#i hope this is ok :) :)

[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 ❤️

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[echoesofaheart]

new 18+ discord server for writers!

hey! do you enjoy writing about systems? what about age regression? did you say yes to either of those? well why don't you join our new server: the systems and age regressors writers club! (the server is sfw. its just 18+ for comfort reasons)

featuring:

channels for various types of media, with options to add specific channels for fandoms if they're popular enough

the coolest mods!

space to talk about original characters!

a channel to promote your finished works

you don't have to be a writer to join!

[cbindievrs]

starter for @lostrnkets muse: Chase Ferrucho. Late 20's. FBI Agent.

Chase knew he had been distant in recent weeks, but he couldn’t risk putting her in danger because of him. Some maniac that he and his team had locked up years ago had resurfaced and was hunting down each member of his team, managing to kill two of them. They had finally resolved the situation, and the first thing Chase thought to do was go to Avery's house, without stopping at a hospital to check his condition first. As soon as he knocked on the door and Avery answered, he took a deep breath, almost a sigh.

❝I'm sorry. I miss you❞

[marechausseeduelist]

The silence of the Opera Epiclese was normally a welcome change from the otherwise bustling environment-- however, in this moment, Clorinde found the silence to be stifling for reasons unknown. Her feet took her to the steps leading up to the stage, and she briefly hesitated before ascending to the mostly vacant platform that overlooked the rows of seats reserved for patrons of the Opera. Lady Furina had spent many an hour entertaining her audience in various different forms of acting. Whether it was masquerading as an Archon, or participating in some sort of play, Clorinde fulfilled her duty of remaining by her side. She had sworn on the day that she was appointed as her bodyguard that she would fight to the bitter end for her, and as a result, she knew all too well the mannerisms of her charge. The person before her was ... familiar, yet different. It wasn't Furina, that much she could tell. Despite the similar looks, their physical tells and movements varied greatly. "... You're not Lady Furina," The Champion Duelist spoke lowly, caution etched into her features. "If that's the case, why do I feel as if I know you quite well?" @sinnersfinale

[cerealforkart]

👉👈 While you're sketching mermaids, could I make the somewhat specific request for a little Terry Jr. mermaid (I was thinking kid/teen TJ probably?) with a lionfish-themed tail? If that's not too much to ask!

I might have an elaborate mermaid AU in my head that I haven't told anybody about so yeah aha

Now let’s hear those details 👀

Sketch requests are currently closed!

[xmadeoflightningx]

Who: Rowan @nothingnowheres

Where: Brightside

Breathing in the cool summer air she smiled as she tied her hair back. She couldn't exactly go on a hike every day so instead she opted for jogging to keep her endurance up. Though the parks in town were great, her neighborhood in Brightside worked just as well. Making her way down the sidewalk at a steady pace she kept one headphone in, blaring out the latest song to catch her attention. Midway through the chorus she paused spotting a woman with a stroller ahead and a wayward sock on the sidewalk. Chuckling softly she leaned to pick it up, "I think something got away, I swear these little things never want to stay on"

[hellsgreatestperformance]

I want the K - Accepting

@culling : A kiss while one or both parties is crying.

「 🕸️Valentino was on the warpath lately, it seemed. The moth had a myriad of various, chaotic kinky ideas mulling around. There was always a kink for something and Angel Dust, his money maker, his main star, was always involved in filming it. Certain things he could handle. Most he could disassociate with. But others created concealed unease that kept his mind conscious. The one today took more out of the spider than usual, tempting him to seek a liquid substance strong enough to beckon sleep. His entire body ached from the constant touch he endured, the fatigue that pushed past his limits and an oncoming migraine from listening to Valentino spew his venom. His cell had been buzzing ever since he left the studio. Things hadn't gone according to plan, and he was the one paying for it. He scrolled through the various texts that consequently came. His hand griping the device tightly as it shook from anger. Fuck this. He put it away and headed to the hotel.

No one was in the lobby lounging about. Nor was Husk waiting at the bar with his usual sour expression. Even Niffty must be off doing whatever she does. He helped himself to an assortment of liquors, scanning the bottles until he picked his poison. No need for a cup since he downed half the bottle then held it below his waist. Things were alright in the beginning, but took a turn for the worst faster then he imagined. So much for trust. He got what he wanted, he supposed. But the cost was greater than anticipated. And he was getting tired of it. No matter how fucked up he got, he was still valuable, desirable. His fingers clutched the bottle firmly as he moved to sit at the bar. He was so fucking tired, but too sore to sleep. And the numbing sensation would take time to settle in. So, he finished the entire bottle. At least here he had a bed to sleep in. And even though he had woken up to Niffty stealing a bit of hair, it beat his boss standing over him.

His upper arms rested on the counter, his chin set on them. With a sigh he closed his eyes. His life when he was a human was far from perfect. The shit he witnessed prepared him for the after life. And maybe he deserved the torment, since that's what hell was for, right? And it was meant to be eternal. But the one thing, no, person he missed was his sister: Molly. She was a reason for getting by and he had wanted to protect her, but he forgot to protect himself. No, he just didn't care after awhile. Molly hadn't been a contender for the addiction. It won. And he had no idea what it had done to her when she found out. If she found out. Had she even missed him? Did she wonder why? Was she pissed with him? His hands intwined with his hair and he just felt like...like shit. All of this was his fault. All of it. If he had just made better choices. If he wasn't this fucked up, stupid spider. Everything could be different. Maybe he wouldn't even be here. Maybe he'd never have even met Valentino, ugh.

He felt it. The salty liquid dwelling in his eyes, threatening to spill. And the internal faucet too deep to control. The anger, the shame, the feelings he felt all throughout the day finally pleaded. Finally declared enough was enough and forced their way out. Little droplets against the bar. This form of expression his least favorite. He wasn't supposed to cry. Men didn't cry, right? His father would say so and reprimand him. But Molly, when she had caught him she just hugged him tight. Promised everything would be alright. And for the first time in his life he allowed himself to break down before her. Arms wrapping around her for comfort as he cried against her shoulder. And what about when she had cried after? Where the fuck was he?! In this hell hole! He threw the bottle across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall. No one came. He didn't want them to. He didn't want them to see him like this. He hated it. But Smiles, cause of fucking course it was him, appeared out of nowhere. With that stupid fucking grin on his lips.

❝ What d'ya want, Smiles, I ain't in the fuckin' mood! ❞ He snapped with little remorse. ❝ Can't yuh go be creepy someplace else?! Vaffanculo! ❞ Yet the prick was just standing there smiling! Did he enjoy this? Yeah, laugh at the stupid spider for slipping up and crying over stupid bullshit. Big laugh! He flipped him off. But even caught like this, the tears didn't dry up. They had just gotten worse. Smiles had said something sweet? To him? yeah, like he was falling for that shit. This prick didn't care about him and if he did, it was only because of Charlie. He himself was their main resident and who knew if it would hurt their reputation if he split. No one came cause he was here, but could wonder what scandalous thing made him leave. The hotel was all that mattered. He'd trust Charlie and Husk way before trusting this guy.

He got up from the bar stool and walked in the Radio Demon's direction. After all, he was near the opening of the bar. ❝ Fine, fuck you! ❞ He pointed at him using his upper right hand and was taken aback when Smiles seized it. ❝ Hey, what're ya doin'? Let go 'f me! ❞ He tried to retract his arm, but Smiles just wasn't having it. The grasp was firm and it was making him uneasy. Why wouldn't he let go? His eyes drifting from the Radio Demon's to his hands a few times in panic. When Val did this, it never meant anything good. And the thoughts circulating his mind were making his heart palpitate. Even if he tried to unload his arsenal on him, he'd never succeed. And he was too panicked, too surprised by this development. Fuck, he hated feeling helpless. And when the Radio Demon pulled him closer, he closed his eyes and braced for the worse.

And the worst was...a kiss???

His eyes shot open almost instantly. Sheer confusion written on his face as he tried to process this unusual action. It had only lingered a few seconds, possibly to be certain the spider reacted. And react he did. A few steps taken back and his hand finally freed. Why in hell would Alastor of all beings kiss him? The scandal! Some sort of ulterior motive had to be lurking behind that calculated smile. Eventually Smiles spoke, revealing in his own twisted way that his persistent crying was a bother and needed to be put to an end. It seemed after that he just sat at the bar and minded his own business as if this never happened. Well good for him, but Angel still felt completely confused. The thing was, was that Smiles could have ignored it. He could have fetched someone else to take care of it for him. But the fact that Smiles himself had done it, could it be that somewhere in that fucked up mind he...cared? What could it be? Maybe he was overanalyzing it.

He went behind the bar and poured something strong for them both, placing the glasses beside one another on the counter. Then he nervously sat down beside the guy, his index finger circling the rim as he glanced over his way. ❝ ...Thanks. ❞ Was all he said beside taking a sip of the hard liquor. He wanted more than anything to ask why. Sure, Smiles said why but he felt like something was missing. Like there was more to it then meets the eye. Or maybe it's just what he wanted. There was something about Smiles that made him curious. Made him wonder what spending time with him was like. Just a thought that occasionally seeped into his mind. But he never really thought the chance to learn would come up. Smiles always seemed to disregard him, which, he supposed, made sense given his approaches, but now there felt like an opening. An opportunity to enter his world. But he kept it to himself. By tomorrow none of this little encounter would matter anyway. He finished his drink, then sighed.

❝ Uh, goodnight, Smiles. ❞ 」

[ask-alan-mido]

Hi Alan-Sama!!!It me Suma!!!

Can I get headpats?

Um...

Ok?

Here you go

[grahamcarmen]

mayhaps can you write a short fic of gray taking care of a sick carmen after s4? or maybe include her fainting or something :))

-tacoseasoning101 out

“Hey!” Gray quickly set the soup on the kitchen table and caught a woozy, sick carmen nearly tumbling to the floor.

“You’re a terrible patient. Thought you were staying in your room.”

He looked her up and down.

“And if you’re trying to sneak off, I'm not sure pj’s are the right call for this.”

“But the -”

“The nothing. Leave that to the professionals.” He laughed, though his scrunched eyebrows and quick hand on her forehead betrayed his worry. “You’re still burning up.”

Carmen groaned, covering his cool hand with her own. The rest of team red was on it, she knew. She knew but-

She pressed his hand against her head. 

It felt nice.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and grabbed the soup on the way. She let him lead her back to the room and hand her the bowl.

“Caldo de pollo.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“Antonio. Taught me the recipe.”

She sipped a little of the broth, waiting as Gray settled into the bed next to her before snuggling into his side.

“You’re gonna get sick too, you know.”

“Yeah well you take care of me if that happens.”

“If?”

“Strong immune system.” He said proudly.

She scoffed fondly, took another sip and relaxed a little more.

She could feel her eyes growing heavy again but she gave her head a little shake and narrowed her eyes.

She’d been through worse than this. She’d just explain that to-

Gray picked up the remote and she frowned a little as he shifted away from her to do it.

She stared at him suspiciously. “We’re not finishing rogue vendetta 12.”

He snickered. “Pretty sure that’s not a thing...yet. Player and Ivy let me hook up to red drone.”

“Oh?” Carmen perked up.

“Promised you would be in control but -” He turned on the screen before handing her red drone’s controls.

“Hey Carm!” Ivy, Zack, and Shadowsan appeared. 

“Ground crew. Fill me in.” She said elated.

The rundown of the plan was perfect, the recon thorough. And as they went on Carmen got the idea that maybe they didn’t need her to lead point for this one. 

She felt a pinprick of hurt and guilt as she noted that there wasn’t much for her to do here.

The plan was solid and didn’t need more moving pieces in it.

The years at ACME had sharpened all their skills and with Shadowsan there…

She couldn’t pretend she didn’t see their worried faces.

“Is red drone a bit conspicuous for this? I don’t want to blow their covers…” She pursed her lips.

Gray grinned.

“I managed to put cloaking tech on it.” He said smugly. “So you can keep tabs on them without being seen by anything, not even cameras! …”

Carmen looked at her team. Warm as always but obviously itching for her say so to be let loose on the caper. Ready for whatever she decided.

She smiled, thinking of Player, Ivy, and Gray bouncing ideas off each other to perfect the cloaking tech. They’d been working pretty loudly about something for the past week.

Maybe with this situation in mind.

And the way Gray was excitedly talking about how they actually cracked what was going wrong with it in the first place, it was probably him who brought it up.

“Orrrrrr… you can focus on getting better and you can join them next time.”

He smiled expectantly at her.

She hummed happily at the light pressure of his thumb stroking her arm as he leaned back in.

She took a spoonful of brown rice, chicken, and broth.

She let her heavy eyes rest for a second.

Rested her head on Gray’s shoulder.

She set the red drone’s controller on the nightstand.

“I’ll leave it to you guys then. Keep me posted.”