#THAT EVENTUALLY GET COVERED IN BLOOD

[emblazons]

Y'all keep talking about how they didn't give Finn and Noah any interviews together, but...I literally cannot fathom a reason for them not to have Jamie and Millie do any S4 promo together other than it being an even larger S5 spoiler to do so.

The entire last half of the season is about their interactions and dynamic, to the point that they are direct visual foils?? Like. I'm gonna need the S5 junket to resolve that with the Q U I C K N E S S

put the three-name actors together right now I beg you lmao

[rottengurlz]

leona and her soon to be dead husband

before!!!!

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Beating back more fic ideas with a stick

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hm. so the phrase "as above, so below" has a couple related meanings: a) what happens in the microcosm is a reflection of the macrocosm, b) what happens in a higher plane of existence also happens in the lower one, c) the microcosm is affected by the microcosm

all of this means pretty much the same thing: the below echoes the above

so, may i ask, what the Fuck is the bigger side to the so-below image? what is the above to Wally's dark below?

[maddieandangel]

Had a weird Hollow Knight-related dream a couple days ago, so I decided to draw a major scene I remembered from it dgsgshf

More context will be in the tags, for those interested!

[screamsofanoutlawbrain]

The freakshow au belongs to @hootbon

I think over the years, she'd become a little unsettling. <3

She's totally not crazy guys, I promise 🤭/j

[direwombat]

happy wip wednesday and first day of nanowrimo y'all

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton (tysm~ <3)

tagging @trench-rot, @cassietrn, @strangefable, @voidika, @madparadoxum, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @josephslittledeputy, @inafieldofdaisies, @g0dspeeed, @simplegenius042, @miyabilicious, @strafethesesinners, @confidentandgood, @jillvalentinesday, @poetikat, and anyone else with something to share! (also to be added/removed to the taglist, please like/unlike this post here)

here's the intro to the scene directly after this halloween treat i posted of syb getting bit and her transformation. she's havin' a normal one. tw for emetophobia

Sybille comes to consciousness to the light of dawn filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead. 

Her head is pounding, a throbbing pain trapped inside her skull, and she winces as she hesitantly cracks her eyes open. She lets out a groan. The world is overwhelmingly bright. Most of the trees in the county are still changing colors, but here in the mountains, a good number have started to shed their leaves. What little shade they can provide, it isn’t enough to spare the burning to her eyes. 

She lies on the ground, naked as the day she was born, and covered in dirt and blood. She sits up and presses her palm to her forehead, and the second she does, her body is set alight with pain. Every muscle screams at her with an ache so deep that it goes down to the marrow of her bones. Shallow cuts and scratches are littered across her body, from the soles of her bare feet to the blood trickling down her cheek. Yet, while the pain flashes white-hot through her, she’s also fucking freezing. The hair on her arms and back of neck stand on end and through chattering teeth, her breath comes out in visible puffs in front of her. A violent shudder rolls through her, her body desperately trying to ward off the chill.

“Jesus Christ,” she moans, and she runs her hand through her hair, knocking loose leaves, twigs, and pine needles. The sweet, coppery tang of blood sits heavy on the back of her tongue and in her throat, and as she runs her tongue over her teeth — normal teeth — she finds sinewy bits of meat stuck between them.

Her stomach clenches and heaves at the realization and she rolls over onto her hands and knees to expel the rising bile. Only it isn’t just her own stomach acid that splatters onto the forest floor below her. An inordinate amount of blood and chunky pieces of partially digested meat and viscera splash below her. Her throat burns and her eyes sting, prickling with tears, as more and more blood erupts from her mouth. Jesus Christ, this all can’t be hers, can it?

It ain’t. Just deer’s blood.

She gasps her way through the dry-heaves once she’s expelled the last of it from her stomach, grimacing at what appears to be flecks of bone floating in the pool beneath her. Her belly aches, empty and cramping, and she spits a thick, foamy pink wad onto the ground.  Wiping the blood and spittle dripping off her chin, she takes a moment to catch her breath. Ragged pants eventually even out into deeper, rasping inhalations that actually fill her lungs. 

“Okay,” she wheezes. “We’re okay…we’re okay…”

She lifts her head — to take in her surroundings and get her bearings — but as she does, she’s met with the bloody carcass of an elk right in front of her. Its belly is ripped wide open, with its entrails spilling out onto the ground. Dead, milky white eyes stare back at her, and a fly crawls right over one of them, pausing directly on the eyeball to clean itself of the blood on its little insect legs. 

The kill is fresh. No more than an hour or two old. The blood and body are still warm, and the distinctive stench of rot has yet to set in, although she can definitely tell that it’s beginning to sour.

It’s almost a shame to let so much meat go to waste. 

And then she catches the chunky bits of meat sitting in her vomit-blood and the color drains from her face. All signs point to the poor elk being killed by an animal — wolves — but why would they abandon their prey instead of bringing pieces back to their pack? And why would they have let her get so close to such a fresh kill? Why the fuck did she, in what she can only assume was a fugue state, feel compelled to partake in feeding off this kill?

And why does she have the urge to press her fingers into the gaping wound and lick the thick, clotting blood off her fingers?

She shakes her head to free the thought. The dizziness is enough of a distraction to drown out the intrusive thought, but not to quiet it entirely. She’s so thirsty. She’s so hungry. 

She was hungry last night, too, wasn’t she?

Her head throbs again, and she crawls over to a nearby tree to lean against as she shakily rises to her feet. Pressing her hand to her forehead again, she screws her eyes shut, trying to recall the events of last night. The fuck happened?

She remembers dicking around at the office with Joey. 

She remembers Nancy patching a call through to her desk phone. 

She remembers Jacob’s voice on the other end. “One of my workers didn’t show up for the final check-in…no one’s been able to get a hold of him…we rounded up a search party…he’s stew meat now.”

She remembers driving up to the Veterans Center, only to find the place empty. And then…

And then…

Christ, what happened after that? Her jaw clenches, trying to focus on her memories, but all she gets is a blur of emotions. Fear, pain, rage, and then, eventually, hunger. 

Hunger…

God, she’s so hungry her gums ache. 

But her stomach can wait. She needs to find her way back to the Veterans Center and get back to her cruiser. She needs to let the Sheriff’s Department know what’s going on. Let them know about last night. 

She needs to let Eli know she’s alright. 

Shit, where are her clothes?

[hidefire]

OPEN.

“it’s not mine.” she says, referring to the red that has soaked her clothes. somehow, the blood all over makes her look even smaller. it’s as if the weight might be too much. though, is this an act? it is hard to figure out what is real and what isn’t, when it comes to rain mars.

“can i use your shower?” but her voice isn’t shaky, unlike the rest of her form. adrenaline is still coursing through her veins, and whenever she forgot to eat, it did this to her. “i’ll clean it after.”

[storms-path]

...Until It Is Done

So back when the latest PvP season hit, I decided I wanted to take a stab at getting the Fierce Tyrant set. Looked cool as hell and I was willing to try my luck at grinding away, not expecting to get far before dropping the whole idea.

Several months later and here we are. Anything's possible, huh.

[nikatyler]

Ross should've had an evil era after he got back his physical body

[bruxbea]

Idek what to call this, just a small blurb PreLandsmeet Pre-Landsmeet Denerim, Arl Eamon’s Estate Word Count: 957 Characters: Anora McTir, Alistair Theirin, Riordan, technically the entire crew

-----------------------

In preparation for the Landsmeet like the big to do that it was, arl Eamon had sent for new clothes and dress to be commissioned for the Grey Wardens and their companions. Everyone was excited at the prospect of being in Denerim proper, amongst townspeople and regular food, not to mention proper beds and room service.

Morrigan would never admit it aloud but she had quite enjoyed browsing through the tailor’s binder of swatches and silks as the group picked out their would be attire. They had all but lost Leliana when his apprentice brought in a rainbow of resplendent ribbons by the spool.

The Landsmeet was going to be a bit of a party as it were, and they were the guests of honor.

Only, the Wardens themselves had yet to return from the Arl of Denerim’s estate, something that should have been a trivial task now seeming a growing risk they ought not have pursued. It was late and the companions had been up all night without sleep or talk, everyone sitting on razor's edge as the fire smoldered down to ash.

-

No one is sure whose cry rings out the silence when Alistair approaches with the dawn, auburn hair catching the budding sun in a natural crown as Queen Anora herself runs haughtily abreast a bedraggled stranger sporting dual Griffons on his gear. They are exhausted: the two men covered in blood and bruised, while the Queen only a bit disheveled. Most notably of all they are short one Warden Mage. 

Anora catches her breath and explains: Amell has been arrested on her behalf and sent to Fort Drakon. The Queen blanches at the rooms combined glower, their outrage apparent enough to read. “She insisted we rescue you and as thanks you had her arrested?!” their faces say. She assures everyone Amell is safe among the guards and Templars stationed there. The companions rise one by one to leave the room without a word, as silent as a ripple across a pond. Anora looks to Alistair as he too prepares to leave. He stops near the door seemingly lost in thought. Over his shoulder he answers her pleading look.

“They will not hear you, your Grace. You’ve just sent our leader to yet another Tower.”

Anora starts forward, “Fort Drakon isn’t a Circle. When Father sees I am safe, Amell shall be granted her freedom and-” “You are blind Anora, by rearing or choice I will never understand.” Alistair interrupts with a bark. The Queen of Ferelden’s only response is to suck her teeth in surprise. 

The warrior turns to face the unkept Queen and stares her down with a fury she doesn’t recognize. Is this truly the same boy who cried when I took his doll in our youth? she thinks to herself, shying away the smallest of breadths. He’s taller than Cailan was now... “Hawthorne is an apostate mage, a Grey Warden, and an elf. She will be locked up and guarded among practiced torturers and those most faithful to your father, do you even know what you’ve done…how much danger…?” Alistair stops to breathe and steady his mounting rage. 

The others had returned, already kitted out for rescue. Box the mabari impatiently paces the hallway, growling at random as though the humans choose to waste time. Sten stoically joins him after a beat. It appears unanimous that they return to camp to plan their strategy. Alistair shakes his head and turns to face Anora. “She did this for you, you know…and for Cailan.” He says quietly. Anora Pales. “This whole time has been her trying to reason out you and your Father, no matter how much we may argue over it. As a child Loghain was her hero and you are ‘Queen to a nation of ingrates and Orphans’ as she puts it. She pities you Anora, and sympathizes your loss of Cailan. More than you seem to yourself.” “When I asked her why it was so important we rescue you from Howe she answered without hesitation, ‘Anora’s your family.’ as simple as that! The Sky is blue, water is wet, you and I are family, so risking her life for yours was of no question despite the risk of an apparent trap!” Alistair stops, realizing his voice has grown louder with every new example. Anora remains silent but focused, amazed at the ghostly familiarities she only now begins to notice as Alistair gathers what little belongings he had scattered about the room to hand to an anemically protesting Riordan who rests laid up recuperating on the sofa.

As the younger Warden prepares to leave with the others of his ragtag crew, Alistair first approaches the Queen, checking the straps and buckles on his armor as he turns to face her. He sighs as he tries to bring the conversation to a civil if not jovial end, hitching the massive dragon tooth maul over his shoulder and securing it in place across the plates on his back. 

“Well dear sister, we’re off to un-do your heinous fuckery most foul. Please do keep the kitchen lit and your pesky interfering father at bay. We shall return with our beloved mage or burn the entire city to the ground in her honor. You should know by noon. Oh and do please keep the kettle on, killing your father’s men is sure to be thirsty work.” he offhandedly says checking his breastplate, any attempt at verbal civility lying beaten unconscious on the floor in the process.

 Anora’s only response is to cluck her tongue in a way she thought lost since Ostagar. The Grey Warden and his posse take their leave.

Once again they have been invited to a party.

And they intend to arrive in style.

[whoreiaki-kakyoin]

Going fucking insane thinking of my s/i keeping watch at the beach when Abbacchio did his replay with Moody Blues, and Leone teasing and making flirty wisecracks as I’m trying to put pressure on his wound because he hates to see me worry. I’ve talked about it before but it drives me insane every single time.

[aastarions]

i feel like my health insurance keeps randomly telling me i owe them money like "we're not gonna show you in a way you understand why you owe this we also aren't going to remind you of how much you've paid already but give us more money bozo"

[yaoi-instigator]

bloody ver below -vvvvvvv

[gachaparadise]

*adds him to the list of NPCs I need released from jail NOW*

[lale-txt]

❥ falling asleep besides you for the first time ↳ w/ Toji, Naoya, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Higuruma, Sukuna & Choso

a/n: this came over me like a fever dream during another episode of insomnia. some of those drabbles are a little sad, i apologize. it's what you get with all those tragics characters. reader is gn!

word count: 1.4k

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t even want to fall asleep; it’s not like he had a good night of rest ever since… well. He tells himself he’s just gonna close his eyes for a bit, stretched out on the couch next to you, his weary head in your lap. There’s still blood on his hands and on the side of his face, he’s gonna get cleaned up in just a bit, he mumbles, but the words come out heavy and drowsy, and your fingers are tangled in his hair now and your voice is this sweet whisper, baby, I love you anyway, and Toji–Toji just gives in. For the first time, sleep doesn’t come over him as a heavy veil, as if he’s drowning; for once it’s something peaceful, something quiet. Something he welcomes. Next to you, you with your fingers woven between his, you who loves even the broken parts of him, you with quiet love and reassurance that you’re still gonna be there when he wakes up again.

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀 hasn’t had another warm body next to him under the covers in a long time. He doesn’t realize how much he missed this until your body melts into his, one leg swung over his thighs, your arm sneaking around his waist and your head finding its spot in the crook of his neck. His cheek falls softly against your forehead when he pulls you closer, breathing in the scent of you that’s the closest to home he ever felt, pressing kisses on the crown of your head. It’s not just lust–oh, he wants to devour you, but there’ll be time in the morning–it’s the absence of loneliness and unspoken confessions. Higuruma can tell when he’s falling in love and in this moment he’s wading deep, deeper through his feelings for you, biting his tongue so they don’t spill out all over the pillows and into you. You already know anyway, and when the sun comes up again, you’ll lick them from the cave of his mouth like a prayer.

𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀 can’t fall asleep, not on his wedding night, not when your mouth is whispering all those words he’s demanding from you. His cheek is pressed against your palm while he’s pinning you down, almost nuzzling into it like a touch-starved stray, golden eyes lingering on you. Say you’re mine. Again. Say who you belong to. Mine. Mine. All mine. He isn’t aware how pleading he sounds, how raspy his voice gets the more you obey, every time you sigh his name so softly into his open mouth. Naoya doesn’t care if you’re lying, as long as you wear your wedding band on your ring finger for everyone to see. You’re his to keep now, and if he could have it his way, you would be forbidden to leave this bed forever; he wasn’t aware just how much he had craved the presence of another being by his side at night, one who doesn’t leave once he had his share of pleasure. No, you’re his now, and before sleep eventually finds him, he’ll make sure to sink his teeth into you till his name rolls off your tongue like a lullaby. 

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 doesn’t let go of your hand; he’s afraid it’ll go cold if he allows himself to let his guard down even for one second. This isn’t how he had imagined spending the first night with you. Not under the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, not with your body wrapped in gauze and machinery monitoring your heart rate. It dawns on him as he’s sitting on your bedside–how attached he’s gotten to you, then: How he had almost lost you today. He squeezes your hand tighter and sighs, his weary head sinking down on the mattress. Your fingers twitch and find their way into his hair, combing through it weakly. As if they say, it’s okay, I’m alive, you’re not to blame. So please don’t leave and take all your love with you. And Nanami takes your hand once again and kisses your fingertips, pressing promises against your skin, promises of a future where you and him can just be, one where he can finally put all of these feelings down, down in your open and gentle palms for you to keep.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 is clingy throughout the day, but even more so at night. He doesn’t like the eerie quiet that settles in once the sun has sunken, not when he can listen to your steady breathing next to him instead, so naturally he feels a rush of joy when you push your futons together for the first time. His heart is beating way too fast to find sleep now, his eyes taking in everything about your sleeping figure, from the way your chest rises and falls to how your nose scrunches slightly for a moment. Choso wants to know what you’re dreaming about, what colors your dreams are, and if he’s ever in them. He wants to engrave himself into your being, wants to keep you wrapped in his arms forever. His kisses feel light against your skin, careful not to wake you but enough to fill his desire. Choso loves you with his entire being, and sleep is merely an obstacle, cutting away from your time spent together–though he must admit, his eyes flutter shut quite easily in your embrace.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 realizes that his idea of ‘sweets in bed’ now has a double meaning, seeing you sprawled out in his sheets with candy wrapping paper clenched between your fist and more of it lying on the floor. Cute, he can’t help but murmur as he lays down next to you on his side, mustering you with an amused smile on his lips. When he told you to knock yourself out on the sweet souvenirs he brought, he didn’t assume you would take it that literally. His thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the powdered sugar that’s still stuck there, and Gojo could swear he never tasted anything sweeter than this when he brings it to his tongue. He gently replaces the trash you hold onto in your sleep with his fingers, woven between yours, and pulls you close to him, his tall figure embracing you; and for the first time in a long time, Gojo feels a wave of calm wash over him, allowing him to exhale and sink into a dream almost as sweet as you.

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 doesn’t know why he keeps entertaining your antics. Sharing a bed, sleeping together side by side? How utterly foolish, but as to be expected from a mere human; they’ve always been like this, seeking comfort and warmth when they’re the most vulnerable. Of course a predator like Sukuna wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping safe and sound. Yet still; he can’t help but let his gaze linger on you, wrapped up in his embrace, four arms holding you in place on top of him. Everyone else would freeze in fear, but you? You snore quietly without a single worry in the world, knowing you have a king watching over you in your slumber. Sukuna huffs but still brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Maybe he’ll tell Uraume that you’re off the menu, for now. As long as you know your place–in his embrace, wearing his marks with pride, providing a sense of comfort Sukuna had never known before. Fool, he mutters and rests his chin on top of your head, not sure if those words were for him or you. 

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 doesn’t question when you knock on the door of his dorm room, asking for shelter after a particular nightmare. He hasn’t found any sleep yet anyway. When he lifts up the covers for you to slip under, he’s surprised that you don’t even hesitate to do so, wrapping yourself around his body as if it was molded for that only. Geto can tell that you’re trying not to tremble, but the nightmare still lingers. He knows it all too well. His fingers brush through your hair when he pulls you closer to his chest, as if this could prevent you from falling apart–though deep down he’s aware that he might be the one on the verge of breaking. You know it too, don’t you? Geto is tired, oh, so tired. The kind of tired sleep can’t fix, and he can’t help but wonder if this would also be the last time that you’re in his arms, clinging onto someone who is long gone; a version of him that he shed together with his dream of letting himself love you.