#<- again jic

[sevicia]

It's probably not normal to be like this but sometimes I take a bunch of candy 2 my room and my mom + sister scold me and I KNOW I'm being resentful and stuff but I get so miserable when they do or when they comment on what I'm eating in any way shape or form it literally makes me want 2 stop eating forever and ever. AND IT MAKES NO SENSE. to be like this. I can't express how angry it makes me actually because it makes me want to scream so I end up crying but I can't cry loudly because they'll be like "get over it wtf" so I have to be like OK 😁✌️

[mayoiayasep]

one piece fan letter was beautifully animated and written all the way through but this scene was the part that really got me

[findjackwalten]

Which is why we're here; to cheer !

[batbabydamian]

hihi! i’m the anon that asked what your damijon looked like! AND THEY WERE SO CUTE OMGMG, but i’d also like to ask what your super sons damijon looks like as well? 🥹 tyty 🙏

hii thank you for that ask, and i'm glad you liked it!! here's a super sons ^^

[yellowtrinity]

some of my favorite one-off ace attorney characters!

[nbmudkip]

happy holidays brought to you from the loops of eternal torture

[u3pxx]

more brain empty skills doodling: psyche edition (i ran out of juice by the end whoops)

[blackfire5561]

And just for a second, I could

be one of the greats

I’ll be Caesar on a TV screen,

champion of my fate

[pigeon-scratches]

(click for better quality)

squashes him under my shoe

[wolfofartblock]

1.

“Here's that beer, Alex.”

Predictably, the other said nothing.  In all the months since he'd started coming to Bad Weather, Desmond had only gotten his name and a few one-word answers from the guy.  It was fine, though.  He wasn't the first customer who just wanted a quiet space to unwind after work, and he wouldn't be the last.

He walked away to hand over another table's drinks, peering into the reflections of the glasses as he did so.  Just like every night, Alex was watching him.

2.

He hadn’t really noticed it before now.  Customers causing problems and picking fights at his job had gone down in recent months, something his coworkers always attributed to Desmond’s own presence. Desmond, the closest thing Bad Weather had to a bouncer, throws out disruptive jerks once and they decide to haunt some other poor bar, never to show their faces again.  He just wishes this jerk continued the tradition.

Waiting for him until after closing?  Was this guy’s ego that bruised?

He shook off the thoughts and got to work laying him out a second time that night, not noticing the unmoving shadow on the street watching the scene unfold.

3.

In the early morning hours, between dragging himself home after a long night and waking up way too early for the next day, a knock rings loudly through his empty apartment.  Desmond’s heart stops at the sound before it stutters back to life at the reminder his landlord loves to bother the residents, even when it’s dark out like it is now.  He stands warily to go answer the door, pocketing a small knife and keeping in mind escape routes.

No one is outside when he looks through the peephole, not that he could see much with the lack of light.  He opens the front door just wide enough to confirm for himself, yet the hallway is still empty.  The flutter of paper catches his attention, and he looks down thinking it to be some notice the landlord left behind.

Instead, a stained yellow sticky note sits innocently enough by his feet, and beside it, body parts: teeth, a hand, an eye.  All of them bloody, none of them cut cleanly.  But worst amongst it all, are the words sloppily scribbled onto the note in bleeding pen.

For Desmond.

Original Sketch under the cut

[spamsandsuch]

“The Novel Rays in My Shadow” part zero

ver without text:

[twinleafsystem]

im already here (for you to see, for you to see, i see you) ive always been here (for you to see, for you to see, i see you~!)

[yandere--stuck]

AaaaaAAA I was so happy to see you already had a gore fic for Bill in the works! I have reread it like. 5 times. Your writing scratches my gore itch perfectly, and I just adore fics the intestinal stuff especially <33 and his mentions of your heart also… the romance!! I was inspired by what you wrote, I hope you enjoy it once again :D! (also im doing great, hope ur doing well too :D!!) - zagreus gore anon

Notes for anyone else: This contains gore!! So much gore!! Body horror— It’s Bill’s love language!! (intestinal trauma, mouth trauma, eye trauma…. Honestly ‘you’ here are violated in like every way possible.) No sexual content, but it’s suggestive to me. Bill Cipher is a Weirdo.

---------

You never quite get used to the pain. You wish you did.

In your memories, the sensation is dulled. You know it was painful, you know it was one of the most horrible sensations of your life, but the full extent of it… You can’t remember. Your brain must be protecting you from it. Every act of Bill’s love would constitute life-long trauma for anyone else, yet you live through another session of it day by day. No. Scratch that. They wouldn’t be alive to recall it. They wouldn’t make it half as far as you. For you, no such easy, simple fate can ever be attainable. The weirdness of his new world has conquered Death itself.

Bill had cradled his intestines in your arms, laughing as they helplessly twitched and writhed against his body, cooing at them as you howled in pain. “Aww, are you excited to see papa?” He’d said, and only the strangeness of it had kept you from repressing it. He talked to your guts as if they were puppies, as if blood smeared across his bricks were innocent licks against his skin instead. Another time, he’d wrapped your guts around his triangular body, and called it the ‘world’s most intimate hug’ as he whispered sweet nothings about how much he looooves you, and also the health of your gut bacteria. Somehow, he always outdoes himself.

Bill had dug even deeper, crumbling your ribs to smithereens in his hands, and held your still-beating heart in his palms as an object of reverence. “All mine, all mine…” He’d muttered to himself, his pupil momentarily expanding to a large, inky abyss. The pain had been so intense that you’d slipped into shock. A bad habit of yours, as Bill called it, would be your tendency to slip into memories of the past to escape the present. When you should be focusing on him.

That time, he’d jolted you back to reality by fire-hot pain slashing through your heart. All the time, it continued pumping, spurting blood in Bill’s direction with every pump. His powers were the only thing keeping you alive. When, once, blood sprayed right into his eye and he was forced to take a break, you smiled for just a moment. A lopsided, crooked grin. He’d used a mirror to show you his handiwork. In the outer flesh of your heart, he’d burned a little triangle. He’d already healed the skin. The lighter pink scarring stood out against the rest of your heart. Marked forever. Though he’s usually so talkative, at that moment, he’d been quiet for just a few seconds.

Then, he’d laughed, breaking all tension. “Wow, it sure smells like barbecue in here!”

On another occasion, he had hummed a little tune to himself, comically large saw in hand, as he cut off your limbs one by one. You could never forget the sound as the teeth sawed through your bones, bit by bit. Tearing through muscle. The clunk of your arm hitting the floor. Your leg. Rinse and repeat. You swore you could still feel your arms and legs, once you lost enough blood and your vision went hazy. Bill had hugged you against his smaller form. (He could change his body’s size, technically. But he always preferred appearing just as he was to you.)

“Without all those gangly, long limbs of yours, we can really cuddle now!” The next day, all of your limbs had regrown.

He’d cradled your face with one hand, and kept your mouth open with his other wrist. You could see nothing except for that giant eye of his as he pried your teeth out of your mouth, one by one. The taste of blood filled your mouth. He’d tug and tug and tug, not nearly using enough strength, and being entirely aware of it, until finally yanking it out once and for all. (Until it regrew, that is.) Under your gaze, he took your teeth one by one, drilled a little hole in them and strung them together on a necklace.

“Hmmmm,” he’d hummed to himself, a long, drawn-out noise. “I feel like it’s missing something. What do you think?” Before you could answer, not that you had any desire to, he snapped his fingers. “Oh! I know! For a sign of our undying love for each other, it’s a little plain with just teeth!”

In the next moment, Bill had taken out one of your eyes. You cannot comprehend how such a, relatively, small part of your face could hurt so unimaginably much. You wanted him to drape his guts all over himself again. You’re sure a point-blank gunshot to the head would’ve hurt less. Been less discomforting. His fingers had shrunk into paper-thin appendages and slipped past your eyeball, digging and cutting away at the nerves behind it. You cried tears of blood. If there was anything in your stomach, you might have thrown up.

Then, all at once, pain had blossomed into pure, mind-numbing pleasure. Compared to the pain, this is what you would like to forget the most. You’d gurgled out a moan through the spit gathered at the back of your throat. Your limbs had twitched helplessly against your restraints. When your optic nerve finally snapped, you’d whined as Bill took your eye out, exclaiming “Pop!” as he did so. For just a moment, he’d juggled your detached eyeballs in his hands, having left you panting.

“Yes, now this’ll make a good centerpiece!”

Pain had become just pain once again as soon as his touch left you. There is nothing good about a gaping, throbbing hole left in your face. You whine, sniffle softly, to get his attention. You hardly ever speak out loud anymore. Bill can read your every thought and is aware of your every idea. When speaking takes up more energy than it saves, why should you? In that moment, you had lacked the energy to think about it, your body desperately trying to recover itself.

Right now, you wonder why he’d make it feel good. Why, this one time. You don’t immediately get a response. Bill just laughs and laughs and laughs, running his fingers across the teeth of his necklace, poking the eyeball in the very middle. In your eye-socket, an exact replica of it has re-formed itself.

“You’re so funny! Why do you think I did anything at all? That was all you, baby!” His pupil transforms into a heart. It’s a blink-or-you-miss it transformation, and as soon as it happened, you think you’ve made it up. “I told you that you’d come around to it! Maybe we can even share in a little bit of pain next time, huh?”

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since, both his words and how mind-numbingly good it had felt. Maybe he’d simply lied to you, maybe it’d all been his doing. That would be the best outcome, right?… With time, you know Bill will ‘show you his love’ again— He always does. But this time, you await it with fear, largely fear, but with a little anticipation, too. There’s no need to tell him. He already knows.

ANON I AM BARKING LIKE A DOG!!!!!!!! BARKBARKBARKBARK THIS IS AMAZING!!!!! God, your descriptive voice is so good, it's so vivid!!!! Bill tricking reader into thinking they like it and them believing it...... Yummy yummy corruption in my tummy <3

Thank you so much for this, I can only hope what I write holds a candle to this!!! You never disappoint raaghh.

Bill draping your guts around as the world's most intimate hug. GOD. Also it's so fashionable! Gut scarf, teeth and eyeball necklace, literally wearing pants of your body to shoe his love and claim of you. Aaaa I'm kicking my feet!!

Thank you so much again holy smokes

[temothylol]

if she’s your girl, then why was I looking through your things? I found that picture of you from 1977, standing in front of an old windmill with your friend. You went there, and it was a bad idea. Your friend and the windmill both disappeared into thin air. Her sister was holding the camera. She took another picture minutes later: just you, no windmill, and no friend.

[wheeeee-dot-png]

gonna be a busy bee for a couple hours but i had to draw @d0not-disturb 's emerald 2.0 design AAA H!! ! i didnt draw the wings because it didntfit on my canvas </3 nut i dont expect this will be the last time i draw this guy so i have plenty of time to remedy it LMAO. also i know its a wand and NOT a scepter i . hes pondering his orb ok ok trust . alt weapon . he can have both hes chill like that . OK IM DONE RAMBLING NOW BYE.

ALSO AU BY CHRISRIN BUT I DONT FEEL LIKE TAGGING HIM FOR A LITTLE DRAWING . YALL KNOW WHO HE IS ITS WTV

[zenderstorm]

hate him hope he dies

bonus

get his ass d!!