#anyways sorry this took FOREVER

[wiklm]

worlds worst polycule

[kasterarts]

Moving Forward. (Spoilers for YTTD up through 3-1b)

[vivitur-moritur]

what's this? fanart for @nyoomerr's fic speak your mind (not that much!) ? Again? Yes! I love that fic with all my heart and soul. You should go read it! And leave a kudos & comment because it's amazing and the author deserves everything.

Anyway, this took me around 14 hours total T^T. INSANE. 9 & 1/2 of those hours were on the first page, which is wild to me, because I drew it second & very nearly decided to do just the second page. If I had to guess the culprit, it would be THE HANDS. I HATE DRAWING HANDS. Also, the sketches this started out as under the cut! (Also also, tumblr is MURDERING my vibrancy & resolution what is going onnn)

So I actually drew this on paper, originally, because I was doing it during a series of lectures & didn't have my tablet, and it started out formatted a bit differently.

The second of these is my planning page, so the sketches there are ROUGH. Also, at the time I was drawing this, I’d literally never done a comic before.

Anyway, after that, I started digitizing the second page, but I decided I didn’t like the arrangement of it. So because it’s easier to sketch layouts on paper, that’s what I did! Twice.

And so I got that done, and digitized it, and I then started messing around with the first page. You know, the one I completely skipped working on for no apparent reason.

This is how I planned it out, on the notes app, on my phone, drawing with my finger. (At 1:25 in the morning. Y'know, like a normal person!)

And then I spent forever drawing, a final version and now I'm here! I know this is kinda weirdly long for an art post, sorry about that. I just think it's cool to see the full weird process! Weird because usually my pieces don't go through so many mediums and revisions before the final version.

[its-flame-art]

“wait a minute. wait a minute, Doc. ah... are you telling me that you built a time machine...out of a DeLorean?”

[tojosuggestionbox]

We are currently looking into procuring guard dogs for Tojo Any members who are experienced in the handling and training of guard dogs are encouraged to make contact with the main office.

[samarecharm]

I wish the thieves had SOME kind of reaction to the Satanael awakening. Kinda wish we at least had RYUJI react to it….

I think its sooooo compelling to have Ryuji be the only person to witness BOTH awakenings; to see how much Akira and his will has grown since they first met. There was a raw, burning fury in Akiras core that recoiled at the injustice before him, and when given the tools to punish said injustice, eagerly accepted it with a wild, almost manic kind of intensity. I think it would be difficult for the others to truly grasp just how scary that was; that for a short moment, Ryuji couldnt pinpoint the cause of that rage, and the target of it. Akiras mellowed out alot since then, but its always in the back of Ryujis head; theres a side of their leader literally none of the thieves have or will ever see, and he doesnt really know how hes supposed to feel about that.

And now the airs charged in the same way he felt back in Kamoshidas palace; right as Akiras eyes widened at seeing him slammed against the wall. The blazing, untamed ferocity in his eyes from back then is replaced with a cool, calm, steely conviction. He knows his purpose; understands completely what his will screamed at him to understand back when it first started. This is the Akira the team knows, and its definitely the one Ryuji is used to now, but its insane to see the shift; insane to see the kind of power that simmered in Akiras core, literally too big and too overwhelming for past Akira to grapple with and set free.

Satanael comes down, and theres a moment, through all the excited screaming and hollering, where Ryuji can see it look right at him, and Ryuji is taken back to the floor of Kamoshidas Palace; not to the fear he felt when Arsene came forth incinerating everything, but immediately after, when Akira comes to with wide eyes and an outstretched hand- that bizarre feeling of safety, of knowing that this kid would have his back, and that hed never have to worry about where his place would be (its right beside him, obviously.)

[tunastime]

UM UM UM “staying up until midnight to talk” with SEN or DBHC ethubs or docsuma

Or “pull me closer,” with dbhc docsuma :floshed:

Okay skitters away

staying up until midnight to talk (919 words) (x) (:3c)

Etho’s hands follow a practiced rhythm. He isn’t sure how they wouldn’t, with every wire and mechanism and gear in his body perfectly calibrated to move with precision and within expectation. He certainly fails, and jerks, and stutters, and falls, but base programming, movements that fell perfectly into subroutines he couldn’t even begin to trace, even if Xisuma showed him the exact steps? Of course they were perfect. And of course he never faltered.

The sand beneath him offers a much needed cushioning from the hard, winter dirt, despite the fact that the sun provides little warmth to the air around them in the snow fort. The sky is so blue it makes his eyes strain to look at—and maybe it would hurt, if he knew how it was supposed to feel.

Instead, Etho watches patches of sky blue in the silver-warped reflection of his sword, faint flickers of enchantment pulsing out from the hilt where the hastily carved runes sit. He runs the sharpening stone against the blade’s flat edge, careful not to nick the silicon of his fingers as he scrapes it across, again, and again. Practiced, careful, calculated rhythm. So much so that he doesn’t even register the sounds of shuffling a few paces away until Bdubs’ voice cuts through the silence.

“Etho,” he says, voice all rough around the edges like he were hungry for something more than just company. Etho keeps sharpening, just for a moment, before he chances a glance over.

Bdubs leans at the wooden fence, leaning his weight into the flimsily-set posts. He grins like nothing in the world could bother him. The characteristic dark brown of his eyes flickers with red, with that same hunger. Etho hates it. Which is odd. Because he really doesn’t feel strongly about much of anything, and disgust is an emotion very foreign to him, and he’s beginning to think the slight grinding in his chest is a problem Xisuma might need to diagnose when he gets back. It feels wrong. Because he knows he likes Bdubs just fine. He trusts him just enough. But that look.

Bdubs is still watching him, eyeing the sword in his hand with a gaze he can’t place, let alone read. Better give him an answer.

“Bdubs,” he says calmly, tilting his head to the side.

“You thought anymore about my offer?”

Etho makes a sound like a hum, mimicking the sound of turning the idea over in his head. He stands, setting his whetstone next to the cold embers of last night’s fire. The pot and cups still rest in the dirt, as cold as the rest of their surroundings. The sword stays in his hand.

(In the back of his mind, a memory surfaces. In it, Etho lies in the night-damp grass in clothes that still smell a bit like gunpowder, but not enough to notice unless you got real close. Bdubs is somewhere to his immediate left, still speaking, haloed in the glow of lanterns and lights of a shop. One of them at least. Within the clarity of memory, Etho can pinpoint that it’s Tango’s shop. Bdubs doesn’t live far from here. He isn’t sure when waiting for Tango to restock candles turned into tell Etho all about the extra additions to your base and your journey to find all the perfect horses for the Horse Course that you both just wrapped up, or into tell Bdubs all about how empty the mountain is, and how interesting this new game sounds, and how you hope you both find somewhere cool to base. Because you’ve already told him that you’re teaming up. But it does, and in this same space, the sky is full of bright white stars and a sliver of a moon that's starting to peek into the sky. Bdubs yawns.)

“The one from last night?” Etho asks, coming to with the sword heavy in his hand. He pushes the point into the soft sand until it hits hard earth and starts to give.

“You don’t gotta keep this fence, Etho…” Bdubs sighs, leaning his head into his palm. Etho folds his arms across his chest, splays one hand as he shrugs.

“Seems like the best way to settle this, ‘Dubs.”

“You could join me. Could always still join me,” Bdubs tries. “Just a quick one-two stab! Easy!”

“I can’t do that,” Etho says, shaking his head. “You know that.”

Bdubs sighs again, dramatic, deflating over the fence as Etho’s rejection stands firm. The thirium in his chest feels like it’s been flash frozen and has only started to dethaw, cold in his hands and feet, up his shins and to his elbows. He rolls his shoulders in, cupping each hand around each opposite elbow. There’s a little warmth to be found in the action with no fans kicking on to compensate.

“Well,” Bdubs says, drumming on the wooden beam between the two fence posts. “If you ever change your mind.”

He watches Etho for a moment, that familiar look coming to his eyes, as if it were trying to eclipse the haze of red Bdubs looks at him through, as if it were trying to expand his tunnel vision by just a fraction of an inch. Just as Etho notices, it’s snuffed, and the easy, careful look is replaced by an indifference Etho doesn’t think he enjoys. He still isn’t sure how much he knows for certain. He shrugs, barely a movement at all. Better say something.

“I won’t,” he says.

Bdubs huffs and turns away.

[were-changing-cake-vaults]

Doc is really, really, really tired of getting dragged into things.

That’s the problem with this server: he tries to do his own thing, but people cannot leave him alone. No matter what he does to deter them, whether that be harmless threat or psychological warfare, they always come back to dance on his metaphorical lawn. Or actual lawn. Or precious one-of-a-kind bush.

And at this point, he thought he had gotten used to all the shenanigans. He doesn’t want to be the grumpy old man amongst his friends and colleagues, so Doc tries to laugh it off, not take it so seriously. Occasionally, he’ll even join in on the jokes and put a little extra pizzazz into his mannerisms. Doc has his limits, of course, everyone does, but he’s been working on pushing those limits further for the past while.

So when Beef makes the joke about Big Salmon on day one, he joins in on it for the moment. It’s a good joke, really. It gets a hearty laugh out of him more than once. The joke is made, people laugh, Doc is included, he moves on and goes back to doing his own thing.

Honestly, he doesn’t even remember what he said. The joke should’ve been a one-and-done, forgotten after a week’s time. Whatever he said should’ve been inconsequential. Should be. Beef’s not one to drag out a bit for that long, usually, but here he is, dressed as a salmon and saying he got emails from a fish. Doc is utterly clueless throughout most of it- he doesn’t even understand what constituted him getting dragged in this time. And the way Beef and Skizz are talking is scaring him, just a little bit. Skizz is too aggressive, Beef is laying down the charmspeak, and both of their eyes are glossy and strange. There’s a hollow echo in the room.

But Doc, absurd as this is, plays along. Watches as one of his villagers gets killed. Lets nervous laughter through as he’s given 10 salmon heads, and leaves. When he gets back to his base out in the middle of nowhere, he realizes that these aren’t normal salmon heads, they’re worse: deformed, many-eyed, slimy and reeking of rot. And while this isn’t the strangest thing Doc has seen, as far as he knows, Beef isn’t one for game-breaking like he is. The deformities on the heads don’t even look player made. Whatever this is, it’s bizaarre, and it’s not something Doc wants to be involved in.

Then the whispers start.

He doesn’t do what he’s asked—build a shrine for whatever Big Salmon is—initially. He lets it be for a bit, shrugs it off, and keeps building. But it’s hard to focus when you can’t sleep—in his dreams he’s drowning, sinking deeper and deeper, sea life surrounding him and screaming and he’s screaming too as a pair of eyes stare him down—and when you can’t get a moment of quiet. He keeps hearing that damn slapping sound and little nothings about shrine schematics, block pallets, glorious statues. The air starts reeking of rot, far more than a swamp should. Strange slime crawls up the scaffolding that he keeps slipping on.

And this is why Doc is tired: Big Salmon is not his first rodeo. This isn’t the first time something has grabbed hold of his soul and tried to puppeteer it to his own demise. This isn’t even the scariest thing he’s come across- he still dreams of watching himself rip his own arm off. He knows gods and entities like he knows redstone, all the intricacies of magic that weave through the universe. They want to be satisfied, satiated. Doc will not give whatever Big Salmon is that satisfaction, not for long.

So he puts up with the rot, the slime, the dreams. Keeps the salmon heads, perpetually grotesque, in a chest where he can see them. Gives them a minuscule in: blueprints are crafted of the shrine he is meant to build, dying leaves are placed and waterlogged, copper is bent and formed into a worthless statue. The sky is cloudy. The sky has been cloudy all week, swamp air thick with the smell of rotting fish. He gives Beef a call, tells him to bring Skizz along.

When what should be Doc’s friend arrives, he is more fish than man. The tinnitus-like whisper of the thing trying to get him reaches a roar as he gives Beef a look over- there is no telling where the suit ends and the skin begins, all scaled, slimy and opalescent. Skizz, on the contrary, is looking relatively normal; the only strange thing about him are his glazed over eyes. Something about that makes Doc queasy about his plan, but he swallows the bile rising in his throat and steels himself, forces himself to be calm. This is not his first rodeo.

Doc’s faked smile doesn’t fail him as he leads Beef and Skizz to the statue. It doesn’t fail him as he hands the last rotting head to Beef for him to place, on top of an over-polished button. His grin only widens as Skizz counts down his boss pressing the button.

With a single button press, the voices that have taken residence in Doc’s head are wiped out, as are Skizz and Beef: bloody…fish…bits fly high into the sky when they fall into the exploding trap. There is a deafening boom, and then there is Doc, unscathed, laughing wickedly, organic eye sparkling with mania. Gods never win against him. There is no winning against the goat.

And finally, with the threat of Big Salmon defeated, Doc can finally rest. After all, he is incredibly tired.

[deadmothsketches]

Don't feed the plants.

[wolfchans]

Jisung ♡ RACHAlog ep 07 for anon ♡

[sesamenom]

Feanor messed something up in the reembodiment process :/

[skrunksthatwunk]

KUWAMESHI SKETCH DUMP KUWAMESHI SKETCH DUMP in which they are little shits who cannot stop messing with each other

also obv zoom in to see everything bc this shit is CRAMPED. but it's all neat i prommy

[icezeebee]

This all comes from @dilatorywriting ‘s work please go check them out they’re awesome! I wanted to make something for their 4k special so I made a request and made up my mind to draw most of it.

[triplechangermvf]

I may be fashionably late posting my full piece for @turbofox-zines but here it is!

Overnight security check in the "Best Left Forgotten" hall becomes a movie night when the team discovers an old and still-working CRTV.

[hiromiikunn]

I said I was working on a ‘fist of the blue sapphire’ comic once (￣^￣)ゞ took it down but.. (almost puked looking at this)

The idea changed n it was no longer about the movie/ I combined it with @hayaku14 height au so it ended up more like

which i posted to ao3 o3o here

[bvnnyblood]

"if your left leg is halloween, and your right leg is christmas, can i come in between the holidays?"

what spending the holidays with the chuckle boys is like 🫶

★ halloween with schlatt is straight out of a cheesy romance novel. going on pumpkin patch dates, watching horror movies until the sun rises and you're cuddled up on the couch with jambo. for man of his stature and size, the poor thing cannot stand blood and gore, so there’s a limit to how much he can take at once. no texas chainsaw massacre, no saw, and definitely no terrifyer.

he’s hiding behind every possible corner with a mask on and giddy breath leaving his lips. the amount of times he’s seen you get so scared. the look on your face is so priceless that he can’t help but laugh seeing you clutch your chest as you give him a weak shove.

★ thanksgiving with charlie is the sweetest of times. the two of you waking up side by side, the light pouring into your bedroom as he presses soft kisses to your temple. the two of you going last minute shopping for the little things, like seasoning and cranberry sauce. sitting at home together all curled up on the couch, waiting in anticipation as you wait for santa to arrive in the macy’s day parade.

every year he brings out this stupid apron that you can never seem to figure out where he hides. he has to, because if you ever got your hands on it, you would burn it. it was a part of a matching set, but you had only been able to get rid of one of those stupid things. his apron had a rather large and smug turkey with the words, “i made the stuffing” in a small text bubble. every year he brings it out, and every year he chuckles at the tainted and heated flush he sees from you.

★ christmas with ted is something right out of a hallmark movie. the two of you buying each other small gifts for the twelve days of christmas just to find each other awake in the middle of the night on christmas eve, trying to put presents under the tree for the other. he showers you in cheesy holiday pick up lines and always seems to have a candy cane in his pocket. you never found the box anywhere. and yet almost every time you see him, he has a candy cane in his mouth and his kisses taste like peppermint.

there’s a lot of things to describe ted, but the three things that come to mind when it comes to ted around christmastime are as follows: smooth, cheesy, and romantic. the two of you are watching some kind of holiday-themed movie when you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder. “huh, that’s funny. i don’t remember hanging up mistletoe.” you hear him say, a stupid grin on his face as he turns to you. you look up and there you see his hand dangling above you, mistletoe hanging loosely in his fingers before he’s smothering you with his lips.