Redraw Thingy From Twt

I love writing as I procrastinate from improving my art skills. 😜 Hope y'all enjoy my journey of writing. Advice and art is always welcomed. This watercolor is from Ryan Kennelly Paintings I found on Facebook. My character makes me think of a peach. 🍑

“Pa! Bells! Time for dinner!” yelled Anya from the rickety round about white porch towards a father and older daughter bonding over a rusty plow. “Alright! We’ll be there in a sec!” father hollers back to the impatient younger daughter. Frowning followed by a pouty expression, Anya grumbled under her breath, “Sure we’ll wait a sec” as she dramatically air quotes on the “Sec”. After sulking for a moment, Anya turned back into the house and her nose was greeted by the aromatic smells of the hard work her and her mother put into their last feast for the return of her older sister visiting from college. “Ugh!” huffed the teenager as she plopped on top of the long red and black counter, scooting over a mason jar of green beans that was canned who knows how many years ago. “Now now young lady” her mother starts. “Bottoms don't belong on the counters. Besides, your cheeks ‘bout knocked over our well aged green beans” she sweetly teased Anya as she shooed the daughter off with a stained hand towel playfully.

Anya slipped out a giggle when she jumped off but snapped back to her annoyance. Grabbing plates and silverware in a sulking manner she headed over to the dining table setting up four placements that would soon be back to three by tomorrow. “The food is gonna be cold by then and I wanna have all of us together as much as possible before Bell leaves again” Anya sighed. “Also, I’m starven Ma.” Before the mother headed over to meet sad Anya at the table, she grabbed a large white deep dish decorated with green leaves mingled with flowers. As she placed it on a rooster themed mitten burnt on the tip she replied, “Oh my Anya. I know you have a big heart and how you love your sister. But don't forget dear.” Anya paused folding a napkin in her chair looking up at her mother hopeful. “She always comes back. Especially for our cooking” her mother winks and sticks her tongue out then proceeds. “Also them New Yorkers don't know nothin about home cooked food I tell ya! One of my babes came home so skinny and malnourished. I was worried I wouldn't be able to find her shadow.” They both laughed out loud in agreement from her mother’s sassy remarks. “Haha, yea. I heard all they eat is fast food chinese, hot dogs and pizza. Where's the meat?! The hearty meals?!” Anya laughed at her own commentary while placing the folded napkins in their homes. “Plus I read up on New York and it's huge! Crowded and looks bland with all those buildings. I don't understand how people think it looks pretty or can deal with such a large number of people.” Anya judges. The dark green screen door loudly screeches open with her sister and father entering the house as her older sister Isabelle snarks back at Anya's comments.

The Eternal Fight

The Chronicler looked up, his perception expanding, as he examined the small purple dragon who had just entered the realm connected to dreams, the mind, and to Aether itself.

“Spyro?” he asked, exerting his mind to speak to the destined dragon. “Is something wrong? I had not expected you to-”

“Okay, what is up, exactly?” Spyro interrupted, jumping up and down on one of the floating rocks that were common in this shadow of Convexity.

“...what is up?” the Chronicler repeated. “I fail to grasp your meaning, Spyro.”

“I mean, what happened?” Spyro asked. “What changed? It’s a nightmare out there!”

The Chronicler was silent for a moment, as he tried to process what that meant.

“...you mean… when you are not sleeping?” he asked. “Because normally nightmares take place when you are asleep-”

“I know what I mean and so should you!” Spyro declared, tail lashing. “Fighting my way through the ape armies to rescue the Guardians was – okay, it was difficult, and a struggle, but by the end of it I’d got the hang of it! And I spent all the time between then and now training with Ignitus and Cynder and the others, and – and now the apes are repeatedly kicking my ass!”

He shook his head, subsiding, and sighed. “I don’t get it, but I can tell something has changed.”

“Are you sure, Spyro?” the Chronicler said, frowning, not that Spyro could see that because this was a sort of astral-projection mental-voice kind of deal.

He wasn’t even clear on if Spyro knew that he was a fellow dragon.

“About as sure as I can be,” Spyro replied. “It’s… several times now I’ve been set on by apes and beaten up relentlessly until I’m about to pass out, and Sparx has to drag me out of danger until I recover, but by the time I’ve recovered so have the apes and I feel like sooner or later that’s just not going to work!”

The Chronicler tilted his head slightly.

“Give me a minute, Spyro,” he said. “I will examine the Books of Time. They may hold the answer.”

Spyro was in the middle of trying to work out if his dreamscape had recognizable constellations, or if it was all in his head, when the Chronicler spoke again.

“Spyro, I believe I have the answer,” he said. “It is an aspect of your power over time. You will need to use your ability to rewind time and try the same battle multiple times until you get it exactly right.”

“...you’re sure?” Spyro asked. “Because it sounds like that’s going to hurt. And I don’t know if I can even do that.”

“According to this, you should be able to,” the Chronicler frowned. “Hmm. Apparently it involves the use of something called a save state…”

There was the sound of turning pages.

“Ah, this might help,” the Chronicler said. “Spyro – as a dragon with the ability to control time, I require you to tell me that you wish to look into the future.”

“...all right,” Spyro decided. “Ignitus trusts you, so… I wish to look into the future.”

Another page turned.

“Here is my solution for you,” the Storyteller said. “First, stand very still, as if you were about to contemplate your magic.”

“Got it,” Spyro said, his paws in a neat rectangle.

“Now, I will need you to do the following things even if you do not feel capable of them,” the Chronicler went on. “Success is not required, merely attempting it. But you must follow the instructions exactly.”

Spyro was ready to try anything at this point, and nodded slightly.

“Ask me to get on with it,” the Chronicler said.

“...get on with it,” Spyro repeated.

“Activate your Fury,” the Chronicler said next. “Twice.”

Spyro didn’t have a Fury ready, but he twitched the part of his mind that would let him do it anyway. His muscles tingled with the hot energy of fire, but it didn’t activate the surging explosion that came with the full expression of his powers.

“Now, tell me to get on with it again,” the Chronicler requested.

“Get on with it!” Spyro said, a little more forcefully this time.

“Switch to your earth powers,” the Chronicler told him, and Spyro did just as he was asked. “Electricity. Electricity again. Earth. Now use your Fury. Now tell me to get on with it. Now charge. Use Dragon Time. And focus as if meditating… and you should be done.”

Spyro had nearly fallen off the platform, and he shook himself.

“So… what did all that do?” he asked. “It seemed like nonsense.”

“In my research, I found that your adventure began too early, before it was properly finished,” the Chronicler told him.

“You mean… before I was ready?” Spyro asked, confused.

“No,” the Chronicler told him. “So I read ahead by a page and read off all the things that I asked you to do. And now I’m reading this conversation off the page as well… anyway, according to this, it should have made you unable to be physically injured.”

Spyro blinked.

“Seriously?” he asked. “That sounds… incredibly useful. If… tedious to do.”

He frowned. “Does Malefor know about this?”

“No,” the Chronicler replied. “Though he may have something similar. Good luck, Spyro.”

Spyro was about to leave, by waking himself up, then paused.

“...can you do the same thing to my breath?” he asked. “I keep running out really easily.”

“I suspect I’m going to get in trouble for this, but… apparently yes,” the Chronicler replied.

Stupid dress, I blew my mind and my loved ones’ minds with this 💥

made this for funsies

This is the best fanart/comic of alastor I've ever seen. Best delivery of him losing his smile.

Original artist @deetea on twitter

All he needed was a bit of domestication 😈

Based on an anonymous ask (IF YOU SEE THIS I’M SORRY I DELETED IT BY ACCIDENT SOB) that shared a headcanon about Rosie kissing Alastor on the cheek platonically european greeting style. In my own headcanon and little scenario I made up in my head, Alastor would be touch averse but willing to accept it with people he’s close to and even end up liking it sometimes ehe.

Rosie would be very mindful of his boundaries but ofc during their first years of friendship she would make him uncomfortable by accident sometimes :’)

Cursed cat Alastor is my new obsession

Thank you, @deannamb for the idea, and thank you Parks and Recreation❤️

Goodbye Part 2:

The dark green screen door loudly screeches open with her sister and father entering the house as her older sister Isabelle snarks back at Anya's comments. “My my little sister. Sounds like you've been to New York yourself.” Isabelle came to sit on the right side of Anya at the dinner table as their father sat at the far end of the table licking his lips. “Please explain how you manage to escape out of the house from mom’s four eyes to have such an experience.” The younger sister crossed her arms in annoyance as she faced the other direction of her older sibling. “Oh how original Isabelle! I was young and now I’m 16. I didn't know that mom was fibben about having eyes in the back of her head.” “It’s true though! Once you become a mom you’ll understand” their mother interrupted as she placed a sheet of cornbread on the table leading to her sitting across the table from the bickering sisters. Isabelle bursts out laughing replying “Oh Anya you're so easy to tease. You wouldn't make it long in New York. You definitely need to have tough skin to live there.”

As she was speaking she poured sweet tea in her tall green glass filled with ice. “Besides, I agree it's not as charming as the fields and pastures here in Georgia. But don't count it out till you really experience it. Like I always tell you.” In sync both sisters say “Don't judge a book by its cover, unless it’s astrology.” Between chews the father cheered his daughters on, “That's my girls! Space is no place for humans anyways.” “Dad, that's not the reason why”, Isabelle looks over at Anya who is now smiling back at her sister. “We’ll have to find time to explain to dad won't we.” She winks. Anya laughs. “Honey.” Mom softly says as she touches father’s hand as a reminder. He coughs up his food apologizing. “Oh right grace. I forgot since I was so intrigued by our daughter's conversation.” Everybody at the table released a laugh. Clearing his throat he stuck his hands out as a welcome. Once all hands were holding another hand they all bent their heads to say grace. Father’s was about how he was grateful to have such a loving and patient wife, two beautiful intelligent sweet daughters, to Bell's visit and a good harvest even though he sadly doubted the Lord but thanked Him for his patients and blessings. Moms was about the same and Isabells was thanking Him for guiding her through the hardship of school and grateful for being with family again. Then it was Anya’s turn. “Father. Thank you for giving me a wonderful loving life. A family. Food. A place to call home and friends. Amen”. “Wow that was short Anya!” said a loud voice behind the screen door. “Maple honey. What are you doing here?” Asked Anya’s mother. “Well, Um my parents are.” Anya cut her off and said “We know. Come sit and I’ll get a plate for ya.” Her father and mother looked at each other in agreement and then gave the thumbs up to Anya to proceed. “Thank you! You wont regret it” Maple yelled in excitement then skipped following Anya to the kitchen to help. Dinner was lively especially since Maple was there sharing her exciting exaggerated stories about her mom and dad’s many trips while on business along with the exotic gifts they bring back home for her. Including the sweet reminders of funny stories the family loved to repeat in order to keep the memories alive. Time flew by before Anya knew it, leading to her saying goodbye to Isabella again in the front yard by the old dirt road.

Maria lifted one arm, trembling, weak, as if the very air weighed her down. Her skin looked like it would bruise at a glance, like if he touched her, he might hurt her without meaning to. Her hand reached toward him, fingers outstretched. Something twisted inside Shadow. Not quite pain. Not quite rage. Resentment of knowing her sickness was why he existed. That he was crafted to save her.

And until now, no one had ever looked at him like he was anything more than that. No one had offered him warmth.

His voice, when it came, was hoarse. Unused.

“I was made… for you.”