They Met!

I have to do something with his shoulders...

He probably wants to ask a lot, judging by the look... Although I planned for him to look out from under his forehead. I'll fix it.

The arm is almost up to the knees... That's how it's meant to be!

Readiness : 1.5/3

I have other developments, but I am currently finalizing this one. °^°

Just a little bit, and I'll be able to introduce her to the light!

If anyone is interested, this is my little nedo-nephilim. It's a little complicated there, but I'll explain it for sure.

My second child will soon reveal his renewed appearance!

My child will soon be in the process of painting and detailing! (And I know that the sentence is worded incorrectly.)

A black pen got into my hands...

Now I have cute sketches of my first three ladies! °^°

How I love to rejoice even in such small things...

Yes yes, I measure height in meters.

I see primarch x reader stuff where the primarch is a yandere every once in a while, and it always makes me think of Bellie Cawl. he would need zero alteration to his canon personality to be an absolute nightmare towards anyone he fell in love with

How lovely! :0

brief break from my thesis to take the boys to the zoo and then mcdonals

i think they enjoyed it very much

Orikan's "face" is a separate art form... And we like it.

Penis blast 👌🤙

We also love and cherish insufferable divorced husbands too

Trick or trick

Only tricks from c’tanikan

The Flayer Hates(The Flayer Loves)

Warning: light gore

It doesn’t hurt, when you sink in the knives. It never does. This hate. This desire for an end. This vicious, burning thing that wants to eat all, trample all, tear all that shines down until they are as low as you are, as wretched of a creature as you have been. The sheer hatred that is not  cannot - be articulated, the ache in your bones that can only be stalled, never cured. The rage, the hate, the screams that died in cords unsung, the blind madness that will kill you before you could screech your hatred out to the stars.

The hunger that never ends. 

Skin. Teeth. Bones. Liver. Skull. You want to strip them away, flay them alive, feast upon them until they’re unidentifiable dust, you want to find those that betrayed you so utterly and shattered you Llandu'gor into oblivion, you want to find those who built citadels out of your skull and idols out of your bones and you want to beat them into dust. You want to smear their flesh across your unmoving jaws and separate their bones from their meat, you want to hear them scream as you have screamed, fading now, hear them decay limb by limb as you have rotted, drowning in the all-consuming night as you have drowned. 

You want to find their graves, you want to put them there, you want to grind their bones one by one into ash and sink sickle-claws down into their flesh until they bleed through metallic bones, until they scream with unmoving mouths, until they repent the sins of steel. You want to hear the crunch of bones squealing apart, the screech of metal torn to ash, the slow seeping of green ichor leaking from your clawed fingernails as you grind talons over a skull that was a face. To hear their joints creak, their limbs snap, rotate, twist and turn and pop, to tear apart metallic augments until they are mortal now, nothing but a weak, fleshy shell not even worthy of being called human, writhing on the ground, begging for forgiveness through a toothless mouth. Rip wires from pumping innards, tear tubing from limbs and spines, rip tails, talons, claws, wings, take tendrils and hear them crack, snapping inch by inch into twisted, worthless fragments.

You want to flay them alive. You want to give them flesh and take it away, you want to give them skin and eat it away, you want to rust their bones and breathe cancer over their steel, you want to make them hate as you have been hated. You want to turn them into you, a wretched, lonely thing screaming away in the dark. You want to find these helpless, mocking creatures, so weak, so loathsome in their aloneness, and you want to turn them into you. You want to flay them alive, make them bleed as you have bleed. You will turn them into your children, your flaws, your sins come to life. 

Find them, crush them, make them repent. Crush their steel into rust, cover their green ichor with black bile. Teach them the falsehoods of their love, how even their beloved obsessions hate them back, how they will never be loved again. Teach them the carnality of the endless hunger, the flesh and blood upon steel lips, of hate unending instead of joy, of hunger enduring instead of adoration. 

They will never be loved. You will find these lonely, forgotten, cast away creatures of steel, not flesh.

And you will love them. 

You are Llandu'gor, the Flayer. 

And you will make them love.

I'm doing this to share my little creation. Not to be confused with that sinister employee of the institution!

It is not tied to a specific "universe", but originally appeared in this one, which is in the tags. However, it is worth changing clothes and you can already invite her wherever you want. However, she is against it and does not always like such adventures. It has already cost her many lives and blackouts.

Meet me! Krous Kira Semeren (read as written! Krous, through "o" and "u" pronounced separately!), a night watchman, (within the framework of the Earth), and concurrently one of my three first ladies.