#{ + out of crow || ooc }

[jkriordanverse]

Jesper: I wasn't THAT drunk Wylan: You colored my face with a highlighter because you said I was important. Jesper: well-

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[livefromsummerview]

I should probably make an introductory post haha.

Hi! I’m Persimmon. My friends call me Persie. I use they/them pronouns. I’ve been living in Summerview for pretty much all my life. I’m a tiefling and a part time adventurer. The other “part” of the time I make art and send letters to my buddy up in Tyle.

You can ask me questions if you want, I don’t mind. Have a great day! :3

[doctorcranes-ask]

Jervis brought home some art supplies. decided to test them out.

Rather predictable, aren't I? Crows hopping around a living room are not the best models.

[quietautumn]

apparently this is a hot take but i don't think the p5 adult woman confidants are bad characters just because you have the option to romance them. keyword is option because you can literally play the whole game without getting with any of them and they just treat you normally. something something you control the buttons you press

[ghostsandmirrors]

@fangsforhire sent ✎ for a bucky and lucien moodboard.

— original images (top L to bottom R): [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] | [x] | [x]

texture credits! n/a

[the-fallen-few]

Hair

“Are you sure you trust me to do this?”

“Yeah. I’d probably cut it all weird.”

There was a bond between Eddie and Haley. Eddie viewed Haley as his saviour. Haley viewed Eddie as their first real friend. They probably never would explain the pride they felt when he asked them to cut his hair.

They both agreed to do it while Cody was asleep. No doubt he’d say something about wanting to dye it. And Eddie was easily influenced by the other man. It wouldn’t be a good idea to have that plan in his mind just yet.

“Do you… do you have any picture I can use? Or just go free hand?” Haley asked as they sat Eddie down in front of the bathroom mirror. “Also this place only has safety scissors so-“

“You said you know what my dad looked like,” Eddie interrupted, the words stumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. Haley froze for a moment, their smile faltering slightly, but they nodded. Of course they knew. They’d never forget the way blood stuck to Gabriel’s hair. They took a deep breath to keep their food down before grabbing the brush. They prepared Eddie’s hair in silence, keeping an eye on his face in the mirror.

They wanted to saw how much Eddie looked like his dad but they bit their tongue. They told Eddie they only saw a picture of Gabriel when they worked in the archival records. Maybe they’d tell him the truth once things smoothed over.

They smiled at him in the mirror, asking in the same tone one would use to calm down a baby, “You okay? I know this might be hard. I’ve been having nightmares.”

“…I don’t know what to feel anymore. I just… I can’t have my hair like this. I just can’t. It’s like it’s chocking me,” Eddie replied, cautious with his words. It was a habit. When the he would get his hair cut back there, he knew better than to ask for what he actually wanted. It was safer. Haley simply nodded and murmured to themselves, “Understood.”

Haley played with Eddie’s hair. Gently running their fingers through it. Scrunching the ends up. For a moment, Eddie thought they were going to say it was a shame that he wanted to cut it. That’s what all the hair people back there said. But no. They just said, “I never realised how soft your hair is.” And then they got to cutting.

It was a tedious process. Safety scissor were definitely not suited for this job. But in the end, Eddie Santos looked more like his dad than Haley was prepared for. For a moment, they saw Eddie on the floor, covered in blood. They heard him screaming out, “Please don’t hurt my daughter!”

But they tried not to let it show. “You look amazing,” they commented before walking out of the bathroom to find a broom. Eddie tentatively touched the ends of his hair, a smile forming on his face. A warmth spread in his chest as he finally got to have his hair cut like he wanted it. Sure, it wasn’t a perfect job. But it was still better than how his hair was cut back there. It always felt too long.

And now, it finally felt true to him.

“Haley?” He asked as they came back into the bathroom.

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

[toby-the-crow]

[Toby wakes up, shivering and on edge.]

What- what's wrong-

[A cough wracks her body, and she chokes on air. When she pulls her hand away from her mouth, it's stained with blood.]

Shit. Shit shit shit.

[She gets up and stumbles from the medbay, looking for Donnie. She's almost to their room when the world tilts and goes dark.]

[witchembrace-a]

DANTE'S GRAPHIC COMMISSIONS.

That's right, I decided to open graphic commissions ! I've been contemplating this for a while now, and I'm finally sitting down and making a proper post about it.

Pricing, types of graphics, as well as examples of my work, are all in the document linked above ! All transactions will occur through PayPal, & all sales are final.

Now with that out of the way, I will still be including a few examples of the things I have done below the cut !

( a header graphic, originally made for my sideblog, @witchpursued )

( a promo graphic, originally made for my sideblog, @petalsinned )

( one of three edits originally made for a promo graphic for @faithscore )

( an ask banner, which was originally made for this blog )

( a graphic i made for one of my other blogs, @oceanwept )

[greedbent]

kaz: mercilessly and unflinchingly just rips a guy's eyeball out and shoves a spit-soaked handkerchief into the empty socket normal ppl: 😱😱😱😱🤮🤮🤮 me: 😶💦💦 feeling some sort of way feeling some sort of way—

[ask-alton-crow]

Howdy howdy, I kept seein' my colleagues set their stakes here on this website, so I figured I'd throw my own hat inta th' ring. Ya can say whatever, I s'pose, jus' keep it civil.

(ooc under cut)

hi, i'm wilbur. he/him, it/its pronouns

some notes for askers:

-keep it civil and sfw, please

-magic anons are allowed

-have fun, feel free to be wacky

-will include my personal headcanons, but they're pretty mainstream i think so yeah

-first ask blog!

once again, have fun!

[sonderingcrow]

(gives goro a childish detective book, like encyclopedia brown or something like that)

"Why would you—" Goro has to reel himself back from giving the person an incredulous look, but he does accept the book.

"Thanks..? I suppose, I'll make use of this, somehow. "

No one will know that okay, maybe he got a bit invested in whatever the book contained after skimming through the pages for half an hour. It's akin to finding something so ridiculous it's too interesting to drop.

[melodic-mayh3m]

I Need To Set Crow Lose Again.

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

oh sorry what i meant was enable custom theme in your blog settings

you don’t need to make a theme or anything, you can just choose a premade one or go with the default one

(OH!!! I understand now, sorry! I thought that was already on, but I was mistaken!!

It is on now, and hopefully you can read through in order!!!)

[madeimpact]

🌻

Awooga || @thebananwithaplan

Here have another one I feel like showing you guys stuff

...I may or may not be planning on recreating the entire video

[doctorcranes-ask]

Hey doc doc!

Whaaaats ya favorite type of music?

Is it just the good ol country? Some gothic thing? Classical? Jazz? Eletronic? Rock?

I don’t often listen to music. Silence is a lot better in my opinion. That doesn’t mean I dislike music, I just don’t listen to it much.

If I absolutely must listen to music- probably metal. I listened to it the most during my college years. A mix of country and folk is more of a guilty pleasure for me.

Harley has spent years trying to find “my type” of music. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to share

[OOC:]

Heyyy-

Check out my playlist based on this jon- its music that reminds me of him, and some stuff he’d like