#mild body horror?

[hdra77]

Commission for @sacverave !

Thank you for commissioning me! 💗💗

[gorillastraylight]

Fang of Flint

At the age of 17, they killed the boy who would be Fang of Flint. Deep in the womb of Turambek, a red-robed priest anointed him in black engine oil, then flayed his back with a barbed lash, and sprinkled holy salt over the exposed flesh and muscle. Out came the knife, old and gnarled black lapis Devilbone. They slaughtered the boy with awe and respect, the same way the plainsmen of old brought down Feroloths. In his place was born Fang of Flint, the Righteous Judge, the Lictor, a receiver of the Blood of Kings freshly freed from his pathetic chrysalis.

The godless traitors of Mesa and the hated Union tell lurid tales of Ambek, how impossibly cruel the reign of the Salt King is, how human life is spent needlessly and how the priests and feudal lords slaughter any who fail or disobey. These are baseless lies fed to the populace by wicked politicians who have betrayed humanity to evil forces. In Ambek, no human may take the life of another for any reason, so long as they live in service of the Godbreaker. It follows, then, that the job of executioner must be performed by one who is more than human. To be a Righteous Judge is to be close to the Salt King, nearer the emanating power of Storambek the Godbreaker. Fang of Flint is one of these, charged with passing judgment on those who turn their backs on their King and fellowmen. His badges of office are the jagged chainblade and the brass mask, symbols that remind the humans in his charge of the perils of waywardness. When those humans forge his Armour in the scorching, radioactive foundries beneath Turambek, it will bear the same badges.

The Armour of a Lictor is superior to any other found in the legions of Turambek - it is resilient but agile, with wicked claws and synthetic muscle coils that snap shut like a vise around the unworthy. Its monstrous chainblade mirrors that carried by its pilot, and it also weilds a sacred barbed lash, that none might escape judgment. The cap of each suit is a grinning bronzed skull-helm: the death’s head, a symbol of each Righteous Judge’s death and rebirth. Fang of Flint has always believed that silence suits those of his office well, and since his death he has only ever spoken the name of the Godbreaker, and then only as he punishes one of the wayward. Most other Lictors regard this practice as strange and unnecessary, even blasphemous. Voice of Fury sees Fang of Flint as an arrogant fool, to be sure. But Voice of Fury is yet young, and comes from a noble geneline besides. Fang of Flint knows what it is to be among the wretched and damned, the ones whose faithlessness dooms them to the eternal torment of Samsara. It is why he is so dedicated. Every soul he must take, he does so in the hope that the Godbreaker will turn aside the evil eye of the Deathless Devil and allow them blessed oblivion.

The Legate favors Fang of Flint. He is more able than his brothers to recognize that she speaks with the authority of the Salt King, regardless of her status as a woman. In his mind, this is why she gave him the task of consigning an entire tower to the dirt - a task he relishes. When the charges detonate and the monument of the offworlders collapses, he will whisper his prayer to Storambek. Perhaps even turncoats and aliens can be saved, he thinks. It is worth it to try. He and his Vanguard become the spear of the Godbreaker, and the few defenders of Hightower down below are utterly unable to stop them. They have planted 4 charges, suffering no casualties along the way. His Armour sings in a way it never has before as he wills it forwards, each step is a metal drumbeat accompanied by the hiss of pistons and whir of servos, and it sounds to him like a verse in a ceaseless hymn. He shuts his eyes for a moment, and his vanguard’s Armour joins his in the chorus. DOOMssskreeesUNK- DOOMsskreeesUNK - DOOMsskreeesUNK. His reverie is only interrupted as they come upon the fifth support structure. 4 fusion signatures, blinks his sensorium. Enemy Armour. A challenge, at last.

Red. Red. Red. The heat is unbearable in his brass mask, the noise as his Armour’s limbs are cut away by the edge of a plasma-actuated blade. First a heavy, reinforced arm hits the rock, the scream of the giant chainblade suddenly silenced. Then the right leg, bringing him to his knees. And finally a stab to a fuel line, the blinking sensors fading to darkness as he feels his Armour careening downwards to crash onto the floor of the cavern. Silence for a moment. A minute. Two minutes. His chainblade, his badge of office, is digging into his side. A reminder, thinks Fang of Flint, from Storambek. I am not dead. I will not die here, in the dark, blind and deafened. The hiss of the cockpit opening, the rush of blood from his head as he stands, the only light is the burning of his vanguard’s corpses and the gaudy colours of the offworlders’ Armour. She is walking toward him, out of her ruined Armour. Good. Come closer. The chainblade roars to life, but only briefly - she is on him, the blade clatters to the dirt, he is on his back and the helmet comes off and for a brief, brief second he is afraid. He can *smell* it on her, he can see it in her eyes. The grasp of the Deathless Devil. But no, no, NO, he is shielded from Samsara. He is close to the Godbreaker. He stares through the blood and rapid swelling as his own helm is brought down again and again and again like a priest’s barbed lash. His eye contact is one final act of defiance, a final prayer, the punctuation on a life lived in service to Storambek. They stay open after he ceases to breathe, and there is no one left for him to defy.

**************

Another little NPC vignette from my Lancer campaign, this time about an encounter boss they fought last mission! Basically an indoctrinated pilot for the weird theocratic despotate that used to control the planet the campaign is on before being overthrown by Thirdcomm and local revolutionaries a century or so ago, then pushed back to a much smaller region around their capitol, Turambek. In the campaign, they’re trying to reconquer the planet, which ofc invites conflict with our PC mercs. Ambek, the theocratic despotate, has a bunch of jumbled beliefs telephoned from their colonist ancestors (hence the weird misinterpretation of Samsara), the state religion worships their king as a living deity descended from their patron, Storambek the Godbreaker and hates and fears a satanic figure called the Deathless Devil. They’ve got some funky esoteric lore I can’t get into without spoiling my players, but I had a lot of fun with this one. I understand why people like to write abt the Imperium of Man, it’s so delightfully fucked up to write from this perspective.

[toraiikou]

redraw of a meme i saw that fit them a lil too well...

[0satellite0]

TW ?//: DANNY IS DETACHED FROM WAIST IN ONE OF THE SKETCHES, NO GORE. SAME AS SHOW.

have some Danny sketches and i suppose my official design for him. These were done in a few hours so like, don’t critique it too closely please akdhwkhdksha.

If you like this, keep an eye out for my upcoming dp, short (digital) comics about Danny learning to use his powers, starting with ‘Swan-dive’! Can you guess what power he will first practice?

little extra stuff:

He a short king. the roman numerals are for:

1. Danny nYOOOMING to space, nightksy reflected in his eyes.

2. When you stretch a little too well and your body detaches itself.

3. Idk he’s just standing with his tongue out.

Why can’t i give Danny a low ponytail? There is no reason not to.

Dash calling him Fentina leads me to believe Danny has some feminine features, hence the lashes and lean figure.

he needs to distinguish himself more from his human form lol.

Danny’s an ice core, why is the DP on his chest on fire? Anyways space obsession au Danny for the win, so instead Danny is the literal nightsky.

Astronomers just take a snapshot of him everyday and sleep. The DP is now the moon and it’s phases.

I like the idea of the Ancient of Space or something taking Danny under their apprenticeship or just Danny going to them to learn.

Finally, c l a w s.

Any reblogs and likes are appreciated! Will do my best to reply to any comments. Ask box is open for all. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

[wormturned]

There are tree roots in my ribs and moss on my cracked stone skin and bugs in my eyes and my roots are not mine and they are not deep but they are wide and my branches are not mine and they are not strong but they are sturdy enough for birds and little whispers of wind and there are bugs in my eyes and their wings make the world look blurry but the sun look sweet

[staff]

Tumblr Tuesday: Day of the Mushroom

Happy Tuesday, and a happy Day of the Mushroom to all who celebrate those delicious, brainy lifeforms. Whether you love them or loathe them, please feast your eyes on these delightful depictions of all manner of fungi—many but not all of which were created during @feefal's #funguary art challenge.

@amandaherzman:

@kaseeblu:

@my-craft:

@themeltingmoons:

@greenfinchg:

@rolitae:

@passionpeachy:

@achromicrain:

@kateammann:

@blackvalor666:

@willowwormwood:

@reyofblack:

@ellatamara:

@humanmaybe:

@rachybee-says:

@tofupixel:

[cornflakesdoesart]

Little zine I drew this past sunday at the Budapest comic festival at a "workshop" , theme was spring!

[mag200]

(me on a first date) and what do you think of the inherent intimacy of surgery? have you considered the love someone must have to put their hands under your skin and hold the most grotesque parts of you and put them back together nicely? is anyone really closer to you than that? we all get uh a little enamored on the surgery table don't we haha. wait come back

[oobbbear]

-Intrusive thoughts-

Close ups:

Scene from fic “Ghostlight” by Kittenixe (@ghostlightfic)

Please go read the fic it’s really good/sob, and play the game possibaly for more context

[antonymziie]

something something corpse possessed by a demon. i don't know, i think silas is a pretty swell guy

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Stanley wasn't sure if he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't all too sure if he was supposed to be alive, either.

He was... somewhere. He didn't know where exactly, but it didn't matter. Nothing really seemed to matter all that much in this strange place. Compared to the unfathomable expanse of nothingness that surrounded him, everything else practically paled in comparison. Still, Stanley felt as though this all-consuming abyss that kept him prisoner within its dark maw deserved a name; at the very least, a title. Yet, it didn't feel right to call this place anything. Death too egregious, and Life too extroadinary; either terms felt far too extreme to his liking. There was nothing particularly hideous nor amazing about where he was. He was simply somewhere in-between.

For as long as he could remember, Stanley's world was just that. This somewhere; this in-between of not quite Death and not quite Life. This empty, greedy abyss that seemed to swallow him whole, stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. There was no sky, no ground, no anything; only the daunting dakness engulfing his every senses and leaving him horribly, hopelessly blank.

That wasn't all there was to it, however. This... somewhere, it was more than just a lifeless void.

Stanley wasn't sure if he could find the right words to properly describe it. He didn't think he could ever come to fully understand the feeling himself, but. Somehow, the abyss felt... hungry. Unimaginably, insatiably, and unbearably hungry.

The hunger seemed to eat away at Stanley, tearing off pieces of him chunk by chunk, piece by piece. With every blink, another part of himself seemed to disappear into the ravenous darkness around him. The void never took much at once, only pieces; nigh imperceptible impossibly tiny crumbs of what made him- so little that they should have hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. But Stanley noticed. He noticed every particle, every atom that was taken away from him by this greedy hunger. The darkness was eating him; digesting him.

It was as though hunger was all that mattered in this somewhere, this stomach; the world itself a single immense digestive system. He could practically feel the void's biting hunger pangs reverberate through his bones. It was so hungry, so hungry.

The dark ate him slowly, ripping him apart from inside out and outside in. It took his flesh first; stealing away the muscles and fat beneath the skin, leaving behind nothing but meager skin stretched over bone. Sometimes, not even his bones were given the luxury of being spared, and he would find himself with an odd dip in his side where the abyss had taken a rib or two; or with half his face lopsidedly sagging into a limp mess with no muscles, fat, nor eye socket to properly hold up the skin of his face onto his skull.

The hunger took without mercy, without order nor preference. It ate anything, everything, as long it helped abate the forever stabbing, starving desperation that painfully twisted and tore at its non-existent stomach. It never really was satisfied.

It got worse when it started eating his memories.

Stanley despised the thought of losing more of himself than simply his physical body to this greedy void. However, what terrified him far more than the notion that this insatiable hunger could breach even his mind, was the fact that he couldn't remember which memories it took.

Stanley couldn't remember much; before the darkness; before the endless hunger. He liked to imagine, though, of what he could have been before. He'd probably had a warm home, warmer than the cold, cold abyss. He'd probably had a loving family. Probably. He couldn't remember.

Everything turned unsure when his own mind started failing on him. Stanley tried to cling to what little he knew. He had his name held tight in his iron clad grip, repeating it to himself like a mantra. He would try and keep track of time, but it was all in vain. Time didn't seem to matter in the face of hunger. Perhaps it had been years since Stanley's arrival; hundred, maybe even thousands. Or, perhaps it had only been a few days, weeks, months. Stan once had a fleeting, terrifying thought that maybe Time too was already victim to the darkness' insatiable hunger.

However, as much as Stan could forget his past, his identity, and life, perhaps the most tragic loss to him greater than anything else was the memory of Him.

He was important to Stanley. He couldn't remember why, but he was. There was nothing of Him left in his memories. No face, no name; not even why He mattered to him in the first place. All he knew was that the loss of Him had struck him with such profound heartache and sorrow that it had left him weeping helplessly for so long, unable to move and rooted in one spot for days, weeks, years. He couldn't remember how long.

Stan was only snapped out of his comatose stupor by His hand.

It was all that was left of Him, other than the knowledge of His past existence. It was warm, a glowing red hand that pulsed almost reassuringly within Stanley's own, its long six digits curled tightly and firmly around his hand, never once faltering in its grip. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it. He's had it clutched within his own cold, rough palms like a lifeline since forever; every step he took and every move he made done hand in hand with Him.

Desperately, frantically, he held onto His hand, never once letting it go. Losing the hand meant losing Him for good, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to cope with the consequences of that all alone.

However, ocasionally, even the the comforting presence of His hand was unable to keep his mind anchroed for too long, and Stanley would lose track of his memories. Plagued by odd laspes of utter emptiness, Stanley would suddenly forget. His own name, his face, everything he knew and remembered would slip withut warning between his fingers like sand; streaming down, down, down and getting lost in the gaping mouth of the void below him. He would wander aimlessly with no real destination in mind, simply roaming somwhere, anywhere.

He would come across all sorts of sights during these odd episodes of his. He'd crossed paths with hundreds upon thousands of partically decomposed remnants of once living, breathing organisms; All of them endeniably, for the lack of better words: dead. He'd walked past entire forests; enormous clusters of tall pine trees completely uprooted and floating in a massive mass of rotting leaves and half digested bark. He'd walked past countless animals, big and small, all in various stages of digestion. Animals always seemed to rot away faster than anything else, and Stanley wasn't so sure what that meant for him.

Once, Stan had somehow even found his way before the destroyed remains of a universe.

It was dead. There was no other way to describe the state it was in. He hadn't even known it was possible for entire universes to simply... die. Stolen away from its rightful place in the starry night sky.

The scene was everything he'd thought impossible to take place in this all-consuming abyss. It was extroadinary. A veritable bursting cacophany of light and heat. It was as though the universe's explosion had been paused at just the right moment, frozen in time at the very moment of its heat death. Its particles flickered, undulating softly and shifting ever so slightly like looking through a warped window. If Stanley stood still enough, and listened closely, he thought he could even hear the softest sound of the shattered screams of the broken remains of the universe ringing silently in the air. It was as ethereal as it was haunting.

The thought of the unimaginable power required to be able annihilate entire universes just like that... It scared Stan.

Stanley may not be sure of anything anymore, but as he watched the debris swirl gently in the blinding epicenter of the shattered universe from afar, he knew with a certainty that he didn't think he possessed anymore, that he did not belong here.

Part 1/2

[dcartcorner]

That's Not Funny!

i know.

[myrathefarmer]

I just hit 5k over on Twitter and made an extra spooky Halloween DTIYS to celebrate! Feel free to participate if you’d like 🖤

Rules: - No deadline - You can change the design or use your own - Tag me and use #Myra5kDTIYS so I can see it! - Have fun 😊

Bonus versions!

[foxdoodles]

reverend mother

[moshaeu]

aventurine

[staff]

Tumblr Tuesday: Autumnal Art

With Mabon just gone and October on the horizon, the Artists on Tumblr are out here cranking up the whimsy and contributing to our sense of seasons passing. We're just here to till those fertile, creative soils and whet your appetites for a little something just around the corner 👀. So, keep a beady peeper on @art around the beginning of October, and in the meantime, enjoy some cozy autumnal art.

@mrsklrv:

@nepeteaa:

@erysium:

@breebird33:

@cheesy-cryptid:

@emmbrr:

@hannahlockillustration:

@smoluglies:

@miyaulait:

@inestheunicorn:

@hannahclairillustration: