#dead body cw

[piggiebonez]

board games with the fun uncle

Z*ADRS/PROSHIP DNI kill YORSELF

[blue-rose-soul]

So thoughts on Kaledyas Alastor and oc Daughter Serenity. Cuz it just wrenches at my heartstrings

Aw, Serenity seems very lovely! Murder-y tendencies aside.

...Actually, no, murder-y tendencies included.

This makes for such a sweet and tragic story. That final shot of Alastor's mangled body, the shock on Serenity's face.

Alastor, you fuckin' hypocrite. I find his whole, 'do as I say, not as I do' thing pretty hilarious, but it adds more to the tragedy of the whole thing. Considering how they met, it's not surprising she followed him into Hell. Maybe that's not a bad thing though. At least they have one another.

Could you send me a link to the original artwork so I can link it here?

Edit: The original artist can be found here!

[stormborns]

GAME OF THRONES 4.01, Two Swords

[fitgof]

“What do I do now? What if Lorey still hates me? We had a fight and then- It’s been decades, Summer! Now I’m a murderer. A monster.” She always had been.

“It hasn’t been decades; not here. Your parents told everyone you moved to Fraise to study. No one has any idea about any of this but the Scholarship will come for us when they find out. And they will soon enough.” Summer looked at the two bodies. “You’ll need to clean yourself up, and I’ll make you something to feel better. But we won't be able to stay here. We’ll fix what we can, Miss Amy. Together.”

[evilmagician430]

comic about cotard delusion (among other things)

[john-silvers]

BLACK SAILS, XVIII

[sleights-of-hand]

🂡 FIRST ♣  PREV ♠  NEXT

🎲 CHAPTER ♥  ARCHIVE

[bleeding-handprints]

Day 7 - Nightmare

Filling all @juneofdoom prompts with exactly 100 word drabbles!

Trapped in darkness, she had no choice but to touch the body, feeling along cold flesh bloated from decay and crawling with maggots. When long hair tangled in her searching fingers, she broke down sobbing. It couldn’t be him. He couldn’t be dead. 

“Wake up.”

Her relief at hearing his voice turned into horror as the corpse rose, swollen fingers reaching for her. She tried to jerk back, but with her head pressed against the unforgiving bricks, she couldn’t evade the rotten flesh stroking her cheek. In the wake of his touch, maggots crawled along her jaw.

“Please, wake up.”

[kilvalir]

Gaius's portrait, without the cracks.

[meowizard]

type of shit frankie gives out

[felixsinclair]

who: @cordiiceps​ 

where: the mall

when: 07.02.2044 early am

Felix had to say, the result of the outbreak at the mall was exactly one of the reasons that he and his dad had avoided heavily populated areas in all their years on the road. They were powder kegs waiting to explode, and for all that some had brushed off their paranoia, absolute faith in their walls and fences; their paranoia was well justified. Yeah, there was safety in numbers, but it worked against you just as well.

Felix eyed the latest body before him that he'd been tasked with transporting to a burn pile in the parking lot. Cleaning up the mall was a task with many hands needed. And while most avoided this particular task, enduring the unpleasantness was a duty Felix didn't mind so much in the sense that he had little emotional attachment to most of the victims. There were people here who'd spent lives growing up beside the dead, and if Felix could spare them this particular brand of pain, he'd do the work. He would have to do so much laundry after this to get rid of the smells.

He frowned behind the bandana he'd fixed tightly to his face. He’d managed just fine so far... but this one was definitely not one that Felix felt he could handle by himself. He sighed and looked up, glancing around his immediate surroundings for anyone with free hands that didn't look like they'd keel over at the prospect of moving a body. He didn't have to look for long, because someone he vaguely recognizes as an enforcer approaches him. "Can you spare a mo?" Felix asked with a slight gesture towards the body.

[sclfmastery]

He stands there, bewildered, hearts breaking as the torrent of emotions bursts forth from the other timelord like the breaking of a dam.

Too long.

This has been coming for too long.

He tries to take it all in. Her. That’s new. He doesn’t understand, but he can guess well enough. And oh he has so many questions, because despite everything they have dragged one another through, he cannot imagine a lifetime where he does not need The Master like breathing.

“Koschei…” Gently, tenderly, he takes the other’s hands in his own, trying to loosen his frantic grip.

“Is that what you want? Gods and monsters, it’s been so long since you’ve let me call you by your name…” His fingers lightly brush the other man’s face. “Hey… breathe… Breathe. Don’t-… It’s alright, Koschei. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

He pulls him close, holding him as tight as he dares. This face is such a visceral opposite to the one that came before — the face that synced up with his own timeline, and he can’t help but to feel slightly unbalanced.

“I’m here,” he murmurs softly. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere if you don’t want me to. I-… I’m sorry, Koschei. I’m so so sorry…”

Yeah....different: this is that same vainglorious charlatan, the politician with the pink cheeks and pale impatiently shorn hair and babyface, only put through fate's trash compactor one time too many. Vulnerable where Harry Saxon was unyielding. Weary and cold and aimless and alone, and aware, all too aware, of the real odds against him.

All he needs is the other half of himself; killing, emulating, or merging with that person have all proven failures. It is time to simply dwell next to the Doctor.

The Master indulges himself in fully letting go; for once, he is in control of nothing, and it is a relief. He sobs, and it's not beautifully poetic the way tragedy is, it's ugly and final the way tragedy is. It's both empty and complete the way tragedy is, the way a loved one lies on the field of battle or under the white sheet in the morgue, and you look at their visage, and it's them but it isn't. That is how the Master sobs, relinquishing his title, with tears and snot and gasps and whimpers. This, he realizes, is all he has ever wanted. If he should die, if the universe should collapse under the gravity of this temporal paradox, this mismatching of soul-mates, then fine. He'll go with a smile.

[dire-kumori]

My current FNAF brainrot actually made me think of this post.

I never get tired of comparing Hayao Miyazaki and Junji Ito. I mean,

Hayao Miyazaki/his art:

Junji Ito/his art:

This is just the funniest fucking shit to me

[fitgof]

"Perennial!" Everlast cried for his wife, as Perennial took her last breath and dropped to the floor. "Ambrosia, what have you done?"

A punch to the stomach would have hurt less than her father’s words. He blames her, thinks she’s a monster. Anger simmered inside her, hatred grew. He doesn’t care what she’s been through and what has led her here. The final control Amy held over her father’s airflow released and he slumped to the floor, unmoving, beside his wife's own lifeless body. 

Amy fell to her knees letting out a loud guttural cry that echoed off the tiled floor. She had always known she had a temper, and that it could get the best of her, but only resulting in arguments and a bad mood. Never with violence and certainly not against those who loved her most. 

These hands once made art, now they bring death.

[evilmagician430]

[trustymikh]

there are many benefits to being a ground-type pokemon trainer