#cw gunshot

[liauditore]

DANGANRONPA FANART IN 2023 BAM. I wish these two had more screentime together D:

Original vs Redraw below the cut

2020 vs 2023

or a look at pre-university me vs finishing uni me lol

I started drawing more and more spiky as time went on lmao. part of me wishes there was just a tad more improvement evident but I've been studying animation alongside draftsmanship so ig I can't expect to be the way I was in highschool :P (also i can actually look at the new version without cringing which is nice)

[interstella5555daily]

Day 6

"I'll drive the rest of the way."

The idea of what happens during High Life to the rest of the band + shep has haunted me since I got into interstella

[alexthescaredenby]

The following audio was recovered from the body of an SAS recovery team member at Site [REDACTED].

Listen at your own risk.

@shrimpysstuff @moonysfavoritetoast @bassguitarinablackt-shirt

eh tag the others im eepy

[dead-dove-orchid]

!! READ TAGS !! GORE !! SPOILERS INVINCIBLE S2E6 !! EYESTRAIN !!

Brave little soldier~ 🧨🦎

[loadedberetta]

vita brevis // Ghost x Reader (fem no body desc) MDNI

warnings. cw blood, gunshot wound on R, stitching, needles

life's short, have an affair with your Lieutenant for all I care.

1.7k //nsfw under the cut (it's [implied] smut)

"Couldn't you have got shot in a place that'd be easier to bandage?" Ghost rumbled as he unclasped your tac vest.

The plate carrier thudded on the ground with a muffled metallic clang, and you breathed a deep sigh for the first time in a while.

"I don't know, couldn't you have picked a better entry point?" You quipped back in a strained voice as you removed your jacket and handed it over to Ghost.

It was a strange situation, him trying to get to your gunshot wound to bandage it while simultaneously biting your head off about a stupid decision your team made while doing an infil for some intel.

How badly it went was not your fault neither Ghost's, but having no one else around you took your frustration out on each other since you found the other one grounded near the location of the hit. Both of you stranded, and unable to radio for a quick exfil in the harsh weather, you retreated into the woods, and by the mercy of the French hiking enthusiast, found a cabin a few miles deep in the dense forest.

Price chose this time in February to send Ghost, you, and the commando team to complete this hit because the "weather would mask your entry completely". Well, safe to say it didn't, and now you were sitting in a mountain cabin with a bullet likely fragmented into your upper arm.

Ghost tore the bloody sleeve off your wooly stando with a loud ripping noise, and gave the disconnected arm back to you.

"Oh…" you muttered, suddenly aware of how cold it was in the cabin. "'scold."

"Straight through… You are one lucky motherfucker." Ghost murmured with the finger of his wool glove between his teeth while taking a look at your arm, raising it and twisting it around.

"Still-- not the correct way to- ow!" You yelped as he thumbed the wound that was still oozing blood.

He hooked his arm behind his back and after the loud rip of some velcro, a small IFAK appeared in his hand.

"'sall I got." He muttered as he unzipped it with one hand, the other squeezing your injury shut while you grit your teeth.

"A marksman and a demoman are lucky to have this much on them." You quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood. You pressed your lips together as he fastened the tourniquet above the wound.

You had to give it to them, the militia defending the intel was a messy bunch with great skillsets. Not counting the bullet wound, you had a few other superficial wounds and bruises strewn across your body earned in close-quarters combat, and as Ghost patched you up, you spotted him sporting a few gashes and slashes as well.

You started watching him kneeling in front of you to distract yourself from the prick of the needle and the pull of the skin while he was stitching you up with the antiseptic thread (which, for a change also stung), but it soon turned into amusement. You never explicitly noticed how heavy and broad he really was; your subconscious did you a favour already on that front. Yes, he had a commanding force in the team but it seemed to have come naturally for him. Only now did you piece together how and why he was such a pleasure to look at and a menace to work with.

His stitches were steady and he wasted no time on moving onto the exit wound.

He moved behind you, sitting on the bench you were perched on too, and set a flickering gas light on the table to get some minimal light to work in. For a moment longer than you would have liked, he fumbled. He let out an aggravated huff that made you turn your head back at him.

"What?" You growled, agitated from the annoying pain in your arm the stitches left in their wake, and the anticipation of another round of the same uncomfortable pricking.

"Need a better angle..." He huffed.

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you saw his eyes roam around, trying to find a solution.

"Put your hand- no. Gi' me." And just like that, he grabbed your injured arm and put your palm behind you on his thigh.

His thigh.

You tensed, and your breath hitched. Just when you thought the uncomfortable first few seconds had passed, he moved your hand with the short command of "twist it" after you were too preoccupied with focusing on steadying your breathing than listening to what your ears were hearing.

His palm curled around your wrist from behind, cold and hot at the same time, sending tingles up your whole arm, all the way through your spine - and to your absolute dismay, - all the way down to your cunt.

The first stitch dug in.

"Still cold?" Ghost asked, trying to sound nonchalant. You couldn't see him, he was behind you, which made you flare up. You've learned to read him through clues in his body language, but now, you were stripped even of that.

"Yeah…" you breathed back, trying to sound neutral, but failing miserably.

You weren't totally lying. Although the cabin was upkept, had a few gas lamps, and was even minimally supplied, the unforgiving weather outside combined with the empty fireplace wasn't exactly accommodating. The snowstorm had picked up since the two of you arrived here, inhibiting you further from either leaving or setting up long-range comms until the weather stilled.

An itching sensation you couldn't resist likely from Ghost pricking a surface nerve sent a jolt through your arm, which pulled you from your thoughts.

"God-- shit, sorry…" You muttered as you reset your hand on the tough fabric of his cargo pants. His devilishly sly hand wrapped around your wrist yet again, and without a word, he repositioned it, right on the bulging inseam of his cargos.

It was now his plushy inner thigh you were feeling with the entirety of your palm, which stirred another wave of guilt-ridden pleasure blooming in your abdomen.

"Stop moving about." his voice came through as a snarked whisper.

"'m not moving." You tilted your head sideways to catch a glimpse of his dark figure behind you.

"Your fingers." He reminded in a voice that was halfway between annoyed and teasing, something you've rarely heard from him before, usually when Soap worked him up during training missions through the radio.

Quickly turning your head back, you mumbled something about them getting numb, but you mostly just wanted to avoid him seeing the embarrassment spreading on your features.

"You're not helping me concentrate 'ere." He spoke in a voice laced with a sinful pitch that made your face twist into a shamefully turned-on mess he thankfully couldn't see.

"Sorry." You told him for the second time in a few short minutes. "I am getting a needle--"

"You're not sorry" Ghost retaliated and punctuated his words with a painful prick to your skin.

You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Brain short-circuiting, you missed your window of opportunity, and Ghost spoke again.

"Keep this up, and you'll be in big trouble when I'm done. D'you understand?"

You tried ignoring the red flashing lights in your brain about him. You were not supposed to do this, but God, you wanted to so badly.

"Just get this shit over with, okay?" You huffed back, trying to sound angry but it came out more as a plea.

"Oh stop ya bitchin'." Ghost muttered from behind you as you felt him tug on the string looped through your skin.

Whether it was the adrenaline left over from the op, or a fresh rush you didn't know, but when you felt him pull the curved needle out of your skin you slid your hand resting on his thigh further up his cargos.

You felt him still his arm holding the needle, and a sharp inhale ripped through the cold air.

"Now who really needs to shut their fucking mouth?" You said incredibly softly while turning around just enough so the string still had slack, but you could lock eyes with Ghost. This was a very, very dangerous gamble you decided to place your bets on.

"Don't fucking play this game with me." He spoke with a volume matching yours, but a tone much more deep and sinister. "Turn 'round and let me finish first, for fuck's sake."

"Fine." You mumbled as you turned back, trying to conceal a smirk forming on your face, no traces of your previous embarrassment, and the shift of your position to rearrange the crotch seam of your pants to allow you catching a slight friction in the movement.

Your hand moved devilishly. It not only stayed where you left it high on Ghost's thigh, but you slid it further up, feeling the slight bump that must have been the hem of his boxers. You knew how much it annoyed him that you wriggled about under his fingers. But you also knew how fucking preoccupied he must have been with trying not to make it obvious that he was already concealing a semi.

"You don't wan' this" Ghost whispered impossibly close from behind your head. You did not notice or feel how he leaned in so closely, and the faint tease of his hot breath crawled below your skin to fizz and settle deep in the pit of your stomach.

You sucked in a small breath and almost got scared at the thought. Almost.

"Oh? I think I do, Lt." You turned your head back just the slightest, and let your fingers slide along what you supposed were the hem of his tight boxers.

He didn't answer for a moment, instead tugged on your skin to seal the stitch.

"'f you pop them, you're redoing them y'self."

You barely readjusted yourself, and heard him put the tools down before a hand snaked over your belly from behind and popped your belt open without a warning. Your brain gave the go-ahead while it could, and shut down for your own good from then on.

Ghost didn't tease and certainly didn't beat around the bush. Two thick fingers were pressed against your folds in an instant, restrained by the tight fabric of your tac pants. The sensation picked a ripe moan from the budding tree of pleasure flowering inside you, giving you a small teaser of what more was to come that night.

(a/n: a very old reworked fic. renod. still not betad- should I post about looking for a beta? I digress, enjoy the thoughts that come with this lol. okay bye c u horny bastards tomorrow)

[dawittiest]

Sam and Dean were BORN TO DIE

Lana Del Rey x Supernatural: Kripke Era (feat. Destiel and Samruby)

[v4nzz]

biggest shout out to my favorite sequence from “Recognized” by @agentianlegend !! definitively one of my favorite fics!! ever !!

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch of Harry Wilson standing next to Eliot Spencer, Harry looking uneasy as he says something, and Eliot frowning at him, with his hair dishevelled and a fresh gunshot wound on the left side of his chest. End ID]

-

Day 2: alt. Gunshot wound

Harry being disturbed by Eliot's indifference to having just been shot, and really wanting to impel Eliot to go to a hospital or something. But it didn't hit anything vital and Eliot's more perturbed (mostly confused) by Harry being worried than the bullet itself.

[starglowwos]

eloise: no, it's just, that's- that's outlandish, i just said it wasn't me martyn: [zooms in on eloise with a spyglass] eloise: oh we can all- oh, okay, sorry, you weren't actually- holding your gun out at me.. um- martyn: god, you are really the worst employee eloise: what? why? martyn: yu-j- aiming your gun at your superior eloise: you're not my superior! martyn: [shoots near eloise] martyn: yes i am! eloise: don't shoot at me! martyn: i didn't shoot at you, i shot by you martyn: big differen- eloise: [shoots near martyn] martyn: what the- eloise: welidi- i didn't shoot at you, i shot by you martyn: okay that's fair actually yeah i've heard about that

[touchoffleece]

I can finally share the cover art I made for @cherryw-blossom's SCBB (2023) entry run by @supercorpbb 🥳

draft Ideas I didn't go with and some thoughts on changes made along the way:

I liked both of the draft ideas, but it didn’t feel very accurate to showcasing the love dynamic between Kara and Lena as Leon and Ada.

Old Versions of the art (where I forgot the wanted gunshot effects I had in mind early into starting this final version of the art):

a look at the background artwork (minus the gunshot effects I later realized I forgot to add):

and finally a version without Lena wearing gloves, looking back I’m not as happy as I was when I created this version of the draft, but at the time I was pretty satisfied with how I got Lena’s fingers to look even if I felt it wasn’t perfect.

[whump-in-the-closet]

At Gunpoint

yes, yes i know i have two active series i need to work on, but i got distracted by a couple of my other ocs and voila

~~~

cw: this is really very violent so heed that, guns, knives, drugging, used as bait, death threats, character death, badly written fight scene, implied torture and captivity, female whumpee, female whumper, so many broken bones…yeah let me know if i missed anything

Mal wandered down the empty stone walks of Jett’s abandoned fortress and found the emptiness odd.

But she didn’t realise how wrong the silence was until it was too late.

Granted, her thoughts were distracted. Nyx had been gone for a week and there had been no message.

But Nyx was more than capable of taking care of herself. She was fine…Nyx was fine. 

Nyx was fine.

Mal tried to shug the growing discomfort away. Momentarily distracted by a locked door at the top floor, she kicked it down out of violent necessity. 

The room was not empty. 

It took only a second for Mal to recognise Jett and Akari, and to realise that the only exit was the way she had come. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck– 

Mal froze, eyes locked on the bent figure in the back of the room. Everything else bled away, leaving Mal standing in an ocean of red. 

The figure knelt because she couldn’t stand, chains looped around her wrists and attached to rings on the floor. Mal caught a glimpse of black where the whites of the eyes should be as Nyx’s head rolled forward. 

Gagged and drugged out of her mind—Nyx. Far from fine. 

Jett started talking– bragging– lip curling in triumph. She spun a revolver lazily. 

Mal didn’t care. She took a shaky step forward. Couldn’t look away from the bruises on Nyx’s bare arms.

Purple and blue and shadowed.

Arching half-healed red lines on her shoulders and neck– 

Jett’s girlfriend wound a hand in Nyx’s dark hair, wrenching Nyx’s head back at a painful angle. Flashing steel was drawn in a clear threat. 

“Stop where you are,” Jett repeated, no longer spinning the gun. 

Mal almost lunged forward. A void opened up inside her.

Screaming.

Screaming until everything was raw and red and aching.

She managed to stop, but all she could see was the knife at Nyx’s throat. 

Looking at Nyx, drugged and hollow, shirt ripped to reveal spider-webbed pale skin, felt like a twisting blade in Mal’s lungs. 

Jett crossed the ground between them, eyeing the knife at Mal’s hip. She yanked it out, tossing it to the ground. 

Mal didn’t protest. 

Jett took Mal’s silence for defiance. With a violent twist of her wrist, she brought the handle of her gun over the girl’s head. “On your knees.” 

Mal inhaled sharply, air burning her lungs with all the force of the desert sun. A shuddering sob in her throat, she dropped to her knees. 

Jett stood over her and the gun didn’t waver. She pressed a cold circle to Mal’s already throbbing temple. “Don’t move.” 

Don’t move. 

Outnumbered. 

Outmatched. 

Death felt like a cold wind on the back of Mal’s neck. 

Akari spoke up. “Not so brave now, are you? What do you think, m’lady? Do you think her brave?” 

Jett traced a line down Mal’s face with the muzzle of her gun. 

Mal’s breathing picked up. Faster and faster and faster– 

Jett jabbed the muzzle into Mal’s throat, forcing her to look up. 

Faster and faster and faster– 

Jett grinned. “No, not particularly brave.” 

Mal exhaled softly, blowing a sweat-matted curl out of her eyes. “Fuck off.” 

Faster than Mal’s breathing came the flash of Jett’s gun. 

Another sharp hiss, but Mal fell silent, vivid red dripping down from her temple. Breathing heavily, she glared at the concrete. She did not miss the brown-red stains of dried blood that spotted the floor. 

“Do you know what we’re going to do to you?” Akari’s voice was low, her scar catching in the flame-lights, skin still shiny. The hand holding the knife to Nyx’s throat was steady, the weird light only enhancing the new lines of exhaustion on Nyx’s face. “We’re going to kill you. Here. Now.” 

Mal looked up at this. Jett smiled, confirming Akari’s threat. 

Akari’s voice dragged on, shinier than her scar. “We’re going to kill you the way we kill a rabid dog. We thought about torturing you ‘til you died begging, as a sort of dramatic irony bit.” 

Mal licked the blood off her lip. 

“We thought about letting you live. Making an example out of you. But you’re too unstable for even that. You’re sick–” 

Mal spat out the blood. It had been waiting, crimson and iron and bitter, on her tongue. It landed on Jett’s glossy-black boot. 

The satisfaction was only momentary. Worth it. That same boot lodged itself in Mal’s stomach. 

Mal doubled over, coughing. More crimson in her mouth. An ocean of blood tearing her lungs to shreds. 

“Akari, enough,” said Jett. “We’re done here.” When she shoved the muzzle of the gun to Mal’s temple, it was no threat.

Choking on the crimson-bile, Mal cried out. White dots bloomed in the corners of her eyes. “Wait!” 

“Any dying words?” Jett was running out of patience. 

“Nyx?” Mal’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Nyx.” Voice even softer. “What will you do with her?” 

“She’s my sister, I’m not going to kill her.” 

Akari laughed. “We have to make an example out of someone.” 

“Akari!” snapped Jett. 

Too late. Mal froze, every muscle coiling like a wind-up toy inside her. Tightening, and tightening, and tightening. 

“Fuck,” whispered Jett. 

Tightening and tightening and tightening. Every nerve set alight with lightning-burning that arched through her entire system. 

Two things happened in a span of seconds. 

Mal lunged for the gun and Jett fired it. The bullet missed wildly and that's when, according to Jett, it all went to shit. 

Akari scrambled off of Nyx, a knife in each hand. 

But Mal had knocked the gun out of Jett’s hand and shoved Jett back into the wall. Mal’s fist connected with Jett’s ribcage in the most satisfying of crunches. Before Jett could double over, she grabbed Jett’s hair and– crack– the back of Jett’s head met the concrete wall. 

Jett slumped against the wall. 

Then Akari’s blade found Mal. The short steel slammed into the small of her back– scraping against bone–

White pounded in her vision, ripping through her. It twisted and screamed through every nerve in her body– fading to gold.

Red– 

The colours were lodged behind her eyes, exploding into vicious spirals. Mal whirled, her blow met with steel. 

A slash on the back of her hand for her troubles. 

Deep, deep red pooling out of the cut. Her hand was slippery with it. 

Jett was recovering and Akari was stabbing again. 

Mal barely dodged the thin blade. But Akari had put too much force behind the blow, and when Mal swayed to the side, Akari was left exposed for a second too long. 

Mal elbowed Akari in the face. Another satisfying crack as something broke. Probably the woman’s nose. Mal wrenched the weapon out of Akari’s hand, and with a movement like diving into choppy water, Mal shoved it into Akari’s throat. 

Akari crumpled, eyes wide, grabbing for the knife. Frantic crimson spurted over the front of her shirt and soon soaked her hands. 

Mal didn’t stay to watch. 

Jett hadn’t quite recovered. She was on her hands and knees—

Mal kicked Jett’s legs out from under her. Jett wheezed, the sound distinctly wrong.

And Mal laughed, the sound rattling in her throat and wiped the blood off her face. “Sick?” She kicked Jett in the mouth. Blood on her boots. Blood on the ground. “Fuck that–”

Oh, she was so glad she’d worn steel-toed boots today. She kicked Jett again. And again. And again.

“–Fuck you.” 

 Every blow brought a wince of pain, and every blow brought greater and greater satisfaction. 

She lightly touched the hilt of the blade still buried in her back. Her fingers were drenched with scarlet when she pulled her hand away. That was going to be a problem. 

Mal wiped her bloody hand off on Jett’s shirt, leaving the red to smear. With a curl of disgust, she started digging through Jett’s pockets. When she finally found the key to Nyx’s chains, she kicked Jett one last time. 

Jett’s face was now unrecognisable. 

Mal turned back to Nyx. Crouching down should not have been as difficult as it was. She had to breathe through her teeth, raspy and hoarse, to keep from screaming. Her fingers kept slipping on the key and it took three tries to unlock the chains on Nyx’s wrists. 

With the support removed, Nyx slumped forward. 

Mal caught her, slowly lowering herself and Nyx to the bloody floor. “Nyx?” she whispered and even the whisper seemed blood-stained. 

Nyx didn’t answer, head rolling back against Mal’s shoulder. 

Black in her eyes where the whites should be. 

Deep shadowed bruises. 

Mal bit back a shuddering sob. “I’m sorry.” Then again, and again and again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Nyx, I’m sorry–” 

She curled over the limp body, her forehead pressed against Nyx’s. 

I’m sorry.

[killianhemlock]

Sometimes I’ll make very loose frame ideas for an animation then remember that my computer is broken. Here is some

Have only these two frames BECAUSE THE OTHERS ARE GOING TO BE BURNED WITH A FUCKING LIGHTER I HATE THEM

[alttheloco]

Genloss sketches

[theplottdump]

He was too fast for her. The bullet went off course- ricocheting off the tiled wall and embedding itself in the climate controls to the sauna. Controls that started to fizzle and spark. 🎵

The gas seemed to be coming in faster and thicker than before.

"REMEMBER - DON'T TELEGRAPH YOUR MOVES." Chad coached his best friend through the glass door and went to work on Vera's cuffs. It was of course standard for UNIT Agents to have a basic toolkit sewn into a disguise.

The force of the blow knocked the CAS pistol out of Poppy's hand, sending it clattering to the floor- briefly silhouetted by the exquisitely and painstakingly hand tiled ceiling before hitting the ground and sliding out of reach.

Henry pulled back to swing on her like an irish boxer in early 1900s Bridgeport. It was on, and she needed to think fast.

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴- 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩-

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

Tonight's random tidbit of morbid writing knowledge: when writing a character with a bullet wound, and the bullet has gone all the way through therefore leaving an entry wound and exit wound respectively, the exit wound will always be larger than the entry wound.

This is because the entry wound is uniform and smaller as the bullet is intact and propelled by an equal force when it hits the character. But as a bullet moves through the body, it begins to lose its force, slowing down, and also begins to fall apart and become warped. This results in a larger exit wound as the bullet rips through at an uneven pace and is no longer fully intact.