#BECAUSE I LOVE PAIN

[poademeron]

im begging for a danlou fic where louis meets daniel’s daughters

[incandescentflower]

this is the fic that never ends. I write a bunch of stuff and just discover...I have more to write. why

[sasanka-27]

Rereading 91w because its been months and I want to relive that story again because I love pain and because the author has posted the new pov and you know yea

[failbrothers]

is it normal to need to talk to someone every single day even tho theyre avoidantly attached and feel like theyre forcing themselves to talk to u when they do but u actually want to d!e when they dont talk to u for days. so like what now do we both just die

[aidan-hawke]

cathedral house

The squat house sat undisturbed at the end of a narrow lane in Cathedral Ward. It looked safe enough -- the roof was whole. The windows, caked with blood, soot and dirt that they were, sat in the frame rather than on the cobblestones. No lanterns were lit inside; the original occupants either long dead or laying in wait in the dark for a hunter instead. But he didn’t smell that sweet scent of fresh blood, only that which was his own or caked on him already. There was dust on the door handle and all the other houses’ doors were splinters in their frames. 

He could chance it. He didn’t like to but he could.

He’d have to anyway. The church was too far, so The Dream was out of the question. He was too sore to press on to find another bell. And he was tired. He was so tired. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been awake anymore. He’d have to rest here. 

Besides, he needed to figure out what to do about that thing twenty paces back tracing his every footstep. Even when he tried running it kept pace, always coming to a pause when he did, just out of reach to stare at him. Pensive and near silent, save for the one or two footsteps after his.

It (she?) was an eerie little thing. So far it hadn’t posed a threat. So far. This was Yharnam – more than plenty of things wore more than one face and they all hungered for what he could give them. He was reminded to a degree of the Plain Doll. The way it (she?) moved, ethereal and untroubled through the nightmare. The hands were jointed like the Doll’s. It (she) didn’t smell of blood or sweat or dust or... anything really. As if it (she) weren’t a part of the world at all. The skin looked ceramic or unpainted porcelain, where he could see it. At times when the moon was bright she (it) shone, like bleached bones against graveyard dirt. Compared to the creatures skulking the shadows with their too-many eyes, their stretched frames growing out of their clothes, their guttural moans of suffering, it was pleasant. Soothing almost. Disarming. Dare he say, almost enchanting.

Were this the Dream or had Gehrman told him, he might have thought it just another Doll.

A precursor, an older sister of sorts. But she had died a month ago, cleaved in twain to bleed out in front of him before they could kill the beast. This creature had shown up a week ago with her face, golden glowing eyes staring him down in the darkest shadows. Only trouble lurked in that blackest night. Who’s to say this wasn’t the first time something else had worn a hunter’s face. Possibly even this creature too, a ploy to lure a hunter in to drop their guard. Ideally the death would be quick. Would it take his blood or his insight? Would it wear his face next after the soul left the flesh? Beasts only followed a hunter if they meant to hunt themselves. 

Clearly, he offered something yet unknown to this creature.

Shoulders tensed as he nudged the door open and inhaled deeply. No blood -- none of the hot singing slick black fluid that left him raw and hungry, the only thing left that made his heart beat with any excitement. Part of him was a little disappointed, a part he pointedly ignored. Everything lit by his belt lantern was coated in six layers of dust and long-dried stains. Safe enough for a few hours then. He stepped out and looked down the road back to her (it, you fool) again.

“What do you want?”

No answer outside of a golden-eyed stare. Wonderful. He stared back a long moment. 

“You planning on standing out here, let your little friends know where I am? Take the leftovers when they’re done? Lure one of those big fellows over to snuff me like a candle? Hm?”

The creature said nothing, but eventually there was a small step forward. Assuming much, he took that to mean she (it) wished to come in. He sighed, and his shoulders sagged heavily. 

Fuck it. Maybe she’d kill him in his sleep and he’d wake in the Hunter’s Dream. Or maybe for good. 

Did it matter in the end? Why was he still here? Because she’d be sad if I courted death. His eyes burned at the thought. He was too tired for this. For a lot of things really. Most of all to care overmuch for his own well-being. If she’d wanted to feast on his corpse she’d had several chances already. Nobody else out here acknowledged his words; this was the most he’d said aloud in a while, and the taste of words felt strange on his tongue already. That stung as much as the original loss had. Yharnam is a lonely place when you’re the wrong kind of crazy.

“Shut the door on your way in, then,” he barked, stalking upstairs and pausing at every creak and groan of the wood. He didn’t look behind to check.

The door settling back into place eased the stress a bit. Apparently she didn’t truly glow in the dark either, given the long shadows. A vestige of normalcy, at the very least. Little clouds of grime floated up every step he took. Her footsteps left no trace, even when she didn’t mirror his path. But he could hear them, faintly. There was a weight to that ethereal body after all – every creak of a floorboard spoke true.

They found the previous owner in the bedroom, what was left of them anyway, desiccated and torn to pieces. Either they’d been in the middle of a change or witness to someone else’s. Either way, not a fit place to rest – he wasn’t in the mood to scatter bones just to sleep on a dusty mattress. This town and its residents were already cursed; he didn’t feel like adding to it. Aidan searched further down the hall, past a dirty mirror and a vase filled with dried plants, and found a small study. Books lay fallen on the floor, scattered like leaves at the base of shelves. Thick, leatherbound volumes with a few pages torn free. A carpet peeked out here and there, but it was too dim to make out the pattern. Everything smelled like musty paper and dirt.

There were no stains on the walls; the shelves had given way due to time and rot rather than conflict. With a quick look over his shoulder, he stepped inside and set about making it comfortable. Books were tossed clear or shifted to accommodate him, and the lantern set on a small, ornate table.

Perhaps sensing he’d dropped his guard, she (Cheche?) had edged closer behind him. Hands remained hidden beneath thick layers of cloth and wispy strands of hair, save when they dared to reach to him before withdrawing when he moved on. Even now he moved anxiously, too restless to sit still in relative safety. A cornered animal trying to make a safe den, still sussing out if she was a predator. Fingertips graced the sleeve of his coat once, enough to earn a look over his shoulder, startled. A whetstone in one hand, sawcleaver in the other, muscles twitching in restraint. He stared again, letting the moment to acknowledge it pass by.

Only after he checked the one small window and the door for the third time did he set his weapons down. Within arm’s reach, but off his back and out of his hands for now. They groaned almost as loudly as he did when he eased to the floor, tomes stacked to support his back. Unbidden and unasked, she sat down next to him. Bloodshot eyes looked to the door then to her, jaw clenched in tension. Finally, at some indeterminate dark hour he gave up and closed his eyes, arms hugged against his chest. His fingers dug into his arms and then all he felt was slipping, toppling over like a fallen giant, like the giant he killed earlier in the night who nearly crushed him had he been just a step slower. 

Dreaming outside the Dream was always strange – all sounds and smells and sensations. Scent of blood, the sound of flesh tearing or his own muscles screaming. The howls of elongated creatures calling him beast, and one lone scream that stopped it all cold. He tasted copper in his mouth and his teeth itched in his gums, craving warm meat. Somewhere a beast growled, harsh enough his throat ached. Then it was just sawing, biting, tearing, ripping until it all faded to cold, starless black.

He felt her arms around him when he woke, his head leaning against her shoulder. He wasn’t sure to be more distressed or comforted at the familiarity. She’s not here, she never will be, that thing took her out of the world for good. Still, he didn’t move. He barely had the energy to feel concern. 

“Cheche?” he asked, drowsily. In reply, a cold ceramic hand caressed his cheek, coming to rest next to his mouth. How does it know? How could it?

"I miss her. Were you there when…?" It wasn’t you. I killed you after you killed her. Her thumb stroked his lower lip, slowly. It felt all too familiar on his skin. So how?

"You're not her. I know you aren't. So why-" he whispered hoarsely, tiredly. The kiss on his forehead feels Dream-like. This isn’t her anymore.

“Shh. Sleep.” There was a breathy quality to her tone akin to wind in the trees, her hand still softly caressing his cheek. His eyes felt slowly encouraged to close again. 

“I will watch.” 

But you’re not yourself anymore either, are you?

For better or worse, he slept the length of a night cradled that way. The dreams didn’t bother him again. She never stayed further than a step or two behind him after that. He didn’t flinch at the closeness.

[dinsverdika]

I can't help but wonder if Mayday was somehow comforted by the fact that he wouldn't have died alone and forgotten if he hadn't survived the night.

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Remember that this is not the proof that they love each other

That was a last-ditch attempt from Crowley to get Aziraphale to stay

This is the proof that they love each other

Their love wasn't just made real because they kissed

It always existed

[captainskells]

Choosing to knit socks with my leftover yarn might spell out the end of me

[hansoeii]

the best person I know.

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Sir toon and his loyal men.

This comes WAAYY way after Gavriel and Jack's relationship really takes off.

The other members were initially very against Gavriel and Jack's relationship, Gavriel Huffman included. However, Jack is eventually able to earn the respect of the other mobsters after proving himself able to protect both their boss [Gavriel] and the other members of their group, time and time again.

They swore to do him favors and other errands as a compensation for his benevolence. Jack himself didn't mean for this to happen, he just didn't want anyone to get hurt and his kind heart has won the group over in turn.

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[idliketobeatree]

i'm living the dream, in the dream, i'm buried alive two bed grave, one bath, car in the drive mirrored covered windows block the light feeding back reflection distorts life cut connection — jesca hoop

[barghest-land]

drawings from paleo expedition to dagestan, done right on the trip. sometimes messy when it was cold and rainy, but i won't correct it. i think it's cool to leave it just the way it was done, and not retouch it after. there will be more drawings later, but those will be done from home

[bixels]

Scary Sunset.

I'm concepting things way outta order in this story, but I'm sure you can piece things together. Context is for a storybeat where, after defeating and capturing Adagio (thus having all three sirens in her possession), Sunset enacts her revenge plot to release the sirens on Canterlot as Thea discovers she's been manipulated. In a confrontation, the two scuffle and fight over the siren orbs while Sunset struggles with her conflicting wants and emotions.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Burning Rotten Bridges

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[leftshiftwashere]

Showing him off because I'm proud as hell

I think the doorwings are one of the best parts because guess what! I animated them

So basically the animations they have: Idle, walking, running, swimming, jumping, hurt

He was a pain to texture and at some point I got scared I'll have to start from scratch, mostly because I messed up the files and the textures wouldn't apply. Obviously in the end I fixed it because I simply can't stop winning.

His animations also got a bit messed up. I planned for it to be possible to run and jump without the jumping animation interrupting the running one but oh well.(Not sure what went wrong I adjusted the priorities correctly)

Also I'm thinking of adjusting the hurt animation to be faster because it's not as clear

Annndddd also have a regular skin of him I made. He's very bald though

It's just that I got too hungry and bit his doorwings off. Whoopsies!

Anyway 👋