#cw spider imagery

[thegirlwholikesart]

lords in black trays

[snake-spire]

Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!) embodied. He may have taken like 10 hours but he’s done.

I love Web!Kayne, he’s such a little freak

Some little sketches (and a little bit of arkayne for the arkayne girlies [gender neutral]) below.

[sillyblues]

‘pecador.’

synopsis— you bring the sinner out of miguel o’hara

cw— religious themes, blood, mild nsfw, 18+

“En el nombre del Padre,”

Miguel O’Hara was a sinner. Violence has always resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins. It was evidently clear to him and everyone, even back then when he was younger. He could barely remember his first memories of joy with his mother nor a play with his brother, but he could remember vividly when he threw a punch at somebody who told him that he and his mother and brother were dirty.

And ever since then, he has not learned of a moment filled with peace. His father berated him and punched him as well because how dare he hurt the son of his boss. Because of it, his father had been fired, and they had no money anymore. But Miguel didn’t care. How could he when that little shit insulted his mother in front of him? He let his father vent his anger and frustrations on him. 

“Y del Hijo,”

But a mother’s love was great, and his own mother couldn’t bear to see her son getting hurt, so she tried to stop him. She took her in his arms and protected him from his father. But she shouldn’t have done that. He wished his mother stayed put in place and come to him when his father was done with him. But she didn’t because her love for him was great.

His father grew furious at the sight of his wife hiding his son away from him and in wrath, he hurt Miguel’s mother as well. The slaps and the punches and the hair pulls were thrown at his mother and he knew it was painful. He tried to pull away from her as his eyes were wide and tears streamed down. He begged his father to stop and asked him to forgive him, he sobbed as he said to him to hurt him instead, just not his mom. But despite it all, his father turned a deaf ear to his pleads and his mother’s embrace was tight just so he would not get hurt.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

His father’s anger was a large fire that evaporated away his family’s water of tears but Miguel’s resentment was a burning fiery hell only reserved for his father. His rage was molten and flowed through like lava and it pulsed within his heart and consumed his rationality. His fury blinded him and he didn’t know what he had done until he regained his vision momentarily back to see his mother crying.

“Miguel, escúchame,” his mother whispered to him with a tremble as she took the bloodied knife that he didn’t know he was holding from his arms. He looked at his hands soaked in red and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“My baby boy, thank you for protecting Mama,” she hugged him and rocked him back and forth as she sobbed. Like instinct, he hugged her back weakly. “I love you so much, I want you to know that.”

“Be strong for me and for your little brother, okay? He has no one but you. Take care of him and yourself, alright?” her soft voice was full of sadness and he desperately wanted to look up to her and comfort her. He wanted to tell her that he also loved her very much and he will but like a lullaby, her voice sent a wave of sleepiness and his vision darkened.

But he couldn’t help it and then, he fainted. When he woke up in a hospital room with his little brother, Gabriel, snuggled beside him, nurses and the police greeted him. There, he knew his mother killed herself.

“Amen.”

He took his mother’s words to his heart and swore that he would protect his brother. He did not let anyone take him or his brother or relied on adults because he trusted nobody. He appealed to the court at 16 years old that he could take care of himself and his brother. Fortunately, he was approved and he took multiple jobs to sustain their needs. He didn’t go to school, no, he didn’t have any time but he made sure that Gabriel did. He worked tirelessly sleeping barely 5 hours a day just to bring food to the table and have a roof over their heads. But despite his busy schedule, he made sure to be there on Gabriel's important days.

Years went by and they had formed a mundane lifestyle. And he tried so hard to keep it that way. But violence resided in his soul and the sinner in him was rekindled once more when his brother was found dead one early morning. He received a call when he was about to go to work and rushed to the crime scene when he heard the news. When he saw Gabriel’s lifeless body and the blood that pooled around him, the remaining hope in his heart was crushed and rage once more visited him and burned fiercely. The police ruled it as suicide as he was found in an alleyway in between buildings. But Miguel knew that it wasn't because of his brother who was so happy and talked his ear off about graduating and becoming a billionaire so he could support him and would never give up on life like that.

“Padre nuestro,”

Miguel decided to join the underworld where mafias and gangs ran about. He took jobs there not only for quick cash but to form connections and information. He investigated more about his brother's death and found out that he was bullied for a long time by a group of kids his age. Apparently, they picked on him because he was sorry for being dirty and a son of a filthy murderer. There was evidence on the autopsy that was not reported that he was burned, with cuts and bruises littered all over his body. A camera evidence that was also not submitted and was deleted (but luckily saved by the corrupt authorities who tried to keep it as a blackmail opportunity) showed that they pushed Gabriel to his death and they all laughed about it. Not only that but he wasn't their only victim.

Miguel felt so angry at himself and guilty that he didn't know that behind his brother's insistence on being covered up from head to toe, lies numerous wounds. Knowing him, he probably didn't tell him so he wouldn't worry about him. He wished he did. He wished Gabriel was a little more selfish and made him worry about him instead because he would protect him better.

With this, he took his time to learn more about the arrogant pricks that murdered his brother. He moved to a different city, to Nueva York, so that he had an alibi. He stalked the conceited brats who did the same to numerous people and their rich parents who didn’t give a shit whether their children murdered someone. He learned their routine. Their schedule. And when the time was right, he put a bullet through their heads one by one when they least expected it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, come on man, I’m sorry,” they begged with tears and snot dripping, crawling backwards under his shadow. “Don’t kill me, please, I’ll give you anything.”

“Money? Do you want money? I’ll give you hundreds and thousands,” they always said the same thing, thinking that money was enough for him to forgive the suffering they had caused to his remaining family that they took away, the bruises and cuts on his brother’s body, the damage they had done on him mentally. “No? Half a billion? No, no! One billion!”

His jaw clenched. Pathetic pigs. He cocked and aimed it at them.

“No, no, no! NO—!” they stuttered and screamed but were cut off by the sound of a bullet fired by a gun with a muffler.

He wondered if they at least felt some remorse or at the very least thought about how Gabriel or the other kids they tortured and killed felt as they begged them to not hurt them. But he knew people like them, he had seen them countless times including his very own father. People like them didn’t care about anything or anyone other than themselves. These kids were just the same as them.

He made sure to clean up his tracks, deleted potential shreds of evidence, and made some story that would make their case solved and closed easily. He left the city swiftly and came back to his new home. With this, he tried to leave his old past behind and began his life anew.

“Que estás en el cielo.”

Miguel hated himself. He hated the fact that he killed his father which resulted in the death of his mother so that nobody will know that he killed him. He hated the fact that he was so ignorant of his brother's suffering that he had to be pushed to his death for him to realize that his brother was in pain. He hated the monster he turned out to be, always out for blood and killing people like it was nothing.

The sea of guilt and remorse suffocated him and he drowned himself in alcohol and women. The money he saved up which was supposed to be for Gabriel’s graduation gift was used on his vices. 

Day and night, his sins weighed heavy on his mind and not once, was he given at least a moment of peace.

“Santificado sea tu nombre.”

A knock snapped Miguel out of a trance as he smoked out of the window of his apartment. The wispy grey stench wafted in the air as he raised an eyebrow, wondering without much interest who could be knocking on his door. It couldn’t be the landlord as he just paid his month’s due. His past flings? Probably.

Knock. Knock.

He took another drag and inhaled as much as he could before he exhaled and extinguished it on the ashtray full of ashes and butts of leftover cigarettes.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

He opened the door and found nobody, but a baby in a basket with a letter sticking out of the blankets wrapped around it. The sight of the baby filled him with anxiety and dread. He looked sideways, hoping to at least find who put the baby on his door but only the sight of closed doors greeted him. He had an inch of what was happening and he did not like it one bit. 

With a shaky sigh, he took the baby and cradled it in his arms. God, he didn’t even know its gender. But the sight of him made the baby giggle and coo at him and he bit his lip. Fuck. He opened the letter with his other hand and the words written on it confirmed his suspicions.

“It’s your baby, Miguel. You were the last one I hooked up with before I found out I was pregnant and even then, it was too late. She was too grown and I cannot abort her anymore. I don’t have any papers of her because I have no money and I can’t raise her.”

Miguel could feel a migraine forming and he rubbed his forehead. The baby must have found his distress amusing because it giggled once more and tried to grab his fingers. 

No. She. Not it. 

Fuck.

Miguel wasn’t ready to be a dad, he doesn’t even think he was suited to be one because he was a piece of shit but he took another look at her that was so snug and comfortable in his arms as she looked at him with wonder, he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to try to take care after her.

“Venga tu reino.”

A few years passed by and Miguel accepted his role as a father. He named the baby Gabriella after his late brother. He got into therapy and went back to work so he could raise her with no financial problems and so that he wouldn’t be a bad father to her. Gabriella was a handful child. He slept countless sleepless nights, often waking up early in the morning because she was crying. Sometimes it was because she was hungry, sometimes she just needed help to digest the milk, and sometimes there wasn’t any particular reason for her cries. But still, he cradled her in his embrace and sang lullabies to her softly.

It felt like it was just yesterday Miguel opened the door and found her on his doorstep. Gabriella has grown into a bright young child. She took after his looks as she inherited almost all of her genes from him. 

Oh, she was so lovely. She was the best of him, better than him and Miguel liked that because she deserved better. She made him believe that he wasn’t the worst piece of trash and that he wasn’t useless. She made him feel loved and he made sure she felt loved as well.

She was very much into soccer and he was so proud of her. He attended all of her games without a miss, winner or not. He was there with her by her side, teaching her how to be kind enough to not hurt anybody and allow herself to be hurt. He taught her to be emotional yet to also remain logical. He taught her to tell him anything yet also let her remain her own privacy.

Miguel loved her very much and she loved him very much as well. 

“Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo.”

But he was a sinner and there will be time that his sins would catch up to him. He understood this one day when he got home one afternoon as he got home after work and was greeted by his child, his precious baby, his Gabriella’s lifeless body in her blood.

The tears came fast and thick. He immediately cradled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth. He begged her to wake up, to open her eyes for Papa. To surprise him that this was just a prank. Or a dream. Anything.

Please, wake up. You can’t die yet. I haven’t lived the rest of my life with you yet. I haven’t seen you on your quinceañera yet or your graduation or the first time you get a job. I haven’t seen you get married or surprise me with grandchildren. 

I haven’t seen you live your life yet.

Please. Don’t do this to me.

“Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día.”

Violence has always resided in his soul and with his daughter’s death, he committed his one last vengeance. He visited his old life once more. He got back with his connections and his trusted friends gave him whatever he needed in exchange for nothing and as their condolences.

The killers of his daughter were related to his previous crimes. They were related to the families of the people he killed and they decided to kill his daughter as their revenge.

And in return, hunted them all down. He hunted all families down and despite all the scars, all the sharp cuts, all the black and blue bruises, and all the bullets that pierced him, he never gave up and killed them all. Multiple mafia familias were down and he made sure that they couldn’t even think of getting revenge and that all they could do was bow before him.

“Hahaha, you son a bitch,” one cackled as he spat on him, “you deserve it all.”

“You heartless bitch, you’re the reason why all your family’s dead. Fucking cunt, you think you can revive them? Dream on.” he babbled his useless mouth on and wheezed.

“I know.” How could Miguel not know? For not one second that had gone by, he could never ever forget how he killed his family.

“Your death will not bring my family alive but it will make sure that any other families won’t be killed.” And with that, he pulled the trigger and let the loud sound of the gun resonate through the room. His head spat out red and some solids of his brain decorated the wall behind him. His blood dripped down and it joined the pool of the blood of the other corpses that lay dead in the room. The rays of the rising sun shone through the window and it gleamed on the pool of red. Silence filled the room and only the sound of his breaths remained.

Miguel’s eyes gave up suddenly and he fell to the ground on his knees with a harsh thud. With a tear, his shoulders loosened.

Finally. It’s over. Everything’s over.

Miguel should be glad that all of his enemies were gone and nobody would even dare to hurt him anymore but what does it all matter when everyone he held dear was gone?

“Perdona nuestras ofensas,”

Due to the rules of the underworld, the top dogs with Miguel O’Hara leading, their identities would be hidden and they would not be allowed to surrender themselves to the government as it could overthrow the black society altogether. Partly because of this, he turned to God and moved to a quaint town. He became a priest with the sole purpose of repentance and earning forgiveness for his sins. He didn't know if he was asking God to forgive him or his family who died because of him to forgive his carelessness in protecting them.

It was ironic really because he never really believed in God despite the nightly mass he, his brother, and his mother used to have. The words he uttered were redundant, merely sounds he couldn't understand nor tried to. When his mother died, he and Gabriel did the nightly mass in honour of their late mother. And when he died, he could only attend Sunday mass in the church with Gabriella because of the ache of missing his mother and brother yet still continue the tradition of being faithful to God. He wanted her to grow up good and kind so he taught her the values and morals of being a Catholic despite not fully believing in God.

A hypocrite, that's what he was and usually thought about as he led the mass during his schedule.

And he still was when a quiet mysterious woman moved into town. 

You.

“Como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden.”

You appeared so suddenly out of nowhere in this town. He lived in the Church but in such a small town, words tend to spread easily. In just two days of your arrival, he already heard of a young woman who had just moved in. 

Miguel was a bit wary as this town barely had any people. Most residents were grandparents or older parents who were already retired and their children who left to move to the cities for bigger opportunities and education. He didn't know what you were thinking about coming here. Were you sent here by the underworld? No, it can't be. He was protected by his friends who ruled the underworld now. Did you have a past like him? Were you running away from something? He sighed as he shook his head. Then again, it was none of his business and it was most definitely not his right to pry.

The next Sunday was the first time he saw you. You sat there at the back, ushered by your neighbours, he presumed. In rows of people, you stood out so brightly. Your back was straight, there was elegance so blatant despite the plain clothes you wore. He met your gaze one too many times and noticed the way you hung onto every word he uttered.

And when the mass had ended he stayed around longer this time and talked with the locals a bit more. And without a doubt, your new friend introduced him to you.

“Oh good morning, Father O’Hara! Wonderful mass, by the way, I loved the homily, well, as usual, it really reflected my situation now with my son in college. Do you still remember?” Mrs. Lorraine greeted him with a handshake.

“Oh for God’s sake, Lorraine, yes Father still remembers that and I’m sure he appreciated that you love it. Don’t forget you’re here to introduce [Name] to him.” Mrs. Eleanor said, cutting Miguel off before he could even reply.

“Oh! Dear me, why yes,” with widened eyes, she laughed, “Yes, forgive me.”

“Father, this is [Name]. They just moved in here and I invited them to join the church.” she moved her body to show your figure and Miguel finally had a close look upon you. Your eyes stared at him and for a second, he felt like there were just the two of you. You looked at him with wonder and curiosity and Dios mío, you looked so innocent and he was reminded of the darkness that exists from within him. He felt like one touch and he could corrupt you easily. He clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow, desperately hiding any tremor in his composure.

“[Name], this is Father Miguel O’Hara. He moved into this town a little while ago and clearly, one of our only priests.”

“Oh, good morning, Father Miguel.” Christ, your voice was soft as a wind that tickled his heart. You held out your hand to him. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Good morning.” He nodded stiffly. He took your hand and shook it.

Even your palm was smooth and he forced the thought down to hold your hand longer.

“No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal.”

You were kind. Endlessly so. You sponsored this town’s community event alongside donations to the church anonymously but everybody knew it was you. Everyone just decided to keep their silence to respect your decision in keeping your identity. 

You preferred to listen to others and learn more about them rather than talk about yourself. You always asked how everyone was doing and gave them gifts under the excuse of it being old despite it polished brand new. Whenever children or the grandchildren of the locals visited, you always stopped by their house and gave them little gifts as well.

Miguel had seen you interact with children multiple times whenever he was doing groceries and pass by at yours, he saw you giggling along with the children. He saw you reading books to them under the shade of a tree and rays of sunlight would gently decorate your faces and the winds would play with your hair. He saw you happy and the children happy with you as well.

And his heart throbbed at the sight of you each time but he swallowed the feelings forcibly down as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Amén.”

He hated you.

He hated the way you invoke feelings in him. He hated the way you tempt him unknowingly and he cannot blame you to take any responsibility for the way you make him feel. He hated the way you make him want to sin again, to unleash the beast inside him he had caged for so long but for another different reasons entirely which was you.

He was a priest, someone who he tried so hard not to sin but you make him falter in his beliefs so effortlessly.

So he hid himself who had become a sinner once more just at the thoughts of you.

“En el nombre del Padre,”

But he was so weak for you.

After a mass one sunday morning, you asked him if you could have a talk with him just the two of you and somewhere private. Miguel knew he should have said no. He should have turned you away and pretend he has not been watching you from afar and from the corner of his eye. But he was weak for you and before he knew it, he let you in on his office room.

“Father Miguel, why are you ignoring me?” you asked so suddenly and he knew it was coming. He has turned away from you, pretending he doesn’t see you coming and would walk the other way. But he was still caught off guard. You leaned closer to him he could smell your delicious scent. He leaned away because his patience with you was just so little he might lose his hard-earned control.

“Pardon me, but you’re getting too close.” He said with gritted teeth and tight fists. You looked hurt at that. With widened eyes that were soon filled with dejection, you slowly rubbed your arm. Guilt flooded his being and as much as he wanted to apologize, he couldn’t. Any second with you drove him insane and he could only take so much of this. He didn’t want to lose his reason, his morals, his values as a Priest. He couldn’t bear to. But any more second with you, he just might lose it all for you. You bit your lip.

“Why do you hate me so much?” you whispered with small tears welling up your eyes and Miguel hated himself more. There was nothing more he wanted to do at the moment than to hold you and wipe your tears away himself. But he can’t. It’s wrong. Priests don’t get close like that to their fellow believers. 

“I don’t hate you—” he sighed as he looked away but you cut him off.

“Then why do you look away from me? Am I so undeserving for you to not look me in the eye? Am I so disgusting for you to get close to me? Am I so inadequate and worthless for you to treat me like you treat others?” you said harshly at him while tears slipped your eyes. You took a step at him with every word you said and he took a step back in every step you took until his back was pushed to the wall behind him. “So do not tell me that you don’t hate me when all you did made me feel like you despised my entire being.”

For fuck’s sake.

He grabbed your arm and turned your body, switching positions with his. He made sure to cover the back of your head so it wouldn’t hit the wall too hard and he growled under his breath.

“I do not hate you.” he said with gritted teeth. “I want you.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“What?” you confusingly and breathlessly asked.

“Every time I see you, there is nothing more than I want than to be with you. I look at your pretty face and I want to kiss you so bad. I look at your nice figure and I want to hold and caress you. I want you.” he panted silently, the words he never dared to even utter to himself outloud was finally out of his chest. And now that they were free, he looked at your eyes to see how would you react. Would you push him away and slap his face? Would you be disgusted with him you’d never want to see him anymore?

He would understand but he didn’t know if he could bear with your hatred.

“Then take me.” your hand encircled his neck and the other gently stroked his cheek.

No.

“I’m right here.”

I can’t.

“Show me you don’t truly hate me.”

It’s wrong.

“Show me how much you want me.”

In an instant, he captured his lips with yours as his hand slid to the back of your neck. At the touch of your lips, the hidden lust for you blossomed. He pressed his face to yours and yours closer to his deeper, his kiss burning so passionately and fiercely. You opened your mouth with a moan and he invited his tongue in, and he nearly groaned at your fragrance hynotizing him and your sweet taste that ignited a new kind of hunger for him. His tongue swriled with yours and together, they danced a dance that left him breathless.

He pulled away slightly and a web of both of your saliva disappeared. He stared at you as you panted. You looked at him pleadingly and your stare sent a rush of blood down in his pants. He wanted more and he knew you wanted the same.

And with that, he plunged to the roaring sea and its waging waves of lust.

“Y del Hijo,”

For you, he threw his title as a Priest and became just Miguel.

All for you, he returned to his origins and became a sinner once more.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

Each day and night, you invited him into your temple and he worshipped you. What once was just thoughts that tortured him became reality that gave him a glimpse of heaven. Your aroma engulfed him and filled his never-ending greed of you and your flavor satiated his endless glutton for you.

“Amen.”

As he finished his prayer, he stood up from kneeling and bowed to the Cross of the Lord. He fixed his clothes and the sounds of his footsteps against the tiles of the Church rang as he left with thoughts of you.

He wanted to hear your melody that was akin to the trumpets of the angels again. He wanted your soft and supple skin to be against his dark and rough ones. He wanted to be pressed under you with your legs on the either side of his head and your juices spill in his mouth. He wanted your warm cavern envoloped around him and to feel you come undone by him.

With a silent chuckle, he thought about how he tried so hard to not corrupt you by with his wicked thoughts only to be corrupted by you instead.

For Miguel O’Hara was a sinner and no matter how much he tried to change that, he will always be one. Violence has resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins but time changed him and has now become lust that occupied his being along with the infinite greed and glutton that only wanted you.

[januscorner]

Virgil Sanders Stimboard

💜💜💜 💜💜💜 💜💜💜

[phoenixdaneko]

Here's the full post from all the inbox trick or treating yesterday

This bitch that took me 7 hours 16 minutes and 74 fucking layers

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

Needed to draw something but the TMA finale used up all the brain power I would need to come up with something to draw. So I just drew that

[padded-daydreams]

it's funny how you said that pugs are abominations because they kinda are. But what about chihuahuas?-🌟

Chihuahuas have less health problems and also probably shouldn’t exist, but pugs are much, much worse.

Pugs have been bred so that they are born unable to breathe properly. Their tails are deformed. Their eyes are prone to just falling out. They are ugly creatures who live their shortened lives in pain. Movies like Men In Black which featured a pug made them popular and more pugs have been bred (I don’t blame the movie, but any movie featuring an animal will have this effect, like Finding Nemo made kids want pet fish). When pugs are fitted with breathing tubes for surgery (which is common because they ar prone to organ failure), they don’t want them off. Unlike other dogs, who hate breathing tubes and find them painful, pugs are the opposite of desperate to rip them off. Its because they have a squashed face, and are unable to even get enough oxygen. There are programs to try and breed pugs back into a reasonable existence where they are more like actual dogs, instead of the inbred creatures they are. All of this is because the features of pugs were arbitrarily decided cute.

Pugs are not the only dogs which have been ruined through the selective breeding of humans, but they are one of the worst examples.

There are similar issues in other pets. Reptiles can be selectively bred to contain different colorations referred to as “morphs.” The hobby is huge, with countless breeders dedicating decades to achieving unique animals. Ever seen a photo of a solid black gecko? Or a snake with smiley faces? Those aren’t always photoshop. Sometimes, photos are uploaded with filters, but the most part, it is real. On websites like Morph Market, breeders can list reptiles for sale. If you sort by rare or expensive morphs, you can see these animals.

I’m most familiar with ball pythons. I have one as a pet and have done the most research on them over other pets. Ball pythons have hundreds, maybe even thousands of different morphs which have been selectively bred. Most of them are fine, great even. Countless beautiful snakes are out there with vibrant colors and patters. Unfortunately, certain morphs are linked to certain traits. For a harmless example, ‘banana’ morph (also known as ‘coral glow’) ball pythons tend to be male. Unfortunately, certain colorations which have been selectively bred over time are linked to various health defects and neurological issues.

The most common and well-known example is the ‘spider’ morph. The ‘spider’ morph is associated with a pretty spiderweb pattern, and one of the worst neurological issues. This problem (commonly referred to as a ‘wobble’) is linked to the gene that causes the pattern. Among other things, this results in a snake that cannot tell up from down. This results in the snake struggling to eat, and in some cases biting itself. Spiders are some of the most popular snakes with such defects due to their color. They sell, so they continue to be bred. Morphs containing ‘spider’ (as in, the when two snakes are cross bred to result in new morphs) are often names various ‘bug’ names (usually ‘bee’ is somewhere in there). Breeders will point to certain crosses or even individual snakes whose ‘head wobble’ is less severe, or even crosses the which seem almost fine as a reason why this morph should continue to be bred and sold. It should not and has even been banned from some reptile conventions. Some pretty patterns are not worth continuing to breed an animal which should not exist and is prone to moving backwards, upside down, and quite literally trying to eat itself. The snakes already exist, and I don’t see an issue in having a rescue as a pet, but breeders need to just stop bringing more into the world.

Spider ball pythons, pugs, even glow-in-the-dark goldfish. So many animals which should have never existed continue to exist due to selective breeding, capitalism and the barely-regulated supply and demand of pets. I’m not against selective breeding, but at some point there has to be a line.

This is not even getting into people who defend breeding spider ball pythons by comparing them to autistic people simply being allowed exist in this world and also to have children.

[sablescribbles]

Inktober Days 1-3!

Day 1: Dream

Day 2: Spider

Day 3: Path

Please don't use/repost my art without my permission!

[blumin-onion]

Daily Doodle Day 70

<- Day 69 | All Days | Day 71 ->

Have a sketchbook spread in the works based around the song Kiss Me(Kill Me) by @jerryterry on YouTube, also available on Spotify!

[the-shinysnorlax]

Inktober Day 2: Spiders

[mrm-pachypoda]

Woe. Eye guy be upon ye

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

cw: Yandere Themes, Possessive Behavior, Gaslighting / Allusions to Gaslighting, Violence / Violent Imagery, Non-Con / Attempted Non-Con, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Themes Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Gender-Neutral Reader. Read at your own discretion! 18+ Only!

author's note: This is for the second half of anon's request! I had fun playing around with this one, too. I really enjoy writing for Overhaul! This was a prompt from "Yandere Prompts Flower Language" and can be found here . REQUESTS ARE OPEN — READ TAGS. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

PROMPT: Lily (Purity): "I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

word count: Approximately 1.4k.

You’re terrified.

The bed doesn’t offer an ounce of solace whenever you fall, whenever the back of your knees thump against its edge and it sends you catapulting throughout space and time. You feel heavy and light at the same time, lead in your mouth whenever you try to breathe, the smell of metal hearty and deafening. You bounce softly whenever the mattress catches you, but your body quakes so much that you feel like you keep going and going, and your hands are working a mile a minute to slam behind your frame to drag you back back back back back. Far away, you’re trying to leave this realm, leave the edge of the bed, trying to nestle into the bed frame, to find a way to meld into the wall and never return. But even if you could, there’s that voice whispering in the shell of your ear, reminding you that it’s futile, useless, and you’re clueless, and that it wouldn’t matter anyway because—

Kai steps closer. He stalks like a predator, staring down your frame, visage cloudy and unreadable. You’re never able to see what he’s thinking, the windows to his soul closed with midnight curtains, but there’s something flashing above his face like a halo that produces chills down your arms. He’s going to hurt you, there’s no way he isn’t, but you don’t know how, don’t want to know how. And whenever his knees start to sink on the bed so that he can begin to ascend the trek to your shuddering frame, everything around you begins to home in. Breathing becomes difficult, maybe it was never even a thing, and you’re finding that the world truly is a drain, water in a bowl hurling and vomiting, loose stones in a stomach. You get your fill, and your head hits the wall with a broad thud.

Being here is the worst thing you’ll ever experience, watching Kai draw closer and closer and closer is anything but the cherry on top. More is to come, and that’s what feels like spikes, chains whipping in the wind, the braying of a captured horse, everything knives down your flesh, flaying you alive. Your eyes are frantic whenever you glance around, whenever you try to think about yourself as not yourself, you try to figure out what would help you ground the fluttering nerves, what could let you slink away into the underbrush so that you don’t have to think about whenever Kai pauses in front of your frame and stretches a hand out. Pads of fingers are gossamer spider webs stringing through the trees, breaking in odd splinters and tickling your thigh.

“Why did you back away from me?”

He knows why. He’s tormenting you. He’s trying to find ways to gaslight your silly brain into thinking you’re the one that hurt him, that you’re the one doing something wrong, that you’re the one being a bad little child. A part of you begs to tell the truth, to watch that poised and clear expression melt off of his face into something disgusting and monstrous so that you can sneer and hate him more. You want to fight him, want to tear your head into two slices so that your teeth can shoot out of your mouth, elongate into blades so you can bite down into his temples and never let go. Thick saliva starts to puddle in your mouth whenever you think about how his warm blood would taste undulating across your tongue. Your nails clench into the bedsheets.

You’re too much of a fucking pussy to fight back though.

“I… don’t know.”

Kai’s pretty eyes narrow.

“Can’t trust you to do anything on your own then. Especially whenever you don’t even think about why you’re doing it.”

The hand on your thigh suddenly becomes an iron, instantly hot and searing your flesh, leaving a tattoo of his claim behind whenever it inches up to the juxtaposition of hip and thigh. Those teeth in your mouth grow, harder, and you feel it coming on, feel that you could really kill him if you wanted to. You could sink your fingers deep into his eyes before you pull them out like skewers, before you stick those squishy things into your mouth to taste their creamy middles. You could cough on him, could watch all of those hives appearing on his hand, his arm, his shoulder, his neck, his face grow in frequency, could throw darts onto them to pop him like a carnival balloon.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Frustration settles deep within your belly, along with the weighty sensation of acceptance. Kai seems pleased with your answer, maybe, because his fingers tap tap tap your hip before he’s on you. He’s a blur, you’re a falling leaf, and his hands are pressing down onto your collar bones so that he can shove you flat onto your back. The bed is hard now, no cushioning, and Kai’s hot, and you’re thawing, and his mouth hurts whenever he ensnares you. He’s never known how to kiss. It’s awkward, clunky. He sucks in both lips, strangely melds his mouth around them, and then he tries to find ways to flick at the flakes of pores and teeth with that juvenile tongue. He drools all over you, gross and sticky, and you can’t understand how he handles that filthy mess. He never turns his head the right way either, always too straight or too tilted, and his jaw doesn’t work correctly. It’s too mechanical, not a flow, and you just feel like you’re fulfilling an obligation whenever he kisses you.

Kai’s moaning into you, and then he rolls his hips in between the crux of your legs. He’s stony, and your eyes instantly wrench to the right, closed so tightly that it feels like you’ve pulled every single muscle in your fragile body. He’s writhing on top of you like a virgin, and there’s a part of you that feels victorious among the wreckage whenever you stew over how bad at sex he probably is, how clumsy and stupid he is, but it doesn’t make the tears spearing your eyes any less salty. They’re on fire, white flames that lick the dents in the fruits of your face, and so many of them escape, dropping onto the sheets, rivulets of watery paint, and the choked sob you breathe into Kai breaks his fantasies.

His eyes flit open with yours, only whiskers from yours, and he looks ugly and foul from this angle. It takes a beat for Kai to lean his body away from you so that he can scrutinize you. He stares and stares, and he keeps staring, and then he seems to tremble so sweetly and he almost makes a childish giggle. His shoulders pinch in together whenever he huskily whispers,

“I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

Nothing. Those are nothing words. But Kai stops, he keeps walking himself backwards, those honeycombs in his eyes are magnifying glasses into an insanity that makes you sick.

“Having sex with you whenever you’re crying wouldn’t do me any good. It wouldn’t make you stay perfect for me.”

Something is beginning to click like rockets in your head.

“If you’re crying and fighting me all of the time, I’m just going to get angry. And then I might accidentally hurt you.”

There are demons hissing into your ears, nasty nasty nasty thoughts that start to make your toes curl. It’s settling in your bones, your organs, and your eyes are widening with more and more and more fresh tears. They’re like thunderstorms down your face, and you’re soggy and gleaming with happiness. He’s so fucking ridiculous and dumb. You’re going to destroy him and manipulate the fuck out of him. You hate him so fucking much. He’s gullible in the strangest of ways and you’ve hooked your line in, and you’re going to exploit his ocean until there’s nothing left.

So you cry harder.

Kai releases more of those airy bubbles, not even chuckles, and his eyes wrinkle at the ends like stuffing paper.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready. I’ll wait until I can’t take it, so don’t make me impatient. I want what we have to be special.”

The tears trickle into your tight mouth, juicy nectar, that stretching grin in your mind tingles, and nothing has ever tasted so sweet.

“Me too.”

[tanuki-kimono]

Hi! First off your blog is such an important resource for me in kimono patterns, thank you for keeping it! Secondly, a question. What patterns are associated with death? I know of spider lilies, and pure black kimono accessories for funeral wear, but otherwise not much else. I suspect that kind of pattern would be more of a novelty item print than an estabilished and used pattern.

Hi and thanks for your kinds words! Off the top of my head, they are several patterns associated with death, mostly linked to Buddhism.

Tbh, mourning attire for women are for me more an affair of colors (black/muted) and discreet not-celebratory patterns (it also depends of ones means). Novelty "death-themed"patterns are more and more present in modern kimono, yet you can also find "traditional" ones - even if they are on the rarer side.

Formal mourning garb, as you note, asks for mofuku (black kimono and obi with a few white accessories). Obi usually have very traditional woven ground patterns - for example ryuusui (running water) which kinda symbolize "the flow of life".

For the Buddhist anniversary of one's death and rememberance services, ladies would (when they can afford it) go from all black to half-mourning dress in muted colors like dull greys or ashen purple. For such occasions, you can find Buddhist patterns like sutra (Heart sutra especially), lotus flowers, gorintô (stylized stupa), etc.

More seasonal items could reference Buddhist Obon (festival of the dead) or Higan (more especially autumn equinox Shûbun), but such patterns for very specific events are on the rarer side, and more a matter of taste and style.

Patterns can include higanbana (spider lilies) for Higan, and for Obon: lanterns, cucumber or eggplant "spirit horse", hozuki (ground cherry), nod to Kyoto’s Daimonji kanji, or memento mori-themed motifs (like skeletons, nozarashi or graveplates).

As a step further into morbid imagery, another pattern which can sometimes be found, especially on men juban or haori lining, are decaying corpses (referencing Buddhist meditation on kusôzu or "nine stages of decay"). This was a subject in Japanese art, you can find an example here (cw: corpse depiction).

Hinting at Buddhist concept of impermanence and search for enlightment, Hell courtesan (jigoku dayû) with uchikake coats depicting hellish torments could also enter the death patterns category. Same goes for Buddhist hell imagery of Hell king Enma, or Hell guardians Gozu and Mezu (I believe I saw them on men juban/haori linings + on netsuke).

Finally, because we are talking of death, have a look at this super unsual and puzzling kimono depicting butsunehan (death of Buddha). Becky Mitsui's article is a wild ride xD

[tyrianludaship]

Hello and Howdy! I’m TyrianLuda but I also go by Tyrian, Ty, or Luda!

This is the blog where I totally act normal about the TF2 mercs and other fellas (<- lying). If you want to see me insanely gush about my F/Os, you’re in the right place. 

20 years old + white + non-binary / gender non-conforming + afab + bi/pan + goes by any/all except from neopronouns (you can also call me 'bro' and 'dude'. I don't mind at all)! this is a selfship blog for @tyrianluda!

My Media fixations are currently Team Fortress 2, Fallout: New Vegas & the Spider-Verse Movies. My other interests also include art, writing & analysis!

{F/O List <- Here}

{ On a relevant note; if you are uncomfortable with sharing any of my f/os and wish to block me, you’re in your right and I have no hard feelings over it. Some people call selfshippers that don’t want to share ‘delusional’ or ‘gatekeeping’ and I heavily disagree with that notion. You’re all good, don’t worry :] }

General Tag Navigation:

[just me yapping]

my art

[incorrect quotes]

[imagines]

[message in a bottle]

[aest.]

Do Not Interact: Basic DNI Criteria, RPF or Real Person Fiction (shipping irl people together or with yourself: also called "celebrity other"), Proshippers/Comshippers/Neutrals, SpyScout shippers and incest shippers in general, MAP/PEAR, lolicons and/or shotacons, a supporter of J.K. Rowling, TERFS and bigots of any nature

Before You Follow: I do sometimes reblog and post stuff that may contain suggestive imagery or concepts (no nsfw or anything past the words whore or slut / mentions of their tits / maybe some pinups). I have an after dark 18+ account for posts I don’t feel comfortable posting either here or in my main. Regardless, I recommend that minors and others uncomfortable should filter my “cw: suggestive” tag.

I'd recommend reading my carrd since there's more things I wanted to state but I didn't want a wall of text (includes a more extensive dni and byf)

Thank you for reading this!

[mycoblogg]

freaky fungi fact : entomopathogenic fungi !!

entomopathogenic fungi are fungi that can kill or seriously disable insects.

this group of fungi lives in the soil & infects insects by penetrating their bodies to feed on them, & eventually kill them. they are sorted into five divisions (ascomycota, zygomycota, deuteromycota, oomycota & chytridiomycota), each with their own properties.

they have a big impact on insect population dynamics in soil.

there are currently over 800 different entomopathogenic fungi that have been identified.

below the cut are some images of insects that have been infected. CW for animal death + bugs / other critters + just general disturbing imagery.

a beetle parasitised by an unnamed entomopathogenic fungus. [source]

a cicada parasitised by the massospora cicadina fungus. [source]

a spider parasitised by an unnamed entomopathogenic fungus. [source]

[the lovely user who asked me to talk about this : source<3]

[firapolemos05]

@augusnippets Path of Hurt

Day 31: Bonus day!

CW: whipping, spider imagery

Words: 100

Bellkiira (he/him)

The Webbound's Wail is a gruesome landmark of Lod'tynan Orbbs'cress. A pillar of punishments, stained with years of blood, infused with the echoes of its victims cries.

Bellkiira was always terrified of going near it. Of the looming statue that formed its structure, reaching down with too many legs and leering with too many eyes.

Eyes that now leer upon him as he shrieks and bleeds.

His delicate body is no match for the whip.

Violet skin yields, rips under each strike. His face and back sport matching rivers, one of tears and the other blood.

The spider watches hungrily.