#uhhh what else. idk lol

[loverboy-ish-fr]

[cross-posted from the creative corner forums, link in rb]

1. milton, the mossy pohip

summary: the coliseum team - rosie, florence, and belvedere - spar with beastclans, and come up against a mossy pohip.

-----

Rosie clacks her teeth, gnashes at the air, making that wretched sucking sound with her tongue against the back of them. Her nerves, her anticipation, and Florence is more than understanding, but the sounds grate at his nerves and if she carries on for much longer there'll be a friendly-fire tussle about it. Belvedere will watch, nonplussed, possibly calculating whether it'd be worth it to patch either one up afterwards - should there be any wounds at all, that is, which is unlikely despite the aggravation.

"Rosie."

She pauses, eyes wide as she tilts towards him. She blinks once, twice, thrice, in rapid succession - the absolute picture of innocence.

"My dearest..."

"Ye-es, sweet Flori?"

She teases him, rotten Tundie. He lunges at her with a snap at the air near her face, and she laughs, giggles, half-stepping back. Crowds in closer, as though he's about to nip at her face, then-- drags his tongue flat across her face. Rosie splutters and laughs again, trying to get away.

"You do that on purpose, dear."

"Oh, sometimes!" Her grin is as wide as a summer's day is long: unabashed.

"You two should get ready," comes in Belvedere's even tone, "I see a couple of Deer getting bored."

"A throuple of Deer," Rosie 'corrects'.

"... yes... of course."

Rosie hums, pleased with herself, leading the way, and the two larger dragons follow suit.

***

Wood Ear and White Rot Deer; Lilium and Petalmane Floron; Travelling Garden and Terra Tortoise; Rosaline and Buttercup Strangler; Fingi of Moonlight and Sage; Alstroemeria and Myosotis Foxes; Aspen Gall Dryad and Barkskin Watcher; Five-toed and Venomtooth Pilco; Frostbite and Sunbeam Dryard; Maned and Flora Cerdae; Palefoot and Ruffletail Tadhop; Grove Piper and Spotted Faun - all fought, all vicious, all for the sake of fun. Some were more willing to talk afterwards (but offered little in the way of contacting them again), others preferred to move on immediately post-spar.

And still, after a good long afternoon of sparring, Rosie still itched for another round. Belvedere was tending to a minor wound, and mulled it over, and Florence was in two minds about it: go home to rest, or finish with one last round, a flourish.

They agreed.

Such hubris granted them the audience of a Mossy Pohip.

"... Ah."

"Mm."

"..."

The Mossy Pohip grinned at them, lumbering closer to the coliseum clearing.

"Good evening, little hatchlings." The voice booms, low and bassy across the clearing, and he receives a muted chorus of 'good evening' in return. "Let us fight!"

Rosie nods, shaking, but still hoping for the best - whether they win or lose (and quite frankly, she's sure they'll lose), it should be fun.

The Pohip surged, a beast of such phenomenal power that it didn't matter if he was accurate or not, his attack still shook the ground and caused even Belvedere to tremble and waver. Rosie's Mana Bolt and Enfeeble was little use against him; both Florence and Belvedere's Scratching seemed to slide right off of the Pohip, barely giving him pause; Eliminate just about worked, but even then the Pohip never faltered. His jaws would come close, incisors large and crushing, as he'd sling a Mist Slash at either one of them, or cast Shroud to blind the two Arcane dragons, leaving Belvedere to flounder unassisted.

They lost, of course, with Belvedere being the last to collapse on his side, exhausted and on the verge of passing out; Florence was still clawing at the ground, despite being so winded, and Rosie had already lost consciousness, limp on the ground. The Guardian watched as the Pohip came closer, apparently wanting more from his winning.

"I must say, little hatchlings," he boomed again, only just causing Rosie to stir with a groan, "you all gave quite the fight, but I have won, and so must collect my prize."

Prize? Belvedere frowned; this was all for the sport of it, there was no prize.

"And I must say... I am rather... hungry."

Oh. Oh no. The Guardian struggles, manages to skitter backwards, only bearing both Florence and Rosie in half a mind, hoping the Pohip focuses on him rather than his wards (his friends), even when his heart is hammering away in a panicking hummingbird rhythm. He doesn't get far, too exhausted, and the Pohip too persistant even if he wasn't. His breath hitches as the Pohip gets closer, jaws wider again, teeth glistening with saliva, closer, closer, closer--

Then the Pohip pulls back, holding his head aloft and his mouth now mostly closed. Hm?

"But... I am a... vegetarian." Then the Pohip grins, and laughs, and it is as booming as his talking voice, so much that Rosie claps a paw over her ear, and it disturbs nearby birds from their resting places.

"A good fight from you all! What a good fight!"

He stays for a little while as the three dragons recuperate some, allowing Belvedere to rest against him. Tells them his name is Milton, and it's more than even the friendliest of previous sparring 'enemies' had given, so they lean into idle chatter for an hour: chatter about preferred climes; talk of ideal holiday destinations; favourite vegetables and fruit; Milton mentions a crush on a Flowering Pohip called Florentina.

When the three are able to stand without wobbling, Milton bids them a goodnight, and they the same to him. On the way home, they consider whether or not to fib a little - say they won every fight, yes even against a Pohip. Rosie decides against it, deciding a little humility for one's hubris - her own, no-one else's (although Florence would call it arrogance) - would be worth it.

-----

can't end these things satisfactorily enough to save my life lol but anyway this was a fun little exercise :^)

[limewashedup]

making my mcytblr debut with some fic-related cletho art!

[ghxstoll]

[adhdandcomics]

whoever needs to hear this: if you got a disability, if you don’t know if you have something, if you ever think “it’s not that bad” if you have a thing about guilt, if you’re ill, Anything: listen. it is okay to throw things away.

you can throw it away. if it sucks and it stresses you the fuck out, if you just “need the right time to fix it” for the past 3 months. or years. if you loved it once upon a time but it makes you feel kinda weird and guilty now. if it’s a jacket youve reaaaally been meaning to mend and then donate. a jar of sauce that “all you have to do” is clean out to recycle but it’s been a week and now there’s a small colony growing in it. slowly shredding to bits fabric scraps you plan to use to fix something. busted picture frame. cracked mug. old shoes. extra box. an entire pack of granola bars that you hate so much but don’t want to waste.

life is already so goddamn difficult for us. i know you still care about recycling and the environment and sustainability. but it’s okay, i promise. sometimes you have to take care of your space. sometimes you have to cut your losses so you can actually have energy to recycle the next thing. get rid of the old shirt before it turns into a tornado pile of guilt under the bed. you’re not a bad person. you can throw this one away.

[quantumfeat72]

But unlike you, who gave up on your wish, and almost destroyed the world in the process...

I gave up on my wish, and destroyed myself.

[shunshuntaiga]

Rufus Remore in gold eyeliner, I wish I could remember who said he'd play with make-up if they had it in Pallimustus, so I could credit you for my brain rot😭 so if you're out there let me know!

I thought I remembered it saying he wore silk robes at some point, so I gave him one of those ridiculously fancy dressing gown style ones, like he's getting ready in the morning lol

[jay-sketchin]

Screenshot redraw that was just supposed to be one of multiple quick sketches to figure out shapes but now it’s whatever this is.

Bill Dickey Eltingville Club has infested my brain for the past two weeks and refuses to pay rent, someone get me out of this hell /j

[soupmanspeaks]

Michael Ao3 author AU walk with me here

"hey guys sorry I havent posted much on the Immortal and the Restless fic, I had to do this one errand my father sent me on, its actually a funny story; my dead sister actually possesed this big robot clown that killed her, and I had to like, put her scattered parts back together again, it was a whole thing, but yeah, her murder AI kind of just took over and she tricked me into being a meat suit, so that kind of sucked, and im actually organless atm, so sorry for slower updates, but it is what it is yk"

And then wayyyy later "heyyyyy what's up superstars, sorry for the long hiatus, my soul got put into a robot bear, but that's all taken care of, so chapter 27 soon :3"

[offical-9jago-au]

Hey guys, I thought of a "logo" for the Administration today at school. I'm wondering if I need to put any improvements or anything else. I've even tried to contact Doc Wyatt on X about it and I also posted it on Reddit too. And yes, the blue lightning bolt represents Jay Walker. Any more thoughts on it?

[callmeplutoz]

🎉:"In half broken japanese I wrote to U!!1!!"

They sang the whole entire song to him :D

Yey

[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."

[skullduggerywd]

why do werewolf smut stories always have those "WARNING: WEREWOLF BREEDING AREA" signs. like, I'd want to go there. I wanna get fucked by a werewolf. It's a fuckin werewolf. Just remove the 'warning' part

[squuote]

cut my face up

[ghxstoll]

[mafuaato]

thank you for coming home on my first pull, steven. i love u and ur snazzy god suit.

heres the sketch, which is literally just one of the doodles i was doing to keep my hands busy while talking 2 a guest we had over 2day. unfortunately it got out of hand :'). also bonus submas and my dog looking pathetic, bcos he kept trying to push my ipad off my lap while i was trying 2 draw >:(

[therenaissancedungeonmaster]

Things I have learned about Tumblr dot com from my ISAT fanart that should be pretty obvious in hindsight. Tumblr:

Has a large population of chronically ill people who are very happy to be seen AND

Loves memes