#violence tw Tumblr posts

  • ks350
    09.05.2021 - 1 minute ago

    Indulgence (Pt. 2)

    Alrighty, here’s part 2. I feel like I rushed the ending, but it’s fine whatever. 

    TW: MDNI, seriously if you’re under 18 get out, heavy non-con, rough forceful sex, degradation, marking, yandere tendencies, mentions of kidnapping, listen it’s dark okay, please be forewarned

    Dabi smiled. Well as much as he could with the staples in his face. “Hi, doll,” he greeted.

    Tears started welling up in her eyes. “Just let me go,” she whimpered.

    “And what guarantee do I have that you won’t run to the police the second I do that?” he inquired, taking a step closer to her. “You now know where the League of Villains base is. A good citizen wouldn’t just sit on such important information.”

    She took a cautious step back towards the door in response and wrapped her arms around herself. “I promise I won’t.”

    He pouted at her, mockingly. “You promise? Pinky promise?” he asked as he continued to walk towards her. 

    His steady approach seemed to spur her into action, and she bolted for the door. But when she pulled, it wouldn't open. He could see her panicking and tugging on the handle desperately as he made his way over to her. He pressed up against her back, hands settling against the wall on either side of her. 

    “Aw, is it locked, baby?”

    “Please, please, please. I won’t say anything, just let me leave,” she begged. But Dabi ignored her completely. He let his hands slide down the wall and wrap around her waist, leaning in to kiss the nape of her neck softly. “Now, why would I want to do that?” he whispers in her ear.

    She started to squirm in his hold and claw at his arms, eventually managing to pull out one of the staples on the back of his right hand. He hissed in pain and turned her around to pin her hands to the wall and push his hips into hers. 

    He heated up his palms, just enough to make her cry out and leave angry red burn marks in their wake. That got the reaction he wanted; she cried out before looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Stop, please, it hurts, it hurts.”

    Dabi turned off his quirk but dug his nails into the burns to really send his message home. He leaned in to whisper, “Sweetheart, you’re cute when you try to fight back, but you make me bleed again, and I’ll burn your skin until it looks like mine. Got it?” She let out a little scream and closed her eyes, tears sliding down her face. Dabi couldn’t help but lick them off, causing her to shriek out and try to pull away. He chuckled at her struggle. “Why don’t we take this somewhere else. Unless you want me to fuck you up against this door and risk someone walking in on us. Maybe you would like that, baby?”

    Her eyes snapped open, and she shook her head. “No, no, please no. I don’t want this, just let me go. I’m begging you, please.”

    Dabi clicked his tongue at her. “You don’t want it? Baby, you don’t have a choice, though. Besides, I want you begging for something else.” The last statement made her start struggling in earnest, squirming and trying to buck his hips off, only to end up grinding into his clothed cock. He groaned into her neck and pressed into her further. “That’s right, princess. Do it again, just like that.”

    “No, no, never,” she cried. She switched tactics and threatened to scream if he didn’t get off her. He kept grinding his hips into hers. “Go ahead. This is a bad part of town, no one’s gonna give a shit about another person screaming bloody murder.”

    She doesn’t seem to believe him though because she opened her mouth to yell anyways. Before she could get a sound out though, Dabi kissed her and took the opportunity to lick into her mouth. She immediately bit down on his tongue, and glared at him when he pulled back in pain and surprise. When he finally registered the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, he started laughing and watched as her fierce expression turned into one of abject terror. He was still laughing when he told her, “I’m gonna make this hurt so much, you’re gonna wish you were you’d never been born.”

    Apparently, that’s when she started to take his threats seriously because she began apologizing immediately. “No, no I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again. Please. I’ll be good. I swear, I’ll be good.” 

    “It’s a little late for that. I warned you before, didn’t I, princess? You did this to yourself,” he said as he tugged her towards his bedroom by her forearm. She didn’t go easily, digging her heels into the floor and repeatedly hitting the arm holding hers, but that didn’t deter Dabi at all. He was much stronger than he looked, and her little punches felt like nothing. Once he managed to get her to his room, he threw her onto the bed and locked the door behind him. Then, he kicked off his shoes, shed his jacket and pulled off his shirt before turning back to his darling, who was pressed up against the headboard, trying to make herself as small as possible. She shook her head wildly as he approached, holding her hands out in front of her as if to push him away. 

    Dabi smiled again. God, she looks so cute all scared like that. He grabbed her by the ankles to pull her back down onto the bed, prying her legs apart to settle in between them and pinning her wrists again. She looked beautiful to him, teary-eyed with her hair splayed out on the pillow underneath her head.

    “Please don’t,” she whispered as if that would be enough to convince him to let her go. In response, he pressed kisses down the side of her neck before suddenly biting down hard enough to draw blood and leave a mark. Her shriek was music to his ears, and her begging and struggling was getting him even harder in his pants.

    He continued attacking her neck, bloodying and bruising it to his heart’s content. He couldn’t get enough of her screaming through her sobs. She sounded so pretty. He finally pulled back to admire his work and immediately decided that he could definitely get used to this view. 

    Her eyes were closed but tears were leaking out non-stop. Visible tear tracks ran down her neck, which was a mix of blues, purples, and reds with some of the bite marks already clotting up. He wrapped a hand around her neck and squeezed, cutting off her air supply. Her eyes flew open, and she desperately pulled at his hand to try to pry it away.  

    “Baby,” he cooed in her ear. “This is all your fault. I would’ve taken you so nice and gentle. You would’ve enjoyed it. I would’ve made you cum as many times as you wanted. But look at what you made me do.”

    She looked back up at him, eyes pleading. “I’m sorry,” she managed to let out in a hoarse whisper. He let up on her throat a little bit, allowing her to take a half a breath in. 

    “What was that, sweetheart? Did you say something?”

    “I’m sorry. Please. One more chance,” she whispered. 

    Dabi let go of her throat, and she turned to her side to take in as much air as she could. “Okay,” he said as he stroked the side of her face. “Third time’s the charm, right? You’re gonna be good, babydoll?”

    She nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, I will be.” Her voice was a little rough from her screaming and being choked, and he found it so sexy. He wanted her to sound completely ruined though. Dabi rolled over onto his back and lifted his hips up to take off his jeans and boxers, letting his cock spring free. He looked over at his doll. “Come here,” he said, gesturing in between his legs. She crawled over on shaky hands and knees and waited for him to say something. 

    “Convince me,” he said.

    She looked confused. “W-what?”

    “Convince me,” he repeated. “Suck my cock so good that I decide to forgive you.” She was still hesitating, and Dabi lost his patience. He grabbed her hair and tugged her face to his. “Don’t fucking make me ask again,” he threatened before shoving her back down towards his dick. 

    She immediately took his cock into her mouth and sucked around the head. Dabi let out a groan and instantly shoved her down further, making her gag. Her eyes widened in surprise and she pushed against his thighs, desperately trying to breathe, but he didn’t let up for another few seconds. She started coughing when she finally was let off his cock, but Dabi didn’t want to go too long without her around him. He pushed her back down and made her go further and further every time she took him into her mouth until her nose hit his pubic hair. 

    “Fuuuuuck,” he moaned out. She looked so pretty gagging on his cock, and he let himself enjoy the view for a short while before pulling her off and letting go of her hair. She immediately collapsed onto the bed, coughing violently.

    He sat up and regarded her broken form still recovering from the lack of oxygen. He scooped her up into his lap, cupped her cheeks, and kissed her gently. Then, he pulled away.

    “You know, sweetheart,” he started, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “I did a lot of the work there. All you did was keep your mouth open. And trust me, I’m not complaining. You’ve got a mouth made to be filled with cock, but I’m not convinced.”

    She started shaking again. “I’m sorry, honey. You’ll have to do a better job next time, okay?” he said, pulling her into his chest and kissing the top of her head. He heard her breath hitch. “Next time?” she asked softly. 

    “Yeah. You’re gonna be my new cumdumpster. You’re gonna warm my bed, and then be my good little doll when I come home fuck out all of my frustrations. That sound okay?”

    This, apparently, was a revelation, she wasn’t prepared for because she started pushing at his chest and her sobbing resumed. He let her try and fight for a few seconds before shoving her back onto the bed. He reached under her dress to take off her underwear while she did her best to kick him off. Once he got them off, he took the time to admire the little flowers dotting the white cotton. 

    “These are really cute, baby but you’re not gonna need to wear them when you’re with me,” he said, activating his quirk to burn the panties to ash. Then, he spread her legs to expose her pussy. Immediately, her hands came down to cover herself, but he caught her wrists in one hand. “You know they say that the color of your pussy matches the color of your nipples. Let’s check.”

    And before she could react, he tore the top of her dress open. She tried to cover up again, and Dabi was beyond annoyed at this point. “Next time you hide yourself from me, I’ll start to pick off fingernails one by one. Make sense?” Immediately, she started trembling, but she moved her arms by her head. 

    “There you go, princess,” he cooed, drinking in the sight of soft breasts and nipples puckered from the cold. “Well not quite the same color, but still pretty.”

    He dove down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping to his heart’s content. Eventually, he reached down to swipe a finger against her slit. She was dripping. He looked up at her with a devilish grin. “Are you actually enjoying this?”

    She refused to make eye contact with him or answer.

    “Well, that’s great,” he said. “Won’t have to waste time prepping you.”

    That got her attention. Her eyes snapped back to him, just as he lined himself up with her entrance. She opened her mouth to protest, but it turned into a silent scream as Dabi sheathed himself inside of her in one thrust. 

    “Fuck you’re tight,” he said, before pulling out and thrusting back in balls deep. He set a slow pace, fucking into her deep as she pushed at his hips.

    “Take it out, please,” she sobbed. “It hurts so bad, just take it out.”

    He licked his thumb before reaching down to play with her clit. “Shh, shh. It’s okay baby, you’re fine. It’ll feel good in a second,” he cooed.

    And true to his word, soon, she started biting her bottom lip to stifle her moans. 

    “Aww, you’re no fun,” he said, before backhanding her across the face. “Let me hear you this time.”

    All he got out of her was a pathetic sob though. Clearly, the slap across the face had killed the mood for her. Well, if she wasn’t going to enjoy herself, that wouldn’t stop Dabi. He hadn’t had a pussy this tight in ages, and he was going to fully enjoy it no matter what. Even if the duration of his enjoyment would be much shorter than he had anticipated.  He wasn’t expecting to be this turned on, and he could feel himself getting close.

    “Fuck, doll. Your little pussy keeps sucking me in. I think you might want this. Might want me to come inside you too. What do you think?”

    That led to a hysterical chorus of no’s and please’s from her. Just what he liked to hear. 

    “Aw does the poor thing not want a little rape baby inside of her?” he asks, mockingly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You won’t get pregnant the first time. Probably.” 

    But imagine if she did. That’s the image that ultimately tipped Dabi over the edge. His pretty little fucktoy all round and swollen with leaking tits and fuller hips. Fuck, that sounded good. His hips stuttered in their pace while he filled, what was now his pussy, with white, hot cum. And not a moment too soon because there was a loud bang when Shigaraki slammed his door open. 

    “Will you and your little whore shut up,” he snarled. “Some of us -” 

    “Are getting hard-ons,” Dabi finished for him, pointing at the obvious tent in his pants.

    “Are trying to work,” snapped Shigaraki, tugging his ratty hoody down. 

    Dabi turned back to his little darling, who had her eyes squeezed shut and her hands clamped over her mouth, shaking like a leaf in the wind. 

    “It’s okay sweetheart,” he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll just gag you for round two.”

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  • viciousmused
    09.05.2021 - 10 minutes ago

    me, spending 40 dollars on Mother’s Day stuff:

    my mom, holding my brother, who bought nothing: oh my god thank you sm for all of this


    #◤ . out of character . ◢ #// I’m choosing violence #// what the fuck #tw; Mother’s Day
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  • lesbianyaraflor
    09.05.2021 - 24 minutes ago

    In a weird way Tankies are incredibly hopeful. They believe there are some perfect governments out there that are just being unfairly maligned. But no… I regret to inform you… all governments suck! And it really seems like the only problems tankies have with state sponsored violence and propaganda is which government does it.

    #merc talks #I’m sorry that post pissed me off so much #imagine being white and just saying that abt Chinese activists #tw communism#violence mention
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  • thecitythatdoesntsleep
    09.05.2021 - 26 minutes ago

    Imagine human pets being sold to vampires as nutritional solutions. Forever meals that as long as they mildly take care of them, they'll always have a blood supply. Some vampires keep them as treasured companions, love and cherish their little blood bags like most do their precious animals.

    Others though woo boy, they are rich enough to not care. They buy discount pets from shelters to abuse and drain. Some for large parties where they are sure to get dismembered and die.

    I just love the idea of big, bad vampires both caring for or destroying their humans.

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  • writtenwolves
    09.05.2021 - 30 minutes ago

    Writing Prompt #82

    “Come to gloat?”

    “Come to murder me with that axe?”

    “Like I told you before, I don’t find that joke funny.”

    #writing prompts #creative writing prompts #imagine your oc #imagine your brotp #dialogue prompts #tw violence mention
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  • dcbbw
    09.05.2021 - 50 minutes ago

    Open Wound

    This fic is going to cover a lot of bases: I am answering not one, but two asks from @mom2000aggie: a pair of questions from angsty asks/prompts:

    Go-to breakup song and who’s the first to forgive?

    Along with a pair of things you said asks/prompts:

    Things you said that made me feel like shit and things you said while I was asleep.

    AND … I have used last week’s #wackydrabble; the prompt is: Was this what made her [him, them, you] happy? and will appear in bold. Unfortunately, it is not a WD because ... words. 

    This story is set in my UnRomance AU and is born of (not a lot of) people wanting to know the answer to a burning question. There may be graphic descriptions of violence. The asks/prompts will probably be used in a way my good girlfriend is not expecting, but hopefully they fit well with the story and she won’t hate me.

    A huge thank you to all who read in part and in whole, and assured me the story makes sense.

    Thank you to all who will read this story; your time, energy, and efforts are appreciated more than you will ever know. I hope you like it!

    All characters (except OCs) belong to Pixelberry.

    Song Inspiration: Sugar, Sufjan Stevens: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EOstc1ZfDN4

    Word Count: 3,000

    This post contains scenes/descriptions of graphic violence, suggestion of rape, and there is character death


    They say to heal a wound, you must stop touching it. Bandage it to stop the bleeding; use an anti-biotic ointment to prevent infection. Give it air to allow it to breathe. And don’t pick at it.

    But how can I not?

    It’s there, throbbing and open and oozing, screaming for me to interact with it, if only to find a way to mend it quickly.

    Squeeze it, to let out the pus and dirty blood; yet both keep flowing no matter how much releases.

    Pick at the scabs to see if the skin beneath is still red and tender.

    It always is.

    It’s the third Saturday of the month, and I am in Auburn, New York; it’s a small town right outside of Ithaca. I turn right onto State Street, and slow down as the car approaches Auburn Correctional Facility; or more accurately, the front entrance to the prison.  The institution takes up the entire city block.

    Through the car windows, I see the glass-enclosed guard tower; stone turrets that remind me of the rook pieces in chess; and impossibly tall iron gates. An American flag waves in the morning breeze. I drive further down State Street, and after a five-hour drive from Brooklyn, the rental car rolls to a gentle stop in the visitor’s parking area.

    I have no idea why I’m here.

    All I know is I want the wound to heal. What better way than to root out the source of the pain?

    Music still flows from the car’s speakers: Ray Charles’ Hit the Road, Jack.


    It’s the song mom always sang after dad would call her, attempting to reconcile if only for a sexual rendezvous.

    I wonder if he ever loved her. If he ever loved me.


    I stare at the imposing structure; here, in the rear of the building, the brick is a faded red and covered in a patina of rust and soot; it reminds me that Auburn Correctional is where the first electrocution in the United States took place. I imagine guilty souls covered in blood and charred black from an overload of electricity.

    The ringing of my phone startles me, and I pick it up; I fully expect it to be Riley, who was more than displeased at being sent back to her apartment yesterday evening after dinner, but it’s Juma.

    Juma Benson is my childhood friend and neighbor; he and his widower grandfather lived above mom and me, and he was my first friend. After mom was killed, Juma was my only friend until I moved in with Aunt Peggy. He is a lawyer, as his grandfather had been, and his wife is a high-school art teacher. They have three children.

    Juma and I aren’t as close as we were 20 years ago, but we still keep in touch at least once a month, and occasionally our professions make a working lunch possible. I have no idea what he wants on a weekend morning, and I ignore the call.

    I glance at the clock; my visitation is scheduled for noon. I have time. I roll the car window down further and light a cigarette; smoke exhales through my nose and mouth as I stare at the place my father now resides.

    Juma and I are jostling and pushing each other as we race up the narrow stairwell to my apartment. Our heavy breathing mixes with our laughter. We’re going to grab snacks and walk Miss Martinez’s cats before starting on our science project. We’re doing a volcano, but not just a pop rocks exploding one; we want to show how the volcano is formed and what has to happen to make it erupt. Then, there will be pop rocks.

    We skid to stop in front of my door, and I dig in my pockets to fish my key out; I pause when I hear voices. A quick glance at Juma’s face tells me he hears them as well: We hear his grandfather’s deep voice, and my mom is crying. Miss Bell, the grandmotherly woman who lives across from Juma and makes fudge and plays the piano, is making soothing sounds.

    I manage to get the front door open, and I ignore everyone as I rush to my mother’s side. She is sitting on the sofa, her palms covering her face; a piece of paper lays on her lap.

    Mr. Benson is standing in front of the living room windows, his hands clasped behind his back. “He can’t do this, Eleanor. It’s a scare tactic, that’s all,” he rumbles. “I’ll represent you.”

    Miss Martinez is holding Henry, one of her three cats, on her lap; her fingers continuously stroke thick black fur. Angry tears are in her eyes. “I want to know what that wife of his has to say about this!”

    Miss Bell is in our kitchen, filling mugs with coffee. She smiles sadly at Juma and me.

    “Mom, what happened?” I demand.

    She looks at me, the whites of her eyes red from crying, but her facial expression is filled with love and pride as her damp palm cups my cheek. She thrusts the paper in my hand, and I look down to read something I don’t understand, but the words “petition for full custody” leap out at me.

    I look back up at my mother, my entire being filled with confusion and worry. I think I have an idea what this means, but it doesn’t make sense.

    “Your father is taking me to court to fight for custody of you,” she confirms.

    After being searched and putting money in my father’s account, I am in the visitor’s room. It’s large and filled with sealed windows that are covered by iron bars. The air smells stale and recycled.

    There are tables and chairs set four feet apart to give a semblance of privacy. A back wall is lined with vending machines, and I go to purchase cups of coffee and two frozen burgers which can be heated in one of three microwave ovens. By the time I find a table and set the coffee and sandwiches down, my father has arrived.

    I can’t remember the last time I laid eyes on him. He is shorter than I recall, his shoulders stooped. His once dark hair is streaked with gray; his piercing blue eyes are watery and washed out looking. His face is weathered and lined, his mouth a thin line that turns down at the corners. His prison uniform, an orange jumpsuit, fits him loosely. His feet, tucked into white canvas slip-ons, are sockless.

    The guard who accompanies him nods at me before leaving us alone; he doesn’t go far. I wait for my father to sit before I pull out my chair and sit as well. I study my father as he looks over the refreshments on the table; without asking, he grabs a paper cup and sips before he grabs a plastic-wrapped burger.

    “Took you long enough to get here,” he mutters around a mouthful of bread and meat.

    There is no thank you for me ensuring he’s had money in his canteen for the past two decades. No apology for taking my mother away and ruining my life.

    I say nothing, instead taking a swallow of the coffee; I grimace. It’s bitter, despite me having the machine add cream and sugar.

    “You’re going with Mr. Benson and Juma,” mom says as she sips from her mug of coffee.

    “NO!” I yell, my eyebrows furrowed in anger. “I am NOT leaving you!”

    “Do not dare speak to me in that tone, Liam Jun Rys! You know how he is with Leo, and I will not allow him to lay a hand on you. You will go upstairs until after your father is gone.”

    The harshness in my mom’s voice takes me aback. I feel stonewalled, and deeply embarrassed. My fists clench, and the inside of my cheek is bleeding because I am biting on it. My mother notices my tension and she gently lay one of her hands atop mine.

    “It’s for your safety, my love. I have no idea why your father is insistent on coming over this evening, but it’s for the best if you aren’t here. I promise, once he leaves, I will send for you.”

    I begin to cry; I can’t help it. I wonder was this what made dad happy? Terrorizing the woman and son he left behind?

    “All will be well,” mom promises as she kisses my forehead.

    My father and I are staring at each other. His food is gone; despite me being hungry, I find I cannot swallow the processed meal. My barely eaten burger sits in the middle of the table. He leans back in his chair and crosses his calf over his thigh.

    “Why are you here?” he asks in a slightly curious tone.

    “I want to know what happened that night.”

    His eyes narrow as he studies my face; my expression is stoic. I interlock my fingers and place my hands in front of me. I thought the table would feel sticky, but its veneer is smooth beneath my skin.

    A pause. “Nothing happened. I’m an innocent man.”

    “You’re lying. You killed my mother, and I deserve to know why.”

    I am sitting on the staircase, peering through the railings at my apartment door. The hall is dimly lit, and the building is quieter than usual. Juma is behind me, also staring at the door.

    “Dude, my pops is gonna kill us when he sees we ain’t in the house,” he whispers nervously.

    “We’ll go back in once my dad leaves,” I say, my eyes fixed on the door.

    I had been upstairs for over an hour, staring out the living room windows when I saw my dad’s car pull up. I ran for the front door but was blocked by Mr. Benson. The older man didn’t say a word and he didn’t have to. His expression said it all. With a huff, I fell back on the couch and stared at Vanna White turn letters.

    When Juma’s grandfather finally went to the bathroom, I jumped up and sprinted for the door. Juma followed.

    “Man, what are you DOING?”

    “I gotta know what’s going on,” I reply as I unlock the door.

    “He won’t be in the toilet forever, you know!” Juma whispered angrily.

    “Fine, you stay here. No sense in both of us getting our asses whipped.”

    But Juma followed me to the stairs, and now we watched. And waited. I hear loud voices coming from behind our door. I began to rise up, but Juma pushes me back down. “Not yet,” he whispered.

    More yelling and it sounds as if stuff is being thrown. I hear glass shattering and thumps. Mom was shouting in Korean; dad was yelling in expletives. I think I hear a hand hitting flesh, but it was at that moment Mr. Benson found us, and marched Juma and I back inside his apartment.

    “Mr. Benson,” I begin to protest, but am interrupted.

    “The police have been called, son. We’ll go down when they arrive.”

    Less than 10 minutes later, there is a gunshot, followed by heavy footsteps clattering down the stairs.

    “I came over to talk to her about the custody thing; we argued. I left. Next thing I know, I’m under arrest for her murder.”

    My voice is controlled but my eyes are hard and cold when I speak. “Why did you even want custody? You couldn’t make visitation! You didn’t want me!”

    His eyes darken. “I loved your mother but loved strange pussy even more. There were others before Regina, you know. She was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. When we divorced, I got stuck with the son no one wanted. Leo wasn’t a bargaining chip.” He raises his eyes to me. “You were.”

    I am running so fast down the dark stairwell, I almost fall. My key is in my hand, but I don’t need it. The apartment door is wide open, and when I cross the threshold, I can still smell the gunfire. The apartment is in shambles. Plates and cups are in pieces across the floor. The television screen has a hole in it. A dining room chair lays in splinters.

    I look around for my mother and see her lying on her back on the living room carpet. Her face is beaten, dark blue bruises littered across her cheeks. Her eyes stare glassily at the ceiling. Blood gushes from a singed hole in her throat. Her skirt is pushed up around her hips, and her underwear has been ripped off.

    A howl tears from my throat as I fall to my knees beside her. I keep calling her name, as I cradle her head in my arms, but she does not respond. Through a flood of tears, I see Miss Martinez pulling mom’s skirt down over her legs, and I scream, “DON’T TOUCH HER!!”

    Mr. Benson and Juma each have a hand on my shoulder, trying to get me to back away from mom; I refuse to say the words “her body”. She isn’t dead, she can’t be. We’re going to eat the leftover lemongrass chicken pho for dinner before she helps me and Juma with the science project.

    Miss Bell sits on the sofa, quietly sobbing.

    I hear sirens wailing down below in the street, but my screams and sobs drown them out.

    “You killed her. You beat her, raped her, and then you shot her dead,” my voice is a ragged whisper as I remember running my fingers through her silken black locks while she lay lifeless in my arms.

    “And who remembers any of that? No one except YOU, you limp-dicked, mama’s boy. It’s your fault she’s dead! If you had just been there that night instead of HIDING, she’d still be alive. We’d be a FAMILY!” my father rages. “She would’ve done anything for you, including taking me back!”

    The prison guard steps forward, but I shake my head slightly indicating that we were fine.

    We were anything but.

    It’s my fault mom died.

    I remember insisting I stay to protect her.

    I’m the only one who remembers her.

    Is this why my wound won’t heal? Because healing means forgetting?

    Am I the only one who remembers?

    No. Leo remembers, that’s why he’s always trying to forget.

    “Your DNA was found inside of her. The gun that shot her was registered to you. You had bite marks on your arm that matched her dental records.” I inhale a shaky breath. “You did it. So, did you kill her because she wouldn’t take you back, or because you felt she kept me from you?”

    “This visit is over.” My father rises, and beckons to the guard. “Thanks for coming by.”

    I sit at the table, feeling my blood itch. I have to get away from here. But before I leave the facility, I add more money to his account. I don’t know if it’s an apology, forgiveness, or a goodbye.

    In the car, my thoughts churn as I drive 90 miles per hour headed back to Brooklyn.

    I was a bargaining chip to him. Never a son, merely a means to get what he wanted.

    I chain smoke a pack of cigarettes.

    Did he come over that evening with the intention of killing my mother?

    I stop one time for gas and bathroom.

    If I had disobeyed mom, would she still be alive, or would we both be dead?

    When I am an hour outside of the city, I call Riley and tell her to be at the penthouse in 45 minutes.

    I hang up before she can ask any questions.

    I stop at my favorite deli and order sandwiches and kettle-cooked chips. I make pleasant small talk with the proprietor while he prepares my meal.

    I pull into my building’s garage, park the rental, and board the elevator. My heart is beating erratically.

    And then I am home.

    Riley is sitting on the sofa, watching some inane show; I turn off the television before placing the sandwiches in the refrigerator. I lay my hands flat on the countertop and find my breathing is labored and I feel as if my throat is constricted.

    I feel myself beginning to hyperventilate.

    My fingers tug and pull at my clothing as I strip naked in an effort to pull air into my lungs.

    “RILEY,” I bark with what I am certain is my last breath.

    She runs into the kitchen, eyes wide with worry and fear. She sees my clothes scattered across the floor and asks me what’s wrong and should she call 911.

    I push her away and frantically try to gulp air as I hurry to the bedroom. She follows.

    I go into the bathroom and slam the door in her face.

    I bend over the toilet and hurl bile and tobacco leaves into the porcelain bowl. I stay bent over as my breathing struggles to return to normal.

    I rinse my mouth and open the door, coming face to face with Riley. The woman who says I’m her boyfriend. She lays her palm against my cheek. “Liam, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

    The concern in her voice and very demeanor is palatable.

    And I cry.

    I haven’t cried since the day I found my mother’s lifeless body.

    I fall to my knees, my arms wrapped around Riley’s waist and cry. My sobs are muffled against her skin. Her fingers rake uncertainly through my hair before she coaxes me into bed. She holds me in her arms and stays silent. Occasionally, her palms wipe the tears from my face.

    I have no idea how long we lay there or how long I cried, but I know I feel tired. So.Fucking.Tired. Exhausted, I let my eyes close.

    Just before I fall asleep, I hear Riley whisper she loves me.

    But behind my closed lids, it’s my mother’s face I see.

    Tagging: @sirbeepsalot @jared2612 @katedrakeohd @ao719 @burnsoslow @bbrandy2002 @ofpixelsandscribbles @debramcg1106 @marietrinmimi @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @indiacater @forthebrokenheartedthings @kingliam2019 @bebepac @zaffrenotes @liyanin @liamxs-world @choiceslife @ac27dj @the-soot-sprite @gnatbrain @anotherbeingsworld @atha68 @hopelessromanticmonie @amandablink @mom2000aggie @cmestrella @iaminlovewithtrr @shewillreadyou @starrystarrytrouble @liamrhysstalker2020 @alyssalauren @queenrileyrose @ladyangel70 @yourmajesty09 @briefdreamlanddream @gkittylove99​ @neotericthemis​ @twinkleallnight​ @umccall71​ @superharriet​ @lodberg​ @charlotteg234​ @sweatyrysconnoisseur​ @mainstreetreader​ @busywoman @gabesmommie1130​ @jessiembruno​ @darley1101​

    #long post#dcbbw writes#unromance au #tw mention of rape #tw description of violence #tw character death #jgl #john gray liam
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  • betaofthedead
    09.05.2021 - 51 minutes ago

    (( huge meta below about smth from beta’s backstory under the cut bc this is a really long post! reworked a major detail of it and thought i’d share here. i’ve also reworked a majority of his backstory as well! i feel like now it really fits his current portrayal more than ever before. )) 

    trigger warning for child death, addiction, and themes of violence.

    (( if you haven’t read beta’s backstory, here is a bit of context before i get into things. beta used to have an adopted son named alex. these events make  more sense with more context from his backstory but i just wanted to sCREAM about this anyway

    this takes place around 3-4 years before the apocalypse and probably the most impactful events from his story that still effects him currently. ))

    This takes place about a year after the downfall of his musical career. He’s moved from California to Maryland in an attempt to escape the limelight. (There will most likely be a meta about the downfall of his career at some point.) 

    A home invader and known celebrity stalker had entered the now former singer’s home for unknown reasons. Upon entering, he had first encountered Alex and in order to keep him from waking up, the boy was suffocated with a pillow with the intent of knocking him out. The consequences had resulted in death, ultimately. The stalker proceeded through the home to find his intended audience.

    Under the assumption that his son was asleep, Half Moon was unbothered, that was until he had encountered the intruder. He had already been under the influence of and overuse of alcohol that night and acted impulsively against the man. From here, he violently confronted the stalker, stabbing the man all over the body until he was seemingly dead. He had never intended to kill the man, in his mind it was an accident gone too far. He had lost control of his impulses in that instant. It was there that he witnessed his own name upon the man’s shirt, remorse was felt; only for a moment.

    Fearing for his son's life, he went to check on Alex only to find that his son had already been dead for a few hours during his confrontation with the stalker.

    Unable to process what he had endured and had done, Beta, or at the time “Half Moon”, spiraled into days of dissociation and delusion. Rather than calling the police and reaching out for any form of help, he took to isolating himself and took matters into his own hands. He kept Alex’s body in bed where he had died and stored the stalker’s body into an empty closet in a guest bedroom. For many days he pretended thar they were not dead, eventually reaching a point that he believed they were still alive. That he could hear their voices. Mocking voices that said cruel things to him.

    The line between reality and fiction became blurred for him over the next two months that he had kept the bodies in his home, remaining incapable of processing the events that had occurred.

    After two months of a lack of communication, his psychologist and bandmates sent police to check on him. Upon being found with two decaying bodies in his home and in a deathly physical status, he was taken in for investigation and a few days later went to court.

    He was nearly charged with manslaughter for multiple stab wounds in the chest, stomach, and face, fractured bones, and a blow to the head found on the home invader’s body. However, his attorneys had paid his way out of properly receiving the charge and going to prison over it and ruled it as self defense. Deemed too mentally unstable to be sent to prison, Half Moon ended up being sent to an asylum for recovery instead. 

    For three years he was in recovery. Efforts proved to be futile for much of that time, society had begun to break down in the wake of an impending apocalypse. From there he could not receive the proper care he needed. When the outbreak began, he and other patients were transported to a bunker where they would spend the first two months of the apocalypse.

    This was where Beta formed his words of comfort, a nonsensical chant that was linked to some musical and poetic side of himself that he now seldom seeked: “I am the end of the world.”

    Now for B O N U S meta.

    Currently, these events, who his son is, and what he had done are long forgotten in Beta’s current life due to the effects of disassociative amnesia. While he cannot recall specific events, it is the closest thing to a memory from before that he has. This and his musical career are the two events that have impacted his life the most.

    While Beta doesn’t remember much of his past in detail, if at all, the impact of the events has permanently impacted his behavior. He adopted specific behaviors from what he had done in response to this traumatic event. This was the occurrence that had desensitized him to the concept of death years before the apocalypse and meeting Alpha. It was easy for him to slip into a status of worshipping death and having a lack of fear due to the inability to process it.

    These events indirectly also effected his decision to keep his zombified psychologist in a closet some time during the early days of the apocalypse. He’d done it before so, why not do it again. To this day he has not quite understood that his friend is dead. Wearing his face as a mask furthered his inability to process the concept of death. In Beta’s mind the mask is keeping his friend alive in some way. His life with the Whisperers and their animalistic mentality truly saved him, in the end. 

    #ooc#;;headcanon #tw: child death #tw: violence#tw: addiction #(( GOOD LORD i am literally busting my writing brain cell just for the sake of character development )) #(( this is so long and i'm honestly just putting it here for my own reference )) #(( but if you read it. Thank You ))
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  • darkficsyouneveraskedfor
    09.05.2021 - 1 hour ago
    #tw violence #tw violent thoughts #tw violent death #tw death#tw murder#murder#death#violence
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  • bishonenprince
    09.05.2021 - 1 hour ago

    @rollinggirlrunahika​ || [ 💀 ✝️ ⚰️ ]

    ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂ ╰┈➤It had been hours now that he looked at the time. He had been so preoccupied with searching the white room that called to him that time seemed to come to a halt. Walking over to the window of said room, he opened it in order to let in the cool breeze. Nostalgic feeling washing over him for some reason. During his search he had found an old sketchbook which was full of drawings. What was interesting about it was that in every picture he would always be with someone different. Sitting down at the white table in the room he continued to flip through it, albeit with a bored expression. Soranort wondered if one of his “friends” drew these back when he was a Guardian of Light. The drawings were very childish in nature but got the point across. Every drawing was probably a precious moment he had shared with these people. One drawing caught him off guard. It was a picture of his former self with a girl that looked just like him. A sudden wave of memories came flooding back to him. Foggy as they were, he was able to make out a few things. He could see his own hand stretched out towards the girl, some kind of locket in hand. There were words being said that he couldn’t really make out. Then everything just faded away with static. Well that was one huge migraine. From what he got from those fragments of memories, the girl seemed to be someone close from his childhood. However what exactly was she to him? Maybe he’d stab her for answers when next he bumped into her. Chances are though, he’d just forget about it all. Nothing else was left to be done in the old mansion. So again, with a snap of his fingers he created another dark portal and stepped through it. His new destination: The Caribbean-

    #KBN Sora#[⭐ VILLAIN;]#rollinggirlrunahika #tw: slight violence #ohh brain died halfway #hopefully this'll do lmao #hes curious now #you better watch out #you better not crryyyyy
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  • a-depressed-detective
    09.05.2021 - 1 hour ago
    #🔎💔 shuichi answers 💔🔍 #tw violence mention #tw fear
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  • sapnapson-adonkey
    09.05.2021 - 1 hour ago
    #/j /j #but like. #grabs you and forcefully snaps your neck #tw violence #tw death mention #mcyt#ask#dndnerd1609#nap answers
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  • maurawrites
    09.05.2021 - 2 hours ago
    Jessica Matten as Delia in ‘A Red Girl’s Reasoning’ 
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  • peritxetxinvenit
    09.05.2021 - 2 hours ago

    Blue Malibu found a place to park on the other side of the fuss. Matt climbed out of it, quickly crossed the street, and entered the apartment building. He didn’t need to ask where the crime scene was, all the officers and forensics were much better than any bread crumbs, and soon he was standing at the doorstep of one of the apartments. After taking a deep breath and exhaling he stepped in. No, he didn’t feel nervous or scared but what he was going to see could never become something habitual. Death was always shocking, especially violent death. Even before he saw a body everything suddenly seemed familiar, he couldn’t say what exactly, but felt like he saw it before, where though? The girl was lying in the doorway of the bathroom. More specifically, her upper half was in the bathroom, and her legs were still in the hallway, as though she tried to escape, to crawl into the last safest space but died before she succeeded. There was no untouched spot on her body, she was all gashes and bruises, and he thanked God that they didn’t turn her over yet because he knew exactly what was there, under her long brown hair. 

    He looked up and saw the red-haired man who was busy studying the contents of the bathroom cabinet. “I can bet you five bucks that she lived alone,” he spoke to draw the other’s attention, “Detective Dickson. Transferred from Hollenbeck. Your boss, my new boss told me, you might need some spare hands here.”


    #coinquinatvs#; starter #hope it's fine #; lights out #; matt dickson rp #gore tw#violence tw
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  • sleepysnapdragonart
    09.05.2021 - 2 hours ago

    I should probably name this comic and make a master post at some time but here’s part 3 of more angst:

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  • zuzusexytiems
    09.05.2021 - 3 hours ago

    "at some point you gotta stop blaming your parents for—" haha well yeah Melissa but what if you're living a moderately successful life and making a steady income and basically doing everything that's expected of you but in spite of it are still living in crippling trauma and depression that isn't your fault and you just try to get by but it's nearly impossible bc that stuff is always there and it never leaves haha what then, what do you do then :)

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  • zuzusexytiems
    09.05.2021 - 3 hours ago

    happy mothers day to everyone nearing their 30s and still living with the trauma their abusive Asian mothers brought upon them since birth

    it's me haha I'm talking about me lol happy fucking mother's day everybody :)

    #I hate her..... so fucking much like y'all don't even know #I hate her #I fucking hate her #I can't stand being in the same room as her and I want her to die #haha sorry I'm just rly upset still #delete probably or not #hey mom if you're reading this I fucking hate you and I hope you choke lol #tw violence#tw abuse
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  • tellingyouastory
    09.05.2021 - 6 hours ago

    The Thrill | Chapter 1 - Death

    Paul Spector | Paul Spector x brief F!Reader Introduction

    The Fall

    TW: Language, Violence, Murder, Blood

    GIF created by @docorwho

    Panting looking over his actions, his current choices, looking over all that had happened that had unfolded, it hit him like a ton of bricks, but at the same time it didn't phase him, but he knew the longer he stayed the more chances he risked. He did his research, he always did his research, there wasn't a shadow of a doubt that he was right. No one lived with her. He ran his bloodied gloved hand through his hair and shook his head. He stood back, thinking, playing it over again in his head.

    Roughly two hours ago he snuck into the flat, closing the window behind him, sneaking carefully across the wood floor, his boots heavy but not quite heavy enough to make the floor creak. His mask covering his breathing, his breath light, and making sure he was quiet. He placed his backpack on the floor behind the floor-length curtain. Turning off the lights and heading into her room she closed the door slightly and crawled into bed.

    It was five minutes before she started to drift to sleep. Quickly and quietly he made his way into her room, and stood in the dark shadows of the room, watching her briefly before making his way over to her. Hovering over her a moment he straddled her the weight and pressure on her body jolted her awake and she went to scream. He put his finger to his masked face and covered her mouth with his hand quickly. Shaking his head as she tried to struggle. His eyes narrowed on her as she tried to reach for his face but it wasn't exactly going as she planned.

    His hand went from her mouth to both around her neck, squeezing harder and harder as she thrashed about trying to gasp for air, trying to claw and scratch at him to get him to stop, trying to yell but to no avail he wasn't budging. She hoped that maybe he would have to readjust but that wasn't happening. Paul's face was calm, yet showed his pent-up anger. Before the last few moments of her breathing life, he stripped off his ski mask so she could see his face. Her hand went to touch his face but he backed away and she started to gurgle and gasp for air again before his hands went back around her throat, squeezing the life out of her.

    The light left her eyes as she let out a soft breath and fell limp. He didn't move, he kept squeezing, harder and harder, feeling a pop in the neck, feeling her body weightless, the smell of her defecating herself hit his nose, he knew she was dead. There was a sound that caught his attention. His head turned quickly to the door hearing someone climb the stairs. He jolted out the door quickly to his backpack undoing it quietly he grabbed a ball-peen hammer and gripped it tightly in his hand. He watched as this man came up the stairs. He made his way to the room and the smell hit him.

    The man pulled out his phone making his way to the deceased on the bed and went to dial 999 but he didn't the chance. Before he knew it he felt a thud against the back of his head. He dropped his phone and went to turn to swing at Paul. With a grunt and another swing, Paul forced the hammer against the side of his head with a thud, but it didn't stop there. The man tried to fight back, but he kept swinging and pushed him down the stairs where the man tumbled and rolled down on the foot of the stairs moaning and groaning. Paul slowly walked down. He didn't utter a word, he didn't want any trace of his voice being heard.

    Swinging at the back of this man's head, bash after bash, after bash, blood and bits of skull and brain matter started flinging with the hammer, but he kept going, the back of his head like minced meat he took the hammer to the base of his neck, that little knob below the head and above the neck and popped that with the hammer, and blood went everywhere. He was splattered with it across his face. With the back of his gloved hand, he wiped his face smearing the blood a bit. He let out a breath as he got off the man and sat on the steps a moment.

    And now we're back to where we started. How did he not know that the man was coming? Who was he? He reached down and grabbed the man's wallet. Different last name, not related. A boyfriend perhaps? Looking at his hands he didn't see a wedding ring. Looking closely he saw where one should be, and he shook his head. Putting the wallet back he walked back up the steps and made his way outside taking the covering off his boots and started to walk down the road sticking his gloves in his pockets.

    He decided to take back allies, he didn't want to be on the main road. His breathing was sparse, heavy. He stopped a moment, standing there, the air was thick, ready for rain. Sally and the kids were with her mum, he had no one to go home to. He knelt down in the middle of the alleyway and started to cry a moment, his hands gripping at his head as he bent over and let out a heavy scream. You were sitting in a window and you had watched him leave the house and you looked at him.

    "Aye Mister, you look like you could use some company. Take the escape up. Have yourself a cup of tea." You flicked your cigarette and went inside.

    He looked up at the window, arching a brow, he looked over you and made his way up the metal fire escape and climbed into your window and looked around, it was cozy. "Thank you..." He stated.

    Pointing to the bathroom you nodded. "Clean yourself up, ya'got blood on ya. You can wear brothers clothes, should fit you. He won't be needin' em." you stated as you poured him a cup of tea.

    Looking at you. "Why are you helping me... aren't you scared?"

    "I'm scared every day. Strangers stopped scarin me." You state. "Clean up, and let me help you." You state looking at him. Your words made him think, looking at you he let out a soft breath. He contemplating murdering you right there, but a part of him knew you weren't going to do anything. You were offering to help him. He watched your every move while he cleaned up, even changed in front of you, and you licked your lips and flushed a small bit. Maybe this won't be so bad he thought to himself.

    Tagging: @luciferslittleastre

    #Paul Spector#Jamie Dornan#The Fall#tw: violence#tw: death#tw: murder #Making Feminists Angry and Loving It #Fuck the Serial Killer Stigma #Jamie Dornan as Paul Spector #Jamie Dornan Thirst #Paul Spector Thirst #Paul Spector x Female Reader #Paul Spector x Reader #my story#my writing #my fanfic stuff #my fanfic writing #my fanfiction#my oc#my fanfic#Fanfiction#wattpad#fandom #fan fiction writing #TellingYouAStory Original #go ahead and romanticize this #Paul Spector x you
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  • invisiblepain
    09.05.2021 - 8 hours ago

    At the top of his drive

    With blood on my maw

    I sit howling and barking

    Like the second coming of God  

    I used to be his good girl

    I used to be his bitch

    I used to roll over when he demanded

    And let him splay his fingers out

    Over the exposed skin of my stomach

    As if I trusted him not to gut me

    Right there on the basement floor  

    I don’t trust him anymore

    Truth be told

    I never did

    I was just a good girl

    His stupid little bitch  

    Sitting in his driveway

    Gravel in my paws

    The pain doesn’t hurt

    And the blood doesn’t burn

    But the air in my lungs

    Feels like Hell fire

    So I close my eyes

    And scream his name

    Like the Hell hound he made me  

    It’s the second coming

    And all six of my eyes

    Stay focused on his door

    He has to come out soon

    He has to come out

    And face what he’s done

    He has to face the Cerberus

    If he wants to claim his throne   

    Come fight me

    Come force me

    Come mark me up again

    Come pet me

    Come love me

    Come make me sin again

    Come kick me

    Come hurt me

    Come meet your fucking end.

    #Q's poetry#Q's thoughts #I hate this part of me #trauma#religious trauma#anger issues #tw. blood #tw. violence
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  • strongxsurvivors
    09.05.2021 - 8 hours ago
    bleed — find my muse injured. / closed meme starter for @diiatribes​ / jacob and kieran
    jacob wouldn’t consider himself a poor shot — and he wasn’t — but anyone would be surprised if they were suddenly shot at by someone who he’d had many successful trades with in the past. it was supposed to be a routine deal. but, it all fell apart within just a few minutes. he’d managed to clip the other and some of his men before he got out of there. unfortunately, that didn’t mean he was unscathed. he had a bullet buried into the flesh of his shoulder and leg, blood spilling from both wounds as he entered his apartment in a messy hurry. once inside, he practically collapsed onto the floor. bloodloss was beginning to take its toll as his skin grew pale and his strength failed him. “kieran,” he called out. he had never needed anyone before. but, now he needed the one person he could trust. “kieran, are you here? come here — i need you.”
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