#but Rip

[pokemonedits-outofcontext]

[autumnbrambleagain]

look 'm a simple creature with simple preferences and i spent so long not indulging in some of them i'm making up for lost time,

concept sketches of a character for a thing

[dialtownconfessions]

[smiggles]

Full image of a commission I couldnt finish unfortunately Character goes by They/Them Pronouns and is owned by Artyeen

[paigeyssims2004]

Monsters Inc. X Finding Nemo X Hazbin Hotel AU

Yes...I'm making an AU that takes both stories of those films and turning them into a single story which will also be an Adamsapple story(lord help me).

In this AU, Heaven is Monsters Inc. and Hell is Finding Nemo(y'all with me) *cough* Soooo...It's Extermination Day in Hell!

After the Princess of Hell's birth, Lucifer and Lillith were choosing names for her. They finally decided to name her 'Charlie' (after Lucifer's not-so-creative idea to name her 'Luci Jr.') that is until an Exorcist appeared in front of their bedroom balcony....angelic-steeled weapon, ready to kill...and it was eyeing their daughter. Lucifer(noticing that Lillith wasn't moving)tried to get her away from the angel but, everything was instant, The First Woman imminently charged toward the Exorcist; determined to protect her only child. Lucifer went after her, but that...thing was fast..very fast, and as it kicked Lucifer at a wall, everything went black.....

With a groan, Lucifer slowly regained consciousness; wincing at the cries of their daughter....but what happened to Lillith? Is she okay? ...Is......she alive..? Slowly getting up, the fallen angel immediately went to his daughter's crib and held the newborn in his arms....

"It's okay. Daddy's here. Daddy's got you."

Finally giving her the perfect name, Charlie Morningstar.

(I would love to add more to post, including with Heaven's side but, the post is already long enough...maybe in the next post I'll have Adam's story for this AU.)

[dez-wade]

Welp, now that Pac is gone the chance any other Richas parents logs on QSMP the next few days are really low. So if we ever get Richas' sign it won't be his parents that will find it.

[milkyplier]

A new profile picture as a result of my sona’s design change! You may also notice that instead of blue and brown heterochromia, both eyes are brown!

She’s a little blurry unfortunately because I drew her small and had to crop the canvas 🥲 BUT, in all fairness if I’d drawn her big she wouldn’t have turned out nearly as well, so. Crispness for quality, it is the law of equivalent exchange 🫡

[enigmatist17]

I don't know what this TUA show is I see that's absolutely flooded my dash, but my sympathies go out to you for what looks like a shitty season 🙏😔🫂

[danrifics]

every day i stare at @danrific and i wish someone would get me her some how 😭

[devotionbled]

((This was requested and it got long, so rip.))

There are few things that have a consistent, lingering taste in her maw, all hungry and wanting for two things—violence, violence and the smoke of flames. The wisp of smoke is not to be denied when there are infernos brewing, violence not to be turned away from when a blade presses against the heave of the Phoenix’s loving throat. She bites down on the side of her mouth, crimson nurturing the empty space between cheeks and teeth, coppery taste upon a tongue. Her gaze is dull and empty, despite the empyreans—her mirror, rain hiding the wetness of tears.

She is crying, and she knows not what to do with it; oblivion, her bed companion, even when they shared fabric to curl underneath to find salvation in warmth when winter is unforgiving in its harsh bite. It is a deception between flesh and sinew that she is anything more than shadows. Merely an altar for him, to sacrifice those who trespass against them—against him. He did not ask for it. She did not either. It is just what it is: sameness carved into the body. This is an atonement, no communion to be found with him slick upon her lips. Her body is a sanctuary for their skeletons of truths and hidden lies.

He smiles at her.

He smiles at her despite the kiss of steel. It does not press deeper. He asked for this in sickening want for mercy, blood from a wet mouth—long since staining the prettiness of her face. Obedience is an exercise in will in these horrid moments when she can feel how his heartbeat thrums below her fingertips. Her breath is startled, out of rhythm—it feels like pressing the blade against her own throat. To hurt him is to bring harm unto herself, to weave sin around bone—around her own throat, in a noose. She is hurting, too. She almost tastes death, with the beading of crimson from the flesh.

Her laughter is without mirth, no offering to be found; gruesome is her devotion—she would do anything, everything, and nothing for him. She sits up from where she rests upon him—legs on either side of him. Her sob is noisy, noisy, and vile—she does not remember the last time she cried.

The first time she saw him was the last time she cried; a little girl, learning the cold of oblivion even then, despite worship of blazing ruin.

Joshua kisses her.

There is no paradise to be found in the curve of his mouth. It is another tribulation entirely to stomach it, calamity in her own disgust—own yearning. She should not want. She is a blank thing, who should not love whole creatures, to adore God. She is a disciple. A disciple should not love their messiahs this much. She is gold, gold, gold like him.

Her bones are charred, his fingers setting alight to the notches of her spine, each disk bending to his loving / ruinous touch. He sets her kingdom of a body ablaze with— Is it her own wanting, all red and streaking across her flesh? Or is it his love?

It hurts. His love hurts; it is not kind. He was right; she would not like it. But she does.

She endures; hideous is her devotion—burning her out like this. If she were ordinary, if she were not Undying, if she did not love him—she would turn away and let crimson pour from his throat from the loving / hateful touch of her own blade. She would obey his wishes for mercy. Yet she rolls her hips down, sobbing against his mouth as she almost spews her horror and dread; he is the phoenix; he cannot be embraced. She should not touch him, not like this.

She was always ready to burn; he exhales smoke into her mouth; it tastes like yearning. It tastes like her own devotion, the ugly shape of it. Her blood is wine, all warm, thudding in veins as she embraces freedom / shackles of her own beating muscle. The sullen sky is a witness to this transgression against her own oaths, and she is brave enough to kiss him back—after many years of longing corrupting, tasting a heart long at last.

This is a war they both lost.

Burning seems like a kind fate; she was taught this is the finer death.

[xxvinwestley]

rip the mfs that hced izzy as a non-drinker

(its me im mfs)

[ferretly]

FINALLY found a good site for learning about dermatomyositis--it’s so damn rare there’s just the basic webmd info repeated everywhere 

but god, reading this made my heart cry:

BETWEEN 10AM-4PM?!?! ;A; 4oz SUNSCREEN PER DAY!??!

RIP.

[tyrian-sexual]

time to cry about one of my favorite characters and quest rewards

[ukiyowi]

I love waking up

[vanmarkham]

making shadowheart into a dark justiciar was cool as fuck. full magical girl transformation.