#finally i post something of my own

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[palossssssand]

Osmosis jones doodles that I’ve been hoarding for literal years for no reason

[lucky-fy]

And another gift for the Laicion nation (aka, me and three other people... or maybe more? The latest one got a little bit of traction :)

I had this illustration commissioned for my werewolf AU Laicion fic (still a WIP, I expect to at least be done with the outlining and character studies this summer). A big thank you to @cecikiwi for this beautiful piece! I'm happy I made you discover Dungeon Meshi through this commission!

Some elements of the story already changed, and they will certainly still change as my understanding of the characters deepens and the plot develops.

Also, if you're coming across this and wondering "what fic?", let me redirect you to this post. I was very happy to see so much enthusiasm for it!

[kagooleo]

here's a finished belated bday comm for @wyvernity of their soulsilvershipping :D!!! I was honestly really happy with the turnout for the piece so I did go a lil ham on their faves (～￣▽￣)～

i've still got 2 commission slots open on my kofi for both chibi and sketch pieces if anyone is interested :V

[debatablyspicydurian]

I know the full arsenal update is out and hype for that but I just found the gutterman's poem in 7-2 and I HAVE to type about it because its night where I am and I cant wake up my friends to rant about Ultrakill.

Anyway, absolutely indescribable how we have the thoughts of a machine just laid bear in a secret for the first and maybe last time. The fact that a machine made for merciless slaughter could not only feel sadness for the person powering it but also WRITE a POEM? A machine made art??? The knowledge that they understand how cruel it is to make a human a blood battery, recognize it as torture, but also feel gratitude for the life they've been given?? It was known that machines had a sense of aesthetic from Swordsmachine and Mindflayer's entries but. Goddamn. The gutterman refers to the human as their mother and it states it CRIED when it crushed her skull as it hoped it would redeem its life.

Also the excerpt, "I know I know you would hate me so, and mother of me, I do too." Does this mean the Gutterman hated itself as much as the human? Did it hate the human instead along with the feelings of love and gratitude? Probably the former. Gutterman angst is so in.

V2's mannerisms and Swordsmachine's data entry are intresting, but a gutterman's eulogy for its prisoner and its attempt at redemption is another level. Actual machine thought process recorded!! Sapient lifeform that knows only war and death! The fact that the gutterman crushing the human's skull seemed to be out of mercy. Ough.

Noone has to interact I havent proof read this I am just RANTING this is CRAZY HAKITA HOW COULD YOU AND THE TEAM DO THIS

[deus-and-the-machina]

hythlodaeus be like "teehee I hope I can be of some use" *clean headshot* 😊

bitch they wanted you for the aether-centric governmental position I know you think your curmudgeony cunt husband is amazing but stop selling yourself short its a slippery slope to sacrificing yourself to make god smh

[samipekoe]

thank you to the person who sent me the pics of demon king laios now I can realize my vision

[marshmallowgoop]

ShinRan Week 2023: Day 4 | Black Knight and Princess

[sneeb-canons]

Headcanon #500:

Mind is afraid that when he distances himself from or above the others, that he will be too far gone to come back down. That when his paranoia gets the best of him, he'll shut everyone else out and then be completely alone with no way back to where he was before.

Heart is afraid that if Mind is right, with the idea that what he does isn't genuine, that he's being manipulative without realizing it. Then therefore being Whole without himself there is the better option. That he'd be thrown out because his ideas would then be "not worth it" or even "vile"

Soul is afraid that no matter what he does or how good things will be, they'll always eventually split up again or even end up worse. Even then he has no clue what he's supposed to do or be during everything, and so because of that he'll never be whole. Or worse that he'll never really "feel" whole.

[feroluce]

So this ficlet-ish thing was inspired by @hydrachea, nsfw super genius extraordinaire, but also by the fact that in addition to Boothill's left eye being cybernetic, I like to hc even the parts of him that look human aren't fully natural. I mean the dude eats bullets, after all. I think he should also have vents in his mouth so he can literally blow smoke/steam, it would look super cool. Think Father Gascoigne or Studio BONES' Todoroki. We as a fandom deserve that!!

So anyway, of course, sometimes these vents get blocked up and need to be cleaned manually. Thankfully, Dan Heng is super helpful ☆

Like there's one day where Boothill is lazing around in the archives, fresh off a bounty and happily soaking up the luxury of the Astral Express after however long he's spent tracking his prey through all the dust and dirt with almost no rest.

Boothill likes it in the archives. It's not silent, but it's quiet. There's no music and only muffled voices from outside, but there's the hum of all the computer systems. It makes for a nice place to hide away and recharge when he's just finished exhausting himself.

And besides, Dan Heng is there.

Sometimes the two of them talk back and forth, but today it's mostly quiet...except for-

"I didn't know it was possible for you to get sick."

...Except for Boothill having to constantly clear his throat. That's the thing about your mark trying to flee into the desert. You either go after them and get sand everywhere (and even worse, sticky sand once it gets all bloody) or you wuss out and lose out on the bounty. Personally, Boothill likes being able to afford to eat.

"Grit's stuck in a vent somewhere, 'n' the usual maintenance ain't gettin' it. I'll prob'ly have ta manually dig it out." But later, when he's not laid out half asleep on Dan Heng's extra futon. Usually after a chase as long as this one took, he can shut down for almost a full day. He doesn't want to get up yet.

Something shadows over him, and reflex demands Boothill's eye open. Dan Heng steps around him on his way to some drawer built in the wall on the other side of the room or something. Boothill closes his eye again.

From under his hat he hears the sounds of rummaging, drawers sliding open and shut, the swish of a long coat. The shadow returns.

"Sit up, just momentarily. I have something to help." And Boothill groans a tired don't wanna, but he does it anyway, he hauls himself upright into a kneel. And then he sits up a little straighter because he realizes Dan Heng is standing right over him.

Dan Heng tells him "open your mouth," and Boothill's jaw pops open without his permission, without even a second thought, and hey, what protocol in there ok'd THAT?!?!

Before he can really unpack whatever the heck that just was, though, Dan Heng murmurs for him to say so if he needs them to stop, and then he's sliding a long, hard rod down Boothill's throat, tipped with some soft little brush he probably uses for all his fancy archival equipment.

Dan Heng tells him the handle of the brush is straight and can't be bent, he needs to move his head to be able to reach the vent in his throat. Boothill hums affirmatively; he can't do anything else with his mouth occupied.

Dan Heng's free hand holds him by his jaw, tilts it up slowly but firmly so he has to look straight up at him.

Boothill feels dizzy.

The cycle of blue blood through his artificial heart whirrs just a bit faster, his temperature sensor pings an internal alarm to warn for imminent overheating. Boothill curls his fingers into the guard over his knee as Dan Heng carefully brushes at the dust irritating him. All other sounds- the hum of running equipment, the occasional beep from the computers, the noise of the crew outside of this room- seem to pull away, until all Boothill can focus on is the steady and measured breathing from the man above him.

"Almost done."

Thank the aeons, maybe one of them likes him after all.

"Your tongue is in the way... I'm going to hold it down, ok?"

Nevermind.

The fingers holding his jaw curl around his chin, thumb slipping past open lips to dip into his mouth and pin down his tongue. One of his teeth catch on the digit, breaking skin just enough to bleed a drop where he can taste it. Dan Heng doesn't even flinch. Another temperature alarm pings off in his brain, then another, then another.

Boothill has never been shy about eye contact but oh, god, it nearly kills him when dull green irises flick away from their task and look down right at him as his mouth is held open. He quickly squeezes his own eye shut for some relief.

With his vision cut off, the rest of his senses automatically recalibrate to compensate. He can hear every breath even more distinctly now, every soft inhale and exhale, feel the strain in his neck, the softness of the brush, the hard floor beneath his knees, the hand holding his jaw and the fingerprints that feel like they should leave burns in his skin, the taste of Dan Heng heavy on his tongue-

Forget it, eye open, eye open!!

"Alright. There's one last pebble stuck."

Boothill had been trained to endure torture, back on his homeworld. It was part of being in a gang, part of being a bounty hunter.

Somehow, keeping himself quiet and still as Dan Heng inches the brush even further down the back of his throat is a profoundly similar experience.

The seconds tick by, Dan Heng's brow furrowing, face growing ever more concentrated and Boothill struggles not to watch him too closely, fights down the noise that suddenly tries to escape him as the brush withdraws-

"Swallow."

Stars and aeons, Dan Heng is going to be the death of him.

Boothill swallows. He feels it when the movement finally dislodges the loosened pebble from his vent.

His face feels shockingly cold now bereft of touch, even though Dan Heng's hands are always cool. He asks to see, and Boothill's mouth is already open again to show him, even as he belatedly realizes he could have just told him it had worked.

"Good." There's the slightest smile on Dan Heng's lips as he finally, mercifully, leans back out of his personal space, goes to put away the brush. "That should feel better now." Boothill spends a moment dizzy and dazed, feeling the need to blink spots out of his eye even though his vision is clear. He still hasn't moved off his knees.

What the fudge.

[adelacreations]

Couldn't help myself I had to post the inked version lmao! apart of something I'm doing with @thediktatortot next year!

Tip Jar

[mayullla]

NO I AM NOT OKAY. IF THIS PERSON WHO DID IT IS SOMEONE WHO FOLLOWS ME TAKE IT FREAKING DOWN. I NEVER GAVE PERMISSION FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS AND NEVER WILL.

If someone knows about this fic. Please please please I beg you please send a link to me so that I could report it. If I remember correctly it is only the author who could report something being stolen on wattpad. (The story they took from is one of my original works that is Just One Drop) And please if you do know or if you find out don't go attacking this person.

[3amsnek]

we will always be here.

happy pride <3

[crystal-verse]

Call Him By His Name

Thank you for fighting for this world. For believing. Fare you well, my friend -- my inspiration.

[legendthatexists]

alright, which one of you did this on google maps

[lemongogo]

why do i love the conflict more than anything else . the misery . the incompatibility that spreads like oil slick . wanting so desperately for resolution that never comes . hmmm