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#cw depictions of blood

an-albino-pinetree · 5 months

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Today is the Winter Solstice! The longest night of the year, and in my family, more important to celebrate than Christmas :]

My solstice gift to me is this really self indulgent festive doodle

I got really lazy with the background so tackiness levels are at critical I am so sorry-

#my stuff #🎄#tree makes an appearance #cw cartoon blood #fake injury depiction #carnival au #carnival!jax #carnival!gangle #scp!jax #noodle toon #tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc jax #jax #I love cjax’s Christmas sweater hehehe I’m proud of that-#scp chilling with the holiday cards like a normal individual #then my side of the table #Happy Holidays! ❄️

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mossy-astral-ghost · 3 months

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It has been a bit, again. Apologies.

Accept my concepts for a tf2 fan team of screwy monsters who kill robots and then get emotionally attached to them.

I'm figuring them all out but have the MRN Scout and MRN Medic

MRN ("Maroon," Mass Robot Neutralization) is a specialty team hired under RED to focus on MVM matches! I'll talk about them more another time.

#my artwork #sketch #art #my art #tf2 fanart #digital art #tf2 scout oc #tf2 scout #tf2 medic #tf2 medic oc #oc: dr wolfram humboldt #oc: samantha baudelaire-chan #tw blood depiction #tw blood #cw blood depiction #cw blood

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luck-of-the-drawings · 1 year

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THAT WOUND. THAT VILE WOUND. it throbs in time with your speeding heart, and the ache it carries through your veins is oppressive, its hot, it tangles around your jaw and through your spine and behind your eyes. there are needles, sprouting from the lacerations like the most heinous ivy, and it strangles your lungs, rips tears from your eyes, lures bile to your throat. it hurts. oh god it hurts. you cant think, you cant breathe, you cant swallow, you cant see. you cant see. you cant see. you cannot see but you know when your eyes are closed, because there are colors stained upon the backs of your eyelids. they form images of loved ones, of viscera, of bile and blood and blackened mud. its jarring, they make anxiety spike outwards, frantic ferro fluid, frightened from faces too scared, too pained, too dead, too piercing with eyes staring straight at you, straight at you. actually, you cant tell when your eyes are open.

SAUCE FREE VERSION UNDER THE CUT.

#jrwi fanart #jrwi riptide #jrwi riptide spoilers #cw blood #gillion tidestrider #cw injury #wadda hell else i tag this as huh #OHH I HAVCE A STORY FOR THIS ONE. IM ACTUALLY POSTING SMTH AS SOON AS I FINISH IT THIS TIME #I STARTED THIS LIKEEE I THINK A TWO WEEKS OR SO AGO. IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SCRIBBLE SKETCH similar to that one i made o chip #BUT THEN WELL. I GOT ILL AND MY WRIST STOPPED WORKING N MY PEN PRESSURE STOPPED BEING REAL #SO FOR A MISERABLE WEEK I WAS JUST PLACING PIXELS WITH MOUSE OR NONDOMMY HAND. SLOWLY BUT SURELY #THE PAIN I DEPICT HERE IS REAL. AND ALSO BASED OFF MY EXPERIENCE WITH AGONIZING TOOTH PAIN. I LOVE DESCRIBING PAIN #ALSO so i have limits with how Gross i draw gore. like i cant stand puss or anythign too gnarly like eeeeww i dont like it too yucky #EVEN SO. THIS WOUND? FESTERING? BLISTERING? HOOOWWW FUN EHEHE i wanted to make this wound look PAINFUL and AWFUL and GROSS but not TOO GROS #OH TURN UR BRIGHTNESS UP FOR THIS ONE BTW #THERE ARE THINGS HIDDEN IN THE DARK AND ALSO THE COLORS LOOK LIKE SHIT ON MY DARKER MONITER #im also rly proud o the colors... pink blood on chest vs blue blood on face. the STICKYNESS. BEHOLD MY VISCOSITY. the splatter. the pain.#OKAY OKAy i think im done ramblin for now #if u read all this thankuuuu i loove yooouu

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hopepetal · 1 year

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Part nine pog :D I have no strong feelings about this one but hey at least it's done hallelujah

We have some content warnings for this one! Graphic depictions of violence, murder, blood, kinda cannibalism ig?

Masterlist

@applestruda @stiffyck

Magic is a fickle thing.

When people are born, they all have life energy. This is what keeps them, well, alive. It is the beat of their heart, pumping blood through their veins. It is the inhale and exhale of air, the hum of the earth and the music of the stars. It is the feeling of peace one has when finally laying down in their soft bed after a long day. It is the joy in laughter, the tenderness in love, and the healing after heartbreak.

To say someone is born with magic would be, while widely socially acceptable, is factually incorrect. To be born with magic is to be born with a surplus of life energy that manifests itself in what everyone calls “magic”. Hence, magic is not something anyone is born with, but rather a side effect of life itself. Magic is energy, and a very demanding energy at that one. It must be used, for otherwise it will build and build until it breaks through whatever tried to hold it in.

For Scar, his magic was like water. The less he used it, the more he held it in and tried to control it, the hotter it got. Every time he suppressed the growing urge to transform, the pressure built. Soon, it was as though his magic was simmering under his skin, just about ready to boil over if he wasn’t careful. It was harder than he would’ve ever thought. Borrowed magic, contractual magic, or otherwise non-naturally received types of magic were much more heavily reliant on emotions than magic one got naturally, and the past few days had been… emotionally charged, to say the least.

Scar knew that Grian had noticed his condition. At this point, he couldn’t do anything about the white streak in his hair or the soft glow to his eyes. His fingers had begun to become pointed into claws that pierced through the palms of his hands whenever he clenched his fists, drawing blood. The avian was glancing over at him in concern, every so often leaning slightly closer and brushing his shoulder against Scar.

“I know,” Scar had whispered when Grian’s eyes flicked up to his white hair. He had shrugged, trying to keep a handle on the worry that was beginning to rise in his chest. He had never gone this long without using his magic before, ever since he got it he had always done his best to go along with his instincts and general “magic urges”. Cub had told him it would be bad if he fought his magic.

But going along with his instincts and letting his magic get the best of him was the whole reason he was in this mess. He hurt his friends. This was just the price he had to pay for his mistake.

Grian and Scar were walking along in silence for the most part now, with Opal and Fern both in front of them, talking too softly to be understood by the two walking behind them. Every so often Opal or Fern would look back to check on their captives, but for the most part Grian and Scar were left unsupervised.

Which gave Grian the time he needed to cut through the ropes tying his hands together behind his back. Brushing his shoulder against Scar to get the other man’s attention, he grinned and held up the cut ropes with one hand and used the other to press a finger against his lips in a silent shushing motion. He shuffled over to be right against Scar, starting to work on the other man’s bonds.

Opal and Fern seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion, meaning they weren’t paying any attention to the two knights walking behind them. Scar felt the ropes around his wrists loosening, then finally dropping. He fought the urge to shake his arms out to get the blood flowing again, settling with rubbing his hands together and interlacing his fingers behind his back. His eyes met Grian’s and he tried to silently ask what the plan was. Met with nothing but a shrug, Scar had to hold back a groan.

Oh boy. They were both going to die.

So focused on the fact that they didn’t have a plan, Scar didn’t notice that Fern and Opal had stopped walking. He slammed right into Fern, which caused him to yelp and stumble back. The two turned around as Grian cursed and drew the small dagger he had been hiding, flaring his wings out in an instinctual defense mechanism to make himself look larger than he actually was. In doing so, he pushed Scar behind him and obscured the other knight from their captors.

There was no time for talking then. Fern and Opal instantly drew their weapons and attacked, and Grian was barely able to keep up. It was over too quickly for Scar to do anything- one moment Grian was standing and shouting insults at their captors, and the next he was pinned to the ground on his stomach and Fern’s sword was at Scar’s throat.

Scar put his hands up, smiling nervously. “Hey, hey now, there’s no need for that!” His eyes flicked over to Grian, who was struggling against Opal as she put a knee on his back between his wings. “Hey, be careful!”

Fern pressed their sword against Scar’s throat, just hard enough to draw blood. “Shut up,” she snapped, before glancing back to Opal. “You got more rope?”

“Yeah,” Opal grunted, still trying to keep Grian down, “but not enough for these stupid-” She squawked when one of Grian’s wings, which she had been so desperately trying to pin down, smacked her in the face- “these stupid wings! Void, will you stop?!”

“Let us go!” Grian shouted, trying to kick at Opal, his wings still beating the ground as he attempted to get her off of him. “You’ll regret this, just you wait!”

Opal let out a frustrated growl, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword. For a moment, she seemed to hesitate, glancing over at Fern. Her eyes were dark, and Scar felt anxiety rise in his chest as she spoke. “You have a health pot in your bag, right?”

Fern frowned, keeping her sword at Scar’s neck as she nodded. “Yeah, I have a few. Always do. Why-”

Opal interrupted Fern as she stomped down on one of Grian’s wings, earning a shriek from the avian as the limb was pinned down. “I’m cutting off these stupid wings.” With that, she raised her sword to do the deed.

Over the course of four or five days- really, who was counting anymore- Scar had been suppressing his vex magic. It showed in his too-sharp nails, his eyes that had turned an icy blue, and his fading hair color. It showed in the slight tremors in his hands, the bags under his eyes, the pain that just kept building and building in his chest as he tried to hide an essential part of himself.

Magic does not fade. Once in existence, it will continue to circulate until it is used. When a person uses external magic without a spell focus or an idea of what they’re doing, they are simply putting their magic back out into the world, allowing it to become ambient magic. When a spell is chanted, or used with intent, the magic forms into something real. Of course, this is only for those who use external magic- for Scar, a user of internal magic like transformation, things are a bit different.

For internal magic, the basics are the same. It does not fade. But unlike with external magic, internal magic does not have anywhere to go. It cannot become ambient magic and rejoin a cycle through the world like external magic. It can only build up until eventually, it forces itself to be used.

Scar’s vex magic, being internal, was influenced by emotion. Not so much where he would get scared and his hair would turn white, but when he felt a strong enough emotion, he would change much more easily than normal. For example, a strong feeling of rage would leave him with glowing eyes and white hair for a while, until he could get himself calm at least. And that was just on a normal day.

Scar’s vex magic had been building up for the past few days. It was simmering under his skin, a raging tide ready to break free at any moment.

And break free it did.

Scar’s eyes burned blue as the color instantly fled from his hair, his skin changing to be the grey-blue of the vex. His nails sharpened into talons and a growl ripped from his throat as he grabbed the blade of the sword and yanked it away from Fern, not caring that his hand cut and bled. Fern let out a panicked shout as they stumbled back, giving Opal pause. She looked over just in time to see Scar lunge forward and tear through Fern’s chainmail chestplate, talons ripping through both armor and flesh.

Fern let out a choked wail as they fell back, blood pouring from the wound as she frantically tried to put pressure on her injury to stop the bleeding. Opal pulled her sword away from Grian and swung it at Scar, but it was too late. The vex was already right in front of her, and with a cruel snarl, he bit down on her throat before tearing away a huge chunk of her flesh. Choking on her own blood, Opal fell.

Scar let out a roar of anger, the sound haunting as it echoed throughout the forest. In the distance, a wolf howled in response. The sound of a goat horn cut through the screams of death and panic, and Scar whipped around to see Fern blowing into the horn. His anger surged, and as fast as lightning he was at Fern’s side, yanking her up by the collar of her shirt. “You,” he growled, his voice echoing with magic, “what have you done?”

Fern spat in his face, and in return Scar tore out her throat. Throwing her body to the ground, Scar looked around, his brain screaming at him to find them all kill them they hurt you they hurt your friends-

But so did you.

A haunting wail rose from his throat as he sank to the forest floor, knees hitting the dirt with a painful thump as his magic continued to rage and swirl around him. The veritable hurricane of magic formed misty blue ribbons of smoke around him, miniature bolts of lightning at his fingertips as sparks of raw, burning magic flew from his glowing eyes. Blood dripped from his chin and talons as he screamed in agony, failure echoing in his voice. Hugging himself tightly, his talons dug into his skin, drawing small beads of blood that dribbled down contrasting blue skin in bright scarlet red.

The howl of a wolf sounded again, this time much closer. Scar could hear there was someone shouting- his name he thinks, but he can’t hear much over the magic roaring around him, whipping his magic-bleached hair in his face. His eyes were now glowing completely, shining like miniature suns as the magic just kept pouring out of him. The dam had burst, and it was impossible for him to stop it.

There were more people now, Scar could see a faint blur of red and white through the haze of magic. He let out an echoing cry, reaching out with bloodied hands toward whoever was there, his anger and fear giving way to a crushing loneliness and grief. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He had never meant to hurt anyone, really! He just messed up- he always did, why was anyone surprised- and… and he just…

“Scar! Scar, can you hear me? It’s okay, please. We’re here for you.” Grian. That was Grian, that was his friend… “Come on, please, it’s okay. We’re all here for you, and we’re not leaving you ever. No matter what. Promise.”

The magic died out as soon as it began, and Scar felt himself hit the ground. Darkness descended, and with one last sob, he let go of consciousness.

Impulse and Mumbo followed behind Pearl as she led them through the forest. They had left their horses back further in a secure location with plenty of food and water. They would be a lot more stealthy on foot, Pearl had explained, and the other two agreed.

Impulse had frowned when Pearl said she’d be bringing Tilly. “I don’t see how the dog is crucial to the stealth mission, but…”

“Excuse you!” Pearl had exclaimed in mock offense, “Tilly is very important! Yes you are girl, oh yes you are!” And with that, they had set off, with the dog that Pearl kept insisting was a wild wolf.

They had been close to their destination when they heard screaming, and the sound of a goat horn. Tilly howled, and Pearl stiffened up, looking back at Mumbo and Impulse. “Something’s wrong.”

“You don’t have to tell us twice,” Mumbo muttered, and the three had taken off in the direction of the commotion.

When they had gotten there, it took all Mumbo had to not freeze up in horror. Scar was in his vex form on his knees, magic as sharp as a blade swirling around him. He was covered in blood that Mumbo could only hope was not his own- something he confirmed upon seeing the two bodies next to Scar.

Glancing over, he noticed Grian on the ground, struggling to push himself up. He rushed over and helped the avian to his feet, checking him over to make sure he had no grievous wounds. “Grian! What happened- are you alright?!”

Grian winced, nodding. “Scar, he’s- I need to help him!” He sounded desperate, and Mumbo had to hold him back to keep him from running straight to the vex.

“It’s dangerous!” Mumbo warned him, “do you see that magic? You’ll be ripped to shreds!”

Grian pushed Mumbo away. “We’re knights! It’s an occupational hazard!” He took a few steps forward, before kneeling down and calling out to Scar.

As he spoke, Tilly began to growl. Pearl glared at the treeline, drawing her sword. “Others are coming. Most likely summoned from that goat horn.” She looked back at Mumbo and Impulse. “I need you two to get Grian and Scar out of here, alright? I can handle this.”

Impulse shook his head, stepping forward. “Absolutely not. We’re knights. We stick together.”

Pearl raised an eyebrow. “Are you doubting my capabilities? Go. Grian and Scar need you more than I do.”

Mumbo turned to look back at Grian and Scar as the magic storm died down, the color seeping back into Scar’s hair as he collapsed. Grian caught the other knight and held him close, though he looked close to passing out himself. Mumbo brushed his hand against Impulse’s arm, jerking his head toward the two other knights. “Pearl’s right. We should go.”

Reluctantly, Impulse nodded and sheathed his sword. “Right, then. We’ll meet you back at the horses?”

The sound of footsteps and faint shouting grew louder as Pearl nodded. Impulse scooped Scar up, and Mumbo helped Grian to his feet. “I’ll see you all soon.” She turned away, pulling up her hood and facing the sound of the approaching enemies. Tilly padded up to stand beside her, growling softly.

Impulse looked over at Mumbo and smiled wearily. “Let’s get out of here.”

By the time they were back at the horses, Pearl was already there- covered in blood and smiling brightly, but there nonetheless. Grian had passed out halfway through the trip and was now being carried by Mumbo, though there were moments of semi-consciousness that made the mustachioed man chuckle.

Carefully, the unconscious knights were settled on the horses, with Impulse sitting behind Scar and Mumbo sitting behind Grian to keep them steady. Pearl spread her wings, saying she’d watch from above and keep an eye out for them all.

Slowly but surely, they began the long journey home.

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delirisse · 1 year

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In today’s episode of “I have other projects but I want to draw Slasher AU instead

Heavily inspired by a seemingly deleted (old) artwork by aaarchi (broccolifan3 on Twt)

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl narinder #cotl au #cotl slasher au #lamb Aym and Shamura are also depicted but I won’t tag em #cw: blood #jubilart #ok to delete author comments

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horizon-verizon · 4 months

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On Dragonstone, no cheers were heard. Instead, screams echoed through the halls and stairwells of Sea Dragon Tower, down from the queen’s apartments where Rhaenyra Targaryen strained and shuddered in her third day of labor. The child had not been due for another turn of the moon, but the tidings from King’s Landing had driven the princess into a black fury, and her rage seemed to bring on the birth, as if the babe inside her were angry too, and fighting to get out. The princess shrieked curses all through her labor, calling down the wrath of the gods upon her half-brothers and their mother, the queen, and detailing the torments she would inflict upon them before she would let them die. She cursed the child inside her too, Mushroom tells us, clawing at her swollen belly as Maester Gerardys and her midwife tried to restrain her and shouting, “Monster, monster, get out, get out, GET OUT!” When the babe at last came forth, she proved indeed a monster: a stillborn girl, twisted and malformed, with a hole in her chest where her heart should have been, and a stubby, scaled tail. Or so Mushroom describes her. The dwarf tells us that it was he who carried the little thing to the yard for burning. The dead girl had been named Visenya, Princess Rhaenyra announced the next day, when milk of the poppy had blunted the edge of her pain. “She was my only daughter, and they killed her. They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.” And so the Dance began, as the princess called a council of her own. “The black council,” the True Telling names that gathering on Dragonstone, setting it against the “green council” of King’s Landing. Rhaenyra herself presided, seated between her uncle and husband, Prince Daemon, and her trusted counselor, Maester Gerardys. Her three sons were present with them, though none had reached the age of manhood (Jace was fourteen, Luke thirteen, Joffrey eleven). Two Kingsguard stood with them: Ser Erryk Cargyll, twin to Ser Arryk, and the westerman, Ser Lorent Marbrand.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pgs 402-403

🎨: ERTAÇ ALTINÖZ, from Rise of the Dragon

#fire and blood quotes #asoiaf quotes #the blacks and the greens #visenya targaryen #visenya targaryen (rhaenyra's daughter)#the black council #dance of the dragons #dying of the dragons #fire and blood #asoiaf #cw blood depiction

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kayzero · 4 months

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So I had an anxiety attack came up with a theory that if I put forth energy on January 1 then I will sow similar energy throughout the new year—for example, if I don’t sleep at all from midnight to midnight then surely this year I will have more energy in general. (My anxiety takes pleasure in consorting with my insomnia.)

In that spirit, because I want to actually write more Zero Win Game and just write more in general this year (there was an impressively small amount of words written by me overall in 2023), here’s…

A random fucking monologue by Akane that popped into my head while I was waiting for FF7R to download. It has now been an hour and a half since I started that download, and it gave me an estimate of about ten minutes.

…I’m pretty sure I can’t fit this into the Fragment where it originated from. “We have sixty minutes to escape or we all die but I guess we can indulge little miss Reversed Moon Arcana in one of her deranged fucking monologues.” I dunno. If you find yourself reading this aloud can you time how long it takes you?

Actually you know what, fuck it, I’ll shoehorn it in. It’ll be my own little Ice-9 lecture.

(Time yourself anyway I’m curious.)

“Akane, can you tell me what you remember from today?”

…

I remember…

Isn’t that funny? I remember. They said I wouldn’t, but I do, they said they’d be muddled, but they’re clear, I can see them so clearly.

They said they wouldn’t inject me, but they lied. They said it would make me forget—I guess they lied. They must have lied. I didn’t forget, I remember. I can see…

No. I can’t see them. I can’t see it.

I was looking at you.

But I can feel it. I feel it straining, fighting against me, getting stuck—it won’t turn, the wheel has to turn, the wheel always turns, the wheel can’t get stuck, it can’t stop, except when it does. Sometimes it does stop. The wheel stopped. And I had to push it to get it to turn again, WHY AM I ALWAYS THE ONE WHO HAS TO PUSH?!

I feel the moment that I push too far, but it’s not too far, it’s exactly far enough, I had to push you this, far, or else people would’ve just been hurt with nothing to show for it. I know it hurts, but I can’t just stop when it hurts, or else other people get hurt, everybody else gets hurt—so isn’t it better that I hurt just a few people, isn’t it better that I push you not too far, it’s never too far, it’s just far enough to change you forever, shatter your fragile humanity and make you something…

Less. A pile of ash that used to be a scared little sister. Then more. A functionally immortal being that can see and speak into the future, into the past, into a different present where someone was shot instead of spared, a proto-god that can see everything everywhere and everywhen… that used to be a scared little sister.

…Was she scared, do you think?

Her blood was warm when it hit my back, warm like an embrace, like the final embrace she’d ever give to anyone ever again in this timeline, and she gave it to me instead of her soon-to-be-grieving brother.

It didn’t dry. I would’ve felt it if it did. They must’ve cleaned me up. How considerate of our kidnappers, to respect proper hygiene as they force us to kill each other. Don’t share needles! Don’t injest mysterious substances! Don’t walk around covered in the blood of your victims!

God, I can smell it. It’s weird that I can smell it, it’s weird that it’s so overpowering, ‘cause isn’t blood supposed to be odourless? It’s not the blood that’s so overbearing, not really, it’s the iron in the hemoglobin trying to do its duty of carrying oxygen throughout the bloodstream, and it’s the iron that reacts to the oxygen in the air, and there was so much hemoglobin, there was so, much, iron. But it isn’t completely overwhelming, blood is supposed to be odourless, after all, and there’s only so much iron, it only takes up so much of the blood that’s spilled.

You’d wish it was completely overwhelming. I wish it was, at least. Because then it would mask the other scents, the worse scents. The scents of human waste being released upon death—because that’s what you’re supposed to do when you die. When you’re alive, you’re so tense, you’re so clenched, you keep everything inside, you just hold it deep inside, and you never let it out, you can’t let it out, you keep it bottled up forever, no matter what, no matter who—but when you die, the part of your brain telling everything to tense up dies first, and every other part of you forcibly relaxes, and everything comes rushing out, and everyone will know what was hiding inside this whole time.

Assumably. It’s never really happened to me, relaxing is for other people to do once I’m done, not that I’m ever done, ‘cause I always have to push. I don’t get to relax, not even in death.

…I can hear it.

Pulling. Screaming. Tearing. Splashing.

Ends are always so loud.

A quiet death would be nice, I think. I’ve never experienced one before. It’s always loud. Useless pounding and roaring jets, futile arguments and falling axes, reminiscence and splashing water

Yeah… When I’m finally done… When it’s my turn to relax…

I just want everything…

To be…

……

I’m sorry, what were we talking about?

#zwg #zero win game #zwg spoilers #cw blood #cw gore #cw graphic #i don’t actually know how to tag ‘a graphic depiction of waste release upon death’#there. that’s a tag.#zero escape #zero time dilemma #akane kurashiki #you know something? this was originally like. half of the monologue.#in my head she goes on to talk about other rounds as well #and then i started to write and i’m pretty sure akane kurashiki just fucking possessed me #maybe there will be a part 2 after i post the rest of this timeline #if i remember

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cavalrysystem · 2 months

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How Janus got his scars.

Tw: abuse, graphic depictions of violence, unsympathetic!Virgil, blood and gore.

(Fic under the cut)

The argument had started off so small.

Janus had been telling Virgil he wanted Virgil to stop drinking, and to put the bottle of bourbon down.

"You fucking slut!" Virgil screamed, smashing the bottle against the wall. He stared at Janus, face flushed from drinking, vision blurry.

Janus flinched when the bottle shattered, and put his hands up, palms out, to show he meant no harm. "Virgil, my love, please- you've burned through three bottlessss alrea-"

"Shut up!" Virgil screamed, grabbing Janus by the hair and forcing him to come closer, a clump of Janus's hair falling after he slammed the broken end of the bottle into Janus's eye.

Janus stumbled back, hands touching his face. Cold blood began to pour from around his eye, and the side of his mouth. He breathing shakily and looked up at Virgil. "Virgil, I'm ssssorry! But you can't keep doing thissss!"

Virgil grabbed Janus by the neck.

"Virgil, ssstop!" Janus cried, as Virgil sliced open his human cheek with the end of the broken bottle.

"You don't fucking talk to me like that, you whore." Virgil threw Janus to the ground and kicked him. "Don't get blood on my fucking carpet." He spat on Janus, and walked off.

Laying there, hands pressed to the wounds on his face, Janus began crying. But only from his human eye. Snakes can't cry, after all. He slowly sits up, taking a shuddering breath and using his extra hands to push himself up. The young deceitful side felt his way to the bathroom, turned on the sink, and splashed his face with water.

Dark crimson blood stained the marble countertop and the steel inside of the sink. Janus placed his gloved hands, now stained with blood, on the counter and looked in the mirror, eyes still wide. He was met with the sight of blood pouring down his face, his hair ruined from Virgil pulling out a massive clump of it.

He felt frozen, staring at his reflection. His vision began to grow spotty, and he quickly finished cleaning the blood off his face. He searched the cabinets for a healing plant or potion or something- he found a bundle of the plant Remus had discovered in the imagination that would heal wounds. He untied the bundle and ate the plants quickly, slowly starting to calm down.

He checked his phone. Another apology text from Virgil. Janus wiped the tears off his cheeks and cleaned the sink and countertop.

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