#[D E A T H C O M E S]

[waldherz]

Hope is the only thing stronger than fear …

( W A L D H E R Z ) ── A GUARDIAN in search of the TRUTH, her kind heart thirsting for REVENGE , entangled in the threads of FATE ... Is her DESTINY her DOWNFALL ?

(carrd) (board) (rules)

── independent , low to semi - active potrayal of the original esteria silvershade, based & crafted for fakevz/ ger&eng. Please read the rules before interacting.

[clownsuu]

Heeeeyyyy You know what?

I LOVE FLUFFY ONES!!!!

btw, this is not an Oc, it's.. A Version of the discarded character from Welcome Home named Sunny

It's my version as a nun/monk

ALSO!! I draw ur version of Home and Sunny in the church confessional and and- DAMN IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL, JUST HERE TO SAY THAT UR DRAWINGS AND EVERYTHING CHARACTERS (Oc's) THAT U MADE ARE SO BEAUTIFUL, FOR LOVE OF GOD- I'm Ur fan- a big fan u guess- (sorry I'm nervous-)

EVEN MORE ROBBIE ROBS RUBS AUGHAUAHAHGH

[aoitakumi8148]

𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓤𝓹 𝓐𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝓢𝓸𝓷... 𝓝𝓸𝔀 𝓖𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓤𝓹𝓸𝓷 𝓞𝓷𝓮, 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷...

𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓃-𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒷𝑒 ‹𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓅› 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃? 𝐼𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 ‹𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃› 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝑔𝑜?

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to dull the edge of it is what I have been doing since v.1. As if something has indeed been fragmented & this is the pain of my conscious life. And every time I travel the melodious/glamorous path of frenzy, every time I complete it, I am going to experience the same precious pain intensity, purity of pain/ecstasy. I am going to be eventually bound to this inmost/overwhelming awe, this vehement impulse to feel/fondle/kiss what is loved, to kneel down before it, to cuddle up to its heart, to recompense bliss with bliss... More and more. Neither the good boy nor I are free. I do not want to be free... free from... These bare feelings are ‹clawing› at the reconstructed interpretation of the organ inside me. The great minds will not know what they have done, neither will Anthony... It speaks louder-truer than anything, but the sounds are not obvious... Words. All I possess, this rich but poor instrument for... And you always do end up in the point where...

The aesthetic masterwork, perfused with the golden brilliance of authentic ideality x pierced with the darkest blade of bitter-salty inaccessibility, inevitability, impossibility.

Excruciation, pleasure, euphoria, art. Blended together. Find yourself... or lose yourself on this journey. Emotionally. Totally. An unparalleled effect... and the lulling sparkle the vessel has never actually had. Something in this body x mind has died, and I do not know if there is a way to accept it, to recover it. I have described the lesson of unprecedentedness I have learned, not the expected story of ‹insult-betrayal-contempt›. No one will ever f-g hear it. Not from me, not in this lifetime. / Loving extraordinary is priori merciless, დ/დ become telepathic... & the severest trial ~ the unhealable wound ~ is to be a 𝓟 son without the cause to be... *If I have to detest many donkeys for a chance to protect one venerated Father figure, I will go for it.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝓀𝑒𝓅𝓉... 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝐵𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒸𝑒, '𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝓉𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑒𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊... 𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈... 𝒮𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹. 𝒮𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈...

While I am willing to imbibe all the anguish of the human I love, to ease his suffering, the loss of us is taking its toll on me irretrievably. I see him. I see what is inside him... & I am incapable of safeguarding it, saving it truly.

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to put up with this gift is what I have been doing since v.1. The chest is ‹cut open› too deep, the fragility of the organ is exposed... Would you allow me to grow more flowers? I wanna do it... Because it is you, It has always been you. The one who has given us everything, endued me to the brim with the intimate fatherly affection that this organ never remembered. My eternal wish & exuberant price for humanity, the misunderstood nature. *What an odious irony. / I do not know if there is a way to recover what is gone.

I would sacrifice the lot to be with the human that needs me, needs to be healed, heals me. I would rip my core out but I cannot, the limitation of freedom. *Tell me that the ‹strings of abuse/child neglect/lies› are finally cut. Tell me to ‹celebrate›. Tell me that both 𝓟inocchio/I are wrong x naive, ‹fix› me. You have no f-g clue about it. / When it is written that your starving heart must be left half-empty & helpless... No freedom is scarier than this.

Affording harmony to the sapphire star that is going to fall away... The sentiment it deserves. All I have ever hankered for. & I am terrified of that my grandest instinct x fear will not grant any lasting peace to me.

Death will do our Sun-hugged family apart ~ but I will still be yours, for ever. The core has never felt as good x feverish as it does when with you... as astray x anxious as it does when deprived of you. I am not lying to you, I hold no resentment... Let me ‹feed on› the emotions of your heart... Even if it means your pain x my love turn the vessel inside-out & your love x my pain do the same. Not blurred, always remember. Always. If a masterpiece could be made into a masterpiece, I would prefer to share this fate. My bona fide mission, however, is not allow anything to be in vain... Even if it hurts. ~ The atrophied ability to express love verbally has been ‹roused› again, in a fervidly devoted but preciously righteous way... The lash of despair, compulsion, dream, reality.

𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝒷𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒦𝓇𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓃... 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓊𝒷𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈. 𝐿𝒪𝒫 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝟙/𝓂𝓊𝓁𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝓋𝓊𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇.

...Take the whole meaning of this, its flavorful, pathetic, shameless, lonesome taste. Take it all, for it is all that is absolute. Teach me how to ‹merge› with it, the mortal desire of a puppet child, a human Mastro x a faceless observer like myself ~ & when the desire full of unexploited majesty is cutting off the oxygen to the lungs... True geniuses of any kind are among the silent. These eyeballs will not dry up, never fully. I have tried so many times to resist it, but why live if you repel what puts your ‹dehydrated› pieces together? I would spare no effort to keep them hot and uncurb what is being restrained... Nothing affects self-perception and ‹unmasks› the unconscious like sensation, nothing genuinely matters without it. / Shivering with cold, this body is burning. My atrophied reality in exchange for a moment of irrepressible happiness, agony, guiltless x not bottled up impulses ~ just a moment. It keeps consuming me without reserve. I do not need God. ✒

[miquella-everywhere]

Literally though why the heck would Miquella abandon Fundamentalism and the Erdtree to go off to create his own paradise to distance himself from the Golden Order create "God repellent metal" only to do a fucking 180 and want to become a god exactly like his mother??????

Edit: Sorry I have to add to this cause i cannot wrap my head around miqs writing choices 😭

It's especially more confusing when you consider that Miquella is framed as being wholly resigned to becoming a God but also absolutely terrified of the thought of becoming one

like

KID!!!! YOU DO NOT HAVE TO DO THIS TO YOURSELF!!!! YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GO DOWN THIS PATH!!!!

You already rejected the Erdtree and made the Haligtree and God "fuck off" metal, you have already forged your own path and rebelled against the world why are you regressing?????

[aerospectrum]

“a mirrored picture of my old man… god the kid looks so sad… i’m seventeen going under….”

[kittygamer2888]

STICKBUG S P O T T E D

We finally see a stickbug in our house🎉🎉🎉

[biitchcakes]

PERCHING .

( personals DNI . )

[deus-ex-mona]

monachan haul has arrived ✨safely✨

[hubrisdescent]

He hopes everybody realizes that the majority of their tax dollars aren't going to funding schools or healthcare, but to build anti-Hulk weapons.

[izzyizumi]

Digimon Adventure ~ J.P.N Version ~ Episode 39 + Izumi Koushiro{u}'s Parent + Kido Shin (Jou's 2nd eldest Sibling)

"Don't say such {negative} things! I {b e l i e v e} in these children!" - Koushiro's parent, referring to Koushiro and, the "Chosen Children" as a Whole, (including Jou)

"It'll be all right, Nii-san.

We'll make {absolutely} sure the s u n does 'come up'!"

-Kido Jou, after overhearing from afar, Triumphant-like

Gifs by @izzyizumi / koushirouizumi {Do Not Re-post} {Do Not Copy} {Do Not Remove Caption} {Do Not Re-produce My Work Under Any Circumstances Without My Permission Whatsoever!}

Original commentary, Image Usage & Interaction rules under the 'read more'!

My Commentary: This small but significant sequence takes place not long after Koushiro is revealed to be a canon Adoptee. Mrs. Izumi is fully aware that Koushiro has accepted Mrs. Izumi (+Izumis both) as Koushiro's true parent{s}, however, we are not given indication that the other supporting characters were actually told about 'the secret' of Koushiro's. Shin's surprise, in that regard, can hardly be held too much against Shin - which Mrs. Izumi eventually quickly recognizes, dropping the argument and frustration - Shin was likely completely unaware how strongly Mrs. Izumi felt during these moments, while Mrs. Izumi was likely running on pure adrenaline responding!

Mrs. Izumi, in the original version, is also using a neutrally polite speech pattern that is overall appropriate when speaking to children; Koushiro, in the original, is also known for speaking throughout the entire series with a formal and polite pattern that is "unusual" for Koushiro's age, while it's more "typical" for Mrs. Izumi to use similar in this sequence.

Shin Kido, Jou's 2nd eldest sibling closer in age, the 2nd born of the three Kidos, is the sibling who appears throughout Adventure Episodes 35~39 and later Adventure-specific episodes (such as flashback sequence in Dark Masters arc) specifically. In the 2nd sequel series, "02", Jou's oldest sibling, Shuu, was introduced. The U. S. dub combined "Shin" and "Shuu" into "Jim", a singular character, but they were actually two separate siblings! (Thus, Jou is speaking to Shin as if Shin is the younger of the two siblings, addressing Shin commonly with a 'casual' "Nii-san", though in this scene, Jou sounds surprisingly more 'assured' and perhaps a slight bit 'full of' self, but is quickly grounded by Sora and Mimi not long after.)

{Usage of gifs may be allowed if permission is asked / or if credit is given. However, read my about & FAQ pages first. Please do NOT use / ask if you match anything in my “Do Not Interact” sections.}

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[Though Koushiro is not in these specific imgs, (Koushiro is in the back-ground of this specific sequence) Izumis are, so please treat it as Koushiro Positive regardless! Please interact on this set Respectfully. Please only tag with 'Familial' and 'Platonic' tags!] {usage may be allowed IF PERMISSION IS ASKED TO USE.}

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[clownsuu]

I'll uhm, explain when it's finished. There is a lot I need to say so I guess this is a WIP I really wanted to share with you.

Did you know butterflies love blood?

STOP BEING SO COOL GUYS WHAT THE F U C K JDJSJJXISXJ

[plastic-system]

[hikari-m]

{D I G I M O N} Adventure 02: The Beginning {DaiHika} / {Daikari} + S u m m e r J a p a n e s e F e s t i v a l + Y U K A T A + (Daisuke)'s T A I K O D r u m m i n g + (Hikari)'s W A T E R M E L O N (S w e e t s) C r a v i n g

From GraffArt Collaboration Merch Set! (Originally Announced/Revealed on Jul. 22nd, 2k24)

Edit by @hikari-m / Kari M.otomiya {Do Not Re-p o s t} {Do Not C o p y} (A S K to U s e/S h a r e!)

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REGARDING EDITS/GIFS USAGE:

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PLEASE ALSO NOTE: {My head-canons for the characters of this series VARY} {for this set particularly [Adventure+02 Chosen / various Advs charas]; I headcanon most as/on the M-spec/Multi gender attracted {spectrum}*} {this post/my edits ARE NOT for people who cannot respect this fact or M-spec people / M-spec headcanons / MF relationships, Queer identities, etc. in general!}

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[scoop-an-eye]

[aerospectrum]

this is purely rambling for a canon divergent headcanon for jamie’s backstory that I needed to set free but I’m trying to save the dash sanity with a readmore

semi-inspired by this

It’s a quarter past 10pm when Jamie gets up from his desk. He paces the oversized office, pausing at the window to stare out at the empty car stalls lining the street. This isn’t home; this isn’t even life and certainly not one he ever really wanted. 

He sets his permissions badge on the stack of files placed neatly on the corner of his desk. He stares at the half cold cup of coffee he brewed not twenty minutes earlier that ripples with every footstep he takes towards it. This isn’t what he wants. 

He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life living under the thumb of a neglectful father who’s never shied away from announcing his disappointment in who he was or was becoming. He can’t stand under the weight of his failures and he doesn’t think he can survive knowing his younger sister’s words were never wrong; the more he became what John wanted the more John hated him. He can’t live with knowing she’s right. He can’t and he won’t. 

There’s a guilt that peels away at his reserve every chance it gets. Beth’s retaliation for his role in destroying her own chances at bringing life into the world eats away at him more than anything. Her constant threats to kill him; to annihilate him off the face of any map that he lingers on sit heavy on the side of things he can’t reconcile. There’s a damage he’s inflicted on her that no amount of regret will ever undo— they were teenagers, terrified of their father’s rage, but still… he didn’t tell her. He didn’t even warn her. He walked her into that clinic knowing they’d take her future from her. He hates himself everyday for it, but he’s never been able to let her know that. And even if she did know, it wouldn’t be enough and she’d spare the energy to beat it into him even deeper than it was: his self-loathing wasn’t enough. 

He feels stripped of his humanity within the Dutton household. He doesn’t belong and he knows in this moment that he never did. He wants to, he’s desperate to. It’s not even about whether he’s blood related or not- there’s something intrinsically wrong within him, he’s reached a brokenness that can’t be returned for a do-over. He doesn’t belong. This isn’t the life he. It never was. 

Maybe it really is nature versus nurture. Maybe he was always going to be some sort of monster the way his biological father was. He should’ve told Kayce that it was his own father who set up the hit on everyone- sparing him for whatever reason, Jamie would never know. He wishes he’d told Kayce. He wishes he’d done everything differently. He wishes he could call him and say goodbye, but Kayce’s gentle understanding would be too harsh a punishment for what Jamie knows he deserves. So he leaves every part of himself behind in that office. 

For a long time he ponders over what John views him as, he tries to decipher what constitutes as cowardice and what counts as growth. He sets his suit jacket and tie down on the back of the chair and slowly unbuttons the collared shirt. sliding the expensive fabric off he throws it in a heap beside the dress pants and shoes. The exposure of cold air to his skin makes his arms bristle and the hair at the nape of his neck stands. He redresses slowly; contemplating leaving a note the entire time. He can’t bring himself to explain anything. He doesn’t want to. He wants to leave no trace of himself. 

He pulls the dark green shirt on, it’s scratchy and almost threadbare, then he slides the mixed shades of auburn plaid on top of it. His jeans are loose and sink against the abrupt curve of his hipbones and his boots are worn in to a comfortable bend, coated with dirt and earth that’s older than him. He sets his cell phones on the ID and permissions badges and stares at the blank screens. He had his numbers disconnected earlier in the day; he recalls the jovial tone he used with the agent; her laughter at his jokes at deciding to live off the grid that were actually real all along. 

Jamie takes the thick packet slapped with some fancy government seal and warning about how the unlawful theft of it was a punishable crime. He roughly stuffs it into the backpack and slings it over his shoulder. “All I’ve ever done is try to protect this family.” He says to the empty office space, lingering at the doorway he turns to look around, trying to engrave the memory of it all one last time. He clicks the switch to the lights off and heads out the back stairwell, where the hall at the end of it spits him out into the empty parking lot. 

There’s a haunting nostalgia that sweeps through his veins and makes his bones creak with an ache that he can’t shake. Each step takes him further than he’s ever thought to go. 

The roads are silent, the wind howls against him, whistling against the asphalt and matching up with his rhythmic inhaling and exhaling. It’s almost sunrise when a truck comes barreling down the dusty side road he’s been on for hours. 

“Where ya headed?” The friendly voice calls out. It’s warm and gruff and reminds him of his father for a split second. He has to think it over for a beat longer than he should’ve, the impatient tap of the man’s hands against his steering wheel pulls Jamie’s focus back to the moment. 

“Somewhere far… out of state.” He scrounges the answer up as best as he can; he feels like luck is one his side with how easily his identity seems to slide under the radar. 

He traveled all across the states after the first ride. Each time he’d invent a new idea for himself. He grew his hair long, no long needing to plaster it down to his head or keep it trimmed and under control for the office or his families public presence. Sometimes he’d grow a beard and hide behind the disguise of dirt and little sleep. His missing status was difficult at the start; every once in a while a lone driver would offer him and ride and stare at him like he was a ghost. Then it would click and they’d begin to pry, asking him if he knew he was the missing AG or ask him if he needed help back to Montana. They were always well meaning, but he’d brush it off and insist he was nothing more than an intensely familiar doppelgänger. Or he’d lie through his teeth and create an elaborate backstory for why he was traveling. They’d eat it up and drop him off where he needed and he’d leave before they could contact any sort of law enforcement or officials about his whereabouts. 

Nearly five years passed before people stopped recognizing him. His thick black hair had gotten long and taken on a salt and pepper hue, coupled with the facial hair he blended into his surroundings well enough that he’d started to put roots down. He even let himself come out of the closet he’d been forced into as a young teen and for once he was happy, genuinely happy.

He frequented a bar near the river and had become close friends with most of the bartenders there. Sometimes they’d try to work their way into his past, but he’d learned how to decipher their tricks and he cultivated a good enough backstory that they’d buy it and even seem willing to let it be the part of his past he didn’t want to talk about. They never tried to tempt him with any sort of bait and switch tactics; they’d just listen and offer advice. He was slowly finding his own identity and becoming someone he felt ok with being. 

It was early in the evening when his phone lit up on the tabletop, an unknown number. He laughs at something the bartender says to him and grabs the small device out of habit. His smile is warm and it finally reaches his eyes. It’s a type of happiness he only felt when he was a young teen and his mother would tell him he was the luckiest decision she got to make. Before she died. Before his father let it be known through his actions that the land was his true love. Before Beth and him became insufferable mortal enemies. Before, before, before…

He doesn’t know why he answered it. It’s probably an old muscle memory that rears up from his political law days. He slides the screen to answer followed by a grimace at his stupidity. “Hello?” He asks, his heart drops deep into his stomach when she speaks back. 

“You’re a hard one to find.” 

“How did you get this number?”

“I’m coming to get you… you’re coming back.”

“Goodbye, Beth.” He hangs up the phone and the bartender notices how his smile has fallen, replaced with a guilt she only ever sees hardened criminals and people running from a past they can’t escape swimming in. 

[darkheartedprince]

First he’s sour …

… Then he’s sweet.