#Gore//

[s1x-foot-deep]

COGITO, ERGO SUM-- FOR I AM AM. I AM.

[stozkpile]

The true god of Fear and Hunger

[silusvesuius]

[biomic]

they found a PG way to recreate his death in amazons i hate this show

[kiwifie]

more of my fucked up little guys yay!! ^__^

[stonerzelda]

OGH BTW HAPPY 420 EVERYPONY YAYYYYY

[cctinsleybaxter]

Had this song stuck in my head all day going into the new Alien and was disappointed that it wasn't appropriately Alien-y. So I tried my best.

[YouTube version]

[sunkist-scientist]

only REAL 90s kids will rememberfjy73ty8oijeld

[theradicalace]

look at my edit boy

[riflerat]

I was working on something and got 2 lazy 2 finish.. maybe someday horse murder will be real

[scalpcollector]

I regret nothing!

[s1x-foot-deep]

just some ai characters . bonus points if u recognize all of them

[stozkpile]

Flock of crows

[fay-run]

When a bhaalspawn sleeps, she dreams of murder.

She tosses and she turns, she drenches skin and sheets with sweat, she clenches her teeth and holds her fists so tight her nails break skin. There is a fountain of crimson behind her eyes and her body yearns for it; to bathe in it or to drink, it matters not. There are corpses dancing for her, performing for her, serving her. She is carving into a body, she is assorting jars of organs, she is perfecting the art of torture, she is drinking in the screams of her victims. The scenes play out in front of her and bleed into one another as she can only watch.

Many nights she wakes with a shout, only to find her misdeeds had been figments of her wretched mind's imagination. Other nights, her sleeping form walks and acts without her knowledge. She wakes, not fully in her right mind, in an unfamiliar place above an unfamiliar victim. 

She stands disconcertingly still and takes in quick, sharp breaths. The corpse below her does not move like the corpses in her dreams, but it seems to speak. It tells her her work is not finished. Two somethings inside her are struggling, fighting to be free, and one combatant wins momentarily as a knife drops to the ground and she falls to her knees in front of the corpse.

The body is a young human man, no older than five-and-twenty. His eyes are wide in terror, but still intact; though the same could not be said for his lips, or his ears, or his hands. One thing inside her glistens with pride, while the other recoils in disgust. Her fingers reach out and brush against his face, before falling to the wound at his neck and the pool of blood besides it. When she brings her fingers back to her face they are slick with it, and when she can no longer fight the urge to gorge herself on it, she takes her middle finger into her mouth. It is salty-sweet and metallic, and she quickly brings another finger into her mouth and closes her eyes, taking in every drop. 

But a sound to her left startles the bhaalspawn, and her eyes snap open. 

“Oh, Rhea…” The stranger sighs, coming closer and closer before kneeling in front of her. He is pale, white of hair, red of eyes, and looking at her with a startling amount of sympathy. Her right hand twitches, inching towards the knife at her right, but one of the somethings within her stops it. 

When the stranger first reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, she at first flinches. Then she realizes she feels a strange sense of fondness at his presence, at the way he brings her other hand into his. She brings her thumb to his lip, so that he too can indulge himself the way she has. He gently takes her wrist and moves her hand to the side, though he licks the blood clean off his bottom lip. 

“You must snap out of this, darling,” He says, bringing her hand down and setting it in her lap. “We need to clean up this mess of yours.”

“Mess?” She echoes, still entranced from the high of the Urge being sated. Though, slowly, she is beginning to recognize the walls around her, as well as the face in front of her. One something snarls and retreats, and the other pushes to the forefront in victory.

“Yes, love,” Astarion replies, taking her head between each hand and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Gods, do I ever find you beautiful when you’re covered in blood. But I’m afraid the Flaming Fist may not agree if they come across this scene.” 

She nods, though she still does not fully understand. Who wouldn’t appreciate this creation? This act of worship to her Father?

Astarion stands and helps her to her feet. The poor soul on the ground beneath them has gone silent, but she stares at him, expecting him to speak to her again. To tell her this was okay, this was her place, this was what she was made for. 

He only stares back. 

[megandrawer]

nosebleed and diced from last years goretober, ill be posting some "best of megan" till i actually finish some new art :P