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#tw: self mutilation

moriiartist · 2 years

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(CALL THE) NUMBER OF THE BEAST

Masterlist

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PAIRING: Demon!Tangotek x GN!Reader

SUMMARY: You thought it was a joke. A goof. A funny ‘ha-ha’ story to tell to your friends later- how you tried to summon a demon. However, things haven’t exactly gone to plan, and now you’re stuck trying to send a resident to hell back to where he belongs. Too bad that he’s decided that’s wherever you are.

WARNINGS: Language, body horror, demonic imagery, blood and injury, self-mutilation/self-harm (as part of a ritual), fire, implied/referenced murder

A/N: Hey there demon(s), it’s me, ya boi. I lowkey may have stayed up past midnight to get this out on time, but we’re not going to talk about that!!! I had a lot of fun with this fic, and I really think it shows. Enjoy!

The chalk slid smoothly over the kitchen tile, the soft, rasping sound that it elicited filling your ears. Dust as black as pitch already coated your palms, the pads of your fingers, your skin- smeared shapes like the handprints of an absent-minded artist.

An intricate pattern of concentric circles, squares, and lines spread like flowering nightshade from where you were, kneeling in the center. They, too, were as dark as if they had been burnt into the ceramic; the loose powder surrounding the thick, confident marks looked like ashes.

Sitting back on your heels, you inspected your work with a critical eye. A hundred bucks was a hundred bucks, and if you didn’t at least try one of the spells in the old, creepy grimoire you’d found in the attic, you weren’t getting a cent.

Actually, in that case, you’d be getting negative cents.

You’d like to think that you were a reasonable, well-adjusted person. You’d finished college and gotten your degree, you worked a six hour shift at the local bookstore, and you put in an effort to keep in touch with your friends.

Which is why summoning a demon was somewhat uncharacteristic for you.

Your college roommate had invited you to hang out at their house last weekend, and of course, you’d accepted. They, a couple of their buddies they’d brought along, and you started drinking. You got buzzed. Then, naturally, you all started talking about random shit.

Of course, that random shit included all the weird and probably-cursed cult paraphernalia that had been left behind in the house that you’d moved into.

Your roommate had dared you, words almost slurred beyond comprehension, to try out one of the spells you’d found. At this point, you were nearing the point where you were starting to black out; your brain was starting to shut down, but your body got all ‘eye of the tiger’ and soldiered on.

So, like a dumbass, you agreed.

And bet one hundred dollars on it.

(To be fair, you never said you were smart. Just reasonable.)

You honestly felt quite silly standing there in the middle of your kitchen, staring down at the dark symbols you’d copied with a painstaking hand. Although you’d fully committed to winning this stupid bet after five days of twiddling your thumbs, you’d underestimated the amount of time it’d taken to get through the ritual. You’d started at around seven thirty, and it was now almost one.

In your defense, the book wasn’t easy to read. Most of it was in some strange, latin-like script that hurt your eyes if you stared at it too long; words slithered across the paper like rattlesnakes if your gaze unfocused for even a moment.

Luckily for you, however, you had ignored the ominous thoughts in the back of your head that begged you to stop now before it was too late and managed to reach the final step in your handy dandy ‘how-to-summon-a-demon-for-dummies’ guide. Hooray!

All that was left was the sacrifice.

Stepping back, careful not the smudge the chalk lines that were already starting to flake from the combined force of the AC system and the vibrations of your footfalls, you crossed over the salt circle that enclosed the whole shabang.

Tea candles- those little ones that you buy in bulk to put in Jack O’ Lanterns- flickered ominously, crackling and spitting not dissimilarly from oil in a pan. You had dimmed all sources of light beyond those candles and the nightlights plugged into the wall, so the flames cast eerie, dancing shadows all over the room.

You grimaced, regarding the kitchen knife placed on the counter next to you. The blade gleamed red and gold, flashing as you delicately picked it up.

The sight of blood wasn’t new to you, nor did it freak you out, but drawing it from yourself was an entirely different matter from the times you’d fallen and scraped your knees as a kid. It was different when you were doing it- when you were drawing blood from yourself intentionally. It made something underneath your skin writhe with discomfort.

Steadying your grip as much as you could, and ignoring the slight tremor in your hand, you pressed the point of the knife to the meat of your thigh. You’d read somewhere that the fattier parts of the body the better regarding pain- and you weren’t about to stab yourself in the ass.

You gritted your teeth as you drew the blade across your skin. A part of you wanted to shut your eyes and look away, but the more logical side commanded you to pay attention despite the sharp, stinging pain.

Despite the shallowness of the cut, it was already bleeding profusely. Rivulets of thick, coppery liquid already ran down your leg, dripping down onto the flat of your bare foot. In the low light, your blood almost looked as black as the chalk still coating your palms. The air filled with the faint scent of metal and salt.

Hastily, you set the knife down with a clatter. Pressing your fingers to the wound, you hissed at the sparks of pain that erupted from the contact. Blood mixed with the powder on your hands, coagulating into a sludgey mess that clung to your skin.

You flicked some of the mixture off of your hands and into the circle, pursing your lips to soften your disgust. The book had never specified how much of your blood should be used, and although you really wanted to win the bet, you weren’t about to sacrifice a pint to a ritual that might not even work.

A mix between a groan and a gag tore itself from your throat as you pressed a palm flat to your wound, watching more blood begin to drip from the gaps in between your fingers. With your other hand, you reached blindly for the tape and gauze that you’d set aside specifically for this moment, tearing a thick wad of the stuff off with your teeth and messily taping it to your thigh.

It wasn’t really sanitary, but then again, it wasn’t as if anything else you were doing was.

Fumbling with the book, you winced as you smeared chalky blood over the pages- staining the fragile paper with black-grey-red fingerprints. You flipped through the pages somewhat frantically, muttering curses to yourself as pain once again twinged through your leg. After a tense moment, you exclaimed softly to yourself.

You’d highlighted the incantation to summon the demon, and the garish yellow-green pigment now glared up at you from the page. The book must’ve been made with parchment or something, because the color was soft and fragmented at the edges unlike the clean, hard cut of highlighter on printer paper.

Clearing your throat, you ignored the way the letters slipped in and out of focus, mirage-like, and began to read.

“Primo ad nonum daemones,” you incanted, nearly choking as the syllables ran like water from your mouth, “vocationem meam audite et attendite.”

Immediately, the guttering tea candles stilled. Every dancing flame went straight and tall, burning white-hot. The dimmed lights buzzed, and an electrical hum seemed to fill the air. Your stomach swooped- the same sensation that one would beget standing at a precipice.

“ Sanguis meus gratis inferis datus est, et mihi paciscor.”

When did it get so cold? Your skin was chilled and damp with sweat, breath stuttering in your lungs from the shiver that wracked your body. The low hum that filled the back of your mind seemed to intensify. Static was all you could hear.

The voices whispering in your ear shrieked soundlessly, then disappeared.

“Caro mea velamen tollit, ossa mea signaculum portant, et anima- et anima mea ligat.”

Each word that escaped from your mouth burned your tongue like a firebrand, each more painful than the last. You felt like you were choking on your own blood as you spat out the last syllable, shuddering uncontrollably.

At some point, you had dropped the book. It was burning, delicate paper and dark leather cover flaking into ashes.

You couldn’t move, could hardly breathe; With each passing moment the pressure inside your chest increased, like someone had gripped your heart and decided to squeeze. Distantly, you recognized that your limbs were trembling.

“Quod fit non recipi.”

The lights cut out, and, like a great exhale of breath, the candles extinguished.

Shit.

For a few heartbeats, the only sound was your ragged breathing. Then, something shuffled in front of you. Something hard and sharp slid across the tile, sounding an awful lot like the knife still resting on the countertop.

Freezing, you felt your heart began to beat faster, hammering at your ribcage. Even your chest stilled, and you swallowed thickly to suppress a whimper. It smelled like a nauseating mix of sulfur and your own blood.

“Well,” a masculine voice murmured, tone colored with a mixture of surprise and amusement. “It’s certainly been a long time since someone’s had the guts to summon me.”

In a blink, the lights were reignited. However, instead of the warm, yellow hues that you’d been familiar with your entire life, they were blue. The tall, still flames that rose from the candlewick looked like they’d been carved out of luminous blue ice, hardly seeming to move.

You’d be more awed by it if you weren’t distracted by the dark figure standing in the center of the ritual circle.

It wasn’t very big- only a few inches taller than you, if you had to guess, and shaped like a person; two legs, two arms, and a head attached to a torso. However, everything about it was off.

It’s arms were too long, fingers tipped with glossy claws brushing the sides of its knees. It’s legs were longer at the ankle, forcing it to balance on its toes. It’s proportions were too different- like a poorly made puppet.

Every movement, from the tilt of its head to the roll of its shoulders was too smooth, too easy. Like there was no muscles, no internal structure to add resistance. You couldn’t contain your gasp as it’s neck made a horrendous, wet crack, spinning well past the limits of the human body to survey the room.

A long, black tail snaked out from behind it, pooling to the floor. Shards of what looked like volcanic glass were embedded in its forehead in the mockery of a crown, dripping with black and red blood. Similar pieces were buried in its spine and shoulders, bristling like spines.

“Shit,” you murmured.

With another snap, its head spun back around.

The demon’s face was pale, almost bloodless, and you could see the spiderweb of blue-black veins that ran below the surface. Pitch black holes were nested where its eyes should be, white, cat-like pupils narrowed in on your trembling figure. It grinned as you made eye contact, running a blue tongue over- what the hell, how many teeth does this guy have?!

If you squinted, it would almost look human. A spiky, aggressively emo human- but a human nonetheless. However, since you had somewhat of a sense of self-preservation, you weren’t doing that. No- you were wide-eyed and gaping, glued to the floor as you stared at the monstrosity before you.

“Excuse me,” it chirped, looking far too smug for its friendly tone to be genuine. “You summoned me, didn’t you?”

You blinked down at what remained of the grimoire. “... I guess.”

It grinned brilliantly, still with too many needle-like teeth. “Excellent!”

Then, it stepped over the salt circle. You hardly had time to squawk before it had seized your chin in its hands, turning your face this way and that as it inspected you. You would’ve pulled away, but the brush of the demon’s talons against the delicate skin of your throat was enough to have you falling still.

Every piece of media about demons you’d ever seen were different, but one thing seemed to largely hold the same: they couldn’t cross salt circles. It was one of the only effective ways to trap them, besides silver mirrors and maybe not summoning them in the first place- at least, according to what you’ve seen.

And then this asshole goes and dropkicks that knowledge into the fucking sun.

“Oooh,” it hummed, gaze calculating. “You’re a looker, aren’t you.”

It glanced down towards the hasty bandage job you’d done, a sly smile playing on its lips. It reached down, either oblivious to or ambivalent to your protests, and ran a finger through the still-drying blood.

Licking its hand clean, it’s pupils flared, growing to the size of nickels. “Tasty, too.”

Regaining your nerve, you shoved it away, stumbling back. It watched you go with an almost disappointed (?) expression, folding its arms across its chest. You finally stopped when your back hit a wall, refusing to take your gaze off the creature in front of you.

“... What the hell,” you managed to croak out. Was this shock? Were you going into shock?

The demon smirked. You were really starting to hate it when it did that.

“Indeed.”

Picking up the knife you’d set on the counter, it toyed with blade, whetting it against its talons. It paused, looking at it contemplatively, before rolling its eyes back to you.

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t a question.

Hesitantly, you nodded. While you were seriously regretting your decision to summon a demon of all things instead of, like, one of the easier spells, you didn’t see a point in lying to it about that. As far as you knew, magic wasn’t real up until two minutes ago.

The demon sighed. “Alrighty then. I thought you would be- it makes more sense.

“So, this is how this thing works. You ask for something- I don’t know, you want some guy who crossed you to mysteriously disappear, endless riches, fame and beauty- and I make it happen!”

It’s eyes gleamed red. “For a price, of course.”

Despite your fear, you deadpanned. The last thing you were doing was signing a deal with the devil. “No, thank you.”

“You don’t have a choice,” it countered. “You summoned me. I can’t return back to my realm until our, ah… business is complete.”

You threw your hands up. “Well, I’m not selling my soul or whatever else a creature of darkness would want!”

The demon pouted, looking almost offended for a moment. You didn’t trust it. “Hey- rude. Depending on the boon, I would only ask for, like, your childhood memories. Maybe your firstborn?”

“This is not helping your argument,” you sighed, glaring at it hollowly. It stared at you, grin melting until its expression was blank and unreadable. It’s tail lashed, slashing bluntly at the floor.

“If you don’t make a deal, I’m stuck here with you,” it cautioned once more.

You bared your teeth at it. “Fuck. You.”

It blinked, and for a moment you thought that this was it, you were going to die. Your last moments would be spent with a creature that wanted your soul for nefarious purposes, you would never get those hundred dollars-

The demon laughed, nearly doubling in on itself from the force. After a few seconds it looked back up at you, wiping a tear from its eye that sizzed as it hit the floor. In a blink, it was in front of you, staring at you with blown pupils.

“You’re delightful,” it whispered, sounding awfully delighted itself. “This is going to be so much fun.”

You blanched as it took your hands in its own, flipping over one to press a sharp kiss to your inner wrist. The demon grinned up at you, sly.

“Good luck getting rid of me now, angel. I’ll have your soul whether you want me two or not.”

It stood up, lengthening the spine until it towered over you. Its pupils burned in the shadows cast across its face, exactly the same as the flames at its back.

“The name’s Tango, sweetheart. You won’t forget it.”

There’s no turning back now for you- you were his. Tango would make sure of it.

@blufr0st @itsonlydana @amearla @bapthadapper @redactedsouls @sina-the-idiot @icarusthefoolish @blockyshieldmaiden

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

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Whump Prompt #1059

Submitted by Anon - Thanks!

CW: Cannibalism

Whumper feeds Whumpee a dinner that consists of Whumper's body parts (Like maybe a leg) and a drink that has Whumper's decaying finger in it. The Whumper has so far presented themselves as trustworthy so the cannibalism comes as a shock to Whumpee and Caretaker. Why would Whumper mutilate themselves? Are they trying to get revenge on Whumpee or someone close to them? (Honestly that's the only reason I can think of that any sane person would do that)

#JESUS CHRIST #this is giving Titus Andronicus vibes #ideas #writing #prompts #whump #mutilation #cannibalism #tw: cannibalism #tw: self harm #tw: self mutilation #revenge #psychological whump

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wutheringmights · 2 years

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I’m finally admitting to myself that I’m not going to use this concept in CTB, so I’m putting it out into the world so that it can find a home somewhere else. Warning that it’s fairly dark and involves injury and possible self-mutilation.

Here it is:

There has to be some versions of Hyrule where the cycle of light and dark is down by rote. Like, everyone knows to expect to have a hero with the mark of the Triforce.

We know from Time that if you lose the Triforce, your gold mark becomes a fairly normal looking scar.

All that considered, there’s a possibility of a hero out there who needed to convince others that he was the holder of the Hero’s Spirit and the past holder of the Triforce of Courage.

Some well or ill meaning friend of the hero could forcefully cut into the back of the hero’s hand and give him a scar in the shape of the Triforce so that his hero status was more convincing.

Or worse, the hero could decide that he needed a way to better convince others he was a hero. And in an act of desperation, he gave the scar to himself.

Do with this what you will.

#i've known for a while that I wasn't going to use this idea but still #it's dark but i like it so much #tw: injury #tw: self mutilation #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu ctb #bc obviously i was going to use this for warriors and spirit #me rambling

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mybeautifulbeautifuleternal · 2 years

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“Relax sweetheart. This’ll be all over soon,” a crooning voice was soothing you, doing its best to lull you back to sleep. The tone was calm and the cadence reassuring. Your eyes slid closed again.

The scent of burning flesh hit your nose before you registered the searing pain. It flashed across your eyes, tearing tears from them. Your scream echoed fiercely around the small room you found yourself in.

“Stop! Stop! You’re ruining it! You always ruin everything!” The Unsub’s voice was rising into a screech to match your scream, frantically pacing back and forth across your line of sight.

As his words finally reached your understanding, you did your best to bite back your panic and pain. He had been calm and almost comforting before he had branded you like cattle, so it was probably in your best interest to fall in line with whatever disturbed fantasy he had.

It took a couple of minutes and you were sure you almost bit off your tongue in your attempt, but you finally managed to silence yourself. Tears still streaming down your face and an uncontrollable tremor shook you in your binds, but you were silent. Eventually, the Unsub noticed it was only his voice echoing now and abruptly shut his mouth.

“Thank you, sweetheart. You see? It wasn’t that bad! We had to do it, you know. It needed to be done,” he continued to voice encouragements and pacifying words, trying ineffectively to explain and describe what he did and why. You let his words enter one ear and exit the other, trying to turn your head and see past the blur of tears to see where you were.

While you trusted your team more than anything, you weren’t one to sit on your ass and not try to save yourself.

@themerrywhumpofmay

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void-ink-studios · 2 years

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Smaugust Day 4: Shard

I can’t say I’ve seen a more miserable wretch of a creature than the Shard Scaled. Born naturally scaleless, they’ve taken to embedding shards of metal into their hide for protection. Even their wings have been replaced with fantastical glass. I’m not sure whether to pity them or fear them more.

[Prompt List]

[Previous] - Day 3: Storm

[Next] - Day 5: Sleep

#smaugust #smaugsut 2022 #smaugust day 4 #digital art #my art #dragon #tw: blood #tw: mutilation #tw: self mutilation

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woppy-my-beloved · 2 years

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Trigger Warning: Blood, knife, self mutilation.

Damon Herriman as Romeo in Flesh And Bone (2015)

Season 1 Episode 8 (Part 4)

#tw #tw: blood #tw: knife #tw: self mutilation #trigger #trigger warning #trigger warning blood #trigger warning knife #trigger warning self mutilation #Damon Herriman #Flesh and Bone #Romeo

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millenniumgod · 2 years

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He feels the sun shine through the window to soak into his skin, feels the breeze flow past the curtains, past him, through the hall. There's the lingering scent of fresh laundry upon it, warm and inviting. It's almost cathartic.

He hears only the birds and a couple of cars now. It's just early enough for there to still be a hush over the city.

These are all things he's experienced before, but not like this. Not with his own skin, his own ears. It's always been through someone else's. Through Ryou's, mostly. It's been three thousand years since he's felt his own senses.

When he looks into the mirror, the face that greets him is both familiar and different. Close to his original human self, but with a little bit of his host mixed in. He's not as coarse, not as worn. His scars have disappeared, leaving him as bare as a newborn.

It's... foreign. He almost likes it, but it's not quite him. The feeling begins to eat at him as memories of looking at his reflection in the river begin to resurface. He can recall seeing his face in pitchers and bowls full of water, fingers trailing along his right eye where the scar tissue was.

No, this isn't right. He's been granted a second chance, he should be grateful - but he's never really been the type. He keeps staring until disgust begins to creep in. He has to physically hold on to the countertop to keep himself from punching the glass.

Bakura - no longer the spirit, the entity - reaches down into the cabinet under the sink, where he's had a blade hidden for a couple of years. Following this, he produces a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. Seems moot, but he knows what questions he'll be asked after he's done and it will be funnier if he can honestly say that he'd taken at least a little precaution.

They sit on the sink counter for a moment while he debates with himself. Luckily for him, it doesn't matter which side wins.

He pops open the cap of the bottle, then flips open the knife. He douses the blade with alcohol and takes a breath in, eyes flicking back up to his awful reflection. The shadows under his eyes seem deeper - darker.

His skin stings, it burns, as he drags the blade across it. This pain, he remembers like it was yesterday. Blood streams down over his brow, over his eye, now closed. He continues to cut despite the hurt, he grits his teeth, and tries to stifle the yell that threatens to bubble out of him.

Flashes of his past life mix with his vision: scenes of guards standing over him, angry nobles threatening him. Finally, he sees the moment he just about lost his eye. Another guard approached him with a sharp rock, began carving into his face as he struggled.

He’s breathing heavy when everything clears up, the memories fade out and reality fades in. He looks into the mirror again, half of his vision red, and he lets out a primal yowl. Gods, it hurts. The pain - something he normally enjoys - is nearly unbearable.

His hand shakes as he presses it to the glass. It takes a moment to realize that it’s also red, but not because of his eyes. He leaves wet streaks wherever his fingers touch.

Oh, he’s losing a lot more than he thought he would, actually.

His senses begin to swim. The room sways back and forth as he stands, and he has to grab onto the sink to keep himself from falling. He feels faint, woozy.

After a second, he has to take a knee. After another, his vision goes from half red to straight black.

The last thing he feels is the cold tile on his cheek.

#AUGURY'S AUSPICE ; EX DIRIS #VERSION ; ASTROIEDES #BLACKEST MAGIC ; UNSAFE #TW: SELF MUTILATION #TW: SELF HARM #this is so fuckin long lmao whoops #so astroides is the verse where bakura has his own body and that's what i've been setting up for these last few self-paras #just because i'd like to have it #main verse is still the boys in ryou's body tho so that's what you'll get unless you specify you want this one *dabs*

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ritasalami · 6 months

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Another Fromsoft boss battle featuring Magirecos underrated OST. Today we´ve got Godrick from Elden Ring (convergence mod) with the OST "New Era" aka one of the Neo-Magius battle themes.

A welcome change as I´m not a huge of fan of the ER OST. CONTENT WARNING: Implied self mutilation in the mid battle cutscene.

#tw: self mutilation #cw self mutilation #magireco #magia record #elden ring #my gameplay #magireco ost

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hannah-the-small · 6 months

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.... maybe if he can find a blade he can give himself a big ol' scar down his face so he looks less like her.

#tw: self harm #GritttheImp #tw: self mutilation #hazbin!verse

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peterpettigrewproject · 11 months

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Make it [make sense] Monday

Welcome to a new week, love’s!

This one’s a little chunky. But it’s an important Peter moment:

TW: violence, mutilation, self mutilation, amputation, sacrifice

Oof, how do you feel? What a chapter, truly. He really did that.

As usual, a reminder on what Make it [make sense] Monday is below the line.

We’re taking things that are true, and exploring them from Peter's point of view.

Each Monday we have a different section of dialogue from the books to use as a prompt for our Take the Tag initiative.

Use the prompt however you would like. You can create something with it, just discuss it, tell it from Peter’s perspective, or even just… make it make sense.

Examples of the kinds of works we’re hoping to inspire with these prompts:

- A character study (any creative format): this can be as short as a poem or even just a head canon based on the prompt.

- A drabble: Pretty standard to see 100-500 words for a drabble, but there is technically no maximum WC.

- A dialogue (ie. The kind of short posts you usually see on Tumblr)

- Comic, art, mood board or a video edit.

- Playlist

Don’t forget to tag Peter Pettigrew, Peter Pettigrew Project and Make it Make Sense Monday.

#peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew project #make it monday #wormtail #take the tag #tw: violence #tw: mutilation #tw: self mutilation #tw: amputation #tw: sacrifice

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nvhz · 3 months

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i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh i need to sh

and i need it now

#sh cvt #depressing shit #tw sh implied #tw s3lf harm #tw self destructive behavior #self h@rm #self h@te #s3lfharmm #s3lf harn #s3lf mutilation

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thetinydino03 · 4 months

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when my dog keeps sniffing the cvts im hiding under my clothes