Ed wouldn't be too fond of that.” Izzy points out, tapping his cane against the floorboards to emphasize it. He sauntered forward, his scowl turning softer. “It's suicide to try and talk him out of this.”

“Still- it'd be better. For all of us.” Frenchie piped in, nervously looking anywhere that wasn't the shorter-statured man. Izzy had noticed the bard was very iffy about eye contact, fluctuating between a hard stare and no eye contact at all. The first-mate didn't know what to make of it, and instead decided it wasn't worth his time- knowing Stede Bonnet's crew, they'd have Izzy soft-side up and forcefully coddled like he was part of their crew. Part of them.

“Get back to work. Fuckin’ useless twats.” Izzy snarled, turning away. A deeper part of him knew that Jim was right- hell, even Frenchie! Of all people, excluding Jim, Frenchie actually had a point- one stating that sitting idly by would only make things worse. Izzy would never admit it, even in his dying breath that he agreed with Stede fucking Bonnet's maniac of a bard. Shame worms its way up Izzy's spine, settling in the center of his chest like a weight in his ribcage.

He… wanted to mutiny against Blackbeard. The one thing Izzy swore his life to uphold the name of, and here he was regretting his choices. A sickening feeling sits ominously idle in his gut, like a viper waiting to strike… waiting until Izzy is distracted. The first-mate swallowed back the rising pain in his throat, stalking off to the top deck and not even waiting to see if the crew listened.

He found himself below deck in his cabin. He was pacing the cramped room, hands tangled in his graying hair, trying to calm the raging storm of emotions in his mind. Izzy was never one for emotions, always keeping them bottled up until they all came out in spiteful insults and barked orders. Right now was not one of those times.

In a swift attempt of releasing his pent up self-destructive loathing, he grabbed a stool and threw it against the wall, the wood exploding into splintering shrapnel as it made impact. Izzy let out a strained shout, heaving in breaths as his attempt of control became vain. He had never let the thought of mutiny cross his mind.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Izzy growls, sitting roughly on his rickety cot and burying his face in his hands. He was sure his death was imminent if Blackbeard heard any whisper or word of possible opposition. The crew would die alongside Izzy if they didn't cower to the Kraken's absolutely mental demands and pressuring emotional manipulation.

Izzy Hands wanted to turncoat on Blackbeard, the man- no, the myth- he helped create. To break the promise he had made so long ago that it became the very air he breathed to upkeep. All for just a little taste of comfort in a trying time that won't last. He was stupid for letting himself be so… invested in the damn crew. How they felt, how they saw him, how they fucking bitched and moaned about how horrible Blackbeard treated them and yet, Izzy understood. How, he'd never know and even if he did, he'd never tell.

Of all people, Israel Hands understood their pain. Of all things, he could empathize with their distaste and wariness of Blackbeard's volatile behavior. The only grace Izzy gave the crew was being the one who took the brunt of all of the Kraken's anger and physical violence. And he wanted it. He deserved it.

A strangled sob left him, his heart hammering in his chest as his throat felt like it was closing. The walls felt like they were closing, his vision tunneling into the abysmal darkness of his own mind, eating away at whatever control he had garnered before it all went black. Silent. His body ached, his chest tightened and he couldn't breathe. He blindly grabs at his shirt, the collar, ripping at his clothes just for some air. Another noise left him as his struggles proved fruitless and he felt suffocated in the weight of this newfound desire to flee. To run from his past, his choices, his actions.

And as if it were as sudden as it set in, he calmed. His breathing was still yet heavy and sharp, sweat soaking his brow and clothes. He was shaking, hands gripping the front of his leather vest like his life was on the line. And it was. If he even told Ed about any of this, he'd lose another toe- no, his entire foot, maybe his life. He inhaled sharply, shakily. He had to set this right.

Whatever it was he needed to do, he'd do it. He stiffly removed his hands from his shirt, gingerly flexing his fingers to get feeling back into them. Smoothing back his disheveled hair and wiping his forehead with his sleeve, he took in a steadier breath. He'd steel himself, force back all of this panic and anguish and become Izzy Hands again. Cold, stoic, and damn near emotionless. Calculated- not some emotional disaster who couldn't even fathom not being dependent on his captain.

[joannerowling]

Would you recommend the Strike series to someone who loves to read but almost never reads crime novels? And which one? I'd be most interested in the newest one since it's about a cult, but idk. I haven't really looked much into the series tbh but I'm curious about jkr's work that isn't HP. How good is the series exactly?

I would, because i'm not usually a crime novel reader myself! Well, i say this but it's not exactly true. I love Whodunits, and my favourite aspect of the Strike series is precisely the intricate mysteries Jo weaves. She's an expert at distracting you with many threads while feeding you clues you don't realise were clues right until the end, and i live for this kind of mindfuckery ngl!

I must warn you about the violence and depravity of the crimes Strike and Robin (the two main characters) investigate. Some of the books are worse than others on that front. This last one i'm finding particularly shocking, due to the scale of what's being done and the urgency in stopping it (the cult the novel is about is active and actively growing in the present). That being said, Jo has a way of writing that, imo, avoids voyeurism or fetishism, which is a frequent flaw of the genre, and makes it easier to read.

The series also broaches a host of very important topics with tact and intelligence : disabilities and mental illnesses; sexual trauma; violence against the vulnerable (particularly women and children); class and poverty issues. While it tends to stay away from direct politics (neither Stride nor Robin are defined by a particular alligeance to a party), it offers a satirical commentary on British culture, via the truly impressive variety of people the detectives come to interview. I'm thinking of one example in The Running Grave, which takes place in 2016 and in which Brexit is casually mentioned here and there: without spoiling much, a couple comes to be interrogated that make some statements implying they're pro-Leave ("leave" the UE, that is); same couple happens to be returning from their secondary residence in Spain. The books are full of these sort of subtle jokes. Really, nobody's spared or shielded from criticism, certainly not leftists. As in Harry Potter JKR's favourite targets are con-men, hypocrites, self-important people who abuse of their authority and bully others, and "fakers" of all sorts (faked vulnerability is a big trigger for Strike, the main character who had a leg amputated and a, let's call it chaotic, childhood).

Which brings me to the last point in their favour: despite the gravity of the crimes commited, the Strike books are frequently very funny! I've lost count of the times i laughed out loud reading the last one (between stretches of extreme stress with my heart literally thumping in my chest). Besides the previously mentioned satire, Strike's dry sarcasm and glorious take-downs of criminals, there is the slow - slooooow - evolution of his and Robin's friendship (and more???!!!¿¿?! 👀😳😳🙈💕💖), which provides the series's emotional core and is the source of many dramatic, endearing and/or funny moments.

[fits-like-a-fist-in-the-eye]

Hello everyone! This blog is dedicated to the Mock Turtle Soup au, also known as Soupverse! MTS is an original au, though it is mostly Rise based. It diverges more and more from Rise canon as you go on, but I think the first few fics in the series look mostly just like a Rise au. The MTS universe has my own spin on mystics, yōkai, and the hidden city, as well as the origin of mutants. Everything will be revealed the further in you go! Pretty much every character is queer, disabled, and neurodivergent, because I am, and I am not quite sure just how much of this au is me projecting various trauma onto my favourite characters. There will be original characters, just because I want to give the turtles and April friends. They deserve to be loved! There will also be my own versions of characters that have appeared in various canon iterations! Just so you know, by the way, the Splinter in Soupverse fucking SUCKS. I hate him. And then I kill him. Not because I don’t like Splinter’s character(s) in canon, just because I wanted to. And then the angst sort of spiralled and he got… so much worse.

While the focus of this au is healing, love, self discovery and acceptance, and family, it does delve into a lot of heavy topics. The following is a list of trigger warnings.

Past kidnapping, medical torture, non consensual drugging, vivisection, dehumanization, implied/referenced CSA (non graphic), child abuse and neglect, gore and all it entails, medical procedures and instruments, starvation, disordered eating, accidental self harm, panic attacks, vomiting, implied/referenced suffocation, implied/referenced cannibalism (he deserved it), surgery, amputation and prosthetics, referenced queerphobia, referenced ableism, referenced death/murder, PTSD, mental conditions such as DID and OSDD, sexual trauma

(this list will be edited as I go on, as I may miss or forget things)

The summary of the first fic is as follows:

A few years ago, April read a book on different turtle species and their care in her favourite little nook in the local library. She found it fascinating that an alligator snapping turtle could grow as heavy as an adult human, and briefly wondered how much they had to eat compared to other turtles. But the phone her parents had just bought her— she was *ten* now, almost an adult! Of course she needed a phone— buzzed a few times, indicating a message from one of her mutant turtle friends, and she put the book back on its shelf. It was Mikey, asking her to come hang out. Of course she would go! She loved hanging out with the turtles, and she loved sneaking around to get stuff for them when Mr. Splinter couldn’t find enough without being spotted. She always brought gifts every time she came over to their house; partly because they were fun to find, and partly because she knew they were short on most things, especially food. She wanted to help her friends!

She skipped out of the library, head held high and full of thoughts of introducing the turtles to cinnamon rolls for the first time, and the book and her musings slipped out of her mind entirely.

A few days ago, April read a book on different turtle species and their care in the most secluded little nook in the local library that she could find. She found it worrying that she couldn’t find anything that would really be applicable to her friends, but she’d already looked through books on human biology and medicine, and nothing there seemed quite right either. She didn’t have much to go off of in the first place, but she’d thought maybe she could find a place to start by looking at some symptoms.

Her phone buzzed a few times, indicating a message from one of her mutant turtle friends, and she put the book back on its shelf. It was Mikey, asking her to come hang out, if she had anything new to share, if they could do some brainstorming together.

Of course she would go. Mikey had trusted her to help Raph when he couldn’t help himself, and she couldn’t let either of them down.

Maybe she’d bring the turtles some dessert. She was pretty sure they still hadn’t tried cheesecake.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 4: Amputation

(Disclaimer: only four of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Caliban here.  For more information about Azalea, go here. For more information about K.O., go here. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, and if you’d like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here. To learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.  And last but certainly not least, for more information about R.D., go here.)

(Trigger Warnings: cannibalism/implied cannibalism, torture, blood, gore, dismemberment, exposed bones, mentions of eating/drinking, descriptions of illegal business, knives/blades, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3   Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

“Feeling any better, Cal?” Murdock queried, titling his head as he leaned against the wall. This might’ve been an odd thing to hear from a hitman, but Caliban had known him for years now. He knew how to dissect his words, how to tell when he was being at least somewhat genuine. 

Sure, there was sadistic mockery in Murdock’s tone right now, but even someone who didn’t know him like Caliban did would be able to tell that it wasn’t being directed at him. 

Caliban nodded, offering a semi-positive hum as he carved another piece from the freshly-cooked muscle on his plate. 

From one corner of Caliban’s den, a shaking man tried to join the conversation with a choked, gurgling holler. The gunman was still capable of producing sound, but he’d also had to gulp down mouthful after mouthful of his own blood while Caliban put a tried-and-true lengua recipe to good use. (Boiling first, searing second. Ooh, that’d been so good. . .)

“Is tonight the first time you’ve used this thing?” Murdock nodded at the chair he and Caliban had wrestled the gunman into a little while ago.

Caliban paused, thinking as he swallowed the last bite of his dinner.

“. . .I guess so. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no actual reason.” Murdock shrugged. “That just makes this kind of special, don’t you think? I get to be here to see you start breaking in my gift.”

Caliban couldn’t help but sputter a laugh. “I thought you said you didn’t put any stock in the niceties.” 

“Hey, don’t act like I can’t be fickle.” Murdock preened at his hair, his smile growing even more devilish than before. “That’s how I get my work done.” 

The chair in question—or, The Throne, as Murdock called it—was crafted from iron rather than wood. Thick leather straps complimented by heavy metal buckles were attached to the arm-rests, the front legs, the stiles on the back. Its design was simple, yet a bit more interesting than a mere folding chair as well as far, far more uncomfortable.

And it was, indeed, a gift. One the hitman claimed to have built himself as an apology for a few past fiascos that’d happened down here. Needing to restrain a person wasn’t an uncommon task for mobsters, but sometimes mobsters just couldn’t control where they ended up having to do the restraining. And winding rope around Caliban’s block kitchen island never failed to be awkward and frustrating.

Murdock had really gone the extra mile via sneaking into this den on Caliban’s birthday and presenting him with The Throne when he’d ventured down for some standard butchery. (True, he probably should’ve fired that idea at someone else beforehand, since Caliban nearly threw a steak knife in his face when he leapt out of the storage closet holding The Throne almost like a battering ram, but it was the thought that counted.)

“So, what’s next?” Murdock continued, stepping closer to hover by his accomplice. “Between the cooking and the dining, you’ve had plenty of time to brainstorm.”

“Well. . .” Caliban dragged out the word, a conspiratory glint in his eyes as he set his cutlery and now empty plate down in the utility sink. “We both know I’ve gotta take my time with this, right?” 

“Obviously,” Murdock chuckled. “Vengeance is best when it’s dragged out nice and far and slow.”

“That’s the thing, though. I can’t get much out of this,” Caliban turned his head to snarl at the gunman, “unless he’s kept somewhat fresh.” 

Murdock pursed his lips in consideration, following the cannibal’s gaze to look the gunman up and down. “I mean, you’re thinking of a piece-by-piece basis, right?”

“Golly-gee willikers, what gave it away?” Caliban confirmed, his voice fluctuating between deadpan and sarcastic curiosity.

“I don’t know. Guess I’m just that good,” Murdock bragged, in on the little act. He paced in a small circle, folding one arm against his chest and slightly raising the other to scratch at the hair growing along his jaw. “I’d put my money on this guy being able to last for about a week. You could just start tonight, then go on a three-day-schedule from here and end it on the third.” 

Caliban chewed his lip. Remnants of medium-rare flesh and iron were still in his mouth. He knew they’d have to fade away eventually, but he also knew just how deliciously stubborn those particular flavors could be. “That’s not a bad idea.”  

Murdock’s face brightened with unorthodox glee. He aimed finger-guns at his colleague, smirking. “You’re welcome.” 

Caliban strolled over to the block-island, searching through its drawers and fishing out a number of tools to set down in a line on its countertop. Metal gleamed against the harsh light beaming down from the ceiling. Though his den hadn’t exactly been silent since Caliban and his guests had entered, a sudden cacophony of dull scraping and squealing still made him flinch. He looked up to see Murdock dragging both the gunman and The Throne over to the opposite side of the block-island. 

“I thought this might make things a little more convenient,” the other hitman announced in response to the questioning glance he was given. 

“I mean, sure, it will,” Caliban agreed, “but you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to.”

“Who the hell said I didn’t want to? It wasn’t me, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t him,” Murdock replied, gesturing to the gunman—or, more accurately, to what was left of the gunman’s tongue in his bloody, gaping, sobbing mouth. “I’m available all night. I don’t have anything scheduled this week. As a matter of fact, none of us did,” he added, momentarily narrowing his eyes as he snatched a handful of the gunman’s hair and gave it a harsh tug.

Caliban raised his eyebrows as something else besides schadenfreude wormed its way into his expression. It was good to be reminded that Murdock was just as angry about what had happened to Azalea. Sure, he didn’t have the same bond with her as Caliban did, but he was still a strong friend. 

“Alright, then. Nice of you to keep me company.” Caliban made his way to the other side of the block-island. He knelt down before the gunman, unfastening some of the restraints around his left leg. “Y’know this means you’ll be handing the tools to me.”

Murdock clicked his tongue, rolled his visible eye at the sight of Caliban’s smirk. “Ffffffine,” he eventually relented with a sigh. “But if you try calling me a nurse, I swear to God—”

“Hey, under the right circumstances, I think you’d make a great nurse,” Caliban protested, snickering. “Repo! would have nothing on you.”

“. . .I mean, of course it wouldn’t,” Murdock snidely agreed as he leaned forward, resting his arms on The Throne’s top back, the perfect combination of casual lounging and looming.

After tossing the gunman’s shoe away, Caliban used a pair of Metz scissors to cut through the top half of the gunman’s pant leg. He then wrapped his hands around the gunman’s calf, digging his nails into bruised, goosebump-covered skin. 

In response, the gunman writhed, attempting to kick Caliban in the chest. It wasn’t like all this movement would stop Caliban from doing what he was about to do, but it was still incredibly annoying. 

Murdock seemed to have read Caliban’s mind, because he reached over to pluck up his accomplice’s Satterlee saw. He shifted it in his hand so that it was upside-down, then hauled off and slammed the blunt end against the gunman’s temple. 

The gunman’s head snapped back. His eyes practically rolled in their sockets, pupils dilating. His mouth gaped like that of a fish. His leg fell limp, still shaking. Blood didn’t start trickling from the side of his head. His breathing didn’t grow quieter. 

“. . .That’s not what the saw is meant for,” Caliban mentioned. And he was correct: blunt force trauma was a hell of a thing, but it would still take several more blows for the saw’s metal handle to kill.

Murdock offered a snarky hum. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Caliban couldn’t really deny that. He half-shrugged-half-nodded, then held out one expectant hand. “Scalpel, please.”

“That’s what I thought,” Murdock murmured as he set the saw back down and exchanged it for the requested tool.

Caliban took the thin blade and held it similarly to a pencil. It glided along as though the gunman’s skin was warm butter. The gunman whimpered and convulsed, but he couldn’t be aggressive about it. The pain now thrumming through his skull was probably too overpowering to allow that. 

In less than a minute, the middle of the gunman’s thigh was fully encircled by a deep red line. “Boning knife,” Caliban called as he let his bloody scalpel clatter. He was just barely in time to add, “No, that’s not permission to joke about it for the twentieth time.” 

“Wha—no, c’mon, I haven’t made nineteen jokes about it,” Murdock scoffed, though he still handed the blade over.

“Yes,” Caliban argued, pausing to look the other mobster dead in the eyes. “Yes, you have.”

Murdock glanced away for a second or two, probably recounting all the times he’d sprinkled innuendos into torture sessions. He then remembered the task at hand and simply shook his head. “Oh, whatever.”

 Caliban made sure to hold the blade equal to the diameter of the first incision, then slid it underneath the first layer of flesh. 

He coaxed the knife back and forth, back and forth. 

Blood came gushing out. It coated his hands in a matter of seconds—though it didn’t seep through his gloves, he could still feel the heat oozing off of it. The scent of iron drifted into the air, almost as warm as dryer exhaust. 

Back and forth, back and forth. . .

Although Caliban didn’t put an excessive amount of force behind the knife, droplets of blood were still sent flying to splatter against his apron

Back and forth, back and forth. . .

Even if the gunman hadn’t been screaming in agony, it still would’ve been difficult to hear the soft, slick noises his flesh made as Caliban’s knife moved farther and deeper.

Ssshhluk-ssshik, Ssshhluk-ssshik, Ssshhluk-ssshik 

Caliban turned his wrist as he carved, guiding the knife toward skin that hadn’t been massacred yet. At the same time, he leaned to the side and craned his neck as he lifted the gunman’s leg a bit higher, giving himself easier access to the other side. It shuddered violently, but that wasn’t too disruptive. Caliban could tell that the act was more instinctual than intentional. It was hard for one to move their limb when something was actively slicing into it. And when the natural desire to survive clashed against that. . .well, the psychology of it all was probably better off not being looked into.

Sooner or later, flesh was hanging in thick tatters. Blood had now formed a small pool, which didn’t wait to start trickling down The Throne's seat and legs. Caliban moved back and released his grip on the gunman’s popliteal fossa. As the mangled leg limply collapsed against the chair, he reached over to pinch the top half of his handiwork, pulling it up and over. 

Muscles and tissues shone in a horrible way. 

Red and raw and oh-so appetizing. 

For a normal amputation, the semi-attached wedges of skin would’ve been stitched up to convince the amputee’s skin to knit itself back together,  scarring over and healing into a relatively smooth stump.

However, this was anything but a normal amputation.

Caliban was efficient, severing those chunks of meat and setting them on the block-island’s counter. They would’ve just gotten in the way otherwise. He stabbed the boning knife into one of them and left it there, like some strange amateur recreation of Excalibur and The Stone.

A thick, glistening white shape was finally on display in the center of the gore. 

The gunman’s femur.

Caliban smirked as he prodded the bone with his index finger, eliciting a dull, porcelain tap-tap-tap. 

“I bet that’s what most people think a bone-deep needle feels like,” Murdock proclaimed. “Not that I’ve felt one myself, but still.” 

“Maybe,” Caliban mused. “Now’s the time for the saw.”

“Right, right.” Murdock grabbed the saw once again, presenting it with a bit more of a flourish this time.

Caliban could see his reflection in the wide blade; he knew from experience that he’d still be able to see himself when it was soaked in red. The first few strokes were a bit tricky, but it still took little time for Caliban to ease the saw into a grating rhythm. 

Ssshhh-Rrrr-shhhrrrr-shrrr-shrrrrr

(Technically speaking, Caliban could’ve used it for this entire process, but that would’ve led to strands of flesh getting pulled up and tangled on the tool’s teeth, and he already had a big enough mess to clean up soon.) 

Back and forth, back and forth. . .

A chorus of miserable, wretched cries crawled along the mutilated remains of the gunman’s tongue and up into the air. They were very much unintelligible, but Caliban could still guess at what his victim was trying to say. 

Still working the saw, he looked up just in time to discover how Murdock was grasping either side of the gunman’s head, forcing him to watch everything that was happening to him. Caliban tilted his head a bit, nodding at his accomplice, then bared his teeth in a snarl, letting his narrowed eyes drill into the gunman’s horrified, watery ones. 

“Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought twice,” Caliban growled, “before you tried to take…pot-shots…at…my…SISTER!”

Ssrrrruuuuh-CaRrA-A-ACk!

Finally, the femur gave way under the tool’s weight, snapping in two—not cleanly, but well and truly. Either of the severed ends boasted jagged splinters, sort of like a broken stick. (Then again, broken sticks weren’t typically slathered with blood or dripping with marrow. They also weren’t known for making awful, organic popping sounds when they snapped.) 

Caliban dropped the saw, then reluctantly grabbed a few rolls of cloth bandages. He wrapped them in tight layers around the gunman’s new stump; he wouldn’t be surviving long enough to properly heal, but just letting him bleed to death would have defeated the whole purpose of this venture. 

Red spots were already spreading underneath the fresh gauze, but Caliban’s focus had already shifted to the eight-to-twelve pounds of fresh meat he’d just cut. Unlike those of the frog legs in many a middle-school science lab, the toes failed to twitch. The severed end wasn’t actively bleeding, just leaking. Not enough to be a problem in the face of a few sheets of butcher paper.

Caliban shrouded the leg before giving the stray chunks the same treatment. He then gathered them all up to carry across the den. He pried open the chest freezer in the corner, which was already stocked with similar, unassuming bundles. To the eye of an untrained outsider, this would look like something you’d see at the butchery section of the local grocery store. 

Murdock snapped his fingers for a long few seconds. “Hell of a show.”

“I try my best.” Caliban couldn’t help but give a slight bow as he turned away from the chest freezer. “And that might as well be it for tonight.” 

“Sure thing. We need to get a move-on anyway.” Murdock took hold of The Throne’s back post, hauling it and the freshly-made amputee back over to that one corner of the den. He harshly boxed the gunman's ear, then wiped his hands and glanced at his accomplice. “I need to go get my car from The WormRoll’s lot; I can pick you and Aza up from Aftertaste? So we can head to the base together?” 

“Yeah, that sounds perfect,” Caliban answered as he carried his blood-soaked tools over to the utility sink. There, he shed his apron and gloves before turning the water on. “I just need to clean up and grab Snare.” 

“Alright, see you then.” Murdock’s words seemed to linger in the air for a few more seconds after he disappeared through the den’s door. 

___

Two days later. . .

Somehow, the art fair had resumed its activity, and the detours that’d been set up at the ends of certain streets made Caliban’s typical route take a bit longer. He soon came upon a thin two-story structure that boasted narrow windows and a yellow paint job. A garage filled out the dwelling’s bottom right half, next to a steep set of concrete steps that led to the front door.

It was on the front corner of the neighborhood, slightly distanced from the other houses and right across the street from downtown’s entryway.

Caliban pushed a button to open the garage, then reached over to detach a leash from the harness that had been fastened around Snare’s neck and belly. A pinstripe pattern made said harness as distinguished as it was adorable; that wasn’t really a surprise, considering Azalea had sewn it herself. 

Yes, there was plenty of space in the hare’s hutch (Caliban had constructed it himself, so he’d made damn sure of that), along with a comically large hamster-wheel. But all pets required enrichment to be healthy. So what if he got a few weird looks when he took Snare out for walks? 

Speaking of Snare: he’d been riding shotgun because he deserved it, but he quickly abandoned his curled-up position in favor of bracing his paws against the passenger dashboard. And for good reason. As Caliban pulled into the garage, it would’ve been impossible not to notice another car waiting inside, leaving just enough room for him to park. . .

Caliban’s eyes widened. His mouth stretched into an excited smile as his vehicle’s engine stopped rumbling. As he unbuckled his seatbelt, Snare bolted over the center console and across his lap to scratch at the door further inside the garage. 

Caliban raced to open that door, just barely remembering to close it behind him as he and his pet all but burst into the kitchen. (The main kitchen, mind you.) 

He made his way through the living room, into his bedroom, and there she was: the brilliant, sarcastic, gorgeous woman with the softest head of brown hair who had helped his sister find her footing in underground business. The same woman who’d chosen to be with Caliban in spite of how obvious it was that he’d never have a chance at deserving someone like her.

R.D. took her focus off of the half-emptied suitcase on the bed and approached, laughing as Caliban met her halfway, wrapped his arms around her, pressed a kiss to her cheek. Snare, meanwhile, ran in circles around both of their ankles.  

“You’re home!” Caliban proclaimed.

“I’m home!” R.D. agreed, playfully ruffling her partner’s hair before leading him to sit down with her. Snare hopped onto the mattress and sidled up to her, prompting her to gently chuck him under the chin.

“What happened to your latest plan?” Caliban inquired. “Didn’t you say it would probably take weeks?”

R.D. clicked her tongue, her excitement briefly shifting to annoyance. “Ah, the deal just didn’t work out. The people who’d contacted my team in the first place tried to short-change us. It took a good while for us to gather the right chemical samples, and we’d assumed that they’d gotten everything else together on their end.”

Caliban hummed with sympathy. “The joys of group projects, huh?”

“You have no idea,” R.D. groaned, rolling her eyes. “That’s not even the worst part.”

While his joy was strong, Caliban felt his face fall at that statement. R.D. was one of the smartest, most capable people he knew, but it still wasn’t promising to hear someone in the illegal experimentation business gripe about their work.

“What was the worst part, then?”

“Apparently, the other group decided that a test subject was the only thing they needed to provide.” A mixture of sadness and anger seeped into R.D.’s eyes. “And they had the gall to try convincing me to conduct the experiment on a bunch of kittens they’d gotten from a shelter in their area.” 

“Oh. . ! R.D., I’m so sorry!” Caliban took one of her hands in his. R.D. obviously wasn’t much better than him or any of his peers in The Pentas Family, but she still knew to be compassionate about certain things (read: things that were actually important). “Do you want me to help take care of those guys? I’m sure I could convince The Boss to send a hunting party—”

R.D. shook her head. “No, you don’t have to worry about that.” A shrewd smile slithered onto her features, chasing away her distress. “The team and I used our samples to cause a little reaction at their hideout. Cop cars were swarming by the time we left. Plus, my assistant managed to steal all those kittens before we took action; he said he knows some people who’ve been looking for new pets.”

Caliban gave pause, but it didn’t take long for him to start snickering, proud and impressed. “God, it’s good to have you back.”

R.D. hummed as her partner pulled her into yet another hug. 

For whatever reason, Caliban felt the need to close his eyes as the two of them leaned against the bed’s headboard. Snare clambered around them, holding one of R.D.’s wrists between his paws in order to groom her free hand—kind of like a puppy, but eerily quieter. 

Moments like this just seemed impossibly idyllic. . .

“Besides,” R.D. mentioned, “you and your family already have a manhunt on your plate.”

Aaaaannd Caliban’s eyes snapped right back open. He gave his partner a quizzical glance, to which she casually raised her eyebrows.

“What, you think Aza and I don’t talk anymore? If my assumptions are correct, she sent me a few messages about what happened a couple hours after it happened.”

A few seconds of silence passed them by.

“How’s she doing?” R.D. softly asked. “I mean, she was joking about the scar possibilities, but still.”

“Pretty good, all things considered,” Caliban replied, sighing.

Azalea was, indeed, recovering. She had to change out the bandages on her arm and wash the bullet graze once a day. According to K.O., it would take a little over a week for the wounded tissue to repair itself. Azalea wasn’t even close to death. 

Things could’ve been much, much worse.

“So, there’s no way you haven’t made a new job out of this,” R.D. declared.

A dry, hollow laugh escaped Caliban’s lips. “Damn right.”

“. . .Well, don’t just leave me hanging like that! I want at least some details,” R.D. admonished in a joking tone. “What’re your plans? Have you tracked the guy down yet?”

Caliban was about to reply, but he was interrupted. Though the underbelly of his home was almost completely soundproof, he and R.D. had learned to pick up on specific noises.

Such as a muffled chorus of thumps shuffling from somewhere beneath them.

R.D. glanced at the floor, then back at Caliban, tilting her head to the side, her face a perfect combination of surprised and unphased. 

Caliban shrugged in response, giving her a grin that was an odd mixture of sheepish and menacing.

“Should I take that as a yes?” R.D. wondered aloud.

“Maybe,” Caliban answered. His sinister smirk died a quick death as he groaned, reaching up to knead at his forehead. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

R.D. seemed a bit taken aback. “What’s the matter? You’re already halfway done with this job. Isn’t that something to be happy about?”

“Yeah, but you just got back!” Caliban pouted. “You’re probably gonna have to leave again in a month! I need to spend some time with you while I still can!”

R.D. had been squinting at him, but her soft smile soon returned.

“And you will,” she assured. She gestured to her suitcase, “Look, I’ve still got some unpacking to do. After that, I have to get online,” she then pointed to the ceiling, impling the upstairs room that served as an office, “and organize some stuff with the team; you’ve seen how long that can take. I’m willing to bet I’ll still be busy by the time you’re finished.” 

The sourness in Caliban’s expression softened. He pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side in that classic You’ve got me there fashion. 

R.D. half-shrugged as if to say I know I do. “Do you have any more jobs lined up?”

Caliban shook his head. “Not yet. The Boss said I could focus on this,” he nodded to the floor, “just so long as I’ll be ready to get back to the regular stuff in a few weeks.” 

“Alright, then. We can both take tomorrow off and go from there,” R.D. concluded, lightly squeezing one of Caliban’s shoulders.

“. . .That sounds nice,” he responded, carefully leaning against her with a tiny, genuine smile (which may or may not have been dangerously close to flustered).

Another ensemble of dull banging and thudding called up from the floor, as though some amateur percussionist had broken and entered into Caliban’s den. 

“Guess that’s my cue.” Caliban announced. He was still a bit annoyed at his and R.D.’s reunion being interrupted like this, but there was no denying the scary sense of excitement that started churning in his stomach. Snare stayed on the bed, still invested in his latest case of zoomies, taking a break every few seconds to demand pets from R.D., who had now resumed unpacking.

“You know the drill: if you do any eating, just brush and floss your teeth when you come back up,” R.D. called over her shoulder. 

“I haven’t forgotten,” Caliban promised as he crossed the bedroom and stepped into his and R.D.’s walk-in closet, not bothering to turn the light on. 

Even if the entrance to his den hadn’t been so well-camouflaged with the wallpaper in here, he still would’ve been able to find it. . .

@sammys-magical-au

[submalevolentgrace]

Hey, just fyi ESRB & PEGI don't screen specifically for medical abuse so media isn't required give warnings for it, you could try to petition ESRB/PEGI to add that to their rating system, but currently you won't get any warnings for that content from official sites. It may sometimes fall under violence/fantasy violence/gore so if a piece of media has any of those warnings it might mean theres medical abuse

For now I really recommend doesthedogdie.com to get specific trigger warnings for media, usually you have to wait a week or two after something comes out for the warnings (its based on votes by users), but they include warnings for ableism, amputation, & body horror, along with like 100 other things

Sorry people are being shitty to you, hope you're doing okay <3

honestly fascinated by why you decided to send me this

i never even mentioned ratings boards because i know they're useless when it comes to actually codifying or describing what's in media that might be upsetting. there were a bunch of people in the notes arguing about ratings boards though, maybe that's what made you think to say this to me, except i am not those people

i also don't trust any aggregate site like doesthedogdie or unconsentingmedia, because honestly, ableism is baked so deep into every aspect of culture that the only people who know how to recognise what might be triggering for medical abuse are people that have experienced it or inflicted it... everyone else is, at best, obliviously desensitised to it

i can't pull up the original text of my post now since i've deleted all my branches of it to stop the notes, but i'm certain that i framed it as making a trigger warning known for other disabled people that have experienced forced treatment or surgery, and any reference to it happening 'without warning' is in the sense that, it's extreme body horror in a context that doesn't prepare the audience for it; ie, going into a horror game franchise like resident evil, dead space, soulsbornesekiroring etc, the audience can be reasonably assumed to be prepared for horror elements including fucked up body shit... i don't think any reasonable person could be expected to start up the latest installment of 'the legend of brightly coloured elf boy saves the magical princess from a big demon pig with a laser shooting sword' and be met with mummified cross species unconsenting arm transplant - and i say that as someone that was bracing for the worst possible outcome since the first trailers, based on my own arm issues. it never once occurred to me that they would go that batshit insanely horrifying with it, because it's a zelda game.

and also like - i really don't actually want to pile on you personally kind stranger, i can see that you're making a gesture you believe is helpful from a place of compassion and that's a positive even if it lands poorly - but i'm absolutely fascinated by the schema, the mental and perceptual framework, that has to be in place to see this kind thing, to see someone implying their direct experience with the hospital system willfully inflicting graphic body horror on them in violation of their autonomy, and to think in response: "well, you could petition industry groups to put more specific warning labels on games"

like, doctors are out there right now doing horrific surgical abuse on disabled people because society at large doesn't view us as human, abled people are in denial that it's happening or supporting the "mercy" and "compassion" of the doctors that do it, and that dehumanisation and denial runs so deep that it casually makes its way into family entertainment without a second thought of the authors.... the problem isn't "ratings boards aren't specific enough" and i cannot fathom the chain of thoughts that led you to that idea

so, incase it isn't obvious, no i am not doing okay, and i never will be again because of what was done to me..... but... i do appreciate that you hope i am doing okay all the same

[rainderthesomeone]

Team fortress 2 Introductions

Part 2

Master list

Discontinued

Trigger warnings.

Swearing, gore, implied amputation, Medic is in here so of course there’s gonna be some gore lol.

Discontinued

[seraphiteshaven]

TMA Goretober(૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭

Content and Trigger warning! I'm going to be writing gore, including pain, bugs, body horror, trypophobia, dendro/botanophobia, claustrophobia, arachnophobia, automatonophobia, emetophobia etc. General TMA fears etc. Note that not all of these will be statements, but a lot will. Here is the masterlist! (≧ヮ≦)

Day 1 Teeth - Here. TW - Blood, extended agony, gore.

Day 2 Candy Gore - Here. TW - Implied Cannibalism and implied self-harm.

Day 3  Ceramic - Here. TW - Semi-Cannibalistic thoughts, and talk of uncanny valley.

Day 4 Nose Bleed - Here. TW - Mentions of Death, Workplace Abuse, isolation, and blood.

Day 5 Autopsy - Here. TW - Death, autopsy, body mutilation, darkness, and typical Vast.

Day 6 Eyes - Here. TW - Non-consensual statement-taking, staring, and typical Jarchivist content.

Day 7 Gut Spill - Here. TW - Blood, Gore, Death, Florida.

Day 8 Crystals - Here. TW - Blood, Gore, Death, fear of tight spaces, personification of earth, delusions, burning alive.

Day 9 Poisoned - Here. TW - Poison, vomit, agony, implied violence.

Day 10 Hanahaki Disease  - Here. TW - Death, blood, gore, Hanahaki

Day 11 Insects - Here. TW - Gore, bugs, referenced death.

Day 12 Spiral - Here. TW - Referenced death, Micheal.

Day 13 Stitches 

Day 14 Dehisce 

Day 15 Fungi

Day 16 Hooks 

Day 17 Plant Growth Day 18 Cannibalism 

Day 19 Bites 

Day 20 Vomit 

Day 21 Lacerations 

Day 22 Silver Platter 

Day 23 Camera Work 

Day 24 Amputation 

Day 25 Bones

Day 26 Deltiologist 

Day 27 Glitch 

Day 28 Neon Gore

Day 29  Mutation 

Day 30 Undead

Day 31 Decapitation

Note that these are my personal prompts, and it's not anything official. I will be posting links to the A03 Chapters here as I go on, and even though I'm spectacularly late I'm excited to finish!! ･°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°. Please message me directly if a TW is missing or is incorrect. Thank you and have fun reading!

[yanderes-galore]

Ooooh I'd love to see a yandere alphabet for Skinner M.D, if it's not too much trouble :>

Of course! I'd love to write for him again :)

Using This Concept As Reference

Yandere Alphabet - Skinner M.D

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Manipulation, Paranoia, Slight sadism, Death/Murder, Removal of organs and limbs, Blood, Canon typical violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, Drugging, Unhealthy power dynamic, Forced relationship implied.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Skinner is a huge softy in nature. He is capable of doing some sinister stuff due to being in the medical field, yet he is just so nice to you. He often loves to chat with you or treat you when you're injured.

Skinner is just so concerned with your health. He's trustworthy since he's treated you many time before. As a result, you don't really pick up on any weird behavior from him.

It all happens behind a closed curtain, completely away from your prying eyes.

I'd say Skinner is moderate in intensity.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Skinner is naturally gets messy due to his job. He doesn't outright murder but he is responsible for everyone's healthcare in the S.Q. As a result, the injured are at his mercy.

If he had someone on his table that got you hurt in the field, what's stopping him from not treating him? Just an oath? Maybe he won't revive them, or maybe he'll remove a limb or an organ before cloning them. They'll feel every second of it.

Surely that would be a good enough lesson for them?

If you're going to be out of Skinner's sight... you need to be protected!

It doesn't appear your hirelings are very good at their job....

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Skinner would never mock you! He adores you too much for that. No, you'd have your own private room in the medical wing where he can watch over you.

It's where you'll be the most safe in his opinion!

He'll take care of you, give you frequent health checks, and give you all the physical affection you could ever want! What more could you possibly want? There's no need to leave him all alone in the medical wing, right?

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Skinner tries to respect your boundaries, but if he feels it is for your own safety then he'll be a bit more forceful.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Skinner can be quite vulnerable. I feel he is very open with you and often tells you what he wants and what his intentions are. He doesn't seem like he'd lie to you often and just wants you safe.

Unfortunately he just lets his fears of you getting hurt cloud his judgement. So, yes, Skinner would be very vulnerable.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Disappointed and confused. If you tried to fight Skinner he'd be confused and try to resolve the issue calmly. he doesn't want to scare you! He just wants to take care of you!

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and No!

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Honestly? Him drugging and kidnapping you. He is mostly very nice and gentle with you. That and any gore is done away from your eyes. Maybe if you caught him harming one of your hirelings, but for the most part the initial abduction is the worst of it.

That is, unless, you keep trying to escape.

In that case I can see Skinner doing some amputation, which would be worse than the kidnapping, yet he tries really hard to avoid that.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Skinner's goal is simple, he just wants to keep you safe. It's part of his job as a G03LM unit. This is because that unit is usually used as servants. To him, keeping you safe is like something natural deep down within him.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Skinner can get jealous, yet he's mostly just disappointed with those around you. He silently copes until they end up on his table... then he can vent his frustrations. He's okay with just being your doctor, but he wishes he could be something more with you.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Very affectionate, gentle, and awfully loving. Skinner looks forward to seeing you every day when you walk by for a chat. Even when you're on his table he is rather gentle when touching you.

Skinner seems like he could never hurt a soul when he deals with you. However, we both know that is not the case.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Skinner doesn't do much courting. He rarely leaves the medical wing and only gets to chat with you when you come to him. However he does show he cares in anyway he can.

His approaches are usually medical related but he enjoys regular conversation too. He comes off as nice and friendly until you get hurt too often.

Then he decides he must keep you safe himself if no one else will.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not entirely, only when he's particularly upset at someone.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Isolation and restraints for the most part. Yet when those don't work? Drugging and amputation is the more extreme form of punishment for him.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

He tries not to take many unless he has to.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Very patient.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He'd have a really hard time moving on from any of that.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Yes but probably not.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

His overprotective nature of being a G03LM and a doctor.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Skinner does his best to comfort you, he doesn't mean to hurt you! He just wants to keep you from being hurt.... He'll end up suffocating you with affection if you're upset.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Yes, he's more docile than most.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Giving into his protective nature and trying to take care of yourself more. It eases him a little.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

He tries not to.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He isn't a worship yandere but would try to do anything he can to not lose you.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

A moderate amount of time, maybe half a year?

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Unintentionally.

[wounds-seen-and-unseen]

Augsnippets Day 4: Path of Hurt- Amputation

Catching up on the @augusnippets prompts I am behind on!

Here’s Day 4: Amputation. (Word Count: 225 words)

Context: Jaime is kidnapped by a group of mercenaries along with Brienne, a woman who held him captive. Said mercenaries want to rape her, which he stops, and angers said mercenaries enough that they take his hand instead of hurting her. (This is canonical, by the way, though the way I wrote the scene is closer to show than book canon)

Trigger warnings: Major Character Injury, implied rape mention.

Tagging @dreamer-in-sleep @ba-bhump and @starlightasteria

Brienne simply concentrates on holding them back as long as she can. Even if it is inevitable that they will desecrate her body, she will not go down without a fight. In the periphery of her hearing, she can hear the Kingslayer talking, doubtless spinning tale after tale.

Suddenly, his voice rings loud and clear as he says “The Sapphire isle. Lord Selwyn Tarth would pay his daughter’s weight in sapphires to get her back..but only if she is alive, her honour unbesmirched.” For one moment, she does not grasp the enormity of the lie. When it strikes, she is taken aback. Why is he doing this? When their captors drag her back, his eyes follow her, clear relief in his gaze. She is too overwhelmed to pay attention to their banter, but it becomes apparent that they mean to free him.

That being her expectation only makes what is to come even worse than it would have otherwise been.

Events transpire too quickly, her head ringing far too much for her to discern much. But the scream makes her jolt, filled with such agony as it was. When she turns her head towards the sound, her eyes widen, too, though not as unfocused as the Kingslayer’s, staring horrified at what used to be his hand, cut clean through on the stump of a tree.