#tw depictions of gore

[fearyandear]

THE DEMO IS OUT!!! Please feel free to play Weathering Feelings!

The boys can't wait to take you in 💜

[fraugwinska]

I've seen fanfics about Alastor × deaf reader

But what about.. blind reader? Maybe they lost sight in some battle

How they would be confused meeting Alastor at first: did someone turn the radio on- oh, thats a demon talking!

And how confused would be Alastor as his feelings started to grow towards the reader: he just enjoys their company! What else can he do when they like to listen to him spilling the tea and just rambling about everything because of his soothing voice? His favourite listener

Then.. their relationships get a bit different as in another one relaxing evening together Alastor asks if they want to see him..

And on their confused silence he answers bringing their hands to his face for them to "read" his apperience..

Just thought it would be hella fun to read! Not good enough at english, sorry for mistakes

I love your writtings! 💕Stay hydrated and don't dare to overwork yourself ☝

Hiya lovely Anon! <3 I put my own little spin on your idea! I love fics like those, and this one sat in my drafts for ages - I hope the wait was worth it! Thank you so much for this ask! <3 Warning: Contains depictions of attempted SA, please read with caution - MINORS DNI!

The bookstore was always quiet in the evenings. Well, it was quiet almost always.

Hell wasn't the most... appreciative place for tombs and books that didn't have porn or egregious murder in them, so your shop wasn't really frequented much. Occasionally, a new sinner would find their way in, not yet taken by the unpunished excessiveness Pentagram City had to offer, and would buy a book or two, never to be seen again. The rest of your clientele were loyal regulars, mostly elderly demons and imps getting books for their masters in other rings. It wasn't much, but enough for you to get by, live a simple, modest life. Your shop was mundane enough as to not attract the more dangerous ones the city had to offer, yet held the beauty that only an antique bookstore could, with a reading room like atmosphere, mismatched armchairs scattered in between the high bookshelves and an old radio on the counter playing in the background.

That didn't mean there weren't moments you'd have to get yourself out of some serious situations. On rare occasions, the patrons of your bookstore became too demanding or rough with you, thinking they could intimidate or screw you over because of your... handicap. After all, how would you see the hand reaching in the register, or the little spell book slipping into the inside pocket of a jacket. The blindness you were born with on earth hadn't left you in your death, but the enhanced sensitivity of your other senses made things easier for you. You had learned to take your losses, unwilling to let these moments ruin your confidence in your work or diminish your spirits.

You navigated through the little store with ease, putting laid-out books back into their designated places - feeling the backs of the books like it spelled their names, and motion memory guiding you through the maze of furniture and shelves - your plain, long felt skirt softly brushing this edge and that wood panel. What you wore wasn't fancy, modern or stylish attire, but it was comfortable enough. And who were you kidding? At the end of the day, nobody cared for your less-than-ordinary appearance, but yourself.

Your mind had been drifting around between random topics for a while until, on your last trip back to the front desk, your round ears picked up the bell on your door and the faint sound of staticy talking, coming from the direction of the counter. A customer, at this hour no less! But you were sure you had turned off the radio hours ago... maybe the old thing was finally breaking down, you thought with a little sadness. You hurried to it, still hung back in your thoughts and babbling as you turned the desk to shut the little device off so your customer wasn't disturbed.

"Hello, I'm terribly sorry if you're bothered by the radio, I should have turned it off. Feel free to browse through-" you paused mid-sentence as the air shifted slightly. You had turned the familiar knob but the filtered voice didn't stop talking. Your ears moved around, as if the source was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, trying to determine its source, when the other occupant of the store laughed at the surprise written on your face.

"Apologies aren't necessary my dear, but that wasn't the little device here but me, asking for service. Although I'm quite fond of a little old fashioned tune - comes with the title of the Radio Demon, you see." He talked with amusement, or something in his tone seemed powerful and dangerous. As his words started to make sense to you, you held a sharp breath, struggling not to take a step back. Of course you've heard of Alastor, the Radio Demon, but you've never had the honor (or dread) of meeting him in person. Rumors had spread around in hell a long time before you'd even gotten here, stories of a powerful overlord who'd broadcasted the screams and torments of his victims, spreading fear to everyone, from sinner, to lesser demons, to even other overlords themselves.

"W-welcome to my store, sir! What can I help you with today?" You smiled pleasantly, hoping that showing him respect and going out of your way for a courteous interaction could possibly keep you from being torn to pieces. You heard the ruffling of fabric - a hand reaching into a pocket, wrapping it's fingers around a thick piece of paper, along a low, distorted chuckle. "A good friend of mine recommended your store to me, I am looking for a few... unusual books, hopefully to be found here."

You waited into the silence, one second, two, three. When he said nothing, only static noise slowly increasing in volume, you decided to speak again. "May you tell me the titles, sir?"

"If you'd take the list, little mouse, everything I need is on it." His voice had an edge of annoyance to it now. You didn't know when his presence had approached so close to where you stood, and couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not. You sighed, pulling the darkened glasses off you wore day in, day out, revealing the white irises that gave your blindness away. After a sound like a record scratch, you managed a helpless smile. "I fear if it's not in braille, it won't do much to hand me that."

The other demon was silent again, but the crackling static had dropped, and before you had time to add something that wouldn't get you gutted, he'd barked a laugh, sounding genuinely amused and entertained.

"My, isn't that a bit cliché, my dear? A blind mouse? Any chance you have two siblings?"

That joke was new. You dared to husk out a little laugh, too, your hands gently resting on the counter top. "I hate to disappoint, but no. I even have my tail still, no farmers wife with a knife."

There was a change in his stance, his coat sweeping the air as you heard the list was laid on the wooden surface in front of you, surprisingly not crushed or crumbling under the power of his hand. Coldness swept like waves of fog over the front desk and your hands, you pulled them away with a shudder, confused, but your patron just hummed.

"There, that should've done the trick. I'd rather not want to read my little.... requests aloud, they're a rather curious bunch, I believe. Very useful, though, especially those for more creative types in cooking."

You reached for the paper and thumbed through the braille letters one after the other, feeling a long list of more... taboo tomes you were sure wouldn't have even been mentioned in any respectable catalogue. Luckily, you were a glutton for oddities and curiosities, and with a small smile of pride you found that you had every book on the list on hand. Maybe it was this pride thatgave you the confidence so that you didn't reply and instead swiftly jumped ahead, bustling through the rows and pillars of bookshelves. Every step was calculated, from the short staircase to the tiny nook where you stored spell books and tombs of dark magic, navigating past all the tables and furniture to the particular bookcase containing ritualistic cookbooks. Once you had a feeling where a book would be located, you searched the titles by stroking the backs with the pads of your fingers, tapping quickly and analyzing the material and little bumps and nicks of the spines. Once found, you traced the edges of the piece and drew up a mental image in your mind to check it wasn't bent, dirty, torn or had any parts missing. Your fingers were your eyes, and they were keen.

As you carried the rather heavy stack back, the Radio Demon hadn't moved an inch from where you'd left him, as far as you could tell. It had been hard not to acknowledge him throughout the ordeal while your brain just went on autopilot after realizing he didn't mean to kill you, at least for the moment. On one hand, that was comforting; on the other hand, it was absolutely horrifying.

"Here you go, sir. Please, feel free to check if they are up to your standards." You set the books down carefully, counting the number of thick covers in the stack to be sure and your fingers brushed sharp talons as apparently the Radio Demon reached out to inspect the books as you offered. With a sharp inhale and a heated face you quickly drew back, stammering apologies. He only chuckled faintly, the static surrounding him crackling as if it, too, was amused.

You stood silently behind the counter and listened to him flipping through the pages, turning the books around to read their contents, humming here and there. He seemed content with the lot and you were sure that once he'd paid, he would leave, hopefully sparing your meager existence and not leaving any destruction behind.

"Very well! These will do perfectly, little mouse. And, I have to say, you have a very interesting collection. The quality of your inventory exceeds what Zestial promised. You might expect a few more visits from me in the future, if you don't mind."

The last sentence wasn't a question. It was a statement, underlined with the sound of a heavy stack of bills placed on your counter. Your hands confirmed what your ears already suspected - your patron well overpaid you.

"Not at all, sir, but you gave me too much mon...."

But the air shifted again, and a chime and a thud later you knew he had already walked out, his laughter the last thing you heard before the door clicked shut.

“...ey.”

What a peculiar man, you thought, still processing the entire experience. His voice had been darling, no wonder he chose radio as his medium. You were sure his smile you've heard so many demons whisper about was wide and predatory, but he had been so polite. Even the nickname he'd given you had been charming, compared to the names and remarks you've had thrown at you by lesser demons, and you shook your head at the ridiculousness of your face flushing at the memory.

'Little mouse.'

After a long moment, you finally counted the money and put the amount he tipped you aside in your hidden safe, making a note to yourself that you would give it back to him when he'd return. If he'd return.

Weeks passed and the Radio Demon had kept his promise and visited again. And again. And again.

The first time he came back and you, already flustered, offered to give back the surplus money he'd paid you, he was baffled before he heartily laughed and ignored your attempts to return it to him, instead buying three more books and leaving you with even more undeserved cash in your hands.

Almost once a week he'd return to your store, sometimes he'd have a whole list of books he'd want to buy, and he almost never left your store with empty hands. Sometimes he'd sit down in one of the many chairs to peruse a tomb you set aside for him, predicting he'd find interest in it as you learned his tastes in literature, and he'd hum almost happily when you found a new curiosity or a grimoire that was especially hard to come by. And sometimes he just came in for a quick visit, not even intending to buy a book but just to chat a bit. With every encounter your initial apprehension shifted into appreciation, so much so that you'd grow to eagerly await his return, the sound the bell made when he enthusiastically swung the door open or the slight distortion of your radio when he changed the station to one that suited his mood better.

You were a bit enchanted with him, if you were honest. Not only had every interaction been intriguing and entertaining, he'd been one of the rare visitors who hadn't maliciously mocked or threatened you, or worse. And you found that you enjoyed the small banters you could have with him, the fact that he treated you no differently than anyone else. It was refreshing, and each of his visits put a spring in your step for days, no matter how hard you tried not to think about him.

By the time several months had passed, he became your favorite client and he seemed to have an everlasting interest in your inventory as well as yourself. You learned that he was quite a wealthy demon with a seemingly insatiable appetite for entertainment, and always with an eye for quality, which you vowed yourself to provide in return, if only to keep him coming back. You found you could spend hours with only him at the store over freshly made coffee, discussing various literary concepts and historical events he used as references, and it was a delight to laugh together about some particularly odd rituals in books like 'Old Spells to Cure Thievery' or 'Blood Rituals of the Flaying Kink'.

Sometimes, when you'd hand him a new find or a heavy tomb, his hands would lightly brush yours and his voice would drop and become a bit softer, quieter as he cooed his nickname for you - 'Little Mouse'. With your lack of vision, you didn't know how his face looked nor how his expression would've surely changed - but his voice took on a tone that would be fitting for a date, and the touches made you shiver lightly and tingle and you felt heat spread all over your chest and the pit of your stomach when he did. If your body betrayed those reactions on your face, he wouldn't tease you for them. At least, you never noticed if he did. Maybe he had the grace to simply not remark on them, you thought, for once grateful for your blindness so you wouldn't have to see your own - surely ridiculously dumbstruck - expression reflected in the windows of your storefront. But the physical contact between you became more frequent, more deliberately made, and you'd caught his own quiet sigh every now and again when he lingered for just a moment longer before the doorbell chimed and he'd leave again.

One evening, as you were cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow's customers, a soft knock on the already locked door pulled you out of the haze of your radio's gentle tune. Turning around, you moved slowly towards the sound of the interruption, adjusting your dark glasses.

"My apologies, but we're closed for tonight, please come back tomorrow."

There was no reply, no sound of footsteps and your ears strained to catch a whisper of a sound, to find a new hint as to who was outside. Another knock, harder now, sounded and this time it took all your courage to approach. Your hair stood at its roots as your hands rested at the wooden door, your senses tingling that you better not open - that danger stood in front of your store.

"Please go, we'll be open again tomorrow."

Your reflexes, acting faster than your brain, made you stumble back as the glass of your front doors shattered into a million pieces. In a panic you tumbled to the floor, hands over your face as the pieces broke apart on impact. There were voices, rough and foreign sounding, that accompanied the stomping of boots. You shuffled back on the ground, trying to get out of the way before being stepped or kicked upon, reaching to the walls and bookshelves to find some stability to guide you in getting away from what was coming towards you.

"T-take what you want, please, I won't stop you. Just... just take it and leave."

Your words were shaking in fear and the little hope that a verbal warning and submission would placate the robbers. To your horror the voices - two, if your panicked mind didn't fool you - erupted into raspy laughter and you realized then that money might not be the only thing these demons were after.

"You were right, Hank. This is going to be easier than I thought, look at how helpless the bitch is."

"Told 'ya, Tommy Boy. An' the best part..." supposedly the one called Hank said deviously, and you were yanked up at your wrists and thrown over what must've been your counter, your glasses slipping and breaking at the impact and your eyes dwelling with hot tears. You recognized this voice… just a few days ago this demon had come into the shop, just as Alastor was about to leave, lingering around the shop and leaving quickly mumbling a half-asses excuse without buying anything after you asked if you could help him find something and Alastor's static crackled dangerously. The same smell of sharp sweat and wet tobacco lingered around him, making your stomach turn. "... she can't tell anyone who we are. Hoh, look, her eyes are some freaky shit, 'n you bet her tits 're freaky, too. S'not even our damn birthday but looks like we got ourselves a gift. 'Ya wanna go first?"

"You know me - Don't mind if I do."

With a heart beating out of your chest and shallow breaths, you tried to feel with your only free hand for something, anything, to defend yourself with. You had to defend yourself. Anything would be better than what horrific thing they were about to do. There was only the flat, leather bound accounting book close by, but it was better than nothing, and in a motion of impulse and fear you slashed with it into the general direction you felt the weight of Tommy settle onto the counter top above you. His complice bellowed angrily, making your ears ring, and Tommy snatched the weapon from your hand to throw it away. His breath smelled of filth and cold ash, the skin of your throat burned when he wrapped his calloused hands around it.

"We're gonna show ya your fucking place, worthless blind cum-chunk bitch, an' when we're done with ya..."

There was a sudden, instant sound of feedback, a wet splatter and a horrified scream and hasty, fleeing footsteps before a wave of relief washed over you as your neck fell free from the intruders grasp and you heard a familiar voice.

"Oh, my dear fellow, do go on. I'd love to hear the end of that sentence." A low, distorted chuckle followed. Alastor sounded different - menacing. Bone-chilling. If those words would've been directed at you, you would've been mortified. But it sounded like honey in your ears, knowing who the recipient was. "Ah, how silly of me - surely it's much harder to speak without vocal chords."

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as the sounds of violence became ever more gruesome. A whipping sound, a wail and a choked gasp and two stomach-churning thuds of something hitting the floor.

"Well that's not handy at all - you can't even sign your pathetic pleas now. How unfortunate to be in such a vulnerable position, isn't it?"

A thud, then another - your stomach turned as the room got flooded with a different type of warmth. Your lungs and chest stung from the stench of iron and decay and your throat hurt as you realized one aura had vanished from the store and Tommy was most likely reduced to a fleshy pile on the ground. Suddenly you felt a sharp but warm, strangely long but familar hand cradling the back of your skull, pressing your cheek against a broad, angled shoulder, another wrapped tightly around your shoulders, resting under your ears. It was quiet, now - you could only hear your staggered breathing and Alastors static that had gone down a notch or two. You thought his breathing had become more labored, too, when he slowly, gently, let go and straightened you to bring you to a standing position, his hands shifting into their usual shape as they came to rest lightly on your upper arms.

"Are you alright, dear?" His voice was almost back to the tone you were so fond of - almost. There still was an undertone, a dangerous sharpness. Your fingertips instinctively grasped and searched until they met with the familiar texture of his clothing and you nodded.

"Y-yes... I think so, yes. What - what happened to the other one?"

There was a deep laugh, one you haven't heard yet from him. "Oh, my dear, no need to fret over that. I'll deal with that pest later. I should've dealt with him the moment he stepped into your store. An oversight I intend to shortly redeem."

It should have frightened you - should've made the situation so, so much worse, hearing that Alastor planned more torture for that vile creature, probably even an equally gruesome death like the one his friend got. But his words only calmed you. Made you feel... safer. Your fingers lingered on his suit longer than you expected, tracing the detailed seams of his lapels, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the fabric, feeling the details of the cool, metallic buttons. And he let you. He stood still, allowing your hands to see what your eyes couldn't.

"I can't decide if it's a blessing or a shame that you can't see the carnage I caused. Although I am pleased that you didn't have to look at the ugly faces of those cretins who tried to defile you." He took your hands from his coat and placed them softly on his face. "But maybe… you can try to envision what your savior looks like, hm?"

His hands left yours again, though you found the sensation and feeling of his touch remained where he placed them. Your heart fluttered as you couldn't keep yourself from running your palms and fingertips over his skin, cautiously tracing his angular jaw, making out the distinct feeling and sharp lines of a toothy grin. Then you pushed further, fingers running along a slight bow and over the indent where his brows arched, his cheekbones prominent enough you felt the warmth of blood flushing under the skin as the mental image of his face got clearer.

You were in awe that you could do this, that he encouraged it even, but he allowed you the tender moment, making a muffled humming sound and exhaling quietly under your soft, curious touch. You realized at last that his eyes were closed for you, the skin there slightly pliant and firm at the same time. With the tips of your fingers, you followed the firm, straight bridge of his nose down the length of it and he inhaled sharply when you brushed his lips. The familiar sound of static increased just enough for you to realize there had been complete silence aside from your soft and his steady breathing. He opened his eyes again, slowly taking your hands away to leave a feathery light, lingering kiss on your knuckles as he hummed thoughtfully.

"Now, let me clean up this mess, we don't want you stumble over any... unpleasant bits." You heard a snap and felt the air whirring around you, filling with a thick, fog-like sensation as you heard your floors creaking, wood mending and cracking and tiny bits of glass swirling around you, piecing itself together and returning into their frame. Not even a minute later the shop felt normal again, the unpleasant smell gone as well, and with it the overall apprehension the threat had caused.

"Thank you, Alastor. Truly, I don't know what would've happened if you weren't..." you started, pausing as his hands wandered gently around your face to put on your miraculously repaired glasses. He laughed softly, tapping a gentle, slender finger on the tip of your nose.

"Luckily we didn't find out, did we? Ah, but, unfortunately, I'd say the night has been spoiled for us, given that there's another vermin to take care of." He walked behind you, carefully setting the accounting book you had used as an attempted weapon into your hands, his taloned fingers curling gently around yours as if to make sure you had a proper hold on it.

"You lock up when I'm gone, little mouse. And who knows - Maybe we'll continue to see each other... tomorrow night."

And then you felt another gentle peck, this time on your flushed cheek, and the door opened with the bell ringing, the faint crackle of a radio fading and his heavy, signature scent of burned wood and bourbon lingering around you as you hurried to bolt the doors shut, heart racing painfully in your chest at the prospect of adding even more parts of the Radio Demon to the image in your mind.

[fruchtfleisch-art]

The first chapter of But Satisfaction Brought it Back is up!

Kosaku reflects on his life as a newly married man, attends an OBGYN appointment, and totally chokes where it counts. You can tell it's a flashback because everyone has different hair [nodding sagely].

[whatlovelybones-if]

DEMO RELEASE!!!

THE DAY IS FINALLY HERE!!! IT’S BEEN QUITE A RIDE Y’ALL, BUT WE’VE CONQUERED BURNOUTS AND OVERTHINKING TOGETHER TO ACTUALLY GET BACK ON TRACK WITH WRITING! I HAVE CHAPTER TWO ON THE WAY ALREADY AND IT’S GONNA BE LONGER THAN THE PROLOGUE AND CHAPTER ONE COMBINED SO LET’S GO!!!

⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS: insinuation of child abuse ⚠️

create your friendly neighbourhood killer surgeon.

meet a characters that plays a huge role in the MCs life.

live through a childhood filled with sinister figure(s).

meet a new friend and lose them.

get a glimpse of what has shaped the surgeon’s past.

⚠️ CONTENT WARNINGS: murder, violence, gore & body horror ⚠️

a missing report. a murder. a youngblood cop. surely nothing can go wrong, right?

settle into your quite extraordinary life in helmsford.

WHAT IS THAT MELODYYYY?

deal with a pesky voice in your head.

meet vivienne, the kind psychiatrist, who wants nothing but to help you. it’s for you to decide how you feel about that.

what are you hiding, doctor?

what will you do when someone stumbles on the skeletons you hide in your closet, or should i say, basement.

kill.

A/N: a reminder that i have quite a lot of issues to fix in this update so i appreciate all the feedback i’ll get. they will all get fixed and major changes will be implemented with the update of chapter 2, including adding trans options, tattoo options and the touch-averse option.

fair warning that the graphic contents of this story will get worse, the prologue and chapter one were just the tip of the iceberg. if you get easily disturbed by these scenes, i’ll start implementing the auto-skip option from the next update to avoid the gruesome scenes.

acknowledgements: special thanks to fish (any pronouns) for helping me immensely with the coding aspect and @nikkefort (they/them) for providing a great design to all my imaginations. i have huge respect for coders cause i can’t do it properly even if my life depended on it. without these two superstars, this game would take years to complete so a huge shoutout to them!

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, LET’S GET TO WORK!

[casually-salad]

i finally listened to another apple sleep experiment so i drew each aj i think they saw!!

[dontlookforme00]

I'M SCREAMING MAYDAY!!

[creepy-can]

re-drew a panel from this small comic.

[goatvaxing]

an organ all the same

[abdocado]

For the person who asked.

This was about how difficult it must be to prepare giant fish on sea. There is no way it is a clean and blood-less process

[aisling-the-vengeful]

“I see you gotten into another confrontation.” Dictatious soak a large rag in a bowl of water. “Is Gunmar going to kill someone today or have you finished the job?” @dad-dictatious-galadrigal

Aisling face was coated in blood. The blood, darker then any human blood, drip form her face and on the floor with a soft ‘pat. Pat. Pat’ her nostrils snorted, clotted by thick globs of blood. She looks at the advisor. Her good eye slightly coated in blood. She has terrible gashes and scars on her shoulders and arms “ they are not breathing. So he won’t need to handle it.” She looks away from him again “…especially after I cutter throat with my axe”

[itty-bitty-sunshine]

im curious, how did perkeo become immortal? you say theyre the dont age dont die type but theyve still aged to the point of an average adult. so was there a point where they became immortal? were they born immortal but still aged to the point where they seemed like the average human then stopped?

this is a bit more morbid but im curious about this too

how severe can injuries get if they cant die? how does their body handle situations where the average person would bleed out? would they heal faster? would they just have infinite blood? what if they got into a coma? would they ever wake up? or is it just not possible? how would they heal from injuries that would make it impossible for the average person to come back?

if youre not willing to answer the second stuff thats fine, im just really curious

They do not remember

The earliest memory they have is on the kingdom, and they were already a grown person by then

They remember kneeling, the agreement made with the king

They remember tests, and them stopping with lack of results

They remember doing their job afterwards, and the years that went on as they remained the same

They remember making people smile and laugh and how they cherished that feeling more than anything

That does not mean they never had a family, though

Morbid details under cut

Very. They had to crawl their way out of things no human could even dream of surviving, things no one should have survived — or even lived enough through it as it happened

They can still get dizzy, they can still faint, things can go to black, but eventually their brain will pull them back awake again. Die, but come back

The wound would close, but they can bleed out. They can feel the dizziness, the cold, the pain. If severe enough, they could pass out — either until the wound closes or until their brain decides it gotta keep fighting still. That said, they very likely could deal with a stab wound without passing out if outside factors are not included (if anything, they would just be annoyed)

Sewing a wound would likely make it close faster than leaving it alone

Their heart would always start beating again even after stopping, so I guess you could say they have infinite blood?

They would wake up from a coma I'm pretty sure (how long it would take would depend on the cause), unless it was like, medically induced (which would mean constant upkeep to keep em like that) because yk. Strong drugs

They do heal from injuries that would be impossible for a normal person to survive. Their body puts itself back together – and when it can't, it just makes a new part to compensate

So, for example: let's say they get decapitated. They could put the head back on the neck, and the body would work to glue the two together again

Now, let's say they lost a leg and for some reason could not try to put the leg back in place: then the body would make a new leg. It would take a lot longer, and be infinitely more painful, but it would be back in place one way or another

(Now for what happens to the lost limb — idk it probably rots as the body regens. They are already immortal, might as well throw some nonsense in the mix)

How can they grab their own head and put it back? Idk that's too much to keep track of. Maybe magic who knows

Also! Burned skin will heal and fade, take that was you will

Essentially I would say it's just kind of nightmarish but they do heal pretty fast (how fast? Idk, but pretty fast), and that they would also be pretty used to some level of pain rn

[anniflamma]

Alright, now we have Kind Of Kings from Beloved King: A Queer Bible Musical!

This one will probably be my last from this musical. The other three songs, Obedience, All The Broken, and Fallen, are good songs, but I have no idea how to visualize them...

Maybe Obedience... buuut it is my least favorite out of the six songs.

I think that other musicals like "King David" by Alan Menken & Tim Rice or "David" by Sight & Sound Theatre are a bit more interesting. I don't know, if I continue with my hyperfixation on David/Jonathan, then I would probably use the other musicals instead. UNLESS "Beloved King" releases the whole thing!!! One day... One day...

[pastelpixel1987]

TW GORE AND DEPICTIONS of ABUSE!!

“🎶Puppet boy, it’s the little things that count.Little problems little minds, little things like you.🎶”

Here’s a bit of backstory for Stanley

[vyuntspakhkite-l-darling]

Hate, hate, hate

READ THE TAGS! This one is ugly :3

This needs cleaning up but honestly for something I whipped out in like an hour? I'm pretty happy with it. This kind of stuff... maybe I have a little too much fun writing it.

Arsioly stalked towards the old, rotten house. It was half-collapsed, covered in moss and plants, but looked just sturdy enough that a soldier could be hiding in there. The door refused to move much, and he had to squeeze himself through the opening, ducking his head under the bowed doorframe, watching and listening for any sign of a threat. All he saw was a weasel scurrying away through a hole in the sagging wall. Every one of his breaths, every rustle of leaves in the wind, every chirp of a bird had him on edge. A few more steps inside the humid shack, and he checked behind the door. All clear. 

He sighed, lowering his knife and wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. Mildewy air clogged his nose, wood straining and creaking under his feet as he made his way back out, glancing around for any sign of his team, though he knew he was unlikely to see them until he went back to the rendezvous. This was a bigger area than they normally covered in one mission.

A click behind him got his attention.

Just as he turned and locked eyes with an imperialist not five paces away, a bullet zipped past his head. Heart pounding, he raised his knife again and launched at the lone soldier before they could get another shot in. He smashed his shoulder into their chest, forcing them tighter against the wall they’d been pressing themself up to to hide, rotten wood cracking under the force.

The soldier grunted and tried to get an angle for a shot, but Arsioly twisted and knocked the gun out of their grip. A flat palm slammed into the side of his face, and he stumbled back, a kick hitting his stomach before he could react. 

Wheezing, he backpedaled, tensing against the onslaught of hits and lashing out with his own.

“Fuck–” the soldier hissed, glancing at the gash Arsioly had managed to make in their forearm. 

He rushed at them, a glint of silver catching in his eye too late. Their uninjured arm had drawn their dagger, and now blood slicked the silver blade, and pain cracked along Arsioly’s side.

The forest was too quiet, his cry of pain and the heavy breathing of the imperialist lonely in the silence. Arsioly was used to fights where any of his squadmates could come and help him finish off something like this without breaking a sweat, but none of them were here now. He was on his own.

Full of fresh, sharp fear, Arsioly tackled the soldier to the ground in a thrashing mess of limbs, wrapping his hands around their neck and pressing his thumbs as hard as he could into their throat, hate and disgust rising up in his throat like vomit. He knew he should grab his knife and end them quickly. But he didn’t want to. Their nails dug into his arms, leaving tracks of blood. Hiccuping gasps left their parted lips as they tried to breathe, eyes wide and frenzied. They deserved this. For everything the imperialists had done, this was just a fraction of what Arsioly should put them through. He felt a rush of satisfaction. It ended quickly.

A flailing hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him down. He managed to keep his hold on their neck while his forehead met the collar of a uniform coat. 

A burning pain seared across the right side of his head, accompanied by a sick noise of ripping and crunching.

He yanked his head back with a scream and let go of their neck, staring down at the chunk of flesh in their mouth. The pointed tip of his ear, his blood and cartilage trapped between the teeth of this scum. His hands were numb and cold. His ears rang. The soldier looked like they were in shock themself, sputtering and coughing blood onto the front of Arsioly’s shirt. 

As soon as what had happened to him registered, he snarled, grabbing the front of their hair and bashing their head against the ground repeatedly. He wasn’t sure which one of them was screaming now, or if it was both. Blood rained around them, cries and sobs mingling with the crack of bone and the calls of birds fleeing the trees around them. 

“Arsioly! Holy shit! Stop it, you got them, you got them!”

The world shifted as he was lugged off the twitching body. He blindly thrashed, trying to get back to it, and two sets of hands held him to the ground. They were talking to him. He didn’t care. 

He wasn’t breathing right. He panted and coughed, gritting his teeth against the pain throbbing in his body, looking down, watching his chest rise and fall like a rabbit’s. 

His eyes, stinging and fuzzy, looked from his hands, bits of hair and flesh and blood plastered to them, to the body laying in a position that mocked the one his teammates were holding him in. The top of their head was caved, sloughing in like the walls of the wrecked shack in the background. Blood and brain matter clung to the foliage around them. Arsioly turned his head just in time to retch onto the grass instead of himself.

There was a third set of hands now, familiar and grounding, cupping his cheeks. A shaking palm wiped his mouth for him, then held his head steady to inspect the damage to his ear.

“Visra,” he whined, “how bad is it?”

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Calm down.”

[bigfatplanet]

dystopian blurb!

tw: graphic descriptions, gore, angst, dystopian universe, death, weapons (a gun), rushed, grammar mistakes (i did not check anything 😭), lmk if i missed anything !

idk if i should do a split thingy lmk if i should…

“...Mabel?” asked Richard to no one in particular. He immediately recognized her, despite the chaos surrounding him and his friends. Her beautiful hazel eyes, the mole under her eye, it had to be her. Then why…why was her face like candle wax, half melted in a gruesome shade of crimson? Why were there sharp, metallic, pricks all over her limbs? Why were there bones threatening to snap and jut out of her skin? Her beautiful hazel eyes had a foggy haze covering it, replacing the usual shimmer and joyfulness that she carried.

“Ricky,” the imposter struggled to speak, gurgling the words out almost. Foam and spit dripped from her plump lips that Ricky longed to kiss each night, at least before this hellhole of an apocalypse sprung up in his life, taking away everything he ever loved. “Please….” the creature jerked in a seizure-like motion, “It’s too much…it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.” Her nimble, graceful, fingers clawed at her skin. Ricky could only stand there, frozen in shock and fear. His childhood crush slowly went insane to the brink of death in front of him, after years of searching for her. She screamed as she clawed out her flesh on her arm, revealing her bones.

“Stop it! Please, Mabel, stop!” Ricky cried out desperately.

“It’s in my blood! It’s everywhere, controlling me!” Mabel screeched inhumanly, “There's bugs in my skin…I have to dig them out…dig…them…must.” Mabel was hysterical by now, crying, shaking, bleeding out. “Ricky…” she croaked out. “End it all please,” looking at the gun in his belt with desperation. His hand was trembling. His whole body felt helpless and was shaking. 

“No, Mabel, we can fix this. Please, I can’t.” he said. She pressed the gun to her head, despite his protests. She was way stronger than him for some reason. “Mabel, please, everythings going to be fine. I’ll fix you, please! I can’t lose you, I’ve lost everything.” There was desperation in his eyes.

“It’s no use for help, Ricky. One more day of this agony I’ll rip out all of my arteries.” Mabel responded. Ricky was crying by now, shaking his head. Suddenly, Mabel was on the ground, trembling and shaking, her head going in all directions. “The bugs…they’re crawling,” she screamed, “THEY’RE IN MY HEAD!” Clawing at her head, she rolled back and forth like a child throwing a temper tantrum. 

“Please, kill me, if you ever cared for me.”

Her words were cold as ice. “Do it,” she said without emotion, “do it Ricky.” She was shaking as short bursts of sobs and gasps escaped her lips. Mabel’s hands brought his gun to the middle of her forehead.

“I love you,” Richy’s friend whispered.

“Wait!” he screamed at her, eyes wide. She pulled the trigger and blood poured from her head. Her lifeless body thumped against the cold, hard floor.

[naturepunks]

you should do a sketchbook tour vid on here!! just a flip through! looks so kewl :)

OF COURSE!!!! i love showing my sketchbook. while not a totally comprehensive tour to hide some sensitive details, heres a bunch of pages/spreads that i like… or dont… ull find out!

tw: nudity, mild gore. nothing crazier than a nipple! but some SH :( please be cautious! my sketchbook is near and dear to me and i record nearly everything in it. good, bad and ugly

couple notes:

i keep 1 big pencil case with like 30 different pens and pencils and markers and… anything else i can fit in there really. other items, which are kept in numerous mini totebags (made for keychains) that are attached to said pencil case carry smaller items like erasers, pencil sharpeners, glue tape and and pos it notes for pasting. if anyone is interested in what i use traditionally i’ll happily share that too :D

as shown, the sketchbook is handmade (luv u bea!) and she went to a craft store looking fr a bunch of different colored and textured paper! a lot of the sheets accepts water color, which is a huge bonus. drawing on toned paper is always fun :D ive made sketchbooks before, and learning how to flat bind stitch is really easy!

theres something fulfilling in creating art in something that you made yourself. i’m not one to shy away from store bought, but after my bsf made this one for me anytime i find a sketchbook in store i end up comparing it to the one that was lovingly crafted for me. after i finish this book i’ll probably have to set aside some time to make a new one 🥲