#none of this surprises me in the least

[elisela]

I posted 1,979 times in 2022

317 posts created (16%)

1,662 posts reblogged (84%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@clotpolesonly

@radio-chatter

@missanniewhimsy

@tripleaxeldiaz

@outtoshatter

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i am home in the wake of your skin stiles x derek, alpha/emissary, getting together for @missanniewhimsy and also @averysterekwinter "magic” read on ao3

---

The cold hurts his chest. He breathes it in anyway, pulling it deep into his lungs and holding it there, frozen. The woods are still enough for him to hear the branches of the evergreens creak with the weight of the falling snow, the faint click of the SUV’s engine where he left it in the driveway, and behind him, ever so faintly, the soft crunch of a paw against powder.

“I saw you running,” he says without looking backwards, shifting the backpack strap on his shoulder. “You’re lucky no one else is stupid enough to drive up here, they would have been in for a shock.”

“Wouldn’t have let them see me,” Derek says, coming to a stop beside him, just out of sight. “No one’s around. No one but me’s been around for a while. Are you okay getting everything in the cabin while I scout up the trail?”

“Sure, yeah,” Stiles says, tipping his head up and looking at the crystal clear sky, moon already hanging bright and heavy, stars so thick across the Milky Way it looks like a lovingly woven blanket. “Go do your thing, wolf man. I’ll set some clothes on the porch for you.”

Derek’s sigh—noisy, fondly exasperated—follows him up to the door, which opens under his hand with the barest amount of pressure. He can feel the magic built into the very walls reaching out, reacting to his presence; old, protective magic that melts into his aura, keeping him in his place at the threshold before deeming him worthy to enter. Stiles hitches the backpack further up on his shoulder and curls his fingers into a loose fist before tossing up orbs of softly glowing light that illuminate the small space—they won’t last long, not with what little power he has, but it’ll be long enough to get a fire going and that’s all he needs.

He’s not surprised to see firewood already stacked at the hearth, a neat bundle of it in place, ready to be lit. Lighting it with magic would be easiest but he’s not sure how much he should be using before the ceremony; it's still a new thing in a way, this ability he has, and Stiles is still waiting for it to disappear the moment he needs it most. So he pulls the lighter out of his front pocket and flicks his thumb until the flame appears, bending down and catching it to one of the pieces of wadded up newspaper, crouched until the slow burn crawls over the logs and ignites.

By the time Derek’s steps sound heavy on the wooden steps he’s got the car unpacked and blankets smoothed out over the double bed, backpacks stashed behind the sagging couch, cooler of food out on the porch with a set of clothes on top. There’s nothing left for him to do on his own, not in the cabin or for the ritual; he’s spilled blood at the cardinal points of the Hale land with his alpha at his side, but the remainder is Derek’s. He’s fidgeting when Derek walks in, hands clasped in front of him as he sits on the couch, feet tapping a mile a minute, too restless without anything to occupy his time. He stills, though, when Derek speaks.

“I know you have feelings for me,” Derek says, then grimaces as the cold steals Stiles’ breath from his chest, leaving him feeling hollow. “Shit. That wasn’t—I have them, too. For you. I thought you should know before we do this.”

He resumes jiggling his knee again, tapping his fingers against his knuckles. “Remind me to tell the pack what a romantic you are,” he says, and Derek’s shoulder nudges against his as he breathes out, relieved. He’d suspected—the immense amount of trust it takes for Derek to bind Stiles to him and the pack like they’re planning had been the first clue; he’s pretty sure that at this point in Derek’s life, trust and love are synonymous. The looks and soft touches—he’d hoped, but colored with the view of his own overwhelming feelings—he couldn’t trust that, couldn’t put all his faith in that to make the leap himself. For so many reasons, Derek was always going to have to be the one who took the first step.

Derek’s shoulder shifts as he laughs, a soft huff of breath. “Pretty sure that’s not a word they would have ever used to describe me.”

“Pretty sure they’re wrong, then,” Stiles says before he can rein it back in. Derek, he thinks—with the plants he has a laminated schedule for watering, the poetry books in half a dozen languages he says are only around to deepen his understanding, the family recipes he tries so hard to recreate—is likely a closet romantic and sentimental on top of it, and anyone who can’t look past the brick wall of an alpha stare and see that is a fool.

Like he is prone to do when someone comes close to complimenting him, Derek deflects. “We should get started,” he says. His hand squeezes Stiles’ thigh as he rises from the sofa, an implicit understanding that there’s more to come when they have the time but there are things that are perhaps not more important, but more pressing that they have to focus on.

—

The clearing is awash with snowglow, glittering in the light of the full moon. Stiles shivers as Derek leads him to the center, snowflakes falling all around, though he’s too cold to register them landing on his exposed skin. Derek mutters something he can’t hear over his chattering teeth when he checks his watch but then Stiles is pulled into him, wrapped in his arms, sinking into the warmth of his body despite the frigid air leeching most of it. He presses his nose into the curve of Derek’s shoulder and grins when Derek jolts, pulling his arms up and trapping them between their bodies to keep warm.

It must only be a minute; Derek, he knows, timed the walk from the cabin to the clearing carefully so they wouldn’t be exposed to the elements for long while they waited for the moon to reach its perigee, but it feels like longer as they stand there, breath settling down until they’re in sync. The lead-up to this moment is months in the making if he goes by the literal sense—the research of the ritual, the careful translations to find the exact meaning to ensure it was done correctly, the effort it took to map the exact boundary lines of the Hale land that had been lost to fire and time, the four full moons that had to pass for him to leave a part of himself at each point. But he knows it’s more like years at this point—a decade of hard-won trust in each other, of nurturing the spark within him, acceptance of the fact that Stiles belonged to the land as much as Derek ever did, a decade to come together not out of necessity but from commitment.

He takes a step back when Derek squeezes him, winter air rushing around him and goosebumps breaking out, but he controls the shivering as best he can while Derek stands before him and reaches out to trace the runes of protection on his skin. It requires no words—just intent, belief, which Stiles has always had in abundance—and when he steps back Derek reaches out for him, claws scratching lightly against his palm. Stiles watches his face closely so he doesn’t have to see the blood that wells up on his skin when Derek starts his part, scratching the triskele just over Stiles’ heart, deep enough to scar.

He’s shaking not only from cold now, fighting to stay upright through the pain as Derek’s face twists apologetically along with his fingers, tongue between sharp teeth so he doesn’t make a sound. But when Derek’s hand falls down to his forearm, poised to cut him deep enough to spill blood onto the land, Stiles pulls back slightly to get his attention before lifting his arm and offering his wrist. Derek had dismissed it out of hand during their research—too many things could go wrong, he’d said, and they were positive that it didn’t matter how he bled, just that he did. And despite Stiles’ desire to finish it quickly and feel as little additional pain as possible it just feels right to twist his arm and hold his wrist next to Derek’s mouth, and they exchange a long, weighted stare before Derek finally nods once and wraps his hand around Stiles’ wrist, thumb smoothing over his skin just before he sinks his teeth into it.

Stiles would love to say it didn’t hurt; when he recounts the experience later, he’ll forget that it did, that his heart rate spiked in his chest and the pain that ripped through him caused his stomach to heave, that Derek had to hold his arm out so the blood dripped into the ground where they’d cleared the snow because Stiles’ instincts were telling him to pull it close to his chest and stop the bleeding. Because the moment it touched the ground the bond flared to life inside him and he couldn’t think about anything else—he could feel Derek, the pack, a welcome, comforting weight in his heart. He could feel the ground calling out to him, peaceful and alive in a way that overwhelmed him to the point that his knees buckled and he would have collapsed had Derek not caught him.

“Worked,” he manages—and then closes his eyes and passes out.

—

He comes to still clutching Derek’s hand, but warm if not comfortable, sprawled on the floor with his back to the fire, head resting on Derek’s shoulder but hip digging into the hard ground. His body still doesn’t feel like his own—never will again, from what he’s read, bound by magic to the pack and the land, to the man who has always been his alpha even when his eyes glowed blue. There’s so much sensory input buzzing through him that it takes a moment to realize that Derek’s hand is moving slowly through his hair, the crackling of the fire accompanied by the low humming vibration in Derek’s chest.

The air around them is so peaceful in a way that other people probably savor, but Stiles is fond of talking and now that he’s not a bundle of nerves over their attempt to revive a ritual that hadn’t been completed in at least a century he has things he wants to say. So he plants a hand on Derek’s sternum and presses himself up—then pats the bare skin a little just because he can. “You love me,” he says, preening; he can feel it right there in his chest, the deep pull of an anchor that keeps him from drifting. “I can feel it.”

“I love sleep,” Derek grumbles, but sits up despite Stiles not saying anything about it at all and reaches for the same bucket he’d carried snow in earlier to purify them, only now warmed from the fire. Stiles allows himself to be pushed back down as Derek studies him, wiping the tacky blood from his chest with motions that seem reverent, fingertips running over raised, but healed, skin. “Does it still hurt?”

“Nah,” he says, examining it himself, then the bite mark on his wrist that Derek’s gaze keeps wandering to. “You didn’t take the pain, did you? You know the book said—”

“I translated the book,” Derek says; the unspoken dumbass tacked onto the end apparent by the roll of his eyes even as he moves to wipe at Stiles’ wrist with the same gentle touch. “I’m hoping that not taking the pain stops you from doing anything else as stupid as letting a werewolf bite you.”

“Right, just let any ol’ werewolf roll up and bite me, not like that wasn’t the way the emissary bond was sealed in all those accounts.”

“Could have gone wrong.”

“But didn’t,” he says, raising himself up onto his elbows and wagging his eyebrows, grinning. “And I feel great, if not a little hungry—what do you say you go hunt some dinner and provide for me, huh? Big strong alpha? Prove your worth a little, you know, werewolf courting—”

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206 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

#4

i just really like the idea of stiles and derek finding each other again when they’re older and more settled, more at peace, and realizing pretty quickly that they’re going to end up becoming more but just … enjoying the journey. they gently flirt as they learn to get more comfortable with each other, integrate into each other’s lives … they make a game of it almost, talking about the future without talking about the future, speaking in hypotheticals and trying to trip each other up. and then one day they’re making dinner and stiles mentions his lease is up and he can’t decide if he should renew or find somewhere closer and derek turns all the burners off and leads him down the hallway, past his office and the guest room and right to the doorway of the master bedroom and says “this close enough?” and stiles turns and kisses him and pulls him back to the kitchen and lectures him for turning the oven off because good lord derek it doesn’t need to be babysat you can leave the room for ten seconds it’ll be fine

345 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

#3

I wish you would write a fic where Derek is not so subtle about his pining for stiles and Stiles is so oblivious about it that someone has to basically spell it out for him before he notices 😉

sunny my love ANYTHING for you (this got long lol)

--

Stiles should probably admit defeat after he flips up the lid of the second to last pizza box, but he holds out hope for as long as it takes to move his hand a foot to the right and push his fingers up under the little tab. “Aww, come on,” he complains, staring at the barbecue chicken in disgust, “I was on the phone with my dad for ten seconds! Ten! Everyone in this room knows what my favorite pizza is, did you really have to eat it all?”

He makes a face at the offending pizza box as he moves to the left, back to where he had left the hawaiian and veggie slices in the dust on his hunt for something more enjoyable. He only has time to tip his head back and heave an exasperated, heavy sigh (with a strangled groan at the end when he sees the veggie pizza is loaded down with mushrooms, which definitely do not belong on anything as delicious as pizza) when someone takes the flimsy paper plate out of his hand and replaces it with another.

“Dude,” he says, blinking down at three mouth-watering slices of pepperoni and sausage stacked on top of each other, the cheese at the end curling from the telltale stretch of it being pulled away. Derek’s gone before he can say anything else, disappeared back to wherever he was lurking before—probably finding the bottle of carpet stain remover if the last two game nights were any indication.

“Oh hey, there was some left,” Scott says when he sits down, beaming at him.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thanks to Derek, the only one who loves me,” he grumbles, and if possible, Scott looks even more excited.

“He finally told you?”

Stiles has always scoffed at movies that show reaction shots in slow-motion, but the second the words leave Scott’s mouth he swears that’s what happens. Everyone in the living room—hell, possibly everyone in the house considering 63% of them have super-hearing—turn and look at them slowly, mouths open. He stops with the pizza an inch from his lips; so close he can almost taste it, the smell of the fancy pepperoni that crisps up into cups and Italian seasoning flooding his senses. “Bwah?”

In the few moments that it takes Stiles to realize the implication of what Scott said the air fills back up with chatter, the strained, forced kind that makes it immediately apparent that everyone except his best friend is slightly uncomfortable. Because Scott, bless his heart, looks at Stiles with something akin to pity. “Dude,” Scott says, “he took that pizza off of Cora’s plate.”

“Probably because you assholes order it for me and then eat it all before I get a chance to get any,” Stiles says, finally shoving the slice in his mouth, manners be damned. “He feels sorry for me. Like I’m a weak, defenseless animal. You know he’s got a savior complex.”

Scott gives him a pained look. “He built an entire deck for your dad.”

Stiles waves his hand around, cheese sliding dangerously off the pizza as he does. “Please, he was paid for that. In barbecue, sure, which my dad was definitely not supposed to be eating, but I can generously let it go. Once.”

“Stiles, he paid your tuition when you talked about having to get a part time job!”

“Uh, I’m pack?” Stiles says, because seriously, he’d also paid for—well. He doesn’t actually know, but he’s sure Derek did, he’s got more money than he knows what to do with. He’s always blowing it on whatever Stiles tells him he should buy.

“So are we and he doesn’t do that for the rest of us, you dumb fuck,” Jackson says from across the room, confirming Stiles’ suspicion that they were all listening in. “He’s wooing you, Stilinski. And now he knows you know it, so either get into the kitchen where he’s cowering like a bitch or freak out and leave.”

Stiles stares at him for a moment and whips back around to Scott, mouth open and mind racing; when Scott nods encouragingly he sets his plate down on the couch and vaults over the back, staggering for two steps before gaining his footing and skidding as he rounds the corner into the kitchen where Derek is standing facing away from him, shoulders tense as he stares down at the counter.

“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat, but Derek doesn’t turn around. “It’d probably be pretty difficult to get all of them out of here, but we could, ah, get out of here? Go somewhere?”

Derek’s body shifts, relaxes, and he turns around looking not angry or upset, but cocky as ever. “Yeah?” he says, expression not giving anything away.

Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes and meets his gaze instead. “Yeah,” he says, grinning. The smile Derek gives him in return isn’t blinding but small and soft, one just for him, and it’s perfect.

355 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

#2

you’re my only hope sterek, 1k, thanksgiving fluff

--

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“Derek!” Stiles says, looking frantically around the kitchen, phone shoved between his ear and shoulder. “I know that usually you’re supposed to thaw the turkey for days but last night I was nominated as the place to go for everyone who didn’t have a place to go and all the store had was a fifteen pound frozen solid turkey and I’ve left it out since I bought it but the damn thing is still frozen solid and I’m supposed to serve it in four hours. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

The wooden spoon he’d been looking for is balanced on the open refrigerator door. He snatches it up and spins to stir the gravy, the only thing he could think to make ahead of time that Lydia won’t kill him for nuking in the microwave right before dinner.

“You can cook it from frozen. It’ll take longer, about five hours, but serve some drinks and your friends will be fine waiting.”

Stiles looks at the compound butter he’d gotten—he can read recipes, thank you, he’s just in a panic—and frowns. “What am I supposed to do about, you know, seasoning?”

“Pull it after two hours and season it then. You’ll have to baste it, but you’ll be okay.”

“Great,” Stiles says, then curses when he realizes he’d laid his dish towel too close to the burner and it’s smoking. “Thanks!”

-----

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“This isn’t a turkey question, is that okay?”

The voice that comes through the line sounds almost amused. “We’re here to answer all of your Thanksgiving dinner related questions.”

Stiles taps the pie pan on the counter. He’s unsure if it’s necessary, but he’s seen people do it to regular cakes on YouTube, so why not? “Dangerous,” he says, “because I have a lot of questions. Like—why? How is this the thing you want to spend your time doing on your holiday? What are your qualifications, anyway? Because for all I know you could be making shit up, but I have to admit the turkey is no longer frozen solid under your possibly-sound advice. Which leads me to: can I bake a cheesecake at the same time as a turkey? The oven’s at 375 if that makes a difference.”

“If that—you shouldn’t be cooking your turkey at 375!”

Derek sounds affronted, and Stiles would find that cute—at least he finds his semi-outraged voice cute because for God’s sake, it’s a turkey—but he doesn’t have the time. “The cheesecake, Derek. Can I do the cheesecake at the same time?”

“Not unless you’re good with soggy turkey skin. The steam from the water bath will affect it too much.”

Stiles frowns. “Yeah, the … water bath,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound like he has no idea what he’s doing. “What if I don’t mind soggy turkey skin?”

“You mind soggy turkey skin,” Derek says firmly, and Stiles laughs.

----

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“Seriously, you’ve been at this for three hours,” Stiles says, because he had fully expected to get someone else on the line. Unless Derek is the sole employee—volunteer? He has no clue—he should have gotten someone else by now.

“Try eight,” Derek says. “Please tell me you turned the turkey down.”

“I’d feel bad lying to you,” Stiles says, grinning. “So it turns out I forgot the rolls, and I have a box of pancake mix but it says I need eggs, which I don’t have because I used them all in the cheesecake. Help me, Obi Wan, you’re my only hope.”

There’s a pause, and Stiles has a moment to hope he hasn’t broken Derek’s brain before he finally replied. “Oh, you’re thinking about making biscuits.”

“That’s what I said,” Stiles says, poking at the cheese sauce for his hopefully tolerable mac and cheese.

“You did not, but you don’t need eggs. Or pancake mix. Google a recipe for drop biscuits and so help me do not bake them at the same time as the turkey.”

“Aww, you know me so well, boo,” Stiles coos, and flips off the burner. “Why do you do this, anyway?”

“So people like you don’t give your friends and family food poisoning,” Derek says. “You’re safe, by the way, if you keep roasting the turkey at 375. It’ll be charred.”

“Drama queen,” Stiles mutters, and then puts his foot in his mouth by asking, “you’re not too busy cooking your own dinner?”

See the full post

539 notes - Posted November 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

because now i’m thinking about it—

imagine the jeep, quiet, on the drive back to beacon hills after stiles successfully got derek away from the fbi. stiles is asleep in the passenger seat, and derek—he’s not okay. he’s been working on it, on letting things go, on realizing what he can and can’t control and what is and isn’t his fault … but the old familiar feeling of guilt is back, clawing away up his lungs until he feels like he can’t breathe.

“can you tone down the angst over there, i’m trying to sleep,” stiles grumbles, shifting restlessly, irritably. derek doesn’t look over at him, not wanting to see the look on stiles’ face now that he’s had time to let it sink in that he gave up his entire future for derek, because they both know he blew his only chance. there’s a noisy sigh, another crinkle of the duct tape that’s holding the seat fabric together, and then stiles sighs. “if you’re worried about them catching up to us i covered my tracks really well, and there was an unfortunate accident that deleted—”

“i’m sorry,” derek says, low, the words dust on his tongue. it’s meaningless in the wake of the magnitude of what stiles did for him, but he has to try. “you shouldn’t have had to give up your internship—your dad wouldn’t have—”

“hey,” stiles snaps; there’s a growing intensity in the car that makes derek want to throw himself out of it, suffocating him. he grips the steering wheel tighter instead, waits for stiles to continue, waits out the forced, measured breathing and rising heartbeat that echoes in his ears. “i did the same thing my dad would have done for someone he loved.” the words are softer but no less heated, the conviction in them like steel.

he eases his fingers from the steering wheel, loosens his grip and forces himself to breathe away the dark spots that come from being lightheaded, to focus on keeping the blur out of the distance tail lights of the cars ahead of them.

“i’d do it again. and again, and again,” stiles adds into the silence. “i’d destroy a lot more than a crime scene to keep you safe, derek. do you understand?”

he can’t find the words, but when stiles reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, he’s not sure he needs them.

613 notes - Posted February 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[mourn-and-watch]

i would really like to see people appreciate beau's growth and character arc more without trying to convince newcomers that "she'll get better eventually just you wait" implying she was such an unbearable character you have to make yourself sit through her scenes. i assure you, she wasn't

[worstloki]

zionists don't realise it but saying 'this is the most jewish thing ever!' and 'people hate when jews do something clever' and and reporting it as 'innovative methods which carried out a precise military operation' and joking about ongoing attacks using everyday technology to injure thousands of civilians is not. good

[froschli96]

you know, i always find it really funny when dudebros complain about syndicate and odyssey being too "jokey" or not "taking its characters seriously" or whatever…

like, did y'all collectively sleep through "it's-a me, mario!", "i meant besides vaginas", ezio inventing the latte, bartolomeo's... just... *gestures vaguely* entire character, etc?

like, it's fine to have preferences of course, i myself prefer a more serious and grounded tone, but these are usually the same people who tout the ezio trilogy as "peak assassin's creed", call ac1 a glorified tech demo and hate on connor for being "too serious and boring", like? make it make sense!

[triglycercule]

alright i finished this so i need to celebrate my accomplishment (???) by sharing it to the world

BETTER versions of my trio designs. because boo boo the other old ones were BORING and TOO SIMPLE and lowhighkey UGLY. i had no idea what i was thinking when i made this but i guess design notes before to see if i can figure out what the fuck these mean 💀

killer🔪:3

he got a GLOW UP!!! when i was figuring him out i was thinking like. this man needs to look combat ready he CANNOT look chill and relaxed he MUST look good to fight. killer can't catch a break 💀 anyways. it's ALSO not revealing (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎) because i feel he would NOT wear that stuff cmon flirty =/= revealing. his charms are found through his words and actions (stabbing someone through the heart) (speaking of the heart i couldn't be bothered to draw his soul mb)

the gloves/shirt/leggings under his clothes may LOOK seperate. but its actually all one big piece!!! because i thought it would be silly and funny :3 but like on a serious note i like this because it provides an extra layer of protection (both in a fight and not) and like. a sense of anonymity i guess??? like you can't see killer's natural body you cant SEE who he was before because hes changed that much (or i guess HE cant see who he was b4 wtvr)

actually a lot of killer's outfit has meaning behind it. knee pads = unnatural body imitation killer is a whole new being now not monster (also adding 2 the combat look :3) belts = restraint killer needs to stay in line and do as he's ordered (i needed some visual interest 💀) zippers on shoes?? actually no meaning i just thought it would be cute. somehow i managed to find meanings 4 all of the trio's zippers. killer's is jammed in that spot. show like idk he is irreversibly changed to what he is now (a lot of this makes no sense)

horror 🪓 :3

if you remove all the rips in the clothes he'd be the most basic out of all of them. but theyre there so he's NOT the most basic! 4 horror i was thinking like "you can see he's fucked up but you can also see he's desperately trying to keep it together" type feel. i totally didnt steal those under socket lines (thank you mania and paranoia for donating to your og versions :3) to make horror look more 🌀🌀🌀 (cannot describe it)

the cloak was stolen from undyne trust. he wears it as a power move FUCK YOU!!! to her :3 also it looks royal and regal which could kinda show like horror's power and sway over snowdin. he's DEFINITELY not a king but he is a provider and a lot of what he says goes around those parts. a lot of ppl look to him as like world's shittiest leader(ish). also i just wanted him to have something unique!

underneath horror's jacket his shirt is reaaaally torn he should probably replace it. there are some holes from when he was pinned down with spears during the core incident and then the whole lower half is just totally torn off from that one comic 💀 but thats why the jacket is zipped up! however the zipper broke and now the jacket can't unzip! (because horror struggles with the fact that horrortale ISNT gonna be perpetually shitty (everyone say thanks aliza) and would rather nobody see him vulnerable)

dust🧣:3

i didn't change much about him lowkey he's pretty much wearing the same CLOTHES. just that the style and way he's wearing them changed. wanted him to give like,,,,, comfy (because bro did not change out of his sansish clothes) but also like FOCUSED o(≧口≦)o like horror he has the under socket line but thats just to make him look more stressed and tired

i moved around the scarf to NOT be around his neck bc it was sooo annoying drawing the hood and then having to account for the scarf. it kind gave him a baby face vibe which i did NOT like. also i think dust would wear the scarf however. very versatile as long as the scarf remains intact. so it COULD go around waist COULD be around neck COULD be around limbs

i didn't mean to do this but the black thingy around his shoulders (was originally there just to fill in the empty space without the scarf there 💀) could be seen as like mourning wear. again with the silly zipper symbolism but dust's zipper is fine its not broken like horror or killer's are because he chose to go down this path. dust CHOSE to zip it up and now its too late to go back now (so bro MUST power through ‼️‼️ he cant unzip the zipper now!!!!)

overall i like these. usually i like coming up with cool unique character designs its so fun but my trio was hard (im hard). probably bc i didnt wanna make then wear anything too weird Dx BUT NOW AT LEAST THEY ALL LOOK LESS BABY!!!! i think i depicted how i see them though like ughhh cannot explain but now they look like how i want them to sound

[queencaramilflinda]

Everyone during neverafter 15: oh my god these social interactions are going horribly they’re all doing so bad!

Me, neurodivergent and cannot read social cues: idk mostly these seem fine

[endoyamato]

i have so many thoughts abt the latest chap (142) and i think it gives us a lot more insight on takiishi than it does on endo tbh

[oorangesoda]

Doing warm up and decided to a little re-draw!!This is what I mean when I say getting ‘better’ at art takes time :]

I say ‘better’ cause back in 2016 that was my version of the best I could do with the level of skill I had!! I wasn’t perfect by any means and I’m still not, but that is what makes art so rewarding. You keep improving :)

[taosnipple]

Imagine still being salty about which homestuck characters people hc as whatever gender they want. Like a decade after it ended.

[damfangirl08]

Today on: which of my family members said that, we have:

"I dont care about people, I just shoot them to get gold"

[capinejghafa]

i wish i loved ravka the way this show loved ravka, you know? like between the child soldiers, the terrible treatment of the suli, the way the weaponized the grisha... i’m starting to think im the wrong one for thinking these are bad actually lol

[clown-around-and-find-out]

in my experience a dni isnt necessarily virtue signaling but more just to show like. hey who knows maybe a fatphobic ableist racist neo-nazi will try to interact with this 'nagito komaeda supports xenogenders' blog. who knows. at least u tried to ward them off right.

[danielpowell]

The work mood

[simcardiac-arrested]

in honor of me getting to rubicon and starting to Yell Out Loud: would you care to elaborate upon "saint is just the most mentally ill cat ever". like how much of the uhh . ascending things is real & what does it all mean.. its ok if u dont have any specific answers but i was curious because u have neat hcs

oh if you still haven’t finished the campaign then i can’t Fully Elaborate yet— i just imagine that saint, with their circumstances, having all this power and having to be the ‘savior’ prooobably takes some sort of toll on them. i imagine they’d be kind of desensitized to it all, very much Going Through It. i’d like to think the ascending things is in fact real, though i’m not. completely sure on how it works or why saint specifically has that ability, maybe it’s because they’re just. Like That. built different if you will

[aeide-thea]

still picking my way thru s3 of the witcher episode by agonizing episode but it's going SO slowly bc every time i watch one it's just like. right. this show is a B movie now and not in a good way

[bisexualnamjoonie]

no but that poll. how can someone vote for golden when you have three lyrical, musical and thematic masterpieces to mesure it against. how do you actually hear music. i have so many questions. i am. yeah. ����😬😬😬😬😬