#yaaay it was a lot of fun!

[the-cr0w]

new human design just dropped... and new AU concepts

Basically in this AU, Dusknoir and Darkrai are closely working together in the dark future and some day find this random human child inside a bush, spying on them

this is based on the ingame cutscene in which dusknoir realizes who the hero is... but here it's also his long lost son who betrayed him a long time ago lmao

Darkrai regretting his choices (this kid ruined his entire life AND gave him a second chance... humiliating)

I'm still actively working on this AU, so hopefully I'll be able to post some more stuff soon!

[cupid-tune]

Late night stroll!

[technikki]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SERIES THAT RUINED MY LIFE <3<3<3

[autism-swagger]

Innocent, ruthless, bloodstained.

[inkskinned, tumblr // Agents of SHIELD (2013-2020) // quietvoiced, tumblr // unknown // Fyodor Dostoevsky, Demons // Vanessa Angelica Villarreal, A Field of Onions: Brown Study // eesirachs, tumblr // Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment]

[howlsnteeth]

commission for @yamanaka-shin! :> please, no kin/id/etc tags or associations, thank you!

[ryuusei-boi]

[ickyguts]

ICKYGUTS BLOG IS OFFICIALLY ONE YEAR OLD! So here is icky, being one years old.

[tunastime]

Slim and Easy Pickings

a little late, but here's a piece for bigb's birthday that kind of got away from me! watching all of wild life in his pov really made me obsessed with him, so now I've scruffed him and put him in sen <3 happy birthday to the guy ever!!

A cargo-runner with his own ship, "Captain" BigB spends his time hauling supplies from station to station. This particular trip, despite it's semblance of normalcy, isn't going quite to plan. Especially when his recipient, Ren, the CMO of Medical Station 4, asks him to make a wayward stop for extra cargo. And that that cargo happens to be a person. (1067 words)

BigB puts the ship's computer to rest. Here in the cockpit, the lights dim, he leans his head back against the padded upholstered headrest and shuts his eyes for the briefest of moments. Of course the computer is running in the background—the ship's reprogrammed, but complimentary AI, SmallB, was still running life support, navigational control, security protocol. But without BigB poking around in its brain, it could devote part of its processing power to doing something it actually enjoyed, like watching BigB's reactions to media, or music, or books. 

He'd reworked the framework of the central AI not too long after he made his last installment on the ship and actually powered the damn thing on. He'd kept it dormant while still hauling for the Deep Space Miner's Corp from the connector station between a moon and its planet (he'd long since forgotten the name, now. Lunara? Lumiara? Luminary? Something like that) but now that it had been his for almost six months, he'd gutted and rebuilt the whole thing. He can almost feel it poking around in his data feed, squirreled away while he tried to rest his eyes.

He was fourteen days out from the medical station, and already, after ten days, cabin fever had started to set in. He'd been really good about it before, six, eight, even nine months quietly roaming his ship in bouts of silence. Maybe he was just anxious to stop moving for a bit. 

The medical station was more than just a hospital. It was like it was its own planet, with shops, docks, and transient housing. He'd been to stations like that before, but nothing that nice. And, he'd been promised, at the behest of station management, that his week of leave time could be spent there. They'd already arranged him a room, assured him a currency card for meals, and left him an open docking spot. It was nice—and he was suspicious, or would be, if he hadn't talked to the station chief himself. He'd also talked to a man called Ren, and Ren was who this delivery was for to begin with, stacked four crates high and three crates deep with medication, liquid, solid, reusable and disposable medical utensils, all the equipment an orbit-locked transitional medical facility needs to function. Ren was pleasant, spoke conversational common with a voice that sounded like it smiled more than frowned, and an accent reminiscent of people BigB used to know during his dockings on the orbital of Luminary (Luminary, is what is was, that was the name. At least he'd known it as Luminary, which was what people from planetside and dockside had said. Might've been called anything). He was the chief medical officer and head surgeon of the reconstruction unit—BigB was not interested in knowing what the term reconstruction meant. 

He blinks his eyes open. Not a nap, but definitely a rest for his dry eyes.

"Captain—" says SmallB, even though BigB isn't a Captain, not in the slightest. "Looks like we have an incoming transmission from the Octagon. Interested?"

“Depends on who it’s from, SB,” BigB says, stretching his arms and rising to a stand.

“Looks like it’s from the CMO of Medical Station 4, if that’s anything to you?”

“Ren?”

“The same.”

“Sure,” BigB says, repositioning himself in his chair. He sits up straight, trying to will the knot in the top of his spine away. “Patch him through.”

There’s a small, affirmative chime from the ship’s computer as the two telecom links join together. Even at this distance, through an array of satellite and range extenders, planetside connectors, and ship-bound relays, com links could successfully patch through, even with a short delay. There would likely be about a thirty-second difference between the MS4 central hub and BigB’s own, smaller computer. Plus it would be audio only; there was no way for SB to support the strength of a holograph projector in any capacity, unless BigB did some serious rewiring and power allocation changes.

Ren’s voice jumps to life through the speaker.

“Captain B!” he says cheerily, still in that accented common tongue. “Nice to chat with you.”

“Likewise, Doctor,” BigB says. He takes the brief pauses as time to readjust the travel calculations and update his positional log. If Ren were collecting transmitter data real time, he wanted it to actually be there to collect.

“Please,” Ren says after the delay. “Just call me Ren. Listen—I wanted to ask you a favor. I know you’re still about two weeks out, and we’re expecting you on time, but I wanted to know if you would be willing to make a slight detour for me.”

BigB frowns. His concern must bleed slightly into the feed connection between himself and SB, because he feels an internal nudge, and sets his shoulders again.

“That depends on the favor, I guess. What sort of thing did you have in mind? And, maybe forgive the directness, but what kind of incentive?”

The pause is more significant this time, suggesting that Ren were taking time to consider the question, rather than just the connection relay delay. SB pokes him, quiet.

<You’re not a smuggler, remember?>

BigB wrinkles his nose.

I know that, he says, or really, subvocalizes, pushing his message into the feed connection between the two of them. I remember. But maybe it’s not what we think it is, yeah?

<Maybe so.>

Ren’s voice startles him, and SB, who’s jittering, electronic start shuffles through their feed connection enough to shock him. 

“I’ve got… a friend who needs transport. It’s a bit personal, but I’m willing to pay double for it. Plus what he’s willing to pitch in. He’s in a bit of a jam, but should just need a tow to MS4. If you’re willing?”

BigB pulls a face. It’s something SB sees, but doesn’t comment on. He drags his tongue between his teeth, frowning slightly.

“Double?”

“You’ve got my word, Captain,” Ren says, letting out a sigh that sounds more stressed than concerned. BigB feels a knot start to form at the notch of his sternum, right at his solar plexus. It feels… dangerous. But it can’t be the most dangerous thing he’s ever done. He sits back in his chair again, steepling his fingers, tapping them against his chin. 

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” BigB says, steeling his expression. “Send me the coordinates.”

[da-alley-cat]

is there really no happiness...?

[darkxwolf17]

Whiteboards are fun

[rookflower]

i think my opinion on asc so far is that it has enough decent ideas and characters on the surface to spark interest and feel engaging but if you apply literally any modicum of scrutiny or pressure to any of the writing decisions then the entire thing just kind of crumbles and falls apart

[technikki]

BLAST IT TO THE BACK ROW!!

[ratcandy]

Got to see my gorgeous talented beautiful spectacular baby tarantula come running out of her burrow to snatch up a cricket today and I cheered so loud and congratulated her so much because she deserves it and I love her

[mayowayo]

★ strawpage ★

★ art tag

★ yapping tag

★ art reqs open!

also thank u guys for 100 followers?!?! <33

oh yah discord is .mayowayo btw meeoww

[college-knockout]

*yeets Ricky into your inbox* headcanons about him. now.

on it boss o7

ok so since ur so cool you get an exclusive sneak peek into my deranged psyche >:3 so its time for ROOM DESIGN

i like to make lil quick n dirty floor plans for places like bedrooms for consistency in fanfic/art so here's the one i whipped up for rickys room!

it probably looks wonky but im not a professional designer by any means so just ignore the weird parts

he also owns one of these

which is mostly because i too own one of these and its pretty neat

and a small-ish telescope because ofc he would!! it's probably right in front of one of his windows

those lil glow-in-the-dark stars are plastered all over his bedroom ceiling

he DEFINITELY has comic posters up (some newer, some vintage)

^ yeah also this

only tangentially related but back to self projecting! his parents probably bought him those boxes with science experiments in them when he was a kid. this kind:

^ the boxes are displayed proudly on a shelf

[todayisafridaynight]

Oh we being corny?? Erm you’ve literally been so damn fun to interact with in my very very short time in the fandom?? I love your work it’s literally so inspiring to me?? KEEP UP THE GREAT WORK?? I LOVE SITTING IN ON YOUR STREAMS AND CHATTING IN YOUR INBOX??? RAAAAAAAA

this is quite literally the funniest fucking night to be getting asks the whiplash im getting could kill a man