#it was a fun idea when I thought it up

[quinns-art-box]

hey king what's so funny

+ some other doodles and a mini comic that wouldn't leave my head LOL (what i have to imagine happened sometime after the fight)

[pineappical]

cooking lessons

[synonymroll648]

was rereading exile recently and apparently it took me 38 rereads of this book to realize that the foster family has a movie night family tradition. popcorn, store bought cookies, curling up on the couch together, the whole shebang. pretty sure it was noted to be a weekly occurrence. this has persisted before and after sophie left the forbidden cities.

call me the grinch the way my heart grew three sizes when i realized that bro. my brain has been going nuts w/ ideas on how to incorporate that into fics lol

[marlynnofmany]

It’s back!

If you missed it the first time around, the “human are weird” anthology is back for a second printing. (There’s even a new story included: “Black Box” by Dara Brophy.)

Here’s the blurb:

In science fiction, humans are usually boring compared to other races: small, weak, with no claws or tentacles, and no special abilities to speak of. But what if we were the impressive ones, the unsettling ones, the ones talked about by all the other aliens? What if we're weird?

If you’d like a collection of excellent stories about humans inspiring awe, fear, and utter confusion, it’s available everywhere books are sold!

[artuurle]

(AU)

What if you died and something divine loved you so much it couldn't cope with that fact? What if they tried bringing you back but the result was wrong?

More doodles + rambles below:

Now What if what came back was just off. Looks at the divine without the memories that went back decades. It looks, behaves and works in a way just off enough in a way to make the god unable to look at it. it's not you. it's not. it can't be.

.... but what if what got pulled back was still you, but its- YOU'RE wrong and broken in ways you cant understand anymore.

The apocalypse draws closer and closer and you don't know why every day that passes you seem to be falling more and more apart too. The god is gone. You are alone.

....Anyway yeah i fucked up a perfectly normal Lovestory Au. i gave it anxiety is what i did. sorry for horrid typing in 2nd person trying to explain stuff im bad at explaining <3 i draw, not write for a reason lol.

[ganondoodle]

since tumblr always has to suffer my personal vents and breakdowns and rants and annoyances you get the most wips and pics of unfinished stuff, im sure that makes up for it

the (unfinished) shiekah arm concepts that made me want to explode and i dont think im gonna work on again

[shroomerr]

Oh, help me God, this hellboy got me coming back for more

reblogs super appreciated !!! close-ups under the cut !

[tiniest-hands-in-all-the-land]

This guy's aaaaalllwayyyss havin himself a laff. A little giggle. A chortle, if you will.

[pheyphem]

ignoring the obvious. is anyone else really fucking intrigued/confused by this room

it is so STARKLY different from the rest of the phouse like it has fuzzy padded brown walls?? like they have a reason for every design choice in the phouse so why did they go with fuzzy brown walls in here and here only (it seems)??/?

drop your ideas below

[luckyartdrawer]

(Bitter) Sweet! Art & Drabble

For @divinit3a Café Lunch Rush prompt list! There's still plenty of time before the first prompt is due (Jan 12th), and there's 2 other prompts as well for the month! Definitely check it out lovelies! <3

Drabble name: Instability Of The Heart Contents: Sun x reader, Heavy Pinning, Bitter Sweetness Chosen Words: Clouds, Opals, Celebration, Star-crossed, Letting Go, Hope, Candle Word Count: 1,625

AO3 version now available!

Ch 2. Moon, Ch 3. Eclipse

(Close Ups are also at the bottom <3)

It’s been a whole year…

Unsure how to approach the festivities now, Sun decided to find a quiet spot instead, spending all morning setting things up to participate in his own way. He couldn't not join in, but it just wouldn't be right to go back into the thick of it either.

The not-too-far-off town square, only a mile below his expanse of cloud, is alive in the lieu of celebration. The live orchestra plays the same casual songs, their passion dying the expanse of clouds they rest upon pink with their infectious energy, and the music drifts up clear as day to his ears despite the distance. The community brightens at each strum of a chord, chatter so lively that they create lyrics to their own song. They all are so alight that even once the sun sets, not even a single candle will be necessary to keep the festival bathed in a warm glow.

Sun sighed as he looked towards his namesake, feeling both relief and dread seeing it only moved a little since he last checked, located slightly past the center of the sky above him. Any moment now the square should clear its center and engage in its Hearthwarming Dance.

A spark crackles in his chest, sending longing pangs to his heart and head. It swirls through the burning magma and dips through every ligament, the tips of his fingers and toes buzzing with the itch to do something.

He turns to his partner, waiting for the first note of the new song to swell before grabbing their soft hand and whispering,

“May I have this dance?”

Without his usual banter, Sun embraces them and sways to the familiar beat without hesitation.

Upon closing his eyes, he is suddenly not dancing on a patchy field of clouds, but rather upon a lively opal plaza shimmering in the warm sunlight; the polished stone reflecting all those lovely pink clouds to create a mosaic, speckled with a rainbow of beautiful color.

Yet, the way you shined changed everything. It had completely ruined his view of beauty.

Your smile glistened through the sheer cloud of stardust that orbits around your form. Your eyes were as hypnotic as the ring of light you absorb, blindingly white before turning into a pitch black that's impossible for him to comprehend. He could barely even remember what you wore that day, too busy memorizing your face.

You were a star that had gone supernova, a rarity unseen for the last 3 centuries, let alone for a star of your kind.

Even the thought of your imagery causes him to inhale sharply. He clutches at his partner tightly, mindless of the give as he steps around in a traditional dance.

You were so scared when the change happened all those months ago...

Sun had found you holed up in your dark room, begging him to not look at you. He had initially come over to barge down your door for being an hour late to meet him, only to find your home was unlocked. It wasn't too unusual, so he welcomed himself inside, used to doing so after years of friendship.

His bitterness over how you kept him waiting for so long evaporated at finding your tearful state, almost unrecognizable if it weren't for your usual wear and voice.

He's still ashamed to say that he was enraptured by you despite the state you were in.

You were a glimmering dwarf star before, enchanting enough as is, and yet somehow you turned into something even more bewitching, compounding his years of desire into something even stronger. It felt right. Not to see you sad, but to see you in that form. Everything about it felt like you. The pull was indescribable in every step he took, the very essence of you invading his senses.

As soon as he recounts reassuring you, drying your tears, and pulling you into a hug; he snaps back to having you in his arms in the light of day, grasping his right hand and prancing with ease across the square, expertly avoiding other participants.

The magnetic pull is intense, the need to somehow get closer and closer was nearly impossible to ignore. He wanted to run away from such a force, yet he only clutched your hand tighter as he spun you, pulling your back into his chest and locking you there for a beat too long.

He was so afraid that you could read his every move, regardless of knowing your sheer obliviousness to his desires.

You always playfully indulged his yearly insistence of being your dance partner, yet nothing had come of it from either side. But this time, his gaze was constantly locked with yours, unable to break contact. His possessive grip had ensnared you, barely leaving even an inch between you. He couldn't help but pause, disregarding the mass of bodies moving around him, wanting to hold you forever.

How could it not be obvious?

Regardless, he knew it was inevitable he'd spill out his soul to you soon, barely able to restrain his lips from colliding into yours at that very moment.

He hoped, he prayed, he begged like a mantra to the celestial mother that you'd feel the same. That this magnetism isn't so one sided. That restraint would one day be unnecessary and he'd finally be able to drink in the flavor of your kiss.

Only mere seconds had passed when he released you from his hold, continuing the dance as if nothing happened. Perhaps to you, nothing did happen.

Would that explain what had happened?

He spent that whole day with you, following you to vendors with traditional carbon foods and indulging in your proximity as you'd graze hands and bump shoulders on occasion, finally left comfortably alone as the town's people were accustomed to your new appearance by then.

He was more than happy to scoop you up the moment you said you were getting tired and overwhelmed. You insisted that you didn't want the fun to end, but he could tell by the sound of your voice that you at least needed a change of pace.

The sun was setting when he leapt up stray puffs of clouds to the field above the plaza. He pranced in circles, leaping gaps to the dying beats of music, and teasing about dropping you through them when you didn't believe he could cross. Your rivers of laughter only fueled his audacity, as he never wanted to hear them end. Inevitably, his foot barely slipped off the edge of one of his more daring jumps, causing the two of you to fall forward and collide with the cloud beneath you.

Despite the grunt the two of you made at the impact, you were quick to laugh at Sun’s failure, teasing him about his cockiness biting him in the behind.

But Sun couldn't ignore the press of his body on top of yours, the echoing melody of your voice ensnaring his throat, refusing to allow him to even draw breath, let alone words. His mind fogged over, the only reprieve to his pinning troubles all pointed towards you, and he desperately needed that relief.

Your lips were more delicious than he could have ever dreamed of, your endearing expression was wide eyed and glowing.

Glowing so much that he actually had to close his eyes for a moment to recuperate, despite how much he wanted to savor your appearance.

And then with a fluttering blink, he's back in the present, kneeling down in the same position over some sad facimally of you. The cloud he molded this morning was mangled already from his delusions, but due to his fall it had melded into the cloud below it, its pink color feeling more taunting than sweet.

Sun looked down at his hand to find a tiny piece of said cloud still in it, a tear welling up in his eye.

It was too fitting.

In that original moment, it was as if you dissolved right in his arms after that kiss, but he refuses to believe anything bad happened. He searched your home, your favorite places, and even contacted your friends and family. No one knew where you were.

Some believed you to be dead after he finally admitted what happened between the two of you.

He vehemently denied that possibility, despite the plausibility. You were barely older than he was, still spry with centuries of life ahead of you. You couldn't just die from a kiss…

The only spark of hope he was given was when he questioned one of the elder Neutron stars, one of whom recalled personally knowing a singular supernova; one who had been taken suddenly to a world beyond the sky to contain their unstable make up. They had returned only once to explain their departure, before saying goodbye for their next one shortly after.

Sun brought the small puff of cloud to his lips – it should have been your hand.

He couldn't repress the tear that escaped him.

It's been a year since your disappearance. He still hasn't given up on his star-crossed lover, if he may even call you that. Your sudden departure left him wanting, stagnant, unsure of so many things.

If you reciprocated, wouldn't you have come back to him by now..?

Overtime, many have caught onto his depressed demeanor and advised him that it's best to learn to let go.

Preaching that waiting is fruitless.

Denouncing the Neutron’s tall tale of some magical plain snatching you away.

Scolding Sun for ruining his life over some runaway star.

However, he cannot help it; you own all the hope he has left. As he is unfortunately, completely, woefully in love with you.

Close Ups!

[beannoss]

Everything I'm Not

Have 2K words of TwiYor if Pacific Rim happened before the events in SxF canon fic! Flash fic! Rated T.

Yor studied the man standing on the step. So he's the one... He did have something about him. The only person who piloted a Jaeger solo and lived, saving his co-pilot in the process. He looked like someone who could do that. Arms crossed over his chest. An assessing gaze flicking through the little crowd she was a part of. New recruits, carefully selected. Trialling to be his new co-pilot because even though his last one had lived, she couldn't pilot again.

Rumour said that man — Twilight, he went by — shouldn't really be piloting any more himself. It was just that he was the best and they kept losing Jaegers and Twilight kept bringing them home no matter the battle. But the rumours also said that if he ever piloted alone again he wouldn't survive.

Yor shivered. 

As though her movement caught his eye, Twilight glanced her way.

And his eyes slid away again, as though she weren't worthy of his attention. And Yor couldn't really blame him. What was she doing here? Was there a point to any of this?

Before the first Kaiju attacked, before Ostania and Westalis did the unthinkable and reunited (Not unthinkable, the Shopkeeper's voice sounded in her mind. Simply improbable without substantial intervention. And Yor had to concede that giant monsters from the ocean was a substantial intervention…) Before all that, when things were still normal and Yuri...

Yuri...

"Briar!" called Ms Sherwood. "You're first!" She was the one organising the search for Twilight's new co-pilot and had assessed Yor's skills herself. Yor liked Ms Sherwood. She seemed kind and competent, and Yor hadn't felt the weight of her assessment like she did when she first signed up, when some general from the former SSS had smiled like she was telling a joke, explaining her reasons for joining.

Belatedly, Yor stepped lightly to the end of her row and walked through the clear column between the others. As she walked, Twilight watched her. It should feel uncomfortable, the way he was blatantly evaluating her: how she walked, the way she moved her torso, the swing of her arms. But it didn't bother her; it was the same way she would study a potential opponent and would do to him were their positions reversed. When his eyes finally rose to hers, she couldn't help it. She smiled a little.

Then blushed, at the up tick in his eyebrow, the flick of his eyes away.

Still, he stepped down onto the mat, barefoot in his loose trousers, his fitted t-shirt, mirror to hers. Yor untied the boots she'd been issued, feeling awkward tugging off her socks in front of all these people whose attention seemed to suddenly land on her in full.

Ms Sherwood said, "To review, the first to three points wins." An adolescent handed Yor a sparring staff; another was doing the same for Twilight across the mat. "Points are awarded for any tag by the staff only. This is a dialogue and not a fight. To that end, I trust I need not remind either of you that there should be no substantial cause of injury."

Yor swallowed nervously. Ms Sherwood knew Yor's history: but surely she also knew Yor would never kill anyone who didn't deserve it! Twilight hadn't reacted at all though. Maybe it was just a normal reminder?

"I trust you have no questions, Twilight," Ms Sherwood said and he shook his head. She turned to Yor, "And you, Briar?"

"Um." Yor thought for a moment. "You said first to three points, so is the goal to win? There's no option to tie?"

Even watching Ms Sherwood, Yor felt Twilight's attention sharpen on her, her cheeks flooding with heat. Ms Sherwood got the strangest look on her face, almost triumphant, which was very confusing. But Ms Sherwood's voice was just as dispassionate as it always was when she said, "The goal is to see whether you may be compatible in the drift. The three points are one metric, but the particulars are up to the both of you."

Huh?

But there was no way she could make herself ask for more clarification, though she was certain her confusion was all over her face. Twirling her staff to relieve some of her nervous energy, Yor nodded to Ms Sherwood.

"Good," Ms Sherwood said. "If you're ready, step onto the mat into position. You begin when you begin."

Huh?!

Swallowing, Yor stepped forward. Twilight did the same.

Oh, being on the mat was so much better. It was familiar, comfortable, her muscles relaxing, her breath settling into an even flow. Yor indulged in that peace, closing her eyes for just a moment to draw a soothing breath —

The clack of Twilight's staff clashing against hers vibrated down her arm. Opening her eyes she found herself looking into his, his expression unchanged. Her staff pushed back against his, crossed between them, where she had raised hers in defence against his hit.

Yor frowned. "It's rude to begin a spar without saying anything," she told him seriously.

Then dropped to a lunge, thrusting her staff up to tap his hip, his block far too slow.

Sounding amused, he said, "I thought you said it was rude to begin without saying anything." His expression was still impassive when she looked up at him.

Yor blinked. "But you began it,” she pointed out, drawing to her feet and stepping back to reset. "I think that means one point to me?"

"Mm," Twilight agreed, similarly pulling back to his original position. "One-zero to you, for now."

So it was going to be that sort of game, Yor supposed. Well, none of this would lead anywhere, that was certain. It was already clear she couldn't be the type to be good as a co-pilot: Twilight was at odds with her already! But it would be nice to spar with someone again. He wasn't nearly as good as she was, but perhaps she could teach him something before he moved onto the next person. That would mean she accomplished at least a little something here. And, she conceded privately, she certainly hadn't felt this way, heart beating in anticipation, her stomach pleasantly tight, the thrill of something fun, in a very long time.

But if she kept on thinking like that, she might lose her head entirely and so —

"All right," she said, rising to the balls of her feet and drawing her hands behind her. She smiled warmly. A small flutter of happiness in her stomach when, to her surprise, Twilight's lips twitched as though he were about to smile in return. That should count as a point, too, since he seemed to be such a serious person! She didn't think Ms Sherwood would see it that way though. 

Yor tipped her head to one side, invited him, "Let's see what you can do."

He laughed — he laughed! — and it was a very nice laugh, it made her feel like she had won already, and Yor couldn't help a small, “Hehe!” of her own. But she could tell that he was stalling, and she told him so.

"I'm thinking," Twilight corrected, and that was certainly true too. His facial muscles didn’t really move, but there was something about his eyes, the very slight tug down of his brow, even from here. 

Should I close my eyes again? she wondered, then shook her head to herself. No, the first time wasn't a ploy, but he wasn't going to fall for it if she turned it into one. 

Right, the best thing to do would be to stay patient, and watch him, and see if she could work out his tell.

He tried to fake her out — Silly — his eyes moving across the mat as though he were tracing his planned attack. As if she would fall for that! 

His attack when it came was almost disappointingly direct after all that: she indulged him a little out of curiosity, parrying each hit until he made as though to run her through. Yor stepped easily to the side. Ducked his next swipe, danced right, skipped forward, sending her foot into the back of his knees and bringing her staff down to stop a breath from the crown of his head, stirring his hair. 

"Mm," she complained, then gently, "I think you can do better."

"Do you?" Twilight asked, tipping his head back to look up at her from his knees, his staff nudging into her ribs.

"Oh!"

"What was that you asked about a tie?" his tones even, and if Yor hadn't noticed a playful light in his eyes, she would have thought he was entirely unmoved. She did laugh a little again despite herself, and it must have been true: that his staff was in position at the same time as hers, or else surely Ms Sherwood would have said something to correct him.

"It's still two-one," Yor pointed out, though in the spirit of fairness, she added earnestly, "But that was very good!" 

Stepping lightly back, she extended her hand to him to help him up —

Twilight yanked her hand hard: it wasn't enough force to truly unbalance her but the angle he pulled her in meant if she resisted, she may hurt him and Ms Sherwood had been very clear about not injuring one another! Yor allowed herself to follow the momentum through, rolling and arranging herself to connect her staff with his thigh once she rose, but there was a pass of air over her hand still in his and she knew what he would say before he said it.

"Two-two," Twilight said behind her. Then, "Tied.” And after another brief pause, “It was dirty play again though, and you don’t like that. I'm sorry."

Rising from her crouch out of range from him, Yor turned to face him. She tilted her head. "Not sorry enough not to do it again."

"That's true." He took position across from her, a neutral sparring stance. It was a very good stance: his feet planted, hips and shoulders loose. His hold on the staff firm but not rigid. Comfortable. He wasn't as good as she was, that was still true, but he was better than her initial assessment. What had changed? And when?

"Say, Briar," he said thoughtfully, drawing her attention back. Ms Sherwood had called her that but it was somehow very strange for Twilight to refer to her that way. She nearly said so, but then he went on, "You're holding back."

Jolting, caught, Yor swallowed. "Er!"

He didn't respond at first, only held her gaze. Then he raised his staff, and said evenly, "Don't," and launched forward. 

He was quick, quicker than before -- not nearly quick enough to defeat her, but it took her a moment, only because, well, Ms Sherwood had said no injuries! But for all he was faster, he wasn't reckless. This was controlled, and lithe, and calculating. 

Yor tracked each movement and, she could see it: the result of his observing and analysing her fight patterns. Oh, if he were faster, a little bit more skilled, he might match her. 

It had been so long since anyone was skilled enough to track her well enough to even try. Delight bubbled up in her chest.

Is this what it's like when he doesn't hold back?

Well... He had told her not to...

One parry. One dodge. She ducked, pivoted, and lunged. "Three-two," Yor said cheerfully. 

She gave him a moment to rebalance. The precise position of her staff was all that kept him from toppling over after she used it to pull his leg back to a precarious angle for the final hit.

As soon as he extricated himself, she drew back a step. Bowed, as the Shopkeeper had taught her. And opened her mouth to thank him for the chance, to tell him she was glad to have sparred with him, and to see if she could muster the courage to offer to train him, because he was very good, but he could probably be better if he wanted to be, although given his reputation, perhaps he didn't — 

"You were right, Sylvia," Twilight said before Yor could speak. "I don't need to see anyone else."

"Maybe now you'll listen to me from the start," Ms Sherwood said, a little snarky. Then she turned to the others, and said, "Thank you everyone. We're done for today."

Yor blinked. "Huh?" Was I so terrible that they cancelled the whole thing?!

But when she looked at Twilight to apologise, her mouth snapped shut. His expression hadn't changed exactly, except that somehow he seemed... She wasn't sure. But it wasn't bad?

Impressed? But that had to have been wrong. She had just done what she could do, that was all. "I’ll see you in the drift tomorrow, Briar," He didn't smile but his voice sounded smiling when he repeated her words back to her, "Let’s see what you can do."

“Huh?”

"Yes," Ms Sherwood said. "Eight a.m." As Ms Sherwood went on, Twilight held her gaze, then raised his hand in a wave as he turned and walked away, leaving Yor to her confusion and the sudden small group of people surrounding her.

The-the drift — tomorrow?! Her mind would be connected to, to his? Already?!

Yor released her staff when it cracked ominously, silencing everyone around her, and the same adolescent took it from her. 

Ms Sherwood’s eyes followed the staff, then slid back to Yor’s. “What do you need to prepare?”

Yor swallowed. “Um… Some quiet?”

Ms Sherwood nodded briskly. “Let’s go get your suit for the drift,” she said, tones warming. “Then I’ll walk you to your cabin.”

“Thank you,” Yor said sincerely, bowing.

Her suit… Her suit! Oh, she had forgotten in all of that, but she had really liked the idea of the drift. That sharing of consciousness… It seemed like magic. Understanding one another so quickly, intuitively, so long as the drift worked. And perhaps… Well, things were so upside down since the Kaiju attacked, maybe… And that light in his eyes looking at her… maybe… Maybe he wouldn’t find her so strange? And oooh, what would it be like, to know a mind like Twilight’s? 

His laugh sounded in her mind, and a thrill skimmed her skin. Yor wiggled a little as she walked beside Ms Sherwood.

"What is it?" Ms Sherwood asked.

"Oh! Um!" What was the harm, in telling Ms Sherwood the truth? "I suppose I'm just... I'm looking forward to trying the drift."

Ms Sherwood glanced at her, her eyes bright with amusement. "I'm glad to hear it."

Choosing to ignore yet another mystery from Ms Sherwood, Yor only beamed at her and nodded once instead.

Tomorrow!

[bad-traffic-smp-ideas]

A wildcard where the builds gain sentience and start their own Life Series

*sharp head turn* NPC GRIAN ??

[nexahexagon]

We stay self-indulgent in this household. We stay silly and have fun.

Made me a Hels!sona for the sillies. Mainly cuz Moobloom is flower and Mooshroom is fungi, like life/beauty and death/decomposers yada yada whatever.

Specifically, Hels from RnS by @/silverskye13 , the idea of identity being very important and close to Helsmets is very very neat and very very cool.

[necrotic-nephilim]

For the au ask game

What do you think would happen if damian got a crush on dick and a good while after he proposed to dick in front of the 'bat-fam', they weren't dating so obviously dick is surprised but do you think they'd get together, how would the rest react?

for the ask game!

oooh, this is fun, bc there are a lot of directions to take it, how i think i'd write it tho is-

Damian would wait until he's an adult. he knows that's when it becomes Permissible to court Dick publically. everyone's always sort of known that Damian had a childhood crush but hey, he can join the club, most of them have gone through it at some point. no one says anything, bc they assume Damian will grow out of it, and even assume he has, by the time he's an adult. maybe he's dated and had brief flings that never worked out. no one realizes how *planned out* this is for Damian. he's in it for the long haul, having distractions thrown up to throw everyone off his scent. silently sabotaging Dick's relationships in ways no one even realizes, especially not Dick. Damian has been waiting for this, and he plans to do it the way he's been raised: romance is a lifetime bond that cannot be severed, and thus, it includes marriage. i like the idea that no one *told* Damian this explicitly, but how his mother taught him about love and how he sees Western relationships naturally led him to this assumption.

when Damian properly proposes, i think everyone would be so baffled, Dick included, that it'd come across as a joke. Damian planned it in front of others on propose- he wanted to mark his territory clearly and put the social pressure on Dick to have to navigate the situation correctly. bc Dick never wants Damian to feel embarrassed or humiliated. so there's a long, tense silence. someone maybe laughs and tries to crack a joke, with Damian calmly saying he's deadly serious. he expected the ridicule and it's not getting to him. i think it's extra fun if Dick quietly asks Damian to talk in another room about this and they leave and everyone is trading jokes and comments about what Dick is saying and why on earth Damian would even do that, trying to decide if this is a weird version of a prank. so an hour later when Dick and Damian come back out and DIck is *wearing the ring*, everyone is baffled.

Dick intends to say no. he's going to be *kind* about it but of course he's saying no. Damian might be in his 20s now, but he's still a *kid* in Dick's eyes, and Dick could never see him that way. but Damian lays out his reasoning, because he expected a rejection. he's very clear about the logistical aspect of it. how he objectively makes a good partner for Dick, and how getting married would provide stability for the family dynamic as well as the legal aspect of Bruce's company. it's all so well laid out Dick can barely get a word in edge wise. Dick tries to bring up how they're basically family and Damian calming corrects him that no, Dick was only ever Bruce's ward. Damian even brings up instances where Dick expressed a romantic love. bc i do think it's fun if Dick briefly Noticed Damian in that way. never deep enough to develop a full crush, but he definitely noticed when Damian went from a scrappy kid to an adult with toned muscles and his father's jawline. and Damian concludes his speech by saying if Dick has no arguments, then Damian assumes they're proceeding. and well, Dick *has* no real arguments. besides the fact he doesn't want to, which given Damian knows there's attraction there, he's able to easily combat that argument, saying Dick does want it, he's just doubting himself. so, frustrated and not prepared for this argument, Dick says yes, mostly bc of how flustered he is.

Dick's intended plan is to show Damian how bad of an idea their relationship would be. which is what he tells everyone, saying he's just doing this so Damian can learn how terrible their relationship would be and Damian will get it all out of his system. it's like indulging a child trying to set their own bedtime and letting them so they learn why they need sleep. and that works well for about a month, until Dick is realizing, he kind of enjoys this relationship. Damian is a dotting lover, and he's *right*, that he well balances most of Dick's worst traits in a relationship. it has been canonically said that Dick would do best with a partner like Bruce and well, what's Damian if not a more feral clone of Bruce. he has the same intensity that Dick needs, while also respecting he can't control everything about Dick's life. he doesn't expect or demand intimacy of any kind out of Dick, but Dick somehow finds himself sleeping in Damian's arms. (i'm a fan of Damian being a brickhouse as an adult and actually slightly larger than Dick) their first kiss isn't a surprise, bc Damian calmly asks if he can kiss Dick, what's surprising is that Dick says yes before he even thinks about it. he tells himself he's just curious. and it's a *good* kiss, which is even more frustrating. it's the sort of kiss where his hands wander and he's pulling Damian into his lap before Damian pulls away and calmly says he needs consent from Dick to go further. which makes Dick go pink bc, all of this was *not* how this was supposed to go. this was supposed to be a bluff, and now he thinks he's actually dating Damian.

the reactions would take a while to settle in. everyone still sees this as a ridiculous thing that'll blow over, eventually. bc Dick promised this wasn't a *real* thing and well, it *sounds* so ridiculous it can't really sink in. Damian's at that age where he's *just* now transitioning into being seen as an adult by the family. everyone who's on the younger side of the family will know, there's when you become an adult legally, and then there's when you become an adult socially, and those are very different times. Damian's just on the cusp, where a lot of the Batfam still see him as a kid. so it's difficult to grasp that he's old enough to be dating, let alone dating Dick. the longer it lasts the more the hidden laughs become shared looks as it sinks in. i think Bruce wouldn't know *how* to react. so many emotions just cancel out to the point that if he's asked, he just walks out of a room. Tim would be on the more negative side of reactions, whereas Cass is on the more positive. it's heavily varied, with the typical concerns being brought up. but no one can really *do* anything about it. and Dick is *Dick*, he's more trusted than Bruce is by the family, so they sort of have to go along with whatever he does. and more importantly, they trust his judgment. if he's riding this out, then everyone's riding it out with them. eventually, it sort of just becomes part of the dynamic. it goes from a joke to accepted so easily no one really notices when they started taking it seriously. which is the fun of it being so normalized that they don't realize it as a Thing anymore. it's just how Damian and Dick are, which is my favorite brand of things.

[spotaus]

New Age AU (An Order to Things)

Hello hello and welcome back! I... write the first part of this like a month ago and then came back and wrote the rest over the past few days! Ancha and I were talking about getting some perspective on the rest of the Castle while Night is still adjusting to his new body, so here we are! A little mash-up of what the Knights have been doing on a regular day only a little while in to Night being small!

no edits, no rereads, fuck it we ball!

(@ancha-aus @mutzelputz and @papiliovolens hello again! Hope you don't mind the random @ and as always if it gets annoying just lemee know and I'll cease hehe!)

Oh, and a bonus shout-out to Ancha because I would've completely fumbled an entire section here, but she recalled something from one of my many strange rambles and saved my life in the lore continuity department :]

“Is everyone here?” Dust’s voice was steady and cut through the chatter of the room.

Horror watched as heads turned to face Dust, where he stood at the ‘front’ of the room. The room was actually curved, a nice oval that allowed a long, round, bar-like table to curve along the outskirts and sit up to fifty people along its run. Across from where Dust was standing was the door. Where Dust stood now, well, that was usually where the King sat. They had shifted the ornate seat back and away for the time being, since no one thought it’d be right for Dust to sit in it. Even if he was filling in for Nightmare today. 

Those seated, they were Nightmare’s council. Some seats had been barren since before Horror had arrived, a lot had been filled since then, Killer had told them that the population had seen a steep decline after he showed up. From what Horror had heard, it was probably for the best that it had been rebuilt almost from scratch. The council now was made up largely of common people. Monsters and Humans, each a representative from their own cities and townships who had both been chosen by their people and screened by the King himself. They weren’t proper or well-spoken sometimes, but they always seemed to have their people’s best interests at heart, so he figured the king didn’t mind it much. Actually, maybe their informal habits made them all the more appealing to him? Horror could never quite tell. Besides, he usually wasn’t present for these unless the farming representatives were present, and today they seemed woefully absent. Normally it would be Killer or Dust here where he was standing near the King’s seat. But, Killer was helping watch over the King while Ccino caught up on his own work, Cross was scheduled for training right now, and Dust was the one talking, so here he was. 

“Good.” Dust spoke up again, very shortly, as the group quieted. 

Horror noticed Dust had a booklet open on the table before him. Horror recognized the handwriting in the pages, even if he couldn’t read any of the words from such a distance. Those dizzying swirls were the familiar penmanship of their King. King Nightmare must have sent Dust with instructions, or maybe a list of topics to address. 

“Our King will not join us today. I am here on his behalf. Trust me, news will return to him.” Dust explained briefly, and neither of them missed the way a few of the council looked between each other. Nightmare had been out of the public eye for almost a week and a half now. “Any questions?”

Dust’s eyelights traveled to his left, where a hand was raised barely into the air. A human sat there, Horror didn’t recognize them, but it seemed like Dust did. He gestured shortly to him and said, “Damien?” As a prompt to get the man speaking.

As Horror had learned, it was customary to stand when you spoke at these events. Everyone, aside from the King, had a cushioned stool which tended to be easier to raise out of and sit on again. The human, Damien, slipped backward off his stool and rose maybe an inch higher than he had been sitting. 

“Sir Panther,” He addressed Dust with a slightly nervous voice, “We in the council are grateful for your presence and for listening to our pleas, but some of us present feel that the timing of our King’s absence poses a danger to some of our peoples.” 

Damien shoved a strand of dark hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear as he continued with a surprising amount of confidence for someone who seemed to be questioning their king. “While we trust his decisions, we find that our people are growing restless and weary without plans in place to rebuild our shelters. The last flood which passed through was not four days ago, and the letter arrived today more frantic than the last. Is there any hope that we may soon be graced by the King’s presence once again?” He watched Dust’s reaction as he still stood.

Dust, though, had a pokerface of steel. As long as Horror had known him he was always a closed book. Or, maybe more like he had a bottle, but broke the top of the cork off inside the opening, so nothing ever made it out. That was Dust. Horror couldn’t even blame him, with all he was dealing with it was impressive how neutral he could remain. Horror had no doubt this Damien man had no idea what it was Dust was thinking at the moment. Was he happy? Upset? 

Before Dust could answer, another hand shot up, followed by a scrambling sound as this other figure, this one to the right, moved faster. This time, it was a monster Horror recognized vaguely, if only because he believed this was one of the few noble lines who got to stay after the ‘spring cleaning’ as Killer called it once. She was a bee monster, one who lived in the capital, but her family resided over some borderland city. She was younger and a lot quicker to speak.

“Mister Damien is underselling how dangerous the floods have become again, Sir Panther!” She hurriedly said. Across the room, Damien seemed to pale under the loud and shrill voice of this noble girl. Dust nodded to her, prompting a continuation of an explanation. “The floods rolled through my town too, though we had time to prepare thanks to their warnings so the damage was less severe. It sounds like, though, many houses were completely swept away, and among them were Mister Damien’s family home. He has two daughters, you know that? They ended up in my town when the water swept them there. That’s how I know.”

She seemed startled when Damien seemed to slump over his stool a bit, planting his hand on the seat as he looked to her. 

“My little girls? They’re alright?” He asked out of turn, his voice different. A bit weaker. 

The noble girl, was her name Marie? She nearly jumped forward as though she were going to close the gap across the room, her wings buzzing at her back. “Yes! Yes, they’re alright! My mother spotted them in our river and was able to scoop them up.” She replied almost excitedly, entirely blind to the sickly relief on Damien’s face. “Mother said they were very smart girls, they had a hold of a piece of wood and used it to float!” 

The two seemed to silently revel in the news, Marie proud to have shared it, and Damien grateful to have heard it. Neither of them was taking in the looks of worry permeating their fellow councilmen, though those nearest to Damien did extend hands of support to his shoulders. Comfort. 

“Mm. Good your family is safe.” Dust said, once again reminding the council of his presence. It had so quickly been forgotten in the exchange of information and startling news. 

Damien seemed to jolt at that, and he quickly made a bow towards Dust with a quiet, ‘Thank you, my Knight. Sorry, my Knight.’ escaping his chest in quick succession. 

“Glad you brought that up. The King isn’t sure when he’ll be back here.” He paused a second, “Sent me with a list of announcements. One was for your cities, got word same time as you.” Dust raised the little booklet off the table before him then. The leather cover, though Horror couldn’t see it he knew what it looked like, had the kingdom’s crest pressed into its surface. Dust didn’t glance at the pages, though. Just showed it off for a few breaths. “Said he’s sending out a contracting team. Capital’s best. They’ll be headed out and nightfall to Peechrey first. Build some drainage. Then rebuild the buildings. Move onto Pinoc after or split sooner, depending on resources. Time.” He debriefed. 

Damien and Marie were still standing, their discussion was seemingly not over. Questions unanswered. 

“I- I am grateful that our King has already prepared, it was foolish of me to assume, yet…” He took a breath, maybe trying to put together a thought. “Drainage? Should the repairs not occur first? What of those with no home?” 

Valid question. If Horror were in this guy’s shoes, he’d probably be asking the same exact things. Dust seemed unbothered by the extra questioning and simply nodded along.

“Would, but it’s flood season. King said drainage first so repairs’ll stay sturdy. Just one fix instead of twenty.” Dust explained with a little shrug. “Those without houses? Take them in. Neighbors help neighbors, till we fix the big issues. Least we can ask.” The way Dust said it wasn’t forceful, or mean-spirited, yet it seemed to make Damien stand down. 

“I… Understand, my Knight.” He said briefly. 

It seemed he was about to sit when a hand raised from beside Marie. A human woman, one which Horror did fully recognize. Chase. She was one of the people who Crop had introduced him to during the call-outs for farmers willing to experiment with farming methods. That had been Horror’s first big project at the King’s side, and it had been going well so far. Slow, but well. 

“My Knight, if I may offer.” She received a nod of approval from Dust. “My village is small, an’ about an hour’s ride by horse to yours, but my people live on a plateau and would be more than willing to house any of yours who might need a place to stay for a time. We’d just ask for an extra hand with the harvest when time comes around.” She suggested, looking to Damien for an answer.

Damien looked right back at her for a few breaths, a little stunned. Horror had found, unlike many of these people, that the farmers who he and Crop had managed to gather for the experimental farming? They were good people from tight-knit communities. Visiting their small villages and farms reminded him much of home each time. Keeping crops and animals requires a lot of fortitude, wit, and compassion. More than anyone gave them credit for, usually. In moments of crisis, if he couldn’t be here with his family, he would choose a farming village over all else. …It seemed like Chase was living up to the high praise Horror hadn’t even realize he’d assigned to her years ago. 

“A-are you certain that is all you would ask in return? I fear that Miss Marie was correct in stating that the damages are far worse than I first described. We have at least fifty, perhaps more, who would be needing shelter and resources. We cannot push that upon your people for only a favor of labor.” Damien seemed like he was taking the cautious route. 

Horror couldn’t necessarily blame him, he wouldn’t want to be the reason his town was indebted either. Though, he did have half a mind to defend his colleague. She wouldn’t offer something like that if she and her folks couldn’t handle it. 

“ ‘Course that’s all I’d ask! We got plenty of space, as long as a few of your folks wouldn’t mind taking turns in the lofts. Plus the food shouldn’t be an issue. We mostly export the extra we don’t need to other towns for trade, but there should be enough surplus to feed that many extra mouths.” Chase belted those words with a pride that Horror had seen on many of the farmers lately. Her chest puffed a bit as she placed her hands on her hips. “Plus, don’t hurt that we’ve got the Knights here listenin’ to us make the deal. If I tried anything tricky with it I know Sir Lion over there wouldn’t let me weasel my way out of it!” 

Chase nodded her head in Horror’s direction. He didn’t expect for any eyes to turn to him during this meeting beyond the nervous glances every once in a while. He figured it must’ve been shocking to see him here the first time, and it probably hadn’t gotten much easier for them since. He found himself, regrettably, making direct eye-contact with Damien. The man looked frazzled still. Like he was regretting bringing up the topic at all. 

“Mm. She’s right.” He agreed, hoping it sounded half as light-hearted as he’d meant as it echoed from under his mask. “It’s… also a fair trade. Harvest season gets…” He lifted a hand a bit, searching for the words he was looking for. “Busy. Messy, when there are too many fields to harvest and not… not enough skilled hands to pick. Risk losing a lot of crop to…” Again he paused, but for a shorter span. “Over-ripening. Or drying out. Been trying to find a good way to gather it all for a few seasons now, right?” Horror finally broke his stare with Damien to glance over to Chase. 

She seemed to be beaming from over where she stood. She ran a hand through her short-cropped black hair with a slight laugh. 

“Exactly, My Knight! So, not entirely an unselfish offer, but we scratch your back, you scratch ours! It’d do us a big favor seein’ if getting more hands to help would really gather it all or if we’re gonna need to downscale.” She went between the two, though after looking to Horror again, she seemed to realize that the both of them had gone off-topic from the point of the question. The farming meeting was set for about a month from now, this was the civilian-based meeting. They could save shop talk for then. 

In her resounding silence, eyes all turned. Not to Damien, but to Dust. Normally it’d be Nightmare making this choice, of course, but instead? Today it was him. 

He seemed to look at the parties in question. He was calm. At some point he’d opened the little journal, but kept it flat on the desk away from any prying eyes of the council. He seemed to consult it shortly, and the room’s silence spanned on for nearly a minute as he seemed to debate silently with his thoughts. 

Then.

“Since the offer is made, it falls in guidelines for aide. The King trusts all of the council, but Chase still needs to draft a contract.” He finally announced. “Movement can begin if Damien agrees. Sign the paper later. After the King looks it over.” He said with hardly a moment more of hesitation.

Damien’s mouth was agape for a moment, before he nodded. 

“I- Yes. Thank you My Knight, Miss Chase, Miss Marie. I will agree to your offer to aide, and we will discuss the specifics after the meeting adjourns.” He finally decided.

Chase seemed thrilled. The woman was surely happy to have a whole new town’s-worth of new able-bodied souls to help her manage her crops, even if it was just for the harvest for one season. Horror and her both knew that this would put her ahead of schedule from the other farms by a bit. More progress did mean more attention from him and Crop, more notoriety for their village, and more trade incoming and outgoing. Plus, Chase was the kind of woman who insisted a little bit of manual labor was healthy for the soul. She was already getting her hands on that parchment used by all the council members to plead their cases to be reviewed by the King. 

When all was quieted and both Damien and Marie also seemed to have begin writing, though theirs were on regular paper (letters maybe?), Dust allowed a moment of quiet before he reintroduced their topic for the day. And… was immediately interrupted by another raised hand from a new corner of the meeting room.

.

“How… do you do it?” Horror asked quietly, lifting his axe from the sling along his back. 

Dust glanced at him. Horror could tell, the tilt of his chin meant he wasn’t following.

“I mean. Talk in front of all those people. Think of good answers to their questions so quick. You’re so calm.” He clarified. 

“Mm.” Was all Dust said for a second. 

They’d been out of the council meeting for a few hours now. Dust had rushed off post-meeting to see Nightmare. As much as they all knew Dust was the king of paperwork, especially contracts, Nightmare had made him promise to let him at least read over each one so his stamp was proper. (They all knew that meant he’d take the fall if anything went wrong for either party, too.) So, despite their King being so tired and busy with his whole… being a teenager thing? He was still triple-checking legal documents in his study. 

When that was finished Dust had gone off to check the stables and now he was back inside. In the training room, to be more specific. He’d been trying to make sure his magic was under control. His storm. Horror figured he was nervous, with Nightmare being so young now. They all needed to be on their toes. Horror had wanted to come with him, because he needed to sharpen and polish his axe. And ask him that question.

“Black Market boss.” He replied evenly, tugging his hood over his head a bit farther than it usually sat. 

Of course Horror knew about that. It had been very obvious when he’d first showed up. Back then, Dust was still wandering around in his shackles and being used as a walking map to find every black market location. Sure, he figured that the stress of a job like that, plus the paperwork involved, had to have prepared him for something like this, but… Horror was the last one to forget that past of his. He meant something else. 

“Didn’t mean that.” He said with a little huff. “Meant. Like. You think how the King would. I could… make choices that I liked. But. Not the same way Nightmare would. You know? You think of everything.” He elaborated a bit more.

Dust stood beside him as he plopped down onto one of the benches to the side of the training room. Dust would need all the floor space to practice his spells, and sharpening and cleaning his monster of an axe didn’t need much space at all. 

“Same morals?” He replied deadpan with a shrug. 

Dust was already moving out onto the big open floor to begin his summons, but he clearly heard it as Horror let out a laugh, because his steps got a bit lighter.

“You ass! I saw you send me a look about the Cherris rep. You wouldn’t have… said yes to her on your own.” He accused, almost playfully. He liked when his small friend set his shoulders. It meant he was trying not to laugh about something. Dust didn’t turn towards him.

“She asked for… a lot. Already gets a lot of support.” He replied shortly. 

Quickly after his words, Horror was graced with the vision of Dust’s magic igniting across the room. 

It was always in bright flashes. Sometimes manifesting as crooked, broken, brittle bone attacks with an electric taste in the air and a scorch mark left on the floor. Others, it showed up like a streak of lightning arching quickly from Dust’s fingertips or from the sky to strike wildly in any direction. It always had this deadly purple hue to it, and his one eyelight always flashed with vibrant colors just for a spilt second before it would fade back to that pale white/greyish color he sported normally. 

Dust didn’t like to talk when he was fighting or training, unless it was Killer. It seemed that would be his answer for now, which didn’t really help his curiosity in the slightest. It almost made him wonder more, but lucky for the both of them, he wasn’t a very pushy person. If Dust didn’t want to talk about it, there would be no talking. 

So, Horror took this time, with the ambient zapping noises of his fellow Knight’s magic as his soundtrack, to properly care for his axe. It was a nice, calming, repetitive task that helped chase away building headaches and distract him from worrisome thoughts. It was times like these when he could really take a moment to think about things he hasn’t in a while. Like, for instance, his family back home. 

Almost two weeks ago, only days before the King’s reverse-ascension, he’d gotten a letter from his mother. It was written in their foreign tongue, the only writing all the family could recognize and the only language which most of them spoke. It had detailed how his brother was doing well, managing their own experimental patches well and how his studies to learn more of Orchan, the dialect spoken by the people here, had been going by quickly. He was already planning to send a letter to him apparently. Though, his mother had insisted he not mention that when they meet again because it was meant to be a surprise. It also sounded like their old farm dog had finally had her last litter of puppies. They were going to move her into someone’s house and off the fields soon, once this batch of pups grew old enough to protect the livestock on their own. Horror knew how much that old dog deserved a nice retirement treat. Warm bed and shoes to chew on when she’d get bored. 

He ran a cloth along the broadside of the axe blade, away from the sharp bits for now. He liked getting the side shiny enough that he could spot a silhouette, but not enough that he could see his own reflection. 

…Honestly, he wanted to visit his family. He wanted to visit his family with the King in tow, though. The plan had been to ask him about another visit soon, because his entire village adored the King just like he did. His mother once swooned to him about how ‘awkward and kind’ the King was when he sat with everyone at dinner. His dad liked the way Nightmare tried to hold back his joy at the taste of their home-cooked meal they’d served to him. The King’s poker face had hardly broken for a moment, but the curling of those tendrils of his had been hard to miss. 

He just thought it’d be nice to bring Nightmare along. Plus, then, his family would be much less likely to try and baby him. He’d be on the clock as a guard, even if the King wouldn’t say so. 

It would have to happen another time, though. Maybe he’d invite Crop instead. Have him examine ground zero for this entire project of theirs? That’d be nice, it’d keep his family occupied by talking technicalities with Crop… but then Horror wouldn’t get nearly enough time with Crop all to himself… Maybe-

“Worried for him.” 

Dust’s voice snapped Horror out of his thoughts with a jolt. 

Dust stared at him, only a little apologetic at giving his large friend a heart-attack. He was stood right past Horror’s axe. He must’ve stopped polishing a while ago. Dust looked like he’d worked up a sweat, the room felt at least 10 degrees warmer, and the floor and some walls had distinct scorch marks all along the stone in various locations. How long ago had Dust stopped training? He hadn’t even heard the zapping end, so lost in his own head. 

“What?” Horror asked, confused now. 

Dust frowned slightly, though he tugged his mask back over his mouth. 

“Been learning his process for years. Only doing it now because I’m worried.” He said. 

He moved to sit beside Horror on the bench, and Horror twisted to look at him. Waiting for any more insight into Dust’s thought process. 

“He looks tired. Can see the bags under his eyes. Missing words too. Trouble focusing, looks confused sometimes.” He explained. “Don’t think he’s dumb, real genius kid. Just… the whole “13 year old brain” is getting to him. Don’t think he’s sleeping much either. It’s a lot.” 

Dust looked a little pained to be saying it outloud. Horror knew he was just speaking his mind. Trying to find a good way to say that he was rightfully worried for the King’s wellbeing. 

Ever since the incident, Horror hadn’t been around the King much. Not by choice of course, every bone in his body wished he could just wrap his young employer up in his arms and make him go out to the courtyard to play catch, just like he used to do with his older cousins as a kid. It just… it just made sense for him to remain vigilant and focused. Ccino and Killer and Dust seemed to have things covered with the King’s personal interactions. Horror and Cross had just been tasked with keeping face and continuing training best they could. Nightmare hadn’t even been coming to supervise trainings. So, Horror could barely say anything to Dust’s description.

The only thing Horror knew was that Dust wasn’t one to worry unneededly. Like, when he and the King returned with that Mage. Error? He’d seemed worried about the kid, but after a few days he relaxed again, because it was safe and that kid seemed genuinely happy. If Dust thought something was up with the King, Horror would believe him without doubt.

“Mm. Good thing. You learned, I mean.” Horror replied carefully. “Probably a lot like…” Hmm, maybe he didn’t want to say that out loud. Would that be rude?

A beat of silence passed between them.

“Yeah.” Dust just said quietly. 

Of course Dust knew what he was about to say. Comparing the King’s rewind to his own skull injury. Granted, his happened when he was a kid, but even now it made things harder. Harder to think, to remember, to see, to process things. He’s had time to get used to it though. Nightmare was just hit by similar issues so suddenly, and no physical wound to soothe either. Their king was smart and prepared. Horror could bet he didn’t want to lose that feeling. To lose… everything he’d been doing here. Just like that. 

“Don’t want to, though.” Dust’s voice was still quiet and even. 

Horror tilted his head at him curiously. 

“Talk. In front of others.” He clarified with a shrug. “Was nice being a Knight. Quiet before. …But I want to help. King’s too young to act alone.” 

Dust sighed after those words. 

They all could have said the same things about themselves in the past. Horror remembers the first time Dust discussed his early days out on the streets. He was too young to put himself into those situations. Then again, Killer had been too young for any of the shit he was put through. Same with what he heard from Cross. Even he shouldn’t have really been the sole communicator for his entire family in his youth. There had been a few close encounters in those early years thanks to angry customers. 

There was no time to really think back on it, though. In the moment now, Dust was right. The King was having that crisis in real time. They all needed to face the music and help take on some of the weight, especially after all Nightmare had done for them. Was still doing for them. 

“Think there’s… something I can do? To help you with the meetings?” He paused, and Dust didn’t say anything so he continued. “Or help the King?” 

He hadn’t exactly been doing much. Killer and Dust had taken on most of the responsibility, and Ccino… that poor guy, Horror wasn’t sure how he was managing everything he was. Killer gave them a breakdown once of all the shit he technically oversees as the ‘Head of House’ and stars was it way too much. And Cross was still a rookie, so he got why Nightmare hadn’t assigned any big stressors to him. Horror was capable though, and he hoped the King wasn’t-

“Next few weeks. He can’t meet the farms. I dunno how he runs those meetings.” Dust once again sliced through his thoughts with his even tone. “ ‘sides. You stayed, didn’t do your missions. Watching out for Cross. Think Night likes having us close. Already helping a lot.” 

Right. When Dust says it like that, it made his whole lot of nothing sound like everything. Sometimes he forgot Dust was an older brother. Horror chuckled a bit, and he could’ve sworn Dust’s cheekbones rose ever so slightly with the twitch of a hidden grin. He should’ve known better anyhow, Dust always knew just the right information. It was why Night hired him in the first place. 

“You’re doin’ well. Keeping things moving smooth. I’m sure the King appreciates it.” Horror voiced, before he sighed and hoisted himself to his feet. His axe was definitely done. He’d sharpen it another day. “Maybe,” A grin appeared on his face. “When he’s better, we can assign Kills to talk instead.” 

In hardly a moment, a silent moment, Dust was at his side now standing. He raised a doubtful brow at the suggestion. 

.

What is he doing? What is he doing?  

Oh, this felt so, so odd! He wasn’t- he shouldn’t! Well, he was ordered to, but still! He-

“Cross?” 

Cross jolted as he looked up from where he had made a poor attempt at excusing himself from the group outside. He’d insisted he had important business, he was sure he sounded convincing… until he’d walked through the nearest door. Which happened to be one of the weapon storage closets out amidst the training grounds. 

Now, as he turned to face the person who had spoken, he found that there was someone standing in the doorway. A familiar someone. A human with an impressive beard and dark tanned skin and scars tracing across his cheekbones ever so faintly and kind eyes with a few wrinkles under them. From age or stress, Cross wasn’t entirely sure. 

This was Captain Rogers. The King’s first in command who watched over all the royal guard as well as castle security. The man who had personally guided the batch of recruits which Cross had snuck in with during his spying mission hardly two years prior. The man who, he had swiftly learned, had seen through him very quickly and had purposely placed him with Shep as his guide. That damn liar. Captain Rogers was sharp, and skilled, and trustworthy. 

As far as he knew, the Captain had been around longer than Killer. At least, that’s what Killer had told him when he asked. He also had mentioned, and Cross had noticed, he was friends with the Head of House. Cross guessed that made sense. The captain had ensured Ccino be introduced as an important person within the castle very early on in their work here, and he had been proven very very right. 

Maybe it was that reputation Cross had seen true with his own two eyes during his stay that led him to not ask the Captain to leave as he eased his way into the weapons storage and gently closed the door behind him. He wasn’t a threat. Especially if the King trusted him with Ccino. He could know that much. 

“I’m not looking to disturb your business here, but I wanted to see if I could be of any assistance.” The Captain offered loosely. 

He’d been kind since Cross was pardoned by the King and allowed to train. His first few weeks when he fought against the Captain’s own soldiers? He and the King had both been patient with him. Something about being in combat like that again… it had brought out the worst in him. An old wound reopening in his chest like an empty chasm. He was pretty sure the King never explained to the Captain why they would suddenly stop mid-round, but Cross figured he could see the change as well as Nightmare could feel it. They’d only kept that up a few weeks until he was deemed too high of a skill level to continue training with the soldiers. He’d been moved to private training with the Knights not much later than that. Only saw the Captain in passing ever since. 

If nothing else, that time under his guidance had taught Cross that he was a man who knew how to speak with others. With security for himself and what he does, a pride in his work. He didn’t act maliciously. Perhaps only in jest or retribution to those who deserved it. He wouldn’t follow Cross in here if he hadn’t noticed him acting weird. 

That mortified him.

“Thank you. For the- for the offer, Captain Rogers.” Cross replied hurriedly, realizing he’d already been staring for a period of time that felt too long. “Though I’m not sure there’s anything that can be helped.”

The Captain was silent for a few breaths, but he did wander deeper into the shed to join Cross before the stand which he had decided to stop at in his rush to get out from the scrutinous eyes of the soldiers out there. He turned away. He could easily see the reflection of the Captain on the steel surfaces of the longswords he’d stationed himself in front of. Of course he’d stopped near the long swords. He was so predictable. 

“I’m not so sure about that, kid. I’ve seen time again how the helpless can be helped in these recent years.” He said quietly. Part of Cross knew that, with their ranking, in some ways they were meant to be equals. It never seemed that way, though. Maybe that was why Cross’ nerves were on fire. “So if I can help, I’d like to offer it to you.” 

Yeah. From what Cross had seen of the people in this castle in these two years, it made sense to him now more than ever that Nightmare would keep people like the Captain around for so long. 

Wait…

“Have you… spoken with our King recently?” Cross had to know. 

After all, he hardly saw Nightmare interact with his own soldiers. He devoted much time into his Knights, but those in lower rank hardly saw him. He didn’t seem to know their names as well as he did the servants. Did he leave all business up to the Captain for the sake of trust? Was there something he had been missing? 

He saw as the Captain glanced towards the closed door, and his eyes skimmed the rack of weapons. Checking for any signs of life in the reflection. His eyes only landed on Cross, staring right back at him in the shining steel. 

“Not directly, no. Though I have heard word from Ccino as to how he is fairing. Seen him pass by in the night a few times. He seems to be doing well, considering it all.” He voiced, his voice almost dropping to an inaudible whisper. Cross had to stop breathing to be able to hear him. “I know you see him regularly. I’m glad for that.” 

Cross nodded, mostly to himself. Yes, he figured that the Captain would know. Why else would he agree to let Cross back out among his men so easily? The King was in danger if he didn’t train these monsters. 

He took a slight breath from the silence, drinking in the scent of cleaners and musty wood.

“I wish Killer was in charge of this…” He muttered to himself, dragging his hand up to his skull to place pressure to his sockets with the heel of his palms. 

And he nearly jumped when the Captain let a laugh fall from his mouth. It was subdued, but hardy enough Cross practically felt it bounce around in his ribcage alongside his racing soul. 

“You truly believe Sir Killer would have better luck with something like this?” The Captain questioned, a slight smile still present after his raucous laugh had scared Cross to the bone. “No ill will, of course. Just… think on it. Truly.” 

Cross, part of him, felt an indignation on Killer’s behalf. For a moment he wondered if the Captain was being rude towards the Knight. The oldest of them, the most skilled, the one who stood at King Nightmare’s side. Though it only took half a second for him to recall. No, he was actually right. He couldn’t picture Killer out there on the training grounds, trying to teach swaths of people at a time. To dodge, too. Killer was a very aggressive fighter and only fled when he truly needed to. Even then, most of that work belonged to his beloved steed Granite. Killer was not the type to teach fighting lessons to a crowd. 

Though, he wondered how the Captain had come to a conclusion like that. Cross had heard that Nightmare had sparred with the Captain before. Only a few times, not even close to the kind of intense training which the Knights had to go through. That he had been training. Before Night’s change, of course. From what he’d been told. The Captain had only lasted hardly a minute. One, very impressive, minute, but still. There was no way he’d ever sparred against Killer.

“No… You are right, Killer wouldn’t be the best option here.” He admitted. “Though I get the feeling that one of the Knights would be a better fit for this sort of training…”

Of course, it went unsaid in the silence which followed that, well, the other Knights were too busy to do something like this. Dust was leading every meeting Nightmare had scheduled, and planned to continue for as long as he was needed. Killer was busy staying by the King’s side and taking on the King’s usual commoner communications. Figuring out what little issues were good to be dealt with how. As well as ‘cleaning out’ the dungeon. Cross was pretty sure they didn’t keep as many criminals as they had in the past, even when Cross was among the cells those two years ago it hadn’t been very crowded. He had a feeling that the more dangerous and violent of those below the castle had been swiftly dealt with by Killer’s blade. Horror he was pretty sure was preparing. The two of them had spent a lot of time by each other’s sides those first few days, when the King was asleep or waking for only short periods before returning to sleep. After, though, Horror received his orders to cancel his missions and prepare for the upcoming harvests which would need to be guided and recorded over the fall. Cross… Cross had only been asked to continue his training with Horror when their schedules fell in line, and to work with Killer to settle any local matters. 

He didn’t mind it so far, there had been very little to do, though. He worried he’d been sidelined. Sent to do the unimportant tasks because he wasn’t capable enough. Nightmare had smiled at him, but he seemed distressed. Cross was too, then. 

There was no way the King had chosen him to do something like this. Teach others. He couldn’t do that. 

“Well, it is a shame that you think like that. You were recommended to me for this training, you know?” The Captain crossed his arms. “By several someones, actually. Training the soldiers may have been my idea, but you were who many pointed to when I asked for assistance.” 

Cross blinked at those words in confusion. 

Who could have possibly suggested he do something like this? 

“I find that hard to believe.” He said. He’d meant it to sound a bit more joking, but it looked like it’d come out more genuine. The Captain furrowed his brow in response, and Cross attempted to backpedal, raising his hands a little. “I mean! Kidding! Just kidding!” Though his awkward chuckle obviously wasn’t contagious. 

“Look, Cross.” He huffed after those words. “If you really don’t want to do this, I can always ask for a hand from someone else. I bet Horror would do it in your stead if we reached out to him.” He offered. 

Was- was the Captain really just going to let him slip away from this? He was kind. Incredibly so. 

He wondered how it would feel to just accept. Hand off the stressful duty to Horror. Horror knew these people better anyhow, they had trained early on before Nightmare decided to offer him a position as Knight. Horror still spoke with most of them regularly. Cross, on the other hand, evaded eye contact like a kicked puppy. It would be so easy to just let Horror take over before he had to do his meeting things for the harvest season. It would be so convenient. So easy. 

“No. I’ll do it.” He said quickly. 

The Captain raised a brow, but Cross was already moving past him. Towards the door. 

“Sudden change of heart?” The Captain questioned from behind him. 

Cross took a deep inhale. One to center himself as he outstretched his hand and placed it on the knob leading back outside. 

“I don’t think I’m any good at leading or teaching, thinking on it makes me sick to my stomach… but the idea of making the others take on another responsibility is ten times worse.” He practically spat. 

No, he was not happy about this. He shoved open the door to the shed and drew his sword as he walked back towards the warm-up field where the soldiers had occupied themselves by whacking dummies with their weapons. He wanted nothing more than to turn away, out of the beating sun and watchful gazes of these people who he once hid among. He couldn’t though. Not when everyone else had some way to help. If this was Cross’ new duty, he’d do it with all the confidence he could muster. 

… Besides. They were training for fast-reaction magic attacks. He was literally the only choice for this. He’d just have to make his own training regime this time around. He could do this. 

.

Killer had done a lot of odd jobs in his past. Most of them involved stealing. Or threatening. Or killing. He had to get his name from somewhere, after all. Even so, running into town to pick up Ccino’s fabric order hadn’t been something he’d ever expected to be on his resume. 

The King was having one of his rough days. Killer hadn’t often been able to see them first-hand back in the day, but he knew they were very much there. The days he would lock himself away in his study, the Head of House the only one allowed to enter, bringing with him a cup of tea or a platter of small snacks. Staying inside for hours at a time on occasion. Killer had often guarded the door if nothing else, but the walls were thick. He couldn’t often hear the low murmuring voices within. 

Now, that the King was miniscule, Killer had been allowed to spend more time around both the King in his private spaces, as well as around Ccino. He was grateful for both opportunities. Though, today the King had looked exhausted. He’d been up for a few days trying to make that magic spell he found work, to make his eye cyan again. He wasn’t saying anything, but Killer figured it was draining his magic more than he wanted to admit. And earlier, when Dust came to deliver those reports from the meeting, Ccino had asked the two of them to stay for a while so he could collect a delivery. Only… Nightmare nearly flung himself out of his seat when he heard Ccino suggest he was leaving. The King didn’t outright say anything, but all of them knew those wide sockets were pleading. A silent beg to stay. Which was quickly followed by stray tears that he hastily noticed and covered with his sleeves. 

Emotions. He hadn’t thought the King had been such a crybaby before. Maybe he hadn’t been. Killer couldn’t blame him though. If he had to go back to being 13, with the awareness of his 13 year old self? Yeah. No. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t make it a day. It was just that he was a crying a lot. The slightest little things would make his sockets well with tears, and then he’d try to insist he was okay and didn’t need help. Even when he would still bury into Ccino’s arms the moment they came in contact. 

That was what had happened. Ccino returned to the King’s side, and the King immediately clung to him, muttering apologies. Insisting he go out anyways. What he reacted poorly and should be able to handle himself.

Killer had looked to Dust, and Dust had just nodded at him. 

“I’ll go get the order.” Killer had offered stupidly, a little too eagerly, into the open air. 

Both Nightmare and Ccino had seemed startled, but when he promised he wanted to run into town anyways (he hadn’t) they relented and Ccino gave him the details. Dust offered wordlessly to stay and watch over the King and head of House in Killer’s absense. He knew Killer all too well. He’d have to thank him with a drink sometime.

Those tears. They just made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t good with emotions, especially not sadness. He doesn’t know quite how to fix crying. It’s not his thing. 

It just made sense for Ccino to stay and Dust to watch over them. His big brother senses must’ve been strong today, and his patience plentiful. 

He’s run to the shop, of course. A tailor shop owned by a pretty skeleton just off from the capital square. He hadn’t seemed excited to see Killer, even with that mask. A nervous energy rolling off his shoulders as he reluctantly gathered items from behind the desk and packed them carefully into the bag which Ccino had sent him with to carry the items. He’d asked about Ccino. Whether he was okay. Killer had just told him that Ccino was busy so he was running errands. They hadn’t had much more to say beyond that. 

Now, he was back in the castle, ready to present Ccino with his prize, and see if the King had been able to calm down at all. 

“My lord?” He called out as he opened the door to the study with an easy swing of wood on heavy hinges. Slipping inside was no problem, but he’d be stupid to deny that he was confused when he didn’t spot the little monarch sitting behind his too-big wooden desk piled high with paperwork. 

“Killer,” He sure knew that voice! His head swiveled until his vision fell to Ccino, sitting on one of the couches. Dust was nowhere in sight. “Perfect timing. Dust just left to meet with Horror to train… How was your trip to town?” 

Ccino, polite and reserved as always. It made Killer’s gut twist just a little. At the distance. His soul certainly wriggled in place as he made his approach, bag clutched by one hand at his side. 

“Not bad. Could’ve done with a little more action!” He joked, though as he got closer, he lowered his voice and the laugh trying to come to him simmered back into his cheshire grin. “Your little friend from the shop asked about you.” 

As Killer rounded the largest couch to stand just across the low table from Ccino, he noticed what he hadn’t prior. The King was curled up with his back to killer, arms loosely hugging to Ccino’s middle, his face buried against Ccino’s apron. A blanket normally tossed over the back of the few chairs within the room was covering him, and someone had tucked him in tight, like a bug in a rug. Even more charmingly, one of the cats took up the rest of the space on Ccino’s lap. That little calico, Princess. Her back was pressed to the back of Nightmare’s skull and she seemed perfectly content to roll up into a perfect little bun on her master’s lap. 

And despite the adorable scene, Killer didn’t miss how Ccino seemed to perk up at the mention of his friend. So they were friends, then. 

“What did you tell him?” Ccino asked, his voice quiet. One of his hands was settled gently atop Nightmare’s side, the other was free and tucked by his side. 

Killer chuckled quietly, sitting on the opposite couch as he plopped his delivery silently to the table before Ccino. 

“Nothing bad. Told him you were busy so I was out on a grocery run. Everyone knows you’re a very busy man.” He teased. Was it okay to tease him right now? Was Ccino going to be mad with him?

Well, if he was, he didn’t seem to say anything about it. Instead , he peered at the bag, then smiled a bit. 

“Well, thank you for running out, my Knight.” He returned, eyelights shifting back down to his charge who rested in the comfort and safety of his lap. …Killer had to admit to himself that he was a bit jealous. “When I have the chance, I plan to visit our tailor and ensure that our King has a wider wardrobe, since it seems he truly won’t be returning to his previous form anytime soon.” 

Right. They were still trying to keep everything under wraps, so Ccino couldn’t just send a servant with measurements to see the seamstress halfway across castle grounds. He probably had to go himself. Especially because, as Killer had quickly learned, Nightmare is particular about things. The texture of his meals, the feeling of his clothes, even the temperature of his sheets in the night or the brightness of a candle. Though, he rarely voices his discomfort. Ccino was just a master of noticing the little ways the small King would squirm or tug at his top or squint at a candle just a bit too strong for his newly sensitive eyes. He wanted to learn how to do that so well. 

His only good news on that front was that Nightmare still made a lot of the same gestures as before. His little, silent commands to Killer. At ease, be alert, with me. He was fond of still being familiar with their own little secret code they’d unintentionally invented over the years. 

“It really wasn’t a big deal. Besides, our little Lord said that it’d be better for the city to see the knights are still active, right? With Dust and Horror out of commission for day-trips, I’ve gotta pick up the slack!” he joked, leaning back comfortably into the couch and sighing. “Next time you need a break, we can always try and ask him to supervise a training for us. Maybe it’d make him feel a little better?” he suggested,

Nightmare, small as he was now, still couldn’t deny a duty which called for him. Especially, Killer assumed, from his Knights. A little of that old normality would probably be good for him. Make him feel like not much had changed. Even though… it definitely had. 

Ccino smiled a bit at that idea, his hand gently petting Nightmare’s ar. His chest rose up and down ever so gently. 

“He cherishes training with all of you so dearly. Maybe he would enjoy a small break from all of these worries.” He agreed quietly.

[miitopiaenjoyer]

Their Pokémon Mystery Dungeons AU would be legendary, honestly...

I think that in a PMD Explorers of Sky adjacent situation, Chat would be the protagonist and Magical John would be the partner character. Chat would wake up on the beach with amnesia and see Magical John passed out next to them. They poke him with a stick and when it turns out he's alive, they initially assume he's in the same situation as they are. But it turns out he just got mugged by the Team Skull equivalent for his Relic Fragment, and his memories are totally intact, lol.

They'd have to talk to Cupcake on Magical John's behalf to help him join the guild because everyone's too afraid of him to hear him out when he tries to ask alone, lmao.

Cupcake would be the cheerful Guild Deputy, and I Want Die would be the intimidating Guild Leader that everyone but Cupcake is afraid to talk to. He looks scary, but he's actually really caring and compassionate on the inside! And the other Miitopia party members would be the guild ensemble! :D

Jefferson would be a Piplup, of course, and I think Gilbert would be an Impidimp. Not sure about the rest. Lemme know if any of you have any ideas! :)

Transcript of the third image's text under the cut!

[TRANSCRIPT:]

IMAGE 3:

Chat: Hey. Can we join your guild?

Cupcake: Um... I'll need to ask I Want Die...