#But don't worry anon

[antiendovents]

Honest the god(s) questuon

How can yoy tell if you are an endo or not?

Because I honestly feel like I don't have enough truama to be a system. But like I know im a part of one. But others have said I do have enough truama. I just need help i think

Trauma is trauma. No trauma is too little or too much. You are valid, trust me. You have enough trauma, do not worry. you're not an endo, you have trauma

[sandflakedraws]

trolls is like my little pony but they're bipeds to me. but the important thing is your having fun

very very true anon. tho it is fun to make the trolls into a different kind of biped.

and-! the statement is extremely on-topic to me, because the more i spend time rotating trolls in my mind, the more i feel this twitter exchange sink deeper into my bones

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Extended Parting

Synopsis: After being separated from you for so long, Childe finally finds you again.

Foul Legacy x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Comfort Warnings: Mentions of blood, physical injuries, fear, pain, crying, allusions to being attacked

Original Request by Anon: requesting requesting! beep bop beep bop ! more foul legacy × reader hurt/comfort, perhaps? :3

hear me out- in the format of a scenario; just pure comfort, reader is perhaps sent of to a dangerous mission/commission while childe is away doing his own thing. when he is going back home however, he stumbles across a group of fatui, taking the reader hostage & hurting them. foul legacy's reaction to his "allies" hurting the love of his life? and how he would take care of the reader after, assuming the reader got pretty severe injuries (even though they're not fetal).

Im a big sucker for this big boi getting all soft when the reader is hurt, and i wanna see more of him just holding the bleeding reader in his arms while trying to comfort them

~ * ~

Two weeks, three days, seven hours, and eight minutes. That’s how long you’ve been apart, how long Childe has gone without being in your presence, and he’s hated every second of it. Important commission, hah! No commission could be so important that it took you away from him for this long- almost half a month! All of your other missions took you a week, tops, and even then he could barely handle it, missing you more and more as each day passed without a single word or letter. Of course, he admits, it’s not like Childe didn’t also have his own duties to attend to during this time, this extended parting. As usual, he was forced to store Ajax and Childe away, slipping on the mask of Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, and taking delight in violent diplomacy. But even fighting and bloodshed did little to satiate his longing for you; how much he wished to see your wonderful smile and that keen twinkle in your eyes, hear your lovely voice, cradle you in his arms and kiss your cheeks- Childe groans, burying his face in his hands. It makes him irritable, constantly yearning for you, and Foul Legacy is even worse. His Abyssal half is constantly clawing at the back of his mind, worrying his talons and whining as he asks why they haven’t seen you yet? Where are you? When will you be back? He wants cuddles something fierce, desperately seeking out the attention and affection you always give him only to find that you’re nowhere near. They’re both so lonely without you, only each other for company, and Childe has to physically bite his hand to prevent Legacy from simply snatching control of their body away and flying off to find you. With a sigh, the Harbinger wipes the blood from his blades, then his hands, and finally his face, ginger hair all wild and unruly. At the very least, today was when he would finally return home to Liyue. He never thought somewhere other than Morepesok could be considered home, but it turns out that “home” is wherever his heart is, and he gave it to you long ago to keep safe from everything that hurts.

Home… Childe’s mind drifts back to the house you both share, a small smile instinctively tugging at his lips. With a quiet snap of his fingers and a salute, his underlings are dismissed- they’ll be going back to the Fatui Headquarters in Snezhnaya. Childe, however, packs his supplies near the road back to the harbor city, waving the agents away, and the moment they’re out of sight his smile widens into a full-on grin, a delighted gleam in his azure eyes. 

Even just thinking about you seems to bring out the best in him, Foul Legacy chirping happily in the back of his head when Childe reassures him that yes, they’ll be seeing you again soon. If you’re done with that horribly long commission of yours, that is, which he’s sure that you are- even the most arduous never take up to three weeks. Despite being exhausted, he finds a spring in his step, dust swirling as his boots land against the dirt path. You, you, you- he’s going to see you again, his beloved and most treasured. Childe almost glows with energetic joy as he jogs, as if he never fell into the Abyss at all. His hand twitches, Foul Legacy begging and pleading to be let out after spending so long locked away, but Childe hushes him gently. You’ve said that you like it when he’s kind to Legacy and Legacy is kind to him- they are part of each other, after all, and you love both of them- so he tries to treat the monster as a friend rather than a weapon, and with a huff Legacy settles back down. Something faint and distant as the moon pierces the night, and Childe pauses, ears pricking. He tilts his head to listen, and for a moment he hears nothing but silence. Until- there, there! A scream! It’s far off, over the next hill, but unmistakably there. Even from a distance Childe can hear the desperation, the terror burning into his bones like a raging fire with a familiarity that makes him stop in his tracks.

No… no, it couldn’t be. It can’t be- Please, please let him be wrong- Childe’s feet carry him towards the sound, dread spiraling and twisting in his gut as another awful shriek rings out and he looks up, eyes widening. He was right. Oh, he was right, and he wishes he wasn’t, because it’s you. It’s you, gripping your weapon like a vice and covered in blood, expression filled with panic and fear and pain. It’s you, still in your adventurer’s gear, bag packed with whatever stupid, insignificant item the commission wanted. It’s you, surrounded by Fatui agents- not his, thank the Archons- the rest of them laughing and sneering. It’s you, hurt and scared and looking as if you’re about to collapse onto the ground and never rise. It’s you, and Childe’s veins freeze over with cold, splintering ice. You’re pressed against a ruined wall, swiping the blade in your hands at the soldiers, who merely snicker at your weakened attempts. The leader- one of those Electro vanguards with a giant hammer- smacks the weapon aside and seizes your arm, and you let out an involuntary yelp of pain as tears prick in your eyes. The yelp is all the motivation he needs, and Childe barely feels his restraint shatter like glass. They never even saw it coming, Foul Legacy throwing his spear and ripping the agents apart as fast as lightning, vibrant purple sparks searing the grass as he roars, driven only by wrath and fury. The vanguard who grabbed you so violently shouts in surprise and horror- then everything goes silent, apart from Legacy’s heavy breathing, claws dripping with blood. He exhales, curling his talons into fist with a tight crackling noise, letting out a low, guttural growl of rage. You bite down fiercely on your tongue, trying to stay quiet, but you can’t help but gasp in pain as the slashes in your body flare, and Foul Legacy’s anger burns away as quickly as a dying candle. He turns and rushes to you, chittering frantically, only to freeze when he sees you stiffen, petrified with fright. His chirps and trills lower to soft croons, gentle and sweet and familiar, crouching slowly to your height and holding out a hand. He tentatively inches forward, hand extended and palm up, claws curling delicately around your wrist when you desperately reach for him. “A-Ajax…?” Legacy’s Abyssal heart cracks, and he swiftly gathers you in his arms, whimpering and nudging his forehead against your cheeks as you cling to him and let out anguished, hitching cries. You suck in a breath when his talons ghost over a wound, and Legacy almost sobs with despair. Some part of him- the rational, trained soldier that is Childe- tells him to get you home, heal you, make sure that you’re well- he carefully gets to his feet, holding you close to his armored chest and adjusting your head so it’s pillowed by his lavender fluff. You shudder with pain again, and Legacy gently licks his tongue over the shallow scrapes on your face, cooing softly; with a flutter of his glimmering wings he takes to the sky, his arms cradling you like you’re made of crystal and gold.

He lands near your shared home not ten minutes later, hastily unlocking the door with the key he always sees Childe using. The house is quiet and a little dusty from being empty for so long, but your bed is as soft as ever as Legacy delicately lowers you down onto the mattress. Childe is the one who tells him what to do, again, guiding his claws to gently wrap your wounds with snow white gauze. None of them are fatal, and Legacy thanks his constellation with a grumbling sigh of relief. A quiet croon slips out when he sees you fading in and out of consciousness, sweetly cupping your cheek with a clawed hand- he’s shaking. Why is he shaking? He’s not the one who nearly died- but your hand comes up to weakly grasp his, and Legacy’s heart melts and breaks and patches itself up all over again.

Your lips twitch into a shaky smile, exhausted, your fingers resting on Legacy’s and soothing the minute trembles running through his body. The Abyssal creature- your wonderful, sweet Abyssal creature- blinks slowly at you, crystalline eye filled with tears that drip down his crimson face and pool in the divots of his mask as he fights to contain the sobs that threaten to break out, and when you reach up your other hand, covered in bandages, to caress his cheek, his breath hitches and he collapses into your arms, burying his head against your neck and weeping. In a whispered voice you coo and murmur and hum to him, repeated words of “it’s okay, I’m here, I’m okay”, and he tries so, so hard to do it back to you, his own sounds cracked and stuttering, something along the lines of “don’t leave, I miss you, I’m sorry”, or as close as he can say with a mouth made for biting and gnashing. Your hands lightly tug him closer- or rather, your hands tiredly loosen and he moves to follow them- until he’s close enough for you to press a soft kiss to his forehead. Legacy immediately purrs, tearful and whimpering, and your silent offer of lifting up the blanket is met with an instance moth monster at your side, curling around your body and holding you close. He’s careful not to squeeze you, trying to get as close as possible and mold his form around yours as you rake your hands through his fluffy coppery hair, drawing more deep, comforting rumbles from within his chest, the type he makes when you’re dreadfully ill.

Cats’ purrs are healing, so you’ve heard. Perhaps Abyssal beasts’ purrs are much the same. Slowly, your eyes begin to droop, and you yawn, exhausted and worn. Foul Legacy quietly nudges you, a croon of reassurance falling from his fanged maw, claws dancing over the wraps on your skin now stained brilliant red. It hurts, it hurts like fire- but you’re safe. Safe in your bed, and in Legacy’s arms, and the tension leeches from you and dissipates into nothing. You vaguely hear a soft melody, low and rumbling and familiar from when you’ve sung Foul Legacy to sleep, and the arms around you tighten ever so slightly as the sun finally dips beneath the horizon into the locked box of night. Two weeks, three days, eight hours, and thirty minutes. That’s how long Foul Legacy refused to let you out of his sight, even after your injuries had closed and healed.

[temeyes]

How’s my baby’s father? (Gaz)

gasp.... he got u pregegant?!

[patrothestupid]

Patro we need you as a backup at the salmon assembly line because one of our regular worker got sick. If we can't get these salmons assembled in time, there are not enough salmons to swim in the rivers.

[arkarti]

YOU PROMISED US WILLRY ART

shhh I know, I'm on it 😳

here, have this in the meantime: William being a cocky bitch <3

the answer is: no he can't be more professional when it comes to Henry. it will land him in situations like these, and he ain't complaining~

[arttsuka]

I HAD A VISION

can u draw Octavius finding Jed hiding in a room secretly practicing Latin on duolingo

*ba-bling ✅!”

“Hm?”

…

“Jed? What-“

*in very bad accent* “duo viri domi habitant 🤠”

“Jed.”

“AAH-“

*Ba-boom. ❌*

No pressure obviously lol

Taking your word about the duolingo sounds here

[popfizzles]

Another bruise for the collection, huh?

A toon with so many injuries and bruises would have built up a sizeable pain tolerance, after all.

[From This Prompt List]

[ragnarokhound]

thinking fondly of you<3 want to ditch the kids and go to a winery this weekend? (drink some red wine(supernova))

also thinking fondly about jaytim. specifically, about how oftentimes we think of them as a slow burn… but you know what might make them a fast burn (an explosion?)?

one of them gets kidnapped and everyone thinks they’re dead:( but then they’re alive

Always, love, I'm sure they'll be happy to spend some time with their favorite familial babysitters, I'll give them a call tonight🍷💥

And OUGH. Yes. SUCH a classic action hero hurt/comfort trope, I'm always here for mortal peril being the trigger that forces a couple to realize what they mean to each other and that they WANT to take that chance!!

I am reminded strongly of one of feyburner's comics that I love so much... in this comic they were hooking up beforehand and this is the scenario that like. Makes it emotionally REAL for Tim and i love that sooo much... but also OwO

thinking about The Scenario:

One of them is kidnapped. Due to inspo in part from feyburner's comic, I'm thinking Jason. But it's been so long/the method in which he was taken leads everyone to believe that Jason's dead. EVERYONE. Tim included. Thinking that he's dead hits Tim harder than expected. Why? It doesn't make sense. I didn't even like him that much, what the fuck.

But he goes after the bastards who did it twice as hard, ridden by this sharp grief he didn't know he would feel. He's on a warpath. He's chasing down leads, shaking down goons, snapping at everyone that it doesn't matter that Jason's already dead this is about justice this is about vengeance this is about preventing it from happening again-- and finally finds the Organization's big base. Their big HQ.

Methodically he goes about tearing it down, one-man guerrilla style. As he moves through the complex, KO'ing goons, sabotaging weapons and computers, hell he might even rig this place to blow--

He picks up chatter about moving the 'livestock' and 'dealing with the troublemaker' and figures there must be human prisoners here. Possibly trafficking victims. He's been raising all kinds of hell, and security is just now going on alert as they find the evidence of his entry--

--when over one of the radios on the goons he just took out, Tim hears a very familiar and very alive voice taunting the Organization that he's out. They should have killed Jason when they had the chance.

Tim immediately factors Jason and the victims into his plans, gets in contact with Jason over the radio (full mission mode, no time for feelings or explanations yet) to work together on bringing this place down.

So by the time things are cleared up-- bad guys busted, victims rescued, base blown to smithereens-- Tim has been wildly coming to grips with the fact that Jason is alive after all and the confusing rush of emotions that's inspired in him, but Jason still has no idea that everyone thought he was dead.

So when Tim finally sees Jason in person, missing half his gear and still wearing the clothes he was snatched in, dirty and bloody and asking what took him so long-- he's not exactly thinking clearly, okay? Kissing him was a purely adrenaline/relief fueled action.

"Woah," Jason breathes once Tim gives him the chance. "What was that for?" "Thought you were dead," Tim muffles against the skin of Jason's throat. His pulse beats hard against Tim's cheek, his lips, sternly refuting the allegations. "Oh," Jason says, bowled over and bewildered. He's still holding Tim with an arm around his waist, his other hand cupping the back of his head, big and steady. "Well. I'm not." Tim squeezes tighter, his fists trembling in the back of Jason's shirt. Jason is solid, and warm, and alive-- and Tim might be in love with him. "Yeah," he apologizes. "Sorry. Had to check." Tim's clearly stumped him. "Huh." Tim doesn't let go. But neither does Jason. Jason clears his throat. "You know, I don't have the best track record with being alive after all," he says in a rambling tone so casual it makes Tim's chest hitch. "You maybe wanna... check again?"

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

// inspired by the surge of tadc ask blogs i've seen as of late . they make me smile i like keeping track of them //

[catsharky]

Does Ember actually love Astarion or is he just a best friend? I was just curious! Haha

Oh, the answer is a big both! They're best friends, partners, soul mates, each other's Person. If they were shelter cats they'd be pair bonded and have to be adopted together. Whether they are or aren't romantically involved doesn't matter, they're each other's ride or die regardless.

But to be more specific, Astarion is Ember's 'canon' relationship, with Rolan being something of an AU that I just happened to end up doing a comic about first.

I'm not someone who likes to make multiple OCs to pair up with different characters, cause not only do I get too attached to one, I just overall find it a lot more fun to take a single character like Ember and play around with what would happen if she were to end up with someone different. See what changes or stays the same depending on the partner she ends up with.

But no matter what, she and Astarion end up a duo to at least some degree, even if it's just as partners in crime.

[iliothermia]

hey ! do you do commissions??

i would love to get a portrait from you if possible.

I am slow, I would have to charge a lot for it..

My statue busts I posted- at minimum wage (20$ here) would cost 350$ for the time it takes. If someone wanted to pay me at least min wage for the time, I would be glad to do a couple statue busts for people.

[inkly-heart]

please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱

[valyrfia]

your take on lando is so interesting and by far the most nuanced view of him I’ve seen. I think’s it clear that he needs help managing his emotions bc some of things he says and done are baffling and the latest thing of him liking criticism proves it. he doesn’t have that champion mentality (or just seem to be in a good headspace) and a lot of that can be traced backed to McLaren. He messes up his starts every time and that could be linked with a mental barrier but ig no at McLaren cares enough to look into that???Like that’s your driver and your wdc you’re washing down the drain.

but I can’t be too suprised, bc when ppl talk about lando mh McLaren covers their ears and say Lalala can’t hear you (unless yk it benefits them)

I think I retain an enormous amount of empathy for him because prior to this year he was one of my favourites. I think he started acting strange and immature and there was this initial huge backlash but this weekend has kind of made me see things more clearly, between his actions, his words to media, how McLaren handle him, and his driving. And he really is a victim of his environment.

He IS an incredibly good driver. Before you all boo me: sure he's nowhere near Max who's currently in another league, nor is he really near Charles who would be in this championship instead of Lando if not for Ferrari shitting the bed midseason. Lando is however, on par with George, and currently probably better than Carlos and Oscar. I would happily call him the third best driver on the grid at the moment. He however, does have a problem with starts, that's just a fact. As you said anon, it's more than just experience at this point there is obviously some sort of mental block there–he's clearly going into these starts expecting to lose places. But again, like you said, McLaren obviously don't care enough to look into that. Other things this weekend just made me notice: him snapping at a journalist is not and has never been normal behaviour for him, for example, begging McLaren for that switch in the sprint and immediately catastrophising that they won't do it (pressing the radio button immediately to panic and say "I thought we talked about this") is another example of just, slightly abnormal behaviour. That coupled with his internet lurking (he liked an edit of Max a week back, and is now obviously reading his comments) paints a picture I'm not sure I like. I'm never going to assume anything, but considering he's talked about struggling with mental health in the past, I can't help but be a little uneasy on his behalf.

All of the above becomes especially true if we consider McLaren and the case of Daniel Ricciardo. As much as they love to position themselves as the champions in the sport of mental health, the whole Daniel thing remains a worrying incident they've tried their best to sweep under the rug–he never recovered his mentality in that team and instead of working with him the team were perfectly happy to throw him to one side with little regard to prioritise Lando instead. I can't help but feel with a certain sinking that this is what they plan to do with Lando and Oscar, if Lando doesn't win the championship next year. The problem is, Lando is a lot younger than Daniel was, with a lot more career ahead of him and theoretically, a much higher ceiling to reach–yet McLaren seem perfectly happy to not put any development into Lando to help him reach that ceiling. Just like some drivers need developing in the wet, or the dry, or high downforce, or reaction times, some drivers need developing in their mentality. And it is McLaren's job to recognise this if the driver doesn't recognise it in themselves, and tell them what they need to go work on. This should have been something that was flagged as a development area for Lando way before this season, even as far back as 2021 it was apparent and yet McLaren have done nothing to help him and seem happier to just, leave him out to dry.

McLaren is the true evil here and for all their attempts to appeal to a younger demographic and impassioned defences of their morality and mental health being important–I think they've proven that they would rather take the easy road than the right one, even if the right one could yield more results. Oscar struggles with other things that Lando doesn't struggle with ie. tyre management, quali but I think they will repeat their pattern of rather than developing a driver they want to discard an extremely good one in the fruitless search of a generational talent. I hope I'm wrong, but I don't think its impossible that instead of taking responsibility for losing the WDC this year (because make no mistake, this is mostly their fault–from a strategy point of view to how they've managed their drivers to refusing to give Lando the support he needs until its too late) they will just try and shift the blame and indirectly pin the failure of this year on Lando in order to try and match public sentiment. Ultimately, Lando has been failed by his team and his environment more than anything and even though I'm happy this championship has (deservedly) gone to Max, I can't help but feel that Lando was not given a fighting chance by his team.

[temeyes]

Greek God price and worshiper task force 141 please

did i mention he's also the God of Mutton Chops??

[passionpeachy]

Why are these crackers trying to bother you girl, smh. Keep up the good work and say hi to your nonbinary prince for me🌹

aww I will, thank you 💗