#I need to make a bunch of stuff

[b4kuch1n]

auuauaaauuuuuhh I got blasted with brain shit at the tail end of july and swept away into some writing stuff for like two weeks Im so sorry to art fight attackers. I WILL be revenging all of the attacks I got tho! even tho it's not exactly that anymore bc I am doing it. outside of. the event. STILL

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

[blighted-lights]

ravage is #1 personal space stealer and heater, 10/10 would recommend having him as an amica. usually he'd be sleeping curled around soundwave's head but the other cassettes are out harassing starscream on patrol, so soundwave's chest is free real estate

anyways send me asks with ur soundwave and ravage hcs and mayhaps i'll draw them soon

[branwinged]

"dragons plant no trees" gets thrown around a lot as fact, but i think the veracity of that claim is still up for debate in the books. because dany (like bran and jon and many others) is a narrative symbol of hope and rebirth within the series because of her connection to dragons and fire, not in spite of it. this is because dragons in asoiaf have a much more expansive narrative function than simply 'nuke metaphor'. the 'exclusively weapons of war' image they have acquired breaks down immediately if you recall that the first thing dany does with them is begin dismantling an unjust status quo. she rallies the unsullied at the gates of astapor with cries of dracarys! dracarys! freedom! <- dragons as a symbol of hope and freedom for the persecuted. and obviously they've been built up as an oppositional force against the others. we're told when the last dragon died summers became shorter. in that respect the dragons, or more specifically, fire which is warmth which is passion—very much embodies life against the numbing, deadening threat of eternal winter that the others represent. but fire also consumes, which simultaneously makes dragons agents of destruction, or as adwd shows: the monsters who eat little girls and leave behind their bones. but when dany found herself chained to a false peace which effectively undid her cause in meereen, it was the dragon that rescued her and reignited her fire to fight back—which is to say that dragons represent a wealth of contradictions within the text and this is likely something grrm means to parallel with the others to some extent, by questioning their apparent narrative role as the one true evil. because i doubt the series is gearing up towards a spectacle-esque battle wherein our heroes get to practice righteous, easy violence on a monolithic army of monsters. that feels like it would undo a lot of asoiaf's preoccupation with investigating violence against socially acceptable targets, even if said target is ice sidhe. and this binary between a one true good and a one true evil, i.e. melisandre's philosophy ("if half an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. a man is good or he is evil.") is not something the story takes as given.

instead there's this exchange between bran, jojen, and meera in asos: "but you just said you hated them." / "why can't it be both?" / because they're different. like night and day, or ice and fire." / "if ice can burn. then love and hate can mate."—and i think it's talking about reconciling two conflicting ideas. because the dream of an eternal summer is just as unsustainable as the threat of eternal winter. i think the battle for dawn is more about questions of seasonal harmony. the first line from agot's summary says, "long ago, in a time forgotten, a preternatural event threw the seasons out of balance", so it's not totally out of question for the series to end with that seasonal balance restored once more. and that question of balance and how it can be achieved then works as a metaphor for a bunch of other things. because asoiaf at its core is very interested in exploring big contradictions, like love and duty? how do you keep all your oaths without betraying someone you love? how can one hope for a just, rightful ruler in a world where the systems in place can never allow such a thing? how do dragons plant trees?

you cannot frame dany's arc as a binary choice between planting trees or embracing (dragon)fire. because the fire is hers, it is a part of her, that's who she is. and her character has always existed outside of rigid dichotomies. at the end of agot she had two options, resign herself to a life of seclusion as a widow or die with the last of her family in that pyre, instead she performed a miracle. presently, i think grrm means to explore necessary, revolutionary violence with her arc because you cannot deal with institutional slavery by simply negotiating with slavers like she does in adwd. and the consequences thereof because she's also been set up to be more reckless with dragonfire in the future. but i think there will be an eventual reconciliation there, between her dreams "to plant trees and watch them grow." and her role as the mother of dragons, as a revolutionary figure. because if ice can burn, then maybe dragons can plant trees. they'll learn how to.

[samijey]

nothing will ever be funnier to me than LA Knight getting his shades knocked off and fighting for his life because Randy wanted to hug Cody IMMEDIATELY and wasnt waiting a single second longer

[sinvulkt]

I’ve recently been confronted with how differently everyone approach stories. This made me curious. So guys, I’m counting on you for data, we need to reblog.

(Calling upon the strenght of my (i hope) fandom friends so we get proper statistics)

@cinderfeather @yatsukisakura @bluntblade @tramp-fiction @purpleopossum @starmahgalaxies @purple-iris @tonhalszendvics @retciwrites @vandervoiz @insertmeaningfulusername @pebblish @pat-the-togorian @linzerj @kgjhk @fanfictasia @kefalion @doctorgeekery @asteral-feileacan @dreaminghour @beewaggle @dirtkid123 @ravenite-void @kuraiarcoiris @angst-buritto-wips-writing @mamashenanigans @fancyfrey @hylianengineer @silvercaptain24 @silvereddaye @omaano @piroporopi @mina-jamsin-derulo @doctorgeekery @ash--00 @trickstress333 @kittonafoxgirl @salparadiselost @charlottevader @ravenstakeflight @starr234 @sarcasticfirefighter @numerousbees1106 @akizumy @25centsoda @udekai @unlikecharlie @beguilewritesstuff @lusseia @azzzryel

I apologize in advance if I bothered anyone! (Warn me in dm and i won’t tag you for this kind of stuff again). Hopefully you’re curious as well and want the answer as much as I do. 🎶

[scourge-sympathiser]

SCOURGE SUNDAY 031/???

i gor a laminator

[saturnniidae]

I think Astrid Hofferson has a bad case of the 'my childhood was wasted, I grew up too fast for something ultimately proven pointless.' Syndrome and that she deserves to get to do silly things she missed out on and take up new hobbies, even if she's not particularly good at them–it's purely for the experience yknow, and learn to finally breathe no longer needing to be on constant high alert and get to be truly happy

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

‘Butter’ Jacket Shoot Sketch Day Three - RM, j-hope, Jimin, and V

[mistxmood]

okay this is way more fun than i thought it was gonna be

(Please don't tag as ship/billford/etc!)

[ID: "MEOW." Bill Cipher says nonchalantly. He's floating a little ways, hands folded behind his head and legs crossed with his eye closed, from Stanford Pines, when he was younger, with a clipboard in his hand presumably in the middle of taking notes for the portal. "Meow?" He repeats, confused as to what just came out of Bill. Without a second beat, Bill replies, "GROWN ASS MAN."]

[ID: Stanford turns on Bill, now even more bewildered and indignant, and with his hands waving in his huff he exclaims, "Bitch?!" Bill, now seemingly realizing what he had just said, has his eye wide open staring off upon processing the last few seconds.]

[ID: Bill Cipher floats in the empty space, with a hand on his hip and his other pointing upwards as he gives the viewer his word of advice: "ALWAYS STAND UP FOR YOURSELF! NEVER PASS UP THE OPPORTUNITY TO ESCALATE A MINOR DISAGREEMENT INTO LIFE CHANGING VIOLENCE!" He looks very pleased with himself for this.]

[ID: Bill, in his Theraprism jumpsuit, is in the middle of scribbling incomprehensible doodles made up of yellow, red, blue and purple across multiple sheets of paper laid out in front of him. Beside him is a crumbled up paper, and crayons scattered about him. He's looking up, disgruntled, at the unwanted company of Dye Cipher, the artist's billsona, who is a black triangle with rainbow cracks and a splatter of Euclidean blood over his front. He also has a top hat and a bowtie, goes by he/they/ze pronouns, and is currently in the middle of phasing through Bill's cell wall, eye closed with zir hands clasped together saying, "How are my sweetie pee?"]

[ID: Dye already looks visually scrambled, like uneven RBG layers, presumably from crossing between planes of dimensions to enter Bill's cell unnoticed. But upon his presumed disinterest of responding, Dye grows in volume until their eye is big enough to swallow him whole, closing the distance between them as ze opens zir eye to reveal his unstable scribble of a pupil, with yellow teeth framing his eye. Ze looks even more incorporeal and unstable, uneasy on the eyes, clipping through the walls of Bill's cell to remain face-to-face with him, as ze says with emphasis, "I Said How The Fuck Are My Fucking Sweetie Pee."

Bill, unprepared for this, has a tight grip on the crayon in his hand as he jerks up from where he's been kneeling to draw upon the sudden close distance, eye wide in alarm.]

[ID: Stanford Pines, older as shown during his appearance in the show after traveling the dimensions, has a hand cupping his face and the other holding open The Book Of Bill as he reads its content. His eyebrows are furrowed but he looks more conflicted, lost, upon what exactly is he reading.

Beside him is a Twitter post by Kira, account handle Sadcrib, with the following contents explaining, "y'all ever open a message and be like "what the fuck am i supposed to say to this""]

[tizeline]

OOO, I like the implication that the yokai trio are gonna watch their dad get devoured by Shredder and achieve the same effect the scrapped Shredder!Splinter arc we almost got!.... unless you're going in a different direction than canon 👀👀👀👀

Oh wow, I didn't even think about adapting the Shredder!Splinter plot in any way in the AU XD. But I've already mostly figured out how I wanna do the season one finale and beginning of season 2, and I don't wanna change it now soooo....

I'm actually gonna stick pretty close to canon, Draxum is gonna put on the Dark Armour only to, not too long after, get slurped like a Capri Sun and unceromoniously spit out, and then Shredder is gonna start running around wrecking shit. That still isn't gonna be too fun for the Drax Trio to witness, of course!

[mapicccubito]

uhhhhhhhhhh lifestealers from last weekend’s costesting

[wundrousarts]

I discovered these paintings by James McNeill Whistler recently, Nocturne in Black and Gold: Falling Rocket (top) and Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Firewheel (bottom). I’m sharing them because they make me think of Nevermoor, as so many things do.

With paintings, a nocturne refers to the depiction of night. This is derived from the musical term, where a nocturne refers to a musical piece that is “inspired by, or evocative of, the night.” These both just come from the fact that “nocturne” essentially means “of the night”.

On a basic level, this just reminds me of Nevermoor by the aesthetics. The dreamy nighttime setting strikes me the most, but also the sparks of yellow fire that make me think of Wunder. Think of how many important scenes happen at night- Morrigan on Eventide, the Museum of Stolen Moments, and the Hollowpox in Courage Square. But the concept has me thinking, obviously, about the Wundrous Art of Nocturne. The only songs we know are Morrigan and Squall’s, who both chose nursery rhymes as their Nocture. Their choices make me think of lullabies, sung at night… and there’s lots to think about with that.

[crystalpallette]

get you a girl who can give you everything

this started a long long time ago when I made a joke about how sega should put ringo in more dresses, and then my friend reminded me that oh yeah!! I can do that instead!!! and then one thing led to another and we joked about punk ringo and I drew that too. using ringo like a dressup doll is so cathartic it's kinda crazy

some bonuses (original designs, timelapse) under the cut bc I like these designs!! I might do some more with them!! please disregard the band poster in the first second of the timelapse that's something else!!!

[triglycercule]

murder time trio should get to all experiment with dead bodies. why? because they can and it would be cool (okay but seriously i'll provide an explanation). all these freaks are scientists. i think it would be cool and funky if they all got to experiment! except morbidly and bloodily because none of them are right in the head now

killer like has his whole thing with wanting SOULs for some unspecified reason??? i'm just gonna steal the common interpretation that it's so he can find a way to fix his own soul through coding. but like,,,, what does he do with the desd bodies??? all the fellas he stole those souls from??? well this is where dust and horror come in

it's One Panel and i'm ABSOLUTELY reaching here but there's a (single) panel in horrortale where horror's pulling apart some sort of human limb like an arm with a device. why? what for? i dont fucking know at all man like papyrus said why is he always doing something weird in his room. anyways i'm just gonna guess its probably for rationing in horrortale (but it could also be that horror just felt like ripping apart an arm. for scientific purposes. or because he did this after ripping off aliza's arm so maybe he's doing some sort of recollection reflection or something i dunno im not a professional on this man). killer could totally send all the already dead HUMAN bodies horror's way for horrortale's food situation. maybe horror likes to dissect the humans yk maybe he's not just the type of bash (a head open) and dash. monsters dust so you cant see their guts but humans dont so horror gets prime time first hand experience on the human body! and then after he's done poking around in the brain he can give the meat and organs to papyrus for him to do his specific spaghetti confectionery

but but but what about the monsters that killer takes the souls from! surely he doesn't just take from only humans (dude idk if he actually does take from only human or monster. probably not right? he needs to study BOTH types of code so he can be most informed) so he must also take monster souls. and fortunately for dust (i do NOT think he'd quite like handling gore) monsters don't leave behind bodies or blood or allat they leave behind dust. hah. dust experiment with dust. i think its already a headcanon out there that dust likes to study dust. i cant exactly recall WHY exactly but maybe it's for sentimental reasons or just something to do to pass time between resets. so killer can just pass on whatever dust he gets to him and he can put it under his little microscope and be a little nerd what a GEEK. give this guy glasses and remove all his teeth but one i guarantee you he'll look like 🤓

and once again i hear you cry out but but triglycercule! why would killer even give the dead bodies and stuff to horror and dust in the first place??? erm number one because i said so silly. jk. and number two (if we're going in a nightmare's gang context here) it could be as a way for killer to gain horror and dust's trust. a way for them not to tattle on him for stealing souls for some unknown reason. maybe there's somehow important coding information left behind in the bodies/dust (because that's literally what utmv is made of) and killer wants dust and horror to do that work for him for some reason. maybe just a way for him to get rid of evidence maybe if theyre buddy pals and close enough just as a gift. i dunno man there's a bunch of reasons as to why he could possibly do this. i just really liked the thought of the trio all wearing fancy lab coats and goggles and i was like damn how can i make this a real possibility

[spotaus]

If I have energy I want to draw out some designs for an au I'm spontaneously writing.

(Medieval times, there's a Prophecy. Nightmare rules over this kingdom and is supposed to complete this prophecy, he refuses to because it would harm the people. Dream was sent away and banished by Night because he was dis-illusioned into thinking the prophecy was a Good Thing abd what he was raised to complete. Night collected his Knights (Killer, Dust, Horror, and Cross most recently) and trains them and tells them the truth of the prophecy. They're loyal to him. One day the magic of the prophesy (Apple Magic) leaves Nightmare unexpectedly, returning him to the state he was in before he accepted the mantle. This puts a target on his back and gives Dream a huge advantage in maybe making a comeback. The Knight's decide that their King (newly a young lad and variably scared and frightened) must be protected and they run the kingdom as he normally would, while also ensuring he survives and that the prophecy can't be completed.)