#I have zero idea how to tag this.

[lothricknightgirl]

Abyss

A WIP prologue of a fic I'm hoping to post someday. I'm putting it here so I can get some early feedback for revisions, and also because I like watching numbers tick up.

Yes, before you ask, it is a shipgirl fic for Kantai Collection. Yes, it's also a Dishonored crossover.

:>

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The sun rose over Dunwall’s bay. 

Atop the high white walls of the aristocratic quarter, two did sit and converse.

“Do they not unnerve you?”

A scoff.

Bellowed low did the mournful calls of a wounded whale echo across the water, sunlight glinting off the blood-sullied ships calling their fair port home.

A sigh.

“Of course.”

They turned their eyes away from the bay, and the victorious hunting horns sounded.

Crimson splattered against decks as the cheers of many working men went up into the air, the scent of salt and the stench of iron pervading through the air. 

The whaling trawlers stood still on the water, towering over the smaller boats in the docks, waves slowly lapping up against the sides of their looming steel hulls, as ichor from their crew’s latest prey dripped, dripped, dripped down onto their decks, flowing down the sides like a macabre curtain. 

Gore pooled into the bay, and it was whaling season in Dunwall again.

Deckhands whistled as crates and blubber were hauled ashore, bosun’s ear-bleeders and wounded animal calls drifting across the port, interjoining into a discordant chorus of ship’s horns and voices high over low as the bustle of the returning hunt began.

“Voids, just lookit the size of ‘er! We’re eatin’ good tonight lads!”

Eyes roved out over the water, stormy grey and gazing off into places elsewhere.

“Can barely believe it myself I say, she’s nearly bigger’n me bloody house! What a beauty of a beast.”

Smoke drifted into the air from a pipe, attached to a pair of cracked lips hidden behind a scruffy ill-maintained beard.

“Daniels, keep yer mitts off the crates! If I find even a piece o’ that blubber missin’, I’ll take my cut outta yer hide, you good-fer-nothin’ yellow liver!”

Calloused and bloody hands gripped the railing at the bow of a ship, the limbs they were attached to hidden by a black wind-weathered overcoat, whale-leather exterior shining under the heavy gaze of the sun. 

“You keep yer hands away from that Bessie or I’ll have words with you at the end of my gun, you salt-ridden dogs! Away, away with ye, to yer posts!”

Captain Gregor Hobson of the Red Lady’s Hymn sighed, raking a hand backwards through his hair, whale-oil pale with a meager speckling of grey here and there. 

“Oi, Claggard! Ease up on ‘em, no reason to get so worked up this early when we’ve just brought in a haul like this.”

His voice was tired and exasperated, smokey and slow like a cask of fine liquor, or a trail of burning gunpowder leading to an ammunition storage, depending on his mood that day.

The first mate stood pinned in place, before quickly nodding and scarpering off without a word, not without one final glare at the smug deckhands.

“And fer the rest of you, if I find even so much as a hand's width of that blubber missing, I’ll feed you to it. Get back to work, the lot o’ you!” He turned, and the crew took to their stations with all the speed of a man being chased into hell without so much as a backglance.

“Blimey, he’s terrifyin’.”

“Aye. He was a sarge, fer the navy. Tyvia, I think. Sunk near a dozen ships himself and ate a man’s heart out on the deck during the wars, from what I heard tell of.”

“Malarkey, the both of you. He’s an old sea-dog, nothin’ more, nothin’ less. Just keep yer hands away from the whales if you want to keep ‘em. He’s ruddy well good with that sword, and I don’t fancy losin’ any more fingers than I already have.”

Hobson scoffed, turning his pipe over the port with a good thunk against the rail for good measure, reflective mood soured as a heavy frown worked its way onto his sea-wizened face. 

“Excuse me.”

He cast an eye over his shoulder.

Another sigh, barely suppressed as the frown dropped from his face like a slick trout.

A thin man stood behind him, face pointier than a shark’s with twice the teeth to match, eyes narrowed down to dagger points and holding a watch in his hands, impatiently checking the time and tapping his foot.

A shining brass badge pinned to his vest shone in the rays

“Mornin’, Harbormaster. What can I do you for this fine day?” He greeted, turning and leaning back against the railing nonchalantly, tipping his hat up. 

The Master looked down his nose from his head’s perch upon his far too spindly body with a sneer.

“Yes, yes, good morning and all that, we hardly have time for pleasantries. State your name and import, I have important places to be and this isn’t one of them.”

His voice was a mixture between coarse grating sand between his ears and a poor imitation of a noble’s nasal dulcet tones.

Hobson only narrowly kept from rolling his eyes at the behavior. Slap a new accent on, think you’re taller’n everybody else and suddenly you’re the talk of the Tower. 

Still, as much as it grated, the Harbormaster was a rung above him in this twisted labyrinth of a society, so he played along for appearances sake. 

“Of course, of course, wouldn’t want to keep you, I’m sure you’ve got some very important things to be doin’. Just follow me and we can be done with it right quick,” he assured, tone falser than his bosun’s teeth, smiling wide like a whale waiting for its next prey to wander into its maw.

The Master’s head inclined, chest puffing out, though he straightened himself out before it could become too obvious, glancing about none too obviously.

Hobson pretended he didn’t see it, whistling a jaunt as he guided the man away and down to the hold, past the whale strung up in the crane above them. 

Hook, line and sinker with these types, every time, like leadin’ a rat to bread.

An hour later found the man off of his ship, wandering away with his hands stuffed into his pockets, probably to bugger whatever poor sod he set his eyes on next that was within his reach.

The Red Lady’s Hymn sailed for no company, and no sponsor. 

To a man like the Harbormaster, it would’ve been easy prey for an ego boost, bossing about independent sailors on their own ships from the safety of his position, conversely to the myriad of trawlers moored in the bay marked as Royal Hunters, the biggest group of sailing shills this side of the continent. 

Hobson watched until the slimy eel disappeared into the throng of sailors before turning back out across the bay, blowing out a long exhausted heave, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands to rid them of the salt’s sting. 

The Hymn hummed under his hands, engines whining with electrical power under the strain of the immense creature above the deck, groaning as blood sluggishly dripped from harpoon wounds along its flank. 

“I know girl, I know. Just one more good haul and you can rest,” he whispered, waiting for the humming to settle before striding off towards the bridge, barking orders to the crew as the church bells further inlands began to toll.

Below the deck, buried deep within the guts of the hulking steel beast of a ship, was the Hymn’s twin hearts, glowing as the whale-oil within churned and sparked with arcane energy, rusted screws rattling in their places as the engineers did their best to sooth the beleaguered machines. 

The Red Lady’s Hymn was ancient, by modern day whaling trawler standards. 

It wouldn’t be out of the question for Anton Sokolov to have walked the Hymn’s deck himself when it was just WT-032, the last of the Driscol class ships, marking the beginning of a new line as the trawlers were further refined.

Three crews had manned the decks of the Hymn in her time, and all but one of them had met grisly fates at sea at the hands of beasts unnamed and unknown. 

And yet, every time, the Hymn had sailed back into Dunwall to do her duty as always, towed in by tugs, or, in the incident that earned her the moniker of Red Lady’s Hymn, by the tides themselves. 

It had been a foggy morning then, all those years ago, bitter winter come to lay its weary bones into the bay as ice crept around the shores, and WT-032 had been missing at sea for three weeks. 

The Watch had all but given up on it by the beginning of the second week, and the only ones still looking for it in any capacity were sailors wary of happening upon its wreck. 

Then, in the waning days of the Month of High Cold, a ship had sailed into port, sluggishly maneuvering into dock until her hull had ran aground the shore with an awful shrieking noise, almost touching the nearest house with her prow until she rasped to a stop, barely a finger’s width away from shattering its window. 

The Harbormaster then, a crabby old man with little to say beyond poison to spit at younger folk, had come running out of his hovel with his face twisted into an angry rictus and shouted for the captain of the vessel to step onto shore, then abruptly fell silent. 

The hull loomed over him, red ichor drip, drip, dripping out of her scuppers and onto his face, filling his nostrils with the heavy cloying scent of iron as it dribbled down his chin. 

The carcass of a whale still hung above the abandoned vessel, bereft of all life as it slowly shifted in the wind, sending creaks rattling down the cranes holding it aloft. 

Blood congealed into the cold oak of the deck, spattered about in great pools and littered with splinters, some planks sticking out like jagged teeth, and others split in two, like the steps of a mighty giant had sundered them apart. 

No matter where the Watch had searched, after the calls had gone up, no crew were to be found, corpses or otherwise.

It was like they had been plucked from the decks by the hands of the void itself, leaving it to drift away on the winds, pulled along by the tides like a lost child by the hand of a mother.

That day, in the cold of Dunwall’s winter, the dock-goers had gathered and listened as the vessel’s engines sang, like a ghostly siren’s chorus, solemn and pained as it strained to keep itself going on what little fuel it had left.

The sailors would drift home that morning, minds elsewhere and attention paid to places far away as the song echoed across the waves, the blood drip, drip, dripping off of her deck and into the bay, seemingly never drying no matter how long it stained the decks, or so they say.

WT-032 earned the moniker Red Lady’s Hymn that day, for the color of her crimson shawl and the notes of her sorrowful song. 

As much of an curse as she was a blessing, she was truly a terrible and wonderful thing to see over the horizon, hull bloodied with whale-gore more often than not, her song whispering across the waves as the silhouette of a mighty beast caught in her crane wavered against the setting of the sun beneath the sea, like wet paint running down a canvas. 

As the moon came up over Gristol and colored the ocean in a ghostly pale blue, the Red Lady’s Hymn set out for her next hunt, skies cloudless overhead and waves calm beneath her hull.

Captain Gregor kept a watchful eye over the sea, hands steady on the wheel as a quiet tune carried over the deck in chorus with the humming of the Hymn’s heart. 

He turned slightly, away from the windows, just enough for the glow of the moon to leave the corner of his vision, grasping for the lighter in his pocket and deftly lighting the pipe perched precariously on the wooden surface beside him, lifting it to his mouth and turning back to face the deck.

He stilled.

It was quiet. 

He leaned slightly over, casting his gaze about for his crew and finding nothing but air. 

His heart slowed as his eyes narrowed, setting the pipe down. 

He thumbed open the lock on the furthest right window, before calling out in a clear voice, “Boys, how’re the seas lookin’?”

The only answer was the waves, gently lapping against the Hymn’s hull, song eerily silent. 

Unnerved, he called again, voice unsure, to no avail. 

His eyes narrowed further, and his hands itched for his sword.

Turning on the spot, slowing the ship and leaving the wheelhouse, he opened the bulkhead and stepped out into the cool night air, breezeless and still.

Closing the heavy cast door behind him, he strided down the steps, whale-leather boots click, clack, clicking against the deck.

Two paces.

No sign of anybody.

His heart beat faster, like a war drum thudding in his ears. 

Four paces. 

“Boys?” He yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

No answer.

Six paces.

His back was nearly against the aft’s railing now, the Hymn’s heart still quiet beneath his feet, his voice echoing across the waves. 

Eight paces. 

The Hymn sang. 

One, low, haunting note, like the death-call of a whale in her last throes, reverberating in his chest as it froze like ice, heart dropping like lead into his gut as it crescendoed, louder, louder, the engine’s whining almost reaching an unearthly wail, before- 

Death, yawning wide open, like a cavernous maw, a black and cold abyss.

A hat hit the deck without a sound, a scream evaporating into the air, never making it out of his mouth as more than a rattling gasp. 

When the dawn rose over Dunwall’s bay once more, and the hunt once again returned victorious to the bay only to find its waves silent and songless, the Red Lady’s Hymn was not there to greet it.

______________________________________________________________

Abyss

noun.

A deep or seemingly bottomless cavern.

“A rope led down into the abyss.”

______________________________________________________________

[krysmcscience]

Don't mind me, just slacking on a big Billford comic by making other far more ridiculous Billford comics and also some AU art (please excuse my slapdash human!Bill thank you please, also before anyone asks the art style is messy and all over the place because idgaf LOL)

This started out as an excuse to design a Bill Cipher-inspired "wedding" dress, but then spiraled wildly out of control. Various rambles and a bunch more human!Bill arts under the cut, including another silly little comic at the end! (Feel free to skip the rambles, I won't be offended. I know I'm bad at shutting up. XD)

I may or may not write some comedy stuff for this AU, which I'm calling 'For Better Or Worse (But Mostly Worse)'. While Ford DOES remember getting sloshed enough for one thing to lead to making out with another after karaoke, neither he nor Bill remember this wedding, At All. The Love God did nothing to dissuade them from going hog wild on their marriage spending, either, so it got...uh. Exorbitantly Expensive. As in, the grand total could probably buy the entire fucking MOON sort of expensive. (It's fine, don't worry, Bill's good enough at crime to be able to afford it.) Also, because the logic of this AU is mostly dictated by Rule of Funny, the Love God's powers are close to unlimited when it comes to matters of romance, but ONLY when it comes to matters of romance. (Like weddings!)

Want an empty human vessel to smash the soul of a triangle into for date nights or when it's convenient, or perhaps even when it's NOT convenient? Easy peasy! Want the marriage to be recognized in every corner of the multiverse from now until the end of time, thus making any potential future divorce nigh-on impossible? Can do! Want to buy an entire beach for the ceremony and honeymoon and in general, and totally not at all because it would be Super Hilarious to prevent any specific movies from being made on that very same beach in the future? Fine, whatever, it's not his finances he's ruining!

Does the Love God also provide special rings that just so happen to turn incorporeal as long as the "happy couple" doesn't remember that they barged into his dreams to bully him into presiding over their marriage? ...No comment!

He spends the next thirty years trying and failing to get in touch with either of them for payment. This is why you should always demand half the money up front, my guy!

Also it's absolutely a traditional Jewish wedding, because I like the idea of Bill demanding all the keepsakes from the marriage that he paid for, and being completely confused when one of the things he's handed is a fancy container full of broken glass. He gets it later, but in the moment, he thinks the Love God is just fucking with him some more.

Ramble over! Here's the full dress that caused the comic to happen, along with what Ford wound up wearing at the wedding (and begrudgingly agreeing to put on again later for Reasons), aaaaand also a close-up of Bill's ring:

I may have forgotten to draw Bill's hair floofier when drawing the back of the dress, lmao

Since double ring ceremonies have been leaking over into Jewish wedding customs for a while now, Ford also has a ring, but his is the much more traditional plain gold band. There's definitely a message engraved on the inside - embarrassing, cringe, or incriminating somehow - but I haven't decided what it is yet, so use your imagination for now. XD Bill, on the other hand, saw the phrase 'traditional plain gold band' and said "No Thank You" before proceeding to embellish his ring to his liking. And because he's a secret sap who adores Ford's extra fingers, the triangle points add up to twelve, as do the engraved stars. Yes, they're stars, not dots, I just got lazy. There's also six lashes on the eye gem, and probably an eye engraving on the inside with another six lashes. (Bill's got it BAD, okay? We all know this.)

Here are the initial scribbles of Bill's custom vessel in more casual attire, please ignore the wonky anatomy and the fact that I flat out refuse to ever draw him with a proper top hat:

He does actually need a cane in this vessel; since Bill tends to possess men and especially Ford more often than not, he's used to having a higher center of gravity when in a human body, so his ability to balance is pretty garbage. (He may or may not topple over with concerning regularity.) As for his empty eye socket, his bangs don't do much to hide it since he's so high-energy (dude is constantly on the move), and he also refuses to wear a patch over it, because 1.) why bother, and 2.) it's more fun to freak people out.

To better align with Ford's attraction towards the strange, the vessel was designed with super minor shapeshifting ability - Bill can look like a perfectly normal human, but he can also make the teeth and fingers sharper whenever he likes (which is mostly just when he's angry or being more of a menace than usual), as well as slit down the pupils or outright ditch the irises altogether. He can also have whatever he wants in the downstairs department, just because I'm an indecisive bitch on that front, lmao. Maybe he can have boobs if he wants them, too, but I ain't drawin' tits on no triangle, nuh-uh, no sir. His powers are otherwise limited down to what humans can do, because for some reason, the Love God doesn't trust Bill to not snap into Immediate Apocalypse Mode if he's given a physical form that's actually all his and no one else's.

Due to the body being all his and no one else's, it's also not really a standard possession so much as it is just...Bill being temporarily human. He's a lot more aware of and in tune with his human body's senses than he ever was with his "puppets", which makes things like pain a lot more intense. (He is mostly fine with this, because he's a fukken masochist.)

A bit more fashion stuff, including beach and party attire~

The beach outfit was mostly me trying and failing to nail down his body shape, which is still not bottom-heavy enough. I then decided to slap a bikini on it, before making it supremely unsexy with a pair of fugly shorts, because Bill's fashion choices are not allowed to be conventionally attractive. Meanwhile, the party outfit was mostly me looking at the casual attire I designed, asking 'how would Bill make this Worse', and then drawing the result. The mismatched thigh-highs are killing me inside! :D

No, his vessel can't actually summon fire, I just drew it for funzies before I decided on said vessel's limitations. Yes, the gold brick tattoos are absolutely a reference to the fic 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' - I simply could not resist.

I also HAD to draw Bill in one of his canonical(?) shirts, just made tank-top'd:

He is absolutely about to over-correct and fall backwards after this. USE YOUR CANE, GOOFBALL!!! (I meant to draw Bill closer to this degree of bottom-heavy in the other images, but. Alas. I am bad at anatomy, LOL)

And, last but not least before More Comic Time, I attempted to draw him closer to Gravity Falls style:

Jury's out on whether or not I succeeded, but - hey. I tried. Now have some Handyman Bill AU, but with my goofy human design, instead:

Hey, it's a 'mystery snack', and the guy wanted A BITE to eat - the joke was right there, guys!!! (Based on this post, because it just screamed BILL CIPHER to me.)

whoops i forgor bills ring and cracks ahaha too late now

I WILL SHUT UP AND STOP RAMBLING NOW K THX BYYYYYE

[dawnthefluffyduck]

tell me what you want from me

[brodorokihousuke]

Dual Destinies ends five days before Christmas. Nearly four, given that 5-5 ends at 9PM.

What is it like at the office, then? At such a normally-comforting time of the year? I mean hell, given the handful of holiday-themed art that exists, I'd even make the assumption that there's always a Christmas/general holiday party at the agency. And not doing that, after making it such a big thing, it... it would just feel wrong.

So they still do it. Everyone's invited, as usual. Optional attendance, no need to show up.

But there's one person they'll drag to the party, no matter if he wants to or not.

I think Apollo was used to spending the holidays with Clay, especially before he got established at the agency. His only friend, his introduction to American holidays, the only person he was fine truly being himself around. Of course, that's all gone, now. And based on how much he talked about his activities with the near-astronaut last year, Phoenix knew.

Maybe he didn't know how exactly to talk to Apollo, but he knew one thing- and that one thing was, he couldn't let the younger man spend the holiday alone.

[paskuda-lynx]

Misunderstandings

Fanart for the fic Desideratum (posted on AO3) by @fianightshade ! Specifically for the chapter 11 'Turning point'. I periodically reread it just to feel the emotional turmoil of the scene again

[theminecraftgay]

Always in the spotlight // Always in the wings

aka I think way too much about what he must have had to do to cause DR0

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Information

I am bored and so decided to go write a little thing on this as I had an idea again.

First Drabble over here. original prompt by @spotaus

Prev Drabble

Next Drabble in chronological order here

This one is around the time after the gang met back up again to return to Nightmare but found the castle starting to collapse. about a week after they left.

Also, apology in advance. I slightly re-did the story of Dream and Nightmare. Just to fit it me more. The original story you can find with Jokublog as their original creator.

Warning, unbeta'ed and unedited as always lmao

-----

Dust sighs as he glances around the empty and dark halls. The whole castle so far had been empty and deserted.

Because they had deserted him. They had betrayed him. They had-

Dust shakes the thoughts and familiar voice out of his skull. No time. They need to find somekind of clue.

Dust looks from side to side as he thinks. The four of them had searched the bottom floor together but found nothing. Horror had split up to search the forest and gardens. Cross went to search all storage rooms. Killer had went to search the basement and cellar.

Which left the normal rooms for Dust to search.

And he had found nothing. Dust groans as he slides to the ground. Where he just sits for a moment.

It didn't make sense. Because Dust had noticed stuff being gone from their rooms. Dust know one of his old hoodies disappeared but it would be the first time they had a laundry mishap. But the other rooms it felt like stuff had been missing.

But there were no signs of breakins or anything. Nothing that suggested that anyone had been here. Which probably won't be for long.

With how difficult it had been for them to even get back here... It is obvious that the magic keeping everything together and hidden is failing.

It is a matter of time before the universe is no longer hidden and then the Stars will come and mess things up even more.

Which... Nightmare most likely realised. And so he left...

Dust groans as he covers his face and thinks. Fuck. They didn't even know what was affecting boss. What had been causing him to grow weaker and younger. To cause him to lose his powers.

And they FUCKING left! Like fucking assholes and ungrateful little shits!

No wonder Nightmare decided to leave as soon as he realised this universe was a lost cause.

Dust sighs as he looks around the hall before his sight stops at one last door. The door he hadn't dared to enter.

It is stupid.

It isn't like they had been good followers before. With them just abandoning the person who had saved them from their own dying AUs as soon as he lost power.

Yet it felt disrespectful to just enter his room.

Dust shakes his skull again and gets up. He marches over to the door and pauses. He raises his hand and knocks.

No answer.

Dust waits for a moment before knocking again, a tiny bit louder.

Still no answer. Dust still waits before trying the door. He isn't sure if he wants it too open or be locked.

The door opens.

Dust stays still for a moment before pushing the door fully open. The room is dark and empty nad Dust makes sure to check all hiding places.

But still nothing.

Dust sighs before aglimmer of silver catches his eye. He tilts his skull and walks over to the bed. On it lays a shining silver band. Dust hums as he studies it and rubs some of the old dust and grim off of it. only to reveal a crescent moon.

Dust stares at it for a long time. It... it kinda looks like the crown simular to Dream's but it is so much smaller. It looks so much more fragile and dull. Dust takes a seat on the bed as he rubs the soft metal. It is clearly old. Very old. But it seems cared for.

Why... Why would he leave it?

Dust looks around the room again and stops to stare at one of the bedside tables. The drawer isn't completely shut. He pulls it over and immediantly sees that a false bottom has been removed and not bother to be put back. Dust looks at the crown and the drawer before testing it out.

The crown fits perfectly in the drawer and once shut you wouldn't even see it unless you knew it was there. He removes the crown again before turning quickly to the other bedside table. Dust dive crawls over the bed and reaches the other side.

He opens the drawer and removes all the pens and papers and notes from it. It seems to be notes on possible universes for them to raid and notes on what to pick up from where. Small 'to do' lists. The drawer is soon empty and he feels around it.

Click.

Another false bottom pops open and Dust grins as the removes it. Only for the grin to fall as all he can see is an old fairytale book. Dust puts the drawer piece to the side and takes out the book.

It is old. Older than any of Nightmare's books in his library. Older than the castle now looks. Even broken and falling apart.

Dust sits back upright and crosses his legs as he lays the book in his lap. The cover shows a large tree with a female like figure next to it. Golden letters at the top spell out DreamTale.

Dust freezes before he quickly opens the picture book and starts reading.

It is like a childrens tale. A fairytale.

A young powerful woman by the name of Nim. The keeper of emotions who spreads them across the multiverse. Who prefers her privacy. Positive and negative send out as equals and spread where there is a need.

A man. A mortal. Bold and brass. Greedy for things not his. Goes to her and demands a power he has no right to. A fight happens and Nim wins. But the cost is high.

She has been hurt. Hurt by the mortal who she had to kill. The mortal who forced her to bloody her hands. Make her guilty of a crime she never wanted to commit. With her last power she tries to create a way to continue. A way to exist. Before her, two spirts appear.

One is a golden light made of hope and dreams. positivity shines out as the spirit seems happy already. Nim smiles at them and names them Dream. As the little spirit already seems to be a dreamer and a being of hope. A name fitting for the small spirit.

A second spirit, she hadn't expected, takes form moments after the first and Nim pauses. She ends up naming this one Nightmare, only because they seem to be the oposite of Dream in ever way with their dimmer light and purple colour.

Dust stops and frowns "Wow lady. Talk about clear favouritism with your children." Dust frowns as he traces the picture of two small balls of light in the hands of the woman, Nim.

He shakes his skull and continues reading. For how old the book looks it isn't that long.

Nim felt her time nearing its end and searches the multiverse for a vessel to fit her children. Something that can withstand their magic and beings.

Many failures as he desperation hightens and hightens. Until she comes across a skeleton who just shines out with briliant positivity. She doesn't think and uses the last of her powers to recreate that form for her children.

Nim becomes one with her tree as her children begin to move their new bodies. Young and new to the world. Only been made days before. But they have one another and the tree.

Dust glares "Are you kidding me? You give them just... bodies which clearly only fit one of your sons?! What the hell lady?" Dust takes a deep breath before continuing to read. Why doesn't the multiverse know this? Most of their stories are known across it by now.

Neither Dream nor Nightmare know what to do. Both are young and only just been born. Luckily their mother is still with them to guide them. She warns them away from mortals and tells her children it is now their duty to protect her and her tree. But most important the apples that grow from it.

The golden and purple apples. The golden apples will cure any illness and body harm. While the purple apples will heal any magical illness and mental harm.

Nim tells them again and these apples can not be given away as they also hold the key to keeping the multiverse in balance concerning positivity and negativity. That Dream can only touch and pick the golden apples and Nightmare can only touch and pick the purple ones.

But that they should never eat one. Never.

Both the children look up at their mother before nodding. They promise they will do their job and duty and protect her and her apples.

Dust huffs "Wow. Child labor now lady? You are so getting the mother of the year award." he continues reading.

Time passes as Dream and Nightmare stay with the tree. The live and sleep under it and relax near it. That is until the settlers come and people make a village nearby. Nim reminds them again that mortals are not to be trusted.

Dream however wishes to meet them. See who they are and make friends. Nightmare tries to convince his twin to stay near the tree. They job is to guard it and make sure no one tries to take the apples. Dream reassures Nightmare that he can do that by himself before going down to the village.

The villagers are quick to adore Dream. It is no surprise after all. Dream radiates an aura that makes those around him happy and he is happy to help. He goes to the village daily to help around and make friends.

Nightmare however is more distrustful. He remains near the tree and makes sure no one tries to take from it. The villagers are unhappy wiht him. How dare he keep the treasures of the tree to himself. He tries to explain he can't give them the apples but the villagers are quick to leave.

Dream reinforces the rule that no one can be given an apple and the villagers seem to accept this easier.

It continues on. The village keeps expanding quickly and Nightmare shares his worry that they will eventually hurt their tree and mother. Dream nods and promises his brother he will talk with the villagers.

The villagers do not stop expanding but instead gift Dream a large cape with his symbol of the sun on it. To wrap around the tree to reinforce it is special and no one is allowed to cut it.

Nightmare and Dream happily work together to secure it around the tree.

As Dream grows more and more loved by all those around him Nightmare grows more distrusted and shunned. The villagers agree him to be a bad omen and if something bad happens it must be his fault. After all, Dream is the one who helps them and makes them happy. That must mean that Nightmare is the source of what is bad.

Nightmare tries to explain this isn't the case but no one listens. He tries to explain to Dream what the villagers say but Dream just tells him to spend more time with them and get to know them.

Words change into actions. But Nightmare stays quiet. It is no use. And he doesn't wish to make his brother sad.

Wounds and broken bones are eaisly hidden by long sleeves and excuses are easy to make up. Nightmare doens't like lying but no one beleives his truths anyway. His mother reminds him that mortals are not to be trusted but try to keep Dream happy.

It all comes down to one faithful day. Nightmare begs his brother to stay with the tree but Dream had been promised a nice cup of tea from one of his friends.

Dream promises Nightmare he will return quickly after the tea.

Dream drinks it and feels sleepy soon after.

As Dream rests the villagers band together to take what they are owned. After all. They have lived her for so long and that terrible Nightmare refused to share the apples and forbid Dream from sharing them as well.

Nightmare sees them coming and reminds them again. He isn't allowed to give them the apples. As he had reminded them for the last six years of his short life-

"Six?!" Dust stares at the word. Soul beating fast. Six. They had been six. Nightmare had been six! Those... those disgusting creatures saw a babybones. a six year old and younger before that. and decided he was a horrible creature?

Dust has to take deep breaths to calm his racing soul and thundering magic. It is no use. Contain it for now. Read. Learn. Plan. Then act.

Dust quickly finds the spot where he had left off.

As he had reminded them for the last six years of his short life. He isn't allowed to share the golden apples. He can give them a purple apple-

But as soon as he offers the villagers grow more angry. How dare he try and hurt them with those harmful apples?! The apples that no doubt will cause harm and poison them!?

Nightmare was confused and unsure what to say. None of the apples cause harm. They all have ways to help someone in their own way. They just also help the multiverse as a whole. Nightmare steels his nerves and hides his fear as he repeats what he alwyas said 'I can't pick the golden apples for you. I am not allowed. Please leave.' after which he turns and returns towards the tree.

This is when a village grabs their chance. They grab a large rock and bring it down on Nightmare's skull.

It caves nad Nightmare falls down. His head hurts and he can't seen. His soul cries out for his twin. Brother. Brother where are you? Why aren't you back. You promised. You promised me.

Nightmare watches as the villagers near the tree. His mother asking and begging him to help her. That the villagers are killing her and that Nightmare needs to do something to defend her.

Nightmare doens't know what to do. he is afraid. He will die. an apple falls near him. a golden one. and in desperation he grabs it.

The golden apple's colour changes from the beautiful gold to a sickly black. it drips and shimmers. it smells sour and feels wrong. But Nightmare is afraid. He doesn't want to die. and selfishly. Eats the apple.

Dust glares "Selfish?! Selfish?!" he seethes as he looks away from the words and back to the drawing. It looks like a pencil drawing and Dust feels slightly ill. because most of his skull is done in the drawing. the crown broken and dented next to him as the rock caused most of the tiny skull to break. his whole right side is done until just above the mouth. the broken broken edge continues right over the nose bridge and just barely misses the left socket before going all the way around.

The top of his skull had been gone.

Those... They... a six year old. a babybones.

Dust's sockets find the next line and continues on.

Once he starts to eat he can't stop. As Nightmare's own negative emotions and being had infected the pure positivity that the apples were made of. As Nightmare ate the apple all of his own negative emotions came back to him. all the pain he had felt. all the anger, sadness, loneliness and betrayal. All of it came to him and it covered him.

Selfishly, Nightmare felt safe for the first time in a while. uncaring that the very thing protecting him. Would become the undoing of everyone.

Instead of just acceptance Nightmare chose the path of destruction. Once he ate one apple he could not stop himself. He ate and ate and ate.

This is when Dream wakes up. To screams on the couch of his dear friend. He looks outside and sees the tree on fire. He rushes outside and runs towards their hill. towards his brother and mother.

Only to see the damage his brother had caused-

"Are you kidding me?!" Dust glares "It wasn't his fucking fault! Why!? How!? Why faulting him when all he did was try to finally protect himself?! To finally fight back against the abuse?! To... to... fight... the fate this stupid multiverse gave him and... and..."

To... break out of his prison... to escape...

No wonder Nightmare grabbed all of them... No wonder he freed them... and what did they do? They left him alone when he needed help.

Dust shakes and ignores the fact his own view is getting misty.

Only to see the damage his brother had caused. Dream has shocked. He had always defended his brother when the villages were rude about him. Always said that his brother was jsut shy and needed patience. only for his brother to do the very thing the villagers had said he would. That Nightmare would destroy them all.

Dream stood frozen at the edge of the field. The hill covered in the dead and blooding bodies by the cut down form of his dying mother. Dream couldn't hear any words in their mother's panicked and pained screaming.

He runs forwards and reaches for her. A hand touches his shoulder and Dream turns only to be meet with a horrifying image of a black melting creature. In his panic he strikes out and hits the being in the face.

The creature takes a few steps back before raises a hand to touch the spot where he had been hit. Dream looks up afraid before his soul gives a panicked pulse. Finally seeing just who it was and who he accidentally hit in his panic.

Dust huffs "Oh yeah. excuse all of his actions because he is afraid yet punish Nightmare for it. Real good story telling there narator."

Nightmare, now corrupted, pauses before turning back to the tree that had been cut down, their dying mother. And pulls off another apple before he eats it as he stares at his brother 'Well look at that. The betrayer finally showed up. Had enough of leaving your brother to deal with everything alone? With the pain on his own? Wanted to hurt him yourself I see.'

Dream shakes as he holds out a hand 'Nightmare. Nightmare please. stop this. this isn't you.'

Nightmare tilts his skull at his brother. negativity dripping of his form. No longer hurting from physical wounds. all that burns through him is rage. Dream had left him. Dream had never been there for him. Ngihtmare smirks. 'You finally decided to see what your brother is doing? What is wrong? Wanted to make sure your dear friends had time to hurt him first? As always? Because he deserved it?'

Dream shakes 'I don't understand... why...' something hits his foot. Dream looks down and sees another apple. another golden apple. He reaches for it and picks it up. Unlike with Nightmare it doesn't get corrupted. Dream's being is perfect for the positivity and the healing it provides.

Nightmare eyes the apple before looking at Dream 'Give me that.'

Dream shakes his skull and hugs the apply close. Only for his soul to absorb the positivity. Nightmare glares but ends up laughing loudly. Dream takes a few steps back but Nightmare just smirks 'Fitting. Even when your own brother is dying you will defend those stupid villagers first.'

Dream shakes as the apple is now part of him and part of his soul 'Dying? Nighty... please i don't understand.'

Nightmare doesn't react as he turns towards the village, where more ligths are on 'That is because you never listened.' and Nightmare left towards the village. To hurt those.

Dream tried to follow but the negativity around him made him weak. The negativity his brother caused and powered made him lose his powers. With shock he realised that he was turning to stone. Dream tried to reach for his brother. To call for him.

But nobody came.

It isn't until many many years later that Dream breaks free of his stone prison. One of his old villagers friends helps him out fo the stone and tells him all abuot how Nightmare had destroyed everything in a fit of jealous rage.

Dream shakes and says it must be something else. that Ngihty would never. He begs that it must have been the apple. That eating the apple corrupted him. That the corruption must have destroyed him and taken over and done all those terrible things.

His friend asks him what he plans to do now.

Dream thinks before deciding that he will find a way to fix the corruption. the cure Nightmare and fix all the wrongdoings he has done.

The years that follow Dream grows into a formiddable warrior of light and hope. Someone who holds the care for everyone in his soul and meant to battle the darkness. Dream promises himself that he will save his brother from the corruption and makes sure everyone has their chance for a happy future.

The end

Dust stares at it. What about the balance? What about the fact that Nim clearly set one up for success and the other for failure.

What about the fact that Nightmare had been six and had been abused for years on end until that tiny six your old broke under the pressure.

That that same corruption everyone feared was the one thing keeping him safe and giving him power?

Dust stares at the pages for a long time. Things starting to shift around in his mind as a clearer picture starts to form.

"Dusty? Are you here? Found anything?"

Dust traces the crown and feels a small dent and finds the fixed cracks.

All this time he had been working on the balance and trying to right his own wrongs. That had never been wrongs, at least not in Dust's opinion. The wrongs a desperate child made o finally feel safe.

And the very multiverse and fate decided to punish him for it.

Dust's grip tightens on the crown. And they had abandoned him. As soon as his powers started to leave. No doubt the magic of the apples reaching their limits. As soon as Nightmare started to return to his original form. They abandoned him.

Nightmare is somewhere in the multiverse. As the original version of himself. the version he was before he ate the apples. six years old and probably hurt.

Woudl he even have his memories?

"Dust?"

Dust looks up from the book and sees three familiar faces in the doorway. Cross frowns as he takes a few steps closer "You are... crying."

Dust doens't bother to fix it as he feels the book "Nightmare... Nightmare was never an adult."

Shock as Killer is suddenly by his side "Waht the fuck do you mean?"

Dust just hands both the book and crown over as he speaks "He was suposed to be six." he nods at the book "See that name? Notice any specific pattern?"

Killer stares "Dreamtale-" he stops and stares at them as he points from person to person "Dusttale, Dust. Horrortale, Horror. X-tale, Cross." Killer stops and stares down "Dreamtale..."

Dust nods "I don't think... I don't think Nightmare was ever originally meant to leave his story."

Killer opens the book and starts reading. Dust sees Horror and Cross join him as well. That is okay. Dust needs a moment.

They are going to have to find him before Nightmare finishes referting back to his real age. Dust does not want to know if those wounds that he had had would remain.

----

First. Prev. Next.

[ancientstone]

Useful tip for people looking for gift ideas - look up museum online gift shops. Start out with your local museums, then google 'museums in [city name]'. Cycle through different cities to find different museums.

You can usually find things like transport museums, art museums, science museums, military museums, special exhibition souvenirs, tons of stocking filler gifts for kids, plus you can buy yourself the prehistoric animal plushie you were denied as a child.

[sure-i-exist]

Need more life series art where the armour resource pack is used as an excuse to give everyone sparkly shoulder pads and leg warmers

[scuderlia]

i still can't believe that he said this

[allthesmiles]

Rainworld Art month, Day 2: Submerged Superstructure!

Yeah yeah i know the last one i made could've counted as a day two post aswell, since it included the Heart but screw it, May as well have some more fun with it.

I took way longer than i should've on this lmao, hope ya'll enjoy!

(in all honesty I may redo this one specifically, Not exactly the most proud of this one)

[akindplace]

Most of my highschool experiences were not fun and we very unhinged but I have a fun story that happened in my school even though I was not actively participating in it.

We didn’t have detention like in American schools but if you chatted in class and the teacher asked you to leave, you’d get a suspension. Basically, the slightest disruption would get you suspended. And in a suspended day you still had to go to school and study quietly in an empty room or in the library, and that was how I ended up in another classroom alone with a few other kids that weren’t from the same year as me. We got to talk when no one was watching us and shared why we got suspended in the first place.

If you were born in the late 90s/early 00s you might remember a cartoon called ed, edd n eddy that had a character that carried around a piece of wood called plank.

A table from their classrooms broke off, and a kid drew plank’s face on it, and everyone started acting like it had sentience. As they would, they elected it a class representative. And they were having so much fun with it that they decided to break off some more desks to make more planks… until staff noticed that there were just too many broken desks. They started to crack down on the students, trying to figure out why they were doing that, so the students decided to dump all the planks into the toilets (which they were of course ridiculously too big for), flushed, and everything got clogged.

The administration found out who it was and they got suspended. This is the type of stuff that could only work on the mind of bored 15 year old kids, but still… the more they tried to punish kids in my school, the weirder things would get. No one learned their lesson because everyone thought it was too funny, as teenagers would. Oh, to be 15 and so ridiculously bored…

Anyway, I was on my last year of school, and after I left the stories there just got progressively worse (and not funny at all) as the administration tried to get stricter. I don’t miss it at all, but I hope the kids are okay.

[verfound]

FIC: "The Rain had Other Ideas" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024; Lemony Fresh)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

Mind the rating - this one's a bit explicit 🖤

Read on Ao3

Prompt 13: City Walks

Neither of them had been ready to call it a night yet.  Dinner was long past done, the bill had been paid, and the staff was starting to give them not-so-subtle little Looks that suggested they needed to vacate their table.  It was Friday night in Paris, after all, and they were far from the only customers waiting for service that night.  He had suggested taking a walk, because more than anything he had just wanted a little more time with her.  It was a nice night out: a little cloudy, a little cool, but not so bad that they wouldn’t enjoy some time strolling around the city catching up.

It had been too long, after all.  Since they’d seen each other for longer than a handful of minutes.  Since they’d both been in the same city for more than a handful of days.  Since she’d been able to remember what calm felt like, with his hand in hers and his presence grounding her.  Since he’d been able to get lost in the melody that always seemed to pour out of her, his favorite song for as long as he could remember.

He hadn’t wanted the night to end.  Not yet.

He hadn’t wanted them to be over.  Not so soon.

Not again.

Neither had she.

…the weather had had other ideas.

Her flat was closer than his, and added the luxury of no nosy sisters or sister-in-laws interrupting them with gentle ribbing or excited squeals.  And they’d both been soaked by the time they slipped through her door, so what happened next…

Well.

Could anyone really blame them?

Especially when she fell back against the door as soon as it was closed, looking up at him from under her lashes as her teeth pressed down on her lip, biting back a breathless laugh.  It was too easy to step closer, to rest his arms on either side of her, to crowd into her space just enough…

He waited.  Because of course he did – of course he was leaving the choice up to her, just like he always did – but she didn’t want to wait.  Not anymore.  Neither was really sure who moved first – whether he leaned in to close that last bit of distance, or if she tugged him down from the hands already fisted in his wet shirt – but the next thing either knew their mouths were pressed together in a hot, hungry kiss.

It was their first kiss.

It…didn’t feel like a first kiss.

It felt like a long time coming.

Like coming home.

Like neither was ready to be satisfied with just a kiss, and maybe that’s why.  Why his hoodie ended up on the floor by their feet, why her dress was already hanging open with the fingers steadily picking at the buttons moving lower and lower – and God damn it all, what masochist ever decided a dress needed that many buttons and how pissed would she be if he just…ripped the last few?  Why his mouth was already trailing along her jaw and down her neck and to the expanse of Marinette now open to him.  Why her head was already falling back against the door as she pushed herself closer, desperate for more and that and him.

He slid a little as his knees hit the wet floor – but that was only a reminder of how wet their clothes were, and wasn’t there some sage old wisdom about getting out of wet clothes before you caught cold?  He was still fumbling with the last few buttons – he wasn’t sure if the dress was a gift or a torture device anymore – when he noticed her shivering, her skin icy cold beneath his lips.  He did rip the last few when her fingers twisted in his hair and tugged, and she supposed she would have to forgive him for that – it wasn’t her favorite dress anyway, too many damn buttons – as he rose back up to press her against the door, covering her body with his own.

…even if his clothes were still wet, and they still needed gone, somehow it was still warmer.  With him against her like that.  It shouldn’t have been, she thought absently, but with his lips and hands on her like that…

But they had no idea what they were doing, beyond some carnal, primal instinct to get closer, so it was too easy for her to do a little hop-skip-jump, with the idea that she was going to be sexy and bold and lock her legs around his waist – just like all the romcoms said she was supposed to at this point – and…accidentally knee him in the groin.  And he dropped her as he stumbled back, his arms suddenly bracing against the door for an entirely different reason, but he was laughing – breathless, strained laughing – as he shook his head.  A thousand apologies tumbled from her lips, but the look in his eyes when he raised his head…his mouth was back on hers in a flash, and then she was squeaking when his hands cupped her ass and hauled her against him, lifting her just enough that she could scramble herself into position.

…neither really noticed, when her heels – because she wore heels now, and if that hadn’t royally fucked with his head when he’d met her at the restaurant earlier – dropped to the floor behind them, but he definitely noticed when her feet pushed just so against his ass.

And then he was moving, carrying her deeper into the flat – until his thighs banged into her coffee table.  They were both laughing as he stumbled towards the couch, dropping onto it less than gracefully as she asked if he was all right.  He kept her settled on top of him, and he was nuzzling her neck as he made some quip about how she was literally going to kill him.

He would still be hard-pressed to say what he’d meant, if what ultimately ended up killing him was her minefield of a flat or the sight (feel) of her half-dressed and sprawled out on his lap like…

…it was easier to carry on from here, though, so she just reached for his shirt and tugged it over his head.  There was a whispered promise about how that was the plan before she started kissing along his neck, and for a long moment he just…sat there, soaking up the moment.  Taking it all in: the feel of her against him, of her lips trailing fire along his skin, of fingers dancing down his chest.  To let his own hands wander, slipping into her open dress and sliding along smooth, smooth skin, until he was moving her arms back and watching her sleeves drop lower and lower, until the dress was barely a memory on the floor behind them.  To creep his hands higher, to find the hooks of her bra and, after a moment of curious fiddling, slip them open.  It was harder to be a passive participate once the straps slid down her shoulders and the cups dropped, revealing her perfect, creamy breasts to him.

They were lost in each other, ignorant to the world beyond the little space that was them and here and now.  Hawkmoth could come crashing through her balcony doors – not that he would, now that he’s been rotting in prison two, going on three years now – and it wouldn’t be enough to pull her away from him.  From the way his breath caught when she started fiddling with his belt – or how his hips rose to meet her when she started sliding his jeans off him.  How other things had already risen to meet her, and oh if that wasn’t something she wanted to spend the rest of the night – the rest of every night – exploring.  She had put him – them – on hold for too long, and now that she had him – now that he had her – neither were willing to give the other up.

Why had they waited so long?

Why had they spent so many years on wasted not yets and next times and somedays?

She remembered having a passing thought that first dates – first times – weren’t supposed to be like this, that maybe they were moving too fast, that maybe she should stop before they went too far…but too far was accepting his dinner invitation in the first place, and by the time he was hovering over her, desperate blue eyes searching her own as a whispered you’re sure? left his lips…there was nowhere else she’d rather be.  No one else she’d ever wanted to be with.

She’d made her choice, a long time ago.  She was just sorry it had taken her so long to finally act on it.

(…there had never been a choice, for him.  It had always been her.  It always would be.)

If kissing him had felt like coming home, she didn’t know how to describe the moment he was finally inside her.  He had no sooner pushed in than he’d stilled, and she was grateful for that – for the chance to adjust, to breathe, to just…be.  And maybe he needed that moment, too, so overwhelmed by the feelings – both physical and emotional, so much more than he had ever anticipated – suddenly crashing over him like the tide.  No, not…not suddenly, because there was never any suddenly with Marinette, but it was suddenly all too real, too much.

They were doing this.

They were finally doing this.

And she was clinging to him like she never wanted to let go – never wanted him to let go – and that was everything he had ever wanted.  And yeah, he needed a minute, to just lay there against her and soak it all in, to breathe and gather himself – as much as he wanted to gather her.  She moved first, her hand squeezing his shoulder as her face turned towards him, her nose brushing along his neck as she pushed out a steadying breath.  He felt like he was shaking, overwhelmed with it all, but maybe that was her – maybe it was both of them.  But then she was pushing up, lifting her hips just enough to press against his own, and a strangled little moan that sounded like move left her – and that was all the encouragement he needed.

And oh, once he started moving again…she surrendered herself to the moment, for once letting her brain shut off and letting herself just…be.  Every aching dream, every longing fantasy, the reality was so much better.  The feel of his lips on her skin, his cock buried inside her, the hand tangled in her hair and gently pulling with every thrust…it was so much better than she had ever dared to hope.  And when he shifted and sunk even deeper, hitting her just there…

If he had thought just being inside her was good, it had nothing on when she came.  She had already been gripping him so tight, but the way she clenched as her entire body tensed, trembling beneath him…he slowed, barely dragging out of her before sinking back in, over and over – anything to make the moment last longer.  Her head fell back, a quiet cry slipping past her lips, and oh.

He wanted more of that.

He wanted to hear that again, and louder, and for the rest of his life, if she’d let him.

He found himself redoubling his efforts, moving harder and faster against her until she was clinging to him again, barely hanging on as he drove her back to that point – back over that point, until it wasn’t just a cry but an outright scream she was gifting him with, and the groan that left him when she clamped down on his cock…

Her kisses were feather-light, little touches peppered along his neck and across his chest as she melted back into the couch.  Her lips lingered over his heart, searing his skin before her head fell back and hazy, satisfied eyes gleamed up at him.  He moved in for another kiss, his hand finding hers and holding it tightly as he pushed in and stilled, and God he was close…her other arm tightened around his shoulders, and her toes tickled along the back of his thigh, and he grunted as he pulled back and sank back in.

He wanted this to last.  He wanted to stay right where he was, safe inside her, forever.  He wanted to exhaust her, to make her come again and again until she was exhausted from the pleasure.  There was a part of him, a terrifyingly large part, that feared if he gave in, if he let this end…he didn’t want it to end.  He didn’t want them to end.  He…

“Let go,” she whispered in his ear, nipping by the stud before nuzzling her cheek against his.  “Come for me, Luka.”

And that was all he needed.  He snapped into her again, one, two, three more unsteady jerks of his hips, and then he was stilling against her as he emptied himself into her heat.  Her walls spasmed, fluttering around him, and he wasn’t sure if she was coming again – coming with him – or just still that sensitive from the last time, but the mewling little noise she made in his ear was one of his new favorite songs.

She was his favorite song, now more than ever, and he didn’t know how he could ever let her go.  Not again.  He wanted to spend the rest of his life…the rest of their lives learning how to play each other, familiarizing himself with their harmony until it was the only song he knew.  And maybe he was crazy, maybe it was moving way too fast, but when they had both finally started to come down and he was curled up behind her, nuzzling her neck as he fought the need to sleep he could feel drifting on the edges…maybe it was stupid, but it was too easy to voice that desire.

“…stay with me,” he whispered, begged, into her skin, and maybe it wasn’t so crazy, after all.  She was twisting suddenly, nearly knocking them off the couch – and God, she was going to hate herself for that later, because it was so much harder to clean a couch than a bed and they’d have so much more room besides – as she reached for his face, pulling it back to hers and kissing him as feverishly as she had before.

“Luka Couffaine, you silly, stupid, impossible man…” she breathed against his lips, her eyes burning into his, “…where else would I go?”

Outside, over the city, it rained on.  Inside, neither noticed as they drifted off, content to stay exactly where they were for the foreseeable future.

(…well.  Almost exactly where they were – Luka was willing to concede that the bed was a better option when Marinette moved in her sleep, rolling off the side of the couch and accidentally tugging him after her.  More room for lanky rock stars, she said.

Warmer, too.

And dryer.)

[crows-of-buckets]

I wish Kieran had been a companion in dav. Obviously I know all the reasons why he wasn't (and could never be) one but that's not the point. It would have been so fun...

Kieran is there w/o his mom knowing (he thinks his mom doesn't know at least. He's having a bit of a rebellious stage and Morrigan is letting him do as he please. She's keeping tabs on him but only to make sure he doesn't get himself killed)

He would be recruited during the crossroads section. What niche does he fill? Randomly starts spewing archdemon crap idk something something old god.

He gets along very well with Emmrich and Bellara. Davrin is a little freaked out by how much he knows about secret warden stuff. He doesn't have strong opinions on Neve and Taash. He's very nervous around Lucanis (Everytime he makes dinner, his mother's stories of Zevran flash though his head. He KNOWS that he should be checking his food a little better. A crow making their meals...)

I think his companion quests would focus around his complicated relationship with how he was born. Because like. Before he lost the old god soul it never bothered him but now that it's gone... I think he'd be a little freaked out about it. Idk what his outcomes would be, or how they would play out but. I will probably continue to think on it. I also think he might still be able to hear the archdemons in a way that even the wardens can't, so he'd be like. Their archdemon expert. Davrin is there to kill the archdemons, Kieran is there to listen to it while mumbling incomprehensibly under his breath

[alphabetcompletionist]

hello, yes. @periodiccompletionist swayed me to Sentinels of the Multiverse hard enough that i made a proper charlie card for funs. they did the text of the front face like months ago but i'm dolling it up now. look at my child.

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

26/26

[sysig]

Wake up somewhere better, maybe (Patreon)