#what a silly child i was

[gellertalbus]

can't believe i let 5 seconds fuck up my mental sanity but here we are

[crystallizsch]

finding out from two different voice lines from two different cards that jamil practices dance moves that he finds is two too many for me not to go 🤨🤨🤨

here are the voice lines in question -

Luxe Couture:

Club Wear:

(thank you to mysteryshoptls for the translations!)

[uncanny-tranny]

The thing that gets me about history and humanity is that you never know what is immortalized, and the things that will be immortalized are things you would never think.

I saw a person sharing a new tattoo, and it was one of Onfim's drawings. A boy who lived so long ago he is barely a blip now, but his drawings meant so much to people that somebody is now permanently marked in their skin with one of those drawings. Do you ever look at the things you make and just sit there and wonder if this is the thing that future people look at? Do you ever look at your art, your writing, your schoolwork, or anything that is yours and just wonder who will find it, who will fall in love with a piece of your humanity and become overwhelmed with emotion over? It's not unlikely. It's not totally unlikely that somebody will find a piece of you in the distant future and devoid of any other context of who you were will still love you because you were here. You were here, and you are still here, even hundreds or thousands of years later. Treat yourself with the same love that so many have for dear Onfim.

[chalkrub]

it's mendel!

[gracelesstars]

"Back when you first came into my life, I recalled a place that I knew as a child A special place One that I held close to my heart Won’t you lead me in a dance down this winding road where light and shadow entwine to take hold of the thoughts of the one left far behind? Know that, sometimes, I want to turn around and see the things that I’ve passed on the journey, but know with love on my side, with courage and pride, I’ll fight I will carry on"

R.I.P. Akira Toriyama

[inkskinned]

this is sort of pathetic, but when you were younger, you were sort of puzzled by the cartoon representations of fathers: how a kid would be outside with a mitt, waiting to play catch.

it's not that your father never played catch with you, but you also didn't like when he did. something about a hard ball coming quickly towards your face doesn't seem exciting. not that you'd ever say you don't trust him. you trust him, right?

it's not like he never tried to teach you anything. or never tried to parent. on rare days, a strange person would walk in your father's skin. bright, happy, magnificent. this version of your father was so cheerful and charismatic that you would do anything to keep him. and this is the version of your father that would laugh and gently coax you try again. this is the version of your father that would break down the small elements of a problem and point them out so you have an easier time with them.

as a kid, those days happened more often. but somewhere around 11, you started being too much of a person, and he was often cross about it. when he'd try to sit you down to learn something, you spent the whole time with your shoulders around your ears, nervous, uncertain. terrified because you didn't immediately understand how to navigate something. worried you will run out of his goodwill and then you will have the Other Father back, and you will have ruined a good day for your entire family. something about you being visibly afraid - it just made him angry. he would accuse you of not wanting to learn and storm away.

on tv, it's not like there's a lot of versions of men-who-are-mostly-fathers. they can be good dads, but usually their stories are not told in the household. so it's normal that your father is there, but he's never around. you know he was in the house, somewhere, it's just not that you guys ever... "hung out". he just seemed to get kind of bored of you, annoyed you weren't made in his perfect image. frustrated with how much energy it took to raise a kid. over time, you kind of adopt a bittersweet band around your throat - he knows nothing about me. he says at least i never abandoned my family.

and it's technically - technically - true. he was there for you. sometimes he even made an effort and made it to the big moments; the graduations and the dance recitals. he grins and tells everyone that he taught you. it almost erases the days in between, where he complains because you need a ride to school. the weeks that go by where he doesn't actually ever speak to you. the times you say i am struggling and he says figure it out on your own. i can't help you.

and that's fine! that's all fine. you can call him if you are having a problem with your car. or if you need a ride to the hospital. he loves playing hero, he just doesn't like the actual work that comes with being a father. and you've kind of made your peace with that; because you had to, because you don't want to live your life like he does; the whole world at a managed distance, a little rotating and controlled orb he can witness and take credit for but never truly love.

as an adult, you are rewatching some dumb cartoon - and again, the child standing in the rain, with a mitt, waiting for their father to come play catch. as an adult, there's this strange creeping dread - this little thing? this little thing, and their dad can't even show up for that? oh god, holyshit, it's not about the mitt, is it. oh god, holyshit, your father spent most of your life leaving you hanging.

[sinusoidaldisfunction]

Dusky. Littol guy.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

10,000 Leagues Under Fontaine

Synopsis: The life of a guard of the Fortress of Meropide is mostly dull and structured, until a chance encounter with an otherworldly beast gives you a reason to smile again.

Foul Legacy x Reader Pronouns: Gender Neutral (no pronouns mentioned) Genre: Angst Warnings: Mentions of drowning, acid, burning, very slight mentions of blood

~ * ~ The Fortress of Meropide is always cold. Cold, but never quiet; the underwater complex is unmistakably alive despite being made of metal sheets and grates, the sound of machinery weaving with the chatter of both inmates and guards, sharing their days and gossiping here and there as good citizens of Fontaine always do- rumors spread fast in the Fortress, and there’s not a moment that isn’t exciting or entertaining in some way. Or so you like to imagine. Being one of the top guards of Meropide has its benefits- getting to choose your days off, occasional trips to the surface, even the Duke’s personal trust in your abilities. But with trust comes difficult, often tedious tasks, ones that Administrator Wriothesley only assigns to the most capable workers, and so you find yourself patrolling the space between the main prison and the ocean gates. The room is an odd mixture of metal and screws and a gradual incline towards the sea floor, a shallow puddle transitioning into a passage filled with water that someone could swim in. You keep wondering when Wriothesley will properly fix the gate at the end, and he simply responds that he’ll get around to it at some point. For now, keep watch- it’s almost a straight shot to the ocean, and we wouldn’t want inmates attempting to escape, now would we? And you just nodded, expression steady as stone and twice as unmoving; no prisoners would sneak in on your watch.

Not that they often do. Life at the Fortress is a new start for many and even a step up in comfort for most. Besides, the passage is much too long for anyone without a Vision to swim through without the danger of drowning- you’ve had to haul a few corpses out in the past, and that was enough to dissuade most of the other prisoners, it seems. Good for security, but boring for you, as there’s little else to do but watch water drip from the ceiling and skirt around the jagged bits and edges of metal left on the walls and floor. Occasionally a gardemek going through its initial testing will join you, and you’ll idly teach it to play rock paper scissors- so far, you’ve kept up a 50% win rate against the robotic soldiers- but nothing more. At least it smells of rain here instead of smoke and fire. You’re alone on the day that the noises begin, sitting on a crate and mistaking them for distant ocean waves and the clanging of hammers against metal. They’re simple at first- vague splashes and a faint scratching sound- but as you listen they morph into something else, like echoing cries, or perhaps a song through the sea. Something beautiful, for once, one corner of your mouth twitching up ever so slightly- what few friends you have call this expression your “almost-smile”, and know it’s as pleased as you’ll get. Something close.

Your almost-smile vanishes as your ears pick up the distinct sound of something swimming through water, the water that flows through this small passage, scrambling to your feet and snatching your weapon from its spot on the floor as whatever-it-is turns the corner, the water’s surface rippling. You really should’ve taken up on His Grace’s offer to get you a rifle. You’re expecting the aquatic thing to burst forth from the sea, attacking you first and asking questions once you’re dead, but instead you’re greeted with the sight of two crimson horns poking out into the air, the water stilling if not for slight movements. Slowly, steadily, your gaze follows the horns down as a head rises out of the water, a single crystalline eye blinking curiously and settling on your form. There’s a moment of silence, and then the creature chirps. You can only freeze in place, brows furrowed in deep confusion as the beast- Archons, it’s big- hauls itself onto shore, tilting its head this way and that as it cautiously approaches. The hand holding your weapon tightens, your heartbeat almost painful, and the monster’s eye widens as it pauses, glancing nervously from you to your weapon and back again.

With slow, deliberate movements, you watch as the beast lowers its head to your height, letting out a soft trill. It almost sounds apologetic, hunching its shoulders inward shamefully, and something in your heart, the one you molded and fixed into being cold and quiet, cracks. You lower your weapon, eyes narrowed, and you swear you hear the creature purr. Legacy is its name, his name- Foul Legacy, a monster from beneath your world. But he’s a monster only in appearance, you’ve learned, navigating the ocean with boundless curiosity and a demeanor sweeter than any Fontainian dessert or cake that you’ve ever eaten. Tell me everything, he begs, scratching his claws through the dirt in a language you only vaguely remember from an old book. Tell me anything and everything- about this world, about here, about there, about you. He likes you, you’re kind and caring and gentle, so unlike the countless stars he’s seen before. You try to protest. You’re not caring, or gentle, or kind- you’re a guard of Fontaine’s prison, someone who was stabbed through your spine and constructed walls around your fragile heart, watching the Fortress to make sure that no one could ever be hurt like that again. You’re not soft or loving, you’re not. But Foul Legacy merely chitters, fluttering those sparkling wings that you swore used to be fins and staring at you so sincerely that you’d think he adored you.

And he does adore you, loves you, even. Ah, if only he spoke your language, the language of mortals that his tongue can’t seem to wrap around, if only he could say three simple words and hug you close, showering you in affection. But he can’t touch you. The last time he tried you had clamped your teeth down on your tongue, a drop of blood falling from your mouth as your skin burned like acid, a sickly heat creeping up before you had jolted away, gasping for air. Legacy whined in concern, trying to nudge your seemingly-unblemished hand, but you’d simply shaken your head and stepped away, slightly feverish. Every person in Fontaine is born with sin. No matter how the Nation of Justice holds trial after trial, this sin cannot be absolved. He didn’t touch you after that, merely curling his body carefully around yours during your visits, hanging on to your every rambling word and always parting with the same question- Tomorrow? Yes. You’d return tomorrow, despite your chilly expression and flat words and tone. You always return tomorrow.

The Fortress has been buzzing with energy- not that it isn’t always- but the arrival of a certain golden Traveler has kept everyone on their toes, the dread and anticipation of something happening seeping into your bones, because it’s always something whenever that Traveler and their tiny, floating companion are around. You almost prefer your monotonous routine from before, but a small smile blooms slowly on your face when you watch Foul Legacy happily splash around in the water, shaking his head and cooing as the droplets rain down around him. He chirps at you curiously, your quiet, fond expression reflected back in his sapphire eye, and you just let out a small laugh and wave your hand as he stares at this new facet of you in awe. With a soft plink, a bead of water falls and lands on your cheek, a hiss of annoyance escaping you as you quickly swipe it away, settling between your nail and finger. It burns, and your throat closes up in horror. Not a minute later, Wriothesley’s voice rings out through the building. “All residents, evacuate immediately.” There’s a crackling pop and a split second of silence, before the alarm blares and your ears ring with pain. Until one day, the water levels in Fontaine will rise, and the sinful people will slowly be drowned.

Your hands slam against the barred door, tearing desperately at the metal that mercilessly rips into your fingers and closes off the room you always guard so carefully from the rest of the Fortress- they forgot you. They forgot you. They forgot you and left you here to drown and rot, and your eyes burn with repressed tears, fear enveloping your senses like a sticky, jagged web. No no no- you swore you’d never be this afraid again, that you’d never surrender so easily again, that you’d never cry ever ever again. A soft, concerned whimper snaps your head around, Foul Legacy standing behind you. His wings droop at your damp eyes, claws twitching and curling from the urge to hold and hug and comfort you as is right and proper, banish the panic away because it scares him to see you, normally so composed and quiet, this terrified; instead he shakes his head and trills, hastily beckoning for you to follow him, boots splashing in the water stretching into a long passage. Out. It leads out. It leads out to the sea and the surface, where you can breathe and cry and admire the sun, and your feet move forward before you can even think. You want to live- yes, finally you want to live. You want to live and be able to smile and laugh again, keeping the warmth that this strange, otherworldly monster brought to your life and never let go.

With a deep breath, you plunge into the water, kicking your feet and pushing yourself in the general direction of the path. Foul Legacy guides you with his chirps, now turned to eerie, song-like notes under the waves. His tail and fins- weren’t those just wings?- propel him faster than you could ever dream, yet still he slows his pace and stays behind with you, and your heart feels like it's joining in on his melody. The water swirls around you like oil, lungs burning as a few stray bubbles trickle out of your mouth and you taste salt on your lips. What little you can see in your murky vision flickers black, and Legacy lets out a sudden, terrified shriek. In the end, the people will all be dissolved into the waters, and only the Hydro Archon will remain, weeping on her throne.

It’s just salt in your mouth now, the taste coating your tongue in a horridly thick layer. Your fingers twitch as they burn, pushing through the water with arms heavy as lead. Foul Legacy whimpers and sobs in despair, grasping his claws around your wrist to try to pull you out, get you to the surface away from this sickened water only for the ocean itself to sink its teeth in and hold fast. What’re you trying to do, again? You’re having trouble remembering where you are, what you are, who you are, scrubbing your eyes again and again and swallowing gulps of salty seawater. This is where you’re supposed to be. This feels safe, comforting- you’re going home after all this time, see, somewhere less confining and fleeting. Finally, you’ll be where you belong, free from the bindings that hold all of Fontaine in their grasp. There’s a vague sense that someone has wrapped their arms around you, faint, anguished wails echoing through the depths, and when you finally open your eyes again you see stars dancing across ripples and tides. You return to the Primordial Sea, and Foul Legacy’s talons close on only foam and bubbles. Only then will the sins of the people of Fontaine be washed away.

[mintflavoredart]

hey guys you know what's better than ONE unhinged scientist ?

[stiffyck]

I think I already talked about this and I've seen others mention it but it's been on my mind again:

Is it weird that grian is usually drawn looking like a teenager or just a kid in general while the others look like adults

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

I’ve returned from my sketchbook quest , and here’s a drawing for dauntless-daffodil , who came up with the idea for the spear baby au.

THEM HAS COOKIE!!! ;A; <3 <3 <3 <3 SMOL WITH COOKIE!!!

AWWWWWW~

oh gods looking at that cute little innocent face i can just FEEEEEEL baby spear watching as chaggie and the hotel all stand around them hotly debating What Food Is Even Healthy For A Baby Spear Spawn Child To Be Eating

Charlie: "A cookie??"

Angel Dust: "They don' need cookies, ya useless gays, they need milk!"

Charlie: "We had cookies in the hotel??"

Vaggie: "Why would they need milk? They've got teeth already! Fangs, even!"

Angel Dust: "That ain't how nutrition an' shit WORKS toots!"

Niffty: (shakes jar full of money) "SWEAR JAR!"

Angel Dust: "Fuck. Shit." (hands over three dollars)

Charlie: "Since when are there cookies in the hotel that I don't know know about???"

Cherri: "If they've got fangs and like chewing stuff, maybe they need meat or something?"

Niffty: "OR BLOOD!!!"

Vaggie: "We are NOT-"

Angel Dust: "Ain't no baby under my watch gettin' fed steaks and BLOOD!"

Charlie: "Where did the cookie even COME from?!"

Husk: (coughs)

Charlie: "Husk! You gave them-?"

Husk: "....bar's always got snacks. And they were just. Staring at me."

Angel Dust: "Husky noooooo....!"

Vaggie: "How? I did a double sweep for undeclared cookies just two days ago- you KNOW what Charlie does to your bar if she goes snack hunting in the middle of night and actually finds something. She's like an adorable cookie gremlin."

Charlie: "Heheh!"

Husk: "Yeah well, she's not the only one allowed to like f- fffffffudging cookies. And your kid seems to take after her, so whatever."

Angel Dust: "Baby cat, that's no reason ta- oh for cryin' out loud, now what Vaggot?"

Vaggie: "...what? I didn't say anything."

Charlie: "Vaggieee, you're smiling~"

Vaggie: "Huh?"

Husk: "Like a dumb... dumb."

Niffty: "Beaming! Grinning! AS WIDE AS A SLIT THROAT-"

Cherri: "-fuck fuck fuck, shit shit, damn crap hell- here, take my money and don't fucking talk like THAT in front of the kid either, what the fuck."

Angel Dust: "Sickening."

Niffty: "Thanks!"

Angel Dust: "I meant Darth Vaggie getting all googey eye'd over her an' Charlie chip having a kid."

Charlie: "Oh so you think they're my kid too, huh?"

Angel Dust: "Are ya gonna let Vaggie raise 'em without ya?"

Charlie: "No~pe~!!!"

Angel Dust: "Then congrats on parenthood ta both of ya, it's already going to hell."

Vaggie: "Okay, uh-"

Husk: "You're gonna fffffeathering cry again."

Vaggie: "-no I'm not, I'm just glad the... my kid isn't still crying. Our kid. They, really are pretty happy with the cookie aren't they?"

Charlie: "Of course they are! It's CHOCOLATE CHIP!!"

Angel Dust: "It's not. Baby food."

Charlie: "It is if it's my baby, and they get milk to go with the cookie!"

Angel Dust: "V-gal, stop her! Use ya dang mom veto!!"

Vaggie: "Eh. Charlie was a hellborn kid and she grew up fine. I trust her."

Charlie: "AWww!!!"

Angel Dust: "Unbelievable."

Husk: "Whipped."

Vaggie: "Yeah? My kid didn't even have to say anything to get a cookie out of you, fluff boy."

Cherri: "Uh, guys.... gays...?"

Husk: "What."

Charlie & Vaggie: "What?"

Angel Dust: "Both and speaking, baby."

Cherri: "Where did..... the baby go...?"

Hotel crew: "....."

Place where baby was: (empty except for crumbs)

Spear Baby: (gone)

Vaggie: (wings bristling) "The-"

Charlie: "OUR!"

Vaggie: "Our-"

Demon Charlie: "-BABY!?"

Niffty: "MOTHER OF FUCK." (throws down swear jar) (tries throwing herself onto the broken shards but angel dust and husk grab her)

-meanwhile, elsewhere in the hotel-

Alastor: (walking quickly)

Spear Baby: (crawling after him)

Alastor: "....shoo."

Spear Baby: "Guh!"

Alastor: (nervous sweating) (walks FASTER)

[the-toybox-general]

AHHHH I've been playing Digimon Cyber Sleuth on and off again and I FINALLY digivolved my starting digimon ( Palmon ) all the way up to Rosemon !!! I wanted to sketch them for that reason... it took way longer than expected...!! But for that reason it feels like a big achievement!

This is specifically supposed to be my Rosemon ( His name is Squire ) but I think I could design him to have more of his own cool unique details as an actual Digimon oc !! So this is Squire... for now !!!

[babykittenteach]

Just the hands and chest for the people who follow me and leave fantastically unhinged tags on things.

[dasistmeinpferd]

charia + little sisters

[matchandelure]

more of this crossover of mine

[orange-coloredsky]

the "3000 year old child" trope has the possibility to be genuinely intriguing and could explore the way children are treated across time no matter their apparent level of intelligence. it could be funny it could be heartbreaking it could be horrific to think about. too bad 90% of it is just an excuse to be a creep. sad!