#i ... hope this is ok .

[albinoxherbalist]

Starter for @vampyrs-and-witchers

Winter was almost there and the weather made that very clear. It was getting colder and there were even a few instances of snow falling, altough it would melt the next day. Rose had done her best to prepare for the winter, as she had a feeling it would be a rough one. There was plenty of firewood, she had stockpiled food and other resources that might be needed to make it through the winter. Usually, her brother would have come home by now, as he usually wintered with her, but he didn't come yet. From the last letter he had sent her, it seemed like he might not come at all or maybe just near the end of the season, as he had a pretty lucrative job as a guard. For how long, he couldn't tell. This slightly disappointed Rose, even though she'd never admit it. She liked her brother's company and missed him dearly. It had been months since they last saw each other. Seemed like for the time being, she had to content being alone in her cottage. It was another cold evening. The sun had almost set and she was busy cooking a stew. She managed to catch a rabbit that morning and wouldn't want it to go to waste. Rose never really liked hunting or killing, but eating was a necessity after all. As she was sitting by the fire, reading as she waited for the stew to be ready, she heard noises outside. At first she thought it was an animal, but it sounded more like footsteps on her porch and she could hear faint whispering. There was no way this was her brother. Hunter would just enter straight away or announce himself. This was more than one person too. Curious, but also cautious, she approached the door. "Hello?" she asked. "Anyone out there?"

Part of her became a little bit scared. She was alone in her cottage and completely defenseless. Rose wasn't much of a fighter and she had always relied on her cottage being hidden in the woods, far away from the next town. What if those were bandits? Then again who travels through a forest, way off the paths? It was strange, but it didn't help her nerves. She leaned against the door as she waited for an answer.

[luimagines]

can I request the chain with a modern!reader that has a ton of knick-knacks from their era that the chain is absolutely obsessed with please? like wind loves their sunglasses, twilight is obsessed with their lip balm, sky keeps stealing their hand cream, etc. I'm super excited to read it ☺️🥰

OOhh!! Cute! I'll see what I can do! :D

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

"....So.... what is this again?" Twilight takes the cap off of your lip balm and puts it back on. He does it again. And again.

"Chapstick!" You snatch it back. "If you keep doing that you're going to mess it up."

"I like these." Wind grins, playing with the sunglasses as they fit on his snuggly on nose. "I want some! Everything looks cool and dark."

"Well yes." You laugh a bit as you apply the lip balm to your lips, only vaguely aware that Twilight had been watching the movement. "That's the point of them anyway. They're meant to wear on very sunny and bright days so you don't hurt your eyes."

"How do I look?" He strikes a pose. He looks ridiculous. They don't remotely fit him.

"You look great, little buddy!"

"This smells nice." Sky rubs his hands together, smelling his hands again right after. You had been trying to do your morning routine when the boys had caught your various skin/health care items. You didn't have the strength to stop them as they fiddle with what you had and began to continue looking through your stuff.

"Good." You reply absentmindedly to Sky as you take your lotion back. "It's supposed to."

"But what is it for?" Warrior takes the bottle out of your hand and tries to read what's on the bottle. Naturally, he understands nothing.

"It's to keep your skin soft." You sigh and hold your hand out for it. Honestly, the least they do is ask. It's like trying to keep your brother's our of your drawer.

"Can I try?" Warrior asks, eyes bright like a child's.

You groan and face palm. "Sure. Go ahead. It's not like that's the only bottle I brought with me or anything."

"I'm surprised you brought it at all." Legend jokes, playing with one of your pens that has multiple inks on the inside. You think he likes the clicking sounds the most. It's not like he knows he can draw with it. "What good is all this stuff?"

"You don't get to say anything!" You accuse. "You brought three journals, two shovel and like five different magic rods!"

"Those are are tools!" He sits up at once. "They're to help when you're out and about and adventuring!"

"Well this is for my sense of routine and structure!" You fire back. "I need some sense of normalcy in this crazy messed up time wibbly wobbly thing I've found myself in! None of you know what a microwave is!"

"Did you bring it?" Wild tilts his head. "What's does that do?"

"I- No, I didn't bring one." You fight the urge to face palm again, "It's too huge and heavy but it's suppose to heat up food faster than a fire and it's convenient."

Wild grins. "I want one."

You sigh. "...I'll see what I can do, big guy."

"Yes!"

[heartsfortwotpot]

who invited this guy???

[exeunknown]

Uhh yeah I like this game

Context on why I gave afton buckteeth: in a discord server I’m in someone drew the “ermm actually” thing with afton and everyone basically agreed that he had buckteeth, I personally find that really really cute and I gave mia a gapped teeth too ❤️

[noctlas332]

when i seen this design (by sleep-nurse) i was like "woa this fucks,,, ive got to draw it," (spooky setting loosely inspired by this drawing by kiwi-does-stuff)

[misdreavusplush]

art trade with my awesome mutual @sticklovezone :)))

if mr stick and mr branch got married would there be two mr sticks or two mr branches?

[anarchistmemecollective]

This Wednesday (October 12) Spain celebrates "Día de la Hispanidad". On this day they expect us to celebrate Spanish colonialism.

I am taking action against it, but I want to make a call to action to drown all the fachas, fascistas y franquistas with the history of the countries that suffered the consequences of Spain's actions.

There will be a military parade where the royal family will be present. Make the news be about the crimes the Spanish crown commited, not what new dress the queen is wearing.

[alkaysani]

Trick or treat!

so one of the treats can be fics in progress, so i have this one where buck finds out what really happened after she leaves and before she gets to boston - here's a buck and eddie scene in the immediate aftermath

“Buck.” Buck blinks at the clipboard in his hand. The check list is blank, and he hasn’t moved since he grabbed it. He looks up to find Eddie beside him, grabbing the clipboard out of his hand. He has that look on his face makes Buck feel like he can tell him anything. And there will be no judgement. Not when it matters. “Are you okay?” Eddie whispers, keeping his voice low and it makes something in his chest crack harshly. He feels out of breath, all of a sudden and there’s not enough oxygen in the room. A hand grips his shoulder tight and he’s being pushed back against the wall, made to lean against it. “Woah, hey. I got you,” he hears, and when he looks up, Eddie is there, brown eyes wide, worried. His thumb is pressing against his collar and he shivers, leaning into him, into it, and a gasp just breaks through. When it does, Eddie’s arms are around him, and he’s squeezing Buck like he’s holding him together. He doesn’t say anything, and just lets Buck cry. When his cries turn into sobs, he doesn’t hush him. He just holds him, and at that point he didn’t care that he can hear his own sobs echo in the firehouse. No one else approaches them. Whether because he’s not actually that loud or Eddie told them to leave, he doesn’t care. Buck nearly lost his sister, and he thought he was doing what was best for her. He doesn’t care.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Is it okay to request TanZen fluff (with female Zenitsu because I am a sucker for Female Zenitsu-)?

When he was younger, Tanjiro used to brush Nezuko’s hair. Sometimes he liked sitting with his mother, running his fingers through her hair. The motions had been driven into his mind as comfort. It soothed him. And Zenitsu quickly found this out when Tanjiro seemed to be absentmindedly brushing out her hair as they cuddled. It was post a mission and, both exhausted, had found a wisteria house close by and been generously taken in. After bathing and settling in, the two had collapsed into bed. Adrenaline from the battle still simmered in them, however, so sleep took its nice time to arrive. In the end, they had curled into one of the two futons set out for them, talking quietly as they awaited the telltale heaviness of their eyes. At one point, Zenitsu had felt Tanjiro’s hands begin raking through her hair. Shortly after, Tanjiro relaxed under her, his free arm wrapping snuggly around Zenitsu’s waist. He hummed gently and, as Zenitsu glanced up, his eyes closed. A light tug closed Zenitsu’s eyelids and she buried her face in the embrace, breathing slowly steadying into sleep.

[popcorndispenser]

Did anyone say... young Des anger issues oneshot? Ft Raymond being awesome?

...No? Just me? Aw. Oh well, here it is -

@jistda pings you right back. Your art inadvertently kicked me in the ass to remind me to post this lmao

Raymond was awoken in the wee hours of the morning by a mighty CRASH from the floor above.

The middle-aged butler slept in the Sycamore manor for the convenience of the madam and master, but in his own unique quarters, seperated enough from them that they needn't think of his existence unless they wished to. Perhaps so he didn't appear to be more of the family than he was.

Raymond was perfectly fine with the arrangement - not needing to pay rent unless he made an unnecessary expense (such as a hot bath) was well worth it in his opinion, as well as the fact that he genuinely enjoyed his job and appreciated not having to take commute to arrive at it every day. It had never stung that he knew they conspired still to keep him out of sight and mind equal, as he was so proficient in that art, working with such speed that it occasionally felt as though the rooms had been compelled to clean themselves by magic.

Seperate he was, but his room was stationed almost directly beneath the room of the young master Desmond, which was of rather some concern considering the volume of the noise he had heard and the fact that the current time was just past 3 in the morning, far too early for a young lad to be up and getting himself into trouble.

No further noise presented itself beside the hurrying of tiny feet, so Raymond was left to assume that the boy's parents hadn't been woken as he himself had... or, unfortunately, that they hadn't cared enough to pay it mind.

Raymond hefted a heavy sigh, slipping from the comfort and warmth of his luxuriant bedsheets to try and make himself presentable, changing into a comfier version of his usual attire and slipping on his patch-pattern slippers. Best to go ensure the boy hadn't hurt himself.

It was a chilly night, the air blooming with the frost of autumn, and Raymond checked several times that the windows were closed tight as he passed by. Making his way up the great staircase he had to watch his step as to not misstep. It would be a boon to illuminate his path, but alas, it wasn't possible. The only available lights were that of the great chandeliers above in the high arched ceiling, and he would not dare to risk waking the master and madam up by alighting those.

The butler paused outside of Desmond's room, hesitating to hear for anything suspicious before rapping his knuckles at the door once, twice, thrice, and calling out for him softly.

Shuffling noises that had been audible within immediately stopped, a childish behaviour that amused him to no end, to think that a sudden absence of noise was in any way /less/ suspicious.

"Young master?" He called, careful to soften his voice, again aware of the boy's parents sleeping down the hall. "Are ye alright?"

Another beat of silence. Raymond held back a slight urge to groan. Instead he simply knocked once more.

"There've been some concerning noises... just open up eh, I only wish to make sure you are alright."

The butler's accent was thicker with sleep, he knew.

"I-I'm okay!" The young master finally called back, voice wobbly and warbling in a way that instantly sent alarm bells to Raymond's head and heart and woke him the rest of the way. "I'm sorry for waking you, really." And the voice grew closer, Desmond obviously moving nearer to the door to be heard without projecting himself. "But there's really nothing to worry about. You can - you /should/ go back to bed."

"Och, I don't think so." Raymond frowned deeply, more determined than ever to see what was amiss. "If you could even allow me to see you, to ensure that you are unharmed, that would be plenty."

"My voice doesn't assure you that I am well?"

"Quite the opposite."

A pause, and then- "Okay." The boy huffed, sounding annoyed. "Okay, okay. One sec-"

Raymond waited patiently until the great oak door finally clicked open, and looked down at the sight of a remarkably uncomfortable looking Desmond Sycamore, bedraggled and eyes ringed with a loss of sleep. The eleven year old looked like he had been dragged through a hedge.

Even with the dim lighting of only the boy's nightlight and the glow of the moon peeking in through his opened curtains, Desmond's was visibly in a state. His normally well-styled curles were a mess on his head like he'd been tearing at them, and his clothes were in a similar dissaray - school tie undone and lying scrunched up over his shoulders, vest gone and his button-up tee that had been freshly ironed and crisp just that evening, now creased and wrinkled with the bottommost button missing. Yet all of this was not nearly as pressing as-

"Yer hands!" Raymond hissed, ignoring all manners as he shoved the door the rest of the way open and yanked the child's hand up to better view it. It was as bad as he'd feared - the knuckles were split and bruised purple, cuticles torn, a nail was chipped. More to that were small cuts all over his fingers and the back of his hand, deeper ones nearer to the knuckles, still oozing small beads of blood. None of it was serious damage and yet it felt like the end of the world to behold. "Bloody Mary, what in hell have you been up to-"

"I-I'm fine!" Desmond desperately protested, trying to pull his hands back to no avail. When Raymond kept looking at him sternly, prompting an answer, the humiliated child finally caved, scrunching his nose as he scowled and gestured for the butler to step further inside. "Quickly, so they don't hear!"

'Are they the boogeyman to you, lad?' Raymond mused, confused and concerned. 'One would hope a boy's first instinct when he is hurt would be to go to his parents, but...'

But the Sycamores had never really acted like a true family. From the day they had adopted Des, Raymond had privately mused if it had simply been a checked box for them, something to complete this concept of 'grow up, marry, start a business, raise a child' that society propagated no matter the circumstance, a completely cynical decision. It was an unpleasant thought though sadly not uncharacteristic of the couple he knew so well by now.

The boy's room was in a worse state than he was. Fresh sheets wrenched up and around like he'd fought with them, curtains wrenched over, and most obtrusively was a shattered vase on the ground by his study area. Having once been am ostentatious gift from the elder master's work friends, the man had placed it in Desmond's room, citing it as an apparently greatly valuable antique he'd thought Desmond would enjoy due to his 'interest in archaeology', not knowing the boy's 'interest' only extended toward the ancient Azran civilization and not much else. Well... it was currently in pieces on the carpet, so it didn't matter after all.

"I didn't mean to knock it, honest." Desmond mumbled, head bowed and playing with his hands. Raymond watched with concern as he kept digging his nails into the damage, exacerbating it further. Was he /trying/ to harm himself-? "I got the cuts from trying to bin it. I didn't think the noise would wake anyone up. Really, I'm sorry."

Raymond reached out to seperate the boy's nails from his hand before he drew even more blood, and the youngster had enough presence of mind to look abashed at being caught doing it. "If that was an accident, what of the rest of this?" The butler pressed gently.

Desmond went red. "No, no. Um. The rest, I guess was intentional. Or not really. Ugh... It's not like I was trying to mess everything up, I just..." he slumped, red eyes dim and welling up. "I got really upset and I started lashing out at everything."

"What could've possibly incensed ye so much at 3 in the ruddy morning?"

The boy tensed, screwing his eyes shut. A beat, and then- "I can't remember Theo's face anymore." Desmond whispered.

Ah. That clicked it into place. Any frustration melted out of the man like water, and in it's place sat a deep melancholy.

Raymond knew what happened to Desmond's family - had been told at length during one of the boy's many episodes of which he had never felt safe to inform his 'parents' - and ever since first even getting an implication of the details had felt a deep sorrow hearing about it. It was obvious that the incident that seperated Desmond from his parents and particularly from his brother had scarred and emotionally damaged him, and unfortunately may just do so for life. Theodore was the light of Desmond's life even as far away as he was, the reason the boy gave for everything he did, the goals he worked towards. Of course the idea of him fading away from memory would hurt.

And the boy had had one of his... episodes. Had probably punched the walls, or perhaps even that massive vase, and nearly broken his bleeding hand in the process. Had stayed alone as his thoughts spiralled, still not seeking out any comfort.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Raymond wondered softly.

Desmond's face scrunched up bitterly, and the young master turned away so any further expressions wouldn't be seen.

"I didn't want you to get tired of this stuff. I didn't want you to go go away."

Raymond exhaled slowly, feeling tears surge in his own eyes, and before he could think it through he had dropped to one knee and pulled the boy tightly to his chest, muffling Desmond's choked sob of surprise. "I will never go away, do ye hear me?" He murmered, running a hand comfortingly through the boy's hair, an action he knew the master of the house should be here to do, and felt another intense fire of anger burn through him. When was the last time Mr Sycamore had even spoken to his child?, "Through hell and high water, young master, I will stick with you. Heaven knows someone ought to."

Desmond curled up against him, a week keen breaking through the boy's lips as he wept. "I miss him. I miss him so much. God, Raymond, it hurts so much. Destroying things - destroying myself, I thought it'd help, but it didn't - I'm sorry."

"I know, I know." Raymond soothed, closing his eyes so as to not allow any tears of his own to fall. "I'm so sorry, lad. But please don't hurt yourself. It makes me awfully sad as well. Please come to me next time you feel this way."

"Okay" Desmond gasped out, hands tightening. "M'sorry."

"I know, lad."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know. I know."

In the end, Raymond cleaned up the remainders of the razor-sharp shards, all too aware that he shouldn't leave the boy alone by them, not trusting him to not mess with them again. And by morning come Desmond was perfectly presentable again, hair combed back and clothes perfectly straightened. Neither of his parents commented on his bandaged knuckles.

And though Desmond now looked as calm as the ocean beyond, Raymond /seethed/ on his behalf.

[aibouart]

admittedly, i am afraid to talk about this, but have wanted to for a long while. i don't see a lot of people discuss this kind of thing, but i decided to do so for the me who was struggling and didn't know. also i have no idea where i am going with this and it's very late for me rn so here's a whole ass ramble on vent art. and also a bit more on how it's impacting how i view my art, now. i am terribly sorry if it's not very cohesive, my thoughts on it aren't yet cohesive either WOOPS

i wanted to talk a bit about how vent art really impacted my mental health, and how the idea that art needs some kind of meaning to have meaning really has been weighing on me lately (i know this is a concept i am assigning to my work and is not actually the norm/standard expectation of others consuming art. but it IS a sentiment i have seen enough that does impact me).

i want to specify, obviously i am not saying vent art is bad.

nor that doing vent pieces, or vent blogs, will ultimately result in what i went through for a number of years. rather, that this did happen to me, and there is a near impossible chance i am a unique case in any experience i will ever have. if you do vent art and it helps you, that's good! im not judging anyone for anything here. if your experience does not match my own, that's what it's like to be human~. i am not invalidating anyone on purpose by sharing my own experience. sorry for the insane disclaimer but it will eat me alive if i go to sleep thinking "what if they think x cuz i didn't say y and think im a terrible person"

---

i used to do vent art frequently (you won't find much on here as it was uploaded to a personal at the time). anytime i felt down or had a line of dialogue in my head making me feel bad in a way, i would draw for it. but the way i had interacted with it was really unhealthy. it became a terrible feedback loop where i'd feel bad, draw how i felt bad, look at the art, and ruminate even more on how i felt bad, until it spiralled so out of control i would lose touch with reality and get lost entirely in feeling like garbage.

i would just get so lost in the cycle with vent art that it would make my mental space worse and worse, and i would use the vent art as a negative confirmation bias. the words that hurt me i wrote down and anytime i looked again, they would hurt me again. but i would keep looking, and i would keep drawing.

i have always used art as an outlet, but for some reason the way vent art impacted me was unhealthy. it wasn't a good outlet. and it took me years to cut ties with it. i relied on vent art for a long time, but it took a lot of introspection and thinking to realise it wasn't the release i thought it was. and it was hard to let go, too.

i haven't touched the blog in a few months, now. i haven't done much vent art at all since then and genuinely, i've been doing SOOO much better. i no longer ruminate nearly as much as i had done so, i no longer get caught in a feedback loop that lasts for days to weeks. i still feel like garbage like people tend to do, but i don't put myself in a cycle over it anymore. i have gone back to it a few times in moments of desperation, but what used to be every week/every few weeks is now once a month maybe. and not to the extent at all (i would oftentimes post ~20 images in one night, before).

but i keep thinking about how, while the way i had done vent art was bad for my mental health, i keep feeling that just because i do sparkly cute and happy drawings, now, or drawings with no real meaning, that my art has nothing beyond face value... i do like a lot of my vent art. i think their compositions, or hidden messages and meanings, or colour use, was interesting.

but it wasn't worth the price for me.

so i am a bit caught in an in-between, here. my favourite form of art is the expression of love-you liked something so much, you dedicated time to draw it. and yet i cannot ascribe that to my own work very often. i think that man i wish i could make art with some kind of deeper meaning, that speaks to people, that's more than just pretty colours or shiny shading or a character everyone likes, or a character i like. but i just... don't know if it's for me.

ultimately, i could develop a healthy relationship with expressing and exploring negative emotions or experiences through art, but... do i want to? do i have to? do i need to? is it not enough to just draw something because... i like it..?

of course, the answer is yes, draw what you want, draw how you want, it's your art. but i am still trying to come to terms with that idea. i dont want to be seen as some shallow artist who just draws what's cute and pretty because they can and it's all they can think of, but like what if that's just what i like to draw??

in the end, that alone is good enough, drawing because you like to, because it's fun, because you like the thing you're dedicating time to creating for. it's just hard to grapple with after discarding a type of art that i felt was the only way i drew "for real".

anyways i am sorry this is soooo fucking long, and for all the clarifications (IM STILL NOT SAYING VENT ART BAD AND EVERYONE WILL DO WHAT I DID!! Dx) and the fact i had no real point here (probably)

anyways i will continue to draw what i want because i like to, as i have always been.

[ice-and-lightning]

semi-plotted starter for Jiaoqiu, @starsechoes

Gua had heard them talk about the orphanage and there's no way he's returning to that place. With the medicines he'd been given still coursing through his veins, the boy gets out of bed on unsteady feet, not that his balance is the best normally either, and begins searching for a way out.

A little disoriented, a hand against the wall, trying not to wince at the pain from his scraped up palms, he walks down the hallway. Everything looks the same to him and the need to hide gets too strong. Opening a door, he looks inside and sees a seemingly sleeping foxian man. He also notices an armchair tucked in a corner. Behind that chair is a small space, there he can hide and be almost invisible unless you look for him. The boy tries to be as quiet as possible as he unsteadily crosses the room and crawls under the chair, curling up behind it, trying not to wince once again as weight is put on his injured hands and bruised knees.

Tail wrapped around him to the best of his ability, arms around his knees, Gua tries to relax, hoping the fuzziness will go away soon. He's also so very tired. At least no one will know he's here.

Or so he thinks, forgetting that foxians all have good hearing and that there's an unusual shadow lurking in a corner as well.

[luimagines]

Wind introducing Reader and Warriors to his family and them both getting adopted as Wind's and Aryll's Parents?

Oh that's cute. Small family trope. #GiveLinkParents2023

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“It’s nice to see such capable people taking care of my boy.” The elderly woman smiles as she sits in her rocking chair. “Link always writes about you but now that I’ve seen you for my own eyes, I can stay calm while he is away.”

“Of course ma’am.” Warrior smiles. “We care about him just as much as the rest of the people here do. He’s a good kid and he has a good head on his shoulders. We promise to bring him home soon and without... too many scratches.”

The old woman laughs. “I know my boy. He’s rambunctious. Always has been. I understand that he can bite off more than he can chew even on his best days.”

“We’ll try to keep him close then.” You joke.

You and Warrior had both taken to sitting next to the older woman as she knits. She had called you over to talk. Not that there was much space to do so, so you both have to sit on the floor. But you can’t say that you mind.

“Good, good.” She laughs. “I’m happy to hear that.”

“Dad!” Wind cries and barrels into the space.

Warrior doesn’t even question it. This has been happening for months now. It still never fails to pinken his cheeks however. “What is it, bud?”

“Look!” Wind holds out a small animal. It’s shelled with six legs pointing out on it’s side instead. Warrior bite his lip when he sees it. He clearly he doesn’t want touch it. Wind grins wider. “I found it! Can I keep it?”

Warrior tries his hardest to keep the grimace off of his face. You can see the way he forces a tight smile onto his face. “I don’t think you can bring him with us, kiddo. But if you can find him a happy place here, then yes. You can keep him.”

You pat Warrior’s shoulder in support, even if you start to laugh at his expense under your breath. “I think maybe you should just let him go, Wind.”

Wind’s smiles falls a little bit. “Why, Moma?”

You fluster a little bit at the name. Wind had taken to calling you that a few months ago and you’re not entirely sure why. You cough a little bit, trying to force your way through your own awkwardness. “Because he’s going be left alone. With your sister.”

Wind pauses at that.

“And her seagulls.”

Wind pales. “They’re going to eat him!”

You laugh. “Only if he stays here. He belongs in the ocean. You know there’s a saying- if you love something let it free, if it comes back to you, it’s yours.”

Wind frowns and holds the little crab close to his chest. He doesn’t want to part with it but Warrior nods along. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”

Wind pouts but relents. “Ok. Back to the shore you go, little guy.”

Warrior stands and walks toward Wind, ruffling his hair in the process.  “I have an idea. Before you let him go, let’s go show the Veteran what he thinks of your new friend.”

You choke on your laugh, having been able to stop it just in time. “Warrior, you’re so bad.”

He winks at you in reply. Wind can catch on that there’s something else involved with his request and grins maniacally.  

The young boy looks excited. He bounces a little on his toes, trying to still be gentle since he still holds the smaller creature. He agrees readily and waves to you. “Ok! Let’s do that. I’ll be back Grandma, Moma!”

You shake your head and wave back. “Be safe and don’t traumatize him too much.”

Wind laughs with more evil delight. Warrior looks like a proud father.

Wind’s grandma takes it a step further. “He really does look like my son.”

You blink and turn back as the boys leave. “Huh?”

She laughs quietly. “Nothing, nothing, my dear. I’m glad you’re here.”

You smile and sit back down, ready to give her more of your attention. “Of course. I’m glad I’m here too.”

Aryll comes in then, crying. The two of you look alarmed but you stand quicker. “Oh no, what happened?”

She sniffles and shakes her head. Instead of replying she walks toward you and hugs you. You’re not going to turn her away. You hug her back and sit her in your lap, rocking back and forth to calm her. Looking to her grandmother for help, she offers none and smiles instead. “She’ll be alright.”

You sigh, but take her word for it, setting your attention on the crying girl.

Grandma smiles wider and leans back in her chair. She knows she’s getting old and the children are still very young. They would still need guidance long after she’s gone. Seeing your interaction with her children puts her at ease. 

They’ll be taken care of.

[theartifxce]

" there's nothing bad inside you . nothing . "

✖  — ; As her tiny little voice pleaded those very words tearfully, Johan simply smiled with that same blank canvas expression he always wore whenever he was about to lie. Whenever he was going to play a role he donned for himself.

Anna took his hand, her grip depicting the earnest desperation behind her pleas and yet he stood completely unmoved. His poker face concealed the bleeding heart inside of his chest; silenced the cries he wished to scream in that moment. The web of lies he weaved ever so perfectly had caught him in a vice grip that he could no longer move to create more lines of deceit to placate the situation at hand.

The truth, no matter how buried, found its way to bleed through his falsity and such is what painted the situation he now found himself in. It had been a few trivial words that slipped from his lips - an honest suggestion that triggered his sister.

"You shouldn't love monsters." - A truth that bombarded him whenever his beloved sibling showered him with affection and compliments. It always crept up his spine when she wrapped her arms around him; clawed its way up his throat whenever Anna found security in the nape of his neck at night as she cuddled close for security not knowing she was being warmed by the hells burning inside of him.

Every single time that truth attempted to dance along the tip of his tongue, he swallowed harshly and pretended that it didn't terrify him whenever his sister looked at him as something worthy of her love and admiration.

Innocence pooled in her eyes whenever she looked at him. But she never saw him for what he truly was - only what he wanted her to see.

So this confession came reluctantly as a whisper; a mistake slipping from his lips entirely unshackled and without much thought. The delivery of his words and the shove against her frame came more as a reaction to her touch.

He stood there shocked when he did it, frantically searching her face for the mess of emotions that cascaded from his seemingly bizarre behavior.

Constantly living in survival mode, watching the subtle movements of everyone around him - not just the Lieberts but even in public - has taken its toll and he could not longer easily switch it off for his sister.

He was tired.

He didn't even have the energy to save himself from the predicament he put himself in. Anna was angry and upset - staring in both confusion and hurt over his harsh rejection.

He recanted her words, " there's nothing bad inside you . nothing . " in his head over and over; finding it rather amusing. The orphanage he brought to flames and ruin would beg to differ with his sister's opinion.

"...Is that the lie you tell yourself at night?"

When he finally opened his mouth to speak, it was not his brain that was talking - but his heart. He was fanning the flames and he could hardly control himself. He lifted his half lidded eyes to meet with hers directly and he greeted her with that nameless little smile as he continued;

"...That there's 'nothing bad' in me?" He couldn't help but mock the gracious lie his sister told. Unlike him, she was terrible at lying.

"...You don't think I've noticed how you look at me sometimes my dear sister?" The haunting on her face from being exposed made him want to run but it also satisfied him all the same.

He truly was despicable.

"You're afraid of me too, aren't you?" Knocking her hand away from his - Johan went to grip the arm she tried to cling to earlier with much disdain; his fingers digging as if it would quell the monster inside of him.

"...Of what you think 511 Kinderheim did to me?"

He suggested directly, unforgivingly; dropping the sweet tone he usually carried when addressing Anna.

@xxxangeleyesxxx

[ssolessurvivor]

@godofcourage continued [x]

As soon as Logan had spotted the stone, he had a feeling it would be dearly missed, so he made it a point to get it back to the man who dropped it. Though he proved to be on a mission presently, he somehow gained his attention and tried not to chuckle at the exclamation the stranger let slip at the sight of the rock.

The blonde was not one to find offense at the way the rock is snatched: things like this sometimes held high emotional significance in people. He nods with a soft smile at the thanks. "You're welcome." Honey brows furrow slightly at the extra comments, though. "No, I don't need money. I've got something similar to that at home and I thought it belongs with you than in someone else's backyard." Thoughts flit to the worry stone on the shrine back home on his bookshelf, his Mimas stone as Melanie coined it. "Don't let me keep you, it seemed like you were busy."

[differenteagletragedy]

if you're still doing requests could I get some hcs about the ol boys and a wheelchair user mc (like uses it p much 24/7). or cane user!

Hi, sure! Here are a few :)

-- If you use a wheelchair in Step 1, Cove has got you. He's always got you, but he's going to be savage about it when he's little. Does a shop owner down by the shopping street not have an accessible store entrance? That little boy is going to make them cry.

-- Do you need a ramp? Derek will build you a ramp.

-- Cove is so clingy and Derek is so "please let me take care of you," Baxter is the one who is most like "hey, tell me if you need help with something, nbd." Like I think you'd actually have to tell Cove and Derek to chill a little bit at some point, but they'll definitely listen

-- If you're a cane user and a little flashy, Baxter would like to buy you a fancy cane.

-- Baxter also would still like to dance.

-- If someone stares or says something inappropriate, then Baxter is either going to eviscerate them in a gentlemanly tone or make them feel so stupid, whichever you'd prefer (he knows, you don't have to tell him). Derek is going to have firm words, and he's not really the fighting type but he'll flex a little if they won't listen. It depends on if Cove is more cold or warm, but he'll either destroy them or focus solely on you.