Fantasy Marshwood Home for Gifted Children (main)

[Miaow]

#

01
01

emanuel vozetic

"I'm having a midlife crisis"

location

Dining Hall, Ground Floor

mood

Sleepy

interactions

None yet c:<

tags

None yet c:<

Sometimes Emanuel had to wonder what he'd done in a previous life to deserve to inherit a giant house full of unruly, supernatural children. A giant house? Sure, he wasn't complaining about that, but he had to share it with twenty-plus children with superpowers? He didn't sign up to be Angela Jolie, adopting every needy kid he saw!

He especially had to wonder when he woke up later than the rest of the kids. Someone was always hogging the TV, not sharing their toys, setting fire to something... You know, the usual. He'd always made sure his alarm was turned on after the arson incident.

He rolled onto his back beneath his sheets, taking a deep breath. It was better to compose himself before breakfast, then, at least when the kids say something stupid or gross while he's enjoying his coffee, his blood pressure won't rise high enough to kill him.

Who was he kidding, it was kind of nice to be surrounded by some semblance of a family. He didn't have his own, after all, and one of these assholes lovely children was going to have to inherit this place when he was gone. Well, that was his hope, anyway, he didn't have anyone else to do it.

He put on his old-man slippers and shuffled his way down the corridor outside of his top floor bedroom, his feet wading through loose My Little Ponies. How the heck did they get up here anyway? No matter. He was down on the ground floor soon enough, take his seat at the head of the table. Whether there were kids there already or not, he was unaware, giving his grateful grunt to the cook who prepared his coffee each morning. He sipped it, waiting for it to kick in. Maybe then he could acknowledge the residents.

© weldherwings.

 

[Miaow]

#

01
01

kwang luca

"i want soop"

location

Dining Hall, Ground Floor

mood

Hungry

interactions

Emanuel

tags

N/A

Luca had already been awake for at least half an hour, shuffling along the hardwood floors in his socks. His blonde hair was a mess and his eyes were barely open, but he was a man on a mission.

You see, despite his cheerful disposition, Luca was a troubled man. A man with a sensitive stomach and a craving for what he couldn't have.

He squeezed between the door and the door frame, entering the kitchen and sneaking towards the fridge.

Then, there was screaming.
"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY KITCHEN, LUCA!"
"I JUST WANTED CHOCOLATE MILK!" Luca screamed back, carrying an armful of little milk cartons as he was launched out of the kitchen and into the dining room. He was lucky to have his noise-canceling headphones on, drowning out the shrieks of the old chef. She was robbed of her chocolate milk almost every morning, and every morning, she was just as angry.

"Oh, uhh-- Morning, Emanuel," Luca greeted awkwardly, taking a seat a little further down the long dining table. Luca grunted in acknowledgement, still finishing off his coffee. He had been made... aware of Luca's theft, but the stomach pains he gets around mid-morning were punishment enough... and he was too tired to deal with it so early in the morning.

© weldherwings.

 

[rosered]

Jade groaned, grabbing a pillow to cover her ears as she heard screaming (Something about chocolate milk?) coming from the downstairs part of the house. Eventually, her eyes drifted slowly open and she grimaced, yawning as she stretched her arms above her head. It took her a moment for her brain to unfog and remember yesterday's events. She'd arrived at the house later in the evening and been shown to a room, where she'd plopped her backpack on the empty nightstand and collapsed on her new bed. She glanced at Autumn's pile of blankets and stuffed animals across the bedroom and assumed everyone else must be used to the morning chaos. She rubbed at her eyes and glanced at her reflection before grabbing her notebook and heading downstairs to find out why someone had screamed bloody murder at the buttcrack of dawn. She heard awkward chatter and followed the sound to find a blonde-haired boy (Luca, if she remembered correctly.) and Mr. Vozetic seated at a long dining table. Plopping down in a chair between them, she glanced at Luca's hoard of milk before deciding it was too early in the morning for her to care about his antics. She pulled out her notebook and flipped to an empty page. The notebook was full of sketches, some of animals and people and some of landscapes. Once she found a clean page, she started sketching. She glanced between Mr. Vozetic and the paper, making sure to get the eyebags and steaming cup of coffee warming his middle-aged hands. When she was finished, she turned the notebook so Mr. Vozetic could see it.
"Heh. It's you," she said with a half-smile.
She liked sketching people in crisis and her drawing captured Mr. Vozetic's exhausted vibe and mid-life crisis perfectly. Of course she may have hammed it up a bit by emphasizing his tired-looking face, but it was comedic gold.

((Note to self: color code for dialogue is #20B2AA.))

 

[-ferret-]

For Bashi, waking up was often done once in the middle of the night and once in the early morning. Each night around three in the morning, he'd open his eyes to the ceiling after a rough nightmare that he couldn't remember and look to the left of the room to see giant round eyes reflecting the light from outside back at him. Oatmeal was a comforting presence in her little cat bed after the nightmares he forgot. He would stare at her slowly blinking eyes until the residual fear faded away and he could stare back up at the ceiling until sleep stole him from the waking world once again. The glow in the dark stars on his ceiling helped, even if Bashi knew Grayson thought them childish.

He usually would wake again at around six in the morning and begin his daily routine, but today he woke a little later to the sounds of Luca stealing chocolate milk again. It would bother Bashi if he drank the stuff that Luca took more than his fair share, but Bashi preferred regular milk and juice so he let the thievery slide. Not that Bashi wasn't one to take things from his fellow residents himself from time to time. Mainly from Rikki and Grayson. Sometimes Luca because Luca was annoying.

He rose from his bed and shook himself from his nighttime oddness. Sleep always left him reserved and docile for a while, a bit detached from the world with a single minded focus of food. One might think Bashi already reserved and quiet since he didn't speak to people, but one would be wrong. There was just something about him that was rather...bitchy.

His nightmare had left him a bit sweaty and disgusting so he took a quick shower and brushed his teeth, paying special attention to his lengthy canines. He brushed his hair last, forgoing the hair dryer. His curls always did better with a good air dry anyway. Though breakfast and his day didn't warrant any formal wear, Bashi was extra and dramatic in every aspect of his life. He took a look through his closet and made sure to look presentable in his outfit, layering necklaces and fabric alike. He rarely wore shoes in the house though and instead carried a pair with him to the foyer in case he did in fact need to go out today, but then padded his way into the dining room where Luca, Emanuel, and the new girl already were. He took his seat further down the table on the opposite side of Luca and...Jade? He didn't get much information on her but remembered someone saying that name.

The cook placed a plate in front of Bashi and he signed 'thankyou' to him. The cook smiled back and patted his shoulder. Bashi had little manners besides that though so he forwent waiting for others and simply dug in, happy to shove eggs, pancake, and sausage patty into his mouth with a lack of decorum that his clothes suggested he had.

He did take a minute to tap the table to get Emanuel's bleary attention to sign a quick good morning to his psuedo-father.

 

[qunqun]

MOOD: Thoughts are happening and I don’t like it

OUTFIT: He's a whore.

LOCATION: House

basics

MENTIONS:



INT:
Magus jinxxes

tags

TL;DR He has arrived

tl;dr

Graham

tw: suicide ideation

Space was fecking neat.

Graham thought about space a lot. The infinitely expanding cosmos in it’s glorious beauty. The fact that one day, it would stop expanding, and start collapsing in. He wondered what it’d feel like to teeter on that edge, stare at the end of the universe, walk off into oblivion.

Stars? Feckin’ dope.

During Graham’s depressive period, he’d read a lot about the universe, about physics and space and poetry about death and grief and the omens which heralded death.

Aoife had burned like a star, fiery and punched you in the face for looking at her the wrong way. Had his same wild red hair. Constantly shouting at him and shaking him, and arguing and fighting and hugging him and listening to him and telling him how much he mattered to her and that he was loved. Fire in every sense of the word.

And the largest stars always caved in, and in their wake they left a tear in space-time. A deep bottomless pit…

When he’d watched Aoife die, terrified and in pain, watched the light die from her eyes as she took one last shuddery breath… He’d felt like he was on the edge of a black hole, getting sucked in.

And he was in a black hole now, the weight of the gravity crushing him completely. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t lift his head. He couldn’t-

And maybe if he tried hard enough he could buckle and let the black hole do it’s thing and get crushed as gravity took a hold and he fell and he fell and he fell and got crushed and crushed and crushed until finally…

Finally.

The punishment of living would be over.

…

But you don’t want to hear about this shite, do you?

Don’t worry, he didn’t blame anyone for not wanting to hear it. It was rather depressing as a whole, but maybe if he wished hard enough when blowing out his birthday candles of another year without his best friend and only confidante and twin sister, it’d actually happen.

Graham was used to the dismissal. It didn’t hurt anymore. Nothing really did. Call him a whore, call him an asshole, call him a little bitch. It was all true, he guessed. But it wasn't worse than the things that he knew he was.

A betrayer.

A failure.

A murderer.

Anyways, self-loathing aside, he had better things to focus on. Primarily, who the feck was he going to annoy tonight so the little voice in his head that told him that he should’ve died instead of Aoife would shut the feck up.

Graham had a date, after all. No need to reflect on the past when he had more important matters to attend to. Like, preferably, getting railed by a really hot tarot reader.

A nice button up with the first two to three buttons undone, some slacks, some nice shoes, the black glasses that made him look far smarter than he was…
Graham gave his lover for the night a sharp grin. “Hey there, love. How’ve you been?”

code by valen t.

 

[Gao]

cw for some mild gore mention​

MOOD: Contemplating murder

OUTFIT: Clicky

LOCATION: Dining hall

basics

MENTIONS: Luca + those at dining table.

INT: Miaow

tags

TL;DR MISTER GWUMPY

tl;dr

GRAYSON LAVICCHI

Perhaps it is there, that a hunger for the indelicate bloomed.

Jeremiah 6:11: “But I am full of the wrath of the Lord; I am weary with holding it in.”

So key your father’s car.

A jagged ‘WANKER’ torn across the black gloss was a gratifying addition in the eyes of the Lavicchi heir. Whilst never passionate to pursue the arts, the ruptures of BMW paint contained a certain charm. Imperfect, ugly, but an undeniably suitable component.

Glazed warm with inebriation and smiling over the reckless vandalism, foreboding giggling followed Grayson’s wayward path into the house. Fingertips leaned a slow glide across the wall to instil balance, the others hooked into the heel of his scuffed oxfords that swayed with each graceless step.

Juice.

He needed juice.

A clumsy, uncaring drop of footwear clattered onto the marble floor, boasting mud and gritty scrapes as he followed the call of dehydration. Condiments and a tray of eggs rattled with his gauche pull of the door, sterile fridge light drawing attention to a glass dish of berry meringue roulade.

Hello.

Now, Grayson Lavicchi knew better than this.

And yet, faulted at how interest shifted within his ribs.

Manners branded since young, the slapped ruler against comfort-coiled ridges of his spine were not easily forgotten. Nauseating politeness, self-serving smiles to feed and unspool the respect of others and a father’s blood that is scalding, perhaps it is there that a hunger for the indelicate bloomed. Or, perhaps, the years of it being just out reach.

Temptation held a tight hold of his body, fingernails curled inward to pinch a raspberry from the layered dessert. With nobody around to bear witness to the corrosion of decorum, nothing to disappoint– no, disgust them, the lustrous visage of each ideal his father engraved into an heir could be rendered trivial. Relinquish the dessert of berry toppings, wipe his fingers clean on the dishevelled fabric of his shirt, charming, and locate the carton of juice.

Drinking, or better described as guzzling, was interrupted with a stern, “achem.”

Grayson froze.

And slowly swallowed the mouthful of orange.

His look over held uncanny resemblance to a dog caught with something forbidden in its mouth. Ready to run before they can scream, lunge, and pry it from his maw.

Strange, he’d never let himself be either disappointment or chagrin, and such expressions would almost lurch Grayson into perfection-grasping panic. Austere features twisted into mortification, porcelain mugs of coffee cupped by bony fingers and revolted eyes met with teenage delinquency. Rare displays of emotion, unthought of for the likes of their refined blood.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for the intoxicated medium, he’d absconded from applying weight into the opinions of family, and traded it for applying his weight against the fridge to remain upright.

Tension heavy as wool, pulled over the household as the boy lowered the carton to greet his reckoning. Ill-mannered, a hand wiped away sticky dregs before raising in an uncoordinated fashion to announce something of importance.

“Hello,” like anyone else when faced with silent questions of sobriety, Grayson could handle this with utmost grace, “fuckers.”

The epitome of upper-class. Grayson Lavicchi.

It was efficient in severing ties of family and sequestering him to Marshwood.

---

Some nights the dead were too loud, and light ever too urgent to rise the following morning. Lethargy weighed his bones, pestle blue stained his eyes and a poor mattress stiffened his jaw.

The glow in the dark stars provoked ire— needed to peel those off the ceiling ASAP —and with patience syphoning out of his hands accompanied with the grandiose hope of slumber, it appeared Grayson would be haunting the hallways at 4am. Layered in black like a carrion crow, inky wings to blot out the light, only taking a moment to pause by Oatmeal’s bed and pull her blanket up to her neck.

He was met with a soft, “brrpt” noise of surprised disturbance, squeezing the strings of his heart with adoration. Despite trying as he might to keep her in the coffin-shaped bed for further rest, Oatmeal would not be abandoned so easily. Fighting with the blanket to get out and join him for wandering, or the hopeful idea of early-breakfast tuna.

Reasonably, her little paws might get cold, imparting the medium with the paternal instinct to pick her up and cradle the warm, purring bundle on his journey.

Spoiled? Yes.

Deserved? Also yes.

Silence was a snare to the living room, and he allowed the tilted mutters and faraway pitter-patter feet to be consumed by someone who cared. A place of solace till the dead decided to show up, or, to his greatest vexation, the living.

The tall figure crossed the room and sat down on the couch, crossing a long leg over the other while fingers opened the book to its marked page. Dearest Oat settled herself beside him, before determining it was crucial to perch on his lap; where she’d smugly remain for the next few hours.

Outside light was illuminating a cobweb in the window’s corner when something pulled and tugged his senses back to reality. An uncanny feeling of being watched.

He was not alone.

Slop.

Something wet hit the ground.

Grayson reluctantly looked to check the interruption. A chunk of rotting arm had slipped free, hitting the wood with a less-than-savoury noise.

Ew.

“Pick that up.” A hand pointed at the discarded flesh in warning. “Don’t look at me like that.” Cloudy wet eyes stared back. “If you think I am going to allow you to drop your bits and pieces all over the house then you are poorly mistaken.”

For the uncommunicative dead, Grayson liked to give them names. As he’d labelled her, Stacy, had made it her recent motive to hang around the establishment. Following him like a shadow, sycophant grappling at the spiritual energy he exuded. Skin of sea-greens and crushed lilac, plum-coloured legs pooling with stagnant blood, a slack-jawed wanderer whose presence was punctuated with the rhythm of rattled breathing.

Again, ew.

Oatmeal, head empty, was staring off into nothing.

“Do not look at her, my sweet little Butter-Paws,” a pale hand smoothed over the sphere of the cat’s round head, “she is just being dramatic, I fear.”

Another slop.

“What did I tell you about your meat?! Pick it up!”

Get off the roof. Stop running around the furniture. Stop touching the windows. Don’t cry in the attic. Frequent reprimands left his mouth on the daily, doing his best to keep ghostly visitors in line. To others, this didn’t instil faith that Grayson was completely sane, and it would seem more likely to think he had imaginary friends rather than existing over the veil.

A scream, not of his (or Stacy’s) own, ripped through the building, signalling a specific blonde pest had awoken.

Luca.

Grayson irritably snapped the book shut, solace expired.

Peace was never an option.

Checking the ghost had indeed removed their moulting, rotting skin from the living room floor, he guided Oatmeal off his lap and stood to join the doom-and-gloom of a Marshwood breakfast.

Drifting into the dining hall, a sombre greeting of, “good morning,” failed to inspire enthusiasm in others, and cinereal eyes narrowed in a particularly harsh way towards Luca’s direction. A table of some less familiar faces, some more so, but for Gray, it was to be the usual dreary breakfast of coffee with two spoons of annoyance.

It was not complex, but the need for control dared not allow anyone else to produce his liquid caffeine. The exact formula, correct mug and spoon, not stirred too much or too little, hovering at the perfect temperature, could be achieved by himself and himself alone.

“Luca, with all due respect,” which was none, “could you shut up?”

Revenge.

code by valen t.

 

[fairyfawn]

• .
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  Marshwood

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  lovely

  
  
  
  

  billie eilish

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  These days, knowing more makes you more miserable.

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
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  Winston is running on five hours of sleep and zero caffeine. It's not his fault for getting little sleep, though! It's his cats! They rub their face up all in his face and jump on his legs whenever he tries to shift to get comfortable. How to get plenty of sleep?This is a downside to owning cats, they won't let you sleep. Waking up at five in the morning and not being able to fall back asleep is fine, everything's fine. Would he even be able to fall back asleep anyways without disturbance?
  
  Speaking of that, he should get out of bed now and get his coffee. His beloved caffeine. With sugar. And cream. Delicious coffee. His energy. Winnie pushed the warm, cozy blankets off of him before sitting up in bed. Alright, time to get ready and head downstairs for something to eat and for some hot coffee.
  
  As Winnie was getting ready, his ears caught wind of screaming. Lovely. Lovely way to start off the morning, isn't it? Something about chocolate milk. Must be Luca. Winnie loves chocolate milk. It is very good and refreshing. Anyways, Winston was getting dressed, pulling an oversized sweater over his head (and quite frankly the sleeves went over his hands), and some sweatpants. He loves sweaters. Very warm.
  
  ---------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------
  
  Winnie did the usual thing of brushing his teeth and dealing with his hair before he left the room to get something to eat and drink. There were some people already there when Winston arrived at the dining hall, but he was more so fixated on receiving and his breakfast and his first cup of hot coffee of the day. He looked around before finally taking his seat at the dining table.
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  i have not had my coffee yet

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  click

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  n/a

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  n/a

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  night

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

@winniethepooh

13 hours ago

nine lives

 

[Miaow]

#

01
01

nagase miyu

"Byline here"

location

Dining Hall, Ground Floor

mood

Sleepy

interactions

Grayson, Bashi, Jade

tags

Gao rosered -ferret-

Miyu wasn't particularly a morning person. A lot of people appreciated the chirping of birds nesting in the home's gutters, the gentle rustling of the leaves in the wind, but Miyu couldn't hear any of those things. Mornings were the same as any other time of the day, just brighter. She just wished she could go back to sleep.

She sat up in bed, her hair a mess around her face, a huge plushy in her lap. Her bed was always covered in plushies, there was more plushy than there was mattress anymore.

A lot of the kids - and Emanuel - would have breakfast in their pyjamas, but Miyu couldn't risk it. She had to get dressed as soon as she got out of bed. She couldn't risk touching her roommate, either...

She chose an oversized, long-sleeved blouse, a long pinafore dress, thick, black tights and her favourite pair of Mary Janes... as well as her gloves. She wouldn't go anywhere without her gloves. It felt wrong to eat breakfast in her day clothes, but she had to be covered up at all times.

She headed downstairs to the dining hall, blissfully unaware of the noise. She examined the chairs with a frown, pushing a chair into another chair into another chair just so she could have enough space at the table. She was unaware of the horrible screeching noise their wooden legs made against the floor, but it was a necessary evil to prevent accidental, untimely death.

She looked up to see the pained look on Emanuel's face, signing "sorry" to him from her seat. However, he was tired and easily distracted, and found his attention elsewhere. He almost spat out his coffee at the sight of Jade's terrible drawing. Terrible was the wrong word, the drawing itself was great, but she could've gone a little easier on him!
"It's uh-- good," He replied, clearing his throat of the coffee he had inhaled. Damnit, if he was a little more awake, he could've controlled his reaction a little better.
"Really good," He amended, before signing a "good morning," to Bashi. Was it correct? Possibly, for all he knew, he could've signed "toasty egg."

Luca shot a dirty look to Grayson as he piped up.
"No, I physically cannot shut up," Luca retorted before sliding a chocolate milk to Miyu like a slick ass bartender. Miyu smiled, piercing the top with her straw and taking a sip.
"Caffeine man is angry" Miyu signed to Luca with a smile.

© weldherwings.

 

[SavannahSmiles]

autumn

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  Hungry and still a little sleepy

  
  

  
  

  
  

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Bre Wernars (Cover)

Unsteady

Autumn woke shortly after the door had clicked closed behind Jade, her pale blue eyes blinking open as she rubbed at her eyes sleepily. She stared blankly up at the ceiling as she soaked in the sounds of her surroundings. From the birds chirping cheerily outside the window, she took a guess that it was at the very least morning. The silence of the room indicated that Jade had left already, though how long she had been gone for Autumn didn't know. Pushing the pile of blankets off of her, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching her arms above her head with a sigh.

Sliding down from the mattress, she wiggled her toes against the soft rug stretched along the length of her bed before counting the steps to her closet. Her pajamas went into the laundry basket sat just off to the side of the closet so she would always know where it was. With the weather outside having transitioned into the cool, crisp air of fall, Autumn had traded her summer dresses and shorts for cozy sweaters and soft leggings. She gently ran her fingers over the hanging sweaters before eventually settling on a random one and pulling it over her head. She pulled on a pair of leggings and then slipped some fuzzy sock onto her feet to protect her little toes from the cold floors.

She ran a brush through her hair and left it loose, hanging to her waist in soft curls; she generally left her hair alone unless one of the others offered to style it for her. Padding back to her bed, she picked up her cane from where it was folded on the nightstand and headed to the door, fingers sliding along the wood until they grasped the metal handle.

Unfolding her cane and placing her hand against the wall, she slowly set off towards her destination: food and chocolate milk. Her cane swept in a back and forth arc in front of her, the soft tapping sound it made against the wall causing small ripples in the darkness and outlining part of the wall. Though she had been staying at the house for a month already, she didn't quite feel like she knew the layout well enough to warrant walking around without her cane, even with her ability. Not to mention there were toys scattered in random places like a mine-field that she sometimes missed seeing; her feet were still sore after stumbling over those Legos the first week she had arrived.

Reaching the end of the hallway and the beginning of where she knew the stairs were, she lifted her cane and tapped it sharply against the ground, the sound outlining the top of the stair for her. Hand sliding down the wall to grip the rail, Autumn shuffled forward until she felt the edge of the step with her toes. Hand tightly gripping the railing, Autumn lowered her foot until she felt the stair below it, bringing her other foot down to join it. She repeated this step all the way down the stairs, slowly sliding one foot forward to find the edge of the step and then carefully lowering it to the next step down. It took time. but she has tripped over her own feet before, she wasn't taking any chances on stairs.

Eventually her feet touched the bottom, a sharp tap from her cane showing that there was no more stairs to traverse. Relaxing her grip on the railing, she turned towards the direction of the dining hall, her cane making a soft tap tap tap noise as she headed towards the smell of food. "Good morning." She chirped brightly as she stepped inside the room, using her cane to lead the way to the table as one of her hands lifted, trying to find a chair.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Walliver]

elouan

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engelbert humperdinck

a man without love

Screaming.

Elouan remembered the last time he woke up to screaming. His younger brother was in the middle of a terrible nightmare, brought on by a fever that he hadn’t managed to deflect in time. Elouan did all that he could, soothing the young boy as he tossed and turned and screamed for the monsters in his head to stop hurting him- to stop hurting Elouan. But that had been years ago. Now, they were safe. Well, mostly.

The crisp autumn chill began nipping at his exposed arms, prompting him to tumble out from under the covers and- at the very least- attempt to look presentable. His stomach growled in anticipation of the plentiful harvest he knew would be waiting downstairs. It was odd, not having to wonder whether the food would be there. It just was. He remembered a time when life was not so convenient, and reminded himself that this could all disappear in an instant. It wasn’t wise to get too comfortable in a place where everything seemed perfectly pleasant and inviting.

He donned a white button-up, layering a black sweater over it. What may have seemed like a soft, cool breeze to some felt more reminiscent of an early winter chill to Elouan, so he needed to stay bundled up. Wasn’t any good to catch cold in a place where one wasn’t certain they were safe either. He slipped into a pair of black jeans and two layers of socks before carefully making his way out of the room, silently padding down the stairs.

Stairs, comprised of steps that are both ascending and descending. Railings, a safety feature to prevent small children and clumsy adults from toppling over the edge and shattering their bones or staining the floors with blood. Floors, a consistent fact of life that the ground was always underneath them, a constant floor and-

"Good morning."

His voice was barely a drop in the ocean of boisterous conversation that occurred between a few of his fellow residents at that time of day. He chose a chair between two unoccupied seats, carefully easing himself down. He looked around, not seeing his brother present. Where are you, Max? Breakfast is beginning and the nice man is enjoying his coffee and we should be present otherwise we will be kicked out and I cannot go back to the streets they will kill me and I will die alone and abandoned as-

He contemplated leaving the table, but he had already taken his place. It would be rude to leave, he had already taken a spot surely meant for someone else. He hoped breakfast didn’t take long. Shaky fingers danced across his leg, which presently bounced against the floor with nervous fervor. To most, it would be perceived as impatience- he could live with that.

And so, Elouan waited, observing as he often did.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[.Curious.Nat.]

Processing. . . .

outfit: here

mood: ehhh

location: dining room

Arthur says. . . .

Arthur woke up with a thud. It seemed like she got too comfortable and phased from being on top of her bed to under it. Lucky it happens enough times that it didn't surprise her.

She crawled out and got up from the floor, rubbing the back of her head before getting ready for the day. Did she know what she was going to do? No, but if she stayed in her pajamas she would really get nothing done. She decided to take a shower and come downstairs to finally eat breakfast. The smell of citrusy orange followed her every move as she walked through walks like it was a normal thing.

She heard some yelling about Milk cartoons again and figured it had to be Luca. For the past couple of times it had been the same lady yelling about it, or was always him. A small laugh came out of her mouth as she walked into the dining room, seeing all the people sitting down didn't calm her nerves one bit. "It's too early Grayson, just let Luca be. Happy is better than sad anyway. " she said sitting down across from Jade and next to this boy who she hadn't really interacted with, but he seemed quiet and nice so he couldn't be bad to get to know.

"Good morning everyone" she mumbled before a plate was place down in front of her. She said 'thank you' before eating. She did like the people watch and that my cause problems and it might not, but she couldn't help,but steal just a couple glances more at a certain someone who she would not name. She even kept her thoughts quiet about them. She didn't want anyone to know.

That would probably be the death of me she thought as she ate her breakfast and washed it down with water-no ice.

coded by kaninchen

 

[Gao]

MOOD: haha egg

OUTFIT: Brekkie attire

LOCATION: Dining hall !!

basics

MENTIONS:
Emanuel + Jade

INT:
Miaow + rosered + open to whoever wants to be ROBBED of their breakfast.

tags

TL;DR being NICE

tl;dr

船井 蓮 — FUNAI REN

Pamper me, kind woman.

To feel like he owed Emanuel something, gratitude, was uncomfortable. Ren was neither child nor burden, and living under someone in a mansion of imposing strangers was a troubling scenario.

Independence stripped down revealed only a neglected stray at his most desperate hour. Pay-checks spread thin across the bread of months, meatless meals of canned peaches and shop-lifted cornbread. Walking home from underpaid shifts with wet shoes and running dangerously feverish with the flu. Living aside the lingering mockery of unpaid bills, unopened letters and unironed clothes waiting for his attention; the two years had not been comfortable.

Secretly, embarrassingly, Ren liked the ease of living at Marshwood— his current stay for the past month. To enjoy something supplied anxiety of not wanting to lose it, convinced that karma was to intervene and rob the undeserved happiness.

What didn’t brew a bad feeling, was feeding time. With an appetite like Ren's, food was a powerful temptation to lure him scuttling from safe warm bed to the dining hall. No good mornings or hellos from the fire-bearer, not even a silent greeting of eye-contact to acknowledge who was there, just directly to a seat for his anticipated breakfast.

“Oh,” Ren mumbled, the saddened tone bringing the cook to a temporary pause. His head slowly looked up at the lady with round eyes and pinched brows. Twilight pools and a heartbroken voice to inspire sympathy, “is that all?”

Pamper me, kind woman. Feed me more.

An extra pancake found his plate.

The eyes did not relent, a sniffle for good measure, add some fucking more, till another joined the stack. Appeased, he looked awfully smug as they begrudgingly proceeded in coating the food in syrup.

“That’s what I thought, toots.” How generous! “Keep going,” he pushed an eager finger against the jug of syrup to encourage a steeper pour of sticky molasses, “no scrooging on the sauce. Remember, nice people go to soft cloudy heaven.”

Whoever inhabited the table was not of interest. Ren’s appeal for food did not replicate in delight of their conversations, quickly lost in a happy opium haze of eating.

Until a complimentary drawing made an appearance.

A piggish snort substituted into a momentary choke on a piece of pancake, fighting it down with watery eyes and noises of struggle. Recovering, he pointed a shaky fork towards the Vozetic.

“Don’t lie!” He warned Emanuel, who’d claimed the drawing was ‘really good’. “It looks nothing like you.” For a strange heart-warming moment, as Ren turned to speak to Jade, it seemed he'd loyally leapt to Emanuel’s defence.

“He has more wrinkles than that.”

No.

No he had not.

“And gray hairs.” No hand, not even those that fed him, would be safe from his wilderness.

“And his eyes are sadder. Needs to look like he doesn’t have a soul.” Truly, a man of words. “More creepy, more malnourished, like a weird dying animal. And- god,” expression of disgust, “why did you make his hairline so forgiving? I have a bet going he’ll be bald as an egg in five months–”

Catching sight of poor, tired Emanuel (who he’d forgotten was there), Ren stopped, shrunk down in his seat, and guiltily stabbed at his plate.

“...Kidding.”

He was not kidding.

If Emanuel didn’t start moulting soon, a pair of hair-clippers and an easy profit was calling to Ren.

Having absolutely ruined Emanuel's morning, interest returned to food. Blinded by greed and heedless of safety (or manners), his troublesome little hand began creeping towards his neighbour’s plate to pinch a piece or two. They wouldn’t need all of that, and it would be truly selfish to deprive him of his daily requirements.

Sharing, after all, is caring.

code by valen t.

MOOD: Want to fight milk.

OUTFIT: Clicky

LOCATION: Dining hall

basics

MENTIONS: Luca + Miyu + Arthur

INT: Miaow + .Curious.Nat.

tags

TL;DR CAFFEINE MAN IS ANGRY

tl;dr

GRAYSON LAVICCHI

Plastic cartons of dairy provoked wrath.

Wood grated the what-was-once-polished flooring as Miyu hurried back and forth pulling chairs around.

This is fine.

Eyes hooded and eyebrows arched in an unimpressed, deadpan stare at the sandpaper-nerve screeching.

Everything is fine.

With Luca claiming it impossible to shut up, the medium was almost– almost, inclined to agree. A hair's-breadth of spite saving him from relenting agreeance to the blonde pest.

“Have you ever tried?” Bickering across a breakfast table was not beneath Grayson, the war-path of sleepless displeasure fated to leave milk of speech spoiled sour. “Or shall we fetch you a pacifier?” Lip curling in a bristle of ire, morning was quickly becoming an ideal time to argue. He certainly wasn’t the only one that drank coffee in this house, and with steely eyes catching the unspoken words from Miyu, there’d be no hope of reconciliation.

“I can read that!” Forgetting all sense of manners, china rattled as he delivered an open-hand smack smack on the table to get Miyu’s attention, followed by urgent signs of:

CAFFEINE MAN IS NOT ANGRY.

By the tension twitching his jaw and knotted brows, austerity didn’t quite align with his words.

"It's too early Grayson, just let Luca be.”

The slow eerie turn to stare at Arthur was horror-esque in execution. Offended silence heavy and deafening.

“Happy is better than sad anyway."

He was appearing more like a besmirched grandmother with every passing second, hunched hatefully over his cup of fuck-off coffee.

“Why are you siding with him?!” Hissed the medium, pointing an accusatory finger at Luca, “he does this every morning! God forbid I desire a peaceful day with no interruptions of,” venom poisoned his voice, “chocolate milk.”

The plastic cartons of dairy sitting within his sight provoked only wrath. In a huff he angrily stirred his drink, quelling anger through passive-aggressive, albeit childish, spins.

“And really,” scoffed the brit, “who needs that much Cholesterol? I’ll give a hint, absolutely nobody.”

code by valen t.

 

[qunqun]

MOOD:
Bad.

OUTFIT:
Forest Daddy

LOCATION:
Breakfast

basics

MENTIONS:



INT:
Grayson Gao
Luca + Miyu Miaow
Arthur .Curious.Nat.

tags

TL;DR: Fuck you.

tl;dr

Auguste

So. You’re just chilling in your bed, having a nice time being plagued by continual nightmares of your past sins as the chronic insomnia has finally forced your body into a slumber, subjecting you to your chronic night terrors instead. And then you suddenly hear a scream

What do you do.

Well, as any self-respecting member of the “what the FUCK WAS THAT” club would do, you bolt upright in your bed, drenched with sweat and this close to your fifth panic attack of the week.

By the way, you’re 6’7. And you sleep on the top bunk.

So with a loud slam of his crown right against the ceiling, Auguste woke up on the absolute wrong side of the bed and immediately fell out of the bed landing flat on his face with another loud thud that startled him, those long legs still hanging on top of his mattress.

Good morning, Auguste!

With more than a couple of choice words in French, he managed to drag himself into some kind of crouch, and wrench himself away from the alluring idea of going right back to bed and get ready for his day.

You’d have to excuse him for not being in the particularly best mood walking down for breakfast.

Usually a deep storm cloud followed the brooding teenager. A smile was rare, a laugh? Unheard of. Even at his widest of grins, it was always a touch sardonic, never without the weight of the world with each and every action.

That already shitty mood soured even more at the sound of people arguing. Grayson was being a little bitch as always. Ren was stealing someone’s food. Whatever. He made his plate in absolute silence. That stormcloud only becoming more and more thunderous upon his expression as his heavy brow remained knitted. Tension in each muscle.

Why were they arguing. None of this was even remotely fucking important.

He usually tried to remain quiet and respectful. But after this morning, he was… just angry. The loud arguing echoing in his ears, louder and louder.

His eyes snapped up to meet the eyes of the argument over fucking spilt milk of all thi-

“Would you please just shut the fuck up.” He said, glaring at the offending snob, and milk thief, a deep boom coming from the usually soft-spoken and meek voice. His monstrous height making itself known as he stopped hunching over and making himself smaller. He seemed to especially hone in on Grayson. “You are actually making all of this fucking racket over fucking milk, you absolute fil de bourge. Just shut the fuck up and go back to the hole you crawled out of.”

code by valen t.

 

[-ferret-]

Bashi
Mood: oh shit
Interaction: Autumn ( SavannahSmiles )
Mentions: pretty much everyone
TLDR: Bashi behaving for once
​

'Caffiene man is angry.'

Bashi agreed. Seems the ghosts were getting to him today. Unfortunate. Bashi had just bought a new ghost cookie jar. He supposed if he displayed it today, it would be destroyed with in the hour. He sighed. He could wait until Grayson was in a better mood he guessed.

He didn't catch the bickering that continued between them as he spotted Autumn coming into the dining room. Ah, the only one he could stand. He saw her lift her hand to try and brush a chair and flick her stick around so Bashi tapped out 'here' on the table in front of the seat next to him. If Autumn sat next to him, he'd 1. get to sit next to someone who liked to talk to him and 2. not be sat next to Ren the Food Thief. Emmanuel had already had three separate talks about trying to stab Ren over a piece of stolen food. Bashi didn't want to have a fourth talk. Emmanuel had started looking haggard during the third talk after Bashi had offhandedly suggested Ren be given matches to eat since he liked fire so much. He doesn't remember why he said it but he sticks to the comment.

Arthur was down next, sitting on his side of the table, mumbling things and Bashi clicked a quick sound with his tongue. A sufficient response considering he didn't like talking to humans. At least, the alive kind.

Ren was down next, the pest. Bashi allowed himself a quiet snarl as he watched the pyromaniac doing that annoying thing he does at every mealtime. Stealing. He subtly drew his own plate closer to his person, drawing one arm around it. He also kept his steak knife close to his dominant hand. Just in case.

That was until Bashi heard the tell-tale thumps of "Angry Auggie" as he had dubbed the thunderstorm that was Auguste when he was mad. Luca and Grayson were still bickering over their little spat with random imputs from Miyu and Bashi cringed a little when a stormy faced Auggie came into view. Auggie was sometimes even quieter than Bashi, so the few times that he rose to his full height and used that no-nonsense, booming tone, Bashi knew it was serious. And Bashi would admit, he personally didn't like to be the focus of Auguste's ire when he was like this. It made one regretful.

So Bashi just hunched in on himself, dutifully eating his food as Auguste tore into Grayson.

Though he couldn't help tapping out a quick 'uh oh' to Autumn.

 

[SavannahSmiles]

autumn

filler

filler

filler

filler

filler

filler

• .
• 1
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• aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

• home (filler tab)
• 
  

  
  

  
  
  

  mood

  
  
  

  Confused and a little startled

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  outfit

  click

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  
  

  location

  
  
  

  Dining Hall, Ground Floor

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  
  

  interactions

  
  
  

  Bashi -ferret-

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  
  

  mentions

  
  
  

  Grayson and Auguste

  
  

  
  

  
  

  filler

  
  
• home (filler tab)

Bre Wernars (Cover)

Unsteady

Several people entered the room behind her, though she wasn't able to tell who; she hadn't gotten to know everyone well enough to have memorized everyone's footsteps yet and sometimes they moved too quietly even for her ears. As she continued her bid to finding an empty chair, cane making soft sweeps in front of her, she instinctively tuned out the sounds of conversation so she could focus on walking and not bumping into anything.

That was, until a loud banging on the table startled her and halted her in her tracks, hand tightening on her cane. The ripples the noise produced gave her no indication on who it was that had caused such a racket, Autumn being unable to see facial features and the basic outline she did see didn't give her any hints on the emotional state of the person.

Were they angry? Were they angry at her? She could remember many mornings when her father would bang on the table, always angry at something and most of the times it was her. As the noise settled and no one addressed her directly, Autumn slowly began inching forward again, paying closer attention to the conversation happening now that she thought someone might be angry.

Judging by the voice, it seemed Grayson was upset about something, something to do with chocolate milk? Though why he would be upset about that Autumn couldn't understand, chocolate milk was delicious. Was he not able to get any? She was sure that was reason enough for someone to be a little cranky.

Another seemingly upset voice joined the conversation, causing Autumn to shrink down and try to make herself smaller to avoid attention as her heartbeat picked up slightly. Why were there so many people angry this morning? Had something happened before she had come down the stairs?

A familiar tapping sound caught her attention from one of the seats at the table and she couldn't help the small feeling of relief at knowing that Bashi was trying to help her find a chair. Now that she knew where she was going, Autumn made her way over to the chair as quickly as she was able to, gratefully sinking down into it as she folded her cane and placed it beside her. She tapped out a quiet 'Thank you' to Bashi as the cook appeared with a plate of pancakes and a carton of chocolate milk that she set down in front of the child. She whispered a quiet thank you to the cook as she felt around for her carton of chocolate milk, tapping softly on the table to help her locate it.

As she picked up the carton, the conversation she had walked in on came back to her and she turned her attention to Bashi. 'Why is Grayson upset about chocolate milk?' She tapped out on the table, body turned in what she hoped was his direction.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Miaow]

#

02
02

emanuel vozetic

"I'm having a midlife crisis"

location

Dining Hall, Ground Floor

mood

Oh jesus oh god why did i adopt so many goddamn children

interactions

Ren, Grayson, Luca, Miyu, Auggie

tags

Gao qunqun

Emanuel was immediately suspicious when Ren seemed to stick up for him. He was an odd one, but everyone dealt with their trauma in their own way, some people just became assholes. He raised an eyebrow as he began to list off a barrage of insults.
"I have twenty children, I'm sorry if that makes me look a little tired," He thought to himself as he secretly wished he was allowed to fistfight his adoptees.
His eyes met with Ren and, as he considered simply reaching over and eating his entire plate of pancakes to himself, he saw the guilt in his eyes. Whether the guilt was genuine, he wasn't sure. Fine, he could keep his damn pancakes, for now.

"Actually, I prefer ball-gags," Luca retorted, leaning slightly over the table to glare at Grayson. Miyu almost jumped out of her skin as Grayson slapped the table. Not because of the noises but the sudden vibrations of the table shooting through her arms. Okay, this argument had been fun, but that was the last straw. Whatever Auguste was on about wasn't important,
"I will shove this carton DOWN YOUR THROAT--" He began, about to mount the table and violate Grayson with his chocolate milk.
"HEY!" Emanuel yelled from the opposite end of the table, suddenly on his feet. "Sit back down and eat your goddamn breakfast." He demanded, returning to his seat.
"Could they at least wait until I finish my coffee before they murder each other..." He muttered, sipping from his mug.

Miyu began to fidget with her hands before awkwardly signing "I'm sorry" to Auguste. Sure, she hung out with Luca a lot, but he did make mealtimes stressful.

© weldherwings.

 

[Cello.]

TW: Drowning, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, and slight gore​

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  

  Dinning Hall

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  SEROTONIN

  
  
  
  

  Girl in Red

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  These days, knowing more makes you more miserable.

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  ”Thump thump.”
  
  

  ”Thump thump.”​

  
  

  ”Thump thump.”​

  
  Her heart careened in her chest threatening to escape its confinement. It beat off her ribs like a drum of war, she was sure they could hear it on the island. A stinging feeling deeprooted in her stomach as she was suspended in the air. Holding on only by bloodied fingertips. The cliffside was almost as virulent as the chasm that called for her blood and cracked bones. Maybe it was the fear of falling to a watery death or the adrenaline that coaxed her to move faster away from the ocean churning beneath. To be once again returned to the sea.
  
  Her body trembled, the exhaust starting to fight its way into her body. Her arms were sore and her legs burned and yet… There was still so much to go, miles of cliffside loomed above her, blocking out the fading sunlight. She's been here before, walking hand in hand with death. It would be easier to give in and just let go of the cliff. To glide gently into the water, like a feather caught in a breeze of air. She took a deep breath as her eyes drooped, the ocean took advantage of the moment. Curving up from its mass greedily, eager to spread new blood through its waves.
  
  Mist bit at her ankles, the small crevice in which she stood was now slick. She dug her fingers into the rock above, swinging her foot up. A brief connection before the air was knocked from her lungs. Time was slowing as she plummeted to the bottomless depths. She turned and turned, screams cut off as water stole her air. Her whole body burned as she struggled against the water grabbing at her. Everything hurt, her body was on fire and aching. Painstakingly slow, her thrashing stopped, her body gone limp. Now a drifting log among the now gentle waves.
  
  Fae jolted, gasping for air as her eyes shot open. She clawed at the wall, fighting against the sea of blankets on her bed. Fingernails digging into previous grooves in the wallpaper. The sickly green wallpaper. She hated the wallpaper. It was faded and torn in so many places the wooden wall underneath was exposed, remnants of her night terrors. The ones where she cries out in the middle of the night or wakes up shaking so bad after being strung on the side of a cliff and plummeting to her death. She drew her legs close to her, cradling herself against the wall. Breathe in, breathe out. Over and over until her mind was stilled and her heartstrings weren't pulled every which way. It was just a dream. Another terrible dream.
  
  Focus on the air, she reminded herself. The fresh air of Marshwood was different than the salty tang of the ocean, the type that slowly suffocates you. It was safe here. Marshwood was safe. Crawling out of her ball to gently set one foot on the floor than the other. One more deep breath. “It was just a dream…” She whispered to herself. Though the question always lingered in the back of her mind, then why did it feel so real?
  
  She curled her toes into the wood, no longer shredded flesh but unmarred skin. Fae navigated her way to the closet, overfilled and on the verge of submerging the entire Home in frilly monstrosities she has collected over time. Not just those but this season's polyester atrocities, the sweaters, the coats, the dresses, and scarves. Not to mention they all came along with a pair of heels. Stilettos, boots, clucky, pumps, wedges, strappy… you name it Fae most likely has it.
  
  After diving into the closet, waist-deep for at least 20 minutes, it was a surprise she hasn't found Narnia. But atlas she found the outfit she needed, a black sheer lace shirt, snug at the waist before dropping to high thigh. A pair of creme shorts scrunched at the bottom with a thick creme overcoat. Bulky black buttons decorate one side. She sat down on the bed as she unrolled a pair of thigh-high sheer stockings, struggling to pull them up her legs. Soon to be decorated and finished with a pair of black pumps. Now came her mane of hair, the struggle of running a comb through the tangles and twisting part of it up and pinning it with a pearl bobby pin. A dash of blush and mascara and she was off down the stairs to the hall.
  
  Humming a quiet melody to herself, running a hand along the walls. The chatter of other residents filled the hall, some fighting, complaining, but some friendliness. Fae blamed their attitude on it being the morning. She stopped in the doorway and smiled at the chaotic bunch. “It's quite early and you all must be hungry to be so angry. So eat then talk!” She coaxed, taking a seat near the edge of the table, an empty one saved for Olivia when she joined them. A lady stepped forward and offered out pancakes to Fae, who took the plate in between her hands and nodded to her. “Thank you!”
  
  After a minute of digging in, she smiled up at everyone, the fork twisting around her fingers. “I think I should get a canary or a blackbird, they are quite pretty and good at singing! What do you think? And what am I to name it? Maybe Blueberry? Goldy? Noir? Cookie? OR WHAT ABOUT PANCAKE!”
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Nervous to Excited

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  The Fit of Ugly

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Everyone + Olivia

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Everyone + SavannahSmiles

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  FAE.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

@FaeCove

9 minutes ago

nine lives