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ashintheairlikesnow · 7 months

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If you ever feel like writing a Drabble where Misha is on a date and gets broken up with please tag me, cause I’d love it 😈

CW: Whumper POV, sadistic whumper, Misha thinks a lot of violent things about basically everyone

A muscle in Misha's jaw twitches as his teeth meet, grinding together with the effort it takes to just... listen. He's wildly aware of the steak knife lying next to his right hand, convenient as can be, but probably nearly as dull as a bread knife.

"It's just... I kind of feel like you don't actually care," Michelle says, and looks at him with big, imploring eyes. He thinks about gouging them out and putting coins there, something Tyoma read to him once about paying for the ride to Hell. "Not, like, about me, but... well, yes, it feels like you don't care about anything, me included."

He nods, breathing carefully. "I don't think that's true," He says, and his voice stays mild, but the rage burns him up from the inside. It's the only thing he ever feels with any level of strength - every other emotion feels sort of faded by comparison, but anger... anger is bright and sharp and hot and good.

She raises her eyebrows, disbelieving, and then lets out a little laugh, picking up her fork to pick at her salad. "Okay, fine. Name one thing you even remotely care about more than yourself."

That's easy. Misha doesn't even hesitate. "My brother."

Her hand stills, a bit of lettuce dripping ranch dressing pierced right through, as if the vegetable bleeds white with green flecks. Misha's eyes flicker down to it, wondering if he could get a pitchfork all the way through a torso and try to recreate the image. When he looks back up at her face, the expression on her face is a strange one.

"... Yeah, okay," She says, speaking slowly. "But... like. You and your brother aren't... normal about each other."

"What does that mean?"

If she insults his Tyoma, he will slice her face to ribbons, even if the trail leads right to him. It'd be worth it, to show her ruined body to Tyoma and say, look, she said bad things about you, look how much I love you that I have ensured she can't say them again.

"I... I don't know, Mikhail." She says it almost like Michael in her stupid American accent, and he swallows down a correction. It isn't worth it. "I just mean... look, my brother's a couple years older than me. I know tons of people with brothers, and none of them spend as much time together as you guys do. And, like, he looks at me like I'm intruding on you two."

"Tyoma only wants to protect me," Misha lies, smooth like oil.

Tyoma wants to protect you from me.

"Right. But. Still, like, it's weird, right?"

Misha exhales, slowly. Tyoma always tells him to breathe away the anger before it takes over when he's in a place where people will see it. He tries, he really does try.

"I do not think so," He says, placing each word into the air, picturing them as stones he drops to weigh her down, drag her under the surface of the water. "We come from Russia when we are little, we have only each other for long time." His accent is thickening, he's dropping the unnecessary English words that used to drive him up the wall.

The other kids laughed because he forgot the 'a' or the 'the' in so many sentences, and sometimes he scratched them up or bit them, and then Tyoma taught him how to stop himself, how to breathe first.

"No, I get that-"

"Do you?"

She swallows, and she sees something in his face. He knows she does, because she sits up suddenly, her spine straightening. She's tense, now. He thinks about when she explained to him that she keeps her keys between her knuckles when she walks late at night out of her job at the mall, how she never wears her hair in a ponytail because that would make it easier to grab. All the little rules she lives by to keep herself safe. He hadn't been paying much attention, it had seemed like so many pointless little games.

"Yeah," She says, and her voice is a little husky, now. "Yeah, I do. You were all by yourselves when you moved here, I understand that. But, like... that was more than ten years ago. And dating you still feels like I'm dating you both, except that I kind of get the feeling that your brother isn't into the idea."

Misha hasn't ever considered it that way. He looks to the side, out into the eternal rain. Why his parents moved to this part of the country, where a drizzle is good weather and sun is a rarity, will never make sense to him. "I can see why you think this," He says, finally, and his voice is softer now. He can see Michelle relax.

It's her own fault, not realizing that predators are often quietest just before they strike.

"I like seeing you," He continues, and looks down at his own steak, half-eaten, so raw it might as well be bleeding on the plate. "I am sorry you do not want to see me any longer, but we can stay friends?"

"Yeah," She says, and he wonders if she's lying. Misha lies all the time, about everything, constantly. But he can never tell if other people are lying - mostly, he doesn't care. "Yeah, friends. Listen, I'm gonna-... if you're okay, I'm gonna go. Do you mind grabbing the check?"

She's leaving, he thinks, and making sure she's gone before he can follow her out.

It doesn't matter.

He knows where she lives, works, who her friends are...

Tyoma would tell him this would be too close, people would look at him. Likely suspect, unlike the strangers in bars he's never seen before. Unlike the women walking the streets with no one to report them missing. Tyoma is right, he's right, and so Misha pushes it down. Instead, he looks over Michelle's face, memorizing it as best he can.

"No problem," He replies, and pushes his chair out, standing up to offer her a hug. She looks unsettled, but unwilling to make a scene - she steps into the hug, and he reminds himself not to hold her tight enough to hurt. He breathes in her perfume.

"I will see you around," He says, voice kind and soft, unworried. Unbothered.

"Yeah," She mumbles as she breaks away from him. She grabs her purse and he watches her go. She has her phone in her hand and then to her ear before she disappears from the window, and he thinks about how she's probably calling someone so she'll be on the phone all the way to her car, in case he runs after her.

In case he gives chase.

Misha, though, just sits quietly back down and cuts another bite of his steak.

He will forget her in a week, or two or three, and find some other girl. He has no doubts he'll find someone new, there's always someone new. It's not like he cares about them, he just hates when they leave him.

But Tyoma will still be there.

He finishes every single bite of his own dinner and about a third of Michelle's remaining salad before he pays and leaves, walking out into the nighttime rain without even batting his eyes against the droplets that land on his lashes.

Even the anger is fading, now. No feeling stays in him for long, he flits from one to the next. Only the itch is permanent. Michelle can go - he doesn't need her, or even care about her very much. He just hates being refused.

He sits in the driver's seat and dials the only number he knows by heart.

"Allo," Tyoma says, sounding like he's been woken up out of a dead sleep. Misha grins, knowing he'll be all mussed up, hair in his eyes. "Mishka? Vse khorosho?"

"Yeah, is fine," He answers in English. "Michelle breaks up with me tonight."

"Oh." Tyoma hesitates, then asks, gently, "Are you okay?"

Misha's smile widens. If he can't feel enough for things to matter, Tyoma at least feels enough for both of them. It's cute, that he thinks Misha might be heartbroken. "Da. Is fine. I want to go out tonight, though, find someone."

Tyoma's silence is so long that Misha breaks it with laughter, shaking his head where he sits in his car.

"Not like that! Uspokoit'sya, Artyoshka. Just to meet girls. Do you have work?"

"Mmmf, no. My night off. I can go. I can... what time s'it?"

"Eight-thirty."

"Mishka..." Tyoma groans. Misha can see him collapsing back into bed, head against the pillow. "I sleep for only four hours!"

"I know. Mne zhal', Artyoshka," He isn't, he isn't sorry at all, "But I want to go out. You will come with? Yes? If I come home, you will go with me out tonight?"

If Tyoma says yes, he won't kill anyone tonight. If he says no, Misha will find someone who looks like Tyoma and kill them instead, take pictures, and show Tyoma what he's done by caring about a little sleep more than his own brother.

He's picturing, with delight, what it would be like to see Tyoma's eyes go so wide and scared of him, like the others do before they die. How handsome Tyoma would be bleeding. But all his big brother does is sigh heavily. "Da. I need to shower and dress. Come home?"

"I will." Misha sighs, feeling so much better already. Even just thinking about fixing the itch helps, a little. Even if he would never ever hurt his brother, sometimes thinking about it is just... fun. "Tyoma?"

"Da?"

"Thank you. You are a very good brother."

He hangs up before he hears if Tyoma says anything back. Tonight will be just for drinking, dancing, and maybe seeing if any girls will go into the filthy bar bathrooms with him, and he won't hurt anyone. He won't hurt anyone at all.

He can save that for later.

Especially if any of those girls like Tyoma more.

#whump #serial killer whumper #sadistic whumper #young whumper #antoni sings lullabies #Misha is Fucked Up (TM)#OC backstory #original writing #original story #creepy whumper #reluctant whumper

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gagedraws · 1 year

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Happy Halloween 🎃

Party with Creepypastas!

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ayyy-imma-ninja · 10 months

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Read the ask about thunderstorm. It reminded me of a lullaby: https://youtu.be/mlmhMS_luX8

Would (sk)Moon know this song by chance?

If it's not a spoiler, what happened to (sk)Sun that had him scared of the storm/

awww that's a very sweet lullaby.

And he might. He and Sun still have a lot of lullabies on file in their memory.

As for Sun, it's not the storm itself. It's what the storm reminds him of.

#answered ask #dca!serial killer au #sk boys #lullaby #thunderstorms

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jeff-the-box-boy · 2 years

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some creepy kids and they lesbisn mom

#creepypasta #jane the killer #lost silver #snow on mt silver #pokepasta #hypno's lullaby #ben drowned

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unknownarmageddon · 5 days

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also daily hozier:D

YEAHH lesgo cheering cheering /silly

#answering asks #chair asks #chair!!#ouhh nfwmb….#i’ve heard this one before but i do Not remember it #i remember thinking it was kross though CACKLES #OUHH GOD #“give your heart and soul to charity cause the rest of you the best of you belongs to me” AUGH #i think this is both killer and cross about each other. i dunno it’s kross some way some how i believe #if i was born a blackthorn tree id wanna be felled by you held by you fuel the pyre of your enemies AUGHH #this is so cross about killer and killer about cross and. and #augh #its too slow for me to like listen to regularly but man #some banger lines here #moments silence!!! this one’s funky #this is on my playlist and i’ve heard it before but i’ve. entirely forgotten where i got it #i think it was from you talking about it CACKLES #the reason comes on the common tongue of your loving me!!!!!#ouhh arsonist’s lullaby…#this kinda bangs actually #don’t you ever tame your demons but always keep them on a leash…..#i love how like slow and heavy it feels does. that make any sense #but my peace always depends on all the ashes in my wake augh #i Cannot think of anything coherent to say about it but it slaps #it’s one of those songs that makes me wish i could animate cause it puts an animatic in my head #man

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as8bakwthesage · 1 year

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Jeff the Killer (Sing My Lullaby AU - Headcanons)

Basic Info:

He is Canadian

Did indeed carve a smile into his cheeks and yes, when he eats it’s a pain in the ass

That is, when he even eats as Jeff doesn’t really eat a lot but his body can take it

Perpetually tired, and no his eyelids have not been burned off, that would be extremely painful and he would have gone blind

Instead, he has really bad sunken in eyes and eyebags, as I said, perpetually tired as he really doesn’t sleep that often

He says it’s because sleep is for the weak but in reality, he often gets horrible nightmares of his past and what he remembers of it

He doesn’t like to remember the past

His skin was originally pretty pale (white bitch) but his skin started turning paper white after he started spending a lot of time in the Under Realm

Speaking of which, all of his injuries and usually deadly scars that would have likely been infected don’t get infected because of the fact that while Jeff is still human relatively, due to spending so much time around creatures of the dark and evil beings, his body was forced to adapt

Basically, being around monsters and other pastas made him develop some supernatural abilities

These abilities include heightened senses, faster reflexes, a minor healing factor, and enhanced strength

Mind you, he can’t lift a car, but he can toss people trice his size around

Jeff killed his parents, but did spare Liu

His parents were abusive (his mom was an alcoholic and physically abusive and his dad was neglectful)

Jeff and Liu were first attacked by the bullies when they were in highschool (Jeff was 17 and Liu was 18)

Unlike in the original Creepypasta, Liu was not immediately sent to prison and was instead being held in jail with bail, which his parents could not pay for nor did they care to pay for it

A few months go by and Jeff is miserable. no friends. family hates him.

Jeff ended up going to one of Liu’s friends’ kids party in Liu’s stead and hung out with the kids, which was one of the only lights in the past few months

The reason he started killing was due to a feeling which grew and grew.

Him snapping was proceeded by a lot of things

Abuse for one

But also he had never really had much of a support system besides Liu, so when Liu was taken in, it severely exasperated Jeff’s mental decline and his urges got worse

So at the party, when Randy and the others come in guns blazing, Jeff is shot in the face, carving out one part of his smile (he later carves out the other side) and he is set on fire despite killing Randy

The fire burns a good chunk of his left torso and left arm and neck. He hides these scars

When he is released from the hospital, Liu is not home unlike in the original story, and his parents being assholes to him plus the attack and him killing Randy just made him snap

He kills his parents, repeating something his mom used to say to him after she’d beat him: “Go to sleep.”

Jeff spends a lot of time on his own before he is found by the Slenderman after being chased out of a town by cops half starved and freezing

He is taken into Slendy’s mansion and slowly starts to become his strange Pasta status while also performing grunt work for Slendy

Romance/Platonic Headcanons:

Jeff + romance? what a joke

At least that’s what he’ll say

Once he gets all settled in and he’s in a lot more emotionally healthy environment, he can be a decent partner

But he will still be lowkey an asshole

Being alone for a long time and then being shown a world where anyone can fuck you over at anytime will make someone very jaded

Jeff has serious trust issues and it takes a lot to earn it

When someone eventually does earn his trust, he can and will be protective (romantic and platonic)

Jeff is demiromantic and demisexual and straight

He actively gets grossed out by thinking about other men’s genitalia

But a transwoman?

“Yeah that’s a lady and if she has a dick, she’s a girl, not a guy so no problem”

Jeff respects trans rights but still has some internalised homophobia due to his upbringing as Christian

He is closest to BEN in the household and the two regularly play videogames (which BEN usually wins, also yes this is a very fanon headcanon but I don’t care-)

I used to ship him with Kate Returns (OC) but now, I genuinely don’t know how to categorise their relationship

NSFW headcanons, minors shoo:

Jeff is not really into BDSM surprisingly, in fact he is pretty vanilla

Likes topping though

Will have casual sex no problemo, so long as there’s no emotions involved

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #sing my lullaby au #creepypasta headcanon #jeffery woods #jeff woods

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fappleant · 4 months

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#dead by daylight #dbd #etsy #twitch #emote artist #animated emote #fanart #gif #dbd fanart #emote dance #the huntress fanart dbd #the huntress #Anna #Анна #A Lullaby for the Dark #dbd the huntress #Anna bunny #dbd killer

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icesiscouture · 1 year

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Icesis Couture + other queens at DragCon UK (part 3)

#icesis couture #killer queen #ariel rec #gisele lullaby #rita baga #sederginne #silky nutmeg ganache #valentina

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one-winged-dreams · 1 year

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I've already showed Railgun, but I decided to put together my attempts so far at designing robot s/is

First is Railgun, Autobot, Shipped with Whirl

Second is Heatsink, Autobut turned Decepticon, Shipped with the DJD (minus Nickel)

#self ship #self shipping #virus art #next i'm gonna design one for froid and sunder #temporary whirl tag #sun killer lullaby #s/i

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ashintheairlikesnow · 11 months

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I’m having a thought! So we all want to see Antoni smut cause we’re thirsty, but of course respectfully understand that he is Ace. But Artyom ….👀 OR Antoni remembers those things…. Endless possibilities there Ash

CW: At first NSFW for like... Four paragraphs, some initial consensual spice, more or less whumper POV in a way, death threats/murder, creepy whumper

Antoni allows no direct smut, Anon. This is as close as he will let me get.

Sweat trickles down the back of Artyom's neck, and his breath is hot and damp against hers. Her little cries are right against his ear, high-pitched. Her fingernails drag down his back, a little further with each rock of his hips.

He couldn't begin to describe how this feels. Hot, tight, wet - all the usual words come to mind but none of them are good enough.

Carly Riggs digs her nails so deep into his back he's sure he'll find blood later, whispering oh god oh god oh god as she comes. The way she goes tighter than ever around him, the prickle of pain near his shoulder blades, even just the way her voice sounds all overwhelms him and he follows her, eyes tightly closed as pleasure takes him.

The leather of her car's backseat sticks to his arms, his head nearly knocking into the door, but finally they slow and then stop, both of them breathing hard.

"Eto bylo khorosho," He groans. "Tak khorosho, tak korosho..."

Carly reaches one hand up to wipe the back of her hand across her forehead, smiling at him. It's a dopey expression, sweet and sated. He likes that look on her. "What?"

"Sorry. I mean... Very good. It was good." His accent is rougher just after sex, voice slightly breathless and rasping. He pulls back reluctantly, dropping a hand to dig around for his boxers and jeans. "We should do again sometime, see if I can be even better."

"Better than tonight?" Carly laughs, pushing herself up to seated, wriggle her jeans back up over her hips. "I might die."

"Only in little ways." He winks at her before pulling his shirt back on. "This is the idea, right?"

"Oh my god. Artyom, you are the weirdest." She's still grinning as he offers her a hand to scoot along the seat and finally stand. The breeze outside the car cools and dries the sweat on them both. Her hair is a rat's nest of tangles in the back, and they're both flushed and have a sheen of sweat. Not entirely subtle. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the party with me?"

"I am sure." He smiles, leaning back against the side of her car. She eases the door shut and follows suit, their elbows nearly touching. She yanks her tank top back down.

"Whenever somebody gets you to agree to a date, I bet you'll be an amazing boyfriend," Carly says, teasing and not-teasing.

"Maybe." He has no intention of dating anyone. Ever. But he doesn't say that to her. "Be safe at the party, eh?"

"Of course." She leans over to bump affectionately against him, as close as he allows to a goodnight kiss. "I'll see you at work on Tuesday, right? We both open that day."

"Da. You will see me then. Now I need to go inside. Keep off your lights until you are gone from my neighborhood, please."

"Just tell your mom to fuck off." Carly sighs, finger-combing her hair as best she can. "You're a fucking adult. Do what you want."

"Mmmn. Easier to say than to do."

It isn't his mother he is worried about getting a good look at Carly Riggs.

But he just gives her a hug, her perfume and the scent of them together a heady mix in the air, and opens her front door for her to settle inside and drive away, easing slowly down the road to make as little noise as she can.

His key in the lock makes only the slightest sound, and he oiled the hinges so the door never so much as squeaks. The house is dark and silent, the TV for once is off. He moves with perfect knowledge of every obstacle between him and his bedroom - avoiding the box of clothes for donating that has been sitting for three months now, his mother's little dog's pile of toys, even a kitchen chair out of place.

The vodka in the freezer pours easily into a shot glass, and he knocks it back to feel it freeze and burn, tasteless, down his throat.

Two more shots and the warmth spreads further than the cold, so he adds a little water to cover what he stole and puts it back, turning the bottle so the label is exactly the way it was when he came in..

He has long experience at this. His father will never know, never guess. The better for his health if his vodka turns more and more to simple water, anyway.

He showers, washing Carly off him as well as the smells of his job. When he checks the mirror after drying off and pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, he sees - yes, scratches, with bright red spots where blood welled up, from just below his shoulder blades down nearly to his waist.

He smirks at the sight, but then realizes the bathroom door is open. His smile fades as his eyes raise.

Reflected in the mirror, Misha stares at him, expression somehow both empty and avid.

"... The bathroom is taken," He says, after a breath. His younger brother, head tipped against the doorframe and mop of hair falling over his eyes, smiles. It's thin, and it doesn't reach his eyes.

None of Misha's expressions ever reach his eyes.

"Got mauled by a tiger at work tonight?" Misha's voice is light. He makes a little claw gesture with one hand, fingers bent. "Rrrrow."

"Misha-"

"Which girl was it? The cute brown-haired one?"

Artyom turns away. "None of your business. Go back to bed." He wets a toothbrush and gets toothpaste, hoping to stave off the conversation long enough for Misha to lose interest.

At first, he thinks he might have succeeded. Misha disappears from the doorway, and Artyom makes his way to his bedroom in the dark. His father's snores are deafening, down the hall. His mother will be sleeping in the guest room, and even if she snores, too, it would be impossible to hear it over his father.

He pads barefoot over the hardwood floor until he heads into his room, letting the door close behind him and collapsing onto his twin-sized bed with his feet hanging off the end. He can hear Misha's television in his room going through their shared wall, low murmuring voices.

There's a beat of silence. Artyom takes a deep breath, holds it for a beat, slowly exhales. Outside, the breeze shivers the leaves into a soft rustle. His clock reads past midnight, but if both his parents are asleep already, they won't know to bother him about it.

Not that anyone ever minds when Misha misses curfew, but if Tyoma is late, oh, let hell rain down...

He groans and rolls onto his side, pulling the covers up. He can feel bitter tomorrow. Besides

"The blonde, then?"

Artyom shoots upright with his heart in his throat, eyes briefly wide. "Chto za khren', Misha!"

His brother is a shadow in the corner, leaning against the wall with his hands in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched.

Smiling.

In the dark, he has only even deeper shadows for eyes.

"Tell me which girl it was, Tyoma."

"I... Why?" His heart pounds, and he scoots until his back hits the wall, watching as Misha pushes lazily away from the wall and takes the two or three strides he needs to drop into the computer chair Artyom keeps next to his desk. No computer, but maybe one day. If he can save up.

"Because I want to know, dumbass." Misha laughs, leaning over. There has always been something strange about his laugh. "I want to know who's out there stealing my brother's heart."

"No one is." It's an honest answer. "Not sure I even have one to steal, Mishka." Less honest. But his voice is still too airy, and he can tell Misha enjoys the idea that he has frightened him. "It's just... friends with benefits. Da?"

"Is it?" Misha scoots the chair closer, clicking over the boards on the floor. Artyom feels strangely trapped, even though he could push Misha back and run. But he doesn't. His brother won't hurt him.

Not yet.

"It is." He drops his voice even further. "I promise, Mishka. There is no one outside the family. No one."

"No one but me." Misha is inches from him, his knees touching the side of Artyom's bed. Now light from outside, dimly white, glimmers over his dark eyes. "Right? Right, Tyoma? Family first."

"Right." Tyoma meets his gaze. Misha's eyes are like dead things, empty marbles in a moving face. "Family first. No one is more important than family."

"Right. And I'm your family. Me. So you can't run off to screw people if it means not taking care of me, right? If you get some girlfriend-"

"I don't even want one." Artyom cuts him off. Misha leans even closer, somehow. And there's a glint, a sheen of moonlight off metal. His little brother is holding a knife. "Carly and I are just friends who, who fool around sometimes."

"Carly, then." Misha's smile widens, like a skull's rictus grin. "The blonde. I figured."

Artyom winces, internally. But all he does is swallow the lump in his throat and nod. "Da, Mishka. She has a boyfriend at college. This is just for fun."

"Khoroshiy, Tyoma."

The silence draws out, and then Misha moves in almost a lunge forward and upright. Artyom flinches back, but Misha only ruffles his hair, giggling like he used to do when they were kids and he would push other children down the slide before they were ready.

"Relax. You are my family, too, Tyoma." He pats the side of Artyom's face. The knife in his other hand disappears back into a pocket, closed up into harmlessness again. "Family first."

"Family first," Artyom whispers.

Misha turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Artyom doesn't fall asleep until it's nearly dawn.

A week later, Misha calls him for help, and he spends the night digging a grave in the woods, just deep enough to cover two bodies with pine needles and fallen leaves without it being obvious. It takes hours, and his arms burn, muscles screaming for him to stop. He ignores the pain.

Misha helps, which he doesn't usually do. He digs, too, his eyes locked on Artyom's face. The dead bodies mean nothing, now. They've served their purpose.

"They're both pretty," Misha says idly. "Good luck I found them, huh?"

Artyom grunts.

"Hey. Tyoma." Misha snaps his fingers and Artyom looks up. Misha is only a couple feet away. He has the same look on his face as he had in Artyom's room the other night.

"Don't see her again outside of work, Tyoma. Don't. You don't need friends. You have me."

"... Mishka-"

"Don't 'Mishka' me. I said don't hang out with Carly Riggs anymore unless I'm with you. Okay?"

"... Yeah."

"Say you won't. Say it out loud. I can finish this myself, you know."

Artyom thinks of the knife Misha keeps, one he never uses on anyone else. He knows that knife is for him.

Artyom's heart pounds all over again, exertion and a dim terror beneath. "... I will not hang out with Carly without you."

"Good. Let's finish this up."

He goes back to digging, and Artyom follows suit, trying not to look too hard at the bodies.

A couple Misha saw in a bar and wanted to destroy. So he did. And now Artyom buries them for him, as always. Because his mother's heart would shatter if her youngest son was caught doing such evil things.

Because he knows what he must do to protect the brother who has been the center of his life since his birth. The brother who will one day, he thinks, be the center of his death, too.

He feels Misha's eyes on him like a brand as he dumps shovels of dirt over the open dark, slightly feline eyes and messy dark hair of the man. The tangled blonde hair and bright blue eyes of the woman. She has a t-shirt on from the restaurant where Artyom's been working.

It isn't a coincidence. It's a message, and Artyom understands.

Family first.

Or else.