#feel free to specify but if not ill pick!

[calledher]

starter call for one of the star seeker muses (danica, calyx, & ronin)!

[kxllerblond]

Anyone want memes?

[corvidamned]

|| My European mutuals who are just waking up as I'm just going to bed :') Like this post for a starter.

[luvrodite]

lover, be good to me. jason todd [3.4k]

synopsis. in the third summer of your love, you get sick.

cw. gn!reader, sickfic, mental health issues, descriptions of weight fluctuation, angst, hurt/comfort. medication. this one is a bit heavy so please exercise discretion. written from the perspective of chronic illness but nothing is specified beyond discussion of mental health symptoms.

There’s a ghost that lives in your home.

This thing lives between you and Jason, a haunting in every room, a presence you can’t not feel. You feel its baleful eyes on you in dreams and upon waking, strongest in the winter, when the East Coast chill sinks its teeth into your arms hard enough to reach bone. 

It goes like this: sometime in the third summer of your love, you get sick. There isn’t anything to point to what it is exactly, only that one June morning you don’t get out of bed. It’s nothing until it is, the next several weeks spent making a home in the four walls of your shared bedroom. 

A flip switches seemingly overnight, and you’re further from your lover than you’ve ever been. 

Jason - and the part of you that knows better, dormant now, buried beneath the rubble - watches in mute horror as you bring yourself to ruin. The desire to be good, the control you’ve held over yourself, slips free of your grasp in seconds. Invisible threads are picked at until you’re frayed at the ends and your beloved home, this reprieve the two of you had as good as built from the ground up, falls victim to it. 

You pick fights. You slam doors and hide in the bathroom for hours on end. You want to scream yourself hoarse, your fingers itching for violence, longing to shatter something if only to give life to this sickness that lives in you, as if by breaking, you’ll cast it out. The exorcism does not come, but a cloying feeling sits beneath your skin, strangling, blood sitting stagnant in your veins and rotting. 

There are moments of clarity, when you lift your head from the haze and the gravity of all you’ve done barrels into you like a freight train. Those do not last long, invisible hands pulling you back under before you can correct your course. It's as though you take the backseat, replaced by something entirely that takes the controls, watching in mute horror as you destroy everything around you.

Jason gives it back just as good but even then, even in the anger, there’s something else in his eyes. You catalogue it, feeling as though your very soul has split – it’s the you from before that weeps at this, reaching out for your lover in prostration, begging for forgiveness. The being that lives in you now, volatile, ever shifting like a burning flame, burns too bright to feel shame. He is there, and he loves you – enough to bear the brunt of your pain, apparently. Shards of shrapnel, your anger is explosive and shatters everything in its wake. It cares not for sentiment, for history and love. You hurt, and it is blinding. 

The doctor’s appointment is booked far later than it ought to be, after weeks of tumultuousness that have left a dour cover over your home, seeping through the cracks in the walls and into the surrounding apartments. Your neighbours must loathe you. You’re too detached, too selfish to care.

The night before is the most clear headed you’ve felt all month, haze lifting as if to show you – look what you’ve done, look at all you’ve wrought. The devastation floors you, the grief you’ve caused to the one you love most curdles your blood and you weep in Jason’s arms. Knelt before him, you press your wet face into his lap. 

I’ll be good. I promise, I’ll try to be better, I’m sorry. 

You can barely breathe through your tears, broken hearted, sure you must be dying. Has anyone ever felt such grief, you wonder, and the thought is immediately followed by a tidal wave of self loathing. Selfish, so focused on your own misgivings. This is no way to live.

He tells you he loves you and it feels like a kindness you don’t deserve. Too good a man for you, an exhaustion from the last month lines his features. The thought terrifies you, that you’ve veered too close to the precipice of forever splintering him, that under your hand he knows other, less gentle things. Yours has not been a peaceful love as of late, and you wonder if this will be the straw that breaks his back.

In the waiting room, his hand finds yours. A good man, one you do not deserve. He doesn’t let go. Not when your name is called, not when you tell your doctor what’s been happening.

You hope, foolish, desperate thing that you are, that they’ll offer a quick fix. It’s laughable, but the soft turn of the doctor’s gaze makes your stomach twist. So begins the year of doctor’s visits.

You become very familiar with waiting rooms, sterile rooms and the low buzz of the news channel playing on TVs, pale walls and water coolers, paper cups shredded in your lap. 

The first shrink you talk to is, at first, the answer to all your problems – Jason balks at it, in the beginning, and you hear him muttering to his brother on the phone but he doesn’t breathe a word of it to you. If it helps you, that’s all that matters. The man listens. He understands how hard things are and how your hurt is poisoning you. He makes the right noises and his cardigan lends him an air of sincerity, brown eyes framed by thick glasses that in the glare of the light feel kind, almost like kinship.

You’re desperate for a solution, even if it means taking the prescription pills that after about a week, leave you with hands that shake violently anytime you raise them, shedding too much weight, way too fast. The insomnia comes next, and then the pills that are meant to fix that. Orange, smaller than the nail on your little finger. The tremors do not go away, but in settles a new drowsiness, bringing with it vivid dreams that feel terrifyingly lifelike. You wake in a sheen of sweat to the already awake gaze of your boyfriend, eyes wide and wary, hands finding yours in the dark, whispering reassurances when you cry again. 

How many tears have you spent this year, and how many have you subjected him to?

His kindness feels like a balm over your jagged edges, and you shake your head when he first tentatively suggests that the medicine isn’t working. You’re determined to stick to your vow. You love him, you need to get better. You can’t keep living like this, can’t do the fits of rage, can’t do the mood changes. You can’t keep hurting the both of you.

Still, sleep evades you, a cruel thing dancing out of reach even when you’re told to double down on the dose. The dreams only worsen, virulent hues of fluorescent greens and red, blood and viscera on your hands. 

It feels like a condemnation when Jason mutters one night, after you’ve woken from yet another dream, body stiff with fright and reaching out for him, less hesitant now in the face of your tears, “This isn’t working.”

Bitterly, you find you can’t argue with him. Worse, you’ve shelled out a horrifying amount of money simply to vent to a yes-man. The pills are disposed of in the morning and another appointment scheduled.

Back in the waiting rooms, back to discussing other, not-shrink options, Jason’s hand finds yours once more. You watch the news, watch tired parents wrangle their sick children, watch the colourful plastic toys. 

“I hate this,” you whisper, leaning into his side. 

You’ve been unwell for a month and then some, by now. The waiting room feels like a taunt – you are sick, you are suffering. The sickness festering in you, the rot you can’t explain, makes you feel smaller than ever, frail in a way you haven’t known before. 

Before, you used to like that Jason was so much bigger than you, that he could protect you. This, though, he cannot save you from, a fact you’re sure frustrates him just as much as your weakness does you. There is the anger, of course, but there is also fear. What is to become of you now? Your life, through your failing health, has been torn from you. You feel robbed, feel a distinctly you-shaped loss in your frame that leaves you teetering on a precipice. How quickly things had taken a turn, and there was nothing you could do about it.

Jason sighs, turning to press his mouth against your hairline. “I know. I know, baby.”

You’re sent off with forms for another blood test. Maybe it’s something different, and there burns a beacon of hope. It is also entirely possible you’ll spend another six months on medication that doesn’t work. 

You don’t care for this. There is a hopelessness and vulnerability to feeling sick that you do not care for, catching sight of yourself in the bathroom mirror and doctor’s office scales and fluctuating weight – you begin to turn your head away from the numbers at this point like you're being stuck by a needle, meeting your lover’s eye while the doctor takes his notes and finding comfort in teal irises, in the small grin he gives you when you’ve done something he thinks to be brave. You don’t care for any of it, but you must. For him. 

He hasn’t breathed a word of contention to you – a good man – but you know it weighs on him. You’ve woken once or twice in the night to find him watching over you, something in his eyes like he fears you’ll slip away, a hand always in yours, or holding you close to him. 

Guilt, ever-cutting, roils in your stomach. The anger cedes these days to make way for it, and your eyes burn, shame becoming a familiar friend.

“I’ve put you through the wringer, haven’t I?” you whisper on one of these nights. He blinks, unaware you’ve woken, and it speaks to how tired he must be that he’d not noticed, too lost in his thoughts to feel your eyes on him.

He cradles your jaw tenderly with one hand, kissing your temple. “No more than I’ve worried you.”

It’s true that you’ve faced your own set of troubles with him. Still, it feels distinctly different – his anger had been the product of fear, a genuine terror at the thought of letting you get too close. There’s decay in you, one you aren’t sure has entirely left, despite your placidity these days. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologise and he narrows his eyes, but you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “You’re a good man.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he grumbles. “Obviously I’m going to fuckin’ look after you.”

Do I deserve it? You think.

“Wish you’d let me do the same for you,” you whisper, instead. It’s a truth you’ve often spoken, but feels like a lie in this moment, a deflection of your feelings. Guilt, once more, settles on your tongue, cloying against your tastebuds.

He kisses you sweetly, and you wonder if he can taste it. Something in the slant of his lips tells you he knows. How could he not? Once, twice, he brushes his mouth over yours. Chaste, loving. “Just get better. Then, maybe. I’ll consider it.”

Your eyes burn, fear like the tide, washing in once more. “What if–” your breath hitches, a lump forming in your throat.

“What?” His voice is soft, encouraging.

“What if it isn’t–if I don’t–” you can’t make out the words. The pad of his fingers brush over your lips.

“You will,” Jason whispers, voice thick. His eyes are bright in the dark, you realise, horrifyingly, sapphires covered in a sheen of liquid. “You will, ‘cause you promised me. And I’m holding you to it.”

You hear it for what it is – I’m here. I’m here and I’m not letting go of you. Don’t let go of me.

He’s asked for so little. Good men are rare to find in Gotham and you’ve got the best of them. You reach up and clutch his wrist, hands turning until your fingers slot comfortably between each other. 

“Okay,” you tell him, and you know he knows. I’m going to get better. 

The diagnosis comes eventually. In your relief, there is also bitterness. Another step forward, it still feels entirely too late. It should have come before, you think. Before you’d taken a sledgehammer to your love, before you’d fractured yourself and Jason from the inside out, before you’d put scars where there had been none, invisible lacerations lining the walls of your chest.

The medication – pills, pills, always pills – is difficult to adjust to at first. It leaves you short of breath, and more anxious, reaching for Jason to ground you. You cry a lot and though it isn’t anything new, there’s a misery in Jason’s eyes that only makes you weep more. You want to be okay again. You want to smile at him without the weight of all you’ve done, without knowing you’ve made him cry when he thinks you’re asleep, tears bleeding silently into the space of the pillowcase above your head. You want to go back so bad it makes your hands shake.

You lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Jason, on his side, brushes a finger over the swell of your cheek.

“Can I say something.”

You hum, sliding your eyes over to him. He gives you a tentative smile - the barest quirk of his lips. 

“Maybe I’m being hopeful, I don’t know,” he mutters, eyes tracing the slope of your nose. “Tell me to shut up if I start talking too much.”

This bashfulness makes you laugh a little. It’s so much like before, and you ache for it. For a moment, you can pretend nothing bad has happened, that the two of you are just in love and home. 

(You wonder if you will always be reaching for before. If you’ll ever get it back, if you’ll always long for it. You wonder if Jason does too.)

“What?” you breathe out.

“Think the meds are working.”

Your breathing shallows and you blink at Jason. Hope is a fickle thing, and it feels tremulous, dancing just before your fingers, as if coaxing you to reach out. You trust him more than anyone in the world, but you’re scared to hope. “What?”

His knuckle brushes over your cheek. “You don’t look as tired.”

You avert your eyes. “Maybe I’m just sleeping better.” Tell me. I’m selfish, I know, but tell me I’m doing better. I need to hear it from you.

He shakes his head, and you quietly marvel at the bloom of pleasure in his face, a contentment you haven’t seen in months in the crease around his eyes. “It’s not that.”

The doctor confirms this when you go back a few weeks later and Jason, so like himself for a brief moment, meets your eyes over the man’s head and mouths, I told you. You bite back a grin, still wary, barely out of the woods. 

“You’ve gained weight,” the doctor says when he gets you on the scale, and he sounds so pleased the sound shoots straight through to your heart, flintstone striking a light, kindling hope for the first time in months. You look down to the numbers flashing back at you, to your lover – but he’s already watching you, eyes creased in silent pleasure. 

You are the last to accept this tentative beginning to peace, to healing, but he waits for you at the threshold, hand outstretched. 

There is no tangible evidence of the destruction you’ve wrought in your home but it lingers, even as you begin the slow crawl out of the woods. You see it in the lines of your lover’s face. There are corners of the room you cannot bear to look at for the first few months following your appointment, too reminiscent of words you’d bellowed in a rage induced haze, captive to your own body. 

This history is one too fresh, too tender to accept just yet, wounds still pink and raw. You cannot face yourself yet. There is too much to do, too much work to do, too much at stake to jeapordise if you slip and fall now.

But Jason is a good man. Much better than you think you deserve – but he’s said the same about you, so perhaps…just maybe…you think it might even out. 

He doesn’t shy away from the worst bits of you, the ugliness you’ve bared to him does not run him off, not like how you flinch from it. You made a promise. I’m holding you to it. He’s hard to shake off, but you don’t want him to. You’re thankful, even, for the dog teeth he’s sunken into your forearm, bound together in blood.

There is grief in beginning to heal. 

Perhaps heal is not the right word, and yet there is no other for this, overcoming the last few months feels like it ought to be called healing. But this is a forever thing. You will know this deficiency for the rest of your life, will know doctor’s appointments and bloodwork – strictly cautionary, we need to make sure the dose is right so we can adjust it accordingly. 

There is grief in finding your footing. It lingers, the horror of falling victim to a biological response – that your mind should so easily be lost, it feels indicative of something greater, a weakness you need to cut out at the root. Jason shakes his head when you voice this one night – you are only ever honest like this under the cover of darkness, sleep softened and gentle enough to be frank with him. 

“You’re not weak.” He says this with love in his voice, but a thread of steel weaves through his words. “Don’t fucking say that. You’re here. That counts for a fucking lot.”

He tugs you closer and you feel it again, that fear that grips his heart. Like you might dissolve in his arms in the middle of the night. 

“I feel better–than before,” you tell him, peering up at him, eyes burning. You press a hand to your heart. “But I still feel it. It’s still here.”

He presses his forehead against yours. “I know.”

And you suppose he would know. “Is it gonna be like this forever?”

He takes a moment to think, and you have to tuck yourself into his neck to hide your tears. Raw – this year has left you raw. You’ve spent a fountain of tears, but they’re yet to run out. You find solace in the hollow of his throat; if you could, you think you would attach yourself there permanently.

“Yes, but no.” You make a questioning noise and he smooths a hand down your back. “‘S gonna be different, now. Not always going to be bad, or good, just – different.”

“Different.” The word fits oddly in your mouth, and whether it’s the late hour or your grief, you can’t make sense of it. He shudders out a breath, weary, and you press closer.

“Yeah,” he whispers into your hair. 

“I just–” you swallow with some difficulty, a lump in your throat. What is there to say that you haven’t already? “I hate this.”

His lips twitch into a tired, sympathetic grin. “I know, baby.”

Silence follows his words, where you mull over all that there is to say, sorting through the jumble of words in your head. You shift until there’s a little room between the two of you, looking up at him.

“Hey.”

He hums, and you feel his hand raise from your back to cup the back of your neck, thumb sweeping over your nape gently. 

“I’m gonna –” your breath hitches, stumbling over the words. “I’m gonna be good, I’ll – I’ll be better. I promise.”

And he knows you’re not talking about your health. This is a forever thing, after all. Your words point to the hidden cracks in the walls, the foundation of your home and heart – I’ll be better. 

Tourmaline eyes crack open a little wider to look at you, tired, but hopeful. “I know, baby. We’ll be alright.”

Ah. Of course he knows. You grin tremulously up at him and press forward to smudge a kiss against his jaw, breathing your promise once more against his skin, hoping it takes root. 

Jason waits at the threshold of your new normal, arm outstretched, knowing you’d join him eventually. He’d known, of course he had – every inch of your soul was his. He holds his hand out. 

Out of the woods, you take it.

fin.

this fic has been in my drafts since 2022 and it always felt too vulnerable to write and finish. like there needed to be a big ceremony about it. this fic is incredibly personal to me, and i always thought i had to be 'ready' to finally finish it, whatever 'ready' means. but it's a sunday night and the semester begins tomorrow, and i'm writing this in bed listening to whatever my spotify plays for me. i'm not sure if this will make sense to anyone but i hope it makes you feel something regardless.

this is a love letter to myself first and foremost, because i'm no longer afraid of reopening an old wound!! i carry her with me always and i love her and i'm taking care of her. i love her and i love you.

[elliespassagerprincess]

Hi I’m the person who requested Ellie x read based on Mary - Alex g u don’t have to answer this ask I just forgot to specify in my previous one if u could write it like “Mary” in the song is reader and Ellie is the person who’s singing? Tysm again!!

Mary - (ellie williams x reader)

hi pookie! I did exactly what you asked I just added twist! If you don't like it, just pm me and I'll write you a new story! I hope you enjoy <;33

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are always open, feel free to leave one:) or just send me a song and I'll take it from there. Remember if you want something specific to happen, please indicate it in your request.

Warnings: mental illness, mental hospitals, manhandling and mentions of pills, medication, injections and brief mentions of violence

Summary: In which Ellie wrote you a song.

Mary is the girl that I wanna kiss

She's got big red eyes and big red lips

She's got big sharp teeth and big fat hips

Mary is the girl that I wanna fuck

She's got leather heart and leather gloves

She's the only girl that I wanna love

Ellie has always referred to you as Mary. She never knew your real name.

All the times she'd beg you to answer her you'd simply giggle and say: "it's better being a secret"

You were everything Ellie has always wanted. The girl she was so madly in love with, and she didn't even know your name. You were the only thing keeping her sane at this point.

The night Ellie had met you, you sat alone outside on a bench, singing the nursery rhyme Mary had a little lamb over and over again. And the name Mary just stuck with Ellie since them.

You were her Mary. The only girl that she ever wanted to love.

Ellie liked to imagine that in a perfect world it would just be the two of you.

One where she doesn't have to stay in a mental institution. And where you don't have to sneak in every night.

Ellie was sick and tired if this place and truly doesn't know why Joel would send her here.

The walls were painted white, and all she had in her room was a bed.

"Mary is the girl that I wanna fuck?" You raised your eyebrows slightly at Ellie's vulgar lyrics.

Her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink when you brought it up.

"Yeah" Ellie spoke softly.

"You wanna fuck me?" You asked Ellie with a smile on your face.

"I mean yeah-"

The sound of keys jiggling could be heard from down the hall. Ellie let out as quick gasp at that.

Fuck it must've been time to take her meds.

Ellie watched as you quickly jumped out the window, the paper containing the song Ellie wrote dedicated to you slowly falling to the ground. In an instant Ellie jumped up quickly picking up the paper and she stuffed it into her bra.

The door opened as Ellie casually sat on her bed waiting for the nurse to arrive. Nurse Elizabeth walked in with a huge smile on her face.

Ellie rolled her eyes as the nurse, who walked towards her trying to make small talk.

Who the fuck is this happy while working in mental institution?

Ellie took the pills from the nurses hand before, she put it into her mouth. Ellie drank the water that the nurse gave to her, wishing all of this was over and that you'd just come back.

"Open up" the nurse spoke as she put her finger into Ellies mouth.

The girl gagged slightly as the nurse reached her finger further and further down her throat.

"Sorry" the nurse spoke "I have to make sure you take your meds" she finished as she gave Ellie an empathic smile.

All Ellie did was hum and lay down. The nurse soon left and Ellie heard the door lock.

She sat up immediately spitting out the pills.

"Do they really taste taste bad?" Ellie heard your voice.

"How did you get back here so fast?" she asked.

All you did was give her a wink before you walked towards her, opening your hand.

Ellie stared down confused before she realized that you were looking for the song. She quickly pulled the note from her bra as she handed you the paper.

A smile took over your face as you continued reading the lyrics.

And all Ellie could do was smile and enjoy the final moments she has with you for that day before you would disappear again.

Listen to me, baby, I don't mind

I wanna be with you and waste my time

Give it to me, baby, I feel good

I wanna feel whatever you think I should

Sing it for me, baby, play my song

I wanna hear your daddy singing along

5 more months.

5 more fucking months, Ellie had to be in this fucking hell hole.

As Ellie walked down the hall she gazed into the other people's rooms. There were some really messed up people in here.

Truthfully Ellie doesn't know why she's here. She doesn't deserve it.

She wonders why you were here. She wonders why you only come at night. She wonders why she never sees you when she's with people. She wonders in which room you were staying.

So many questions so little answers.

Today was Wednesday. Which meant that they had a talent show. Every Wednesday all the different wards would come together and each patient could show their talent.

Ellie never participated. She always thought it was cringe and stupid. But today she wanted to do something she wanted to sing you the song she had written for you.

As Ellie sat in the room she watched different patients go up to front to do their thing. Some would sing, some would dance and some would just stand there awkwardly.

When Ellie raised her hand to go next, the nurse called out her patient number as she got up and walked towards the front.

Ellie shakily held the paper as she looked up to the crowd.

She saw you standing at the back, giving her a huge smile and a thumbs up.

God you were beautiful.

She could do this. She was doing this for you.

Ellie closed her eyes as she started singing the song.

She sang about your eyes, and how your lips were painted red with lipstick the night you met. She sang about your hips and how she so badly wanted to hold you. How badly she just wanted a taste.

You were only girl Ellie wanted to spend the rest of life with and yet she didn't even know your name.

But you'll always be her Mary.

As Ellie finished her song, the crowd clapped their hands, and a small smile appeared on Ellies face.

Her smile soon disappeared when she saw you weren't in the crowd anymore.

Where were you? Didn't you like her song? Do you hate her? What happened?

As Ellie was thinking she felt a hand on her shoulder. Ellie turned around, and her eyes met with one the the nurses.

"Doctor Bernard wants to see you"

Mary is the girl that leaves you to rot

She says, "I am real and you are not"

She says, "I am real and you are not"

"Ellie how long have you been seeing this girl?" Doctor Bernard asked her.

"Her name is Mary" she replied not answering his question.

"Mary isn't real"

"she is"

"Ellie you're seeing things" The doctor started. "That's why you're here, that's why you take medicine-"

"no you're lying" Ellie yelled as she got up from her chair. Her arms were quickly grabbed by the staff as they lowered her back down into the chair. The autumn brow haired girl started screaming as she was forced to sit down again.

"She's fucking real" Ellie yelled as she lunged forward, another nurse ran from the side holding an injection to Ellie's throat.

Doctor Bernard raised his hand telling the nurse to move away.

"Ellie calm down so we can talk about this"

Heavy breathes fell from Ellies lips as she looked to the floor, saliva started dripping from her lips. The room felt hot.

"She's real" Ellie breathed almost in tears. Why aren't they listening to her?

"it's ok I believe you"

And as soon as he said that Ellie looked up with her eyes wide.

"You believe me?" She asked in genuine shock.

They always told her she was crazy. They always told her there was something wrong with her, but now he believes her?

Ellie felt relived. She really wasn't crazy.

"I do" he said.

"How did she get in?"

"You won't hurt her if I tell you?" Ellie asked.

Your safety was the most important, Ellie didn't want you to end up in solitary or worse, a higher dose of whatever medication they were giving you.

"I won't he promised, now tell me"

"She comes in through the window"

Ellie watched his facial expression closely. She watched him look up to the staff as he gave them a nod. Ellie felt the nurses holding her, gripping her even stronger.

"what the fuck-" Ellie cried as she felt them hold her harder. Ellie felt a cold metal against her neck as she she screamed.

"you said you believed me!"

She kicked, she cried, she spat and she swore but nothing helped.

Soon the drug kicked in and Ellie felt her whole body go limp. She felt them lower her to the floor and she felt very sleepy.

"You said you believed me" Ellie breathed one more time as she looked at doctor Bernard standing above her.

"Ellie there isn't a window in your room"

Ellie felt tired, it was as if everything around her was slowing down.

"Mary isn't real, she never was"

Ellie opened her mouth to talk but no words came out.

The last thing Ellie heard that day was: "you are real and she is not"

Authors note: this one was quite short but it still fucking hit dude... remember my requests are always open and that you are loved...

Yours truly,

Zia<3

[theramseyloft]

What do you think is an unnecessary amount of birds for a breeder/fancier ect like could someone keep over a hundred birds comfortably and not be considered a hoarder

The short answer is: Yes. One person could potentially keep over a hundred birds comfortably.

Could every person? Or even most people? No.

That requires a LOT of space and resources.

In order to provide adequate care for 100 birds, one first and foremost either needs a very large loft, or multiple small ones.

The long answer is a lot more nuanced.

I don't think I could set a "specific number of birds over X is automatically a hoarder", simply because of how widely variable the capacity and resources range between individual care takers.

What needs to be considered to identify a hoarder is the physical condition of the animal, the amount and quality of food and water, the cleanliness of their environment, what enrichment is available to them, and whether or not they get medical care when they need it.

Are the animals present healthy and active? That requires there be sufficient space, food, and water available.

Are they able to engage in natural behaviors? This requires sufficient space and enrichment.

If any get injured or fall ill (frankly, an inevitability in living things), is that one separated and do they get any kind of medical treatment?

Birds in particular are naturally messy, but absolutely not naturally dirty!

While there are good reasons one might be (New arrival just uncrated, elderly individual who struggles to preen unaided, or a sick individual being treated), that should not be your overall impression of the flock!

Since you specified a breeder, it does need to be said that outbreaks happen.

No quarantine is 100% bullet proof, however anyone may try.

But if multiple birds are ill, that facility should be closed to the public while they get the issue IDed and treated.

If you see sick birds on the property, leave, for the sake of your own birds' safety, and report it to the Department of Agriculture.

A breeder performing their due diligence will have records to show diagnostic efforts and treatment.

There should be enough space for every bird to have a comfortable perch when the entire flock is off the ground.

Many breeders feed and water once a day, typically early in the day, so scattered seed should not be a concern, but waterers should not be big enough to bathe in and should be changed daily.

Separate places to bathe, offered frequently, will help keep drinking water clean, but even if the bathing places are all put away, you should be able to look at the plumage and drinking water to gauge how clean both are.

Pigeons in particular cannot climb and do not like cluttered flight or walking spaces, so their enclosures can look somewhat barren when compared to a parrot or song bird's.

Shelves, swings and floor space are all used as social spaces.

Look for furniture like caves or nest boxes, mirrors, forage pans, or bath tubs.

Pigeons most like to play with things that feel like sticks, shine, or make a neat sound, so twigs, pine straw, bread ties, blunted tooth picks, q-tips with the cotton tips removed, jingle bells, crinkle mats, wind chimes, bells, or any toy combining two or more of those things should be evident in the living space.

Poop is going to happen.

There is no aviary free of it for any length of time.

But it should not crust surfaces other than a nest box. (babies poop where they sit. It's intended to cement their nest material together into a cohesive pad that can't slide or be blown out of the cliffside crevice they nest in.)

(They are not birds built for high humidity.)

However many birds there are: If they have free access to clean water and feed that meets their nutritional needs, enough space and enrichment to keep themselves clean and engage in natural behaviors, their envoronment is regularly sanitized, and they receive medical care when injured or sick, then the breeder, rescue, or care taker you are visiting is not a hoarder.

[cyberrose2001]

Hii Rose! I hope your week has been good. Are you still taking requests?

I was wondering if you would do Bumblebee (or Optimus) x Fem Reader who got a strong cold and they (feel free to chose who you wanna write the most) try to help with all they can? Just a little fluff thing </3

TFP Bumblebee + TFP Optimus with s/o who has a cold

Thank you! I've been good, I hope your week is pleasant as well! Also I did both bc why just have one giant robot bf when you could have two... Also my first time writing Bee so thank you for that! :)

I haven't specified any genders in these fics, since there's no real reason to, hope that's ok!! Enjoy your drabbles <3

Warnings: SFW, sick reader, GN reader

Word count: 636

TFP Bumblebee

He was slightly confused when Bumblebee heard his human sneeze for the first time. What was that noise that just came out of you? And why is your nose red? He'll beep at you in concern, and you brush him off, telling him it was just a cold.

"I'm ok, Bee." You stop in your tracks as you feel the urge to sneeze again, and you do. Your head flies forward as your body tries to expel whatever virus has gotten into your system. You pull out a tissue to wipe your nose, which is chafed red, "This is normal for us. I'll be fine within the next few days."

Bumblebee is not entirely convinced, so he drags you to Ratchet, hoping for advice on what to do with his sick human. Ratchet advised Bee that you were right; you just had a typical human illness commonly called the 'Cold'. He reassured Bee that you only needed fluids and rest and gave you a water bottle.

With a sighful beep in relief, Bee picks you up and takes you to his berthroom. He lays down on the berth and takes one of your many blankets stashed on it to bundle you up with before delicately lying you on his chassis. He whirls his vocaliser as he tucks in the sides of the blanket under you, finding you incredibly adorable, even with your little red nose. After tucking you in, he leans his helm down to mimic a kiss on your forehead, and you smile at the tiny zaps of static electricity that dance on your skin.

His frame's warmth and the soft rumbling of his engine distract you from a painful headache, and you are lulled to sleep, Bees' servo resting on your back, caressing you gently.

TFP Optimus

Optimus was familiar with human illnesses. Although not uncommon, sometimes one of the kids will come to the base with a cough or a runny nose. So he dedicated time carefully observing the correlation between various illnesses and their causes. He thought it would be helpful if another bot other than Ratchet was familiar with these illnesses. Then, one day, you came to the base to see him. He greeted you with a loving smile and picked you up to place a kiss on your lips. But you quickly pulled back and sneezed into your elbow before he could.

"Are you alright, Y/n?" Optimus watches as you pull a tissue from your pocket to wipe your nose.

"Yeah, I'm alright." You tucked the tissue back into your pocket once you were done, sniffling, "I've picked up a cold."

A cold. Optimus hums in thought. It was one of the more common illnesses spread among humans, and from his research, he noted that it isn't severe and only lasts a few days.

"Would you like me to do anything for you, love?" Optimus says with a gentle voice, "Some medicine from Ratchet, perhaps?"

"No, I've had some medicine earlier, thank you." Then, you sigh, leaning on one of his digits that cupped around your shivering frame, "I just need some cuddles from my boyfriend."

Optimus nods and brings you to his shoulder, helping you climb up. He felt you snuggle into the crook of his neck, and he couldn't help but smile as you gave the closest neck cabling you could reach a gentle kiss.

Despite being quite comfortable snuggled against him, he still notices your shivers. So, out of the corner of his optic, he spots a blanket on the couch and walks over to pick it up, draping it over your body to try and keep you warm. If there's one thing that Optimus has also learned, humans love their soft blankets. Smiling, he feels your shivers lessen and returns to his work on the base computer.

[miloformula123fan]

300 followers celebration

okay wtf guys im actually gonna cry :). thank y'all so much for all the love you have given me.

im gonna start by apologising because I have not been that active. i went and saw challengers, started watching ted lasso and got into professional cycling, and my exams are just about to finish and im gonna be honest i have been just reading fanfiction based on those. (because my ADHD hyperfixation has hit this point)

also small apology to the people waiting on the bachelor fic, i've rewritten the first chapter twice, but rest assured once i get the first chapter out of the way, the next few will come in quicker

But I am getting back into the hot men of f1, thank god, and initially this celebration was going to be closer to july, but here we are, and so this event will run a while.

Basically to explain it's an f1 x olympics!reader :) because i have a hyperfixation on the olympics

Rules:

Pick 1 letters, one for the person and one number for the reader's sport - i will then make a moodboard AND A small blurb :) (cause i need to get out of the writing slump)

my guidelines are here

i am only writing for the drivers and related people listed (but if you really want another driver, chuck it in my inbox and ill probably make it anyway)

this is only for moodboards and short blurbs, however my requests will remain open through the celebration so if you're inspired by this but want something else instead feel free to head to my inbox :)

please be patient - it may take me a few hours to do yours, but depending on how many requests I get, it could take a few days

please specify gender, else i'll probably make it gender neutral

for now no limit on how many requests 1 person can submit, but if i get overwhelmed I will

i will take description requests, face claim requests, blurb requests, country requests, whatever you want to specify BUT all I need is 1 letter, 1 number and a gender for reader :)

the event will close on the 11th of august (when the olympics end) (and also so i have a little bit of a time before a birthday celebration!)

NOW TO THE CELEBRATION:

PICK 1 LETTER - ONE FOR DRIVER

AND PICK 1 NUMBER - ONE FOR READER

drivers!

A - Alex Albon

B -  Ollie Bearman

C - Charles Leclerc

D - Mick Schumacher

E - Esteban Ocon

F - Fernando Alonso

G - James Vowles

H - Liam Lawson

I - Peter Bonnington

J - Jack Doohan

K - Kimi Raikkonen

L - Lewis Hamilton

M - Max Verstappen

N - Lando Norris

O - Oscar piastri

P - Pierre Gasly

Q - Logan Sargeant

R - Daniel Ricciardo

S - Carlos Sainz

T - Yuki Tsunoda

U - Lance Stroll

V - Sebastian Vettel

W - Mark Webber

X - Paul Aron

Y - Toto Wolff

Z - Jenson Button

reader!

breaking

boxing

volleyball

golf

rhythmic gymnastics

tennis

modern pentathlon

weightlifting

equestrian

bmx cycling racing

football/soccer

basketball

archery

diving

shooting

handball

triathlon

water polo

judo

swimming

hockey

wrestling

marathon swimming

3 x 3 basketball

trampoline gymnastics

sport climbing

mountain bike cycling

rugby sevens

track cycling

road cycling

sailing

sprint canoe

beach volleyball

badminton

taekwondo

bmx freestyle cycling

canoe slalom

fencing

rowing

surfing

skateboarding

artistic gymnastics

artistic swimming

athletics

table tennis

taglist of people who i hope are interested (if not just ignore :) ):

@barcelonaloverf1life, @leosxrealm, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3, @badblondebisexualboy, @ghostking4m, @fate-posts, @evelyn-4034, @jupiter-je-taime, @redcrescentmoons, @youraveragebritishamerican, @v3lnys, @thatonesblog, @seventeendevotee, @annegrey, @pear-1206, @alchemxx

[lady-pug]

In Sickness And In Health - In Sickness

Summary: The kid fell ill while Din is away and you feel absolutely hopeless trying to help him, but nothing seems to work. You get progressively more worried the more he cries, and it's driving you insane. Hopefully Din will get back soon.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Word count: 3,8k

Warnings: description of sickness (also Grogu throws up), small injuries (scratches)

Notes: this one is actually a two-shot, in which both parts complement each other. This was a fun one to write. Do keep in mind that Grogu is sick in this one, so there are descriptions of feeling ill and throwing up (so if this is something that makes you uncomfortable please feel free to skip ahead). As always, if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you enjoy this one!

Reader’s gender not specified.

Next part | Previous part | Masterlist | Read on AO3

Crying. That’s all you could hear and all your mind could focus on. You even felt like crying yourself. The kid had been desperately wailing for hours already and no matter what you did he wouldn’t stop. 

Din had been gone for almost two days now, away gathering information that could be useful in finding the kid’s people. While you had originally wanted to go with him, he had deemed the place and the people he was meeting too dangerous for the kid, and asked that you stay on the Crest and look after him while he was gone (“Just like the good old days, huh?” you had joked, to which Din answered with a brief chuckle).

Almost immediately after Din had left the kid started growing fussy. You hadn’t given it too much thought as it was pretty normal behavior for him everytime his guardian left, missing him as much as you did, and had tried to distract him with some coloring and some food. Your suspicion that something was indeed wrong started to arise when the kid refused to eat the jerky you offered him, and continued whimpering. After all, this little boy loved food almost more than anything. You decided that maybe a nap would make him feel better and put him in his little hammock above Din’s bunk, where he fell asleep almost immediately.

The silence on the ship lasted only a few hours, which you had used to fix some wiring under the navigation controls, before the kid woke up wailing. You scrambled from under the controls, almost hitting your head in the process, and ran to the hull to check on him. Once you opened the bunk’s door the sight before you made your heart clench with concern.

The kid was bawling his eyes out, the little hammock swinging back and forth with the force of his sobs, his skin a paler shade of green, almost grayish. 

“Oh, my love” you picked him up gently, but his squirming nearly made you drop him, so you cradled him a little more firmly “What’s wrong?”

His little robe felt wet under your palms, his skin damp with sweat. You gently laid the back of your hand on his forehead, confirming that he was indeed quite warm.

“You’re ill, is that what’s bothering you?” you cooed at him, trying to calm him down “Let’s see how we can make you feel better, yes?”

You took him back to the cabinet that served as a kitchen pantry.

“When I was little, old lady Aola often took care of me when I was sick. She would help Porcellus make this amazing cream of womp rat soup that would get me back on my feet in no time.” you sat him down on a counter, his crying never ceasing “Let’s see if we can improvise something similar for you.”

Improvise, as it turned out, was a huge understatement. It was quite hard to store fresh food on the Razor Crest, so you and Din mainly kept canned essentials and food that could be frozen and subsequently defrosted. The rare times you managed to come across fresh goods, they were quickly consumed before they could spoil. Therefore you found out you didn’t have the main ingredient to make soup for the kid: womp rat meat.

“Okay, not to worry, we can figure something out, right kid?”

You didn’t receive a response, the little boy only kept on crying. The more he sobbed, the more distressed you felt, fumbling with the ingredients to finish the soup quicker. More than once his crying spiked a little louder, almost making you chop a finger off. 

“There we go” you said once you finished, pouring some of the soup on a tiny bowl for him “You’ll start to get better after you eat.”

Once the soup had cooled off a little you handed him the bowl and turned back to get some for yourself. What you did not expect, however, was for the kid to grow even more fussy, screaming even louder, and use his magic powers to send the entire pan flying towards you.

“Maker, kid!” you yelped, the soup burning your skin even through your clothes as it ran down the front of your shirt. Some had splashed on your exposed arms, the skin there starting to redden.

That seemed to calm him down somewhat. In between hiccups, the little boy started giggling.

“Yeah, this’ what does it, huh?” he laughed even more at the pained grimace on your face “Laugh at my misery, kid, and see what happens.” you smirked at him, no malice behind it.

You went back to your cot to grab a somewhat clean shirt to replace the one soaking with soup. You winced as you tried to peel it off, the course material sticking to your injured skin. Once you were presentable you went back to the kid to find him quietly sipping his soup.

“Feeling better now that you let it all out of your system?” you asked him, to which he only gurgled in response.

After cleaning up the mess the kid had made while he finished eating you decided to check his temperature. Placing your palm against his head, you noticed that he felt even warmer than before. 

“This doesn’t feel good.” 

Grabbing the ship’s medkit you retrieved the infrared thermometer, but not before noticing a single stimshot sitting there. You stared at the small green item at the bottom of the kit, pondering your next steps. You were hesitant about using it, not knowing anything about the kid’s species and how his system would react to the stim. Besides, the dose was designed for adults. Maker, it was strong enough to use on a wookie, what would happen if you gave it to a baby? I’ll leave it as a last resort, you decided.

The number displayed on the thermometer was high, but you couldn’t tell exactly how high for the kid’s standards. 

“I guess we’ll just have to monitor your fever.” you smiled down at him, realizing his eyes were getting a little droopy “How about we give you a nice, lukewarm bath and put you down to sleep, what do you say?”

Compared to his fussiness from earlier, the kid was incredibly calm while you washed and dried him. He was practically asleep by the time you put him down on his hammock again.

You decided a cold shower would do you good. Upon closer inspection, now that you weren’t in such a rush, the skin of your chest and stomach was quite red. There were even some small blisters where the hot soup had come in direct contact with the skin of your arms. If you remembered correctly, there wasn’t much bacta left so you decided against using it, as Din could need it once he was back. The cold water helped soothe the burns.

Hopping out of the shower you sat down on your cot with a datapad to do some research. Surely someone on the holonet knew something about a species with green skin and big pointy ears, right? But you came back empty handed, as not a single mention to anything similar to the kid’s kind could be found. You quickly changed your approach and settled upon browsing through blogs with tips for first-time parents on how to take care of ill babies. A few tips were actually pretty useful.

This whole day had been very exhausting and had left you completely drained. Checking the chrono you realized it was starting to get dark outside. After checking on the kid one last time, you decided to go to bed early.

You managed to get only a couple of hours of shuteye before you jolted back to consciousness by the kid screaming bloody murder. 

“Oh, no.” you groaned tiredly as you got up to tend to him “I’m coming, my love.” you whispered even though he clearly couldn’t hear you.

When you opened the door to Din’s bunk you panicked for a second not seeing the baby on his hammock. Instead you found him lying on his back on Din’s bed, his little arms swinging in the air as if he couldn’t get up.

“Oh, kid, what happened?!” you asked as you picked him up and cradled him close to your chest. A second later you stiffened, and if you could facepalm you would: it was pretty obvious, he must have squirmed too much and fallen from his hammock. You were so tired you were starting to lose your coherence.

The kid gripped the front of your shirt with all his might and nuzzled into your collarbone, his crying quieting a little but never stopping. You placed the back of your hand on his forehead.

“You’re still hot.”

You fumbled with the thermometer, almost dropping it in the process and measured his temperature. It was practically the same as the last time you checked. 

“At least it’s not going up.” 

You started walking around the hull bouncing him in your arms, trying to get him to settle down again. You tried shushing him, humming quietly, singing a lullaby. You were so desperate to help him however you could that you even went as far as putting a bucket over your head and impersonating Din to see if that would calm him down.

“I can bring you in warm” you said, your voice forcedly deeper and lower “or I can bring you in cold.”

That makes him blow a quiet tiny giggle between hiccups, but otherwise did not stop his crying.

“I don’t know what to do.” you whimpered, frustrated tears brimming in your eyes “How can I help you?” 

The kid kept on crying for a few more minutes before he stopped all of a sudden. You looked at him quizzically and for a moment you hoped, you prayed that this was it. Before you could even react he gurgled and puked all over the front of your shirt.

“Of course.” you sighed.

That seemed to do it for him, apparently having been woken up by a sore stomach. He instantly quieted down.

“Let’s see if you can keep something else down.” there you went to prepare him more food. Now with a full stomach again you put him down to sleep again, this time directly on Din’s bed so he wouldn’t fall off and hurt himself, and headed to the shower. Again. Then you went to bed. Again.

This went on for two days: every few hours the kid would wake up wailing, you would tend to him and more often than not you would have to get back to the shower. It got to the point where you had no more clean shirts and had resorted to hunting for one of Din’s to wear. His fever was not going down, but at least it wasn’t going up (or that’s what you kept telling yourself). By the beginning of the first afternoon you gave up trying to sleep, running exclusively on caf and willpower (which, to be fair, was dimming every passing moment you stayed awake a little longer). You were practically swaying on your feet. 

You were adamant on not using the stim, too scared of doing more harm than good. Instead you’ve been trying to bring him back to full health with only soup and lukewarm baths and lots of water and rest, but that was not seeming to do the trick.

You briefly considered calling Din on the comm he had, but it was for emergencies only. But wasn’t this an emergency? You were hesitant on calling him and worrying him when he was so far away, or worse, possibly giving away his position in a vulnerable moment. So you resorted to doing this on your own.

The kid had just quieted down in your arms, nuzzling further into your embrace. You let yourself hope for just a moment that he was finally going to get better. After settling him down on Din’s bed, you sat down on your own cot to try and read some manuals on the Razor Crest’s navigation system and hopefully learn how to properly fly the ship just in case. The kid was the quietest he ever was this past couple of days, his nap lasting a lot longer than before. Thank the Maker, you sighed in relief. Even though your eyelids were getting heavier by the second, you forced yourself to stay awake just a while longer. He might need me, you argued, I need to be ready. Just in case this isn’t over, I need to be there for him if he-

You were harshly woken by a piercing scream and the floor vibrating. Disorientated, you checked the chrono and cursed as you realized a few hours had gone by since you put the kid down to sleep. Kriff, I must have dozed off.

Standing up on unsteady feet you felt the whole ship shaking. Reaching for the bunk, you slid the door open to find the kid screaming his little lungs out, his little arms flailing around. He must be the one making the ship move with his powers.

“Hey kid, what’s wrong?” you asked, reaching to check his forehead “Kriff, you’re burning up!”

Grabbing the thermometer, you measured his temperature. It was high, a lot higher than it was before. You silently cursed yourself for falling asleep, having missed when his temperature started to rise.

“Oh, Maker, kid.” your eyes started stinging from unshed tears “I’m so sorry, I should have been taking better care of you, I’m-”

A sob got stuck in your throat. You were absolutely desperate and also so frustrated with your inability to make the kid feel better, what would Din say if he saw you now? This was why he brought you along, one of the reasons he hired you in the first place, what would he think of you if you couldn’t even do your job right? And the kid! He was hurting, that absolutely broke your heart, and there was nothing you could do but hopelessly watch. And you were so very tired.

No.  

You refused to give up yet. The kid needed you. He needed you and you were the only one who could take care of him now.

With newfound determination, you cleaned your face where a few traitorous tears had slipped down your cheeks and grabbed the medkit. You were going to use the stimshot. After retrieving a small blade from Din’s weapon stash and an empty cup, you scooped the baby up in your arms before sitting on the ground in the middle of the hull.

Using the sharp blade, you carved a tiny hole on the tip of the pneumatic dispenser that held the stimulant, just enough to be able to pour most of the liquid inside the cup, without damaging the pumping mechanism. With just a small dose inside the syringe, you held onto the kid and tried raising one of his sleeves.

When he finally caught on to what you were doing, he screamed and cried even more desperately than before, wiggling in your arms trying to get away. All of a sudden white hot stinging pain erupted in your arms, as the kid quite literally tried to claw his way out of your grasp, prompting you to hold him even tighter, while also trying not to hurt him in the process.

“I know, I know, love” you huffed, your voice strained with pain “but this is for your own good.” you ended your sentence and immediately plunged the syringe in his little arm. 

He screamed, your heart breaking for him, but as the medicine was pumped into his bloodstream he slowly calmed down. 

“Okay, this seems to have worked.” you sighed “Let’s check, shall we?”

The thermometer said that his temperature was indeed going down. Waiting a few minutes you checked again and again, realizing it had indeed lowered quite a bit, but had eventually stagnated on a temperature still high enough to be considered a fever.

“I’m going to have to do this again, alright kid?” he cooed in response, his eyes starting to shut from exhaustion “I’m sorry.”

You very carefully poured another small dose back inside the dispenser and administered it in his arm again, him barely squealing. After checking his temperature again just to be sure you realized it had lowered and he was safe again. He settled in your arms, nuzzling into your collarbone, and instantly fell asleep.

With the kid still in your arms, you carefully scooted back to near Din’s bunk, but you had no strength left in you to actually get up and set him in bed. Instead you just slumped against the wall, your head tilted back as you let out a sigh. A sigh turned into two, which turned into small hiccups, which in turn turned into full blown sobbing. Your whole body shook with the intensity of it, tears of frustration and of tiredness steadily falling and accumulating on the back of your hand where you were biting into in order not to let out any sounds that could potentially wake him up.

You looked down at the green child in your arms, his face so peaceful, if only slightly paler than usual, and smiled softly at him. The sight of him no longer distressed was enough to calm you. Without even attempting to clean the tear tracks from your face, you slumped fully into the wall, letting a much overdue slumber overtake you.

Din slowly made his way back to the Crest, almost dragging his feet. Obviously, the man he had sought out to meet had required him to do some maker awful task to, in the end, not even have the information he asked for.

“Jedi are hard to find these days, Mando. Even harder than mandalorians.” he had said, which made Din clench his fists really hard in order not to just beat the guy to a pulp. But that actually made him stop and rethink his actions. 

With the stunt this weirdo just pulled, he realized he couldn’t trust just anyone in the galaxy. No one other than mandalorians. While, yes, mandalorians were hard to come across nowadays, especially after The Great Purge of Mandalore, maybe they could help find a Jedi somewhere, as mandalorians tended to have lots of important connections all over the galaxy (it saddened him to think that he could no longer rely on his Tribe as he didn’t know where most of them were, and it saddened him even more to admit it was his fault they were scattered around).

So, while very tired and desperate for a shower and to hop into bed, he was very eager to get home to you and the kid and tell you all about his new plan, to search for mandalorians. He already had an idea where to start. Wait. Home. Since when had he begun associating the Crest with home? Before it was just ‘the ship’. Now though…

When the ship came to view he sighed in relief and content. While the ramp lowered, however, he started getting a weird feeling in his chest, that something wasn’t quite right. Stepping inside the Crest only made his worry grow: the hull was a mess, it honestly looked like a hurricane had swept over the place and, worst of all, his weapons cabinet was open. And the place was quiet; it wasn’t usually this quiet in the middle of the day with an over energetic kid around.

He unholstered his blaster and carefully walked around looking for you. He didn’t have to search for long: near his bunk, a few steps away from a mess of things (a blade of his, he noted, next to a spilled over cup of a viscous green fluid), you were slumped against the wall, your knees bent close to your chest, slightly falling to one side, with your head hung down.

Din rushed forward and cupped your cheeks, checking you over for any injuries. The first thing he noticed was that the bags under your eyes looked slightly more pronounced, making your face look more hollow. Then he noticed the scratches on your forearms, blood beginning to dry, accompanied by small blisters. His face scrunched up in worry and anger as he wondered what had happened while he was away, while he wasn’t here to protect you. His fussing over you made you stir.

“Hm, Din?” you asked in a small voice, your eyes cracking open to look at him.

“Hey, Cyar’ika.” he almost whispered back “It’s me. Who did this to you?”

“Wha’…?”

“Who did this” he gripped one of your arms carefully “to you?”

“The kid.” 

That made him still completely.

“The kid?”

“He was ill.”

Only then did he notice the small green lump resting between your torso and knees, carefully cradled against your chest, snoring softly. That’s when it clicked. The kid had probably kept you awake and on your feet for a while looking after him. He probably got fussy and accidentally hurt you while you were trying to take care of him.

“Oh, Cyar’ika. When was the last time you had a proper night of sleep?” 

“Dunno.” your words were slurred “Before you left, I guess.”

Even if you couldn’t see it, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would have come back.”

“He needed me.” you said decisively, before rambling almost self-consciously “You were busy, didn’t wan’ worry you. I-” you sighed and gave up trying to explain “He needed me.”

He felt his heart swell on his chest. You exhausted yourself because you put the kid’s safety and well-being, and his own peace of mind, over your own needs. The love he felt for you only grew even more.

“Come on” he said while sliding an arm under your knees and the other behind your back, your head resting on his chestplate “Let’s get you to bed.”

While he carefully laid you down he took note of your attire, his cheeks warming when he realized you were wearing one of his shirts, sleeves rolled halfway up your injured forearms (what can he say, he found forearms of any kind very attractive).

You rolled in your side, your eyes focusing on your surroundings.

“This isn’t my bed.”

“No,” he said, sweeping a stray strand of hair away from your eyes “it’s mine.”

“But-”

“No buts. Sleep.”

You sighed contentedly, snuggling the kid close to your chest, falling asleep almost instantly.

Din stared at the sight before him, a shy smile hanging on his lips under the helmet: you, curled up on his bunk, holding the kid close. It warmed his chest inside.

Yeah, he thought. He was home.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Build-A-Blurb

Hi and welcome to bulid-a-blurb! Pick a Neil Newbon character and up to three tropes, your favorite x Reader, and let me do the rest! <3

All blurbs will have a maximum length of up to 500 words!

Anon asks are on!

Okay, so, thing is; I'm stuck in bed being sick. What am I doing to kill time and feel better? Watch an awful lot of Neils work, ofc! So much so, that I cannot decide about whom to simp the hardest. Help me pick and put my thoughts for up to 500 words onto one character!

Characters to choose from:

Elijah Kamski from Detroit: Become Human

Karl Heisenberg from Resident Evil 8: Village

Simon Walker from Hollyoaks

Rob from Extinction

Win Spencer from Wallis: The Queen That Never Was

Mark Griffen from Reverb

Nikolai from Beyond The Rave

Pictures from Pinterest.

Pick Your Reader:

x afab!Reader

x gn!Reader

Pick Your Trope(s):

Friends, Secrets, Betting, Forbidden Love, Stuck Together, Forced Proximity, Dead Dove (I mean it!), Everything Smut (Feel Free To Specify), Drinking, Drug Use, Everything Kink (Feel Free To Specify), And There Was Only ONE Bed, Whump (Feel Free To Specify), Mental Illness

Thank you for partaking! <3

___________________________

Tagging a few who might be interested:

@ohlookapan @blueberrypancakesworld @queer-crusader @somethingblu3 @gothushi @wingswinger

[sicknessbysalem]

tw emeto, suspected food induced illness, scat, mentions/references to treatment and chronic illness

this is sort of a prequel to this fic but also could happen at any point in their timeline

*kotyonok means kitten, lyubov means love, and moya lyubov is my love

at the request of an anon: kostya and lana are both originally ukranian, however they live in adelaide, australia

if you have any questions/requests/comments, feel free to send them my way!

Lana and Kostya didn’t have many rules in their apartment.

Sure, there was the basics. Do what you can, when you can to help keep the house in order. Clean up after yourself. Food was fair game unless otherwise specified.

Truthfully, the rules in place in the house were simply common sense. But, there were a few other rules. Ones for each other, with each other.

For Lana, personal rules were simple. He didn’t like Kostya coming up behind him without saying something. If Lana was in his room and the door was closed, Kostya was expected to leave Lana alone until otherwise prompted. Kostya wasn’t allowed to fix Lana’s collars or help him with his tie if he had an award appearance to go to.

Kostya had rules too. His were longer, all pretty unspoken. But all things considered, Lana was fine with it. If he had treatment, Lana was expected to not interact much with him until Kostya seemed okay. Kostya was always overwhelmed by everything after it was said and done, not to mention how terribly nauseous treatment made him. Lana didn’t mind to leave his boyfriend be. Which made the other rule make sense. If Kostya was getting sick, Lana was not allowed to touch him. Not that Lana blamed him, being stuck in a hospital with nurses and doctors and techs with their hands all over during those rough moments would traumatize anyone. And Lana was allowed to be near Kostya, of course.

Then there was the weird rule. Most couples, if one picked up food on the way home it was simply expected they bring something for their partner. Not in their house. Well, not for Kostya.

Sure, Kostya would bring Lana food or snacks he knew his boyfriend liked. But Lana didn’t bring Kostya anything on Kostya’s preference. Especially not on treatment days. It always overwhelmed Kostya. Kostya would panic of Lana brought him anything. Because Kostya was just wired to think he needed to eat immediately if someone brought him something. Even if eating immediately when something was brought only left Kostya heaving off and on for hours until everything calmed down.

So Lana never brought food home for Kostya. In fact, Lana even rarely brought food in the house if he went to grab something. And even if he didn’t, he would always tell Kostya before he made anything that he would grab something. If for nothing else than respect for Kostya.

Of course, Kostya never told him to do that. It was an unspoken rule, an expectation. One Lana knew Kostya would abide by in a heartbeat if the roles were reversed.

So when Lana stopped on his way home to get dinner, knowing Kostya’s treatment was a little longer today and not knowing how Kostya was feeling, he didn’t think much of it. It was normal, especially days like today.

Kostya barely texted him, instead sleeping off most of the symptoms according to the few texts Lana got early that afternoon. Lana wished he could’ve called to check on Kostya, but he was right in the middle of album release promotion. Kostya knew that, Kostya was fine without the calls. Lana just hated being so disconnected from him.

But, Lana was starting to think a little more of what exactly he grabbed as he and Kostya are in bed. Kostya’s head was in Lana’s lap. Lana pet his hair carefully. They were sort of watching a movie. There was a movie on, anyway.

Lana was writing in his notebook with his free hand. Kostya was on his phone, probably texting back everyone he missed during the day. They were together but separate, in a way they were simply comfortable in.

It’s Kostya, actually, who makes Lana second guess if stopping for something was a good idea.

“Hey, you okay, moya lyubov?” Kostya asked, “Your stomach sounds like shit.”

Lana froze for a moment, caught off guard by Kostya's observation. He had been so focused on trying to ignore his own discomfort that he hadn't even realized his stomach was growling audibly.

"Oh, it's probably just stress or something," Lana replied with a forced nonchalance, hoping Kostya wouldn't press further, “It’s been a lot with the album release and planning everything, nothing you need to worry your pretty little head over kotyonok.”

Kostya raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You sure thats all it is? Have you eaten tonight?" he questioned, his concern evident in his eyes.

Lana nodded, offering a reassuring smile. "I got some dinner on the way home. When you told me you were sleeping of side effects I figured it would be better if I didn’t eat here.”

Kostya offered a small smile, “You don’t have to do that…”

“I know,” Lana shrugged, “But I want to.”

Kostya studied Lana's expression for a moment, sensing that something was off but deciding not to push the issue for now.

"Well, busy day then. Why don't we call it a night? We can both use some rest lyubov…" he suggested, trying to steer the conversation away from Lana's discomfort.

"Sounds good," Lana agreed readily, grateful for the excuse to avoid further discussion about his own condition. He gently stroked Kostya's hair, the rhythmic motion soothing for both of them.

“Do you want to stay together or..?” Kostya asked.

“Well, I don’t feel like moving,” Lana asked, “But are you up for it? I know treatment days sometimes…”

“No, I’m good, besides,” Kostya said, “This is comfortable.”

They settled into bed, Kostya resting his head on Lana’s shoulder. Lana's mind, however, was preoccupied with thoughts of what he had eaten earlier and the subtle but persistent unease in his stomach.

As they drifted off to sleep, Lana couldn't help but feel guilty for not being completely honest with Kostya. But in that moment, he just wanted to focus on anything else. He couldn’t do that to Kostya. He wouldn’t.

-

The darkness of the night enveloped the room as Lana stirred from his sleep, a deep sense of unease settling in his stomach.

At first, he tried to ignore it, shifting slightly in bed and willing himself to go back to sleep. But as minutes passed, the discomfort intensified, gnawing at him with increasing intensity.

Lana's breaths became shallow and rapid, his body tensing as waves of nausea washed over him.

He clutched the sheets tightly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead despite the coolness of the room. Kostya’s room was always cold. Something about cold rooms making nausea less intense, or something. Something Kostya learned before his treatment plan allowed him to be home.

But Lana doesn’t think it has any merit. He is overwhelmingly warm. The room feels suffocating and gets worse by the second. He didn't want to disturb Kostya. Not when he knew how rare it was for him to have a restful night.

But as the nausea grew unbearable, Lana knew he couldn't stay in bed any longer. With a quiet groan, he carefully slipped out from under Kostya's sleeping form, trying not to jostle him. He tiptoed across the room, his footsteps barely making a sound on the carpeted floor.

Every step sent a jolt of pain through Lana's body, his stomach twisting and churning with each movement. He reached the bathroom door just in time, his hand trembling as he fumbled for the light switch. The sudden brightness made his head spin, and he braced himself against the sink, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

Lana knew he was about to get sick, and there was no avoiding it now. He leaned over the toilet, gripping the edges tightly as he emptied the contents of his stomach in violent heaves.

The nausea was relentless, waves of pain and dizziness crashing over Lana in rapid succession. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the discomfort even as tears of exertion and frustration welled up.

Lana could feel his chest heaving. He heard his own gasping. It was so weird, really. Usually it was Kostya up in the middle of the night. Kostya’s side effects got worse at night. Usually it was Kostya, kneeling on the floor at some ungodly hour, trying to catch his breath. It’s usually Kostya who’s too hot… well, no. No Kostya got cold. Lana doesn’t know why he’s going over this list in his head, but he is.

Lana considers himself lucky though. Even though its him tonight, he still feels lucky. With Kostya, it was an all night ordeal. Not that Lana minded, he didn’t mind at all. But Kostya’s stomach was usually such a wreck he couldn’t even leave the bathroom for hours. Lana knew it hadn’t been hours, of course.

But it still felt like forever. After what felt like an eternity, Lana's stomach finally settled, leaving him almost entirely spent. He rinsed his mouth, splashed some water on his face, and took a moment to compose himself before quietly slipping back into bed beside Kostya, hoping he could at least get some rest before the morning.

-

Lana's fitful sleep was interrupted once again, this time by a more urgent sense of discomfort. He groaned softly, shifting in bed as a wave of nausea swept over him once more.

His stomach churned ominously, and Lana realized with a sinking feeling that this wasn't just a one-time episode.

As he tried to sit up, Lana felt a different kind of pressure building up, a sense of urgency that made his heart race with anxiety. He knew what was coming next, and it wasn't going to be pleasant.

With a sense of resignation, Lana stumbled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, his steps faltering as he reached the toilet. He braced himself for another round of vomiting, but as he retched, he felt a different sensation—a sharp cramp in his abdomen that signaled something else entirely.

"Oh no," Lana muttered to himself, the realization dawning on him.

As soon as Lana was sitting down, he feels what seems like chunky liquid rush out of him, splashing in the toilet.

That was definitely not good.

He felt sweat start to stick his bangs to his face, the little curls he had sticking to his cheeks. The feeling made him all the more uncomfortable. He brushed his hand over his face. He curled down, perching his elbows on his knees and covering his face.

Everything is suddenly too bright. He turned on the light. He knows he did, he knows he did it reflexively. But now he hates himself for it. The headache that he didn’t remember existing earlier is now almost as debilitating as everything else.

Lana doesn't feel well at all. Something is really wrong and for a moment he doesn’t know what it is.

The spell passes in time. Lana reached behind him to flush the toilet, but even that brings more upset to his stomach. Now he’s just nauseous as hell.

He cleaned up himself. Tried to put himself back together. Anything to go lay down again. He’d probably go to his own room this time. He felt thoroughly disgusting, he knew Kostya would understand. His own bed sounded better than subjecting Kostya to… well, this.

But standing makes him dizzy, and all he can do is lean against the wall and slide down, pulling his knees to his chest.

It was then that Kostya, stirred from his sleep by Lana's absence. The absence of warmth and weight next to him finally registers, and he’s up. He stays where he is for a moment, figuring maybe Lana just went to his own room. But, when he hears noise, he gets up.

The light seeped through the crack in the door. Kostya knew that probably wasn’t a good sign before he even approached the closed bathroom door, concern etched on his face as he listened to Lana's labored breathing from the other side.

"Lana? Moya lyubov… are you okay?" Kostya called out softly, not wanting to startle him.

Lana didn't respond immediately, still catching his breath after the ordeal. He mustered the strength to reply weakly,

"I'm... I'm okay, Kostya. Just... give me a minute."

Kostya hesitated, torn between respecting Lana's privacy and wanting to make sure he was truly okay. He stayed on the other side of the door, his hand hovering over the handle as he waited for any sign of distress from Lana.

And then he heard it—the sound of Lana retching. Without a second thought, Kostya pushed open the door, his concern overriding any sense of hesitation or discomfort.

"You poor thing," Kostya murmured softly, his heart aching at the sight of Lana's distress.

He knelt beside Lana, offering a gentle hand on his back as Lana continued to retch into the toilet.

Lana was pale, sweat beading on his forehead as he struggled with the intense nausea. Each heave seemed to wrack his body, leaving him exhausted and weak.

Kostya hated seeing Lana this way. Lana was always quite a violent vomiter. He always had been as long as Kostya knew him. The type of retches Kostya was sure started in his feet and worked their way up quickly.

Well, logically Kostya knew that wasn’t exactly possible. He knew that very well. But it stilled pained Kostya every time he heard Lana throw yp.

Lana retched again, Kostya could feel the way rhe force left Lana shaking. It was as if something in his body was desperately trying to get out, and Kostya couldn't help but feel a pang of worry.

"Kostya, I'm sorry," Lana managed to gasp out between retches, his voice filled with frustration and discomfort.

"Shh, Don't apologize, Lana," Kostya replied soothingly, his tone filled with empathy. "You're going through a lot right now. Just focus on getting through this."

Lana retched again. The waves were less abundant. But Kostya was almost certain that just meant he was heaving even more violently.

Kostya reached for a nearby washcloth, dampening it with cool water before gently wiping Lana's clammy forehead. He wanted to do anything he could to provide some relief, even if it was just a small gesture of comfort.

As Lana's vomiting subsided momentarily, Kostya helped him sit back against the bathroom wall, offering a little plastic cup of water to rinse his mouth and soothe his parched throat. Lana accepted it gratefully, taking small sips between deep breaths.

"You don't have to stay in here with me, kotyonok," Lana said weakly, gesturing towards the door. "I'll be okay."

Kostya shook his head, refusing to leave Lana's side.

“Lana, moya lyubov,” Kostya said, chuckling softly, “I’ve been sick for… what, a year now? I’m usually the one losing everything I consumed, multiple times a week even. And you have never ignored me or left me alone. Why on earth would I leave you?”

“Because I…” Lana started.

“I’m not going anywhere. No matter what,” Kostya interrupted.

“But what if I’m sick?” Lana asked, “You’ll get sick and-“

Kostya shook his head, sitting next to Lana and nudging him to lean his head on his shoulder, placing a gentle kiss on top of Lana’s head before stroking his cheek.

“Okay? So?” Kostya said, “If it’s between staying… well, less sick, or helping you. Then I will happily get sick if it means staying with you. I’ll always choose you in a heartbeat.”

[isabellehemlock]

I’m celebrating my three year fandom anniversary on August 6th (I was a lurker before then, but posted my first fic that day, so I love to celebrate it every year).  I’ll be sharing a reflections post of the last year on that day, but before then, I wanted to look at a fun one I did two years ago.  It was a prompt based celebration, and looking back, I ended up picking and piecing together an expanded version to cover several fandoms, as well as include art possibilities 🤩

This is my way of saying thank you to the readers, commenters, and friends I’ve made along the way and I’m excited to do another round of it 🥹👉🏻👈🏻❤️

So, how does it work?  

For the next week, I’m opening my anon ask box (so yay for any shy mutuals/lurkers), and you can request either a lineart art prompt, and/or 1k or less one shot - if you’d like something longer, fair warning, it would likely not happen till November! - either way, scroll below the cut for fandoms, pairings, ratings, scenarios, and prompts to send my way.  Let me know if you’re looking for art or fic, and then my hope is to upload everything on the 6th 🎉

Fandoms

IWTV • OFMD • Stranger Things • Good Omens • The Witcher TOG

Pairings

Honestly, pretty much any and all are welcome, so even if not listed, send it anyway - I might just not have thought of it before and would still be open to it - but off the top of my head:

IWTV: Loustat, Loumand, Devil’s Minion

OFMD: Gentlebeard, Steddyhands

Stranger Things: Steddie

Good Omens: Ineffable Husbands

The Witcher: GeraltxJaskier, GeraltxJaskierxYennefer

TOG: Immortal Husbands, Immortal Wives, Book of Nile

You're also welcome to request just one character focused piece, too 🥳

Ratings

Really any, but please do specify in your ask 😘

Tropes/Themes

Religious Themes • Affirming theology • Rom/Com • Friends to Lovers • Found Family • Hurt/Comfort • Mental Illness/Trauma/Healing • First Time • Baby/Kidfic • AU • Crack

Scenarios

A/B/O • Actor • Ghost • Lawyer • Marriage • Mermaid • Neighbor • Parent • Penpal • Social Media

Dialogue Prompts

“Can I kiss you?”

“Are you cold?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I don’t think we can keep this up forever.”

“Why are you naked?”

“You’re choosing now to flirt with me?”

“Why are you bleeding?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“I missed you so much.”

“I can’t stay away from you.”

“Please don’t cry.”

“Please wake up.”

“Please just kiss me already.”

“I’m here for you.”

“Are we on a date right now?”

“If I die, I’m haunting you first.”

“But I’ve never told you that before.”

“I’ve learned to love you.”

“What do you remember?”

“I don’t know if I want to yell at you, or kiss you.”

“Another nightmare?”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Come home.”

“I did it again, didn’t I?”

“I’m not going to fight you.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“I can’t do this without you.”

“Go big or go home.”

“Please stay.”

There’s a lot of combo possibilities, so feel free to pile several things together, and I look forward to seeing what y’all might send my way ❤️

[your-fave-queers-queerness]

have you ever looked at a character and thought to yourself, "damn, they definitely are queer in a way that makes most peoples heads spin"? then youre in the right place.

mspec gays and lesbians. straight homos. oriented aroaces. boygirls. turigirls. lesboys. and every other seemingly contradictory label under the sun. weve got it all, baby. so send in those headcanons!!!

as a heads up: reclaimed LGBT+ slurs will be present on this blog. i choose not to censor or trigger tag for them because for myself and many others, they are important identity labels, and these words are important pieces of queer history.

GUIDELINES:

send an ask stating the character, the media theyre from, and whatever labels you headcanon them using - feel free to include pronoun headcanons! in turn, ill edit them onto the corresponding flags and post that shit for the world to see <3

for labels that have multiple flags, please specify if you want a specific flag used, otherwise ill just pick my favorite option. i may make a flag list at some point in the future to make things easier, but for now you can include the flag in your ask or describe it to me. i'll also have a "#flag directory" tag for any flags i reblog.

if a character appears in multiple media, please specify any preference for that as well, including if theres specific art you want used, otherwise ill pick my favorite for that as well.

for characters without official art (such as from podcasts and novels), i will default to using the cover art or equivalent for the media. however, i welcome you to send in your own fan art instead if youd like!

posts will include edits for each flag on its own, plus one with all the flags combined.

i reserve the right to turn down any request if the character or media makes me uncomfortable for any reason. additionally, i will not make edits of real people, or of characters who are personas of real people.

any arguments against the "validity" of these identities will not be engaged with. good faith questions will be allowed, and tagged as "#info" alongside any other education-focused posts, but this blog is primarily for character headcanons.

edits are fine to use as icons and such! id prefer credit but its not really necessary.

and psst, fictives and fictionkin and everyone else of the sort - youre all welcome here. on that note, this blog is syscourse free. good vibes and friendship only 👍

blog icon is a combo of the lesboy and turigirl flags

[new about-the-mod post coming soon maybe? old one was out of date whoopsie]

[solanadium]

3, 14 (isat ask game)

isat ask meme here ! !

✨3- favorite soundtrack?

oh gosh ok . as many other "favourite x thing" questions i wont be able to pick Just One bc i am a clown but ...... it mainly switches between "how can you help me stardust?" (an absolute banger, and the whole boss fight attached to it is dear to me!!!!), "I WON'T LET YOU GO HOME" (absolutely in love with its vibes? smth abt the beginning goes so hard too.... such a good intro) and "you want to stay with them" (soft. beautiful. makes me feel so many things)... ill pick one to put on loop (lol) for weeks and then switch .

✨14- favorite character portrait(s)? (feel free to specify a character! or not! do whatever!)

WEEE ok ill show one of my fav for each of them teehee .

picking for isa and mira is so hard bc they have so many cute ones my gosh............ (on the floor) anycow i like when they are happy and/or Cool as Heck.

[atravesty]

Offerings & Paid Services

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---------------

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Celtic Cross - $15.55

+ $3.00 for a rune or oracle draw in addition to tarot

This post is a work in progress!

[various-fandom-edits]

Request Rules, Info, FAQ, DNI

Requests Are Currently: OPEN

Unfinished Requests: 6

Links:

Icons

Transparent Images

Userboxes

Wallpapers

DNI:

Any kind of exclusionist to the LGBTQ+ Community

Rascist

Ship anything pedophillic/incestuous

Judge others for harmless things/participate in "cringe culture"

Ableist

Just the type of person to be rude to others for no reason

About Me:

You can call me Mod Klein or Mod Shiver

I'm also Mod Shiver on @splatoon-edits

Any pronouns are good w me :3

Fandoms:

Soul Eater

Madoka Magica

Overwatch

Mlp (any gen, but please specify what gen a character is from)

Pokemon(any gen, but please specify what gen if its a human character)

Invader Zim

Wander Over Yonder

Honkai Impact 3rd

Animal Crossing

Ruby Gloom

Vocaloid/Utauloid/Vocal Synths in general(I might not know some obscure ones but ill try my best)

BOTW/TOTK

Sailor Moon

Undertale/Delatrune

*sighs*..... TF2.....

A Hat In Time

The Marvelous Misadventures Of Flapjack

Minecraft

Obey Me! Shall We Date?

Love Nikki

Steven Universe

HxH

Umaru Chan

Panty and Stocking (will pretty much only do panty and stocking, not any other characters. oh wait scanty n kneesocks can be included as well)

Awful Hospital

Over The Garden Wall

Final Fantasy 13

Final Fantasy 3

Mario

Fairy Tail

OK KO

ENA

Hands Up

Wakfu(show and game)

Vtubers(i don't know every single one but i watch too many to list individually. i mostly watch indie and hololive.)

JJK

Chainsaw Man

TADC

FNF

One Piece

And a lot of other things that i will add as i remember they exist. Feel free to ask if i'll do smth. I haven't seen everything on this list but i have seen a good chunk of them.

FAQ:

How to Request?

Just send me an ask on this blog detailing what you what like! It's that simple. Include as little or as much info as you would like. The more specific you are, the more likely you are to get exactly what you want. But vague requests aren't necessarily a problem. And anon asks ARE turned on, so don't feel shy!

What Can You Request?

Icons of a specific character

Icons of a specific character with a pride flag/s

Send me a screenshot and i'll edit out the background for you

Themed icons(ex: webcore, a specific color scheme, glittery, etc)

Wallpapers/lock screens of a certain dimension/ratio

A past thing I made but edited in some way

Transparents of a certain character i haven't done yet

Userboxes

Matching icons with 2 or more characters. I'll try to make them look as similar as possible/give them a cohesive theme.

Color picked pride flags

If something seems like i could do it, feel free to request it even if it may not be listed here. Worst thing that happens is i politely let you know i can't do it.

Userboxes stating you kin a character/are that character

Userboxes saying a character is your comfort character

Userboxes saying a character is your F/O

What Info Should I Include In My Request?

The following are extra pieces info you could include in your request to make it easier on me:

What size to make a wallpaper. This can be exact measurements or if you have an image that is the right size than feel to send that to me as well. (I'm not sure if you can send media through requests, but if not then feel free to dm this blog. If you want to remain anonymous on the request then i won't share your blog)

If the character you are requesting has multiple outfits, specify which ones you do/don't want. If you don't specify, i'll usually just use a mix.

What icon/edit i've done in the past do you want me to base it on? This isn't required, but if you want a guarantee that it will turn out a certain way then feel free to give the link to a specific thing i've done in the past. If nothing is specified i'll do what i usually do: whatever i want. Which i like to think usually doesn't turn out bad but it does mean you get a certain level of unpredictability when it comes to the little details.

What pride flag to use if there are multiple version.(ex. The sunset aroace flag vs both the aro and ace flags)

What Happens If I Don't Like How My Request Turns Out?

Simply let me know! Send another ask politely letting me know what I did wrong and i'll fix it!

When Do Requests Close?

Requests will close whenever i am busy/overwhelmed with my life. I will also probably close requests once i reach a certain amount so that i can catch up before getting new ones. Remember that i am a real person and have others things to do than just run this blog.

How Long Will My Request Take?

Depends on how interested i am in it. I will try to get to every request when i can, and the amount of requests i currently have affects that. If it is something I find very fun to work on it will probably get done faster. ;3 Of course after I finish the request It will be thrown in the queue. I sometimes have a backlog of posts but i try to queue requests to pop up within a couple days of me finishing them.

Can I Request More Than Once?

Yep! There is no limit whatsoever on how many requests you can submit. So go wild :)

Do I Have To Credit You?

You never have to directly credit me if you use something i've made, but rebloging it IS appreciated! It's how my work gets spread around to other people. But if you do want to credit me in your bio or whatever because you're using one of my icons i will always appreciate it :) THE EXCEPTION IS MY ICONS/EDITS USING ANOTHER PERSON'S ARTWORK! It is imperative that if another artist has been gracious enough to let me use their work that you properly credit them if using something i've made with it!!! Just a simple "credits to: link to artist" in your bio or pinned post should be enough!

What Do You Use To Make These?

A combination of Canva and Ibis Paint X!

Can Reblog With "Kin/Me/F/O" Tags?

Yep yep!! That's 100% allowed!

Tags:

#Icons- Icons

#Wallpapers- Wallpapers

#Userboxes- Userboxes

#Transparents- Transparent Edits of characters

#Misc Edits- Anything Else that doesn't fit into those categories

#Mod Speaks- Posts that aren't edits

#Others Work- stuff i reblog