#in all of its entirety

[s0up1ta]

toxic yaoi or something idk i haven't watched gravity falls

[0fps]

JANE DOE ❖ undercover r&b

The big bad daddy who cussed you out every day is gone and yet you still miss him. What are you, a bunch of daddy's boys?

[keii]

Drew a nalu sketch bc for some reason my old ass art of them is making its rounds again on here lol

[haminjago]

All might dressed as Jack skeleton, thoughts?

my honest reaction

[chocostrwberry]

Some concepts for my au!!

Lila if she unified all the miraculous and became like a monster abomination as her body slowly started to die as a grand attempt to destroy the miraculous and Paris in the process

And Marinette who unifies the cat and ladybug miraculous to stop her!!

I don’t have names for these forms yet so suggestions are appreciated! :D

[ayphyx]

Fanart for @skelavender’s lovely fanfic series Fall into Place :3 (you can read it here on tumblr btw)

(Edit: I FORGOT MULDER’S RING AKIHABHIAOBIHAHBIOWHOIBWOWB OK I FIXED IT)

[neodiekido]

can't stop thinking about how maki became a sidekick before she told kaito (+ shuichi) about her talent in utdp/danganronpa s. definitely would change the dynamic up a bit but it'd be incredibly funny. kaito drags along his grumpy "child caregiver" classmate to his workout group thinking she's just got some stuff she needs to work through and then like a few months later she just goes "im actually the ultimate assassin" unprompted in the middle of kaito talking about space

[luka-is-slightly-odd]

Currently obsessed with the concept of mutual and acknowledged hanahaki. Like two people who both have hanahaki for each other, and who both know about it, who both know that the other loves them and still aren’t cured.

The flowers stay, not because their love isn’t reciprocated, but because they don’t belive in it, or because its temporary, because the other deserves better, because they have complicated history, because they both already have significant others, perhaps the love isn’t enough because they both can’t put that love first, maybe their ideals and lotalties come first for both. Its not unrequited love, but its not quite enough.

just kinda love the image of two lovers-but-not-yet-maybe-never-lovers sitting together, picking flowers out of each other’s throats.

[simplykorra]

avatrice + that one fleeting moment when anything felt possible

[jennilah]

its 2:30 am, i cant tell if im more tired or high, and the thought "Saw but every scene is in chronological order" blasted into my brain and made me laugh

linearized Saw

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

[wannabemylover]

rewatching the first episode of Hannibal and holy shit I forgot how good this is but it's actually insane that Brian fuller set up the ep like this, he introduces will and Hannibal by first briefly showing them at their core, at the darkest, most vile part of them---we get a glimpse behind the curtain---and then its gone, the curtain is snapped shut and we see their masks, their human suits.

Will empathizes with killers because he likes it, and he wants to kill but he refuses to give into the urge because he knows how much he'll like it and he won't be able to stop. So he lives vicariously through other killers, satisfying his own dark urge by feeding it little morsels of secondhand blood lust. Every crime scene he works gives the urge something that satisfies it, not enough for it to grow, but enough for it be sate. Enough that he can ignore it for long enough that he can walk around and be Professor Will Graham who is Weird, Brash, and Non-sociable.

And Hannibal is a cannibal at night and a psychiatrist by morning.

[radioactive-dazey]

Switched roles au (sort of)

This is art for my fic called Switched! Roman and Virgil switch roles and have to figure out how to do the other's job.

Roman is absolutely not having a good time with this. He feels awkward and sick almost all the time. But Virgil is enjoying himself quite a bit. He's so pretty :) he made his outfit himself and is quite proud of his cloak.

They're starting to enjoy the other's company ;)

This took me about 6 hour to draw (and at least an hour was dedicated to figuring out how to do the stars). Krita is NOT my preferred program to use but hey, it is free.

Pspspspsps Prinxiety enjoyers come get yall's juice.

[tortoiseguy]

You KNOW the people hating on the Acolyte are just racist cause how the fuck do you not enjoy a martial arts movie with lightsabers

[cyndaquillt]

KDJ's lack of 'talent' while learning skills from Lycaon (and later Kyrgios Rodgraim) really drive in the fact that he's got this far solely by swindling coins out of the system and investing them in his stats. Learning a skill through traditional means is not his cup of tea and it's so fun and refreshing to read a story with a protag who actually cannot benefit from a training arc

[tapeworrmart]

Scaredy-cat 💫💀