#idk if this is good or not aaaaa

[tatretot]

hellooo danandphilgames buddies!! happy belated 10 year (more like 5 but shhh) anniversary :-)

[koffeenoe]

[panakoui]

post canon laishuro prelude :>

[kikithefox231]

YALL. LISTEN. THEYRE THE SAME.

AND SO COMPELLING!!!

[eldritchqueerture]

every once in a while i am just. blasted with overwhelming love and appreciation of undertale/deltarune. and then i go about my day

[losver07]

was working on my wip and realised this scene is so wolfstar coded so ummm here ya go (sorry in advance for the awful translation lol)

also this is veeery long so i'm putting most of it under the cut

tw: mention of death, harsh(ish) lenguage

★

"Then came the ambulance and the police,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed somewhere in the room, mind showing him once again the image of Sirius' tired smile. "They gave me a blanket. I felt stupid in it."

John, observing him with deep eyes, full of compassion, nods. Remus figures he can't show it, the pity. That it's part of his job not being able to say Oh, you poor thing and that, instead, he must be professional. And it's not that John is bad at it, at hiding what he thinks; it's just the eyes.

It's impossible to lie with one's eyes. Sirius' always shine, even if he insists on wearing the blackest clothes.

Shined. Not anymore. And he doesn't dress in black anymore, it's Remus who has to mourn now, instead of him. And for him.

"How are you feeling?" the psychologist asks, and Remus makes an effort not to cry.

"I don't know," he answers, honest. He doesn't know what words to use. "Bad."

Not enough. John gestures at him to keep talking, to elaborate. He always does that. It's cruel.

Remus looks down at a ring he takes off his finger, and proceeds to watch it turn in his hands as he fidgets with it. It was Sirius'. Everything he owns was either his or reminds him of him in some way. Even the smallest of things, the silliest of details.

If only he could get rid of it all. If only he knew that'd make him forget.

"It's like I don't really believe this is real,” he says, without lifting his gaze from the steel ring. It's carved in a checkered pattern, a chess board that extends and hugs the owner's finger like a ribbon. It's not excessively visible but, if you brush your finger against the metal, you can feel the shapes against your skin, kissing your fingertips like he once did. That feels like so long ago, though. “I... I'm sad, obviously, but also angry. I think it was selfish of him."

Before it had been his, Sirius', the ring had belonged to Regulus. It had been silver then. Sirius turned it into steel when he'd received it from his brother, who got it from their father, whose father had gifted him it, and so on. It must be hundreds of years old.

"Selfish?"

He'll probably ask to be buried with it. If it's not worn on his left hand, it will be trapped on a chain around his neck.

"Yeah, I dunno," he shrugs. He doesn't know how to explain himself. He knows how he feels, he just finds it difficult to believe that anyone could understand it. He tries anyway. "He's gone and he's left us all here as if we didn't have enough problems of our own," he says. "Like, now I have to be myself, which is already tough enough, and also be him for James and Peter and Harry and... Oh, God, Harry..." He shuts his eyes. He needs to breathe. He closes his hand over the ring, and looks at John. "But I need him too. And I don't have him. I don't have anyone to treat me like he did. So, I don't know."

The therapist nods again. When he started the sessions, Remus thought it was weird that John didn't take any notes, like in the movies. It might sound stupid, but he imagined someone constantly writing on a notepad, making a record of every word that came out of his mouth.

It turns out John only uses his notebook to write dates and appointments down; that he actually listens to what he says, instead of analysing every sentence as if it were a mathematical problem.

He's been lucky, and he knows it. At least in this, he's been lucky.

"Do you feel responsible for what happened?" He asks, and Remus thinks about it for a second. Now that the unease has lessened, he's left with just the cold on the tip of his nose and the metal on his fingers. He misses hugging Sirius on cold days like this one.

"Yes," he answers. No point in lying.

John stares at him. Elaborate, he's probably thinking. He always looks at him like that when he wants to make Remus talk.

"I'm the one who was supposed to take care of him," he says then. "And, instead of that, what I did was use him to make him help me with my shit. And even after he's gone I'm still whining about him not being here to give me cuddles. I don't know. Maybe I'm the one who's being selfish.

The psychologist, whose diploma is Remus now observing, makes a face.

"Wanting love is not selfish, Remus," he says, so soft and kind it almost makes Remus feel small, vulnerable and about to break. Or already broken.

"But taking the love away from someone and keeping it to yourself is," he objects.

"You think that's what you did? Taking the love from him?"

"I don't know," he says, and before John can ask him to explain, he continues: "I think maybe if I'd made things right he'd still be here."

The air is still for a few seconds, both in the room and in the street across the window, as well as inside of Remus' lungs, who holds his breath in an attempt to make the ache on his chest go away. It doesn't work.

"It wasn't your fault that he suffered," Josh tells him, but he's been told so many lies he doesn't need to think to detect the lie.

"But it was that he didn’t stop suffering," he tells Mr Too Good For Taking Notes. He should've had that noted. "I should've done something. It's what I'd to have done."

John, wanting to understand but being apparently incapable of it, furrows his brows a bit. The expressions only last a second, and is not even that exaggerated, but Remus sees it anyway. The doubt.

"You think it was your purpose?" He asks. He acts interested. Sometimes he almost even makes Remus forget that he's paid for what he does. That he wouldn't be there if it weren't for the money. That he's got better things to do than...

"Helping him?" Remus asks, trying not to sound too aggressive, but probably failing. "Yes."

"And do you think you were, say, destined to save him?"

"Yes," he agrees. A bit cheesy his personal taste, but, yes, that's what he believes. Why lie, if he's not going to write it down, even.

"But, if it was destiny, how could you have avoided it?"

That feels like a boot to the stomach. He doesn't quite know wether it confuses him or it makes him angry but, either way, he doesn't know what to answer. Perhaps not having thought of it earlier is what irritates him and puts him, once again, in front of a mirror in which a disappointment shines.

He thinks for a bit. Then speaks.

"Trying harder," he says. "Being better."

"No, Remus; is not about trying," his confidant tells him, with a smile that could either indicate complicity or compassion. "You did all that you could, and more. And, still, you couldn't change it, nor can you now."

For some reason, that hurts. Rather, it stings. Both in his open wounds and his sore eyes.

"And what do I do?" He asks. His voice doesn't seem to want to know the answer, as it doesn't cooperate in making itself heard. He swallows and takes a deep breath, letting Sirius' ring slide back into his finger, where it should always have stayed.

"Think about what you did achieve," John offers, so careful it seems almost meticulous. "You made him happy for a time, you gave him peace. You made him feel safe, too. Confident. You helped each other. That's good."

"But he's dead," Remus says. He's not sure he's used that word since it happened. It's not likely, seeing how much it hurts pronouncing it. He's spent over a month circling around and avoiding one of those damned words, the ones that feel like mines in an already ruined field. He presses his lips and looks at John, cheeks wet with rivers of salty water. "That's bad."

"Yes," the therapist agrees. "That is bad."

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

on my agenda today: read bllk / write sugu fic / farm sunday mats / brainstorm pinned & mlists……….

[greenvillainredemption]

One thing I love about mutant mayhem is that Leo has a crush on an April who’s not conventionally attractive. It almost feels like, because of the turtles’ isolated upbringing* he hasn’t been influenced by the popular western beauty ideals and just thinks this ordinary human is beautiful! And I think that’s really cool! Because she is!

*though they’ve clearly been exposed to celebrities and other pop culture so ?? idk lol

[wonderjinx]

Harry 💖⭐️⚽️

[thestarswhim]

I got an AU cooking up and it's in the VERY rough early stages, as in I don't know exactly all the info yet myself, and I don't know how in the woohoo I'm gonna type it all out... BUT I WILL- try- anyway have this for now BYE

[snowimatsu]

Im gonna miss Tabimatsu and its art progression from 2016 to 2020. The art improvement was subtle but noticable when comparing old and new sets ;_;

[snail-noodle]

I can't help but wonder... when the Beasts turned evil, how long did their tyranny last?

Was it a couple of months? Or was it years?

It seems like the witches were still active/involved with the cookies during that time, and we know that they lived on Earthbread somewhere.

I highly doubt the Beasts managed to rule for too long with the witches nearby.

[bluehairperson]

He doesn't have this problem with Valerius.

[jujutsustraycats]

He’s such a fine man

AND HE FINALLY HAS A MERCH 🥹

DJDJSKSJSKAJDKSKA

I saw the full version of it and he kinda looks like a detective in his outfit

I mean he shares a VA with one so–

[miss-mossball]

your style is very sweet looking and identifiable! i was wondering what inspires you? the poses and whatnot you draw for your doodles (particularly for the few recent sky cotl doodles ive seen you post on that blog) are very nice. idk how to word it! i just wanna know from where you draw your inspirations ☺️

Thank you so very much for the compliment!! It means a lot coming from you!! ;O; )// (ps id love to candle run with you sometime, I think thatd be fun)

I wanted to give this question some thought, because I really do love doing fun poses with my characters

Maybe it’s kinda weird, but when I think about posing characters, I think about dolls, and my lifelong obsession with super articulated dolls (bjd and the like). Obviously doll articulation is a lot better nowadays, but back then it was barbies with stiff legs and a bent arm, I’d get so excited if they could move their limbs in more ways than the usual. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was kind of a stim for me, but even imagining dolls with articulation makes me quite happy and always has. The poseability and hold-ability is very important to me.

How this translates to art is, my younger siblings and I werent really… allowed to do anything but draw and stay in the kitchen, especially as we got older. So naturally our dolls became words we could say, and most of all it was art we could make. In a way, my personal art has always been playing, so it makes sense that my love of articulation would translate over to my ocs

I used to write a lot of comics for us and we’d all animate stories into silly long gifs. It wasnt ever a question of if we could or if it was skillful, that was just how we played. It just came naturally and without much doubt, our skills built up over uhhh all our lives. (Not saying it was great, but it wasnt even a question of quality)

So I guess my inspiration is my inner child(ren), and I’m really happy that I have the skillsets that makes it so easy to make them happy.

I do commissions for a living too, and with every piece I can’t help but think that the commissioner probably wants the most of their character shown off as possible, so I need to pose in a pleasing way that struts their stuff. That has to get creative when you’ve done probably 500+ commissions =v=;

TLDR: i want to hold my characters like dolls and play with them, the end