#cw: eye trauma

[catsharky]

Create cool summer treats for your vampire with this one neat trick

[steelart]

BG3 Mini-Comic: They Don’t Belong to You

Ahhh, parallels, my beloved.

Playing a Dark Urge who is a squishy lil' sorcerer, I love the fact that you can choose to say "haha no, fuck what Big Daddy Murder wants" and have your buddies immediately join the 1-v-1 fight in order to win against Orin.

I like to imagine that my durge, Jiril's (she/they) romanced Astarion was particularly proactive about it. The man does not give a shit about rules, only survival.

[deadclockghost]

Mermay Day 17 - Blind

Healing kisses~

(This what totally not an excuse to draw them. kissing what are you talking about-)

[windchime-of-teeth]

it’s a bit of a deviation from my normal fandoms- but i wanted to map out a style reference sheet for a little animatic i’m working on!

if you’re a bsd fan, please go check out Magic and Mystery by Allegory_for_Hatred on Ao3 its legitimately so good, like- my favorite fic i’ve ever read.

love a spooky little little guy who has experienced the horrors tm and is now inflicting them- his soulless void eyes are honestly so so fun to draw!

[dcartcorner]

Commission for @whitenessgreynessdarkness of their OC Solomon, and their encounter with a hungry creature. For an upcoming fic, the same as the previous pieces of art featuring noodle Jon, and Martin. Thank you for the support!

[arradraws]

∘Absence∘

And another version of it that I toyed with 😊

[nordidia]

Can we see the eye?

Sorry if that's too personal

sorry, but i wont post a picture of my eye !! mostly cause it looked gnarly as hell and i dont want someone to accidentally flash themself with that on my page

but you can get the idea of it googling corneal abrasion if you are up to see it, i basically had an open gash on my cornea right above my pupil, very lucky to have missed the pupil and that it wasnt deep enough to cut the actual iris

its fully healed now tho!! it didnt take long at all and i think i escaped any long term effects or infection, very lucky (maybe i am milking it at this point /lh sorry i reply to asks so late gah)

anyway be fucking careful around aloe veras pointing straight at u so you cant see it bc the angle of it makes it almost fucking invisible to you, the ends of those leaves are fucking needles

if you're really curious i doodled this to give you the idea of size and placement LMAO:

it was a bit more open but the lines are rly thick on the drawing sorry. also my entire eye was red as fuck

[lucifer-kane]

Christopher and Ilias only see eye to eye on two things. One: They're damn good in a fight together. Two: They won't get a happy ending, but they'll pretend they can.

[delirisse-au]

Day 6

Rivals

This is inspired by a comic I saw on here where Narinder orders Baal to hurt Aym, but I cannot find it rahhhh orz I don't remember who drew it

[frozenjokes]

guys if i tell you its a cub and cleo fic will you still read it. what if i told you grian was in it (he's not)

ao3 link

He wanted to know how she treated them. If she loved them, dusted them weekly and watered the grounds, repaired all signs of age until you couldn’t tell which statues were born yesterday or one hundred years ago.

He wanted to see her face. She was beautiful to him, regardless of what the people spoke about her, all he wanted was to see her, to know her as the last thing he’d ever think. Would she take it the wrong way, he wondered, if he told her she was beautiful before he was gone. Would she understand he meant it, see the soul in his eyes. More than likely, Cub would not be able to speak at all. That was okay.

He wanted to be beautiful. He wanted to be like her, or rather, from her, touched by her, brought forth to new death in any way she wanted. He would ask, if he got the chance. To be posed. To be any way she wanted, any way she might love him most.

A dream.

To be cared for, but not missed. To be loved and forgotten. She would never know him, nor would Cub know her, and there could be no end more perfect than exactly this.

He’d been traveling for a while. Looking for her. It was difficult on foot; he’d had to sell his stolen horse in the last small village he’d visited as he’d run out of food, and while he did not plan on living much longer, he could not die too soon. He had a map, he’d bought in hopeful desperation, but no way to know if it was accurate. It was vague, too, stressfully so, but Cub was nothing if not persistent.

He knew it when he saw it.

A valley, beautiful and green and pulsing with the wind, leading down into a section of land that looked.. manicured. Still wild, yes, flush with love and life, but the grass was shorter, the trees thinner, and the landforms felt deliberate somehow. Perhaps that was delusion. Cub did spend too long examining each and every rock, longing to find a body beneath his fingers. He wasted so much time that he had to make camp for the night, moving on come dawn.

He did not call for her. He did not need to; she would find him on her own, browsing her creations with utmost respect. Once he found them, at least.

It wasn’t long now.

Cub did not expect to be sad. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Peace, maybe. Relief.

And it wasn’t that he wasn’t so deeply relieved to be here, to be off his feet, nor was he anxious about his end, he just..

There were not so many people here. Not as many as Cub had imagined. And all of them.. most all of them..

Did it hurt? To be turned to stone? Is that why their faces twisted, why their jaws hung loose in half-sung screams, why their eyes were squinted shut? Many held their arms in front of their face. Many stood half crouched with their swords, needing to be propped up in their uneven distribution.

Cub was not naive. He knew many did not come here with good intentions. Many of these men could have been evil, come to slay the monster within, but Cub just.. he hadn’t thought it would be all of them. Surely there were others like him, others who dreamed of an end in stone, who had nothing, to live for or to lose, and only wanted the gentle embrace of beauty after death. Cub did not have the fortune to own beautiful things. He did not have the fortune of being lovely, adored, a similar plight to the rest of his people. 

Maybe it was not that no one else dreamed in his same colors. They just.. hadn’t made it so far. One unlucky bout of sickness, or failing to escape his village with enough resources to survive in the first place and..

The grove was surrounded on three sides by tall, hilly land. It was small, so neatly tucked away, the swaying grasses covering most of the gray stone bricks dotting the entrance from far away. The statues were hidden from view as well, at least until you got close, your fate outlined clearly should you choose to proceed, though, if you’d gotten this far, it may already be too late.

When people spoke of her, it was as if she was omniscient. It was rumored she spoke to the snakes, that she was a snake of some kind, and used them to guard her secret home. Surely by now, she knew she had a guest. Cub shivered at the idea of being watched. Anticipation. Excitement.

All of him screamed to press on, to move past the entrance and find the savior of his new death, but he was stopped by the sudden anxiety that proceeding might be quite a rude thing to do. She did not like visitors, famously, and with half her visitors marching in with swords preserved in their statues, maybe that sentiment was earned. Cub supposed he wouldn’t like anyone kicking down the door of his own place and making themselves at home. Not that the grove had a door.

So he sat. 

He was very careful with how he sat, very particular; he did not want to fall over if he accidentally caught her eye and died too suddenly to amend his posture. He wore a small smile, conscious and just a little agonizing. This was not his resting face, not remotely comfortable. But he would persevere.

He got hungry, after a while. He did not have many more rations, and honestly, he hadn’t been expecting to need them. He ate anyway. He started to get bored.

What were the lives of these statues before their end? Surely at least a few of them had similar backgrounds to Cub; poor, nothing left for them, but instead of accepting that fate, they must have scrambled for purpose. If they returned home with the head of a beast, maybe the king would see their value, assign them value, land, wives, nobility or otherwise. All these people here must have been the righteous sort; Cub supposed that’s where he and they differed.

Only the most righteous of the well off would seek a trophy such as this one. A few of them had very nice, expensive weapons, and Cub did not pity them. If you were so bored in a life where you had to fight for nothing that you sought battles elsewhere; there was no honor in that. If you hunt merely for fun, then you’ll get what’s coming to you.

Cub hoped she would not think badly of him. He did not want to speak to her at length, nor explain himself, but he wanted to be something worthy of love in the eyes of an artist. 

“Now, I just can’t figure out whether you’re stupid, crazy, or if you really don’t know where you’ve found yourself this fine day.”

Cub froze. He did not look up. “I’m not stupid. Might be crazy. I know where I am.”

“That so,” she drew out the word, and Cub closed his eyes, not to avoid her, but to take all of her in. To learn her, bury himself inside her. He would know nothing else. And then he would die.

“Yes.” His voice fell honestly. He felt far away.

“So what brings you here, trespassing, as I believe it’s clear, is punishable by death.”

Cub almost smiled. The feeling faded. “Does it hurt?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Why are you here?” Her voice had a new edge, and Cub shrunk away at the thought of irritating her. 

“To die. However you’d like me. As long as I get to be stone.”

She laughed, not a pretty laugh, thorny enough to make Cub wince. “You are crazy. And what if I refuse you? You aren’t armed. I could rip out your still-beating heart instead, let you whine and bleed until the grove turned sour.”

“I guess it wouldn’t matter. I would be too dead to care.”

Cub heard an irritated exhale, short and sharp. He heard movement, a slow, steady displacement. Not footsteps. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I offended you.”

“Stupidity is the gravest crime, but you say you are not stupid.” As she spoke, Cub heard a large thump, like something massive had landed in the tall grass. The sounds of movement continued. He did not look up. “I do not honor the men that seek me. I will not honor you. However, it is in my personal interest to add another decorative piece to my collection, and I can’t say you haven’t intrigued me. Be good, and we’ll both end our days happy. Pull anything, and your disembowelment will be slow and thorough.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘being go—“ Cub froze when he felt her hands, arms at his back, guiding him gently into a new position. They were huge.

“Sit.” Cub sat. “Cross your legs— no, more relaxed, let them fall a little. Out, a little more. Stay balanced.” Cub tried. “Lean back, just slightly.” She held him exactly how she wanted him. He could be limp, dead, and it would not matter. “Fold your arms over your lap. Let the right hang further than that. Drape your left hand over your forearm— you can hold it, if that’s more comfortable.” Cub followed every instruction, letting the words flow gently through his mind, washing the rest away. He was relaxed. He was comfortable. He was everything she wanted him to be, and while the conscious Cub had already taken his leave, that buried part of him that could have an opinion was very pleased.

She liked what she’d done with him, humming her approval, but indecision must have kept her from bringing the hammer down just yet. 

“I’m worried..” she mumbled to herself, perhaps knowing that Cub was already gone. “I shouldn’t do this here. The ground is too uneven, you might not.. I’m going to move you. Keep your eyes closed.”

She lifted him like the dead. If Cub had not already surrendered conscious thought, he might have noted the lack of human gait, or swooned, or sighed, words not enough to express how wholly fulfilled he was at this moment. The Cub who was only concerned with her left himself to float in her warmth, tucked against the curve of her stomach. Maybe he did sigh. He would not know.

She set him down.

“Are you asleep?” she snorted, but Cub hardly caught the meaning. She might have been displeased when Cub did not respond. “I want relaxed, not dead.” It was enough to spur a little more life in his veins. At all costs, his last memories could not be her irritation. She gave more instructions, which he followed, however sluggish.

“I’m glad I moved you. This is good, more natural.” 

He was glad too.

“Now, look just a little bit to the left— There, stop.”

Of course. Anything.

“Smile, no teeth.”

It had never been easier.

She was quiet for a long time then, but Cub was not worried, not with her hands running over his legs, his arms, making small adjustments every which way. This was love. How cosmically lucky he was to understand it pre-death.

“You can open your eyes.”

It did hurt. Cub never stopped smiling, for her.

…

The grass was well manicured in the field where he sat, leaning up against a tree that was equally picturesque. There were rabbits at his feet, looking curious as they stared up at his round face, kind enough to trust, and tired enough to know that if their judgement was misplaced, they could easily out-maneuver him. There were song birds too, looking down from the tree’s boughs, and a bonded pair of geese by the roots that Cleo really hadn’t meant to kill.

They hadn’t meant to kill any of these creatures. All except one.

Their curse was simple, clever in design. To connect is to see, to meet the eyes of another with intention and share your humanity. She would never make a connection. Not without casualties. Not even with the visually impaired, unless they truly had no sight at all. She fantasized about venturing out, finding civilization, and gouging the eyes of the first person she saw, but it would be quite difficult to befriend someone you’ve just maimed.

He was watching her.

They all watched her, but when the rest of them watched, there was fear and ire in their thoughts. When he watched, he was.. nothing. Calm. Neutral. If Cleo willed it to be so, content. 

They wondered about him. His story. Where he was from, why he’d come all this way; surely it was a long journey if he’d arrived here on foot. Was he terminal? If he was sick, how had he made it all the way to the grove? Maybe he was a deserter seeking death on his own terms instead of at the king’s whims. There were plenty of far more convenient ways to do so, though. So, so strange. 

She loved it. Loved that he had chosen her. Loved that he had come here. He was not even dead, not by the human definition, and he did not resent them, hate them, or wish them harm from his prison. In fairness, it was possible he didn’t have the capacity to do so. Cleo’s statues weren’t exactly alive either..

Would he be offended? If she.. well.. She had to. Just to make sure. He was not using them anyway, most likely. He could not feel pain.

They had modified statues before. They had the tools and the skill to do so cleanly. She sensed his apprehension when she lined up the chisel to just below his eyelid.

“I have to,” they whispered. “It’s all going to be okay.”

They were careful, to ridiculously precise extremes. Slow. Methodical. They were so focused on chipping away the tiniest bits of stone at a time, they failed to notice the pooling wetness at the tip of their tool until it was running down their arm.

It was not possible. Statues did not bleed. Not even hers. 

But that little streak of red looked so pretty falling down his soft, marble cheek. He did not hate her, still.

“I know,” she soothed, gently, raising her chisel once more. “I promise, it will be over soon.”

They started on the other eye when the blood obscured the details of the first, but in just as much time, that one bled as well, and it was clear this job was not going to be as quick and painless as Cleo had hoped. All fine. So the cuts would not be as precise; they would get the necessary work done now, and polish it up later. Back to the first, which had dried in the time she had worked on the second. 

It was difficult to tell beyond the gore how well of a job she’d done in the end.

She let her forehead rest on his. “It’s over, love. We are free.”

Beneath her, his static form quivered. He did not hate her, still.

“You could return to life now. We could live here, just the two of us. I have chickens, a few cows, endless gardens. Do you like those things? I want to know you, exactly what you like. I’d like you to tell me.” She had never talked to him like this. It excited them in both mind and body.

He said nothing. He was just a statue, still.

[luemess]

"If I wanted to clear the canvas, I would have used turpentine."

The Magnus Protocol 2 - Making Adjustments

[teamdilf]

The next chapter of In Another World is now up!

In Redcliffe, Iris draws Solas’ suspicion, both in the red lyrium future and the present.

The sky is wrenched asunder, a stormy green, and the walls and ground are covered with red lyrium crystals that glow an angry red. While she and Dorian wander through calf-deep water in search of Solas and Iron Bull, she ponders whether this is what the world she abandoned looks like now. Without Solas to calm the titans, did the anger grow sharper, causing a resurgence of the blight? With the veil gone, did the once-calmed blight in the Black City rebound, destroying Thedas? Or is all of the magic gone, and with it, every spirit in the Fade? Would the Devouring Storm destroy the blight?

Why did the Executors seek to consume the magic of the realm? What did they hope to accomplish with their storm, and why were the qunari created to quell the storm?

[midnightshade]

Courting between demons was always a messy affair. It was violent, bloody – a test for each other to show of their strength, to prove to the other that they deserved them.

Muzan was well aware of Kokushibo and Nakime's feelings for each other. His ability to read the minds of his underlings made it impossible for them to hide anything from him, though those two never would hope to. They were his most loyal, after all.

Perhaps that's why he allowed them the privilege to court each other properly. Attachments could be a weakness, but with those two, he found himself. . .curious, as to how they might proceed.

The entirety of the Infinity Castle shakes, breathing as if one giant monster under Nakime's control. Her Biwa rings through the endless space, a haunting dirge that would signal the end for most others.

Even Kokushibo, the strongest of the Kizuki, is put to the test in the face of Nakime's control of the space. Doors closing in his face to cut off his line of sight, entire rooms being thrown his way to crush him, sharpened roof tiles being sent as projectiles, etc.

It is a battle to get to Nakime, but when he does, he discards his sword and knocks her instrument aside. What follows is the most important part of the courtship.

It is customary for demons to keep whatever injuries they acquire during courtship, at least until after the courting has finished. The severity of the injuries portrays how serious they are about the relationship and how capable they are in battle.

Kokushibo is able to pin her down with ease, allowing his teeth to find her throat, ripping out chunks of flesh. Nakime is small, she has no hope of throwing him off, but it doesn't stop her from lashing out in kind.

Her hair coils around Kokushibo, tightening on his throat as the sharp ends embed themselves into his skin. As he pulls back, she lashes forward and bites one of his eyes out, ripping the optic nerve out with it as she hisses in triumph, having taken the one reading, "Upper."

The struggling continues just long enough for Kokushibo to nudge her thighs apart so he can slot himself between them. There's no hesitation as he forces him inside of her, plunging both of his cocks into her with savage precision.

Nakime struggles beneath him, caught between gasping in a mixture of pain and pleasure, and rending him further apart. Every buck of his hips tears her further apart, her cunt clenching and fluttering around the intrusion.

For a long while all that can be heard on the platform is a mixture of gasps and growls and the wet slap of bloodied flesh against flesh. As Kokushibo continues to saw into her, Nakime's growls begin to pitter off into small purrs.

Only then does the brutality begin to fade. Kokushibo's grip on her wrists loosens as he bends further over her.

Quite unlike the brutality displayed before, new instincts kick in. Kokushibo's bites gentle to teasing nips as he licks and kisses along Nakime's jaw and neck, earning pleased trills and hums from the small demon.

Only when they finish is the courting complete. After they are both satiated, they heal their injuries, content to spend time in each other's arms, enjoying the steady fall of adrenaline and the buzzing new sensation of a successful pair bond.

[pinkabee]

Uh oh dude u should definetly get that checked out

[wildgeese98]

What is that he feels deep down his skull?What are they doing to his eyes? The presence, old and rotten, in his mind?

He can do nothing but watch. - mag 193

[flowersforthemachines]

#2 for the character meme!

ty for the ask !!

prompts come from HERE. (answered 4, 8, and 13 in this post, 14 and 20 in this post, 16 and 17 in this post, 9 in this post, 15 in this post)

2. What is the worst they've ever been sick?

Probably when she lost her eye. A shriek drove a claw through it, and the wound got infected - had the wound stayed clean, she would've been able to keep the eye at least (even if she couldn't see out of it), but the infection was so severe by the time she got to the healer that taking the entire eye out was basically the only choice.