#He is so fucked up

[carsaadi]

Low quality idiot

[corvidaeconundrum]

i LOVE your tma au but why make coomer the flesh and not the vast?

TW/Body Horror, Blood, Injury

I actually never considered The Vast before! Or any other entity now that I think about it- The Flesh was kind of just an instant choice for me

It mainly came from the whole cybernetic enhancement bit, as it was the most long running Coomer specific bit asides from his messed up dialogue, and the whole 'climbing into your arm to wear you like a skin suit' thing just screamed Flesh to me. (Stranger too, but Tommy already had that role)

In the story, Coomer kind of functions like Jared Hopworth, being able to steal parts from people(typically dead) and add them to himself, which meshed well with the clones aspect since in canon anytime he killed one it would 'grow his power'

[hrghhhhhhhhh]

:C

[softkya]

I recommend that you RUN Simon, my dear

This part of the game is one of the ones that gave me the most anxiety.

This drawing is also a bit experimental, I have done things that I had done very little in digital. The background (minus the graffiti) are edited and cut copyright-free photographs and I have used "Textured" brushes I like the result.

[c0tards--s0luti0n]

huge fan of how his first instinct in sword dancer is just to drop to the ground and start scampering . fuck is up with him!

[sansxfuckyou]

Pain keeps setting in deeper

Summary: It's the middle of a fight he shouldn't be breaking down, nobody gave him permission, he shouldn't even be here

Warnings: Violence, minor blood, break downs, bittersweetness (good friend on Ao3 said so at least), open ending

Authors Note: I WANTED TO POST THIS YESTERDAY BUT I HAD ALREADY HIT POST LIMIT, so yeah, anyways have a kross fanfic, I'm not sure anyone will actually see it, but if ya do, a reblog always does wonders for the writing motivation, hope you enjoy todays ruination of the boy!

---

Cross was ready to scream, Cross was ready to sob, Cross was ready to submit.

But he refused.

(It was really Chara but it was him because who else could it be?)

Hands pressed firmly to his skull he crumbled to the ground, everything raged on around him, he wasn't worth the world stopping and he knew that. His eyes were stuck on the white ground, his vision was starting to blur, his soul was starting to ache. This was too much, he's mortal, he shouldn't be here, this isn't a fight for mortals to bear witness too, but here he is. Him, and his teammates, all of which are painfully mortal, it's like Nightmare forgot he's the only one who'll survive until he's forgotten.

He's bleeding out on the floor of the anti-void and no one cares. He can see his marrow pool around him but he knows he won't die because Chara isn't ready to go yet. He knows that no matter how fast he loses blood or how long the air is pressed from his chest he will survive even though he's mortal. He shouldn't be here, he should be at home, but ha, home is long gone, he migrates now, but he has nowhere to return to.

Dream collides with him, knocking a crack into his humerus and Cross can't even muster a sound. All he can do is let the tears fall faster as he hands drop into the thin layer of marrow surrounding him (it's seeping into his clothing, an ugly purple). Then he's falling, he doesn't even catch the transition as he falls into a searing heat- arms wrap around him and then they're in snow. Arms are still latching onto him tightly and a warmth soaks into his spine- his breathing tries to even but only stalls.

"Criss-Cross," Killer spoke gently, his voice a dulcet guide in the chaos of Crosses mind.

Cross froze up, of course it was Killer, of course it had to be Killer who gets him out of there, "yeah?" His voice is a quaking sob he tried to quiet for the sake of his dignity.

"You don't have to come on missions all the time, you know that right?" Killer slowly loosened his grasp on Crosses midsection, the shake in his monochromatic counterpart resumed even strong than before.

"Then," a painful, stifled sob, "then how come you guys are always going on missions?" Cross shifted himself off of Killer and into the snow.

"Oh baby," pain laces Killers voice, of course Cross didn't know, of course he didn't know he could take a break, "whenever Nightmare sends us out on duo missions instead that's because someone needs to stay home," Killer props himself upright, "wanna talk about anything Criss-Cross?"

Cross doesn't know what to say, all he does is try to sit up and keep his posture straight, Cross nods, then shakes his head, he nods again, "I don't know- I know! It's not an answer! I know," once again light sobs overlay his voice as he cries out into the darkness of Snowdins forest.

Killer placed a hand on Crosses back and gently rubbed circles, "it's plenty of an answer," Cross smiles a bit.

"It's not- not for a mortal at least," a hint of laughter is on his voice as he speaks, he brings up a hand to shove aside the tears sliding down his skull- purple sinks into his white clothing like a stain.

Killer doesn't speak.

"None of us should be out there fighting that fight, that's a fight for gods, but here we are, mortals with the burdens of immortals- we should be dead Killer, but we aren't," Cross doesn't even know what he's saying, he just knows it's lifting some sort of weight off of him and right now that's all that really matters, "I don't want to fight this fight, I just want to die already, like I was supposed to if it weren't for Chara- I want to go home," Cross is gripping his humeri as he speaks in a cracked and raw voice, tears he just wiped away replenish themselves twice as fast and his form shakes with sobs.

"You know what they say," Killer almost smirks as he speaks, "home is where the heart is," Cross looks up to find Killer with outstretched arms, "please?"

Cross collapses into the touch with ease, he relishes in the warmth Killer emanates, he revels in how much comfort he can draw from such a simple action. He's glad to have something to touch as he sobs, something to anchor himself as he let's go, something to keep him real even if only for a moment. He doesn't want to let go of this moment, of this touch, of this intimacy- the way he's being held and it's not by the collar of his shirt or his ankles.

All he can is want it to never end even though he knows it has too soon enough.

[5hrignold]

im kind of losing the idgaf about winter king war.. im not even attracted to him he’s just an interesting character to me. he’s just another poor simon except he took it too far by wrapping everyone else up in his state of fucked up ecstasy. he’s only ever joyful because he couldn’t bare to feel what he did back then, he doesn’t know anything apart from the weird rituals he has set up in his little wonderland

[demodraws0606]

You could literally make an entire analysis of q!BBH's manipulating Fred but god help me I have university stuff to do.

All I can say is that I want to squeeze this little demon guy so bad, stop using your own grief to your advantage.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Hello there!

I haven‘t heard of my favourite vampire for a long time. Let‘s see some Erich ultimately giving into his new nature. Pls 🥺👉👈

"Erich was slowly but surely starting to enjoy himself, feeling his humanity slipping away from him."

Dresden, East Germany, 1947

With every passing day, Erich Eeten was slowly - but surely - starting to... enjoy it.

The feeling of skin torn apart by his teeth, the rush of hot blood on his tongue and down his throat, warm skin that went cold as he drank and took another life, and another, and another... It had gone from a horror to an ecstasy, each time the idea that he was doing harm seemed further and further from his mind.

It felt like his humanity was slipping away from him.

More and more often, he found he did not care. He lived, after all, in the ruins of the greatest inhumanity he could ever have imagined.

Tonight, he walked with his hands buried in the pockets of a great overcoat, a cap pulled down low to shield the vaguely feline, inhuman pupils of his gleaming eyes. The ruins of the bombed-out city felt like observers all their own, piles of brick and rubble that seemed to sway towards him and then away.

The darkness slid around him like liquid, and the person he was following did not see him at all.

Why he had even wanted to return to Germany, he wasn't sure. To see his homeland desecrated and wrecked, the land of his father broken by the bombs that it had carelessly egged on again and again... Then split in two.

In the First War, they had taught he and the other soldiers, too young to know better, that there was glory in fighting for your country. Thousands had wandered home with shellshock and nightmares to show for their grand ideals and the ambitions of old rich men who sent the young and poor to die in the fields of France.

If he were going to weep for what Germany lost, he would have done so in 1918.

Here - now - all he could feel was the hunger that was never quite satisfied.

He sidestepped a fallen stone as he moved past the ruins of a grand church. Two walls were all that stood now, the curve on one side and straight lines on the other. A statue of Martin Luther still held court, looming with solemn dignity over the death of worship.

Someone had laid flowers beneath Luther's stone feet. They had gone gray, brown, and dried.

The man Erich followed had paused to light a cigarette, his matches a bright flicker of flame in the ever-present darkness.

Erich felt the ache in his fangs that longed to be buried in soft living skin. He swallowed, shifting slightly to the side. He let the shadows hide him.

It mattered so much less, now, if he knew someone had done harm or not.

Only the old rich men ever truly won the wars. The young and poor only went home to wait until they were forced to fight another.

And was it any worse to take life from a need to survive, than it was to order men like chess pieces to fall and be lost for nothing but vanity and ambition?

At least Erich kills clean.

[fluidfox123]

This is an Izzy appreciation blog if you hate him get out/j

[swashbuckling-chicken]

lestat is such a silly guy

[bornetoblood]

I need to write a gehrman analysis at some point I think the more I think about him the more upset I get.

I need to sit down with him so he can have a loooong therapy session, maybe some tea as well. And then he needs to be hit really hard over the head with the kirkhammer.

[bitcrush-art]

Special fuck you to @rootintootingoosin I’m posting the Cain shit now that I finished the last sketch I had I hate you I hope you die (joke)

[krispytm]

You can only reblog this today or until the next Monday, June 19th, 2028.

[xiaq]

So my bike was stolen from our garage last night. My beloved, custom, carbon fiber, most-expensive-thing-I-own-aside-from-my-car bike. I just found it listed on FB marketplace. Shit is about to go down.

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.