#family guy image

[boyfleshripper]

[cowsaresushi-coral]

lethal company gabriel family guy death pose

[anotherpapercut]

the abolitionism leaving my body when I think about trump dying in federal prison

[badboysteve]

Steve really looked at these severely traumatized kids regularly giving him shit, threatening to prosecute him, dragging him into danger left and right and said:

'Yeah! Yeah, give me six of my own. I want to do this for the rest of my life.'

And I think that's beautiful.

[sariphantom]

Rise August Day 2: Disaster Twins

They're not called the DISASTER Twins for nothing, y'know. 😆

Totally worth being WAY behind on the challenge, but I'm NEVER doing that again for the rest of the challenge (we'll see how long that'll last). Based on the "Salt and Pepper Diner" skit, except replace the song "What's New Pussycat" with "Surfin' Bird", and not included in the picture is Hueso having a heart attack. Thanks, Family Guy.

Oh and someone set the jukebox on fire.

[every-character-ever-poll]

PETER GRIFFIN - Family Guy

[itslilacokay]

communitythoughts

[puricodraws]

He heard your wish! @mcelroyfamilystaff

[Image description: digital art of Fungalore, a mushroom wizard. He has gray skin, a spiky white beard, and a big orange mushroom hat. He's wearing a blue robe, grinning as he spreads his hands and gestures with a gnarled wooden staff. End description.]

[echo-starflower]

I FINISHED THE GUY!!!!!!

(Pattern by @ghost-cinnamon)

He’s perfect and I love him

But Echo! some of you might ask, isn’t the body supposed to be red like his bones? To that I say! 1: I’m impressed you saw it under the layers of clothes! /silly and 2!

BAH BAM

Embroidery!!!!! (I’m so proud of this hehe it turned out way better than I expected. Also faceless doll jumpscare>:3)

And of course, credit must be given to my amazing little sibling whose immediate reaction to seeing my doll was “ooo he’s spooky! He needs a top hat!!!!”

(She proceeded to make not one but two top hats hehe)

[somegrumpynerd]

Good heavens, look at the time! (Points to a clock where every hour is replaced with "gooptales")

@topazshadowwolf's boys will be the death of me please read it it's so good

[socialiseisnotinmyname]

Clean version:

well random headcanon time: Felix has a sweet tooth, that's it yup...

Well not just that, he LOVES cute/pretty pastries or desserts of any kind. Whenever he goes out(going on a walk, going out to buy snacks,going out with a friend <- mostly a certain au thing,etc etc...) if he happens to pass a bakery or cafe he usually visits, He'll make an excuse to buy something for his mum. Because I also headcanon that His love language is gift gifting (ok another one...) and grabs a thing or two for himself too.

Ok yap session over, you're free now ~\(-_-\)

[feartoxinjelloshot]

The Black Mask was both with the name Roman, to Charles and Ruby Sionis, the wealthy proprietors of a cosmetics business empire based in Gotham City.

By all accounts he was a normal toddler. He was weaned off of milk and sent to preschool and potty-trained and all of the other things small children were bound to do. He was a quiet, polite, intelligent little boy who did his parents proud - they had been trying for a child for a long time, someone to inherit the business when they passed on. They made sure tiny Roman was aware of his importance early on. What better way to make a child feel special, feel loved? They were going to trust him with everything. He was going to be just fine at it.

The company, really, was Ruby's world. She was a woman, and cosmetics were a feminine empire. Charles - though he held his fair share of business responsibilities - was always more dedicated to his lifelong passion for hunting and taxidermy, which had been instilled in him by long family trips with his own father, out to remote stretches of forest, mountain and grassland to take down all kinds of exotic trophy prizes. When Roman got old enough Charles bravely attempted the same with him, even buying him his first very own gun for his tenth birthday. Roman was shy and hesitant, sometimes to the point of vexing his father with his lack of confidence, but Charles was patient and understanding and slowly coaxed the hunt out of Roman as well. The kid had a real talent for it, when he got over himself enough to calm down and aim. He was a genuine crackshot, and his father bragged about it at every chance, talking him up and ruffling his hair fondly. Those were some of the few times Charles saw his son show him a real smile.

The other side of it was not as comforting.

See, both sides of Roman's family line, in varying quantities and distributions, had always been prone to hereditary psychosis. This particular affliction had miraculously skipped both of his parents, and in a superstitious attempt to ward it away from themselves and their son, they neglected to ever mention it to him. In fact, they made a concentrated attempt to prevent him from ever figuring out what psychosis was in any meaningful way that might affect his development.

Roman grew up surrounded by animals. Sometimes they were whole animals, deer and tigers and caribou; sometimes they were just the head, set into a wooden plate on the wall. Each had a different personality and a different voice. They had been his friends since he was a baby, and he considered them truer confidants than even his parents. They comforted him when he was at his worst, spoke to him in quiet tones that he had learned by that point not to respond to in front of his parents: it's okay, you're okay, champ and you only did what he made you do and but you won't pick that awful gun up again, right?

But he never forgave himself for killing their sisters, the ones in the woods that looked and moved like them, with beating hearts in their chests and big shining eyes that went flat when his father finished them off. He never forgave himself for skinning them with a silver knife and eating their flanks when there was nothing else in the camp at night, because his father said he was proud of him and his chest was cleaved down the middle by a child's sick loyalty.

At a lack of other avenues Roman constructed himself into two faces. The first one was a happy, healthy little human boy who went to school and smiled at his parents and never made eye contact with any of his father's taxidermy or walked around the house at night on soft padding feet. The other one was his true self - an animal, among other animals, whose face looked less like the one in the bathroom mirror and more like a black thing with white eyes, too big to be a wolf and too small to be a bear, that howled its gleeful music up the chimney along with the chorus that lit up the mansion's crowded hallways just before dawn.

And for a while he survived like that: with his mask in the day and his life at night, not content but not wholly unhappy either.

But he had done his job well. He had done his job so well that his parents, through a combination of their own prideful ignorance and Roman's genuine deception of them, had not noticed that anything at all was wrong with their son. He passed his classes and didn't make trouble and spoke of his friends on occasion, and went hunting with his father every summer, and he was fine. They were all fine.

So on his eighteenth birthday they gathered him up and had a party for appearances and said Son, we had you late. We were old then and we're older now. We want to retire. And we love you, and we trust you, and so we're going to give you the company.

And Roman thanked them, gathered every shred of his human mask up to his face, looked at it, realized it wasn't going to be enough to cover himself up, and went deep into the house with his friends and didn't come out.

His parents were devastated. They'd been working so hard for this. The past eighteen years, and they'd been raising him for this. He loved them. They loved him. How could he be unhappy? And throwing a tantrum like a child? What had they raised him for if not this moment?

Roman, in the house, had been busy with the process of taking one of his father's unused taxidermy mounts, a deep dark glossy lacquered thing, and using his hands and a whittling knife to carve it into his real face.

The black mask. The wolf.

It came out looking more like a skull, but he figured that it was penance, after all, for all the siblings he had killed. He put it on and was overcome with hysterical calm relief, which was when his parents found the spare key to his rooms and broke in.

Their anger at him for what he had done quickly turned to rage at each other, and the company, and then Roman again, and each other, and through their screaming match and Roman's hysteria and the ceaseless chattering of the animals on the walls, nobody remembered the leftover sconces of candles downstairs until the smoke alarm went off.

To be short: Roman made it out. He was the only one.

Obviously, he was the primary suspect for the fire. They didn't believe that he couldn't have engineered the physical evidence, or that he wasn't lying about where he was at the time. There was nobody else alive from the house to confirm his statement. His face would never be the same again, that much was clear: the detectives and psychiatrists made quick work of the family mental history that he claimed he had never even heard about before that point - fat chance, kid - and by the time he got around to blabbering over his so-called siblings nobody took him seriously at all. They wrote him up. He couldn't be officially accused until the hearing, but it was an open-and-shut case. Poor bastard, but hey, it's Gotham. Shit like this happens every other week.

Roman Sionis never made it to the hearing.

He was out of the hospital for three hours before anyone noticed he was gone and his trail stopped cold at the exit doors. In forty-eight hours he had gone from one of the richest teenagers in the city to homeless, penniless, barefoot, and permanently disfigured - the fresh lacquer on his wooden mask had melted in the heat and fused straight onto his face, unless he wanted a complete transplant, skin and all.

Roman didn't. He figured that he had hidden enough. In his abject shock, he was starting to show some of his father's confidence, something he really always had hidden somewhere in the back but had always been pressing himself down too hard to show. He went into the guts of the city and stole a new set of clothes - all black, like the mask. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it in style. He was intelligent, a fast-talker, knew when to be quiet, and he really was still a crackshot, even after all those years. That was shit that could get a man pretty far down where he was.

The police never found Roman Sionis. They found the man who wore his body, sure, but the boy had been gone for a long, long time.

[nomstellations]

all these dominant and clever preds are nice and all but i want to see a pred that is so comically bad at eating prey. a pred that ACTS like they're big and bad and they're going to devour their prey but when it comes right down to it they can't actually fit their jaws around their prey. preds that make a big show out of eating a tiny but then they choke on them and have to spit them out. preds who shouldn't quit their day job

[pinchan]

im really not against kenjaku having a taste of their own medicine both in having their vulnerability be used against them to corner them and in having their dead body desecrated and cannibalized. like yuji on his knees eating the brain of someone who both gave him life and made his life a living hell would make both such a striking image and an interesting way to tie their relationship together despite them never properly interacting. i can even imagine kenjaku in the afterlife watching their son cannibalizing their core organ and showing takaba proudly like "aw look! he's just like his mother :-)" while takaba looks mildly horrified but since his evil partner-girlfriend-thing is happy then he'll enjoy the show too <3

[bumblingbabooshka]

Archery Science Professor at the Vulcan Institute of Defensive Arts [Patreon | Commissions]

[entertainmates]

sorry tohri [also version with no cape]