#atoms askbox

[official-atoms]

I wonder if this has been asked before, but what ships are there in Atoms? I’m interested 👀

Feel free to make ships in ATOMS😉

(But not allowed OcxCanon ship)

ATOMS Canon ships are only two that I’m preparing for stories of them

——-

Plus

So many ppl asked about sharing fan arts. Of course! Feel free to share!😉

I’ll post new guidelines of ATOMS soon 😉 Thank you so much for liking my project

[zephyrrhiesfyrian]

*throws a piece of candy at your head* Tinyformers Atomizer. *where is he I must know* --- Thunderwave

WIFE WIFE WIFE WIFE

Tinyformers Atomizer is one of the most judgmental little tinies you'll come across. Major diva cat energy. He is super picky about how his habitat looks, and once he's finished harassing you about making it perfect, he'll move onto judging the decor for the rest of your home.

If you take him outside, Atomizer prefers if you either wear the same colors as him or your outfit compliments him. If you let him, he will help you pick out an outfit. God forbid you introduce him to jewelry or makeup or something, because he will insist on it.

It doesn't matter what gender or gender presentation you are. Atomizer does not care. He only wishes for his human to slay and serve cunt.

He will also build himself crossbows and other high velocity bladed weapons. If you live somewhere (like I do) where paper wasps tend to build nests on porches and whatnot, just set Atomizer loose out there with his crossbow and the next time you peer out, he will be surrounded by the corpses of his insect enemies.

[xx-midnight-candy-goblin-xx]

MOTHER GOOSE

This is what I imagine she looks like

[rafent]

 “Rafal!”

There is relief as the margrave makes his way over to him in the candlelit bunker. His tongue clicks gentle and concern runs strong through nerves stood on end

 “Goddess I was hoping to never see your face again.”

Yet through all that worry he found jest.

 “Retreating away instead of fighting to reach us…no one would have faulted you all for such action but,” There is a laugh, gentle and light hearted as best it could be. “You’d never run from something like that. I can only imagine how many you took out.”

 Then a sigh, slightly graver as he looked over the faces in their little fortress.

 “As for us…it all happened so fast and it only got worse as I heard it. That shattering, what exactly got hit? What even was that sort of magic?”

 The questions began and they wouldn’t cease. In his mind one persisted like no other and the tremor he’d been able to keep still had begun to show in scraped hands.

 “I plan to go out and help secure our supply lines. Those things…they terrify me.” He hadn't meant to say it but there was little reason to hide it from someone like Rafal. “I’ve relied so heavily on the lance, not that I’ve returned it to Sylvain. I'm not sure I can be so fearless.”

Times like this truly made it all to easy to speak so freely. Setting expectations meant much in the way of assessing strength.

 “We’ve a truly daunting mountain the climb.”

"Matthias."

This name thrummed warmly in barrel-deep tone, a single drop of a word that provisioned an ocean in meaning. Far less wounded compared to the many unfortunates sharing his space yet no less worried, Rafal straightened to better receive his friendly acquaintance and assess his condition. He nodded at the other on a note of conclusion, then colorful pride. An eternal landmark propped tall amidst all change, one might argue that some things regarding the pompous dragon would remain comfortingly the same. No matter peace or war.

"Humph! As presumptuous as ever. If you've the nerve to crack jokes, then I see you are just fine. Retreat as you say does not suit a powerful son of dragons." But bluster soon diminished on that very son of dragons, a dark expression unfurled in its place like an ominous black flag of skulls and crossbones. That accursed light still vividly recalled. "As for that light, I do not know. Only that it was bright enough to be seen from the Mountain Pass. Enough to pierce the clouds."

Harrowing had that sight been, a gravity of indiscriminate destruction that impressed upon even Rafal. But its memory wiped away at the surprising admission to follow of a fearless combatant thought to occupy the same caste as himself. Terror; much of that could be detected in the air here, on any minute glance, much less any flick of a Fell Dragon's forked tongue; did Rafal feel it as Matthias did? No, he knew, not anymore, because the Fell Heir no longer feared his own passing of life. He feared—

"You speak of Sylvain, a student," he continued instead, cool gaze both ageless and stolid upon the foundation of lived millennia. Sylvain though scarcely known to him was more meaningful as an analogue; just as Matthias possessed someone, so too did Rafal. And suddenly, the auburn hair of Matthias and Sylvain could be used to draw their comparison. "A child? A brother? No matter the case, in that boy's name have faith. No mountain is beyond conquest for those we need find and protect."

A mountain little different from that which the other once scaled to defeat him - perhaps lesser - he, however, did not jest of that. No longer in mood for jokes, no longer a time to quiver in levity or indecision. "I will not tell you to swallow your fear, nor to gather your weapons. But I shall advise you to do one thing. Live. With luck, we shall meet anew. I myself am going out there, to search for. . ."

Rafal gazed into the distance, not at dreary bunker walls, but at what lay beyond.

"Someone."

[maidfrin]

skdkdkd ok i get thr same. like. feeling? from you as i do one of my characters. which is just messing me up so bad cause with him its like ohh... i want him to be happy :) and then i put him through emotjonal blenders in my mind and think about writing him in a spaceship that wants to kill him. and its. its weird having this feeling from a real person ? cause every other time its been fictional characters and so im just sometimes like "oh i want to put maple in the scary dangerous labyrinth" and then j just go hu&? cause thays a weird thing to thin! idk its really late i havent slept in 24 hours and i just fjdjss i like you a lots though ok? i prommy. if i say thinfs that sound a bit sadistic its just cuteness aggresion i think youre like a really cute stuffed animal and im squeezing you really hard cause youre so cute and adorable

i like you a lot too^_^ it's ok i would love to be squeezed really hard and put in a dangerous torture labyrinth for being so cutes honestly. it'd be good for me<3

[polyesterpeacock]

you feelin’ proud? -Tony !

"Proud I can tank a hit from a Foxy Boxer? Extremely. Got another one for me, sweetcheeks?"

[arcstral]

Once more does she step foot on Gronder Field, encompassed by Adrestian territory. This is the second time she finds herself as a member of these crowds, axe in hand amongst a sea of distant prying eyes. Perhaps it is a test of one's strength, stakes held to a minimum compared to a real battlefield. And yet, Edelgard feels a compulsion to continue giving it her all. To do any lesser would be a disservice to her ambitions.

There are many opponents she may face, but she gravitates towards Marth in particular. She's heard of his strength— His demeanor and status as a Hero-King. To be bestowed such a thing is a grand effort, and thus, she desires to know more. Edelgard allows the bottom of her axe to grace the ground, but only slight, as she speaks, "I've caught wind of your immense prowess. I'd be eager to learn how that came to be." Tightening her grip on the axe, she makes her way forward and strikes.

Edelgard attacks Marth w/Killer Axe (Helmsplitter): 1d20+2= 13 -> 15. Crit w/Death Blow. -7. Edelgard's HP: 5/5.

                Long silvery hair, a carriage suggesting immovable self-worth, daubs of purple, and a short young woman on which these things are all proudly worn- it feels to him like gazing into a mirror or stepping right through it. Just one look at her throws Marth into remembrance of the previous year. But, unlike Sara with her cruel joy and her childlike whimsy, the one known as Edelgard comes to him with the severe and unsmiling expression of a leader; a princess who must offer up a fine showing in the name of her house, people, and empire, for victory in not just one woman's stead alone.

                It is easy to see why she stands unflinchingly before him with an axe, why he returns that stance with a bow readied in understanding, a partial reflection of that duty. The crown Edelgard readies herself to wear is one whose weight Marth knows well. But that aside, they call this the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and by his long-standing lion allegiance, there is some fateful role he honors in that. In proving the white-eagle's first opponent... or first prey.

               The shadow of her axe falls over him, much too quickly to squeeze out a word. His pale knuckles tighten around a bow, raising a slender arch of wood in defense, not really for any actual expectation that it will hold but for plain instinct alone, as the Hero-King is a swordsman first and foremost. And so, even predictably so, the bow gives like a twig, like any sane material that would do the same, snapping rather than bending and daring to contest the weight of so vicious a blow.

               He staggers back as Gronder Field spins on a wheel of colors- black uniforms, green grass, blue-red-yellow banners. Arriving to his senses pulls the waiting princess into view, no longer inclined to continue past a single strike. The shattered debris of her assault sat around him in the dozen pieces of a broken bow and then some, the remainder tossed aside from his hand; with no possibility of subversion, the lack of a weapon spells only certain defeat, then a bashful smile on the Hero-King's part.

               "Your own prowess goes understated by far, Edelgard. I can see you are one who holds nothing back." Such a petite form and long sleeves concealed within them an illusive measure of strength. Were it a true battle with capacity for loss- human casualty- it would be an observation alerted to every ally within his range. He straightens with an admiration yet to dissolve. "Forgive me, that I could not honor your expectations. It seems I still have much to learn. You brought your strengths, clear and polished, to this battle, and here I stood before you with a bow!"

               A shake of the head, and the friendliness remains, but some part of his levity clears; like the soft lichen scraped off a rock face, the pride maintained by one who calls himself king, and of course, a lion, meets her sights beneath the shroud of defeat with unbreakable resilience. "It would be my honor to face you with a sword next time. Until then- this battle is continued by my allies. They will not lose to you."

[dadsquared]

Classifications

Tag dump or some such...

[punkitt-is-here]

I don't really think putting fallout 4 in the same boat as 3 and 76 is really fair of that anon, fallout 4 doesn't have AS MUCH to say about nukes as 1 2 and NV but it does have something to say, the institutes placing of a nuclear reactor in the middle of their home is what directly leads to their destruction in all 3 endings where you don't side with them, it's hubris, that they think they can toy with this power with 0 precautions the same way they've constantly toyed with the lives of the people who will eventually use it against them, and not trying to save people from the blast turns a companion and an entire faction permanently against you

Far Harbor has something to say as well, destroying any of its 3 factions is horrible, as is what you need to do to prevent any of them being destroyed, but even though the children of atom are all about the bomb being a good thing the game does not shy away from the fact you destroying them and their home with one is a horrific act, the same way slaughtering everyone in Acadia is, the same way turning off the generators protecting far harbor is, its awful.

Fallout 4 isn't trying nearly as hard as the other 3 titles, but it's trying hard enough that I'm willing to go to bat for it to an extent

I haven't gone all the way through Fallout 4 myself, just played the first couple hours and didn't enjoy it so much I turned it off, but I've watched many people play it through and read a lot about it. I'll give you this fair defense in the askbox, that's the least i can do!

[jamiesfootball]

Please tell me more about gender flipped Jamie because that seems like So Many Thoughts that I would love to hear

I have so many thoughts and yet they are so ephemeral and unspecific and this has been languishing in my askbox and this isn't technically what you asked for but here's what I wrote instead:

Chelsea sent Roy into retirement the way you sent an aging dog to be euthanized. Slowly and gradually, an inescapable march towards a day you knew was coming. Roy's agent gently broke the news to him that they wouldn't be renewing his contract, but there was no gently breaking Roy.

The retirement itself was an underwhelming affair; he stayed numb throughout the presser, answered questions, and left the spotlight. No bang--not even a whimper.

That was months ago. Now Roy Kent, former Chelsea star, was daydrinking at a bar in Richmond at half-three in the afternoon, wondering if he could convince the matron of the house to change the fucking channel.

"Rough season our girls have had," the proprietor, Mae, explained in a tone befitting a bartender cleaning a pint. In reality, she'd joined Roy at the bar with her own glass of chardonnay. "Lot of shake ups. New owner, new gaffer. Still, it could be worse. This new coach of theirs might be from the States, but we're sitting higher up on the table than we have in years. Does your lot keep up with the Super League, then?"

It was one in a series of loaded questions. Roy couldn't imagine you could be a bartender in London without knowing who Roy Kent was. Sheer wasted optimism, he'd had, moving out of Chelsea and assuming anything short of leaving the country would get him away from the haunting specter of his own fucking jersey.

"Yeah," Roy answered reluctantly. "Yeah, some of us keep up. All the teams in the Premier have sister teams, don't we?" Except for Richmond. The one outlier--the only team in the league without a big brother to speak of.

"Mm. Then you heard about the scandal?"

Roy grunted. Of course he heard. Everyone knew about Rupert Mannion ages ago; it was about bloody time someone did something. Awful for his ex-wife that it'd fallen to her to do it.

Mae topped off his chardonnay before pouring the remainder of the bottle into her own glass. "This new gaffer though, he's one of the good ones. He hangs around here sometimes, and you can tell just by listening to him--he respects those girls."

Since retiring, Roy had gotten used to living in a fog. He spent time with his niece, met with the yoga mums, let old ladies in bars talk his ears off to their heart's content, but anything he did between those events was a drudgery--a slow painful effort to drag one foot in front of the other, metaphorically and physically.

So he couldn't have said what it was about Mae's offhand praise for the Richmond Whippet's new gaffer that rankled him into talking back.

"Is he any good though?"

"What was that?"

"Their new coach," Roy gestured with his wine glass at the television in the corner. "The American. Is he any good?"

Mae shrugged one shoulder. "He's gotten better."

"So not really then."

The look Mae gave him could've scoured paint from a wall. "Well, talent isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Kent?"

She left under the guise of check on the three men in the corner. Regulars, by the looks of it; and the three of them the only ones aside from Mae wearing supporting colors for the local team.

He hadn't watched a match in ages. Oh, he'd caught highlights--it was impossible not too--but the few times he'd tried, unfairness ballooned in his chest like an atom bomb, and he gave up.

He hadn't bothered to watch anything from the women's league either. What difference would it make to try watching a different league. Sure, he didn't know any of them the way he knew the men in the Premier League, but football was football and envy was envy.

From what little he'd seen so far, he didn't envy Richmond at all. Everton had them on the ropes.

Roy winced as Number 14 knocked one off the crossbar. It'd been a good attempt. A solid cross from Number 9 had put it in the path, but with no one else nearby she'd gone for a risky shot.

From what little he'd paid attention to, only 9 and 14 were making any actual progress on the pitch, with 9 working double time to cut up the field. Every time the ball dropped back down the center, Richmond lost possession. Every. Time.

It was Number 6 that was the problem. McNally, that was it. Red-head, center-mid, captain. Roy knew her by reputation. A tough, seasoned player, who'd gotten her fair collection of caps for England. She had the experience; it didn't make any fucking sense why she'd be the weak link.

Roy looked away. He took a gulp of his chardonnay and relished in the unpleasant way it stung his nose. It'd be masochism to keep watching.

He kept watching.

Within five minutes, he'd cracked it.

Number 6 refused to pass to Number 9.

The gameplay split off like a branching tree. Either 6 got possession, crossed to another player, and they lost it to Everton's deep defensive line; or 9 got it herself and took it up the field, at which point the entire Richmond side narrowed down to the actions of 9 and 14.

What the fuck was going on?

In the aerial cameras showed two Everton players marking Number 9. Number 6 crossed to Number 24, and 24 took it to the net only for a defender to block her out easily.

A close up lingered on Number 24. She couldn't have looked more upset with herself. Young thing. Good talent, bad nerves. Fixable with the right support.

Number 6 got into Number 9's face and shouted. So where's her fucking support?

The camera panned in on 6 and 9 as what looked like a shouting match took place between the teammates. There was McNally, red-haired and red-faced and openly swearing even if the mics couldn't pick it up, and then there was Number 9. A cut of a girl, strong featured and iron-jawed, with her forehead set down like she intended to ram McNally like a bull if the captain came any closer.

What a fucking mess.

The camera panned to the gaffer, who stood with his hands in his pockets and a frown under his mustache. He called neither player off.

The match went back into play and almost immediately Number 9 took a foul. A blatant hit, tackled before she could grab possession again. Everton had singled her out just as clearly as Roy had.

Number 6 stood off to the side while 14 and 24 argued with the ref. The captain watched in open annoyance as Number 9 levered herself off the ground with a wince, her left side stained with grass and a limp.

Some fucking captain.

Number 9 took position for a free kick, and her name finally flashed across the screen in a font large enough for Roy to read. Jamie Tartt. Tartt lined up for the kick, for all the good it would do when she was a good forty meters back--

Tartt walloped the ball cleanly into the net.

A frisson of electricity ran down Roy's spine.

The lads at the end of the bar broke into cheers.

Half of the Richmond Whippets descended on Tartt. The other half shuffled around in discontent.

Number 24--Obisanya--nodded at Tartt, who nodded back. They didn't hug.

Extricating herself from (half) of her teammates, Tartt threw an arm around the only person she'd passed to all night--14, Rojas. Heads pressed together, headband to matching headband, they looked furtive and serious in their two-person huddle.

The camera panned back to the gaffer. He clapped but he didn't celebrate.

The whole thing was bizarre.

No, Mae was right; talent wasn't everything. Because Richmond had talent--what a spectacular fucking goal--and they were a fucking mess, like nothing Roy had ever witnessed before in his career.

If Mae was willing to put up with him, he might have to come back for the next match. Who knew, maybe he'd try swinging by on an off-match day to catch their gaffer and give him a piece of his mind.

Finally, something to look forward to. His sister would be so proud.

[beauleifu]

Hiiii, not sure if requested are open. If not, I do apologize. But I just read your fix about Syntax just flirting with the read but I have a request. Let's turn things around and have reader flirt with Syntax that it makes him flustered and a blushing mess hihihihihi. Thank you in advance!

-🫐

AAAA okay i'm sorry for answering this one before all the other ones that have been festering in my askbox for months BUT I HAD AN IDEA and when i have one i need to write it down

it's gonna be short! But short 'n sweet is sometimes the best way to go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SYNTAX X FLIRTY!READER

Lego Monkie Kid

Context: Time to pull out the trusty uno reverse card and give Syntax a taste of his own medicine. Little did you know how well your tactics would work and suddenly, you feel like flirting with him more often.

TW: Slightly suggestive, lotsa flirting

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Holy shit, you're bored.

It's a fate resigned to those who don't feel productive enough to do something, yet desire nothing but an activity to pleasure their soul.

And at that precise moment, the universe favors you.

"Evening, (Y/N)," someone murmurs, strolling into the living room. They eye your figure draped lazily over the couch, eyebrow raising. "You know that will only damage your spine in the long run."

Lifting your head, you watch Syntax walk past you and into the kitchen. "I've got nothing to do."

"Oh, I'm so scared," Syntax drawls, disinterested.

The tone in his voice has strange thoughts entering your mind, which is already blank so it can do nothing except embrace them. With a furrowed brow and a slight frown, you shift around so your knees support your frame, elbows crooked on the head of the couch. Resting your chin atom your arms, you observe your roommate very carefully.

"Yeah, I guess you should be, huh."

Green eyes flick to your face, gauging the situation far too fast for comfort. But you're in a different mood, now.

"Excuse me?"

You tilt your head to one side, voice honeyed and innocent. "I never thought about it, but imagining you scared sounds pretty good right about now."

"Strange for someone usually so docile," Syntax fires back, grabbing a cup for water. "What brought this on?"

You slide off the couch, noticing how the spider demon's eyes follow your every movement like a hawk, his attention utterly captured by your presence. With a cocky smile, you saunter over to him, arms folded behind your back.

"I wonder . . . would you shake?" You hum, eyes sparkling with something new. Something flirtatious. "Would you beg for mercy?"

The object of your attention is suddenly very quiet.

Wide eyes stare into your soul, unsure of what to do. Poor thing, you'll have to guide him through the motions. Now that you're close enough, it's easy.

"Maybe you'd rather not beg for your life. Maybe you'd rather beg for attention," you murmur.

Syntax visibly swallows. "(Y/N)-"

Oh, how quickly the mood has changed. A new plan develops in your mind, and you slowly tap his clavicle a few times. "Don't be scared. It doesn't suit you, I think. You look pretty when you blush, though."

There it is.

A fiery red hue spreads across Syntax's cheeks, and all of the sudden he's rendered mute. He's afraid of what he might say.

So instead, he presses his mouth into a thin line.

Waiting.

You lean very close to his ear. "Couch. Please."

He inhales sharply, softly. Of course he would melt if you asked nicely, in the way that you did. There's always a way around his cocky stubbornness. It's just a nice reminder of how well you know him.

In no time at all, Syntax is sat on the couch.

Looking very, very nervous.

"Your morning tea wasn't spiked, was it?" He quickly asks, head tilted up to better see you standing above him.

"No, don't worry." With this reassurance, you settle yourself in his lap, straddling his hips and placing your hands on his chest in a gentle reminder that you're here and sober, and that he can back out anytime he wants to.

But . . . just to make sure.

"I'm going to kiss you, okay?" You murmur, half-lidded eyes trailing over his features, a crimson shade of excitement and embarrassment. "You all right with that?"

Oh, jeez.

It seems like asking for consent is just making him blush harder.

Looking four feet above your head, Syntax nods stiffly, expression unreadable.

You frown. "Gimme a safe word."

A small pause, as Syntax focuses on your question so as to relax his muscles a bit. You can feel them underneath you, and when he seems completely sure that you know what you're doing, that you'll listen to him and tune into his reactions, he exhales slowly.

"Traffic light?" You offer, smiling a bit. "Red means stop."

The spider demon finally, finally locks eyes with you. They're softer now, those green shades of intellect and adoration.

You know this is new for him.

This is scary and it's strange and yet at the same time, you both know he craves it. He needs it.

So when the Syntax gives a small, sincere nod of approval, you can't help but cup his face and grin like an absolute idiot. "There we go. Knew you couldn't deny me for long, you big softie."

"Don't-" He grunts, albeit smiling, face burning.

You quiet him with a soft peck to his forehead, still smiling. Absently tracing his cheek with the pad of your thumb, you trail down his features, kissing the bridge of his nose to the tip, down to his slightly scruffy chin. Then, you gently press your lips to his closed eyes, murmuring half to yourself.

"I always wondered why you were so scared to be touched."

Raising your fingers to sift through his lime-green locks, you tilt your head and frown sadly. "I wish I'd met you sooner . . . so you could feel this way more often."

"Don't be," Syntax says quietly, eyes still closed.

Smiling, you capture his lips in yours for a moment, leaning back only to touch your forehead to his. "Too fucking bad, sweetheart."

"Oh my stars, don't call me that."

"I think it's cute. My sweetheart, my darling dear, love of my life, babygirl-"

Syntax's eyes snap open, fierce and unforgiving. "Anything but that."

"What. Babygirl?" You question, finding your answer in the scathing look he gives you. With a soft laugh, you trail your hands down to his chest, curiously feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing pattern. His heartbeat spikes when you do so, but eventually calms to a slow and steady thrum.

Sighing, you look up to meet his gaze. "I'm surprised you haven't said 'red' yet."

"I . . ." He seems to be struggling for the right words.

You smirk. "You like it?"

"You're impossible," Syntax huffs, exhaling sharply through his nose. But when his eyes open again, they're full of fondness.

Slowly, you lower yourself so your head rests against his chest, ear pressed to his clavicle. You feel arms drape over your back, pulling you closer, craving the proximity, craving the domesticity and affection. You can't help a sad, warm little smile as you trace patterns in the fabric of Syntax's shirt. You feel him doing the same to your back, tracing the curvature of your spine curiously.

"For someone who hasn't experienced a hug in years, you're really good at it," you hum, congratulating yourself on getting this far. It's progress.

Funny how flirting with him got you here.

"You're good practice," Syntax murmurs, perhaps thoughtfully.

Allowing your eyes to close, you sigh. "Thanks. We can do this whenever you want. I'm open to trying new positions-"

"Do not-" Syntax says sharply, squeezing you in warning.

You return the gesture with your thighs.

"Not yet."

[yunfox00]

It takes every atom in my body to stop myself from writing "NoP" in Fishy's askbox. . .

Every

Single

One

HELP ME

SHNSBSBB LMAO WHAT

[zephyrrhiesfyrian]

For the little tinyformers, have you done Getaway? Because I so badly just wanna scoop him up and pamper him with kisses <3

I HAVEN'T, THIS IS CRIMINAL

Getaway is an absolute brat when you first get him. He's loud and upset at everything you do and he's constantly trying to escape from places you put him and get into places you don't want him to. He will refuse food just to piss you off.

Do not be fooled; he's very insecure and this is just his defense mechanism.

Luckily you, anon, have the right idea! For the cure to his amgy rage is love and affection!! >:D

Once Getaway's gotten over his tantrums (and lowkey fought you and/or other tinies for dominance) he'll become much cuddlier and start seeking you out for uppies. If you don't pick him up in a timely fashion he will start climbing your leg.

Getaway functions best when he's got at least a small group of other tinies to play with. He likes to feel in charge uwu

[kosmicpowers]

Hi ^ ^ hope you doing well!

List 5 things that make you happy, then [possibly] put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged or liked something from you. Get to know your mutuals and followers :]

Hi! Sorry for late reply because it was hard to narrow it down! But sure... I'll think of something...

1. Saint Seiya- I wish it wasn't so obscure in America cause it's my favorite show! Great anime, I love the music, and the fight scenes, and the art is absolutely beautiful...

2. Sonic the Hedgehog- love the comics, and the games and the shows and everything else. Favorite characters are Tails (he is a a little guy) and Espio (badass ninja detective who can't pay rent)

3. Monster catching series. Yokai Watch, Pokemon, Digimon... My lifelong fantasy is to have a silly magic talking monster as my best friend that can beat up my enemies XD. Plus I like the unique tone and takes on lore each of the series have.

4. The works of Osamu Tezuka. They look all cute and innocent, but even the more kid targeted stuff gets pretty complex and dark. (And don't get started on his edgy period for the 70s) Atom (Astro Boy) is absolutely adorable ((And Black Jack is MY HUSBAND.)) Some of Tezuka's stuff didn't age well, but most of it's still solid!

5. The amazing friends I made on this site (if you're okay with being called a friend)! I know it sounds corny, but I dunno where I'd be without you guys. You all are so cool and talented... Can't believe I get the honor to talk to you!

@crazymiraclecat @elin-thebat @nayadefenix @janieceidk I'm kinda nervous to tag many people but you can all take your time with replies, or just not reply st all if you want. No pressure...

[thealogie]

I'm sorry for treating your askbox like a sineater but I think Aziraphale fumbles so hard he puts Crowley in an elaborate trap where yes it's embarrassing for him that after 6000 years of this behaviour he still yearns with every atom of his being for Aziraphale to fuck him, but also somehow it's even more embarrassing that he wants it under these conditions and Aziraphale still doesn't fuck him. Aziraphale fumbles so hard he starts winning again because he can do all this and Crowley still wants to fuck him so bad it makes him look stupid(er). He's not even going to give anyone else a chance to try.

I honestly wouldn’t even call the gymnastics aziraphale is doing up until the last ten minutes of season 2 fumbling. He’s winning in every conceivable way. Crowley is putting on outfits and show up to inconvenient locations like….. he’s truly playing psychosexual mind games with crowley without even trying. And then in the last ten minutes? It’s like watching a guy line up the perfect shot and then the ball is suddenly on planet mars

[zylphiacrowley]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

Oh okay! Yes! Uhhh besides my loved ones, and in no particular order and probably not even my favorite things tbh but just some things that make me happy:

My OCs, my blorbos, my little guys, All of them because I have a lot and I would sooner chew off my own arm than be made to choose between them.

Spring. I, much like a plant, come back to life in the spring. Some mornings you can walk outside and the air feels perfectly crisp but not cold, and you can hear birds, and every atom in my body wants to just bask in it.

Lilacs. They remind me of my grandma who I was close to. She had them lining her driveway when I was a kid and we used to go out and pick a bunch and bring them inside after they blossomed.

Being able to flex my creative muscles. Sometimes this also frustrates me lol, but I feel like if I don't create something for a while I get really depressed.

Music. This sounds so generic lol, but I listen to music soooo much. I also love to sing, although I am extremely self-conscious about it so I don't sing in front of other people. People might catch me singing, but I don't sing to people. If I sing for you intentionally you are extremely special to me. Like I haven't sang for anyone yet.