#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

[buttercupshands]

So! An au!

Siffrin is indeed fine as a Bigfrin, well aside the world isn't fine, sure he said the wish and got accepted... But oops it didn't work we're now stuck

And while the world around them is now a broken version of it they can only try to work with it, maybe Siffrin will shrink on their own

And for now Siffrin can help however they can, maybe hold the leftover books that library had or read the forgotten country books

Considering he now is a lot stronger no sadness or harm would hurt their friends

Sadly I didn't get to draw any of silly things Bonnie and others would do to keep Siffrin and everyone's spirit up, like I can see a hat being a cool thing to play with in its gigantic version

And Universe knows what is Loop up to in this interesting predicament

[demaparbat-hp]

Them sleeping together (not sexually)! Thank you so much for feeding me with those gorgeous arts. Love you so so so much❤️

It's a long way to Ba Sing Se.

[devotion-disorder]

Every once in a while I send in mindless thirst ask like "let me kiss Yuri please" but FUCK IT!!!

*pushes Yuri aside, he doesn't move, I awkwardly walk around him*

IM MAKING OUT WITH DEVO INSTEAD COME HERE- *attempted smooch*

is this what u wanted anon

[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

[iliothermia]

I mad little prints of my quails + chukar on cotton for the convention.. They're on cotton and very soft and they make me happy :)

[911-incorrect-quotes-dispatch]

Buck, out of nowhere: Do you ever just want to be euthanized like a sick dog?

Eddie: Not anymore.

Chim: No?

Hen: No- what the fuck, are you okay, Buck?

Buck: Great! Me neither!

[nekrosmos]

the phrase rocky training montage makes me think nikprice boxer au. price is niks promoter. price is always scared whenever nik takes big fights. cue training montage where nik is just exhausted afterwards and cuddles up with his favourite british man to rest.

Absolutely loved the idea, anon. Nikolai would be an absolute beast, undefeated champion. Him giving Price the biggest, sweaty hug after a victory, kissing him in front of everyone. Hell. Yes.

[shepscapades]

to the anon that sent me an ask a couple of hours ago about mumbo: what a wonderful question ily. taps my forehead and points at you. very cool. very good Eye

[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?!

[cookies-after-dark]

hey hey hey hey wait yhm. if you wind up finishing that dollification fic and not posting on tumblr. can we maybe send our urser or something to be sent it….. cause uhm. i al way too shy to ask in public with my full ass out but ohhhhhh boy

Oh believe you me, I WILL post that Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader dollification fic on tumblr; I don't care if it's gonna get only 5 likes and no reblogs. That sexy dehumanizing shit is for ME, DAMMIT!!1!!11! /silly

[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

[oof-owch-so-many-spoilers]

I love that, in essence, Mohs rocks up to the Vessel, Warp Core in hand. Stares at the input mechanism for a solid few minutes, finally remembers the code, inputs it, and then goes, "Nice. Anyway - " and just turns around and leaves LMAO.

@dekkiidan Uh... don't worry about Mohs being at the Vessel with no EVA suit, lmao. Just... don't think about it. I'm handwaving the whole oxygen thing. 🥴