#tysm for the ask!! :)

[hollowtakami]

HEYOOO

so I read your keigo fics and I really loved them! What do you think about Keigo waking up from a nightmare and he can't find you, so he starts to panic, and when you come back from the toilet (or wherever you were), he immediately latches onto you panicking and crying

Man he is so sweet

hi anon! ^_^ tysm for your ask, it rlly made me smile hehe. here’s a small drabble as thanks:)

(apologies if its rusty, the only thing i have written as of late is uni essays-)

keigo gasped for air as though he’d been reborn, feathers pricked out like needles.

he clutched at his shirt like a vice, daring to tear through his skin and stress grip his dying heart. he panted, delirious amidst his fear.

the suns of his eyes bounced across every corner of the room, his free hand scratching away the duvet in search of you. nothing, not even his feathers could sense you, clouded by fright.

what the avian didn’t know was that you hadn’t left him like his father, you’d only gotten to get a glass of water after the drought in your throat had woken you up, not nearly as violently as the way your boyfriend’s body treated him.

what you didn’t know was that your boyfriend was unfurling faster than the might of his wings ever could.

pattering through the hallway of your apartment with a glass and a plenished throat, you gently broke your way into your shared bedroom with a tired hand.

your eyes retreated behind their lids at the light you swore you hadn’t put on, lest you disturb keigo in his sleep.

no, an instinctual feather did so.

you stop, feet planting into the carpet as your brain tries to process the scene in front of you, whirring through its fatigue.

there was keigo, plumage fluffed up in fear, eyes wild and pinned on you, your bedsheets in tatters.

“kei?” words clawed up your throat as you slowly made your way to the bedside table and placed the glass. keigo grabbed your wrist the moment you’d set it down, you managed to get a better look at him.

sunny bedhead and a dark sky lining his eyes, his chest heaved along with the heavy burdens that laced his blood, what was his own that didn’t stain his hands.

no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, keigo would never be clean. it had trickled into his brain, and he couldn’t even escape it in his sleep.

“stay,“ he silently barked, his words scratchy.

keigo’s stress grip on your wrist wouldn’t let up, the avian latched onto you for dear life.

your face fell, eyebrows furrowed as you saw his glassy eyes, glossed over with fear.

“bad dream, baby?” you whispered, slowly raising your wrist to run a hand through keigo’s hair, massaging his scalp with gentle nails.

keigo only choked on a sob, his vulnerabilities racing down his cheeks to their end. if only this would end, he begged to a god he wasn’t sure existed.

you brought your wrist down, eyes trained on the dots of his.

“‘m not going anywhere, baby boy,” you soothed, gentle reassurance hanging in the air until keigo was ready to pluck it down and hold it close to him.

he tried to not, more words contesting in his throat.

keigo looked down at himself, feathers shaking more than his tired body.

“bad..” he gestured to himself.

“you aren’t him, birdie,” your words were soft, sun against his skin. his heart swelled amidst the silent rage of his head.

soon, you felt keigo’s grip starting to soften too.

you grabbed the glass of water with a free hand, using the other to usher strands of gold out of his eyes, tucking them behind his ear as you helped him sip some water.

kissing his forehead, you cooed, “that’s my boy,”

keigo chirped, too frightened to speak. he would only chirp or coo when this regressed into his fear, not that you minded. you knew that his bird qualities were something he was forced to bury, much like other innocents.

but, there wasn’t any blood on keigo’s hands.

the only thing in his hands was the silk of your skin, fingers intertwined as you spoke to him with the song of your voice, an angel he would tell himself he didn’t deserve.

your wings were pure, his stained red. he was born like this, conceived by a monster of a man. so, that must mean that he was born the same.

it took an angel like you to help him realise he had never fallen, it was someone else who had clipped his wings.

[thelonelyshore-if]

It occurred to me that Croft is going to hate that a decent amount of MCs are obsessed with the lake especially if romanced by them. Croft gives the vibe of not only wanting to leave but to put as many miles between them and the fog as possible.

Which would probably be pretty hard to achieve if even after they both escape MC comes to the lake every summer to visit (they still feel v bad about not visiting more in the past).

Poor Croft would probably pull their own hair out, if they hadn’t worked painstakingly on their aesthetic, about the fact they have seemingly fallen for the most insane person alive.

(Not MC going to visit the lake every summer, laying on the dock and looking into the depths while they keep their feet and tell the lake all the things they love about Croft before going for a swim, like gushing to a parent or best friend about your s/o. Softly lamenting that they couldn’t convince Croft to come this time either, but that they wouldn’t stop working on it).

You're 100% correct, Croft would hate it. I love this ask so much. Your thoughts are soooo good. It got me thinking, and I ended up possessed, so I wrote a little drabble to go along with it c:

“You're sure you don't want to come with?”

Croft stands in the entryway of your shared home. You've got the door cracked, letting an unpleasant wave of hot air worm its way into the house. Sunshine cascades over your shoulders. It spills onto the floor, golden-bright and much too warm.

Croft edges away from the light and the heat. The heft of their thick black hoodie is enough to get them sweating at the mere thought of stepping out into the summer day.

“Yes, I'm sure,” they say tersely, avoiding your eyes. 

The skin on the back of their neck pricks. Gooseflesh raises on their arms. It must be 80 degrees out and yet they feel cold. 

Why do you insist on doing this?

They think the words, but it's an old argument, and they refuse to sour your departure with a recycled spat.

Instead, they tilt their head and ask, “Will your parents be joining you this year?”

What they mean is, will you be alone? Or, worse, alone with Willow? They're asking if you'll be safe and sound and stay on this side of reality or if they'll spend the next week sick with the fear that the lake or your terrible little sibling will steal you away. 

If you hear the undercurrent of fear you brush past it. Instead you elect to set your luggage down and slip back into the house. You walk up and wrap your arms around their waist. 

“I'll be perfectly safe,” you respond, without answering the question. 

Croft starts to argue but falls silent when you press your lips to theirs. They hold you tighter, cupping the back of your neck. Deepening the kiss. They pour their fear and their uncertainty and their love into it, aching for you to taste the desperation on their tongue.

They can't lose you. 

They don't understand why you go back every year. They know, of course, about your youth and the lake and the red string tying you together. They've seen it, and they know you. But they still can't understand.

You escaped–both of you, together, breaking your way back into reality. Shedding the horror and the fog and the fear of Easthaven was like tasting sunshine, made all the better by you at their side. 

And yet you go back to your cabin every year. Drawn in, the moth to the flame. So far you've always ended your pilgrimage and returned to their arms. It doesn't change the silent fear that corrodes their faith and their trust; the terror that tells them that this time you'll give way to temptation. That you'll be lost to them forever. 

Except you wouldn't be, would you? Because Croft would go back, if it meant holding you again. Orpheus singing his way into hell. 

“I know you will,” they whisper against your lips. They try to rid themself of the doubt. They do trust you. They love you. 

One week and you'll be back again. 

“Don't miss me too much,” you tease, pulling away. 

“Don't fall in,” Croft responds, throat so dry that you can both hear the plea badly hidden amidst the joke. 

You give them a small, sad smile. A final hug, too brief, but you have a plane to catch and a car waiting outside. 

“I'll see you in a week,” you promise, “I love you.”

“I know.”

They watch you leave. The door creaks to a close as you pull it shut behind you. You're off to commune with something they will never understand. Leaving them behind. 

But only for a week. 

Croft closes their eyes. Takes a deep breath. 

They can handle a week.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Hello, your neighborhood Darry Curtis angst truther here. I would love to see what kind of Darry angst your magical brain can cook up, but I am partial to a sickfic. I can’t wait to read what you come up with!

oh I LOVE this!! Sick darry rots in my brain NON stop LOVE LOVE this ask!! fic under the cut!! TYSM FOR THE ASK!!

cw!! vomiting (nothing graphic!!)

Darry didn't get sick. He just didn't. He would defy the laws of nature and manage to avoid it in the middle of January takin' care of both Pony 'n Soda who'd managed to get strep and flu respectfully. He'd dodge it when Two took up a permanent residence in his bed with the stomach bug for a week. He'd come out without a scratch when both Dallas 'n Steve had the common cold 'n acted like they were goin' to have to be put down come dawn.

Pony 'n Soda claimed that Darry managed to stay healthy as a horse all year long on pure stubbornness. Darry had told them that if that was the case, Pony would never have caught so much as a cough.

Yes, Darry Curtis had a track record to uphold. A record he was currently watchin' slip straight through his fingers.

"G'mornin' Dar," Soda's already in the kitchen when Darry walks in, a bad sign. Darry can't remember the last time Soda had gotten ready before anyone. The second he claps his eyes on Darry his brows knit in concern. "You ok?"

"'Mornin', honey. I'm fine." He has to be. He ruffles Soda's hair 'n tries to walk past him, he can hear the sound of an egg burnin' on the pan 'n he's really not in the mood to have to scrape it off. The smell makes his stomach do a sudden, violent lurch. Soda easily blocks him, noddin' for Dallas, who leans over 'n takes the pan off from where he's sittin' in the window sill. "C'mon, kid."

"Somethin's wrong." Soda reaches up to put his palm on Darry's forehead 'n Darry easily bats him away.

"I just slept bad, I'm fine." To be fair, that was the truth. Or at least partly. Dallas had rolled in past three in the mornin' from a shift with the ponys at Buck's 'n climbed straight into Darry's bed, wreakin' like a stable 'n twice as cold. When he had tried to kick the kid out he had fought, literally, tooth 'n nail. Somethin' about Soda not bein' warm 'n Pony not sharin' the blanket. Never you mind it was the spittin' middle of summer. Darry had conceded, if only for the chance to go back to bed. The culprit glanced over his shoulder 'n grinned 'n Darry narrowed his eyes at him.

"Well... alright." Soda reluctantly moves out of the way 'n Darry squeezes his shoulder, grabbin' a piece of dry toast from the counter 'n movin' to put his shoes on. "Are you 'n Steve walkin' to the DX or d'you need a ride?" Steve 'n Soda's love child of a beater had recently done the only thing it did well, stop workin'. Again. Steve swore this time it was just the muffler. Easy fix. Last time he'd said that their car had sat on Darry's lawn for a week.

"We'll walk- wait you gotta have some breakfast." Soda stubbornly moves to cut him off again 'n Darry chuckles fondly, easily manhandlin' him out of the way.

"I'm gonna be late kiddo." He holds the toast in his mouth 'n steps into his work boots. "Hey, one of you make sure Pony gets up before you leave or else I swear he'll sleep all day." Darry shoves aside the feelin' in his gut, half premonition, half sickness.

"I'll get him up later." Dallas climbs off the counter 'n both him 'n Soda share a look. "You sure you're good, man?"

"Glory, you two really know how to make a man feel better." Darry rolls his eyes but gives them both a grin. "I'll be fine. Now, I'll be 'round to pick up you 'n Steve after work, 'n Dally, you're on dishes." Dallas scowled but didn't complain which wasn't much of a comfort. Darry must look bad if Dallas wouldn't kick up a fuss.

He was fine. He'd be fine.

God knows what they would do it he wasn't.

...

Darry was home by noon. Apparently, they don't take kindly to you vomitin' up breakfast at the construction site. He'd begged to be able to stay but his boss had stood firm on it. He was a real good man, had worked with his father, 'n had offered him the afternoon paid time off.

He'd barely gotten home. It was like all at once his body had just decided to quit workin'. His legs fell like jelly as he climbs out of the truck, white knucklin' the railin' to get up the steps.

"Pone?" He calls when the door swings open 'n is greeted with nothin' but the vague smell of burnt eggs. He instantly ducks into the kitchen 'n brings up bile. Well. Shit.

He reaches over 'n slides the window open, hopin' to circulate some air into the house. Only the sticky, tempid dry heat of Tusla summers trails through the screen. Darry sinks down to the basin, restin' his hot forehead against the cold metal.

Alright. Up. The house is, mercifully, empty 'n Darry makes quick work of shruggin' off his shoes, shirt, 'n work belt. He trudges down the hall 'n ducks into the relative darkness of his room. He's asleep before he realizes it, passed out on the bed with his Levi's still on.

...

"Darry?" Darry wakes up with a migraine, head swimmin'. Soda's voice calls from somewhere in the house 'n it's got a shrill high note of panic in it. Darry glances to the end table 'n has to shake his head three times before he processes the time. Six in the afternoon. Shit.

Darry sits up too fast 'n the world spins around him. No. No no no. He couldn't do this. The door to his bedroom bangs open 'n Soda appears in the doorway, face flushed, hair stickin' in every direction. Steve hovers behind him lookin' just as stricken.

"Oh, fuck. Dar you don't look good." Soda sits down on the bed 'n pushes Darry's hair off his sweaty forehead in a way oddly reminiscent of how Darry often did to him. He tries to grin, sits up a little taller, shakes Soda off 'n doesn't even grimace when just that makes his head damn near split. Soda doesn't fall for it one bit. "Darry you lay back down. Steve go get some soup from the cabinet, I know you haven't eaten anythin'." Soda shoots him a determined look 'n nods to himself when Darry doesn't protest. Steve spares him one more worried frown 'n disappears back down the hall.

"I'm fine Soda." Which is just about the biggest lie he's ever told.

"No, you're not." Soda leans over 'n presses on Darry's shoulder to make him lie down. He pretends it doesn't scare him how little force it takes. "You would never have forgotten to pick up me 'n Steve if somethin' wasn't wrong. 'N you definitely wouldn't be home early. Now, hush." Darry glances at him guiltily but now that he's layin' back down he can barely hold his eyes open.

"'M sorry, kiddo." Soda squeezes his shoulder 'n drops a kiss to his hot forehead.

"It's alright, Dar. Let me take care of you for once." And he thinks he says somethin' but, truthfully, he's asleep before he can be sure.

...

The next time he wakes up the sun is low outside his window, the shadows stretchin' long across the floor. He feels worse. Somehow. His body aches like he's been hit by a truck. His throat is sore 'n raw 'n he can feel the barely stagnant nausea in his stomach. When he turns his head the migraine flares to life along the edges of his vision.

"Darry?" Darry squeezes his eyes shut, the low voice soundin' like a gunshot in the silence. He blinks blearily, lifts his head 'n searches for the voice's owner.

"Pone?" The armchair from the living room has been drug into the corner of his bedroom 'n Pony is curled up in it. Darry can hear the sounds of Soda, Steve, 'n Dallas all in the kitchen down the hall 'n he grimaces.

"Yeah, Darry it's me." Shit. Pony shouldn't be in here. He can't afford the kid gettin' sick. Or seein' him like this. He's not supposed to be fallible. Glory, he doesn't have it in him to look strong right now. So he's gotta get the kid out.

"Your brother know you're in here?" Pony worries his lip between his teeth.

"No, he didn't want me to bug you but... I didn't want you to be alone." Glory, the kid could be a thorn in his side sometimes. But then he'd turn around 'n say somethin' like that 'n Darry really didn't know what he'd done in his life to end up with such good kid brothers.

"C'mere, Ponybaby." Darry shifts over, bites back on his wince, 'n Pony immediately curls up in the crook of his arm. Darry strokes his hair gently 'n Pony clutches Darry's side like if he can't hold on to him he'll vanish. The heat of Pony's body is nearly unbearable against Darry's fever-ridden sickness but Darry'll be damned if he's not gonna give his kid brother whatever comfort he can right now.

Darry's just startin' to drift again when the door eases open, the light from the hall nearly makin' him wretch. Soda slips in 'n eases the door shut behind him, a bowl of soup steamin' in his hands. The smell makes Darry's stomach churn.

"Ponyboy Curtis, didn't I tell you to let Darry sleep?" But he doesn't sound mad at all.

"C'mon Soda," Pony tucks himself tighter into the crook of Darry's elbow 'n Darry squeezes Pony reassuringly.

"Pony, mind your brother. I'll be fine." He gives Pony a gentle shove 'n Pony slides reluctantly off the bed 'n to Soda's side. Soda drops a kiss to his head 'n Pony slips out into the hall with a single worried glance back.

"How ya feelin', Dar?" Soda plops down on the bed, settin' the soup down on the end table 'n handin' Darry a glass of water.

"I'm-"

"If you say fine I'm gonna call you a liar." Soda wags a finger 'n Darry scoffs, flinches.

"I've had better days." Darry takes a small sip of the water, it feels like acid down his dry throat.

"You don't say?" Soda chuckles under his breath 'n takes the glass back, swappin' it with the soup 'n fixin' him with a look when he grimaces. "You gotta try to eat somethin', Dar."

Darry holds the bowl in his lap 'n takes a long steadin' breath. He doesn't want to. Honest. But he's spent too many mornin', noon, 'n nights fightin' with sick kids to know better than to refuse. He wasn't gonna make this any more stressful on Soda than it already was. "You know, Pepsi, you're pretty damn good at this older brother thing."

Soda folds his legs up crisis-cross under him 'n smiles ruefully. "I'll be happier when I can hand the position back over."

Darry chuckles 'n reaches out ruffles his hair. "Sorry, kiddo."

"For what? If you're apologizin' for gettin' sick I'm gonna make you eat the casserole I made for dinner instead of Steve's Campbell." Soda shoots him a stern glare he can't quite hold.

"Apologizin'? Who's apologizin'? I was feelin' sorry for myself." Soda howls his laugh 'n Darry has missed hearin' it so bad he manages to completely ignore the way his migraine fuzzes around his temples.

"Alright, mister, no more stallin'. Eat." Darry manages two bites in ten minutes. Then he vomits both it 'n the water back up.

"Dar..." Soda rubs his back 'n Darry bites his lip hard. He wants to bawl. He won't do that to Soda. "I think we're gonna hafta call a doc."

"Look, give me another day. I'm not gonna drain our entire fund for some stupid cold, ok? I'll be alright. Give me another day." He somehow finds it in him to sound more assured then he feels.

"Oook." Soda doesn't look confident at all as he takes the bowl off the end of the bed, most of the can still remainin'. "But, Dar?" He pauses until Darry looks back up at him.

"What is it, Pepsi?"

"We'd make it happen. It ain't a drain if it means we can fix you up."

"Alright, kiddo." 'N they both know he doesn't believe it. "Now get your ass outta here before you get sick too."

Soda offers only a wobbly version of his usual grin as he pulls the door back open. "Hey now, I ain't ready to hand over that in charge title yet, young man."

...

"Darry? Darry, c'mon man." Darry wakes to rough hands shakin' him 'n immediately knows it's not Pony or Soda.

"Dar, you're scarin' me, c'mon." The second Darry opens his eyes the hands drop him. Dallas sits back, eyes wild, hair fallin' in his face, hands clenchin' 'n unclenchin' on his knees.

Darry blinks hard, realizes three things at the same time. His heart is beatin' so hard he can hear the blood as it rushes in his ears. There's a name on his lips. Somethin' startin' with an M he knows before he has to ask. His throat is sore, 'n not from all the hackin' he's been doin'. The kind you get from screamin'.

He opens his mouth to answer 'n immediately brings up the contents of his stomach into the bucket Soda had left when he brought dinner. Dallas flies to his side, bony hand restin' on Darry's back. "Shit, Darry."

Darry squeezes his eyes shut, groans. The second he stops feelin' like heavin' around nothin' he sits back 'n refocuses on Dallas. "Shit, kid. I'm sorry. Are you ok?"

"Am I? Dar, I was worried about you, man. I'm fine." But he's still got a flash in his eyes Darry knows, the restless way his spins his ring around his finger. He opens one arm 'n Dallas hesitates before slidin' over 'n droppin' his head down to Darry's shoulder.

"Was I havin'... a nightmare?" He doesn't need to ask. He knows. They run in the family. Darry was just better at keepin' 'em locked down.

"Yeah, man. You were, uh, callin' for Mrs. C." He had figured. He lets out a long breath 'n rests his head down on Dallas', their temples together.

"You sure you're alright, kid?" Dallas presses his elbow against Darry's ribs 'n Darry does them both a favor 'n pulls him flush against his side.

"Yeah, man, I'm sure." They're quiet for a few moments. They don't need to say anythin'. "I'm glad Soda's asleep. Pony wanted to sleep in here but I told him no way, man, that kid's annoyin' when he's not sick."

Darry chuckles 'n lays back down. Dallas flips around a few times before settlin'. He's got the minimum amount of contact with space to have none. Darry lets out a huff of a laugh. He gets the touch thing from Pony, no contest.

"Thanks for wakin' me up, kid."

"Yeah, well, don't mention it. You were thrashin' around 'n takin' up my whole side of the bed 'n shit so I kinda had to." Darry laughs again 'n doesn't mention Dallas' doin' what he does best: pretendin' everythin' is ok. His migraine flares so bad he feels like his skull might just crack in half to remind him that's not the case.

"Dal, I don't want you catchin' this. Why don't you go elbow over Soda tonight?" When he twists to look at Darry he's got that look in his ice-chip eyes that tell Darry arguin' is pointless. He may not have gotten his stubbornness from the Curtis' but he damn well fit right in.

"Don't mention it."

...

Darry has his feet on the floor before he can fully process anythin'. He blinks his eyes, rubs at them blearily. Lets out a sigh when his stomach turns over. He's gettin' real sick of the wakin' up 'n driftin' off thing. Mostly 'cause every time he was up he expects to feel better 'n that is never the case.

He glances at the clock at his bedside. A little before six. Like clockwork. Darry never needed to set alarms. He just woke up when he was meant to. Pony had complained about that for years. 'N Darry, in turn, had complained about his obnoxious alarm clocks.

It takes a moment for him to realize he's suddenly ravenous. He's so goddamn relieved he could cry.

Dallas is gone but that's to be expected. Dallas was an oddly early riser. He would go to sleep at two 'n still wake up before Darry. Darry creeps into the kitchen 'n finds Dallas where he always is, curled up in the window sill. He also finds Soda, awake again.

"Hey lil' buddy, what are you doin' awake?" Soda whips around, still half asleep. He looks so soothed for a moment, the stress fallin' out of his shoulders. Then he gets a good look at Darry.

"What are you doin' out of bed?" Soda shrugs his DX shirt around on his shoulders, takes the coffee Dallas offers him.

"I've gotta go to work, kiddo. I'm feelin' better." Darry grins, holds his head stiffly 'n walks around the side of the table. Dallas jumps off the counter 'n, between the two of them, manage corner him.

"Nuh uh, no siree. I let you go to work yesterday 'n look where that got you." Darry sighs, lets Soda manhandle him down into a chair like just standin' too much could make him keel over 'n die. Darry won't admit he might be right.

"Soda, I love you. We can't afford this." Soda shoots Dallas a look Darry can't read. And that unsettles him.

"Don't worry, Dar. We got it covered. Plus, Soda already called you in sick so it's too late now." Dallas turns around 'n slides an egg that is somehow both over 'n underdone across the table. So Soda cooked. Darry snakes a hand out 'n snatches both of their wrists. Dallas jumps a lil' but neither look particularly surprised.

"This 'Got it covered' shit legal?" He fixes them both with the sternest look he can manage. His appetite is slippin' away from him again 'n he hates to admit it but Soda's probably right. Another look between the two of them 'n Darry gives them a shake.

"Look, Dar. Don't worry about it." Darry lets out an exasperated sigh 'n Dallas rolls his eyes. "Yes, it's legal. Soda 'n I are just pickin' up extra shifts, ok? Glory, you wouldn't let God have his second comin' without callin' you first."

Darry lets out a sigh of relief 'n chuckles. "Since when did you get religious, Dallas Winston?"

"Since the Devil thought it'd be funny to dump me in the middle of Tusla, Oklahoma with you bunch." Dallas scuffs his foot on the tile 'n Darry's laughs become a hackin' cough. Soda 'n Dallas glance at each other again.

"Look, you two, I appreciate it. But I'm not gonna make you work extra to pick up my slack. I'll just call back. I can go in." Soda sighs 'n sinks down into the chair across from his brother.

"Darry, just let us do this, alright?" He fiddles with his shirt, the mug, a curl of his bangs. "You do enough, Dar. Let us just do this."

No, he thinks, I never do enough.

Darry looks his kid brothers over again. Feels that familiar kick that he will never deserve this. "Fine." He swallows bile as it rises up his throat. "Fine. I'll stay home."

"And you won't do any housework- or anythin' Pony wants." Soda bounces back instantly waggin' his finger 'n grinnin', but that's how Soda's always been. "I better come back to this house a disaster!"

"Yessir." Darry throws his hands up, hesitantly tries for the eggs again.

"Steve's comin' in after school so if you need anythin' call Two, OK?" Darry nods again 'n Soda grins 'n pours him a glass of water.

"I'm gonna let Pony know we're headed out." Dallas disappears down the hall 'n Darry can hear him pokin' at the kid 'n when that doesn't work, drag the kid out of bed. In the literal fashion.

"OW!"

"Are the eggs ok? I cooked 'em." Darry goes for the least runny bite he can get.

"Great, kiddo. Thank you." He snaps Soda up 'n drops a kiss to his messy hair.

"-'n if I hear about you bein' a brat I swear to God-"

"Pony'll be stayin' here. I tried to get him to go but..." Soda trails off 'n they both hear the distinctive sound of two bodies hittin' the floor.

"I don't want him here on my account. He's not skippin' school if he ain't sick." Darry swallows his bite 'n bile crawls up his throat immediately. Soda watches him carefully.

"Well, if you wanna fight with the kid I won't get in you're way. But, uh, well you know how Pony is." He did. His migraine burns along the back of his head. Please Pony, he feels a little guilty but it doesn't stop him from thinkin', don't be yourself.

Dallas 'n Pony appear in the kitchen again, both tousel-headed 'n scowlin'. The second Pony lays eyes on Darry, however, he lets out a soft little noise of relief 'n throws himself into Darry's arms.

"Hey, kid." Darry runs a hand through his hair 'n pulls him into his lap.

"Dar, you're ok." He tucks his head under Darry's chin 'n Darry smiles. Maybe he should get sick more often.

"Well, don't be too happy. I'm gonna tell you somethin' you're not gonna like 'n I'm not fightin' on it." Pont leans back, furrows his brows.

"Ok?"

"You're goin' to school today. I'm not gonna have you skippin' for my sake. I'll be fine alone, Pone." Pony's face scrunches up into a scowl again.

"But-" Dallas clears his throat 'n Pony snaps his mouth shut. "Fine." He clambers away from Darry 'n back out into the hall, not quite managin' to avoid the whack to the back of the head Dallas sends him with a smirk.

"Glory, you 'n Soda run a tight ship, huh?" Dallas grins, shrugs on his jacket.

"Well, can't have the kid turnin' into a knucklehead 'cause you have to call out of havin' a stick up your ass for one day." Pony 'n Darry let out twin noises of indignation, Pony's comin' from somewhere around the corner. Soda 'n Dallas both howl.

"Watch it, you two. Once I get better I'm gonna have to beat your fool heads in." Darry rests his head on his hand, proppin' his elbow on the table. Glory, why did bein' sick make him so damn tired?

"Have to catch us first!" Soda splits into a toothy smile 'n slips out the screen door, snappin' the keys off the counter. "Don't you dare do nothin'- remember!"

"C'mon Pony! Leave now or walk!" Dallas shouts into the hall 'n Pony comes flyin' back out with his bag. He only stops long enough for Darry to press a kiss to his temple. Dallas kicks him in the ass 'n Pony turns back around to sock him in the ribs.

"Get better, Dar!"

"Yeah, 'n call Buck's if you need me." Darry rolls his eyes 'n follows them to the door, shuttin' it behind them.

"Somehow I'll manage. Glory, y'all have become frettin' hens!" Soda cracks up, squawks 'n flaps his hands. Pony shakes his head but can't hide his grin. "Love y'all."

"Love ya, Dar!"

"Yeah, man."

"Get better, Darry!"

The truck pulls out of the drive too fast 'n zips down the street. The second it vanishes around the corner exhaustion hits Darry again. He ducks back inside 'n is in bed before the sound of Soda gunnin' the engine is too far to hear.

...

The smell of dinner wakes Darry up. When his stomach flips it has nothin' to do with sickness. God, it smells good.

He kicks the blanket off 'n almost cries when he isn't swelterin' or shiverin'. When he gets to his feet his head doesn't swim. Glory, it doesn't even hurt. Heavensake, he'd forgotten how good it felt to not have a headache.

He eases the door open 'n the sound of an Elvis record they've nearly burned through skips on the player. It scratches 'n Darry can hear Steve 'n Dallas goin' back 'n forth over the new Hollies single or the Yard Birds. Dallas wins out 'n The Hollies drifts down the hall.

Darry pokes his head into the kitchen 'n Soda stops jabbin' at Two who was fixin' somethin' at the stove. He takes Darry in from head to toe 'n then grins wide. He looks exhausted but also younger than he has since the moment he came home to Darry 'n his bug.

Pony glances up from where he's workin' at his math homework 'n splits into a big smile.

"Dar!" He shoots out of his chair so fast he nearly knocks it over. Dallas 'n Steve duck into the kitchen from the living room both lookin' suddenly, jarringly relieved. Pony throws his arms around Darry 'n Darry pulls Soda into the hug.

"You feelin' better, Superman?" The smell of gasoline clings to both Steve 'n Soda. Horses to Dallas'. Pony's homework it half done. No one coercin' him. The meal Two's pullin' out of the oven had taken at least an hour of prep work. Darry knows from experience. 'N they're all lookin' at him.

"Yeah, you know? I am."

[xx-may4-malic3-xx]

I know the video is like 2 years old by now, but i watched it this weekend so it's basically a day old for me, but your "My Problem With Scenecore" video honestly made me realise why i hate alot of the "aesthetics" that are happening now, cause that's all they really are. There's no real community or subcultures anymore, because it's all just some aesthetic. There's no music, no values and no culture, nothing that unites anybody other than their shein sweatshop #scenecore clothes, and it's just. Lonely.

The aestheticisation of everything has killed community and it's very sad, but it's also why im getting into scene now. Just went through my older sibling's old clothes and found some pretty cool stuff, and i found some old tutus that through the power of elastic manage to fit. Literally found this like. Scarf with gloves attatched, but the gloves are big paws and the whole thing is bright green with leopard print.

Obviously Scene culture was never perfect, but that's the point of reviving it, to do it again but better- making it just an aesthetic is just. Bleh. Anyways sorry for the ramble, this is the first thought ive had in 5 years

Hundred percent. It always felt so superficial to me and I was never able to put it into words before that video

I like that you mentioned shein and stuff that’s similar, bc all these aesthetics (esp on tiktok) just feel like trends ment to promote overconsumption. The original spirit of being alternative was about diy

Even with scene, there was always so much emphasis on doing your own hair, making your own jewelry, repurposing handmedowns etc. Taking away all these things feels like taking away a piece of the subculture

Thanks for sharing 💖 im glad my video reached you in some way

Also I get it, that video was probably the most thought out, well worded thing I’ve made in years and it was bc I was hyperfixated on something no one cares about LMAO

[adrift-in-thyme]

I’m not thinking of specifically any good prompts for fairy time, but you know I love me some angst XD hurt/comfort, perhaps? Maybe with Warriors?

-Sky Floor

TIME AND WARRIORS MY BELOVEDS

And hurt/comfort too?? You couldn't have sent in a better prompt Peggy

CW for captivity, blood, and injury

---------------------------------

Someone is speaking.

The voice floats to him like stray strands of fairy dust. Distant and hazy and soft…familiar.

The clouds of gray and black begin to part. The new light of a summer day pierces through closed eyelids. Reluctantly, Time shifts. 

Pain streaks up his small form in response, carving through the dim awareness he has only just begun to grasp. A low groan escapes past cracked lips. 

A fingertip brushes his cheek, so gentle it is hardly there. 

“It’s alright, Sprite. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Here…

Time shudders as the memories pour in. Unwanted. Unstoppable.

The translucent walls of a bottle surrounding him on all sides. Iron cuffs on his wrists and ankles, burning through his flesh. The agony of his torn wing. The pain of the wounds that pepper his abused body.

And a voice…a voice that pushes through an eternity of pain, that rises above the others that have filled his ears with their cruelty and derision. It is thick with anger, heavy with care.

“I’m here, Sprite. They won’t touch you again.” 

He drags open his eyes to a world of royal blue. Silken folds surround him on all sides, dipping and diving in graceful arcs. They snake around and over him, protective, secure. 

He knows their embrace well. After all, it is not the first time he has taken refuge within them. 

He fists his hands in the fabric, feeling the softness beneath his fingertips. It is gentle upon his abused body, gentle on his wings.

His wings…

He frowns as his awareness grows like a slowly incoming tide. He can feel them again, sense them upon his back. Whole. Healed. 

A torn wing is not easy to mend. Of that he is certain. 

“How?”

He doesn’t realize he has spoken the question until he hears his own voice, little more than a croak, tight with remnant pain and fear.

“Don’t worry about that now.”

Time looks up into the eyes he knows so well. Anguish and adoration, beauty and pain, the flames of defeat and the spark of victory – he has seen them all reflected there. But right now he isn’t certain what emotion permeates those deep blues. He only knows what they make him feel.

Safe. Loved.

His next breath stutters on the way out. A lump situates itself in his throat before he can quite comprehend why it is there. 

“Big brother.” The title slips out on impulse and Warriors’ face spasms in response. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve called me that,” he says, quickly schooling his features into a soft smile. 

He scoops Time into his palm with such care, the hero hardly feels himself being lifted. The breeze caresses his newly freed wings, coolness mingling with the wonderful warmth of the sun. He revels in the feel of it. 

“I’m glad you’re awake, Sprite. How’re you feeling?”

Time blinks, searching vainly for words. There is so much he needs to say, so much he needs to ask. But exhaustion and pain still cling heavily to him. He is uncertain how long he was held captive though it felt an eternity. And now all he wants to do is sleep.

“Thank you,” he whispers, instead, and prays that his brother will understand everything he means by it.  

Judging by the way Warriors’ expression grows impossibly softer, he does.

“Of course,” he murmurs, eyes shining with vulnerability, a smile on his lips. “I’ll always come for you, Sprite. Always. You’re my little brother.”

He holds Time to his cheek for a moment, and Time hears his breath hitch as he leans into the embrace. He yearns to comfort him, to protect him from the memories and emotions that seek to harm him. But then Warriors is releasing him once more into the silken bed of his scarf. And his mind grows wonderfully fuzzy.

“Rest,” Warriors says. “I’ll watch over you.”

Time doesn’t doubt that he will. 

[podsvante]

I don't know if you're still in the mood for drawing farmers but i'd like to throw mine in the pot as well.

Her name is Louise💖

More photos of her on my page if you need reference.

she’s so cute!! i love her design (esp the cowgirl boots) and she seems so silly <3

[garmadonskitten]

A few questions:

1- which is your favourite character to draw and why?

2- if you were to make an animatic, which character(s) and what song would you use?

1- My favorite character to DRAW is either lloyd or Jay. They're easy to draw and have recognizable designs.

2- If I were to make an animatic I'd probably make one of Cinder or Garmadon with the song Animal by Sir Chloe

OR

An animatic with lloyd and literally any Alex G song

[ezlo-x]

I've wondered for a bit, who's your favorite character in the comic to write or draw? Do you have a specific reason for why you like them?

I had a blast working on this chapter! :] With who's my favorite character to draw and write for this chapter is a little difficult to say. I liked writing Ganondorf's and Sheik's relationship with one another, that is kind of the whole premise of Chapter 1 to be properly introduced by these two and how they interact with one another. My personal favorite part of the chapter that I wrote was Ganondorf encountering the Hearty Truffle, though my OTHER favorite part of the story is coming up and I am eager to see how people are going to react to that! For drawing, similar to writing I don't think I had a top favorite character to draw, just favorite panels/moments that I am really proud on they turned out. I'll share my favorite panels of the pages that have been posted so far! Cause trust me the later ones were even more fun for me to write/draw!

(Part 1 - pg.4)

(Part 2 - pg.8)

(Part 4 - pg.18)

(Part 5 - pg.24)

[rookinthecrownest]

I don’t think I beat the melatonin but how do you think they met

I also did not beat the melatonin (it had hands and knocked me tf OUT, yay)

So, like Varric says in the beginning, him, Rook, and Harding have been chasing Solas across all of Northern Thedas. My idea is that one day, maybe a few months before the start of the game, he gets a message from Fenris about some unusual activity back in Tevinter. Maybe whispers of a strange ritual? More demons crossing the Veil and attacking small rural villages as a result of Solas messing around with said Veil?

So the trio heads to Tevinter and meets up with Fenris. And Fenris is fairly distrustful of the Mage Assassin (very valid of him of course). But agrees to work with her given that Varric's given his seal of approval, so she must not be completely awful. I haven't come up with any specifics, but I envision there's some entanglement with the Venatori/demons/etc., and Fenris doesn't completely hate working alongside her. He guesses. Still finds the 'talks to animals like they're people' thing weird, but maybe, eventually a bit endearing?

:')

[toxintouch]

hc + 🎭 for an arts-/crafts-themed headcanon [Mhin or Aetheris!]

Ooo! I can't decide so I'll just do both. >:3 Mhin:

Mhin is the type of person to over-intellectualize art and feel uncomfortable interacting with it on anything but a practical level. They will resist the idea that they should be open to exploring 'the themes of the artwork' if pressed. They can understand that there is value in being able to draw realistically. Anatomical and alchemical diagrams are useful in a very tangible way - and portraiture obviously takes skill - but if you ask them anything about the emotional aspect of the art, they will stubbornly shut the conversation down. (Also they won't be complimenting Vere under any circumstance. Not even by accident.) Similarly, Mhin is the type to rally against the idea that they are creative. If Mhin has a good idea, it came from their base of knowledge being applied to the problem, not their "imagination."

Atheris:

Besides being really interested in music as an art, they like to embroider their own clothing! (And maybe if they became attached to someone, they might...) They prefer to embark on embroidery projects that have symbolism attached. If no one around can really determine what that symbolism means...it's probably for the best. In fact, that's better.

[thelonelyshore-if]

lake/fog is so hard for me because they're so differing in their relationship to MC in such good ways. the lake loves MC the way you might love a pinned moth on your wall. the lake fully drowned MC to keep them. the lake's love is devouring; it is a need. the lake wants to possess MC, to have them utterly and fully. to love MC is, perhaps inevitably, to kill them. which is a vibe! BUT ALSO. the fog found a bird with a broken wing outside its door and brought it inside, placed it in a cage, and refused to let go when the bird recovered. the fog gives me curious child energy, poking at frogs to watch them jump. MC is a curiosity, but a beloved one. a mystery, so closely connected to the lake. something precious and desirable and rare and beautiful. that is also a kind of love. the fog does not love MC as deeply as the lake; the MC is a part of the lake at this point, i think. but infatuation comes strongly and quickly, and the fog just found a shiny new thing to keep. we talk of the lake loving MC, but i think the fog also cares very deeply. which is also a vibe! i can't compare them properly, their relationship to MC is too different (and obviously the only qualifier of preference of lake v fog is the relationship to MC and not the dead people and imprisonment /j).

Ohhhhh Nonnie this is delightful. I'm loving all of your thoughts here. Pinned moth vs. caged bird is suuuuch a tasty way to look at it.

I'm really enjoying getting the chance to see how y'all are interpreting the lake and the fog and your thoughts on what it all means.

And ofc their feelings on MC are the most important thing the dead ppl are inconsequential /j

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

That’s fine! Could you please do a movie Johnny one instead? Tysm!!!

"Greif is love's souvenir. It's our proof we once loved."

[xx-may4-malic3-xx]

Getting into scene music is actually so hard. Literally just today came across a cool song, listened to it a few times, checked who made it. Wasn't BOTDF or MSI, but i figured may as well look up any band allegations just in case, and of course the bloody singer is a pedophile. Of course. Desperately need some good music recommendations, i feel like all i can trust is the Millionaires at this point (at least they're coming back now!!!)

No for real, it’s always so depressing looking into some of these people and realizing they’re either creeps or awful people

Besides Millionaires (love them <3), id definitely recommend checking out some newer crunkcore artists!! Some bangers are:

-Dart Darling

-Kira

-Kuma, AKA

-Slutmachineee

-Oatblood

-Keila Kreepz

-Korra Rain

-Pizzamachine

As always leave some suggestions in the notes!!

[bored-boring-and-tired]

Puppy

awwww puppy!!

[eltheabberation]

Taki h10?

Pathetic men covered in blood >>>>>>

[podsvante]

i accidentally had submissions on when this post was submitted so I can’t answer it normally, im so sorry ☹️

i colored the sketch but i have mixed feelings abt how it turned out so here are both versions. your farmer looks so sweet, i love the one shot of harvey and him!! also ive noticed you’re always liking my posts, tysm for the support it means a lot to me 🫶