#truffles is silly

[dorylinae-supremacy]

Raspberryblade

damn you guys really liked Technolove have a fish eye lensed raspberryblade in exchange

[lovelydragon003]

THE UNGULATES!!

[jewfrogs]

do you think i have enough pigs. be honest

[hee-blee-art]

some truff & puff notes app redraws & sketchbook doodles :)

[image ID: six digital drawings of truffle, a soft-bodied devil with small horns, a tail, and orange curly hair; and puffball, a short fat ghoul with an eyeball for a head. the first and second drawings are panels of a comic where truffle, sitting at a table, says, "you have my undivided attention." in the next panel he is shown from below with a wide smile and a thought bubble full of pictures of parmesan cheese. the third drawing is a sketch page showing the two of them in various outfits and embraces. the fourth is both of them in suits and puffball with a briefcase on her head as truffle says, "hello gentlemen, my name is business von stockmarket and this is my associate, briefcase." truffle then yells, "TAXES!" the fifth is puffball wearing his grey work uniform shirt and hat with a pink tutu. someone out of frame asks, "why are you wearing a tutu?" and puffball, with his eye closed, replies, "it's my flair!" the sixth is a heavily pixelated sketch of the two of them looking down shown from a low angle, with the text "take the cookies down from the high shelf above and below them. end ID]

[cloverzluck]

My Family Headcannons for peanuts‽

Schroeder/patty - cousins

Eudora/Angel Harold - Siblings

Peggy jean/Molly volley - Cousins

Pigpen/Truffles - Cousins

Tapioca Pudding/Ruby - Cousins

[daburuwosagase]

[butchjesus]

stupid manthing I'm fucking balling (prompt by @bromantically)

[image ID: a redraw of a resident evil 8 meme image featuring truffle, a pudgy cartoon devil, and puffball, a fat ghoul with an eyeball for a head. truffle, dressed in lady dimitrescu's dress and hat, slamdunks puffball, who is curled up, into a basketball hoop. end ID]

[psn-stalling]

Pelipper mail!

It's a peb-- no I'm kidding it's a small whittled figure of a happy Clodsire

Oh! How cute. I'll probably put this on my nightstand, it's very cute! Thank you!!

[draagu]

almost done making a new scug sona I just need to give them a name and finalize design maybe if I get unhappy with it over tmrw!!

[omegamoo]

doing origins doodles for the lush caves origins server tehe :))

[fluffbruary]

Fluffbruary IS UNDERWAY! Time to re-post the prompt list and spark some creativity!

As always, pick any or all of the daily prompts as inspiration for your fluffy fanwork. There are a handful of alternate prompts at the bottom of the list if none of the day's prompts work for you.

Whether you do some prompts, or all, or just one--increasing the fluff quotient in the world is surely a good thing.

All fandoms, all ships welcome! Tag @fluffbruary in your posts so we can reblog your fluffy creations--and please reblog THIS post so your tumblr community sees it and comes to play in the fluff.

February 1 : downy | clinic | nuance February 2 : engagement | scent | jam

Putting the rest under a cut because the images make for a LONG post :D

February 3 : umbrella | seashore | mist February 4 : camera | lush | beau

February 5 : rescue | inertia | lullaby February 6 : tie | embarrassment | dessert

February 7 : potatoes | blue | glass February 8 : shower | blessed | layer

February 9 : urgency | kneel | rural February 10 : flush | angel | owl

February 11 : reflection | water | apology February 12 : graceful | volcano | blanket

February 13 : choice | snuggling | furry February 14 : phone | bubble bath | doll

February 15 : cord | bakery | honey February 16 : neighbour | desire | horse

February 17 : magazine | tactile | curtains February 18 : suave | cologne | gradual

February 19 : tea cakes | flood | feature February 20 : smooth | glitters | queen

February 21 : photography | pepper | truffles February 22 : key | silly | quest

February 23 : rhythm | chalk | humor February 24 : spring | fuzzy | silky

February 25 : fox | twilight | sweat February 26 : fluff | woolly | care package

February 27 : table | blush | laundry February 28 : reward | shelter | piano

February 29 : breakfast | valley | sign

alternate prompts: evening | wish | hot | caress | solid

There you have it — all the Fluffbruary 2024 prompts.

Please reblog, and release the fluffening!

[sxgarp0pz]

"Mrooow?"— Ramshackle x cat reader Hcs.

GN READER. Cw: death/injury joke, may possibly be OOC In which, reader is a strangely smart cat— a specific three scraps’s cat. did they adopt reader? Of course not! Yet they’re here to stay ****************************************************** • Now, how exactly did they all meet? Cat!reader found them a stash of beans, and the scraps gave them affection. That’s it. And from then on cat!reader stuck around!

“No, we are not keeping that thing- we can barely afford to feed ourselves.” Stone said harshly. “But stooneee,” skipp whined, “they found us beans!” stone was silent for a moment, hearing what just came out of the other male’s mouth. “what the f—”

•They ended up letting cat!reader hang around, as long as they kept finding things for them.

•also, they nicknamed cat!reader whiskers. Of course they still call the kitty by name, but it’s just more fun that way. they’re truly a little endearing pack, aren’t they. •Vinnie definitely treats them like a truffle pig or bloodhound, having them sniff around for everything they need

•She also gave cat! a little bandanna! (even if it’s a little worn down, its still lovely<3) • I imagine them having a little stack of old newspapers laying kinda like a nest? Right by where they all sleep

• I can see the two of them’s relationship could be like an orange cat and a black cat.

• Skipp likes to practice his music with cat!reader around, as cat!reader always give feedback- whether it’s a flick of their tail or a purr, he’s appreciative

•It’s the same with any of his other hobbies, they’re always right there.

•Skipp is usually the one to carry them, in his arms or on his shoulders.

•The two of them’s relationship is most definitely like a golden retriever who talks, and a black cat who listens.

•Stones an interesting one,, if skipp’s not carrying them, they’re most likely laying on his shoulders!

• I love the idea that he calls them whiskers the most out of the three.

•Sometimes when Stone’s laying down or finally took it off, they’ll snuggle into his coat.

•I imagine the two of them’s relationship is like two black cats. One caring brooding void, and one silly void!

•This isn’t to say cat!reader’s an angel, no. They’re really quite a trouble-maker to the town, honestly.

•No one can’t leave bread of fruit on shelves or vendors, lest they scamper off with it. • I can see cat!reader picking fights with the actual “proper” pets, cat or dog but especially birds.

•Their first reaction to maggot was to immediately lightly bap his face, but then they felt bad so they started caring for him.

• When the pageant came, cat!reader begrudgingly switched out their bandanna for a white “necktie” (it was just a clean piece of ribbon)

•I can see cat!reader ending up scratching someone who booed at maggot

•I imagine that when the fight happened, they were going all out and ended up being like that party cat meme. “Beauty pageant horror!: rogue feline attack, 5 dead 9 injured”

• All in all, I see Maggot & cat!reader’s relationship like; weird kitten/over-protective sibling cat BONUS: they were given a toy mouse by maggot

((I have never done anything like this, so feedback is appreciated! Feel free to send asks if you’d like as well, I’ll get back to them soon as possible!!))

[hee-blee-art]

ms paint comp ft. the rest of the doodle requests and some bonus cartoon sillies

[image ID: ten ms paint doodles of various OCs, animals, and cartoon characters. characters featured (in order): croix and eggo (OCs), truffle and puffball (OCs), matteo and tiernan (OCs), truffle and puffball again, tbh creature, some frogs, a clown, spongebob, eros (OC), and perry the platypus (humanized). end ID] [further IDs in alt text]

[whatsupbeanie]

GASP! HELLO lovely friends!! I've been hard at work on something and I can finally reveal the cover for my first early reader graphic novel!!! Meet Poppy the Great Puptective and her new friend (?)Truffles the cat.

It's the first of a three book series, featuring puppy silliness, kitty grumpiness, friendship, mysteries and lots and lots of silly faces. If you or a young reader in your life enjoys InvestiGators and Narwhal and Jelly - this will be a series they might enjoy :). It comes out March 19, 2024 and you can Pre-Order it RIGHT NOW! Here's some very kind words about the book :'0

[daburuwosagase]

[dhampling]

butter gn!reader, 2.5k

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried.

-

you and the vampire spend a short gloaming sun discussing marriage outside the Elfsong.

word count: 2,538

crossposted on AO3 HERE

read the tags and decide your fate!

He’s softer this evening and the room is fuzzy.

The smell of richly slow-roasted meats & seasonal field greens slapped up high on battered dishes and lathered with fresh salted butter, topped with baby mint, with window-grown rosemary; with truffle salts and crushed peppercorns. Red wine gravy. The open kitchen and the overworked barkeep with sweat glistening at his cheekbone.

Chalices lift from sticky dark tables, sleeves animated in shades of burgundy & emerald moving yellowed, peeling playing cards to chests. Hands joined in prayers of gratitude and glory. Extra chairs for those held close. Laughter; lilting as the bounce of those who whirl around the open floor to the sound of the bards, folding over in some giddy stupor and barreling back to the bar for more.

You nurse a now-warm pint of Balor Ale with eyes closed, calm in empty contemplation as the city smells and sounds wash over you. A late summertide tapestry. 

Though people mill about the bar frenetically and the sounds from inside the Elfsong are as raucous as ever; it all knots together to form a sweet, almost melancholy ambience. 

Nearby merchants bellow late-day deals on (mildly) heat-foetid produce. Peals of children laughing as they bomb through the cobbles. 

Occasionally you’ll flit your lazy eyes open to find him amongst the throngs of people inside.

And in perfect view, he lounges on the back support of an open booth seat Karlach occupies. 

Other party members dot similarly around the bar area and the wine flows free as the Chionthar among them. Legs crossed one over the other and cool hands coloured in late amber - one to support, the other to hold the stem of an ‘aged’ Rosymorn Firewine which threatens to spill a little overside as his arm moves in conversation.

From this angle he’s captured beautifully in the gloaming tenday light and from his slightly straightened poise it’s clear he knows that you’re watching for him. 

A voyeur. 

He’d question your intent, right by your ear, in a sing-song voice so sinfully rich it’d go straight to your head; before chortling in that one silly way he knows never fails to make you smile and capturing you - his darling dearest - in a kiss for the ages. 

Astarion and his legendary beauty. Old hunting ground turned safe haven. A halo of well-aged tavern dust floats atop his perfect head in the sunlight and you couldn’t be more in love if you tried. 

-

You see he looks to you after what seems to have been a joke told by one of the group, eyes heavy lidded with joy and the worn creases by his eyes a little deeper by the day. Checking in. You join your friends when you want and are gratefully received on those many occasions, but you revere your time alone. He holds back because he doesn’t want to upset you in the slightest. 

Despite reiterating that he is forever welcome to join you in said alone time - and all puns entailing your ‘ alone time ’ whispered in a soft silken purr aside - you feel it in the way he speaks to you. 

A fruitfly hums by your ear. You swat it away and look to him once more. 

Astarion’s eyes are back on the group. 

He listens to stories beyond your earshot and smiles, lolling his pretty head back and dipping to sip from his glass often, the tips of his ears twitching ever so slightly as he does. You clock the sparkling glassware as opposed to the standard tavern-offering pewter chalice and grimace. A heavy bell rings from one of the gilded towers in the near distance.

There’s a cathedral near where you’re from - you remember your visits there as a young thing. The height of the tallest spire seemingly miles above your tiny skull. Ribbed vaulting and lancets. You’d marry him there, when he’d let you, in one of the smaller chapels just off the aged cloister walkway. 

The old stone reminiscent of so many who’d loved in all sorts of mangled, patchwork ways before you two were even a thought. 

You’d find a way for the sun to forgive him once this was over, so he could stand in the light of a stained rose window and feel faith in something the way those born into religion do. 

A reception bursting at the seams with old friends at the Elfsong. You could dance yourselves to the point of a tired stupor with reason enough to do so. A celebration. 

Travel across Toril and find a way for him to be able to stomach real food, maybe. Have a cake with marzipan and trifle with rich sherry-soaked sponge for the guests. For him.

His lips show the faintest touch of a wine singe as he looks from Wyll and across to Jaheira, squinting in the sun before standing to - presumably - head to the bar. 

-

You close your eyes again and somewhere in the middle distance, bells continue to ring. A dopey grin as light heeled footsteps approach.

“I think everyone was beginning to wonder if we’d had a tiff.” 

Astarion sniffs gently and sits - almost slumped - toward you before leaning in for the kiss.

His lips open lazily to meet yours over and over again, skimming over the back of your teeth with a tannin-stained tongue and all the urgency of a tenday rest. A cold thumb brushes over the apple of your newly freckled cheek. 

A carafe of freshly corked wine on the bench before you both, glassware and a plate with warm bread. The butter you’d smelled earlier. 

“Could’ve come to me sooner, lover.” You pose with a slow blink, holding his arm still at the wrist to keep his hand to your burning face. 

Foreheads meet. The sun beats in the back and the still early evening air is interrupted by the faint buzz of insects and far-off children.

“I know. I do. You just looked so very deep in thought. Our heroic leader.” He jokes, emphasising ‘heroic leader’ in a mock grizzled tone before his head leaves yours and bringing you into his torso with his arm around you. 

His stillness feels reverent. 

He doesn’t jostle, not a single gesture. You steadily pour two glasses of Firewine from the hefty carafe and sit back into him again. 

“I was thinking about you.” You say in earnest while moving to toy mindlessly with the hand draped over your shoulder.

“Hm?” 

A flicker - his eyes are on you, a familiar burn, a fire poker. He knows that he’s often the subject of your pondering (if your word is to be believed) and has spent days of his own considering what that could mean.

On nights where his tongue sours with centuries of fermented scorn and his bedroll soaks through with thick, cold sweat; your mind is a fertile meadow and he resides as naught but a simple buxom milkmaid - giving and dense and virile atop dry grassy knolls and by stony running rivers, rutting and riding and suckling and spilling with bare teeth brushing shining cheekbones and dirt smears on thighs. Dimples on cheeks. Eyes of green and silver, blunt teeth.

“You. I was thinking about you.”

Astarion looks into the oncoming twilight. He rests his head to the side on yours, then nestles in a little. A sigh.  

From that meadow however, there’s a house with a thatch roof in the far distance; in which he sits by a roaring fireplace in comfortable clothes of his own choice and you, bundling through the door with a basket of fresh produce to stew in hand. 

Those lips alone capable of crafting a euphoria akin to a godsly blessing on him. 

One bedroom; perhaps two. 

Maybe even three. 

“How so, my sweet?” He speaks with the familiar measure of a thousand yard stare.

He doesn’t make the voyeur joke you’d seen so vividly in your mind’s eye, nor does he collapse around you with both arms at either of your sides and his chin on your head; burying kisses into your hair and cackling maniacally. 

His laundry must’ve dried on the balcony in your party’s quarters during the blazing height of Flamerule. Ruffled shirt linen, crisp and earthy.

“You want to know how I was thinking about you?”

A soft intake of breath. 

“Yes.”

You shift a little to look to the Lower City further down the hills and pathways of Baldur’s Gate, the span of the Chionthar and its banks now lit with flaming torches. 

The racket continues inside the Elfsong with songs being sung; food arriving at waiting tables and being spooned, hot, into hungry, wet mouths. Sweat slickened palms joining in prayer. Yellowed cards downed and reshuffled, hands dealt. Bards plucking at lutes and lyres on streets and in parks just far enough away.

He looks to you as you roll your tongue around the inside of your cheek. Soft round eyes seeking permission to dream alongside you. 

‘I was picturing a wedding. Our wedding. In the cathedral back near home - I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before.”

Though it hasn’t been left to sit long enough to aerate, you take a long sip of wine and a cloying film of carnelian remains on your tongue. 

His eyes sharpen.

“You didn’t just propose to me, did you?’ 

He quirks a brow.

‘Really, darling? Here?’

He gestures to your surroundings while feigning disdain and reaching for the other glass. You begin to shake your head.

‘Come on now, little love. Not even a ring?”

Astarion drinks. His voice is lower. You roll your head back in loving laughter and wriggle yourself from his grasp, buttering a chunk of bread before popping it cleanly into your mouth.

”You want a ring?’ 

A sip. A smile.

‘Go nick one. You’re the rogue here.” You quip, chewing still on the crust and wiping your fingers on a scrap of cloth. 

He brings them to his lips and licks clean any trace of salty butter, kissing each pad of calloused flesh attentively before sipping from his glass. 

“Thieving my own engagement ring? How very sad.’

Spare hand gesturing once again to the tavern in such a blasé fashion it would make you cringe if you still put any doubt into his estimation of you.

‘This whole thing.”

His brows furrow in jest, the corner of his mouth pulling at a quick smirk. 

“Steal one for me, then.” You suckle at your wine, keeping the vessel close pressed to your lips lest their wavering seriousness give your smile away. Astarion studies you.

“You’d accept a stolen ring as a sign of promise? Of intent to marry?” He queries, though not sounding as airy - nor aghast - as he likely means to.

“Depends who stole it.”

He looks back to the city in the distance. Silence between the two of you.

“What were you picturing in that pretty head of yours? The wedding.”

His hands roll over one another nonchalantly as he says the word. Wedding. The glass sloshes. He’s toying on the precipice of serious, a scene he can’t quite play at comfortably yet.

“Oh no no no, my love. You’ll recoil. It was far too homely for your tastes.” You shake your head animatedly, waving your hands in emphasis. 

He leans in towards you; a sordid grin. He’s comfortable now. The warmth in which his shirt dried vividly present.

“Oh go on, darling. Make me squirm. Tell me every fang-rottingly flaccid detail and I’ll absolutely hate it, I promise.”

You choose to forget the face of endless night this evening. 

The anticipated fast approaching absence of the tadpole means - most likely - the rescinding of Astarion’s ability to walk in the sun, to bask under the stained glass rose in the chapel; or to waltz in a quiet midday embrace atop the Elfsong veranda.

“Can I trust you to be as absolutely appalled as I imagine you’ll be?” You whisper, saccharine in mock secrecy. 

“I swear it. Hand on undead heart.” 

He lingers barely above you, solemn; a voice of liquid gold. 

You let the silence hang.

“A chapel’

He winces.

‘Cold and draughty in some early morning moment - a choir elsewhere in the building, not close enough to be loud but not far enough to have their verses be wholly indiscernible in song.” 

“Go on.”

“Maybe a little austere in tone owing to the nature of the environment, but each moment feels anticipatory. A small - no, intimate - service, fast but…’

You tap your fingers on the dry wood of the bench. Trying to recall the exact sentiment.

‘Eager. Full of devotion so sickeningly true it literally fizzes below the surface of the flesh. Both of us.” 

Now you sip, content. Astarion looks into the distance 

There are no burdens pertaining to the ‘Absolute’. Life is being lived and the day feels as if it is ending only for another one - just the same - to rise in its place tomorrow. The idea of fighting and peril waits for the morning chimes. An unspoken agreement.

“I keep forgetting I can make choices like that now, truth be told. To commit myself to something with no intent other than that which I decide.”

He’s wistful. A little contemplative. Fingers tapping away.

“There’s no rush, my dove.’ 

Eyes back on you, hand reaching for yours.

‘Besides - for the trifle I pictured at the reception; we’d need to solve your little taste problem first before I’d dream of allowing such an indulgence to go to waste.”

Astarion coughs, a glint in his eye.

“You’re questioning my taste now?”

“Oh, absolutely. Look at your choice in partner.” 

He laughs softly.

“You're an insufferable thing.’

Your fingers & knapsack are both heavy already with stolen gems, as are those of every friend you’ve met along the road. Rings of onyx, quartz; once personal keepsakes & now your plunderer’s spoils. He’s like a magpie whilst rummaging through burlap sacks and rotten barrels. Token pieces without rhyme or reason.

He knows they’re worthless to sell on, anyway.

‘Who knows, though. I might like that. Once I know who I am again.”

Wobbles his head. Examines his pristine fingernails, buffing them softly against his blouse.

“Did you just accept a proposal that you fictionalised in the first place?” You gulp the last of your glass before refilling it swiftly.

“No. But now, you’ve got me thinking.”

“Pray tell?”

He looks at you, eyes now awash with mischief. 

“Though I absolutely adore the vision of you on your knees for me - you know I do pet, hush now - I also like the idea of claiming the pose for myself. In a way that’s meaningful for me.’

He sips. You remain in place, hushed.

‘I’m not a details man, my love.’

Eyes on you.

‘Don’t do it for me. I want to. Once we know where we are.”

You beam at him. Pinpointing the moment he turns from rogue to butter, a soft smile on his face. Sincere in the last of the sunshine.

You’re not hinting, and you’d never intend to. When - or if - you’ll tie the knot is as asking the length of a piece of string. 

The road which brought you to this very bench, however; has been one fraught with similar nonsensical questions.