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  “You know what trope pisses me off the most? When the protagonist is pointing a gun at somebody and they’re like “you won’t do it. You’re too good” and the person holding the gun is like oh shit I am and they slowly lower the gun while the other person laughs. WHAT THE FUCK. If I were there, and somebody told me “you won’t do it” I would immediately shoot them dead without hesitating. Who are you to tell me what I won’t do. Musty bitch.”

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     “This is fine..” He mutters as he coughs up what seems like a combination of blood and dark matter. It definitely isn’t fine.

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DJANGO.

fluffy starters. ▍@luhnebled​

    “Is it too sweet for you?” He laughs, setting down a fork previously speared with a piece of pancake, smeared in syrup- just the way Django himself liked it. However, he guessed the absolute pool of syrup left on the plate was a testament to just how much he had added, and it was liquid sugar at base, something that might prove to overwhelm someone without such a sweet tooth.

    “Sorry, sorry! Here, do you want to try it plain?” When your older brother tells you he’s never had pancakes before, you make him pancakes. Immediately. Really, he should’ve expected it, considering how Sabata hadn’t grown up with a doting mother and a loving father like Django had, but his lack of knowledge on breakfast foods was disappointing.

    Truly, Sabata had given it his best attempt to eat at least one pancake with syrup in order to not ruin Django’s mood ( besides, it was hard to say no to his younger sibling ). But alas, his stomach protested more than he liked with the amount of liquid sugar it had to digest. How Django managed to do it.. he truly didn’t know.

         “Just.. a little.” he lies, not wanting to sour the mood. “It’s just.. that I’ve never really had sugar before, is all.” Then, he looks at the other with a slight pout yet curiosity, as if trying to figure out a puzzle, before sitting back in his chair. “Really, how you’re able to stomach something like this goes beyond me.”

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DJANGO.

    He squirms, palm opening and closing- his immediate reaction is to yank his arm away from Sabata’s grip, but he quickly relaxes. “…Sorry. It hurts,” he mumbles, voice set in a growl low in his throat. He had blinked, and suddenly found himself in a body that wasn’t his- it was uncomfortable. Most of all, it was far too difficult to adapt to.

    “I’m a little…paranoid about all of this. Hard to get used to.” Django’s tone is sheepish- how silly, to get so wound up over something so little. (Sabata has it far worse. You hardly have the right to complain!) “I just got scared”

    His ears perk up, leaning forward a little bit to inspect the jar. (Ah, personal space, Django!) He listens intently, eyes darting back up to his brother’s face. “You’re…really smart, aren’t you?” He smiles, though the teeth poking out of his mouth turn it into somewhat of a grimace. “You don’t have to do that for me…I’ll be fine.”

  “You won’t be fine.” Whoops, that may have sounded just a bit too mean and snappy. As a way of correcting his mistake, Sabata lightly clears his throat and his expression softens - his worry now obvious. “And I’m doing it because I want to, so it’s fine.” It’s the least he could do, after all. “If I ever had the intention of not wanting to help you, you’d know.”

  For now, Sabata lets go of Django’s wrist to lightly hold his hand instead - he himself never liked being held by the wrist, so why would his brother. “I’m only ‘smart’ because I had to learn and try everything on my own.” He stops for a moment, suddenly showing an expression of vague embarrassment. “I messed up more than I’d like and I’ve got the scars to prove that.”

   Well, back to the matter at hand. “In any case.. where does it hurt the most and how, how long did you expose yourself to sunlight and how long ago did it happen?”

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☾ @perihelics ☽ cont. 

  The whole deal was concerning, of course - especially since it was now Django instead of himself who had gotten hurt by the sun’s light - but Sabata was thankful he knew how to handle this. He wouldn’t dare admit it’s because this happened to him many times, though. But for now, he wordlessly takes a hold of the other’s wrist to pull those harmful claws away from his arm.

   “It’s nothing to be scared about, the least you’ll get from this is some light scarring if properly taken care of. Besides, you heal fast, so it probably won’t even scar at all.”

  With his gaze soft but as calculating as usual, Sabata carefully inspects Django’s arm, taking something out of his pocket shortly after. It seems to be..a small hand-sized jar, filled with something. “This is a remedy I made myself, since I occasionally burn myself too. It’ll lessen the pain and prevents the majority of scarring. I’ll make sure to make some for you too, next time I stock up on ingredients.”

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FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION! rules: bold what applies to your muse and repost.

SNOW WHITE.

jade trinket boxes. taste of iron. fingertips on a mirror. yellow and green with envy. long-handled hunting knives. sewing by the window. combs laced with pearls and poison. an apple white one side and red the other. white doves. frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS.

a blunt axe. a ring of chalk. tear-stained cheeks. sweet pears. hands tied behind back. shallow rivers. aching feet, walking for days. flowing gowns. liquid silver. wax seals. blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST.

lukewarm bath water. sapphire butterflies. tiny milk snakes. baskets of strawberries. fat toads. sparkling snow. fur cloaks. raw gemstones. kettles made of copper. red wine. a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD.

a tiny key made of gold. pools of blood. stains that won’t rub away. galloping hooves. treasures from far away lands. dragged by the hair. dark and damp cellars. marble walls. shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS .

sitting side-saddle. daughter of a witch. nettles. white feathers. refusing to smile. needles and threads. a castle in the forest. sound of beating wings. birthmarks. climbing trees. balls of yarn. silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP.

wildflowers. rich-tasting cake. wicker baskets. the path rarely trod. sharp teeth. curtains drawn. a dying fireplace. grey pelts. red velvet. handmade quilts. sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop. looking someone directly in the eye.

tagged by: nabbed it from myself tagging: @perihelics

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  Cracks his fingers maybe a bit louder than they normally should, obviously unfazed by it.

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  “Can I stop being depressed for just five minutes, maybe, and give the ‘being a good older brother’ thing a try.”

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perihelics.

    “That’s hardly a reasonable question.” Of course he has. How could he have not? Ever since meeting him, Sabata has always seemed at odds with his emotions- bitter, angry, and hateful. It was always seeing his brother mope. “Are you okay, Sabata? You haven’t been this down in a while.”

   “I am, I guess? I’m just... thinking, is all.” Not entirely a lie, but also not the whole truth. Sabata’s thoughts easily took a darker turn with how pessimistic he was and still kind of is, the change in lifestyle still having to do it’s work. Hah, what a joy it would be to stop being so cold - both physically and emotionally. “You remember Carmilla, right? I guess my train of thought just kind of.. automatically went to her for a bit.”

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   “The fuck is a ‘hotdog’, even..”

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strangely enough, i havent felt this comfy and ‘home’ with writing a character until now

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@perihelics

  “What’s with that face. Never seen your brother mope before?” That’d be either a yes or no, but there was a joking undertone to Sabata’s words ( even if it was barely there ).

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i’m too out of it to make real and more decent tags