#cw: death

[frudoo]

Like a Stone — Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Y'ALL. I apologize in advance. Literally sobbed writing this one.

Warnings: Unspecified illness, reader death, smut, poorly written Scottish accent.

Here you go, @xoxunhinged!!

MDNI

Any day now. 

     That’s what the doctors said. Any day now and you would be gone. Dead and gone, a ghost where your body used to reside. To be so young, only just married and so full of potential, diagnosed with the deadliest of circumstances, a waste. And oh, your poor husband, who was so excited to finally have the love of his life to keep by his side forever. How distraught he was to have to stay by your bedside in this dull hospital and watch you slowly shrivel away, resembling more of a corpse than that of his beloved wife. 

     A dry cough that leaves your lips startles Johnny awake, immediately standing from his chair and hovering above your bed. 

     “Ye alreit, bon’?” He brushes a strand of brittle hair away from your face, smiling down at you softly. 

     Your glossy eyes crease with love, admiration, as you look up at him and nod, carefully scooting over to make room for his large body. He wordlessly obliges, settling under the thin sheet and blanket just because you held it up for him. He presses a soft kiss to your cold, chapped lips, nuzzling his nose against yours. It’s a habit that formed after your wedding day—you can still picture those sparkling blue eyes staring into yours, that bright smile nearly blinding you. The memory feels like it’s centuries away, now, although it had just been a little over a year ago. 

     “I talked to the nurses,” you hum softly, cuddling closer and running your fingertips along his bicep. 

     Johnny frowns almost imperceptibly, but you pick up on it anyway. You’ve learned more about each other since being admitted into this hospital than in the two years you two had dated. 

     “Aboot wha’?” 

     “Johnny…” you whisper, tangling your fingers into the overgrown mess of hair that his mohawk had become over time. “I know you’re going on assignment soon.”

     He doesn’t bother to hide his discontent this time, fingertips gently caressing the skin of your sunken-in cheek. You’re practically all skin and bones and it tears him apart. 

     “We dinnae have tae talk aboot tha’,” he mutters, his heart pounding in his chest. 

     “The nurses are giving me—us—an hour alone,” you explain gently, eyes scanning his face cautiously. “I… I want you to make love to me.” 

     Johnny’s breath catches in his throat, and his fingers stall on your face, resting there as he stares at you dumbfounded. Surely you can’t be serious. Not when you’re in this condition—so frail and weak and pitiful. 

     “Bon’, ah-”

     “Please,” you interrupt, eyes glazed over with hot tears that threaten to spill. “In case this…” 

     “In case it’s the last time,” he finishes for you, his cerulean eyes just as glossy as yours. 

     There’s a moment of pregnant silence in the air between the two of you. Johnny glances at your heart monitor as the beats steadily increase in pace, before returning his attention back to you and nodding slowly. God, he thought the worst pain in the world was the time he broke his leg in primary school, or getting shot in his shoulder on the field. But this is far worse—the longing in your dull eyes, the coolness of your fingertips raking over his abdomen beneath his shirt. The knowledge that this could very well be last time he ever sees you, feels you. 

     You’re the first to lean in, lips carefully brushing against his like it’s the first time all over again. The shyness and innocence of it all makes his heart flutter, and he quickly melts into the kiss, large hand cupping your cheek in his calloused palm. He hums softly into your mouth as your lips part, fingernails gently digging into the meaty flesh of his bicep. His hand moves to the side of your neck, then down your arm, eventually meeting your bare thigh. He grins when he feels goosebumps rise on your body, pulling away from the kiss with a soft gasp. 

     “Ye’re sure aboot this, hen?” He asks gently, voice just lower than a whisper, almost inaudible. 

     “Yes, Johnny. Please,” you nod quickly, tugging at the hem of his shirt and staring up at him with wide, eager eyes. 

     Johnny has to fight back tears when he sees your expression. He can’t remember the last time he saw you like this—after the diagnosis, you had been treated and admitted so many times that any intimacy other than cuddling or kissing were long forgotten. He missed this, the beautiful glint in your eyes that reminded him that he was the only one who could make you feel that way. The last one who ever would. 

     Johnny climbs on top of you but is careful not to put any weight or pressure on your limp body, his lips brushing against yours before lowering to your jawline. The giggle you let out makes his stomach jump, and he can’t help but smile against your clammy skin. His lips trail down your neck and to your collarbones, and with gentle fingers, he helps you out of the flimsy gown. He bites his lip at the sight of you, thinner and paler, but still nonetheless as gorgeous as the day he met you. Healthy or not, he would always be a fool for you. 

     He cups your breasts in his hands, thumbs gently flicking over your nipples. He smiles softly with content when he hears your little moan, leaning in to kiss you again. You wrap your shaking arms around his neck, fingernails gently scratching at the back of his head. His body is so warm against yours, full of life and hope like you used to have. It makes your head spin. 

     “Ye alreit?” Johnny feels you tense up and immediately pulls back, worried eyes scanning your face. 

     His eyebrows unfurrow when you nod your agreement, but his movements are still slow and calculated, like he’s afraid he’ll break you. You shake your head softly, grabbing his wrists and encouraging his hands to move lower. 

     “Touch me, Johnny. It’s okay,” you grin slightly, leaning up to press a kiss to his clenched jaw. 

     With trembling hands, his fingers descend down your stomach and rest right above your mound, hooded eyes looking up at you cautiously. Johnny spreads your legs carefully, placing your thighs over his shoulders and pressing soft kisses to the insides. He knows you won’t be as wet as you need to be—the medication you take gives you dry-mouth, and parches you in other inconvenient places. No matter to him. He lets saliva pool onto his tongue before gently parting your folds with his thumbs, letting the warm liquid drip onto you slowly. The gasp you let out makes him grin and squeeze the soft flesh of your thighs gently. 

     “Is this alreit, bon’? Ye want me tongue?” He questions, peppering kisses to your inner thighs, making sure his stubble doesn’t rub your delicate skin raw. 

     “Please, Johnny,” you whisper hoarsely, grabbing at his dark hair and tugging slightly, trying to push his face further between your thighs. 

     He huffs softly in amusement, making sure his tongue has another sheen of saliva on it before swiping a long stripe through your slit. He moans, dragging the tip of his tongue up to your pulsing clit and flicking it a few times. Your legs are already trembling, and he digs his fingers into your thighs to keep you grounded as he dips his tongue into your entrance, eyes shutting once he finally gets a taste of the unmistakable tang of your arousal. Your whimpers are music to his ears, and he takes his time licking and sucking at the sweetness he’s craved for months. In the back of his mind, he wonders if you’d missed this, too. He assumes as much by the way you’re already grinding your hips against him, salty tears streaming down your flushed face. 

     You whine when Johnny pulls away, and he’s quick to replace his mouth with the pad of his thumb on your clit. With his other hand, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them in his spit and making sure they’re nice and wet before circling the tips around your entrance. He kisses your thigh before resting his cheek against it, oceanic eyes staring up at you in silent question. The need displayed by your quivering lip is all the consent he needs. He slowly slips his middle finger inside, breath hitching as your velvety walls contract around it. He pumps it in and out a couple of times before adding a second finger, wrapping his lips around your clit once more to distract from the stretch. Fuck, he forgot how tight you are, how your walls flutter like they’re trying to kiss the intruder. He flicks his tongue over your clit right as he curls his fingers, and by the way you tug at his hair, he knows he’s found the spot.

     “Doin’ so good fer me, bon’. Want ye tae cum on me fingers, aye?” He coos, circling your clit with a flat tongue while he stares up at you eagerly, an almost boyish glint in his eyes. 

     He curls his fingers against that squishy spot again, and that’s all it takes before you’re seeing stars. Your thighs clench violently, and your back pops as it arches, a soft ringing in your ears as your husband coaxes you through your orgasm. He groans in delight at the taste of you, savoring the gush of sticky cream that coats his fingers. Once your body relaxes, he presses a final kiss to your clit before pulling away. He pants, the heady taste of you on his tongue making him smile as he leans back up to kiss your lips. Dazed and lightheaded, you kiss him back the best you can, fingernails clawing at his back as you try to bring him closer. 

     “Want you, Johnny, please. Please,” you pant, chest still heaving as you recover from the bliss that you’ve been lacking for months. 

     Johnny hesitates, though, worriedly gazing over at the heart monitor. The beeping had become more rapid, and it concerned him. He rakes his fingers through your hair, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as he waits for your heart rate to return to normal. Once your body has calmed, he kisses your lips again.

     “Are ye sure, hen? Ah dinnae want to hurt ye if-”

     “Johnny. I need you,” you murmur, eyebrows furrowed as you peer up at him desperately. 

     Johnny nods, momentarily standing from the bed to remove his jeans and boxers. You gasp softly at the sight of him—you’d nearly forgotten how he looked completely bare, scars that you’d previously memorized like brand new to you, and you reach out to caress them with a feather-light touch. Johnny grins, grabbing your frail wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside before climbing onto the bed once again. He strokes himself a couple of times before helping you get into position, pressing the leaking, dusty-pink tip against your entrance, still slick with your spend.

     “It might hurt a bit,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “Tell me if ah’m hurtin’ ye, alreit?”

     You nod and reply with a soft okay, hooking your arms beneath his to rest your hands on his shoulders. Slowly, he pushes in, covering your mouth with his own to swallow your gasp. Tears prick your eyes as he continues to penetrate you, your slick clinging to the bulging veins that protrude from his shaft. He’s so much thicker than you remember, the intensity of his girth seating itself inside of you bordering on unbearable.

     “Ah ken it hurts, bon’. Ye’re takin’ me so well, so perfect fer me,” he murmurs, kissing away your tears and cupping your clammy face in his hands. 

     It takes a while for you to adjust, and it feels like losing your virginity all over again. You cling to him tightly as he mutters reassurances and praises into your ear, not moving until you give him explicit permission. He’d wait for eternity if that’s how long you needed. 

     “You can… you can move now. Please,” you whimper breathlessly, opening your eyes to meet his patient gaze, so full of love for you–his perfect girl.

     He waits for another moment before nodding, slowly pulling out until just the crown remains inside of you. With a deep breath, he pushes back in gently, like you’re fine china and he’s a bull threatening to break you. Your nails dig into his tan skin but his mind is focused on how good you feel, how much he wants to make you feel just as incredible as he does. His pace is slow and calculated, and he doesn’t dare break eye contact with those beautiful globes of joy that he fell in love with. Fuck, he’s lost in you, staring like he sees right into your soul, like you’re another part of him. 

     The longer he studies you, the slower he strokes, unwilling to let go of this perfect moment, the absolute euphoria he can’t find anywhere that you’re not. He sees heaven in the black of your pupils—the future he would never have with you. He always imagined having a family with you, filling up the cozy home he’d buy for you with precious little rugrats. God, he’d be so gentle, always caressing your pregnant belly and kissing your temple, dancing with you in the living room to teach his bairns how to treat a proper lady. He’d watch you grow old together, comfort you as the pair of you becomes empty-nesters, reliving the honeymoon days and reminding you just how much he loves you. 

     He always thought it’d be him to die first, killed in action or succumbing to the forces of nature in his old age. 

     He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he feels you flinch when a teardrop lands on your face. He’s quick to thumb it away, leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss. It reminds him of your wedding night, how timid you were despite having been with him before, how stunning you looked with your parted lips and eyes clenched shut. He remembers it like it was yesterday, how the two of you fit flawlessly, like your bodies and souls were handcrafted just for one another. 

     “Are you okay?” You ask softly, pulling back to study his face and wiping away the tears that pool up in those sapphire eyes again. 

     “Ah’m alreit, bon’,” he whispers through a sad smile, nuzzling his nose against yours once again. “Ah jus’ love ye.” 

     “I love you, too, Johnny,” you hum, scratching the back of his neck gently, trying to soothe him.

     You know exactly what he’s thinking. You’ve spent days, weeks, months imagining how different things would be, had this illness never corrupted you. You’ve come to terms with it, but you know Johnny hasn’t. You’re not sure if he ever will with the way he’s looking at you. All you can do is kiss him again, moaning softly into his mouth when you feel yourself on the brink of ecstasy once more. 

     “I’m close,” you mewl, head falling back against the creased pillow beneath you. 

      Johnny nods frantically, grunting softly as he thrusts the slightest bit quicker, still worried that he’ll hurt you. But God, he’s so close, too. He needs to feel you clamp down on him just one last time, engrave it into his memory, tattoo it into his brain. 

     “Me too, sweet girl. Cum with me, aye? Let me feel ye.” 

     With that, the coil in your belly snaps, and you let out a squeal as you climax. He cups your gorgeous, flushed face between his rough hands, forcing you to meet his gaze as he finishes with you, simultaneous bliss lingering in the shared air between the two of you. Almost as quickly as they came, the highs dissipate, little tremors and jerks taking their place in the afterglow of euphoria. He leans down to kiss you yet again, quickened breaths mingling together. It feels like eternity before he pulls away, a shaky sigh escaping his agape mouth. When he meets your gaze again, he knows. He’s seen the emptiness, that blank, peaceful stare one too many times.

     “Ah love ye, bon’,” he whispers, smiling softly when he feels your head turn into the palm that still holds your face.

     “I love you, Johnny.” 

     He pulls out of you for the last time, pressing one more kiss to your quickly-cooling lips. You hum contentedly, and it’s all the closure he needs. He tries to block out the rapid beeping of your heart monitor as he gets dressed, tears streaming down his face as he glances at your still figure, watching as you fall into perfect, eternal rest. He covers your bare body with the sheet and kisses your hair, whispering a final goodbye just in time for the doctors to come in and call the time of death. 

     Time stands still.

[thepromiscuousfinger]

[midnightlockhearth]

Link to video: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFYSM16j/

Source:@/middleeasteye on tiktok

Description from the OG video:

Isnotreal returned the bodies of 80 unidentified palestinians taken by its forces.

Some of the bodies were taken by isnotreal forces after they were killed, while others were exhumed from several cemeteries around Gaza, including Al-Shifa cemetery and Al-Nimsawi cemetery in Khan Youins

Pictures were taken of the bodies before burial to facilitate later identification by their families.

[azzo0]

cw: death

Katsuki held his sons' hands tightly so they did not run away from him as they walked down the bustling streets. The twins were really chaotic and loved running. Sometimes, Katsuki wondered if they ever got tired of it.

"Hurry up, mama is waiting for us!" The youngest of the twins exclaimed, trying to walk ahead of his father. 

"Slow down, Naoki," Katsuki sighed for the hundredth time, "Look at your brother. He's walkin' nice n' slow."

"Kaoru is a slow poke!"

"Papa, Nao's makin' fun of me again!" Kaoru complained, tugging on Katsuki's hand.

"Be nice, Naoki." Katsuki reminded. It was often difficult for him to get the two to stop arguing over minuscule reasons like who got the last bottle of strawberry milk or who got to keep the TV remote. There was never a dull day when you had two mini Katsuki's around. 

They finally arrived at the flower shop, much to the twins' delight, "No running," Katsuki reminded, "You'll knock the flowers down."

He leaned by the counter, watching the twins ogle at the vibrant array of flowers with bright cherry eyes. They always spent a few minutes admiring pretty and sweet-smelling flowers before buying their mother's favourite ones. 

"Okay, boys, done looking around?" Katsuki said at last.

"Yes, papa." The two replied in unison.

"Then which flowers are ya getting for Mama?" 

"Lilies!" The twins exclaimed. The florist smiled and wrapped the delicate white lilies with care, handing the bouquet to Katsuki after he paid. He felt a tug at his jeans and looked down to see Kaoru pointing a small finger at something. Katsuki followed the direction of his finger to see a shelf with teddy bears and other small gift items. 

"Can we get Mama a teddy? It's her birthday, just flowers won't do!" 

"Yes, let's get Mama a teddy too!!" Naoki agreed. Katsuki hummed in response and paid for the teddy holding a red heart, handing it to Kaoru. 

"Can I hold the flowers?" Naoki asked. 

"Sure," Katsuki gave the bouquet to Naoki, stifling a smile at the fact that the bouquet was too big for his little arms. 

Katsuki took the boys to a tranquil place, his heart aching when the twins' once excited steps slowed down. The brothers stood side by side, their heads hung low. Katsuki kneeled down beside his sons, brushing his fingers over the cool headstone. He glanced at the twins and ruffled their hair, giving them a smile even though his chest squeezed and his heart bled. He did it for the sake of them. He wanted his babies to smile. 

He watched their lips tug up in the smallest smile. Naoki set the lilies down on the earth while Kaoru let the teddy sit by the headstone. The two sat down on their knees, "Happy birthday, Mama."

"We miss you so much," Kaoru mumbled. 

"We wish you were here," Naoki sniffled, "Then we could buy a big cake, and Papa would take us on a picnic. You like picnics, right, Mama? Come back to us. Papa misses you too."

Katsuki felt his throat closing up at the sight of the twins huddled together as they tried to maintain a brave front. Beads of tears welled in his waterline. He held his arms open, and the boys got up to bury themselves in their father's chest. He held them close to him, a tear rolling down his cheek. 

Happy birthday, my love. 

[legendknit]

Ah, everything goes fade away A dream so precious that I couldn't let it go It just scatters between my fingers

timelapse video on youtube▼

[julicity]

. . .

Silver, wake up! ...Let's go home.

[skeletoninthemelonland]

[Trigger warning]: Mentions of death and body horror.

This post is about my understanding of William Afton's possession of the Springbonnie suit!

One of the very few headcanons that I have is that, after his death, William Afton possessed both the Yellow Suit and his own corpse. It was more of an obligation rather than a choice. If he wanted to move around as Springtrap, he needed to bear the excruciating pain. Possessing a corpse meant striving to become "alive" again.

That probably explains why his body didn't fully decompose, even after 30 years: because his soul continuously struck it with jolts of energy, forcing the severely damaged tissue to function under awful conditions (cell membranes rupture and spill their contents after death, but they were forced back together). Here's an illustration:

To me, Springtrap didn't die once or twice, nor a third time. He died thousands and thousands of times and kept on coming back.

"I always come back."

The springlocks weren't the only cause of his suffering. It was the hunger, thirst, lack of oxygen, sleep deprivation, and subsequent infections, paired up with the psychological effects of it all.

[cracklewink]

organized by lady rainicorn

[bg3scenarios]

Gale: Please, I need another magical item

Wyll: What could be more magical than the bond we’ve forged together?

Gale: You are so, so sweet, my love, but if I don’t get another item really, really soon, everyone is going to fucking die

Wyll: Did you just swear?!

Gale: That’s what you’re most focused on here?!

[t0rschlusspan1k]

Landis Blair, illustration from From Here to Eternity by Caitlin Doughty

[chaikachi]

there's a million ways to spill blood on the court...

[stephreynaart]

Sad!Ford sketch

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was in witness protection from Springtrap from FNAF and during the trial I was set to testify in, he killed the judge.

[icaruspendragon]

im sorry to ask but i dont know what else to do—how did you do it how did you dig yourself out because it feels like i am choking on dirt and people keep shoveling it onto me and i miss her so much and i dont know how to make this feeling stop. she was my best friend. ive never lived in a world without her before. how did you do it. how are you doing it

grief is so hard and so heavy when we first meet it. it feels like all our arms will ever hold for the rest of forever. and it is, in a sense. once we pick it up, we never really set it down. not fully.

and I don't think it gets lighter, I think we somehow, impossibly, get stronger.

there's lots of metaphors for grief. that's one of them. another one I like to use is that it feels like you're in the grave with them. like lazarus. like yourself. waiting for someone to raise you from the dead. to raise you both.

I've learned a lot about crawling out of the grave. more than I would have ever wanted to learn. like how emptiness is actually quite heavy. or how to pretend like you feel half-alive. but I think the most important thing I've learned is that somedays, we inexplicably end up back in it. and that sucks.

because we just spent months clawing our way through the bugs and the earth. because our soldier-hands have finally breached the surface. because the sun is finally caressing our hell-fresh faces. because for the first time in months we feel like we can finally breath. and then, suddenly, we're right back in the terrible thick of it.

those days make it feel like I'm sisyphus and grave dirt is my rock. or like I'm prometheus and the darkness is my eagle.

but then it's tuesday.

which is to say my brother died on my 25th birthday, a monday. and that day is now a memory that's fuzzy around the edges. single snapshots I know are connected, but I couldn't tell you how. I remember my mother standing in my bedroom and tears and family and phone calls and cleaning my living room because I didn't know what to do with my hands. I remember going to my grandmothers and my phone vibrating off the table and leaving to go get coffee because I couldn't sit still. I remember joking, trying to joke. trying to do whatever I could to make sense of that impossible day. I remember checking my phone and reading and rereading the messages, a mixed bag of congratulations for surviving another year and condolences that my brother didn't, I remember not knowing how to respond to any of them. so I didn't. I remember being surrounded by so many people doing nothing but extending love and kindness to me and never feeling more alone. the world was ending and I was alone. I thought that day would go on forever.

but it didn't.

it ended, as all things do. monday was over and my first day as an only child was done.

and suddenly it was tuesday. and everything was different but also exactly the same.

it was tuesday and my brother was dead. I was so heavy when I woke up that first tuesday. so heavy and confused. I thought the world had ended. it surely felt like it had. but it hadn't. because the world couldn't have ended on monday.

not if it was tuesday.

it was tuesday and my brother was dead but the world wasn't ending. monday should have been our demise, but it wasn't. and it hasn't. and it won't. because just as sure as we have mondays, we'll always have tuesdays.

that's something I've taken a strange comfort in, knowing that we'll always have tuesdays.

the feeling never stops. but I think that's okay. because you're only feeling that way because there was love first. and as much as what I felt on that first tuesday hurts, as much as it suffocates, as much as it consumes, I'd take the hurt and the suffocation and the consumption because the love I felt first will always, always be worth it.

tuesdays will always be worth it.

like yeah, if I loved less, it wouldn't hurt this bad. but I don't want to live in a world where I have to love less. where I was loved less.

I'll take the pain. I'll take the grave days. I'll take the rock. I'll take the eagle. I'll take apocalyptic, earthshaking mondays. I'll take every last wretched bit because goddamn what a miracle it is to love so bad it hurts this big.

I hold that love, his love for me and my love for him, a love that's now become our love in the cage of my ribs while I'm in the cage of the grave. and I dig.

it's monday and I dig.

I dig.

and then tuesday comes.

[ladymewstudio]

Pretty cool game I found

[noelleholidaily]

Noellember Day 1: December.

CW: Tragic content.