#tho it's not really Gore

[i-wanna-die-like-now]

Day 24: Amputation!

Does this count as amputation?

[roxirinart]

"Yes! Show me the power of the Red Crown! I have missed it so..."

[barghest-land]

today the juice of the rotten pomegranate looked almost black on the granite chopping board

[wildflowercryptid]

it's all fun and games until your goofy ass kinnie jokes actually start to bring some interesting similarities to light.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOOH BABY THIS ONE WAS A LONG TIME COMING. NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE!!

YOU THOUGHT IT WAS A DAY LIKE ANY OTHER. A DAY OF ADVENTURE WITH YOUR CLOSEST FRIENDS. OH HOW TIGHTLY YOU HOLD THEM TO YOUR CHEST, AND OH HOW TERRIFYING IT IS TO WATCH THEM GET EVISCERATED BY SOMETHING YOU DONT UNDERSTAND. MAYBE IF YOU JUST LISTENED A BIT MORE, IF YOU LET THE SMART ONE LEAD THE CHARGE, THIS WOULDNT HAVE HAPPENED. ONCE AGAIN YOUR IMPULSIVENESS LEADS TO DISASTER. HEAR ME NOW, YOUNG TIDESTRIDER, YOUR STUPIDITY WILL BRING THE DEMISE OF EVERYTHING YOU WERE BORN AND FORGED TO PROTECT. HOW COULD THE PROPHECY HAVE CHOSEN SOMEONE SO USELESS? I BET YOU WISH YOU CHOSE THE RIGHT LEVER. FAILURE.

[muzzleroars]

Michael, the Ruined Prince

Michael, having used all of his power to seek out God, had failed as the Prince of Heaven. He had abandoned his people, absent for centuries on a fruitless search filled with unheard, increasingly desperate prayers and an unrelenting, bone-deep exhaustion that is now permanent. His grief grew day by day, and an angel in isolation begins to wither, to warp – they must be with one another lest they twist into their extremes, retreating into their divine purpose until it becomes self-destructive parody. And Michael had already been scarred long ago by his role in banishing Lucifer, by God’s own ever-mounting wrath that ate away at the mercy he was meant to feel alongside it. Michael had already been insular, something had already pulled at the seams of his soul, and now centuries of failure consume him. He would return to Heaven with nothing for his people. Nothing for the siblings he swore to protect.

So his final thought in a deeply troubled mind urged him to try one last time. That if he could not find God, then he must bring God to himself. He must sin, he must beg for punishment, and then God will come to deliver it onto him. Just as He once did to Lucifer. It disgusted him, to think he had to debase himself to be as the sinners he held nothing but vile contempt for ever since he couldn’t cope with the guilt of the first fallen angels. But his prayers have failed, his days of weeping have failed, he moved Heaven, Earth, and all of Hell to come up with empty hands. Less than that. Not even a feeling. So Michael, even as a Cherub who could not, did everything he could to replicate his memories of when he had witnessed God Himself tear the light from His angels. Michael had seen it every time, it was he that had to bind any fallen angel that survived it to their place in Hell. He knew, implicitly, what the ritual was even if God seemed to enact it in one beautiful, elegant motion. And he did just that. Imperfect pantomiming, flawed execution, but the same ritual as best as Michael could copy it. All to himself.

But only God and the high Seraphim can sever an angel from their light.

His soul was rent from his body. His light was torn to shreds by his inexperienced hands. The agony that it screeched resounded all the way back to Heaven in unintelligible, muted whispers of nauseous grief no one could understand. Michael felt himself die, but it was incomplete. He was left in a corpse, a body destroyed and succumbing to all it meant but with him still inside of it. God did not come, and Michael was trapped a ruined body, bereft of a soul, of his light, giving way to rot and deterioration yet fully functional. He could do nothing but take this as a sign from God, one that he will not be punished no matter his crime for being such a loyal servant. Even as his body falls apart, as plants begin to burst from his remains, he believes himself to be blessed – see how he grows God’s garden. See how his crown remains pristine. He adorns his exposed bones with gems and finery, ostensibly as thanks to God for keeping him alive, keeping him sinless when he had so despised his impending fall from grace. But. Michael is, in the back of his mind, highly aware of what he’s become. He knows he is rotting, he knows he is in a dead body, he knows, somewhere, God had nothing to do with it. It was just a mistake, it was just his own foolishness with catastrophic consequence. He is more noxious than a fallen angel now, a botch job shambling numbly back to Heaven when he feels the death of Gabriel.

Upon his return, he largely attempts to hide the rot of his body, at least from the citizenry – he cannot hide it from Raphael or Uriel, nor does he try. To Michael, it proves his devotion, it shows God’s still present love for him, and it is a testimony to how he cannot fall, that he can never lose his place in Heaven. Raphael begs for him to be healed, Uriel pleads reason to him, but neither had ever been as strong as Michael and ultimately, he is their leader. No matter the state he returns in, he is the Prince of the Archangels and truthfully...they both fear him now. He is not the Michael they loved, not the one that had been quiet and stoic yet still loving in return. The Michael that would have done anything for them, that never wanted to lose another like he lost Lucifer. He commands them now to join him in binding Gabriel, his tangible grief the only thing that seems to be left of who he had once been.

Internally, Michael sees their fear, he feels the crushing guilt of Gabriel’s fall, he is violently ill with one true look at himself. He had gone wrong a long, long time ago, when he lost Lucifer, and now all of that was being made manifest, but he can’t face it. As flesh falls away, he covers it more and more with jewels as if that could hide the decay he can feel spreading night and day, the only thing he feels now. He must retreat into his purpose, he must not allow such devastating failure to be his legacy. So he turns on Gabriel. Gabriel, whose light had been severed. Who walks freely in an abandoned Hell. Who still has a living, breathing body. Michael’s vitriol toward the damned hones in on Gabriel, consumed with being sure he is left nailed to the lowest pit in Hell for his treachery. All the love he once had turns to hatred and in it, the other three can see that Michael has been left shattered, that nothing in him truly believes God made him this way. God’s most loyal, left to rot.

Additional information:

Michael now always exudes the Odor of Sanctity, but there is a distinct undertone of mold to it

The opalescent webbing that runs through his body is the angelic brain - normally it is iridescent and transparent with a strange glow, but Michael's is opaque and dull

Michael now prefers walking, something noted as unusual when he returned to Heaven, but it's simply due to the fact that his body has been left entirely numb and so it's difficult to maneuver in the air properly

He is very protective of his crown and dragon-skin bag, as they seem to be the only things left uncorrupted on him

[egg-on-a-legg]

freeing my inner 12 year old by posting michaelwave of fnaf fame

five billion images of him under cut

i am cringe.... but i am free

[b4kuch1n]

ough brain is doing SO bad but sometimes. there are colors

[crown-ov-horns]

Right, then. The sick part of my brain is terrorizing me once more, and taking an idea from it is like taking a bone from an angry rottweiler.

Who wants a fucked up Michael Langdon x Reader oneshot?.. I really do not feel like making a yet another OC, and adding a yet enother epic to my endless list.

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing based on the film Jeepers Creepers. It depicts Darry Jenner, laying unconcious with his arms splayed out by his sides. He's drawn in black and coloured with yellow. Behind this, there's a drawing of him, in a more realistic style, with his eyes carved out. This is duplicated in a dark mauve, though a lot more transparent. There's a red outline around the first drawing of Darry, and this colour is used to draw a few simple eye shapes around the piece. Around this drawings there's the words "jeepers creepers", the first word is written in a fancy font while the second word is written in a wiggly font. The background is a dark yellow.]

Inktober - Day 26 (Remove)

Film - Jeepers Creepers (Victor Salva, 2001)

[brainlicking]

Dukeceit Week (spicy edition) day 3 Puppy Play/Knife Play

It ain't a party with Brains until I bust out the blood and gore!

Image ID under cut.

[ID: An illustration of Remus and Janus from Sanders Sides. Janus is spooning Remus from behind, with his chin resting on Remus' left shoulder and a sly smile on his face. Janus' right hand is cupped against Remus' ribs, his left hand holding a dagger with a gold-snake designed hilt. The dagger blade is soaked in blood. Remus' mouth is wide open in a smile, his long tongue hanging out and dug into the dagger. The tongue is split halfway down the blade. Remus's expression is one of ecstasy. They are both in their canon outfits, sans Janus' bowler hat.

The only colours are the respective yellow and green from the canon outfits, and the red from the blood. The skin and hair are coloured grey. Janus and Remus are inside of a cartoon heart, coloured with a pale green-yellow gradient.

End ID]

@imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper

[bandtrees]

reblog to gently feed him a cheese puff out of the palm of your hand

[foster-the-moths]

hey guys. i dont think that was a normal apple.

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

CLOWN SCAR LORE CLOWN SCAR LORE

[bluepallilworld]

I don't draw stuff on the spooky/gory often but here's one

Before Nip got yoinked out of the nightmare, he was very good at his job 👍

[writing-hat]

Spoil for chapter 14 of my own fic? I guess? This is Nadakhan's alternate death, that I had to scrap for reasons explained below

And cw for um gruesome way of death

I had another death planned for Nadakhan when I wrote the end of chapter 14 that I didn't use because it was way too unrealistic (yes more then what I wrote) and because I FORGOT THE DAMN WISH WHEN I WROTE IT

I kind of- left myself get taken by the current of writing y'know

And, as bittersweet as it sounds, Nadakhan hadn't realized (well I hadn't realized) that Jay was indeed broken, because nothing can make it up for what he's been through. Here, his frustration was quick to be resolved, which didn't sound right. Especially when dealing with Nadakhan, of all villain.

Someone who won no matter the outcome.

[punches their wall again at the thoughts]

And that caused Jay to never be satisfied with whatever he'd do

[Breaks wrist by punching the wall again]

BUT it did not have the Jay taking Nadakhan's eye away part which I thoroughly enjoyed writing afterwards to make up for the scenes I had given up. Sigh.

But hey! Here's a snippet of what I had written! Enjoy!

-----

Jay came behind, watching what he had done so far.

The arm he had taken off was slowly burning, the electricity left there making the skin turn a dark shade before the fire ate it away. It amused him, if anything. Especially when it came to watch the torn shoulder, badly torn, with the putrid liquid being forced out at the absence of the limb it was supposed to keep alive.

Nadakhan coughed. Painfully. It was a melody to his ears.

But it didn’t feel enough. It never did.

Groaning, he got closer. What was there to do? What more could he do to the one that had taken everything away from him?! He couldn’t figure it out, and it made him more frustrated. The static around grew thicker, heavier. Nadakhan cried as it pushed him further into the ground, not feeling into himself a way of fighting back.

Then, burning fingers came on his back, pulling away the armor as if it was made of nothing but scraps. He threw it to the side, discarding it far away from here, and placed his hands on the djinn’s back- hands that were made of pure energy, tearing his skin apart as it searched for something-

There.

He took the spine, and pulled on it. Not quite breaking it apart- no, that would be too easy. Would kill that asshole too quickly. Instead, he made it so the bone was sticking out, simply making sure that it wasn’t protected, yet still connected to the nerves.

The body under him twitched and screamed, as he agonized in horror.

Not enough. Not enough.

He had one final wish.

There was something else he wanted to take away. Something that intrigued him too much.

“I wonder if you have a heart. You fucking monster.”

Before an answer could be given- if there even was an answer to be done, he speared through the man’s back, right where he knew the vital organ to be.

“Let’s see if you survive this.”

In a blink, he was in front of Nadakhan, and pulled the heart out, warm and bloodied in his hand.

The body got electrocuted as he did, and he watched with envy, as the eyes immediately dulled, not before a veil of pain made them roll in the back of his skull.

Then, Nadakhan fell limp. Nothing showed that he was still alive, no. Nothing to show that something would grow back. Instead, a dark pool kept extending under him, slight twitches from the electricity still coursing inside.

Other then that, everything became silent, aside the rumbling of the storm that was nothing but comfort to him. A storm that stood proud, and understanding of his choices.

Nadakhan was dead.

And suddenly, he felt bliss.