#MUEHEHEHEHEHE

[personificationofcreativeblock]

I feel like even tho we already have it canonized, every Death Note fan has their own little version of L's childhood in their minds

[kissagii]

going into a creative frenzy

[seahag-swampwitch]

That one time I cameoed on Phineas and Ferb

[akamavarii]

i wonder what they did further in that dream

[lunatheartist22446]

y'know. he really does look like a Mortimer. fr fr

Bro's name is officially Mortimer

Have a good day 👁️💋👁️

❤️❤️❤️

[clakart]

Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

[lexieriusseriously]

imagine willy wonka and his workers in one night having supper. and his dramatic ass would announce “one of you will betray me...” with the microphone. spoiler alert it's not only one of them

[woahjo]

one of my fav angst tropes is two people who are so in love with each other but missed their timing. two people who would have given anything to be with the other... and only just fell short. yeah :(

[pleaktale]

In my head Osborn had a cane for some reason? Just realized he doesn't 🥴

I loved Wanda Vision and this with R and Hobie??? Hell yes gimme this juicy angst

tw mildly gore 😌

Wanda Vision!R who was just a girl with powers and the perfect boyfriend and a happy life

Wanda Vision!R who then gets caught in the crossfire of Hobie fighting off Osborn

Wanda Vision!R who helps her lover and it seems like they're winning

Wanda Vision!R who lose her breath and feel her heart falling into a pit as Osborn use a cane against Hobie's skull

Wanda Vision!R who tries to save Hobie with her own powers but it isn't working and she starts to get desperate while screaming and crying and holding Osborn by the neck with her mind until it explodes and she doesn't even notice

Wanda Vision!R who cradles Hobie in her arms, the cane still through his forehead where she would kiss him goodnight everyday

Wanda Vision!R who doesn't have the strength for the funeral

Wanda Vision!R who isn't taking grief lightly

Wanda Vision!R who unlocks her power from all the emotions storming inside her

Wanda Vision!R who puts a whole city to the ground and, with the help of a book, sees Hobie again

Wanda Vision!R who now lives inside her own world, with the love of her life, her children and with her power working non stop until things get worse.

BLEAKY?!!! A CANE??! HOBIE NOOOOO

I knew it was gonna happen but that still hurts bro 😭

[jadetheblade4]

Hello crabgod1432

[i-bite-children]

DAY 1: STARS

Risetober has begun, prepare to be annihilated by terrible art by me

[chaotic-deity]

"i have ideas but not really" hm. well ideas for only sketches and not having to fully render can get you back into the swing of things, so consider:

-king boo held like burger (dont be burger shaped then idiot) -something something why does kb have a bowser painting -bowser's poor hubby's very rational fear of vaccum cleaners -bowser. coming out of his shell (movie reference. lol) -massive fire breathing turtle is a hopless romantic

Anon you're a genius ily

[babyfrogz]

HELL yes i am always 0.6 minor inconveniences away from becoming a full time music blogger anyway

- jerome, zella day (UNDERRATED)

- super fade, fall out boy

- heartbeat, childish gambino

- not another rockstar, maisie peters

- hostage, jack’s mannequin

@peachymachi cuz i will get smote if i do not tag my lovely girled friend. and as per usual anyone who wants to play u can say i tagged u<3

I was tagged by @beetlejuicesgraveyardrevue !

🎧🎵 when you get this, you have to put in 5 songs you actually listen to at the moment. Then tag 5-10 followers to do the same. ����🎧

1. permanent rebellion - ls dunes

2. maya the psychic - gerard way

3. rebel girl - bikini kill

4. dear prudence - siouxsie and the banshees

5. the news - paramore

@drwninglessonz @as-we-lay-in-the-foundations @joyridingmp3 @nightmaresbittersweet @cemeteryxdriven if yall wanna

[cocoo299]

A3 Rusty Dustin?

YESSSS RUSTIN FTW!!!!!!

[residentalucardkisser]

this is just a little doodle from the bigass canvas i made. trust that i have plans for my man sterling.

a little piece of it ^_^ teehee

side note i had the time to not only celebrate my 16th birthday but have like an artstyle shift in the time i wasnt posting sterling material to tumblr. i need to get back on my grind this shit is tragic.

[bloodrosebriars]

thorns, heresy, sacrifice (for alberich and rogier) :3c

from send three words for a drabble [accepting!!]

“I think I’d quite like that. Your head on a pikestaff.”

He isn’t serious, of course. Probably. But you can never really tell with Alberich.

God only knows how Rogier got into this mess — agreeing to this insane man’s even more insane attempt at magical discovery. Maybe it’s because his state of decay has reached a point where he no longer worries what will become of him. Or maybe he’s genuinely curious if the dark-clad heretic’s plan will work. After all, despite the fact that Alberich typically talks almost exclusively in serpentine spirals and invasive nonsequiturs, he isn’t necessarily a poor salesman. He makes the world sound more interesting, if nothing else, with just a pinch of magic. He makes the impossible seem within reach.

Perhaps it’s just a fool’s periscope.

Or perhaps it’s a stroke of genius.

Regardless, here Alberich sits, comfortably cross-legged on the floor before Rogier’s seat, awkwardly trying to figure out a way to hold his scythe’s blade like a butcher’s knife.

(He is having, at best, moderate success.)

“That’s usually how this ‘sacrifice’ thing goes, y’know. Just a quick slice is all it takes. Doesn’t just have to be the throat, either. Any place that’ll leak the essence of one’s life. The upper arm, or that soft spot between the thighs, or juuust between the right ribs. You get blood — lots of it! And out with it, like salmon in a stream, comes a person’s very soul — just as wriggly, just as wet.”

The Outer Gods only know how Rogier is managing to keep his grimacing to a non-noticeable minimum as Alberich continues to spout his… explanation… or whatever it is he’s babbling about. His reasons for what he’s doing, or something. His incredibly not-reassuring promise that Rogier is different and will remain safe in the heretic’s white-clawed hands.

But he’s going to get nowhere if he keeps trying to finagle his scythe the way he is.

Ahem.

Alberich looks up at the sound of his fellow sorcerer clearing his throat, to find that Rogier is handing him his decorative rapier politely by the hilt.

(Oh… yeah, yeah. That’s a smarter idea, isn’t it?)

Alberich grins, tossing his scythe — with an unnecessarily noisy clatter — off to the side. “See, this is why I like you,” the invader says, taking the sword with a nod of his head. “You’re just like me. A quick thinker, sometimes. Offering up that which you cherish for the sake of discovery. Never afraid to dabble in a bit of heresy. Love it. Now…”

With the sultry grace of a lover preparing to bed their betrothed, Alberich lifts the blanket that covers Rogier’s blighted legs, laying it flat upon his lap and slowly rubbing it smooth. He then takes one of Rogier’s heels into his hands, placing his boot upon his own knee, eyelessly — but very keenly — studying the dark, fly-dotted thorns.

He makes his pick quickly enough, two dainty fingers pinching at one of the longer, thicker vines that jut from just below Rogier’s knee.

For a moment, he simply studies the texture, rubbing the rotting thing between thumb and forefinger. Leathery, almost, like a corpse it feels, cool enough to trick one into thinking their fingers have gotten wet. Smaller, invisible thorns cover the naked stretches of the vine’s surface, giving patches of it a peculiar sandpaper-like texture. Maggots wriggle and writhe in the holes they’ve bored into the plant’s flesh. It stinks enough to make the average man gag.

But Alberich is not the average man.

“Beautiful…” he half-whispers as he readies the rapier, placing one sharp edge of its blade against the base of the root. “Count of three: one, twooo—”

He slices it off before three.

Rogier winces and sucks air through his teeth in pain, focusing on his breathing as the detached vine almost seems to come alive for a moment, wriggling like a frog’s legs under salt, hissing as the deadly ich seeps from its veins like marrow from a sickly bone. Quickly, fast as lightning, Alberich tosses the rapier to the side — it clatters noisily beside the scythe — and cups his hands under the vine’s leaking orifice, catching its draining life within pale, pristine palms.

“All it takes is a splinter of one’s soul,” Alberich says as Rogier hisses out his pained breaths, his own voice having become rather reverent in tone — like one bowing before a vicar, praying for absolution. “Some may think that blood is nothing more than a bodily fluid in animals, but— ah, we know better, don’t we? We who dabble in the arts of darkness and death. Within the blood lies a person’s delicate clockwork — tick, tock, tick, tock…”

The entire time he’s speaking, he’s moving his hands in graceful, dedicated motions. Once the black ich has filled his cupped palms, he closes his hands together like one holding a butterfly, and brings his tar-leaking fingers towards his chest.

His words are not spells — no, not at all — yet it would seem the vibrations from his chest alone are enough to tamper with the substance’s very makeup, like compressing mud into stone. (Which is not a very off comparison.) His palms glow faintly, strangely black in its absence of light, almost as if casting a shadow more than projecting the sun’s corona, yet still somehow too brilliant to stare at directly. He concentrates…

“The glintstones produced by this ritual turn red from the blood,” he says. “At least, that’s why I’m assuming they’re red. I’ve only ever done this with humans, after all. And the occasional demihuman. And once on a runebear. But perhaps it is just the colour of animal essence that turns the stone red, like blue-green is that of the earth’s. Red like love, and passion, and hate... Animal qualities — qualities of the soul. I can only assume, then, given the nature of these thorns, the stone will be purple or black…”

A shrug. “As long as it matches my outfit, I’ll be happy.”

Time passes in silence.

Once the pain has finally calmed enough that Rogier no longer recoils from having this not-quite-a-piece of himself removed, he leans forward curiously to watch the dark sorcerer work — his focused expression and unshifting hands; the galaxy of stars within the darkness that glows around his nimble, narrow fingers.

Then, “Moment of truth…”

And when Alberich finally opens his hands, just as he had promised, in the center of one palm lies a jagged shard — no bigger than an average arrowhead — of glintstone.

But it’s the strangest thing, really…

Though the ichor which had seeped from the root was black, and the roots themselves were like leather; and though the blight itself embodies death, as dark as death, as empty as death…

The glintstone scrap is gold.

“… Huh.”

For a moment more, silence.

Then, all seriousness leaves Alberich’s body, and he is back to his more flamboyant, rowdy self.

The dark sorcerer places one hand on his hip while the other holds the gold glintstone up high for both himself — despite his blindness — and Rogier to examine. “Fascinating…” He sounds genuinely enraptured by this discovery, a more genuine emotion in his tone than anything anyone who knows him well is most likely used to hearing slink through his bluish lips.

But then, his expression scrunches into something suspicious, brow furrowing beneath his blindfold, lips pursing in disapproving disbelief. “Where did you say you got cursed again?” he asks, twisting the stone so the torchlight reflects off its every facet. “Given my theory, I would assume a golden gem would only be achievable through sacrificing a god…”

Rogier goes silent. So does Alberich.

From beneath the brim of his hat, Alberich studies Rogier’s stoic expression — those serious green eyes and relaxed, muted lips — and he frowns. Frowns, because this is the first moment he’s really realising that Rogier maybe — no, no, definitely — is hiding something from him. And it pains him. Pains him, because he doesn’t know if that means he has to worry — if this friend of his, the first he’s made in years, is somehow going to betray him. If he should fight. If he should flee. If he should kill. If he should continue to trust as much as he has.

(Trust…)

And this is when he realises — oh, dear, how stupid of him…

He actually trusts the blighted sorcerer.

After so long, so alone, so distrusting and disgusted with the world. After all this time being careful and cautious with his curiosity and conversations. After swearing to never get close to another again…

(Rogier… hah, of all people, Rogier…)

…

A shrug. “Ah, well. It still matches my outfit.”

The gem is pocketed quickly, and Alberich once again drapes the blanket over Rogier’s legs.

Thoughts for another day.

(Or never, ever again.)