#i love a good hurt comfort

[literaila]

I need satoru and reader to actually confront some of their issues bro😭😭😭 I feel like they would after so long and them just pushing eachother away every time they get upset hurts. Like their relationship doesn’t feel serious 💀😭😭 they don’t have to confront everything all at once but I definitely think they would start communicating better and not just keep going in a loop. I love angst and hurt comfort but I need more comfort 😩

the thing about their relationship is that it is so unserious.

i mean, both of them have grown up in places where everything was overtly serious—reader had to grow up and learn how to take care of herself, and satoru has always had to be a grown up, the strongest.

so although i agree that they never really talk out their issues, necessarily (or at least not on screen)—they also don’t need to.

there’s a strong understanding between the two of them. and something a lot of people miss (or i don’t describe very well lol) is that reader needs someone like satoru—someone who doesn’t want to be serious, or talk about everything—and satoru needs someone like reader—someone to care, someone to keep him grounded.

and when they’re avoiding each other, it’s because there’s so much that both of them need to comprehend. and understanding someone like that can be very fulfilling, but also equally exhausting.

also! i must add that i really don’t write about a lot of every day things for them—because it’s not very… helpful in guiding plot purposes. but they fight a lot less than as seen. or there’s subtle corrections:

“satoru, if you keep leaving your disgusting mugs in the sink, i’m going to plunge all six of your eyes from out of your skull.”

“that’s impossible.”

a harsh glare and satoru holds his hands up in defense. “okay. no more mugs. how about bowls?”

“satoru—“

or in a more serious case:

“please stop telling megumi that he should be on the lookout for curses at school.”

“it’s a school,” satoru points out. “and megumi is basically a beacon of cursed energy.”

“that doesn’t mean he needs to worry about it every second of the day.”

“he needs to keep his guard up. it’s good practice.”

“he doesn’t need to do anything.”

satoru smiles. “sweetheart, do you want him to be hurt at school? in front of his classmates?”

“well…”

“he’s a strong kid, and he already knows about them. you can’t just expect him to forget because you’d rather him not care.”

you pout.

satoru kisses the top of your head. “he’s just going to go down to the nurses office and call one of us, just so we know.”

“fine. but i’m not dealing with it.”

“wow, you’re a real slacker, you know?”

readers biggest flaw is that she wants to deal with everything on her own, and she thinks that the world is naturally evil. she’s good at talking her feelings out—but sometimes feelings aren’t logical. they can’t be. and living with two children is definitely helping her realize that.

satoru’s biggest flaw is that he’s spent his whole life holding everyone at arms length. infinity is a huge clue to his character, and how he relates to others (it’s my favorite detail about him, can you tell??). but he has to let it go, release his limitless technique, so he can get close to reader and the kids.

they’re taking steps, albeit baby ones, but steps nonetheless.

(plus, with their relationships in the past, the moment something’s gone wrong, people leave. so they both have abandonment issues, and yes, it’s so much easier to avoid a conversation than risk losing the person you love most in the world).

it also feels important to note that parents (most of them, at least) can’t focus so much on themselves. and it plays a big role in struggling families and relationship problems. because having kids is a devotion, a huge responsibility, there’s less time for other things.

so really, i think they’re doing pretty good. i mean, if toji hadn’t died—or hadn’t existed—their relationship would be more developed, obviously. stronger. but for their circumstance, they’re two very strong and intelligent people.

and they love each other, so what else matters?

[twinsofdenial]

hey if i were to write some fanfics, what would you guys like to see or read?

[greykolla-art]

My blog has become infested with angst goblins, and they must be fed with some hypothetical scenarios!🙏💚

[abisalli]

There was always a certain shift that happened in Batman whenever he talked to kids that were hurt or scared. He would speak more softly, maybe even kneel down in front of them to personally assure them that they were safe now.

My first piece for this year's @batfam-big-bang! This is a scene from the incredible fic by @fullmetalninjabunny called 'Soft Words Left Unspoken' which you can find here <- 🦇 I had a blast working on this! Thank you so much for having me and also thank you to the mods for a great event <3

Image ID:

An image of Tim Drake as Robin and Bruce Wayne as Batman inside the Batcave. Both characters have their masks off. Tim is sitting on top of a medical bed and is looking to the side with tears streaming down his face. Bruce kneels down in front of him, looking troubled. He is holding Tim’s Mask in his right hand. In the foreground are four boxed captions with the following text, “It wasn’t Batman who was there anymore, but Bruce Wayne. Not the vigilante that had lost a protégé, but the man who has lost his son.”

[bunnieswithknives]

AU based off Nature except I kept thinking about it too hard. Dales not a good dad, but its such an easy problem for him to throw money at, and what do you do when a part is damaged? Well, you replace it.

Basically an AU where Dev gets to experience medical trauma and realizes much sooner how much his dad doesn't love him

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[parasolladyansy]

Especially when she was younger, Ansy would feel this need to just HIDE - the world was unsafe, & she had to go somewhere that was. Sometimes it was dissociation or daydreaming, other times it was finding a bathroom or corner to hide in until it was okay.

One of these times, someone came looking for her; Ingo found her as the sun was going down, & sat with her in that hiding spot. Among the things he told her, this one stayed with her into adulthood - it told her that even when it felt like the world was ending, it might not be, that there might be a way to keep going if she was brave enough to peek around the corner.

—

It is your right to be sad, worried, or angry, no matter what others around you may say. You have your own reasons for feeling whatever you may be feeling, & that is your business. My own tears have dried up. Now, I’m peeking around the corner, & I think I see a way forward.

We’ll be okay, so long as we don’t give up & isolate. In my experience, bad people will do everything to make you feel all alone, that no one is listening, & no one is coming. That’s not true, so long as we don’t close our hearts to each other, or to ourselves.

Take care, okay? 🩵 I may keep drawing, but if not, see you Sunday for the next DxP update. ^_^

[mischefous]

Could you possibly do Legend and Warriors, whump? I love making those two suffer for some reason. (Your art is amazing, and I love it!)

awwweee!! Thank you @insane-twilight-fan and Anon for these requests💙�� I friggen loooove this duo, especially if it's Legend getting whumped >:3

CW! Blood/coughing up blood

[birb-catto]

I love the wholesomeness of this fandom

Cale sacrificing himself:

TCF fandom: YES YES YEAAAH MORE BLOOD MOAAAR

DHB sacrificing himself:

TCF fandom: NOOOOOO baby don't die 😭

[numbuh424]

congrats to ao3 for the site traffic the good omens fandom is about to bring them this week

[elsecrytt]

so i had a thought.

what if 236 is actually jujutsu tech propaganda?

mei mei is broadcasting this entire thing, right? what better way to protect gojo from bounty hunters etc., than convince the entire world that he's already dead?

the final battle happened offscreen, with significantly less fanfare. gojo rescued megumi, defeated sukuna. the day was saved.

at a cost.

gojo gave up everything - at least, everything he valued. the six eyes, his abilities as a sorcerer. he assumed that would make him a normal man, and he was right -

what he didn't realize was that it would also make him blind.

so now... you live in a nice apartment complex. a guy moves in next to you.

you can't help but notice he happens to be blind - at least, he's wearing a blindfold, uses a cane, but he's often swearing and stumbling through his porch, over his entryway. he is very, very blind.

you, wondering what the fuck up is with your obviously blind neighbor who seems to have no sense of self-preservation.

he walks into objects all the time, especially hitting his head on things, since he's so tall. forgets his cane when going out. the dude just left his door open the other day, like, WIDE OPEN, who DOES that?

helping gojo learn, not only how to be human, but how to be disabled. how to not be disgusted with being disabled.

gojo learning that being blind isn't the end of his life, nor the end of his happiness - life is still worth living, even without one of his senses.

helping gojo mourn his lost sense while still finding things to enjoy. gojo who learns to cook by taste, by feeling heat or texture, with your help. gojo learning to organize things so he always knows where they are from memory.

bringing gojo audiobook versions of your favorite stories even if he teases you for your taste. he listens to them when he has nothing to do, which is most of the time, now.

he goes out on walks all the time because he doesn't have a job, you learn. while it's nice to not have to work, you can tell he comes from money, his life comes with a gaping hole inside it, one that isn't entirely explained by the blindness.

gojo who's overstimulated all the time because he no longer has infinity as a barrier, but somehow also as touch-starved as ever, alone in a foreign country away from all his students and colleagues.

gojo, who has only ever done Big Things with his life, who has only ever been an Important Person doing world changing things, now, just an ordinary guy.

he barely cares what happens to himself now. it's not that he wants to die, or anything. it's just that he doesn't have a reason to live.

and that wouldn't change overnight. not with cooking lessons or audiobooks or friendly greetings whenever you see him by the door. not with smiles or waves (he can't see them) or a braille rubik's cube you find online (how did he solve it in under a minute??) or karaoke (he has an AMAZING singing voice, and he knows so many songs better than you do?).

it wouldn't change overnight, because nothing worthwhile forms in a day, or two, or even a week or a month.

but gojo's life doesn't have to be amazing a day after he's gone blind. or a week. or a month. it's okay if it's difficult, he learns, it's okay if he hates it, hates himself, hates every choice that brought him here, even if he would never take it back.

it's okay. it gets better. with you there? it's getting better.

[stevebabey]

steve harrington but it's that jeff winger moment from community. if u have seen community, u will know... my first stobin-centric piece <3 tw for parental neglect and a prior act of self-harm. this is absolutely on the steve harrington has bad parents train <3

“Steven, this is ridiculous.”

Robin freezes in place. Her hand hovers over the remote she's just placed back down, her limbs locking up one by one at the sound of the voice at the door.

It is not a familiar voice. She knows who it is all the same.

She fights not to move, knowing the couch springs, old and rusted, threaten to reveal her hiding place, even if it is her house. Robin is very much allowed to be here. Expected, even.

But Steve? Steve is not.

It’s why there’s one Christine Harrington on the dingy porch steps.

It’s an unwelcome surprise — even after all the fuss of the 4th of July, a thousand police sirens, endless NDAs, and too much blood on his uniform, Steve’s parents hadn’t shown.

Out of town, Steve had said, his bashed in face making it impossible to read his expression. His eyes were haunted and misty but Robin couldn’t tell if it was from the horror of the night or… a loneliness far older.

So Robin had done the fussing. Had dragged him home with her, shooed away her rightfully nosy parents, and mended him up on her bathroom counter.

Steve had been silent, a little wide-eyed as she worked on each cut, each bruise — but with her gentle touch, he had been helpless to do anything but melt beneath it.

He’d called her Robbie for the first time that night. They’d fallen asleep with their hands intertwined, her arm hanging off the bed to reach out to him on her bedroom floor.

Robin still hasn’t met Steve’s parents, even though it’s been more than a couple months since that night.

She’s been to his house countless times too. She knows where the spare key is, if she ever loses her own copy, that is. Knows which stair squeaks on the way up to the second floor and how the lock on the downstairs bathroom gets jammed too easily.

She’s eaten the best grilled cheese of her life in their kitchen, sitting on the counter.

She’s laughed so hard she’s cried on their couch, getting the throw pillows wet with her happy tears.

She’s still never met Steve’s parents. Til right now.

Christine Harrington has her arms wrapped tight around her frame and Robin has no doubt that on her face is a frown that could make babies cry.

She can’t see her face though. Can only just see a glimpse of her tense body from where she sits. Steve blocks part of her view, his own tense frame in the doorway.

He’d answered the door instead of Robin only because he had the foresight to glance at the front window after the first rap at the door. It was late. Robin’s parents certainly wouldn’t knock at their own home and neither of them were expecting visitors.

The expensive car in the drive, a sore thumb along Robin’s street, had given away the identity of just who was knocking so late in the evening. So, Steve had opened it.

“Mom—”

“I mean utterly ridiculous.” Steve gets cut off without second thought, Christine continuing on as if she hasn’t heard him at all.

“Did you expect us to spend all evening chasing you around? Figuring out where you were tonight from the Carlton’s across the road?”

She’s got this snippy tone that Robin’s heard a thousand times from teachers. Patronising. Too cold for it to seem like a genuinely concerned parent.

“The Carlton’s?” Steve echoes, a bit meek. His shoulders have rolled forward, sinking down a bit and Robin can see his tight grip on the door. Still, she stays frozen, rooted to the couch.

“Yes, Steven.” Christine says his full name again, all bite. “Imagine the shame your father and I felt hearing that. Hearing who you had been associating with.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve grits out immediately, anger bleeding into his tone.

The muscles in his back ripple as he forces his shoulders back, as if he had remembered how to stand up straight at the mention of his friend.

Robin aches; at the reminder of the stark differences of their upbringings and at Steve’s unquestionable loyalty. She finally unfreezes, sitting up a little straighter and leaning forward more— ready to spring up from her seat.

She’s not sure what for exactly. She sorta really wants to go slam the door on Steve’s mom’s face and go back to being bundled up on the couch with him. The urge is strong enough to make her fingers twitch.

“Why are you here, Mom?”

There’s a strain to Steve’s question, even though he doesn’t falter in appearance. Robin can’t see his face either though. She hopes it’s got the bitchiest expression Steve can muster.

“Don’t be smart, Steven.” Christine reprimands coldly. “I know that we may have taken a larger absence than intended but that’s not any excuse to parade yourself around with the strays of this town.”

Strays. Robin feels the word pelt into her and burn into her skin, sinking all the way down. It feels like cold water has tipped down the back of her neck. An unwelcome pit forms in her stomach.

She had known, of course, the reputation of a family like the Harrington's. She hadn’t quite known the extent they would go to protect it. Policing your child's friends over a matter of image is absurd.

Somehow, Robin can see how Steve grows even tenser at his mom’s words— hackles raising like that on a dog. His knuckles turn white. But before he speaks, Christine is barreling on like she hasn’t just slandered every one of Steve’s new friends.

“And to leave the house in such a state?”

Robin hears her sigh heavily, as though this really is the biggest problem in her life — which she can’t fathom in the slightest.

There was nothing wrong with Steve’s house. No mess beyond the usual evidence that someone, you know, lived there.

“Mom, I—” Steve starts again.

“Well, I’m sure you have your reasons. You always do.” She says it so pointedly, like Steve was known for peddling lies to weasel his way out of trouble.

It’s so un-Steve it makes Robin blink hard, wondering if she had heard right.

Steve was honest. He owned his mistakes and he took things on the chin. It was something she had liked most about him in the beginning.

Back when it was all snark and Robin told herself she was never going to be his friend, in this universe or anything other. That even then, reluctant co-worker and nothing more, Steve was honest and decent to her always.

“Now, come on now.” Christine Harrington huffs out her demand. “Your father is waiting in the car and there no use winding him up more than you already have.”

Robin’s stomach turns at her words. It had been a topic of discussion between them, one night weeks ago, lips loosened by the dark. I feel like a dog to them, Steve had admitted quietly, his breath against her pillow and his warmth under her sheets. Like they just leave alone most of the time but expect me to perk up and come running the moment they call. I hate it.

“I’m not coming with you.”

The words stammer on their way out like he had forced them out— and Robin wants to sing she’s so proud of her best friend.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not coming with you.” Steve repeats himself, the words a little firmer this time. “I’m… I’m spending the night here, with my friend Robin.”

He trails off, the words weaker, losing steam. Robin rises to her feet, the tell-tale squeak of the couch springs letting Steve know she was still here. Still right behind him.

It makes him stand a little straighter.

“I— I’ll come home in the morning.”

Christine Harrington makes a little scoffing noise, a high pitched faux laugh as if Steve’s said something amusing.

“Tell me when did I raise such an ungrateful brat?” She muses meanly and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve flinches lightly. “We give you free rein of the house, apt time by yourself, and yet when we request you to spend a single evening with us—”

“You’re not asking, you’re demanding.” Steve cuts in, his voice more heated now.

“Oh hush, Steven. You act as if we’re so awful.”

It’s all dismissal. Everything, every word, a dismissal.

“I just can’t win with you, can I?” Christine sighs again, disappointment dripping from the sound. “Either we’re not here enough or we’re here but you can’t find time to have dinner with your family. Which is it, Steven?”

In the doorway, Steve begins to bristle. Robin really, really wants to slam the door now — if only to stop this conversation that seems to keep cutting deeper and deeper into her best friend.

She steps closer to him, moving as silently as she can, and makes sure to stay out of sight as she places a hand gently on the small of his back.

He’s shaking, she realises.

Her heart twists painfully in her chest.

Then, deathly calm, Steve says, “Did you know in 7th grade, I lied and I told everyone in my class that I got appendicitis?”

Robin blinks at the change in subject, the strangeness of Steve’s comment. She does remember that, vaguely. A boy in the year above— it had been a wildfire rumour that had turned out to be true.

Or so she thought. Staring hard at the planes of Steve’s back, the pit in her stomach yawns with an anticipation of devastation. Her hand on his back curls up a bit.

“You and Dad were gone for the whole month to Washington. It was the first time you had ever gone for that long and you didn’t even tell me until the day before you left.”

“Steven—”

“I just wanted someone to worry about me.” He steamrolls on, tone too casual for the story he was telling. “And it worked."

A beat.

"But then Cassie Lange asked about the scar.”

Robin’s hand on Steve's back twists up tighter. She feels like she knows what’s coming— but wishes it to be not true.

She doesn’t want to think of Steve, little twelve year old Steve, doing all that he can for a scrap of attention he was supposed to be getting from his parents.

“And rather than admit I’d lied…” The words come out too tight. “I went and found your sewing scissors and I made one.”

There’s this icy bite to Steve’s voice, his shoulders tensed back up. Christine still hasn’t said anything.

“I hurt like a bitch but it was worth it. I got a card from every single person in my class.”

“You wanna see the scar?” He asks— then he’s moving, his hand rucking up his sweater and shirt and exposing the skin of his stomach. Christine makes a noise like a muffled gasp. Robin feels a bit sick. Steve drops his shirt.

“And I kept all of those cards I got —all 17 of them stashed them under my bed in a box that I still have til this day.” He exhales through his nose. “Because it was proof that, at some point, somebody actually gave a shit about me. Because you didn’t. You didn’t then and you don’t get to now.”

His words hang in the air. There’s a long stretch of silence where Steve stares down the woman on the porch— someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

“So, I will see you at home, tomorrow.”

And then he slams the door to Robin’s house shut with a finality that shakes the air. Robin tenses up at the loud noise. Steve doesn't move, just stays staring at the closed door.

Behind them both, one of the noisy pipes in the house makes a loud noise. It sounds worse than usual as it breaks the silence.

Outside, Robin hears the click of heels on the pavement as they quieten, moving further away.

The pit in her stomach tightens immeasurably, a faint bile taste in her mouth. She finally remembers to smooth out her hand, pressing it flat against Steven’s back— another reminder that she was there.

If he wanted to talk or he didn’t, she was there.

Suddenly Steve sighs, an exhale so large that he shrinks down a couple inches, his shoulders dropping. It sounds exhausted.

He finally turns away from the door, to Robin, and she can only hope her face conveys every ounce of love, of support, she feels within her chest.

“Steve…” She breathes softly.

He wasn’t crying but just the sound of his name, spoken so delicately, seems to inspire tears. Robin catches the tremble of his lip and moves without thought— throwing both her arms around his neck and wrestling him into a hug.

Steve goes easy, his arms snaking around her middle and holding her back so tightly it nearly makes her squeak. She doesn’t though— just lets him bury his face in her neck, taking these big shuddering breaths, these half-formed sobs that break her heart clean in half.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there. Car engines drone as they pass by the street. The streetlights seem to get brighter. Steve presses himself so close to her, as close as he can, and Robin hugs back just as tight. She gives him all the time he needs.

She wonders if there’s an indent of him on her when he finally pulls back — a Steve Harrington shaped outline imprinted on her soul. It feels like there is.

If she could trace it, she thinks, it would be whatever shape love takes.

“Thanks Robbie.” He croaks out. He’s started scrubbing furiously at his face and she can see the wet sheen of tears as he wipes them away.

Robin doesn’t move far, just unwinds her arms a bit and lets them fall back to her sides. There’s an ache between her brows from how long she’s been frowning in concern. Steve looks more disheveled than usual, his usually perfect hair looking flatter — but he looks lighter too, somehow.

“No need to thank me, dingus.” She says, voice soft. She faux punches his chest and then regrets it when his lips don’t even twitch upward. It’s weird to see Steve all undone.

Robin thinks back to that conversation and the callousness of Steve’s mom. Her uncaring tone, the use of his full name like an insult.

She thinks of what Steve had said.

“I’m sorry you felt—” The words get stuck in her throat which grows thicker as she thinks about it. About a self-made scar on Steve’s abdomen, made by a twelve year old boy who just wanted someone to worry.

“—That you felt like you had to do something like that to yourself. I’m sorry no one noticed what you really needed.”

Steve nods slowly, his eyes glazed with a far away look as he stares somewhere over Robin’s shoulder. He gives this little shrug, a little huff through his nose.

“It’s okay.” He says, voice a bit distant. “I mean, it’s not but… even if I hadn’t meant to tell you, I’m glad someone knows now.”

It takes another second before he finally seems to shake himself from his thoughts, turning to properly look at Robin. His eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of his nose is pink. Tell tale signs of tears.

“I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Robin swallows thickly and it takes effort to choke down the urge to cry.

“Well,” She starts. It comes out too high pitched and tight and she clears her throat. “Thank you for telling me.

Some kind of smile plays on Steve’s lips, as if he can tell that she’s fighting off her sniffling and it’s sorta funny to him. It is, a little.

Because instead of being embarrassed or feeling pitied, he feels… delightfully surprised to have her care so much. To be so upset on his behalf.

“Oh, c’mon Robbie,” He gives her that same faux-punch in the shoulder she did earlier and it actually succeeds in making her lips pull up at the edges. “None of that.”

“You’re such a dingus.” Robin says. It comes out a bit wobbly still. Sue her— she doesn’t have Steve’s insane ability to bounce from one emotion to another in a single second.

Steve grins. He wanders back to the couch and flops down onto it. Robin follows and when she sits down, it’s a fraction closer to him this time. He gives one last scrub of his face, wiping the last of his tears away.

She nudges him with her thigh. She has to check just one more time.

“You alright?”

Steve smiles, crooked in that way that lets her know it’s completely sincere. He reaches forward and presses unmute on the remote, the film they’re watching starting up again with a buzz.

Steve presses his thigh back against Robin’s and in the dim lighting of her living room, his eyes glitter with an emotion that threatens to make her want to cry once more.

“Course.” He says. “I got someone checking up on me now,”

Another pointed nudge of his thigh against hers. “I’m better than ever.”

[writerfae]

The sound of childhood lost

His mother’s singing had always been one of Talon’s favorite sounds.

When he was younger he heard it a lot, grew up with the soothing melody of her voice.

It was beautiful, just like his mother was. Joyful. Gentle. Calming.

His mother’s singing moved everyone, always calming a younger Talon down when he cried, always making his sister Sera smile.

It even managed to soften the usually stern expression on his father’s face, tender tunes smoothing the rough edges of his guarded heart.

Talon could’ve listened to her sing for hours without getting tired of it.

And his mother sang often, back when he was younger.

She loved to do it, for it reminded her of home. Of her childhood back in a house filled with melodies, of the hours she spent making music with her siblings.

With one of them in particular.

Kieran was his mother’s favorite brother, had been ever since they were children. And Talon, too, had loved his uncle dearly. There were times where he had felt closer to him than to his own father.

It was him who introduced Talon to the violin:

Playing for him when he was but a little baby, gifting him his very own violin for his fifth birthday and teaching him some of his favorite compositions when Talon had shown a talent for handling the instrument.

He always insisted that Talon had a special gift, that he was even better than Kieran himself.

This claim had filled Talon with pride, but secretly he had always disagreed.

No one played the violin quite like his uncle did. No one made people weep, made them smile or laugh or dance with their music like him.

Like his mother’s voice, Kieran playing the violin was one of Talon’s favorite sounds.

And combined, he adored it even more.

Whenever Kieran came to visit them, him and Talon’s mother would play music. And Talon had loved it.

Together, the two made for a melody that was quite enchanting, an harmony unlike any other.

The harmony of two siblings that loved making music - and loved each other.

It was the sound of his childhood.

Until one day, the music stopped. Kieran died, sudden and unexpected.

And with the death of her beloved brother, his mother’s singing went silent.

***

tag list: @andifthestarsweretodie @bloodlessheirbyjacques @bluehourskyeli @deadlycupid @dustylovelyrun @justafrogandherumbrella @ladywithalamp @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @my-cursed-prince @phantasticdomains @rhikasa @sleepy-night-child @soupopoireau @theguywithnonickname @vampywriter @vsnotresponding @writing-is-a-martial-art (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

[turtleblogatlast]

I will never be over how good Leo and Hueso’s dynamic is and how both of them get so much out of having the other in their lives.

In Leo’s case, he gains that older male figure in his life that he is willing to trust and lower his walls for. He gains a confidant where he has none elsewhere, too busy keeping up his many masks with his family to ever consider showing them his true thoughts. He gains an authority figure who is willing to hear him out, no matter how reluctant said figure initially appears.

In Hueso’s case, Leo’s direct involvement in the skeleton’s life has undoubtedly benefited Hueso so unbelievably well. For one, it’s Leo’s choice to ask Hueso for help finding his brothers that ultimately leads to the clearing of Hueso’s Hidden City ban. Then, it’s Leo and Mikey that Hueso brings on to help him with two mob bosses, ending with the bosses no longer being a problem for Hueso. And of course, through Leo’s decision to come to Hueso for advice and later the slider’s insistence that Hueso try to make up with his brother, Hueso’s estranged relationship with Piel is finally mended.

Sure, Leo causes no small amount of strife and damages to Hueso’s business and person, and Hueso is often annoyed by and speaks callously to Leo, but there’s a reason Leo feels comfortable enough to continue going to Hueso, and there’s a reason Hueso ultimately always hears Leo out.

They really do end up feeling like a nephew and uncle, don’t they?

[fraeuleintaka]

This is such a typical reaction for Miles. He considers his trauma something childish that he should've gotten over by now simply with time. He tries to reason with his fears as if they're something you could logically argue against. No wonder he's always so embarrassed whenever he struggles with it and hates other people seeing him this "weak". Even when alone he's angry at himself for hesitating. He doesn't want to talk about it with anyone and always tries to lie, when he can get away with it, and pretend it's not as bad as it is. He puts so much pressure on himself to just handle it and it makes it so much worse.

[valoale]

Sketch Saturday or me trying to be more active here with art

Q: Harry has ran after him in the pouring rain and is calling for him; what is he saying?