#tw i talk about gore

[saccadesoup]

snuff director alex kralie au. this is what i think about when i’m ill

him and jay (jay’s a little freak we all know this) being friends in college. eventually realising they’re both into the same liveleak gore stuff. getting high together one night and alex - in all his infinite film student wisdom - offhandedly suggests making their own video.

ok so then they make a plan, right? lure in one of the girls from jay’s photography class. invite her over under the pretence of movie night (ft. free booze, which is what actually convinces her to go) then knock her out, tie her up. set up the camera.

it’s all incredibly amateur - grainy footage, slightly off-putting camera angle, muffled audio - but the people watching don’t seem to care. there’s something about the way alex captures the experience, dragging shallow, decorative cuts across her flesh in all the right places before disembowelling her in a strangely artistic way, a way rarely seen on an underground gore site like this, zooming in on her eyes as they slowly glaze over. the video gets a decent amount of traction, and the comments call for more.

so he decides to make another. this time, a girl from his film studies class. jay’s a little more hesitant this time, saying it’ll be “too suspicious” if people from their classes keep going missing - but, reluctantly, he joins in once more. same deal, “movie night”, knock her out, tie her up, set up the camera. alex makes jay take the lead this time, instead opting to stand behind the camera and direct his movements with hand gestures (he finds he much prefers it like this, surprising absolutely nobody). jay wears an old halloween skull mask he found in the attic to protect his identity - leading to him being dubbed ‘skully’ by the people in the comments. and this is the video that kickstarts alex’s career as a director. it goes viral, does the rounds on twitter, becomes about as infamous as the laser girl death gif. he’s filled a niche in the market with slow, intimate scenes rather than senseless brutality that’s become all too common nowadays, and people seem to love the change of pace.

so he makes another video. and another. he recruits his brian and tim, who become regulars alongside jay, each with their own unique masked identity - known as hoodie and masky by the fans (u get it by now right⁉️). alex runs a tight ship, hand-picking each victim, spending hours trawling through forums, local facebook pages, old yearbooks.

[chickenchirps27]

Last night after reading a bit of the Book of Bill i went to sleep.

i had a dream that i had to team up with Bill Cipher to assassinate an angel.

I had to carve out its heart so that Bill would let me go.

I woke up very tired.

[stealingyourbones]

I keep seeing the “Constantine is a soul whore” fanon interpretation. It’s fun and enjoyable to read but I do think it’s important to also know the canon and WHY he sold his soul.

he’s only sold his soul to three demons. All of which he did in rapid succession (same night) to trick them into curing his lung cancer because they didn’t want to deal with Satan being mad at them + causing a civil war in hell just because of this fuckers soul being claimed. The message more being that he’s the worlds best conman and less that he sells his soul all the time.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

What if instead of threatening to take Ford's eyes, Bill just took Fiddleford's?

Tate still remembered the night his father's sight was taken from him.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

He felt the storm coming even before the first lightning struck. From the very moment he opened his eyes that morning until the very moment he lay back down to bed, he could feel a vicious tension brewing in the otherwise serene household.

Storms were very uncommon at Tate's house, and on the rare occasions they did arrive, they never stayed for long.

Yet, after a quiet breakfast full of anxious, unmet glances and clattering cutlery that rang far too loudly in the silence of the table, he knew that this storm was going to be unlike any other storm he'd witnessed before.

A prickling, disquieting static seemed to have made itself at home underneath his skin, that day. It had made every hair on his body stand on end, and an odd stinging sensation to dance across his spine and tongue; an uncomfortable urge to duck and take cover low on the ground nearly overwhelming his every sense. It was like waiting for the shattering thunderclap to sound after the sky turned white with a blinding flash of light. He knew what was coming, and the anticipation was unbearable.

His mother and father had acted as though nothing was wrong; as though they didn't feel the looming presence of the darkening clouds growing like a murky gray forest on the ceiling.

He hadn't been able to fathom at the time how adults could seem so all-knowing, and yet simultaneously be so utterly clueless about the very obvious happenings that surrounded them. Now, though, he just found it strange how adults often tend to assume children don't feel the stifling weight that they hung around themselves; as if children didn't breathe the same bitter choked air as their parents did. It wasn't even as though they did a very good job at pretending; his parents always were terrible liars.

When the lightning finally struck, it set the house ablaze.

He heard the thunder from his room, and felt the crackling heat crawl up the stairs and seep through the gap beneath his door. He'd laid in his bed, hand clasped nervously across his chest and looking up at his room's cloudy, weeping ceiling as a cacophonic explosion of noises came bursting from the living room downstairs. The fight had erupted with such unprecedented force that in Tate's young mind, he'd felt genuine fear of the house collapsing atop them all from the sheer force of the yelling.

The smell of burnt tongues gently wafted through the air, and Tate briefly wondered if it hurt his parents when they scorched their mouths with such scalding words just as much as it hurt for him to hear it.

It was a big fight; a terrible, big fight; so loud, and so very angry, and helpless, and desperate, and betrayed, and sad.

The back and forth screeching seemed endless, and eventually the screaming words began to muddle and merge into one another until they hardly even sounded human anymore. Suddenly there were animals wailing in the living room downstairs, and Tate could do nothing but listen helplessly and grip his interlocked fingers tighter; hoping that if he stayed still enough, then the growling beasts that were shattering plates downstairs wouldn't come upstairs.

But then,

then,

something changed.

The shift was all too sudden; too abrupt; too quick even for the usually sharp witted child to catch on, and before he knew it, the screams of anger suddenly shifted into one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Fiddleford, your eyes- good lord, your eyes! Let me look at them!" "Don't touch me! I- I must call Stanford, he's done something to me. Him and that demon, they've cursed me." "For Heaven's sake! Please, forget about that damned Stanford of yours for one moment and listen to yourself! My husband's gone mad, mad!"

And suddenly his parents were human again.

Tate was restless in his bed as his heart seemed to beat bruises against his ribs, his sweaty fingers digging crescent shaped grooves into his skin as fear enclosed its frigid claws around his throat in a vice-like grip. He couldn't breathe.

The storm was over, and it should have reassured him, and yet he was anything but.

Curiosity and fear had been what forced him to kick the sheets off himself and creep his way down the rickety wooden steps. He had to know what happened, he had to know what damage the storm had caused, he had to know.

His steps were far from quiet, and the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet hardly did him any favors, but no one answered the calls of the squeaking wood. No one came peeking out from the living room to stop the obviously sneaking presence that was tip toeing through the halls; No one called out to check on their little child; all was silent, and calm, except for his mother's soft sobbing coming from the kitchen.

When Tate eventually found his father, he saw

devastation.

The storm had been merciless. It had left nothing behind but a shuddering husk of a man. His father was shaking like a leaf, shoulders tense and back hunched over as though bowed by an incredible burden. The telephone receiver was held in his hand like a lifeline; as if it was the only thing in the world that was keeping him tethered to sanity, and somehow, Tate didn't doubt that it was.

Curled up on the floor in the dark, muttering and trembling, he dared say his father looked... small.

It almost felt surreal to see his father in such a state, like witnessing a God collapse, or a star's light dim to nothingness. His father had always been a solid, permanent pillar sho seemed able to hold up the whole world on his shoulders, and still stand tall and proud despite the weight.

And yet, the crumbling remains of a once impermeable monolith now lay scattered across the hallway floor and splattered across the walls.

The sight had scared him.

At the time, Tate hadn't known what had happened. Even to this day, he still wasn't too sure he understood what exactly had taken place in that living room for his father to have so sudddenly gone from seeing to blind in the matter of seconds.

His mother had tried, in vain, to explain it to him later, to try and make him understand when he was eventually old enough to hear the gruesome tale; but still, he struggled to fully wrap his head around it.

"It was as though his eyes just sunk into his skull," his mother had recounted to him with a haunted look in her eyes. "They suddenly just vanished into the empty sockets of his face, like someone pulled them out from inside his head. There was no blood, no resistance, no tearing. It was as if his eyes were simply plucked out of sight by some invisible hand."

There had been blood on the walls when he had found father back then, a long trail of gorey wet red smeared all across the lovely yellow wallpaper. He realized only now, recalling the memory, that the blood back then had not been from his father's eyes, but from the deep gouges he had dug into his face with his nails, his searching fingers desperately looking for eyes that weren't there beneath his empty eyelids.

"What have you done to me, Stanford?"

Tate had never heard his father's voice sound so raw, so afraid. It was so unlike the familiar comforting drawl he'd grown to love and recognize, it almost sounded alien, coming from his father.

"I can't see, Stanford, I can't- my eyes, they're gone. Why are they gone? What have you done?" "Answer me, damnit, what have you done?"

His father never got his answer, because whoever was on the other side of the line soon hung up, and his father was suddenly left blind and alone.

[shepscapades]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [PART 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Part 4 is finally here!! The last few months got so busy, but I would be lying if i said i didn't spend almost every day daydreaming about/ wishing i could be working on this instead; this project has been such a fun break from work and i feel like each part makes me crazier and crazier as things gets worse and worse (better and better) LOL. The composition has been sooo fun to play with, and I've been having a blast trying to figure out how to write these guys in character despite the angst and chaos :] And, considering this comic project kinda came out of nowhere and disrupted some other comic plans i had for dbhc, finding little ways to rearrange how i'm presenting lore has been really fun >:3

[This comic is part of my dbhc au, following the chaos and panic that ensues after Doc and Xisuma try to get Etho back online at the start of s9 after a very rough s8 finale that leaves him a little. broken. It's set to the vibes of Joywave's Destruction!]

[kankri-vantas-alter]

Tw :gore , blood , horror

Idk what gif i like more honestly but i love this horror game its not. Boring at least. And i love. Story telling like. The one in the game -🕳️ folykl

Honestly this looks. Okay in my opinion but i don't know really. Might hate it later

Art is not mine all credits go to respective artists

[gatoburr0]

awwwhh callie taking care of marie...wait whered she get the pelt from

From skinning an octarian alive of course

She’s so happy about it though

[dimonds456]

Okay but if Bill actually did steal Ford's eyes, do you know what that would mean??

Cuz the ONLY thing keeping Bill out of the basement- thus away from the portal- were retinal scanners, which would only work if Ford was himself. If his eyes were slits (thus Bill was possessing him) the door would not open.

So that's genius, right? Boom. Now even if Bill possesses Ford, Bill will never get into the basement! Hah!

But uhh. If the Eye Stealer takes Ford's eyes, that isn't a problem anymore, is it? Cuz they could just use those eyes, which would be stuck with Ford's original retinas, and open the door THAT way

And what would Ford have been able to do to stop them? Even IF he had sight, his body was so broken and battered and tired by that point that if he went up against a monster, he wouldn't stand a chance.

Not only that, but if Ford were to get possessed again, no one would be able to tell. Ignoring the behavioral differences, from a visual aspect, they look EXACTLY the same. The ONE TELL that Bill is possessing someone is just GONE.

The only thing Bill would loose in this situation is sight himself, IF he ever possessed Ford again. But that'd probably be worth it considered there is NOTHING BUT GAINS otherwise. That, and he wouldn't have much of a reason to anymore aside from psychological torture to either Ford himself or the people around him.

Like. That's terrifying.

No wonder Ford was so goddamn afraid. If the Eye Stealer was successful, there would be no way to stop Bill. That, and Ford would be blinded for life, and possibly killed, because there's no way Bill would treat his injuries after that, right?

He wasn't just backed into a corner here; he was actively being pushed into it.

[glitterrgalax]

i was trying to finish this b4 the twitter ban as a last farewell to my dbd moots but my internet providers took that shit down Fairly Quickly so. yeah. took my time or whatever

[poppy-s-rampage]

Once a Hero.

Chapter 1: Too late!

Warnings: Blood, Gore and violence. You can't sue me now!

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Prologue| Masterpost| Chapter 2!

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The Master of time leaned over the unmoving form of his young protegee, forceps needle and thread in hands. The old ghost deftly redid the stitches on the youngest torso. Slowly but surely closing the jagged ‘Y’ shaped wound shut.

‘How did it come to this?’

All it took was one minute of inattention for the young Halfa's timeline to be put in jeopardy. In a single moment of inattention, Daniel’s timeline tangled with another stray unstable one and merged. By the time Clockwork noticed, the timelines were already fused to the point of no return. Reality wrapped to fit the new Frankenstein series of events. So he did what he could, snip at some parts, and twist at others to make it so his protegee could have a chance of survival and still having a goodish timeline.

The gaping wound now finally shut, the old ghost went to treat the boy’s muzzle cuts and throat. The apparatus, when destroyed by the wail, had split open the right cheek’s flesh from the corner of the Halfas mouth, carving a morbid half smile. The boy’s tongue was bloody but could still be salvaged with diluted ectoplasm. The real problem was the throat; it was impossible to currently heal to a usable level with the concentration of ectoplasm he could safely use on Danny.

He was no Frostbite, but he was more than capable of putting back together the young ghost in a Time out. Daniel was too unstable to stay in the infinite realms, his core still too raw for pure Ecto. It would be like feeding a 10-year comatose patient a buffet after being kept alive via IV, transfer the concept to a fragilized and forcefully balanced core, and you get the idea.  It was also a way to better realize the consequences of his mistake. But not to apologize, nothing would ever be enough to fix what Daniel had endured.

Clockwork stopped believing in apologies an eternity ago.

It all had happened so fast, Phantom had no chance of changing the course of events. Ironically, the current timeline was the best possible outcome after the incident.

While his protegee’s original timeline’s parents would have been accepting of his heritage, the ones of the intruding unstable timeline were not. ‘Monsters’ would have been too kind of a word to describe them. Curiosity plagued individuals who could have given Dan a run for his money. The origin of a world’s collapse, the cause of too many deaths, terrifying geniuses with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and slaves of their obsessions. Even their children didn’t hold enough value for them to spare.

Thankfully, this world didn’t come to that and was still salvageable. Unfortunately, too many people have already lost their lives and existence to his mistake.

It had been like any tranquil day in young Daniel's life. He woke up groggy after a night of patrolling, went to school, hung out with his friends, patrolled a bit, saved a few weaker ghosts, stopped a few accidents and then went back home. The young Halfa had planned to finally reveal his identity to his parents- with no little insistence and encouragement from his sister and the reassurance of the previous Freakshow happenings. (He, of course, delayed the moment as much as he could.)

Of course, Clockwork had already watched and analyzed all the possible futures caused by this decision. He had assured Danny that no harm would befall him.

And since every possible happening was in Daniel’s favor, the ghost of time left the timeline out of his watch in favor of fixing yet another mess the Speedster’s had caused.

Seriously, what kind of mentally challenged troglodyte would erase an entire timeline to enjoy a cheap burger in loop instead of buying another!

*Crack*

The forceps broke in his hand. The Ancient summoned another one. Moving to stitch the lacerations on his king’s arms and legs.

It had, sadly, taken a while for the Master of Time to fix the Flash themed issues. It then took him an even longer while to salvage the tangled mess of timelines. He was far too late to save Danny’s loved ones. Humans, even Liminals, were fragile.

—-------------------

The reveal had gone well at first, Jack and Maddie had accepted their son’s new nature. But then the timelines merged, the Fenton parents became one with their alternates and the world was set ablaze.

The youngest Fenton was promptly drugged and knocked out, only to wake up on a dissection table. His parents and a few GIW agents circling him, tools in hand. The hours, maybe days, Daniel spent in these creatures’ grasps were a nightmare made real.

His sister and friends tried to free him, only to be captured and fall victim to the same fate. Amity Park’s younger population mutinied against the agency and scientists but quickly got shut down. Brutally. The city was deemed a lost cause and put on lock down. The elder Fentons and the GIW galvanized by their success, went after every single being standing in their way in the name of science and self-defense.

It was too much for the young Halfa. His every waking moment being haunted by monsters wearing the skin of people he used to know and love. To hear the same people who raised and loved him gloating at the harm they caused his fraid. At the harm they caused him, vindictive. Every ounce of strength Danny had went into figuring out a way to save what he had left. But alas, he was too late.

Everything culminated the moment the agents and his parents reentered the room for the how manyth time. Their make believe faces fixed into a cruel smirk, smiles too wide, eyes too bright and too many teeth. Were the ghosts truly the monsters ?

Black opaque bags were dragged into the room next. A dreadful foreboding feeling caressed his spine. It was different. What were they planning?! What did they do?!

Panic seized the Halfa’s heart, hair standing on end. Eyes wide and pupils dilating as he noticed the strong smell of copper permeating from the bags.  His restrained limbs shaking at the realization of the truth he oh so wanted to deny. 

The monsters kept talking, taunting and accusing him of something. Blaming him. But he didn’t ‘hear’ them over his ever rising dread.

They opened the bags and his world came crashing down.

Three lifeless barely recognizable corpses. Chest opened in a bloody imitation of a butterfly. Missing limbs and organs. An innumerable number of lacerations. All indicators of a painful and slow death. But yet their eyes remained closed into acceptance and welcoming the relief of death.

He wailed.

Despite the muzzle, despite his already severed vocal cords. The wail coming from his very core blasted everything in his surroundings. The muzzle shattered, the monsters vaporized into a red mist and the walls became debris.

The building shook. The creatures in human skin panicked trying desperately to flee the premise but they were too late.

The latest experimental portal meant to be mass produced by the GIW resonated with the Wail and destabilized. The explosion that followed erased the facility and its surroundings and triggered the original Fenton portal which in turn wiped the city above off the maps.

Every single being died. The GIW agents, the Fentons, the citizens and some of the weaker ghosts. The stronger Phantom rogues weren’t even in the range or succeeded in escaping. The Fentons and GIW were still ‘thankfully’ useless when it came to capturing them.

And then there was Phantom.

Unfortunately or fortunately for him.

Forever the exception.

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Prologue| Masterpost| Chapter 2!

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Author note:

Hello! Thank you for reading! This time I didn't write this at 3 am!

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I wrote it at 5am! Insomnia says what?

[apfelmusschwul]

is there a fandom for them. please. anyone.

[noughticalcrossings]

Dr Alexander McDonald

Stand back! I’m cutting through!

[halflifebutawesome]

you used to be such a baby.

[morgombie]

happy 2014 :3 new year, new creepypasta art!

[beaulesbian]

THE TERROR (2018) S01E03 "The Ladder"

There'll be nothing. You hear? Nothing lives there. Nothing grows. You'll eat your shoes again. You'll eat worse.

[shepscapades]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [PART 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Finally! Part 3 is here!! yippee!!! As a refresher, this takes place at the beginning of season 9, when Doc and Xisuma try to boot Etho back up after he shuts down pre-Season 8 Finale, set to the vibes of Joywave’s Destruction from DBHC Etho’s playlist! Ouguguh I’ve been looking forward to posting this part so much; it has some of my favorite shots so far… something about the grey-fade of Doc going into shock, something about the last two pages with xisuma and doc’s expressions… idk!! i really loved working on these :] Hope you’re enjoying the horrific, horrific ride!! =w=

As a partially insignificant but Special-To-Me note: Xisuma has always referred to dbhc doc as “Docm”— this is actually the first time X ever calls him “Doc.”