Forwarded from Чья берлога? (Firnel'LL |??|!)
|| ➳ ᱦꤌ𑀱ꤍꤖꤕ꤅!Ꮐriᴀn]╠
𐋏Σ ᱦ𐌀𐍃 𐌽Σ𐠨Σ𐍂
𐌑Σ𐌀𐌽𐌕 𐌕𐌏 𐌱Σ 𐌕𐋏Σ𐍂Σ.
𐋏Σ ᱦ𐌀𐍃 𐌏𐌽𑀉𐍅 Σ𐠨Σ𐍂
𐌑Σ𐌀𐌽𐌕 𐌕𐌏 ᱦ𐌀𐌕𑀗𐋏.
━━━━━━ ◦ くコ:彡 ◦ ━━━━━━
С редакцией помогал мой мега бро коврик, так чт ему мега спасибо
#коспы
Смертьь. Косп старый, сделан букв в начале прошлого года(ес не раньше), так что не это
Ртт?
𐋏Σ ᱦ𐌀𐍃 𐌽Σ𐠨Σ𐍂
𐌑Σ𐌀𐌽𐌕 𐌕𐌏 𐌱Σ 𐌕𐋏Σ𐍂Σ.
𐋏Σ ᱦ𐌀𐍃 𐌏𐌽𑀉𐍅 Σ𐠨Σ𐍂
𐌑Σ𐌀𐌽𐌕 𐌕𐌏 ᱦ𐌀𐌕𑀗𐋏.
━━━━━━ ◦ くコ:彡 ◦ ━━━━━━
С редакцией помогал мой мега бро коврик, так чт ему мега спасибо
#коспы
Ртт?
🎉1
Ребят никому коммишки не интересны случайно?? Оплата после скетча, мне срочно надо 9т до середины августа)0
Народ, вам бы было интересно прочитать хоррорный очерк который я написала? Он на англе
🔥3
Tw: mild gore
I dive the knife in and cut. I'm no doctor, but it looks neat and clean to me. Then I tilt the knife to the side and hear a gravely scraping sound. Pain rushes through my body, and for a moment I'm sure I'm going to throw up, but it leaves me just as quick. I repeat the motion. The feeling is duller this time, but the item under my knife doesn't budge. The cut needs to be wider, I think, and move my weapon. First up, then down. The blood starts oozing from it with more intensity, rolling down my side and onto the white towel folded next to me. Satisfied with the size of the incision, I center the knife and twist. It misses. I start to feel lightheaded. Another twist. Scrape. But with the sound I feel a tugging in my muscle. It’s lodged there well, and probably has tissue growing around it. But it's a good sign, that means I finally have some leverage on it. I repeat the motion, putting more force into it, and it sounds as if wet strings are popping, stretched to the point of no return. First cold, then hot, then ache shoots to my back and shoulder and I have to let a shiver settle before I do something else. I angle the knife and try to position it almost parallel to my torso to get it under, and my ribs sing out under the torture. I start to pant as I use both of my hands to try and lodge it in, even though my left hand doesn't want to listen anymore. The weapon shivers and refuses to go in. Once I take it out, I can see a small sliver of yellowish liquid at the tip of the blade. I taste bile in my mouth. Should I make the cut wider too? After a short breath I cut across the first bloody opening, forming an X on my pale skin. Then I dive the cutting edge in and try to cut around the intruder in my body. The edges are ragged and uneven. My hands are not steady enough, the knife slips and dives between my ribs. I give out an unwilling sob and screw my eyes tight, praying it didn't damage my lung. Breathing was painful from the very beginning, so I wouldn't be able to tell. Slowly, carefully, I take my weapon out, and it hurts worse than when it came in. My vision blacks out for a moment. My left hand is basically useless now, it’s numb and I feel tiny needles running under the skin, the fingers won't even grasp the handle. With my consciousness getting blurry, I realize that I'm running out of time. If I don't get it out now, I won't have another chance. I slap myself on the face, hard, and the world somewhat comes back into focus. I can smell something in the air that I can't quite place. Maybe it's my sweat, or the rot under my skin. But there's something more to it, like wet stone or a damp basement, so subtle it’s making me annoyed that I can't figure it out. I have to continue. I tilt the knife to the side once more, trying to get under it, and wiggle it lightly. That works surprisingly better than the blunt pressure I tried before. I feel it slowly come loose, tissue releasing its prisoner. I work it for what feels like an hour before I'm able to twist the knife, and it slides out with a wet squelch, hanging out of my body on a single bloody thread. I drop the knife to the floor and grab it, tugging it free with little resistance. It's hard to focus, but it looks so familiar. Something small and sharp, glistening with blood and pus, making it hard to make out. My vision darkens.
Hope someone finds me before I bleed out.
I dive the knife in and cut. I'm no doctor, but it looks neat and clean to me. Then I tilt the knife to the side and hear a gravely scraping sound. Pain rushes through my body, and for a moment I'm sure I'm going to throw up, but it leaves me just as quick. I repeat the motion. The feeling is duller this time, but the item under my knife doesn't budge. The cut needs to be wider, I think, and move my weapon. First up, then down. The blood starts oozing from it with more intensity, rolling down my side and onto the white towel folded next to me. Satisfied with the size of the incision, I center the knife and twist. It misses. I start to feel lightheaded. Another twist. Scrape. But with the sound I feel a tugging in my muscle. It’s lodged there well, and probably has tissue growing around it. But it's a good sign, that means I finally have some leverage on it. I repeat the motion, putting more force into it, and it sounds as if wet strings are popping, stretched to the point of no return. First cold, then hot, then ache shoots to my back and shoulder and I have to let a shiver settle before I do something else. I angle the knife and try to position it almost parallel to my torso to get it under, and my ribs sing out under the torture. I start to pant as I use both of my hands to try and lodge it in, even though my left hand doesn't want to listen anymore. The weapon shivers and refuses to go in. Once I take it out, I can see a small sliver of yellowish liquid at the tip of the blade. I taste bile in my mouth. Should I make the cut wider too? After a short breath I cut across the first bloody opening, forming an X on my pale skin. Then I dive the cutting edge in and try to cut around the intruder in my body. The edges are ragged and uneven. My hands are not steady enough, the knife slips and dives between my ribs. I give out an unwilling sob and screw my eyes tight, praying it didn't damage my lung. Breathing was painful from the very beginning, so I wouldn't be able to tell. Slowly, carefully, I take my weapon out, and it hurts worse than when it came in. My vision blacks out for a moment. My left hand is basically useless now, it’s numb and I feel tiny needles running under the skin, the fingers won't even grasp the handle. With my consciousness getting blurry, I realize that I'm running out of time. If I don't get it out now, I won't have another chance. I slap myself on the face, hard, and the world somewhat comes back into focus. I can smell something in the air that I can't quite place. Maybe it's my sweat, or the rot under my skin. But there's something more to it, like wet stone or a damp basement, so subtle it’s making me annoyed that I can't figure it out. I have to continue. I tilt the knife to the side once more, trying to get under it, and wiggle it lightly. That works surprisingly better than the blunt pressure I tried before. I feel it slowly come loose, tissue releasing its prisoner. I work it for what feels like an hour before I'm able to twist the knife, and it slides out with a wet squelch, hanging out of my body on a single bloody thread. I drop the knife to the floor and grab it, tugging it free with little resistance. It's hard to focus, but it looks so familiar. Something small and sharp, glistening with blood and pus, making it hard to make out. My vision darkens.
Hope someone finds me before I bleed out.
❤2🔥2🥰2
Народ, сделать отдельный канал с нсфв рисунками или постить вам сюда?