#for her old bones

[batwynn]

Seems like we’re all going through it.

(Updates on Patreon)

[abhorsenkatiel]

My opinion on the 'would modern au Harrow be goth or Catholic' debate is that she would be both and it would throw everyone off. She goes equally hard on both of those things and no one knows what to do about it.

[dazzelmethat]

My Kagura style study. (on the left) And manga chapter cover for 374 on the right. It's a study rendering a stylized design in a realistic way.

I got lost in some of the colors but it was a fun challenge.

[possessable]

also, why did she call him that

[galedekarios]

Player: You've spent every moment not with me in your library, Gale. I suspect they'll believe you. Gale: Aha! But only in the pursuit of other pleasures besides the study of magic. Writing, painting, a spot of knitting... I've never been so relaxed.

gale did say that he's known to try his hand at poetry in one of his very first dialogues, but him truly taking up writing, painting and knitting after the game ends is something i didn't know i needed until now

[boarchop]

Yuri maxvid my beloved. 🏕

[knifetomeatu]

still devastated abt chop top but i LOVE bones so at least things worked out😭❤

[thymelessink]

Blushing Spock, McCoy's (and my) beloved

[ahollowgrave]

pinching her cheeks

[bonefall]

"Sunbeam briefly think of dyeing her fur in rememberance of her mother" if this is real this is beyond parody actually

It HAS to be a misconception, like, maybe she just wishes she looked more like her mom instead of dyeing her fur. Where the hell would the cats get white dye when the writers won't even give them FIRE??

The truth; she's gonna go to the Cat Hair Salon and get the Karen Bangs that people like to draw Berryheart with lmaoooo

[ruvviks]

Officer Michele Diaz finds herself among Militech's most invaluable agents from the last decade. Specialized in handling external affairs and one of the top executives of Militech's Special Projects Department, she is a hardworking and confident woman who will not simply take no for an answer— and who will do anything to get what she believes she deserves.

taglist (opt in/out)

@velocitic, @deadrlngers, @euryalex, @ordinarymaine, @gurathins;

@mojaves, @shellibisshe, @dickytwister, @mnwlk, @rindemption;

@ncytiri, @calenhads, @noirapocalypto, @florbelles, @radioactiveshitstorm;

@strafethesesinners, @fashionablyfyrdraaca, @radioactive-synth, @katsigian, @estevnys;

@elgaravel, @aezyrraeshh, @carlosoliveiraa

[sumnantics]

Post from here

[spirit-lanterns]

Placing a bet on madam Yukong

OMG THE GRANNY 😨

Yukong rlly said “lemme show these youngins’ how it’s done” and then proceeds to flex her old lady strength in front of the other contestants. It’d be funny to see girls like Stelle, March, Bronya, Sparkle, etc. just absolutely flabbergasted that the hag is able to do like 50+ pull ups.…

[mr-aftons-rotting-pussy]

girl who just so happens to be a giant hare 🐰

[kastalani123]

Consider:

Leo Valdez was not born. Instead, two pairs of hands form him from bronze and steel and gold. His hair is copper wires so thin they bounce like natural curls, and his eyes glimmer with silver flakes. The joints of his body are plated so delicately, so perfectly, the segments are near indiscernible, smoothly gliding over each other. Faint traces of fingerprints and flecks of impurity are deliberately left behind for their uniqueness, a form of impossible signature of his creators.

Most importantly, gilded bars curl around each other in his chest, protecting the red-red-red flame that pushes his eyes open everyday, that beats in tune with his thoughts, that heats his body to expand and grow.

A metal child is not so different from a human one, and yet is so far from it at the same time. He is curious, about the world, about himself, and he picks apart toys and TV remotes and his arms, spilling their secrets before his constantly shifting eyes. He does not cry from fatigue or thirst or hunger, but a bump, a dent, a scratch never fail to draw tears. He splashes in the rain and snow, carefully bundled in waterproof coats and jackets, and runs from baths like he's possessed, fire flickering in fear.

The first time he meets someone like him, an endeavour he had long thought hopeless, it is a malfunctioning dragon others call for the death of; he is too unpredictable, too dangerous, too broken. Leo looks him in ever-shifting eyes glimmering with silver and sees himself if the cage in his chest ever bends, cracks, shatters, if the gears beneath his skin ever jam and stick and wear down irreversibly.

It is not golden flowers and godly aid that preserve him; just as he'd done for his twin-in-all-but-appearance, he creates a new body, with new fingerprints and impurities mapping his design. His hair is more bronze than copper, now, and his eyes more gold than brass. The plates of his joints scrape against each other faintly, and the gears of his bones grind together uncomfortably — he only had so much time, so much material to use, he could not polish every element of himself in the way he wished, but it holds together.

Most importantly, he reinforces the cage in his chest, coats it in layers upon layers of metal, to ensure his flame will not go out in the explosion, that Festus will be able to salvage it and lay it gently in the chest cavity carefully carved in his new body, bringing it to life.

He returns to Camp, movements more clunky and mechanical than should be, and his siblings finally pin down his segmented limbs, his shifting eyes, his clicking fidgeting. They are ecstatic, just as fascinated with him as they had been with Festus, and he lets them. He lets them take him apart, piece by piece, clean out the sand of Ogygia from his organs, polish and oil his gears until they glide against each other, press new fingerprints, new signatures of belonging, against his skin.

Most importantly, they craft him a secure, intricate cage, with golden flames licking up the bars, with delicate chains shielding it from the elements, and his flame settles inside it, flickering happily, finally truly, truly comfortable in the cage of his body.

Leo Valdez may not have been born, but he was crafted with the most loving hands imaginable, and is that not so much better, for a son of the Craftsman?

[inthisvaleoftears]

Pylades: I’ll take care of you.

Orestes: It’s rotten work.

Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.