#do I need to tag for gore actually
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bloobydabloob · 9 months ago
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I have no mouth and I must scream if AM was Hal (for some reason) and all 5 people were Dirk. I did this as kind of a joke but it got out of hand
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fanofthelamb · 7 months ago
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wowowowow awesome look at me doing... things... idk when ill finish this, or how long it will take. i just know id rather be doing this than being in anchordeep because DAMN!!!
Next
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electrozeistyking · 2 months ago
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POURRIR DISEASE (AS DEPICTED IN THE “IN ROT AND INFECTION AU”).
STAGES OF POURRIR.
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ADDITIONAL NOTES:
Pourrir disease seems to progress faster when ingested, or when infected individuals have a lot more power for stronger Craft.
Pourrir in bread and pastries appears similar to mold at first, then progresses into unusual lumps if left unintended for too long.
Currently no proper name for the gunk. Looks like blood, but is far too thick, smells far too foul, and tastes far too rancid.
Infected individuals appear not to be cognizant in final two stages. Mainly unnaturally happy at all times.
Distancing yourself from an infected loved one as they progress through pourrir disease may limit your risk of getting infected.
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hiemaldesirae · 7 months ago
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i had a vision
(nsfw/// gore and see through lingerie under the cut)
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twistedmionn · 1 year ago
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Sebek's dreams be like
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This is the most horrifying thing I've ever drawn (I DO NOT SHIP IT)
Art account where I post proper stuff: @raguiras
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doodle-with-alizard · 1 year ago
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My current brain rot now
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papriaki · 2 years ago
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Devour Me Whole
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impostorsshow · 5 months ago
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I'm actually so obsessed with him it's not even funny if i'm not listening to a TikTok or music directly related to him I can't focus free me free me
This is @/cherubpuppet's OC for a object show [au? pitch? wip show? How do I categorize this] and I've been destroyed by the fact that ruler art is infinitely superior [and 10x longer] and i don't have a good enough grasp on lip gloss's personality to make fanfiction so I am frozen in "want make fanart but fanart takes effort :["
#also object shows are the new mlp community change my mind /ref#from what ive seen a very large part of the community is centered around death/gore or mature topics? it reminds me of the mlp infection au#that and smile hd and everybody keeps saying object shiws are kids shows - if kids are making this stuff then good for them /gen#every fandom has its toxic/proship/18+ side obviously but from my pov gen alpha needed something they coudl handle age appropriate extremes#with - its just alot harder to make compelling emotional angst/gore with newer ultra sanitized shows or w/ mascot horror#and like thats a whole nother tooic but its obvious to me younger kids have flocked to mascot horror so harshly because average kids tv is#much more afraid of tackling any big topics to the point that the ones that DO [bluey] immediately are pushed into front and center#but i mean i also rewatched a few episodes of the shows i grew up with and ngl i think we need shit like ren and stimpy and invader zim#i hate ren and stimpy and i didnt grow up with zim but i grew up with pbs kids shit and that shit looking back was hella boring i never#cared for any of the tv shows i saw aside from elmos world and even then i was hoping that something gorey would happen. at like 5 yrs old#im rambling anyway im not sure if im actually going to get into the os communitg but i AM horribly attached to tape to the point that its#maybe possibly becoming harmful to my mental health so im gonna stick around for him for like months#just know that if im not posting anything its because im obsessed with this guy#oh also DID/MALE SA REP LETS FUCKIN GOOO#I LOVE PSYCHOLOGY AND IVE HAD LIKE 4 FRIENDS WITH DID/OSDD I NEED MORE POSITIVE REP OF STIGMATIZED/COMPLEX DISORDERS !!!!!#art#tape dispenser#search for smos#talk talks#EDIT NO. NO DONT SAY IM THE ONLY PERSON ON TUMBLR WHO HAS USED THE SMOS TAG NO. OH MY GOD#PLEASE BEING OBSESSED WITH SOMEONE ELSES OC IS SO GARD DONT LEAVE ME ALONE DO I NEED TO BUILD THIS FANDOM FROM THE GROUND UP??? NOO
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neolxzr · 1 year ago
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new dramatica production just dropped?
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stuck-in-the-ghost-zone · 2 months ago
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WHY DID I JUST GET A PERSON ASKING ME TO TAG GORE.
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bandtrees · 11 months ago
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two conversations i want to have about "dead dove do not eat"
it's annoying how people treat it as a genre or descriptor in and of itself when it hypothetically should have no ties to "problematic" or "dark", it literally just means "what you see is what you get with these tags" - which is a concept that can encompass any kind of writing. in an ideal world dead dove is not a Type of fic, it is literally just a neutral descriptor, and i think it's very annoying how it got largely co-opted by proshippers who think it's shorthand for Dark And Twisted Porn™ and treat it as some kind of genre in and of itself
it just sounds incredibly lame. what's wrong with just saying "yeah heed the tags this is serious" instead of assuming everyone knows about a nonsense vaguely-artsy meme phrase. can we not just use our words
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nocentis · 5 months ago
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Black Arum ┆ Siegrain
Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.
╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.
A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.
That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.
So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.
╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.
Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.
Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.
There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.
“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.
The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.
He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.
Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands. 
Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”
Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.
A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.
His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.
"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”
The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.
His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.
He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.
He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”
Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her. 
He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.
But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.
He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.
The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow.  A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.
Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.
It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.
Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.
He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.
This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.
A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.
She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.
What are these hands for if not this?
Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.
The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.
Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it. 
What are these teeth for if not this?
Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.
The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.
He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.
Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.
He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.
You’re no better than this starving world.
He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.
#v: ✗ ┆ siegrain ┆ ◜ canon divergent ◞#⚶ ┆ ◜ drabbles ◞#I was in a silly goofy mood#reader beware#this one was an exorcism.#needed to purge this depravity.#hey guys what if I bare my soul and it's a festering wound.#did I provide context? no. am I sorry? also no.#this only works in darkverse.#this is very obviously not inline with canon Jellal's personality but with a mutated version of him I created to balance ->#the healing arc I'm putting him through in mainverse.#not love but a secret other thing (obsession. possession.)(...take my money... I don't need that shit...)#& now she haunts the narrative. in my mind. and his too.#In my defense I've never claimed not to be a degenerate#yeah actually I am kind of embarrassed about this thank you for asking#never thought I’d have to say this but I do not endorse or condone cannibalism.#hey Sieg have you ever thought about chilling. calming down perhaps. I say as if I did not put him in this situation.#I fear this is one of those things I’m going to look back on in a few months & say: that should've stayed in the drafts.#me personally I love posting cringe. it's what I deserve.#if god exists I will have to answer for this. catch me in the river Acheron sipping on straight up anguish.#can you tell I have been confronted by the fleeting nature of mortality more often than usual lately. be honest.#actually I decided to not to go too into depth with the gore this time. I feel like keeping it vague lends more to the fugue state#also because it was giving me REALLY weird dreams. so like. yeah. I could've made this worse. but should I have?#tags bout damn long as the drabble. sorry gang.#cannibalism tw#gore tw#main character death tw#body horror tw#dayne’s depravity#daynedepravity
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theywontletmebeprincipal · 3 months ago
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guro brothers in arms 🤝 sucks that i actually have to learn anatomy to do anything w it
talking to my dear med student friend like you know internal anatomy because you’re in the middle of a 15+ year effort to get a doctorate in surgery. I know internal anatomy because I want to fuck it . we are not the same
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pepperpixel · 2 years ago
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ONLY A LAD!!!!
“He didn’t wanna learn things…
Had other interests…
HE LIKED TO BURN THINGS!”
Drew this page of evil me’s as vent art a few months ago. And finally sat down and colored them and stuff these past few days! So! Yes! here’s this lil page of evil me goin thru it!
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gemisbored · 1 year ago
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cringetober day 14: candygore
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xeneric-shrooms · 1 year ago
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Trying to decide whether or not to keep Cotilona as is or get a new imp with xyx berry
the xyx berry Cotilona will be under the cut
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And I just checked and there are no xyx berry impsCMON. Post cancelled I guess, I do NOT want to do an imp breeding project.
Well I'll just use this as an excuse for lore dumping because Arcanist forbid I actually write my dragons' bios,,
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»content warning for unsettling and gorey talk under cut«
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Cotilona is a necromancer and necromancy comes at a price: the user's own self. Not only does it take from your body, but it also takes from your soul and mind.
The more times you use necromancy, the more and more you lose yourself and become nothing more than a husk.
Along with this process comes the results of the revived/rebirths. Over time, the beings begin to come back less complete, begin to come back wrong.
It starts out small— some missing patches of scales/fur/feathers, small patches of missing skin, or minor alterations to the mind— to bigger things such as missing or additional limbs/muscles/organs/bones, organs and limbs grown in the wrong locations, complete loss of mind, etc etc.
———
Reviving and rebirthing are two different things.
Reviving takes a fully/mostly intact body, typically in the first or second stages of decomposition (or third if its very early in the stage), and a small amount of excess organic matter such as meat. This process takes a very small part of the users body, mind, and soul.
Rebirthing is more difficult. A being must be rebirthed past the third stage of decomposition or if there is no skeleton at all. It requires a large amount of excess organic matter— meat, bone, organs, scales/feathers/fur— and some form of organic matter from the being itself (larger portions are better if possible). This takes a lot from the necromancer's self.
Now, I've stated that organic matter is required for reviving and rebirthing, but don't worry as other dragon matter is not required.
The organic matter must be very fresh in order to work, so the necromancer or another dragon has to go out and hunt right before the ritual.
Which kind of meat you need to gather depends on what animal group the being is in; mammalian, reptilian, avian, amphibian.
The exceptions to this are Aberrations and Aethers. Aberrations are impossible to revive or rebirth due to the mutating caused by the Wyrmwound. You'd have better luck begging Plaguebringer.
Aether reviving/rebirthing is very difficult due to the multiple generations of adaptive evolution they went through to adjust to life in space. The best way to go about reviving/rebirthing is to use direct organic matter from another Aether.
Finding a necromancer that is willing to use another dragon as a source for organic matter would be extremely difficult for obvious reasons. It's seen as incredibly immoral.
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