#mtl7dob

[papabigtoes]

Muschty Monday’s Belated Fleesh Frideey

wanted to draw some fleshy boys based on a dope MTL x Project Zomboid rp with @secret-tacos !

[doomstxr]

hehehe tumblr doesn’t know about my ghost robot knubbler AU… YET 😈 (I’ve only ever posted it on insta I think BUUT I LOVE ITTTT)

[secret-tacos]

introducing a new, exciting, BRUTAL event. prompt descriptions under the read more!

3/9: Ritual slaughter. Selflessness. Destroying something or somebody dear for the sake of something greater. Walk into firelight and give it all tonight. Oh the keeper wields his scythe, oh you gotta kiss this life goodbye. (sacrifice, emotional or physical)

3/10: Kill for the thrill. Chop into pieces, stuff in garbage bag, dump garbage bag in river. The river is quiet and will keep all your secrets. Warp the body and soul into eldritch abominations beyond comprehension. Make a mess dripping crimson and bone, break your face with a stale ice cream cone. (murder & body horror)

3/11: Beg for your life. You won’t escape the knife. Death is a forgone conclusion and you’re nothing but a heart still beating inside a lifeless shell. You spoke the words and brandished your heart, you left yourself to be torn apart. (torture, emotional or physical) 3/12: Dead hearts trapped between the planes of reality. Baleful yellow-eyed beasts with slavering maws full of razor-sharp teeth. Cackling on a stormy night. Everything that goes bump in the night. We conjured witches, banshees screaming. Ate all your food, summoned demons. (paranormal) 3/13: Carelessness leading to mass casualties. Wanton destruction. Countless little things writhing and burning and dying. Barbecued bone fragments, bloodied face, blistered skin. (chaos, mistakes, bad ending) 3/14: It took all your energy to withstand it, this urge to ravage. There’s blood caked under your nails and in the lines of your face and gristle stuck between your teeth. And you want more. I will bathe my body in a pool of blood. I will drink the liquid and be reborn! (good old fashioned cannibalism fun) 3/15: Keep the party goin'! Keep the party goin'! Acid-fueled escapades lead to being pursued in the woods by a faceless stranger who only exists to steal your life away. You’re so high that you don’t realize it’s not a YouTube video until your head goes flying. (drugs, frienderbenders, horror/slasher movies)

Feel free to tag your stuff as #7daysofbrutality or #mtl7dob! I'd love to see!

[agentkaz]

and now for the last day of the seven days of brutality, we have sloppy slasher saturday special supreme! i got silly with it. i always get silly with it.

it was fun to do some brutal-ish crayonklok stuff! see you in the next one maybe!

[goteammonarch]

7 Days of Brutality

Day 5: bad endings!

It was Nathan's turn! This is based off of that episode with Trindle

[razzek]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Rating E Words: 1092 Characters: Magnus Hammersmith, MMA Warnings: cannibalism, emetophobia/vomiting, force feeding, dead dove do not eat

Summary: A man’s gotta eat.

I think I wrote this in 2023? Actually not the worst thing I’ve done to someone in this show (anybody wanna help me finish the bad end Dethklok fic? :D). A little early for the 7 Days of Brutality prompt but I won’t remember to post it Friday soooo… Enjoy, my fellow sickos! XD

[pan-flute-skeleton]

Ravenous Rapture

Flesh Frenzy Friday and I'm back to writing. Just a short thing that came to mind when I saw the 7 Days of Brutality prompt list. What a perfect way to highlight the day than with a religious cult colony in the depths of Norway! Either way it's good to be back.

Some time in the late 90s

Three harsh winters in a row. Their preparations always fell short. It did not matter how early or how vigilant his people were, their rations would run out before the thaw. The strongest would have to wait for the ground to warm up in order to bury the skinny dead. All turned to Aslaug for guidance, for salvation. The man was drunk on power, which might have explained his suggestion. To consume the weakest of the herd was a tough command, but by the third year, it was as simple as breath. For Aslaug’s colony knew, to disobey his word would mean certain death and damnation. And so, the Narrowing remained despite the changing climate in the fourth year.

Outside the main hall, the colony gathered with Aslaug, Anja and young Toki standing in the center. The bare trees around them carried the howling wind, the only sound louder than their stomachs. Even the leader’s family was not immune from the lack of resources. And Aslaug needed his heir to thrive.

“Brothers and sisters,” Aslaug bellowed, “bring forth the failures.” The crowd clamored and pushed five individuals into the clearing.

Three men and two women all varying ages, all varying uses and all under performing. Since the start of the year, each colonist had been scrutinizing their neighbor, documenting however they could all the faults and shortcomings to present to Aslaug and his council. Anything to save themselves from the Narrowing. Friends turned on friends, family turned on family, until the selection was made. These few were kept isolated with nothing to do except make their final peace with God.

“You lot have proven to be a disappointment to this prosperous colony,” Aslaug continued, “As such, your bodies will be sacrificed for the greater good. We must persist through this winter.”

“Please!” One of the men pleaded, “we’re sorry. We wish to serve you, my lord. Please don’t do this. Some of us have children.”

“Those children will remember you as pathetic, weak minded leeches!” Toki kept his eyes on the ground and his arms wrapped around his shivering body despite how badly Anja wanted to hold his hand. The doubt in his mind was getting louder and louder by the day.

“My child will not!” one of the women defied, “She will remember me as someone who loved her.”

“And will she be thinking that when she is gnawing on your bones?” Aslaug asked with a sneer, “Our minds and hearts cannot function in hunger.” The woman settled back into the pile, defeated. “Anything else to say? Anything else to spit at your leader?”

The rest of the colony groaned at different volumes. Some with more energy moaning, ‘Feast! Feast!’ shrinking the circle at the same time. The starving people were ready to pounce, but it all hinged on Aslaug’s permission. Toki still could not look upon the Narrowing. It wasn’t until Aslaug gripped his son’s head and forcibly turned him to the pile. His old bones creaked and cracked, getting down to Toki’s level.

“You must be sssssstarving,” he whispered in Toki’s ear, “they’re fresh, they’re plentiful, they’re ready for you. Just think of all that meat. Better than any livestock. Eat, my heir, eat and begin the processsssss.” Drool dripped out of his agape mouth. His vision blurred in the periphery. The delicious meal in full clarity. The young boy bolted and lunged for the first person in his path. Little fangs sunk deeper than any predator into a forearm. The rest of the colony swarmed and fought for their share of the meat. The sound of ripping muscle won out against the screaming. Blood sprayed on everyone and everything. Living colonists struggled to chew and swallow the flesh of their brethren, but it truly was the only option. And as their bellies filled, they accepted the state of their lives.

“Beautiful, wouldn’t you say, wife?” he asked Anja. She said nothing and kept her gaze above the carnage. She wouldn’t even look at the handful of fingers Aslaug held out for her. He rescinded his offer and blissfully crunched on the extremities.

[deada55]

SEVEN DAYS OF BRUTALITY

3/13: Burn the Earth Thursday

What happens when you haven’t taken organ rejection meds for close to a year to prevent the apocalypse? Oh yeah, your own hepatolocalypse. Short, better in my head, but fun, I guess. For me.

tws: sickness and death

Stepping down from the pedestal that afternoon made the sulfuric smell of the wind stand out. The crowds rushed towards the rock and overtook it from zeal, or fury. A series of tents and Army soldiers formed a tangled maze around the band as the night swept over the ruins. Dethklok shared a huddled tent after being shuffled from place to place as the crowd moved. Were they impressed, or did they listen just to wait until Nathan had stopped to retaliate against the forces closest to the real cause of the near end of the world?

In those days, no one cared to note the passage of time. When some trusted Army veterans had a plan to move Dethklok fifteen miles, Nathan was slowly yellowing. They walked under the protection of a crowd, sometimes fully disguised in canvas balaclavas, through the quiet, scarred landscape. Great white light and dust flew in the day when they walked and the night when they rested. The crowd largely moved in quiet, with some chatter. The shuffling of their feet became the new mantra of the machine, as if they made the earth turn under them. They walked for forty, fifty days before it became clear that Nathan was in hellish peril. Sweating, swelling in the stomach, shortness of breath and blooming purple bruises. Although he’d been fed, his arms annd legs slowly wasted, but his skin didn’t respond and hung at odd angles. His eyes turned orange.

They continued to walk, this time with a chair on four rods to be carried, then on a sorry hammock of netting tied on two long poles like a gurney. In an attempt to preserve any knowledge, Army members followed the hammock and peppered Nathan with questions from time to time, for a while, until it became clear that whatever insights of ideas he had were becoming more and more disorganized, constantly forgotten and remembered. He complained constantly.

The Army walked just to go, just to move. It became known as the Tour. Members dropped and joined from place to place, trying to move east to find the sea. The crust of the earth has been thrown up like dust flung from a rug and had fallen down jagged.

One morning, Nathan woke up and decided to walk, and silently kept the pace of the Army until he dropped forward in the afternoon and seized. He woke up as if in a dream, uncoordinated and unbothered. His tongue was too thick to speak intelligible words. He mumbled and he looked terrified until he became hard to wake and eventually lost his reflexes. They carried him on their shoulders until he’d stopped breathing and made the Army a funeral procession for what may have been close to an hour before it had become known