#wow this got dark...

[aventurineswife]

more sahsrau painter!creator!reader!!!!!!!!1

how would they react to paintings getting increasingly more dull and depressing? like, it can go from a sunny meadow to a dark hallway. and sometimes it switches up day by day like that

The emotional volatility of their creations becoming visible day-to-day would have every self-aware character on edge. Because they wouldn’t just see the change—they’d feel it, and wonder if it’s something they caused.

You, once their divine painter, your brush a gentle godsend… now create only uncertainty, dread, and mood swings painted in oil.

General Reactions Across the Cast

At first, they try to rationalize it.

“You’re just exploring another style.”

“There’s meaning in shadow, too.”

“Art reflects the world. Maybe the world is just…darker right now.”

But they all notice the pattern.

A field of blooming irises one day—painted with almost childlike warmth.

The next? A lonely, windowless hallway, lit by a single flickering lamp, with a shadow at the end you never explain.

And you keep going.

Sometimes you skip colors entirely. Sometimes you paint over old canvases—your own joy erased by jagged black strokes or ink-dripped fingerprints.

Jing Yuan

He tries to act unaffected, like he’s just concerned about “the quality” of your work. But he’s been standing in front of that hallway painting for an hour, hands behind his back.

“When you painted me, it used to glow. Did the light run out… or did I?”

He worries this is about him—that something he said, or didn’t say, fractured something in you.

Kafka

She laughs at first.

“Ooh, a spiral arc. How bold.”

But then she notices a recurring element: hands. Reaching, clawing, or sometimes limp in corners. One of them looks suspiciously like hers.

“...This isn’t just aesthetic.”

She starts digging. Quietly. Obsessively. Trying to find out who made you feel like this—and whether it’s fixable… or deserved.

Blade

He recognizes the patterns of emotional self-destruction far too well.

“You’re not painting. You’re bleeding.”

He never says “Are you okay?”—because he knows you’re not. But he won’t leave unless you ask him to. Even then? He might still linger.

Dan Heng

He’s quiet. Hurting. Overanalyzing every canvas.

Was he too distant? Too careful? Did he inspire that one painting titled “Delicate Silence, Deafening Void”?

He starts leaving you things. Tea. Books. Paper lotus flowers. Trying to coax you back to color without ever confronting the wound head-on.

“If you ever want to talk… or not talk… I’ll be here.”

Silver Wolf

At first she shrugs it off.

“You’re just in your ‘sad little gremlin’ phase. Art people do that, right?”

But then she starts glitching out when she stands too long near one of your newer paintings. Code flickers. Things warp.

“...Wait. Are you… rewriting reality with your emotions?”

Cue her spiraling not just emotionally but existentially.

Acheron

She understands. Too well.

“Storms don’t choose the shape they take.”

She becomes your silent guardian. Whenever your emotions spike, she’s there—just out of view, blade sheathed, watching. She knows that even gods fray at the edges. And if your art is a cry for help, then she is your echo.

Welt

He notices immediately. He’s been through this spiral before.

“This is what burnout looks like in someone who doesn’t admit they’re hurting.”

He doesn’t try to fix it. He just keeps showing up. Asking the hard questions.

“What changed?”

“When did you stop painting for joy?”

“What do you need?”

Herta

“Ugh. You’re going through a phase.”

She brushes it off at first—until she realizes you haven’t painted her in weeks. Even when you did? Her eyes were blacked out.

Now she’s spiraling. Overcompensating. Creating miniatures of your older work in her lab just to simulate feeling important again.

“You’re still thinking about me, right? Right?”

One day, maybe you don’t paint anything at all.

And that’s what scares them the most.

Not the hallway.

Not the blood-red self-portrait with the mouth sewn shut.

Not the poem about erasure you scrawled in pencil on the edge of a landscape.

But the blank easel.

The untouched brush.

And your silence.

[frownyalfred]

eldritch green lantern ideas:

ring slowly starts fusing with the finger it's on until one day the finger just glows, there's no more ring

bleeding green (duh)

so willful that reality tends to bend around them in small instances, like coffee always being warm or never having to wait for the elevator, or someone nearby tripping

the ring stops translating other languages because they just start understanding/speaking them eventually

the constructs chosen by Earth Lanterns stop looking like Earth items and more alien, older, ancient

Lanterns slowly forgetting to take off their uniforms and just start wearing them all the time

separating them from their ring will cause very, very bad things to happen

not eating or drinking for several days, then several weeks, then several months at a time without noticing

unintentionally feeding (mentally) off of strong-willed people, and even encouraging disagreement just to sit in the middle of it and feel something almost warm again

[starry-bi-sky]

mmm throwaway conversation between Dan and Danny that popped into my head that I had to write out:

"You spent ten years being a one-man mass extinction event, then went back in time and fought me, and lost." Danny snarls, arms crossed and throat tight. His mouth pulls back to bare dagger-sharp teeth, and his eyes burn with the familiar thrum of ectoplasm heating up behind his eyes. "If I didn't believe you were half of Vlad before, I do now."

His other self -- and really, can he even call him that? He's half of Vlad too. Two halves severed from each other and welded together to make a new whole, -- snaps his head over to him. Wild-eyed and furious, he looks unlike the man Danny fought before, the one unruffled and untouched, unbothered by the world around him. It's familiar, but not like the way a reflection is.

"What's that supposed to mean." The Other hisses, matching Danny's scowl one-for-one with fangs much bigger and sharper than his.

But there's a reason lions fear hyenas. Danny matches the rumble in The Other's chest with one of his own, and shoves his face close to his. "I don't lose."

[thecursedcreator]

The absolute audacity of him to say this after my 4 hour, 616 doors endless run

[raycatzdraws]

For your dark crystal au, hear me out...

Bow-wow's make perfect fizzgigs. Like. Imagine Links awakening bow-wows. The one who you can give a little pink bow, and the giant one you have to save from moblins💀 its perfect

Terrifying. Thank you.

Here's Bow-Wow as a ginormous fizzgig and fizzgig as little chain chomps! So many of the creatures in Thra are really detailed and are organic in shape or sharp and chitinous. And then imagining running across a chain chomp, just- here's a gigantic perfectly round sphere. It would be incredibly absurd. I love it.

[sugurouge]

── "𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚."

Calm. Happy. At ease. Tamed. Words Sylus would have never chosen to describe himself with. Much rather proud, striking, confident. A creature of control, always the hunter. But it all changed the first time her fingers ran through his hair after he took his helmet off, a gentle touch laden with a gravity he hadn’t realised he was orbiting. Suddenly, his favourite ritual became picking her up on his bike just to have her fix his appearance, letting her rewrite him strand by silver strand. And he would come to return the kindness tenfold. Because the sight of her rendered him defenseless: Windblown and laughing, cheeks glowing bright under the ruby moon of the N109 zone as he ran his fingers through her tousled strands. Though it were those predatory eyes that dared him into a silent game of who would fall first that Sylus grew addicted to.

He did.

He crash landed, collided into her. By now there is a weight that settles in his chest when she isn't near, followed by a strange lightness when she is. It clings to him like a pulling force, leading him to her arms, her lap, the curve of her neck, where peace hums just beneath her skin. She became the atmosphere that holds him together. With her, he doesn't feel like he's lost anymore. He just wants to land. To rest. Home, it turns out, is a place right by her side.

Maybe he's the one who walked willingly into her trap, weightless and disarmed from the beginning, eager for her to catch him. And now that he's here, floating in this quiet euphoria of being known, Sylus admits: he would give her the whole universe if she asked.

the wild and untameable make an exception for their beloved. close proximity and touch are how animals show affection. i’ve never tried to hide them from you. my gaze, my gestures, and every single step i take toward you.

happy birthday, my beloved 🖤

art: puri24a on twitter. please don't reupload or use

[dreamyblanket]

Sorry guys, wafer on the brain, it's terminal u.u

Anyway, I'll elaborate on this in the tags bc omg I'm going to yap your metaphorical ear off.

[wolfylady]

Salvation

Summary: It started with a look and then a smile. She was just another name on a continuous list of rotating faces. But then she smiled and it wrecked his world. He would lie, cheat, and kill, just to keep her in his orbit.

Trigger Warning ⚠️: Obsession and Manipulation

Word Count: 621

Chapter 1: The First Smile

Enjoy!

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The first time John Price saw her, the world didn’t tilt. It didn’t shift. It snapped.

Clean. Silent. Immediate.

It started with a smile.

One he hadn’t earned.

One he didn’t expect.

One that detonated something buried deep in his chest like a forgotten landmine.

She stepped onto base with a duffle slung over her shoulder, boots caked in dust, stride purposeful—measured. A transfer from MI6, if the morning report had anything useful in it. Her name barely registered then. Just another addition to the Task Force. Another operative shaped by war and secrecy.

Until she smiled at him.

Not out of protocol. Not forced.

It was real. Warm. Uncalculated.

He was standing near the edge of the training field, arms folded, half-listening to Soap and Ghost bicker over a faulty sim round. The sun was high. Heat clung to the concrete. Standard chaos on base.

And then she walked into view—sharp-eyed, tightly wound, her stance reading like someone who knew how to follow orders but hated doing it. Her file would say discipline, structure, performance metrics. But her mouth said otherwise.

That mouth—God, it curved too easily.

She caught his eye.

Held it.

Smiled.

And just like that, he forgot whatever Ghost had just said.

It wasn’t like the others.

It wasn’t the stiff respect of a subordinate.

It wasn’t the flirtation he usually shut down cold.

It was recognition. Familiarity without history. Like she saw him—not just the rank, not the legend, not the weight of all his years—but him.

And then she was gone.

Turning to speak to Gaz, laughing at something stupid. Probably a joke. Something light and forgettable.

But her laugh chased him for the rest of the day.

He told himself it was nothing.

A flicker of interest in a sea of rotating faces.

But he felt it.

All damn day.

During debrief, during comm checks, during sparring evaluations—her voice echoed. Her name stayed on his tongue like a habit he hadn’t formed yet.

That smile sank in like a blade beneath his ribs.

He didn’t sleep that night.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again. That smile. That impossible warmth. And it made something in his chest feel unstable.

Like he’d swallowed something live.

At 01:13 hours, the glow from his desk lamp cut through the dark.

Her file lay open across the table.

Name: Crowley, Veronica Elise

Callsign: CROW

Rank: Sergeant First Class (E-7)

Branch: SAS, Tier One Operator

Former Affiliation: Secret Intelligence Service (MI6)

Clearance Level: COSMIC TS/SCI

Languages: English, Russian, French, Spanish

DOB: 14 January 1994

Age: 30

Height: 5'6"

Place of Birth: York, England

Blood Type: O+

Religious Preference: Non-disclosed

Next of Kin: Crowley, Daniel (Brother)

He read everything.

Deployment history. Former handlers. Every operation with her name in the margin. He studied commendations, psychological profiles, redacted summaries with words like precision and unstable potential and asset recovery.

He traced her path from intelligence to black ops to special recon and finally, here.

To him.

It should have been enough.

Knowing her record. Understanding her skill set.

Filing her under “high-performance operator” and moving on.

But it wasn’t.

Because he didn’t want her service history.

He wanted her tells.

What made her pause in a fight.

What songs she played when she thought no one could hear.

What she dreamed about when the war faded from her eyes for a moment.

He told himself he just needed to know.

So he could get her out of his head.

If only it were that simple.

Because when he finally shut the file and turned off the lamp, his hands were still shaking.

And in the quiet, the memory of her smile haunted him like a ghost.

wolfYLady: Just got into Call of Duty—and wow, I’ve got brainrot bad. So naturally, I decided to write this. I'm planning a whole series centered around obsession with Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Keegan, and König. The main character is basically a self-insert (y/n) placeholder—so have fun projecting. I just love the idea, in fiction, when something so simple as a passing smile, or kind word, can just bring them to their knees. Shout out to Bluegiragi and Kathy Ifnt, whos amazing artwork have singlehandedly doomed me to a life of crippling COD brainrot, I am now feral for all their COD work. If you can, go support them, and we can all join a "COD but make them slutty" support group.

Chapter 2 🔜

Link to: Ao3

Master List of Twisted Sin Series🔜

[dysaniadisorder]

[ID: A drawing of OP, a white person with freckles, yellow eyes, and short mesyy hair with red roots, dyed white. It has heavy eyebags, a nose ring, a mustache, and several small cuts and bruises on its hands. It's wearing a spiked choker, heart earrings, several rings, and two large spiked bracelets. It's only shown from the head up, grimacing as it holds its temples. There's a large burst of light cutting over its face and covering one eye, and it emits a golden light while the rest of the drawing is dark and tinted a desatured pink. end ID]

✴︎HEADACHE✴︎

[mblue-art]

aaaa

[abirddogmoment]

the fact that it's 7pm and I have this much sunlight streaming in through my windows feels like a miracle tbh

[azzymaxxing]

IFUCKING WIN

[sassafraz27]

I wonder how tucker would bother people with this…

I mean there’s two main parts i got from it that could be used in two entirely different contexts.

1) tucker is very aware that ancient egyptians invented ghosting and does not let people forget about it.

OR

2) tucker finds out that ancient egyptians erased people from historical records and tore people’s bodies apart because they believed it would affect them in the afterlife and is very conflicted about it. Because on one hand, that’s a terrible thing to do. But on the other, what did they do to deserve that punishment?

And if it really does affect a ghost in the afterlife, what would that do to Danny, if his body was left behind in the portal when he died. If he was disfigured from the accident, he would likely end up with some form of imposter syndrome. Even if his human form (and ghost form too if you want) were left without any scars afterwards, he still knows that he shouldn’t look the way he does to others. He has a hard time looking in mirrors after the accident, because even though he’s healed he can’t recognize his own reflection.

(Also, Tucker would probably think the erasing people from history was kinda funny, but Sam stomped on his toes when he started laughing once he found out.)

[cliji]

the boots on the bed 💔💔💔

[lynx-doodles-indie-games]

the gents

(bonus below the cut)

owo demon

[oceanof-starz]

hi guys. i drew my drow oc in infrared :]

his name is arajli. raja, if you're his friend. but if you're not... 💥💥💥💥

plain lineart + "normal" colors under cut