Death Cw - Tumblr Posts
⚠⚠⚠CW:GORE⚠⚠⚠
Goretober day 28:Skewered
"Father...how could you do this to me??" Oh boy another new OC. His name is Firestorm. He's the son of the Fire Prince Ukara and the cloud peasant woman Drazi. For obvious reasons, an affair between a prince and a peasant is strictly forbidden, especially since the Prince was expected to marry one of the many royal suitors presented to him. Prince Ukara could not bring himself to marry any of the suitors over the woman he loved, and they attempted to run away together. However, the couple had been spotted together fleeing from the castle, and the royal guardsmen were catching up to them fast. Prince Ukara attempted to distract the guardsmen by transforming into a demon while Drazi fled on a grey pegasus. While Prince Ukara had transformed into a demon before, it was a very unstable form, and it would quickly consume his mind leading him to destroy his own kingdom and engulf it in flames. Drazi traveled far from the scene, and eventually traveled between planets and stars until she was sure she wasn't being followed. She birthed and raised her son, Firestorm, on a small farmstead on a small planet covered in various flora. Drazi taught her son everything he needed to know, and many things one wished they knew. Firestorm knew the tragic history of his father, and vowed to one day return him to his original form. He diligently prepared and studied many magics until he felt he was ready to take on this task. Once he was sure he had everything he needed, he left early morning in the shadow of an incoming storm. Since that fateful night of escape, Prince Ukara was now known as Fire Demon Ukara, and had a firm, tyrannical grip on his entire planet and many of those that surrounded it. When Firestorm arrived on the planet Ukara inhabited, he met a mantid warrior, whose family and village Ukara destroyed. The mantid warrior had trained his whole life to finally vanquish the demon and avenge his family. Firestorm and the mantid warrior befriended each other, and traveled together to Ukara's lair. When they arrived, the mantid warrior fought Ukara until he was weakened enough to be vulnerable to Firestorm's spell. Ukara was aware of the duo's plan, and faked his defeat, causing Firestorm to sing his spell too early. When the spell failed, Ukara impaled firestorm against the sides of his lair with one of his black claws. After Firestorm uttered his last words with all the strength he had left, he slumped over and became lifeless. Ukara had suddenly realized what he had done, and his demon form melted away to reveal his normal self. Ukara then cradled his son's corpse in his arms, and wept.
Remus Lupin, first father figure for Harry.
" sorry, i thought i saw you doing something suspicious. " — @valkyrd
the scent of dust & old books fill his scents, his posture tense as he rifles through shelves desperately. it's clear rhysand doesn't know exactly what he's looking for, couldn't even dare to ask for help — anything, that could give him answers: how to save feyre, how to save the babe. death looms over his shoulders, nearing closer & closer as her stomach swells. for once, he's rendered absolutely helpless. every healer has given him the same answers, & every time he had to try his hardest not to completely shatter in their midst.
all he has left is to search old texts — however few & far between they are. which lead him here, barely holding himself together, a swirl of shadows subconsciously looming around his figure as to spare the priestesses from seeing him like this. it's only his search hits a wall that the fog falters, hand running through his hair, so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed gwyn there. with an inhale, rhysand's gaze softens, head dipping down in greeting. he can be on edge anywhere else, but here ... here, he'll regain his composure, lips flickering into a polite smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes. " ah, not to worry. feyre has me searching for a romance novel, embarrassingly enough. perhaps you have some recommendations? " he'll admit: not his best lie.
the nightmare paints itself out across their bond, the panic & looming death loud enough to keep him awake. it's almost routine at this point, when his own dreams aren't engulfing him in terror — the clear crack of feyre's neck, the light fleeting from her eyes, the hopeless grief that consumed him — it's hers, leaving him tossing in his bed, wide awake until the birds start singing outside his window. only, this time, he can actually do something about it. he doesn't even bother to think it through, throwing on only pants, before he's crossing the threshold of feyre's bedroom.
star filled darkness surrounds them, his voice light, all attempts at bringing comfort to her. he holds her hair back as she empties out her stomach, waits it out until she seems to have steadied herself, before offering to leave. rhysand knows his face is the last she'd wish to see in this moment, doesn't allow him to fool himself otherwise — but before he can even finish it, the thought is quickly shut down. he hides the surprise in his face, offering a small nod, cementing that he won't be going anywhere.
his hand finds the one on his wrist, lifting it to his cheek, grounding her. " i'm here. " he ignores how his chest tightens, how his breathing changes, voicing the words into her palm. " you're safe ... " he doesn't know if he's saying that to remind her, or himself. " you're safe. i won't let anything like that happen to you again. "
@rhysie said: if you want me to go , i will . do you want me to leave ? (x)
i don't look up, my eyes glazed over as if i were still somewhere else. the cool, night breeze drifting through the open window was the only real confirmation i had that i was no longer encaged under the mountain. this time, the walls of my tiny cell were quickly closing in, adorned with the same sharp, spinning blades that had almost killed me during my second trial. i still couldn't read and i still couldn't pick the right lever, and my death was approaching faster than ever. it was easier to just give up, accept what i deserved. a part of my soul was resigned to my fate -- looked forward to it even, as the metal of the blades reflected the hideous monster i had become. agonizing reprieve was finally here, just inches away, when strong hands had jolted me awake. rhys's calm voice was all that steadied me as i panted and i retched.
once i was back sitting on the bed, my body curled into itself -- my arms wrapped around my legs, as if i were in danger of fully falling apart. afraid of what could happen if i were suddenly alone. before i knew what i was doing, my shaky hand reached out to grasp his wrist with surprising firmness. i shook my head, my voice low and hoarse, barely a whisper -- almost worried amarantha was just around the corner and could hear. " i don't want to be alone. " i don't let go, as i shut my eyes, remembering the nightmare, my features twisted with torment. " it felt so real. " in many ways, it had been.
the smell of blood is all around, bodies laying at his feet, scattered across the field. metal on metal clinks, cassian at the fore front, syphons blasting through the endless sea of hybern's men. rhys can feel his own magic draining, every lash of shadows becoming more & more tiresome. there's no time to think. he quickly draws his sword, saving whatever he has left for the worst that's still to come. ensanguined hands grip the hilt, slicing through the wall of fae storming him without hesitation. one by one, they fall — a mastered dance of death.
his gaze only rips away from his targets to glance to the area where feyre had been. where the bulk of hybern's army is now pushing in. & suddenly, his vision is momentarily blackened, his body seizing in sheer pain. a soldier took the opportunity to lodge a knife of ash dripping in faebane into his side, skewering flesh & sinew. rhysand barely has time to react, pure adrenaline taking over, as he rips the blade from himself. his body twists to use whatever strength he has left to shred the fae into ribbons. with a heave, he takes to the skies, the panic finally settling in as he scans the battlefield for his mate.
where are you?
it's sent into a void, echoing back to him. their bond gone. he doesn't allow himself to think the worst, tells himself it's just the faebane — even as he soars over where she once was ... where she was supposed to be.
feyre.
he tries again, only to be met with darkness on the other side. rage runs over his whole body, consuming his dread, as his wings fan furiously against the whipping winds. even with his powers exhausted, fleeting by the second, he contemplates raining hellfire onto the whole field, turning it into nothing but red mist. it isn't until her screams meet his ears, that relief finds him. he rips himself from the sky, landing where it had came from. frantically, he scans his surroundings: pure bloodshed & carnage. but amongst it all, there is feyre. his heart pounds, as he runs towards her, engulfing her in his arms. before he can speak, he summons whatever magic he has left to winnow them back to camp, to safety.
" what happened — " his voice breaks, fear finally catching up to him. he only pulls away from her to look her over, eyes catching on her wounded shoulder. crimson stained fingers meet her cheeks, grounding him, even as panic still lingers in his gaze. " i'm fine. i'm fine — what happened? are you okay? "
@rhysie said: (aftermath): after a battle/war, sender and receiver reunite thinking the other was dead.
it all happened at once — an ash arrow pierced my shoulder, embedded with faebane and nullifying my powers, just as the massive cloud of darkness across the clearing disappeared and the bond went taut. RHYS??? i tried screaming down the bond, only to be met with deafening silence. the blood draining from my face was not because of my throbbing shoulder, but the pure panic and dread welling up inside of me. i stared across the clearing, waiting — no, praying to see another wave of darkness engulf the sky and rain hell down on our enemies, but nothing ever erupted.
no, no, no. it couldn’t be. no.
paralyzed by crippling fear, i was barely able to dodge the next arrow flying towards me. a thunderous cry, i didn’t recognize as my own, ripped through me as i used my own bow to shoot my attacker down. breaking off the end of the arrow buried in my shoulder, i took off running as fast as i could towards the other side of the clearing — faster than i ever had before, too fast for anyone to catch me. past bloodied illyrians and hybern’s army alike. i needed him, we all did. there was no life for me without him. nothing else mattered if he — no, i wouldn’t allow myself to entertain that thought.
“ RHYS??? ” i screamed aloud this time, my heart thundering and face paling with desperation as i neared the edge of the clearing. my head began spinning and eyes started welling with tears as i searched frantically. no, no, no. the pit in my stomach and ache in my heart deepened, as a small part of me started to give up. i couldn’t find anyone i recognized amongst the hideous bloodshed. i fell to my knees — feeling the pain in my shoulder for the first time, that was still minuscule compared to the gaping wound that would be left by his absence. i waited for one of hybern’s soldiers to take advantage of my vulnerability and strike me down — please, it’d be less agonizing than this, but no one ever approached. only a lone, tall figure ran towards me, his stride still quick and powerful — a sob wracking through me as i recognized him through my flood of tears. he’s alive. he’s alive. scrambling to my feet, i crashed into him with force — my arms clinging to his neck, hands combing through his thick hair and cupping his cheek, making sure he was really there. “ i thought — ” i still couldn’t bare to say it out loud.
a muscle in his jaw twitches, light flickering out from his gaze as it falls away from her. he's played his part too well: a master of puppets, strings now being cut one by one, all for her. yet here she stands, with such hate in her eyes. he pretends her accusations ripple right off of him, unaffected — as if his chest didn't ache, as if he weren't full of panic. she wasn't supposed to be here. he was desperate to avoid just this. watched the blood drip & drain from the poor soul he'd unknowingly given up in place of feyre ... it weighs on him, the guilt & despair, knowing it's only a matter of time before feyre is next.
fingers run through night drenched hair, holding back his scowl, as he adjusts his sleeves. " ah. you really believed that? you're smarter than this, feyre. i'm working against her. " voice is run down, haunted. tired of the act. he moves to lean his back against the cool of the brick, dismissing the topic with a small wave. he can't bring himself to defend his actions, for greater good or not. not while clare's body is still limp & lifeless in the other room. hands slide into his pockets, that silver fire coming to light as they meet hers. a humorless laugh erupts from him, bitter & dark. " he could end this. he could get you out of here. " words bald. blunt, as if it were obvious. " tamlin is who she wants. "
i was achingly still as his hand brushed against my cheek, his touch unusually soft and careful, as he neared the budding bruises. staring up at him, i studied him closely, his expression cold and unreadable as he looked me over with renowned intention. it couldn’t possibly be concern i detected flickering somewhere deep within him, and yet he had tried to warn me in his own way. my safety, he had claimed to care about. a part of me had even wanted to believe him, to take him at his word, but everything that happened had made that impossible. tamlin had been right. rhysand was a manipulative monster— he had fed me just enough information to lead me down the rabbit hole that inevitably ended here.
“ you conveniently failed to mention the part about you working with her. that you’re together. ” the way she stroked his thigh with a proprietary grasp had made my stomach churn. they were both sick and twisted. i tried not to physically flinch as he mentioned tamlin — i had been trying not to think of him, of the fact that no one was coming for me. perhaps it was better this way. no one else would have to die for me. my brow knitted as i stared at his black coat for a hesitant moment, as if waiting for some anterior motive, before i reluctantly accepted it and wrapped it around my shoulders — a faint part of myself almost grateful for any level of comfort, no matter how discreet. my voice lost its bite as it lowered further, “ i’m glad he’s not here if this is what’s waiting for him. ”
@shadowsung : “ was it worth what it cost? ”
rhysand has had many nights to contemplate it: the safety of his family, velaris still unscathed. for the price of his freedom, his dignity. all of the carnage he'd witnessed, the suffering he had to inflict — packed into those fourty-nine years, were enough to haunt him for the rest of whatever he has left. what did it really cost? he's unable to even look himself in the mirror, without feeling utter disgust. there is a monster that stares back now, of shadows & bloodshed. he can still feel the ghost of her claws, reminded of them every time someone dares to utter his newfound nickname: amarantha's whore. after everything, every sacrifice, even when he's gone ... that is all he will be remembered as.
the rebelling illyrian camps were the first to whisper of his time under the mountain, that his brother's had heard. whatever bodies weren't turned into red mist, now laying at their feet. he had no desire to reminisce, even if he knew this weren't the last they would hear of it. not when they had so many bands to still deal with. yet he doesn't hesitate, features void of any expression, gaze set on the massacre. " yes. there was no other way. "
Which death would you experience?
The betrayal
You die at the hands of the person you love most. Maybe there are tears in their eyes as they drive the sword into your chest, maybe there is none. There are certainly tears in yours. Your mouth will open to ask 'why' only to spit blood instead. You will die never knowing if they loved you at all, wondering if you could've done something to prevent this, or if it was always going to end this way.
Tagged by;; @celestieu
YOU HAVE JUST DIED.
↳ what loot items do you drop?
Black Mask has dropped:
Twin Semi-Automatic Pistols, Sodom and Gomorrah.
Silver hip flask containing Macallan Whiskey (Gold)
Modified Swiss Army Knife.
A tube of paste from the now-defunct Janus Cosmetics.
American Express Centurion Card (Black)
Half-empty packet of luxury cigars.
Tagged by: @ratctchr Tagging: @arkhampsych, @defectivexfragmented, @elisethetraveller, @nervousleaderr, @oswald-pengu1n-cobblepot, @riddlethat, @sanguine-salvation and anybody who’d like to do this?
@gnarledbite found you HERE...
Well, tonight had been a real shitshow. What was supposed to have been a quick clean-out turned out to be more than Roman had bargained for, the group of thugs encroaching on his turf backed up with some real killer artillery. Definitely not some run-of-the-mill gang looking to pick up some parking meter change; it had been a trap and Roman charged in with all guns blazing only to end up against a firing squad himself. Kind of impressive actually, the simplicity of the scheme in which to draw Roman Sionis onto the street for an easy kill. Targeting his dealers and disrupting the flow of narcotics had been one thing but the joy of making an example out of the culprits, now they knew he'd find that irresistable. Roman would have smiled had he still had the strength. Scarface knew him better than he knew himself, the vicious little wooden bastard. However, Roman could only swallow, feeling oddly thirsty despite the strong taste of blood upon his tongue. He’s bleeding out fast and knows it, unable to repress a shudder at his impending demise. Then again it might have been his body beginning to convulse - already he could feel the cold, dark fingers of death reaching out for him like so many others had been claimed tonight. Speaking of Death, the bastard was already hovering over his corpse. It wasn't Scarface, much to his surprise. The odd, scratching voice that reached his dimming ears didn't carry the gloating words he'd been expecting, of luring him out onto his own turf that would now belong to him. Similarly the dark frame kneeling above his corpse wasn't chubby like the Ventriloquist Scarface had dubbed his puppet - this newcomer was thin and lanky, their silhouette so tall that overhead lights were blotted out, fanning behind the top of their head like some sort of nightmarish halo. He'd never put much stock into religion but in that moment, it looked like an awful lot like the Angel of Death had come for him. Or so he'd thought. Death didn't ask how badly you wanted to live, saying that your luck hadn't run out just yet. Roman swallowed again, coughing wetly as he struggled to get a better look at his saviour's face. It wasn't Batman or any of the other morons stupid enough to try saving the crime lord's life and with a bullet lodged in his lung, even the Bat wouldn't have been able to perform any miracles at this point. Well, fuck. What else did he have to lose? Roman figured the other person wasn't asking out of the goodness of their little heart, that payment would be involved one way or the other but right now he didn't have the time or energy to lay out the terms of any contracts, the fires of his hot blood now growing cold and dim. "... F-fuck it. Do what you c-can, n' I'll m-make it w-w-worth your w-while..." Roman spits, his words trailing off as a violent hacking fit overcomes him. The crime lord sighs as his strength gives out, jaw going slack as he fights bitterly to maintain eye contact until his last breath. He wasn't ready to leave this life yet, especially not by the hand of some two-bit chump he didn't even know the name of.
𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙨: Murad III
Murad III, not satisfied with the girls in the harem, engaged in relationships with women from outside as well. For this reason it was claimed he had 100-130 children while he was alive, most of them dying before him; at his death, he had 49 children, 19 sons and 30 daughters. Moreover, it was stated that seven concubines who were pregnant with his children were thrown in the sea at his death. When Murad died, his concubines and consorts were sent to the Old Palace and were married to statesmen, with a ratio of two concubines per statesman. — M. Çağatay Uluçay, Padişahların Kadınları ve Kızları
So, why is one person’s purpose greater than another’s? Why are some people struck down while others live? Why are you, Rue Bennett, sitting here when other 17-year-olds who are better, who are kinder, who are more respectful than you aren’t sitting here, I don’t know. That’s the mystery. But here we are. So what now?
will be open about this but being queer and black and an artist is so exhausting sometimes...it sucks that so many others who are like me(I just got lucky) kinda fly under the radar either because people don't notice them for being like me or black creatives do so on purpose to avoid racism/anti blackness.
it feels lonely that I don't see many characters like me let alone ones that aren't pushed to the side so I gotta create my own. it hurts that being myself opens me up to queerphobia *AND* racism.
please love queer black people, artists and creatives alike, and real heavy talk, we kinda don't live that long...
we wont forget
We mourn. We remember. We stand with the LGBTQ community against hate and violence.
Image is tweet from @ coribush which reads:
“I testified in front of Congress about nearly losing both of my children during childbirth because doctors didn’t believe my pain.
Republicans got more upset about me using gender-inclusive language in my testimony than my babies nearly dying.
Racism and transphobia in America.”
End image description
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I’m so tired of Republicans. I’m so tired of their hate and small mindedness and the fact that they complain about all the “liberal snowflakes” who can’t handle anything and bemoan the end of “free speech” because of “cancel culture” but then pull THIS SHIT.
Image is tweet from @ coribush which reads:
“I testified in front of Congress about nearly losing both of my children during childbirth because doctors didn’t believe my pain.
Republicans got more upset about me using gender-inclusive language in my testimony than my babies nearly dying.
Racism and transphobia in America.”
End image description
________
I’m so tired of Republicans. I’m so tired of their hate and small mindedness and the fact that they complain about all the “liberal snowflakes” who can’t handle anything and bemoan the end of “free speech” because of “cancel culture” but then pull THIS SHIT.
the inexplainable urge to convince myself i’m either a zombie or vampire and that i was turned in 2017/18 towards the end of the trauma or smth
like i’m planning an entire story for how i could’ve become a vampire and the zombie thing was the idea that i died sometime after the trauma and came back as a zombie to live for as long as i should have for whatever reason
i dunno
Does anybody else get legitimately worried when a fanfic author who was updating regularly just suddenly disappears with no warning? Like, is it a serious case of writers block or are they in a coma? Did they just up and quit? Was it me? Were my reviews not good enough?! Did they die 😳?! Were they kidnapped? Do I need to file a missing persons report? Excuse me officer, there’s been 13 weekly updates and now nothing for months! Find them! What’s their name?! Name!? I don’t know their name but they write 3k+ chapters and I need them safe and back in my life!