#tw murder implied
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i blog for the traumatized who fantasize about killing their abusers with their bare hands
#traumacore#actuallytraumatized#actuallymentallyill#actuallyabused#ok to reblog#angercore#tw violence mention#tw abuser mention#tw murder implied
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Kissing the top of your head as I put you back in my skull collection
#shitpost#unconventional flirting#unconventional compliments#morbid humor#gallows humor#tw skull#tw skeleton#tw implied murder#necroposting#tw necrophillia#tw murder implied#tw obsession#I’m normal#im very normal#normal human behavior right here#it’s metaphorical I swear
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I speedran this and finish in almost 15 mins!! :D i still dont know to draw blood tho but carp and leafy gaved me advice :]
@moonmaple KAI🔥🔥✨️✨️
@mochablogger plz forgive me
Tw:blood, implied murder, falling
He have never done anything wrong in his life <3
Alt vers:
Im sorry cuppy for using radi0,,i hope u can forgive meee
#tw blood#tw murder#tw murder implied#tw falling#fan art#art#kai belongs to moonmaple#radi0 belongs to mochablogger#trashbins-art
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YOU SEEING THIS?
I can't anymore-
*insert GTA5 WASTED sound*
Honey, that anon’s dead and gone…
… I still have their corpse.
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Oc drabble
Tw death and murder implied! please read with caution!
Entry […]
This was not supposed to go like this. I was not supposed to be hurt like this.
He was a bumbling idiot, going against me. He brought this upon himself. It does hurt my soul, or lack of one.
Caring is a choice, feeling is a luxury. One that I am tired of paying for.
[DELETED]
Entry end
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Entry […]
He is gone
Entry end
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Entry […]
I will give him another chance at life. He will not remember anything, as long as his soul does not develop justice, I will be fine.
He will have free will, just a different environment to grow up in.
He better perform better than his original.
#My Ocs#my writing#Ohhhhh I love this because this is how I write this character in a bigger writing I'm working on#OUGH i love writing morally ambigous charatcers#theyre soooo fucked up#and im going to fix that with violence and fluff!!!#tw death implied#tw murder implied
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Picrew Prompt Chain!!!
You snap and turn into a villain! What do you look like? What is your villain story?
Link
I have always been a stickler for time. Not everyone respects mine. Not everyone uses theirs wisely.
I snapped after the nth person disrespected mine.
I became so obsessed with time that I came to be able to control to a degree. I could turn back time no further than a week. I could stop time for no longer than an hour.
I would make sure no one would ever disrespect my time ever again!
They can't hurt/bother me if something tragically happened to them before they got the chance.
Tagging: @incorrectinfinity @theviolettulip @remithelitteralrat @your-local-fangirl1 @noah-liketheboat @bakugossanity @imjustasimplesimp @/anyone who wants to!!!
If you want to be added to the list for future prompts, let me know! 😁
#Picrew#Picrew Prompt#Picrew Prompt Chain#Villainsona#Tag game#TW injury#TW Death Implied#TW Murder Implied#TW Implied Death#TW Implied Murder
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I need a healthy outlet for anger and I need it fast because if I get my hands on a knife it won't be pretty
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Maybe it'll work! It's not like she's not surviving it?
I. FINE. GIVE ME A SECOND
i really dont wanna do this...
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"You all will play a new game" the teacher begins. "We're going to give each one of you an ID that's secret, your objetive is to identify your objective first and shoot them wherever the mission indicates. Questions?"
A single hand raises, their fear hidden for everyone except the teacher, teachers are always the best at everything, you can't hide anything from them.
"Yes?" The teacher allows.
"What if the mission indicates shooting the objective in their head?" The student asks, oh so naive.
"Well," the teacher smiles, weird and terrific in their face. The students then feel something like fear and anxiety settling under their skin, where it's not seen. "That's why you should be faster."
#fanfiction prompts#writing prompts#assassin's academy au#assasin au#murder mention#tw murder mention#murder implied#tw murder implied#i looked up for the difference among assassination and murder and comcluded this was murder stiff#bc what's more personal than trying to stay alive? lol
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Hello, welcome to The Rare Bites AU! I was going to draw J and V, but my eagerness to show this to you was far too strong. Here's some notes on it:
-the disassembly drones are pretty much starving and scrawny. uzi hates that her colony basically lied to these guys because they're only attacking because they're desperate to feed. she's like "DAMN WE'RE A BUNCH OF FUCKING LIARS HUH."
-j, n and v are some of the rare few disassembly drones that reached close to adulthood. they're all shaky and weak by this point, but still strong enough to take down a worker if they absolutely pushed themselves to do it. their population has been shrinking for years, due to starvation, overheating and killing their own young.
-"And our parents are leaving these fuckers to starve over one stupid deal they failed to uphold and won't even tell us about?! Like, come on! If these guys were human, they'd be all bony and shit! That's gross! What the fuck is wrong with us?!"
-n unwittingly reveals how bad their situation is by announcing that j and v might kill him in order to feed themselves when they find out he's had more than enough to drink (uzi's like "damn" and gives him some extra oil canisters. the workers have enough as is, so she doesn't bat an eye over having to give any up to disassembly drones).
-because these three don't really have a major reason to hate each other, i like to imagine that n, j and v basically fell asleep in a very shaky cuddle pile in order to feel less alone in this cruel world, and eventually begin to include uzi. at that point, they feel safer and start gaining weight and showing their true personalities. :3
-long story short, they start off in a bad place but then everything gets better because of uzi's input. :3
#rare bites au#murder drones au#murder drones n#murder drones uzi#mentioned but still there:#murder drones j#murder drones v#ask to tag#i'm not insensitive i'm just stupid#tw starvation#tw cannibalism#but kind of not so subtly implied??? the babies are being munched on
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slip
Feitan x Reader drabble // word count 1.5k
In which you dream about someone you shouldn’t, and talk in your sleep.
Tags/Warnings: yandere, kidnapped reader, mention of blood and gore (past and imagined), knives, implied noncon, implied threat of death (to reader), implied murder (not reader), reader is gonna be fucked up over this forever
A/N: first time writing this man, not sure how I feel about it but it’s either post or stare at it forever
As always - 18+, read the tags, if you don’t like the tags then don’t go below the cut. Thank you and enjoy.
There is a knife against your throat, and you barely know how it got there, much less why. You didn’t do anything. Didn’t run, didn’t try to shove your tormentor away, didn’t tell him that you wished he was dead, or worse. You wouldn’t have had the time to do these things, even if you wanted to. You hadn't been awake for a second before his hand stirred from where it had lain on your waist. And now - the blade twitches, slightly. It doesn’t press quite hard enough to make you bleed, but certainly enough to make you picture what would happen if it did. If it kept going, long past the point where red rivulets stained the threadbare sheets beneath you.
A small noise escapes your mouth. You get nothing in response. It takes time for Feitan to speak, when there’s something on his mind.
It’s taking too long, even for him.
Last night, you thought you were safe. He kissed you, after meticulously washing a stranger’s blood out from beneath his nails. He watched you fall asleep, kept a hand on you until exhaustion finally forced you to nod off in the early hours of the morning. The strange affection he gives you is worse than any cruelty you could imagine, but not nearly as bad as the thought that somehow, you’ve managed to lose it. There are no words in your mind, now, only scattered images of what might happen, what you might become, the barely-recognizable thing strewn out across the floor -
“What were you dreaming about?” Feitan’s voice is dull and quiet, as always. Like he’s asking you this over breakfast, and not on what could be your deathbed.
You don’t remember, and you don’t answer. There is no air left for you to speak.
“What were you dreaming about?” he repeats. It’s almost the same voice, but there’s a hint of urgency, now. The barest hint - but you’ve grown used to interpreting the faint indications he gives you. “Talk.”
“I don’t”- You gasp, but seem to take in nothing. “-don’t remember”-
“You were talking when you were sleeping.”
Statements like these are dangerous. He expects you to understand what he means, always. He does not like to elaborate.
“I…” You screw your eyes shut, try to forget where you are just enough to remember where you were. “It was night. In the dream. And I was…” Oh. No. You can’t say that part out loud. Never, ever, ever. When you open your eyes, your vision is blurry. They close once more, of their own accord. “I was sitting with someone. Talking.” Someone. Someone has no face, no name - you pray that he’ll let you leave it at that. That he won’t ask for more.
“You said…” His face is close to the back of your neck, and yet, you cannot feel his breath on your skin. “When you were sleeping, you said I love you.”
Your stomach threatens to infringe upon your throat. You curse your sleeping mind for giving you something beautiful to dream of, and for letting it slip out of your mouth. Beautiful things do not survive here, and your mouth is always better kept shut.
“Who?”
You’d think, in your present situation, that you wouldn’t have enough room in your head to feel terrified for anyone else. But you do. Terrified enough to try something stupid.
You’re sure Feitan can feel the tension in your body, the instinctual way it readies itself for a fight (you would lose instantly) or an attempt at escape (you wouldn’t make it an inch). “It wasn’t about”- you choke on your own breath, try again. “It wasn’t about anyone real. Just a dream-person.”
“Bad liar,” he accuses. You do not protest. It was pointless to try.
And yet, you try again. You know that your answer matters. Enough for you to force more lies across the blade that still presses against your skin. “Someone I used to date. A long time ago.” Really, it was only a few weeks before Feitan….found you that things ended. But time is subjective - it certainly feels like a long time has passed since then.
“Oh.” If he suspects that you’re lying again, he doesn’t say it. But he does tend to leave a lot of things unsaid.
“He”- You suck in a breath as the knife twitches again. The movement is not an accident. It’s never an accident - his hands are unnaturally steady, when he wants them to be. “He ended things. I don’t think he thinks about me anymore.” This needs to be true. He needs to believe that it’s true, or-
“But you still think about him.”
Your stomach churns. “It was just a dream.” Technically not a lie, either. You’d have to say no for it to be a lie.
Feitan pauses for a moment. You’d have expected him to be furious, to take this out on you in some unimaginably awful way. Instead you hear a single sigh, feel it soft against your skin. “He let you go.” He sounds almost confused, his muted voice drawn out just enough to make his resentment clear. The knife turns slightly, and this time, you’re not sure if it was on purpose. “He must be stupid.”
You bite down on the inside of your lip, sharp and hard enough to tear a bit of the lining away. It’s awful when he says these things. Words that could be sweet, if you removed everything around them.
“I can’t control what I dream about,” you whisper, almost too quiet to be heard. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” He withdraws the blade, swings his feet off the bed - the floor, decrepit as it is, should creak when he stands, but it never does. “You don’t need to tell me anything else.”
You know better than to be relieved, so you turn over, to your other side, and fix your gaze on the floor. Watch him carefully, indirectly. You listen, your breath almost as silent as his, as he picks up his jacket from the end of your bed, puts it on.
And he smiles. His face is covered, but you see it in his eyes. “I can figure out the rest.”
The rest.
Your heart hammers, but your blood stands still. Frozen in your veins. You know why he’s put on his jacket. Why he’s leaving. Where he’s going.
The knife still dangling from Feitan’s hand catches a shard of your reflection, a smudged picture of a terrified eye that disappears before you can look any closer.
The rest. Name, face, address - all too easy. There are clues in your confiscated possessions, in the place where you used to live.
It’s as if the knife is still held to your throat. No. It’s as if your skin has already broken beneath it. You do not think in words. You think in gory pictures, infinitely clearer than the haze you see before forcing your eyes shut. Your blood, mixing with what you’re sure will be on that blade by day’s end. Skin-gushing-red-bones-out-something being buried, dirty hands returning to you, staining your face, your clothes, the things underneath, silent breath coming alive, painfully soft in your ear -
You open your eyes. You want to scream at him to stop, to stay. But your mouth stays shut.
“I won’t draw it out.” For a moment, he looks down, and you swear you see his face color. Like he’s said something overly sweet, and can barely stand it. “I promise.”
It’s enough to make it real. Enough to unseal your lips. “Don’t…” You should be yelling. But it’s all you can do, finding enough strength to make a near-silent, desperate appeal. “Please. You don’t have to. I’m not going to - to run. To him or anyone else. I’m not gonna do anything. I don’t - it was just a dream…”
“Stop.” His smile drops, eyes narrow. Voice even quieter than usual, deathly calm.
You go silent. Perfectly still.
“If you keep trying to save him, I’ll break my word. I already want to.”
You forget how to breathe.
This can’t be a choice you have to make. This can’t be in your hands. There are words in your head, finally, and you can’t say them.
You have to say them.
“I’m sorry.”
"Okay." He stares at you for far too long, unblinking. For seconds, or maybe hours, or maybe days - they’re all the same, to you, now. “It’s okay.”
No. He is unforgivably wrong. Nothing will ever be okay again. You’re in some other world, in your mind, and it’s going to take more than you have to yank you out of it.
You can barely see him in front of you. His voice reverberates strangely in your head. But when he moves, it’s like your senses pull themselves together. You realize that your eyes are wet, that a tear is rolling down the bridge of your nose, that you can breathe after all, but only in ragged gasps…
“You look…nice…when you cry.” He drops his gaze once more, tugs up on the cloth that covers his face. His smile is back, creasing the corners of his eyes, and it is the ugliest thing you have ever seen. “Wonder if he thought that, too.”
#feitan x reader#yandere feitan#tw blood#tw yandere#tw kidnapping#tw violent imagery#tw implied noncon#tw implied murder
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me not saying ANYTHING about this game on my socials but pulling a whole PMV for it out of my ass. that's just how we roll here!
Anyways, Who's Lila is really cool and you should check it out.
YT Link!
#who's lila#who's lila?#mags drew something#pmv#art#digital art#animatic#tw blood#tw body horror#tw implied murder#scopophobia#garage heathen
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perhaps if your still doing poetry requests i could make an ask for something silly about green apples? maybe even polaroids ^_^
#you ask and i deliver#here's your smth silly evermore#<3#context: this is written based on a friend's au but#it can also be read as a story#a teen murders his abuser and writes her a letter#tw sa implied#tw grooming#my writing#words#writeblr#prose
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part 19 (gore)
getting into donnies head is a very hands on activity :D
⇇ | ⇽ | index | ⇾
#residuum#rottmnt residuum comic#tw violence#tw blood#tw gore#tw assualt#tw lobotomy#tw implied murder#tw surgical tools#*insert worst joke here im sorry*#*coughs*#so... do you still want trans bishop...? or...#either way im not doing it#edit: whoops panel out of order how dare#g
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i love graphology
Murder! Sans belongs to ask-dusttale
sans pile
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Ophelia singing songs in a bitter raspy cracking voice because it’s the only way she can stomach expressing what happened to her. Ophelia covered in dirt and flowers, her fingers red and raw from digging them out of the ground. Ophelia shaking with long-suppressed rage and screaming “Pray you, mark!” at a room of royals who’ve only ever used her for their own gain. Ophelia crying over her father and hating herself for it. Ophelia wondering why the only time anyone bothered to really listen to her was when her mind was broken with grief. Ophelia making the only choice she’s ever made for her own life by ending it. Ophelia’s death being an ugly, raw, tragic thing. Ophelia.
#this play is affecting me#ophelia should be allowed to commit a murder#as a treat#hamlet#ophelia#shakespeare#tw sui implied
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