HAPPY IDES OF MARCH EVERYONE LETS GO STAB CEASER 🔪🗡🔪🗡🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡🗡🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡🗡🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡🔪🗡
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[ID: 1st picture: A cute little cartoon bunny with a big smile and blushing cheeks, tilting its head a bit. behind its back is a badly concealed dagger, looking like a huge sword in the hands of such a tiny bunny. The murderous bunny is standing in front of a gate with an ornamented frame, decorated with little bat wings and a crown. The gate leads to a hellish background with humans getting tortured and eaten by demons; it's from a painting by Giovanni Da Modena, representing Dante's hell. The title lies beneath the whole illustration and reads: Up To No Good.
2nd picture is the artwork as a sticker on a black notebook cover. End ID. ]
"Up to no good"
available as a sticker in my shop
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friend 2: “alright, what do we do, when we have the urge to kill someone?”
friend 1: “uuuh……STABBY STAB TIME!!”
me: “THE VOICES CRAVE BLOOD…SO THEY SHALL GET BLOOD!!”
friend 2: “goddamnit NO!”
friend 1: “uuugh”
me: “you’re no fun”
friend 1: “ i know right!?”
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@nonhumen said: ❝ you can’t run forever. ❞ (hehe blade to dan heng)
╰┈➤ STARTER PROMPTS : Assorted Sentence Prompts
— futile
/ˈfjuːtʌɪl/
adjective
incapable of producing any useful result; pointless.
was this constant back and forth, embalmed in a ceaseless dance, in an eternal clashing of swords. and yet, there is nothing but the thrum of pulsating blood, calling for him to strike the abomination down. it is pointless, completely and utterly so. and dan heng KNOWS. he hears him over the clang of metal, bold and daring, just like his strokes that slice through the air. carving effortlessly as if the sky were made of paper.
but the delicate can rival the sling of a thousand arrows. cloud — piercer stands proud once the vidyadhara regains his footing, narrowly avoiding the swift curve that SINGS with the threat of breaking skin. sparks fly — briefly — signifying his defence is successful but distance is the ally of the nameless. he soars, slipping from the radius of blade’s fatal blow.
❝ yes. ❞ his arm raises and knuckles whiten from his curled grasp. ❝ i. ❞ bent at the elbow, his shoulder rolls, drawing all his might, his power, his woes until finally — ❝ CAN. ❞ arced is his attack, flashing before it seeks his target. landing its mark.
it splinters the heavens, sprouting with rivulets of crimson that bleed a garden alive. the scent overpowers his senses but dan heng refuses to grimace. at last he retrieves his second-half, unleashing a choir of AGONY once he pulls the sword from the stone.
his breaths quicken. scarlet splattered, there is no intention to wipe it from his blemished countenance. the ocean has engulfed all.
❝ you will not find me again. ❞
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