#tw suicidal imagery

[cloudyydraws]

more saiki stuff

[crybabydraws]

I kinda like him and I may or may not think about him sometimes.

No one told me that blending modes like hard mix, difference, and exclusion fuck so hard. What do you guys think?

[dumb-butt-with-a-sword]

I'll break your pretty face

[pupperarts]

"Will you forgive me?"

"My best friend."

(Reblogs > likes)

[timefospookies]

DDLC headcanons in my AU!!!

(*MTF ON NATSUKI’S ONE IM AN IDIOT)

[psychology-department]

//Suicidal imagery

duality

(hiyori by @ecstaticmari)

[bgradehorror]

stupid cupid, you're a real mean guy! 💘

alt version under the cut (tws in tags apply to 2nd version)

A silly lil guy I made for a monster of the week campaign 💓

[lordoftablecloths]

In which the Town is left orphaned.

27: Hell

I think, in the worst possible end of all of their routes, they all die in their own special way. As morbidly hilarious that sounds, it's fitting. Explanation/headcanons under cut

So, first, Daniil: He jumps off the Polyhedron. This could be for a number of reasons. Mainly being that he feels that he has nothing left for him, particularly in reference to Thanatica. All his life work destroyed, so even if he does deal with this damned town, he has nothing to show for it. He comes to the decision as rationally as a man like him could. He weighs out his other options, realizes that he would find no particular satisfaction in them, so once the meeting in the cathedral is over, he climbs to the top of the Polyhedron and simply lets himself fall. Perhaps he remembers Eva, or perhaps he wanted to, like her, add something to such a hallowed piece of architecture.

Artemy (and Clara) are relatively simpler: He dies either in the fight with Oyun or dies to his "trials."

Clara in some way or another succumbs to the earth. I don't completely know how this would work out story-wise, but it felt like thematically. Do note that I haven't finished her route yet, haha.

anyway, this took fucking forever to finish, so despite having said I was going to do one more pathofest after this, i dont think i have the life in me to do so, ,, it was going to be for the prompt "our home" but i really want to work on and just do other stuff, NAMELY goretober !!!!

also scream fortress

i love you pathologic but i want to be free

[ronkeyroo]

Hanging On ✄ - - - A Thread

[reverintherevery]

Your silent ghost Cole au is so interesting to me I’d love to hear more abt it if you wouldn’t mind

You want to hear about MY AU???? hehehe [brushes hands evil-y]

(TW: Suicide Imagery)

okey so. Silent! Ghost AU is basically:

How would the events of the show play out if Cole is forgotten the moment he turns into a ghost aka he is forgotten the moment he dies?

His “Turning into a ghost” happens way more violently in this scenario. Yang cuts his throat, and hangs him, making it look like a suicide, Cole is disoriented for a few days, not really aware of what happened. When he makes it to the bounty everyone thinks he is a ghost working for Morro. When Morro goes to attack the Ninja, noticing that the rest of the Team doesn’t remember Cole, he pretends Cole is with him, going as far as to call Cole “His beloved”.

Morro’s Plan? If the Team thinks Cole is important to him they will attack Cole to get to Morro. Cole will have no option but to defend himself in return… Besides, an earth Ninja on his side? The Preeminent would be pleased with him if he got the Earth Master on their side.

And since Cole was made Mute when he died, there is no way for him to ask for help. His plan is flawless.

The story is a rewrite of Possesed, Skybound, DotD, and hands of time. And is meant as a slow burn redemption Arc for Morro, in which he slowly realizes the error of his actions and stars falling in love with Cole.

Sadly for him, it might be too late when he realizes all the damage he caused, and Morro might end up having to ask for help to save Cole from the path he sent him in.

sorry for taking so long to respond. Also feel free to ask more questions! 🫣

[ninja-grace]

mildly concerned

Gn guys <3 ✨✨♥️♥️

[danithelivingdeadgirl]

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

[citadelss]

Still images under the cut :)

[tsukasageorge]

[OMORI SPOILERS!!!]

they loved her and you killed her

[krillgarden]

it's so awful that ianthe has blue eyes. she's like a dog in that she shouldn't

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

They’re finishing up another session of looking into Tom Riddle’s past, Albus trying to lead the boy to an understanding of Horcruxes and the challenging task ahead of him. He wishes he had more time, but alas, his impulsivity and hubris have left his days numbered, so he is doing what he can.

Harry had reacted oddly during today's trip into the pensieve. It is more imperative than ever that Harry stick to the path Albus has made for him. So, to ensure the boy is not taking the wrong message from these memories, Albus looks into Harry’s eyes, into his mind, and sees–

–hands, gripping his limbs, dragging him down

Choking him, pulling his hair, tugging at his skin

Digging in, ripping through flesh, pulling him apart

Always wanting more, more, more than he can give–

–and stumbles back, horrified.

Harry is looking back at him, face blank aside from a brow furrowed in vague concern. “Are you alright, sir?”

Albus stares. “My boy, I feel I should be the one asking you that.”

“Of course, sir,” Harry says with a small smile, but his eyes are empty, and Albus is crushed to realise he has no idea when that happened.

—

In his dreams, Harry finds himself on a raised platform before the shrieking magical masses, demanding his life, his hope, his future.

He takes a deep bow, lowers his head and finds it on a chopping block. The executioner’s blade sings down and all is darkness, but he can still hear the cheers.

—

He’s fine; really, he is. Except, sometimes–

He misjudges the distance between one step and the next descending a staircase and the floor falls out from under him and he’s suspended from the ceiling by his neck, choking his air off and snapping his spine in an instant–

He’s speaking with Ron and between one breath and another, thousands of spiders come pouring out of his sleeves, his collar, curling up over his face and eyes and hair, spilling into his mouth and ears, covering him in a mass of constantly moving, segmented limbs.

(He knows this is only in his mind because Ron doesn’t have a nervous breakdown in front of him.)–

He blinks in class to moisten his dry eyes and feels thousands of quill points digging into him all over his body in the span of his eyes closing and reopening–

He’s staring into the middle distance, only to come back to the thought of his wrists snapping like dry kindling, and how can he take notes with broken wrists?–

He trips and falls to the ground, and suddenly he’s being held down by a foot on his chest, until they can drive stakes through his legs, his arms, holding him immobile so they can shove one through his chest – piercing the skin, the layers of muscle and organ, punching through the ribs. On the right side, because they want him in pain, not dead, not yet–

–except for when he’s not.

—

Sleep is a reprieve, but only in the sense that he knows, retrospectively, he wasn’t aware of his mind cannibalising itself for the time he was unconscious. Sleep isn’t restful – it feels more like an extended blink. He closed his eyes, and now they’re open, and it’s time to get up and go through the motions for another eighteen hours.

He drifts through the days, quiet and clear-eyed because he can’t let them know he’s a walking corpse, an empty husk dragging itself around, leaving a trail of blood and viscera behind it that only he can see.

He laughs less, talks less, but he’s present, and he can tell the people around him are just happy he’s less angry and volatile than he was last year. He catches the relieved exhales every time he doesn’t react to a comment that would’ve gotten an argument, an explosive reaction, something ugly out of him last year. They think it’s because he’s handling his negative feelings better.

He supposes they’re right, in a way. It’s easier to manage emotional responses when he can’t feel any.

—

He looks at the lake sometimes and considers it. One time, he even gets as far as saying goodbye to Hedwig and walking to the edge, water up to his ankles. But he just doesn’t care enough to keep walking, to let the water close over his head.

So he feels, distantly, a little silly and melodramatic, and walks into the Great Hall for a dinner he’ll barely pick at.

Hermione scolds him for tracking water through the Entrance Hall, and he apologises with a thin smile.

—

He begins to hear the whispers in his mind when he lays in bed, sleepless and staring at the canopy. The Dark Lord has somehow noticed his waning mental state and has swooped in to take advantage. Absently, Harry wonders what took him so long.

And he knows it’s not for his benefit. Voldemort’s offering him a poisoned apple because Harry’s death would give the man something he desperately wants, has wanted for decades beyond the sixteen years Harry’s existence has troubled him.

But Harry can’t pretend it doesn’t feel good to have someone acknowledge the fact that he’s fallen apart, a doll with its stuffing pulled out and hastily pushed back inside with black, thickly threaded sutures holding it in, which everyone else refuses to notice.

Acknowledge, and offer to do something, anything, about it.

It’s so appealing to have someone offer to take the weight of living off his shoulders.

And one day, probably sooner than later, he’ll take the out and embrace his end with arms thrown wide and bone-deep relief.

But not just yet.