#I don't know how to write horror

[destiel-the-one-and-only]

Slice of Life

Warnings -> 18+ content, mdni, violence, death, slight horror, crime committing, usual supernatural things Authors Note -> I really wanted to do a short on Cas and Dean on a hunt together, so welcome to my very first slice of life fic! Hope you enjoy !!

Dean awoke to the smell of coffee wafting into his room. He opened his eyes to Cas standing in the doorway with two mugs in his hand, a routine of theirs when Sam was gone. He was in California, chasing a lead of his own, something about a Crocotta making phone calls again. Dean wasn't quite sure, Sam was somewhat erratic before he left.

"I found us a case, Dean. A couple drained of blood in Winona, Minnesota."

"Okay, get the car packed, I'll be out in thirty minutes." Cas turned to leave the room. "Cas. The coffee please."

"Oh, yes, sorry Dean." Cas set the coffee on his bedside table and took off towards the armory. He loaded the duffel bags with blades, two pistols, and a few vials of dead man's blood. From the news report, it sounded like a vampire to Cas. Thirty minutes later, Dean emerged from his room in his usual jeans, t-shirt, and button up. He had his personal duffel slung over his shoulder and the empty coffee cup in his other hand. Cas wasn't very good at cooking, but coffee, he understood coffee.

Dean and Cas loaded into Baby and started off their drive. It was 8 hours, and as much as Cas wanted to zap them there, Dean insisted on driving. 'It's the driving that makes the hunt, Cas' he had said. After three hours of open road, they rolled up to a small gas station. Dean gave Cas thirty dollars to get pie, beef jerky, a soda, and gas with whatever was left, while Dean went to the bathroom around the back. Coming back to Castiel in the car, Dean pumped their gas, and started their trip again.

AC/DC played over the radio as the two men pulled up to the police station. Now in suits, they gathered their FBI badges and entered the station, heading towards the morgue.

"Hi there, Agent Smith, this is my partner Agent Smith, no relation. We were curious about the couple that were drained two days ago?" Dean asked the morgue doctor.

"Yeah, right this way. It's unusual, agent. I've never seen anything like this before." she said as she led them down the hall.

"Did you notice anything weird about the body, you know other than the missing blood?"

"Yeah, I did. Two holes on his neck, right under his ear. Take a look for yourself." She pulled back the cover, revealing a graying body. "It's like someone stuck two needles in his neck right before he died."

"Yeah, that is weird," Dean replied, exchanging a knowing look with Castiel. "Well, thank you, doctor. We will be in touch if we need anything else. Have a nice day."

Cas and Dean went back to the car, and left for the motel. After getting checked in and unpacking, they sat down at the small table to do their research.

"Our victims are Britney and Spencer Paul, married for two years, and they were on a camping trip when the vampire killed them. I thought vampires stuck to more populated areas." Cas started off.

"Not always. Nests usually do just because it's easier for them to find shelter and food, but rogue vampires absolutely hunt in the woods."

"We should start looking in the forest then Dean."

"That's a good idea Cas. You go do that, and I will get us some burgers and go talk to the family."

Cas and Dean went their separate ways for the time being. Cas went off to the forest where the couple was last seen alive. It was still day out, but the trees made it seem much darker. Cas felt alone, a little too alone, without Dean here. He felt vulnerable, which for an angel was weird. Everything was scared of them, not the other way around. It turned out to be a bust, Cas found no trace of a vampire, or even anything happening at the campground.

Dean on the other hand, found something. He spoke to the family, undercover as a journalist, and heard things he already knew. Leaving and heading towards the local burger joint, he tried calling Cas, only to realize he left his phone in the car. He started towards the burger place while the last hour of sunlight shined on his back and was hit on the head with a wooden board upon entering.

Waking up to find himself tied to a chair, Dean struggled against his restraints. He wasn't sure what happened, but knew it was the vampire they were hunting. He wasn't sure how long he had been out, but it was dark outside now, so it had to have been at least an hour.

Cas arrived back at the motel, expecting to see his partner there waiting with food. Cas was instead greeted by the sight of Dean's car missing from the parking lot, no food, and an empty room. Cas panicked for a moment before calming himself and remembering what Dean said earlier. 'I'm getting us burgers' or something like that. Cas decided to go to the burger shop to see if Dean was caught up there.

When Cas arrived at the restaurant, he found Dean's car in the parking lot, duffel bag still in the trunk. Cas worried, knowing it should not have ever taken this long to talk to family and get food. He slid his angel blade down his sleeve and into his palm. He entered the shop with caution, weary as to what was awaiting him beyond the door.

Nobody was in the front of the store, and after doing a full sweep, Cas made his way back to the kitchen. Upon entering, he found Dean tied to the chair. "Thank God you found me Cas. The vampire was never in the woods." Dean was cut loose by his angel partner, and they began searching for the vampire. Dean walked lowly and quietly awaiting any type of movement.

Cas continued to walk forward, not paying much attention to his surroundings. Dean yelled 'LOOK OUT' ras the vampire popped around a corner, going straight for Cas. He reacted quickly stabbing the vampire in the chest with his angel blade, and stepped back for Dean to cut the head off.

After they buried the body, they stopped in a bar for a couple drinks, to try and blow off some steam. They drank, talked, laughed, and played darts before finally heading back to the motel for the night. Waking up the next morning, Dean packed up the car, checked out of the motel, and started his 8 hour drive home with Castiel in the passenger seat holding a full pie.

[livecrow]

You've been kidnapped by the local butcher and he convinces you he's going to fucking eat you.

DARK!Ghost x fat fem reader

CWs: rape, dehumanization, gaslighting, bondage, undiscussed kink(?), animal play(?), threats and talk of cannibalism but no actual cannibalism

A tidied up and extended ramble I subjected @391780 to on anon. Inspired directly from their post where Butcher!Simon draws a diagram of beef cuts on you.

It’s pretty immediately obvious he’s a murderer. He’s probably a serial killer for all you know.

In reality, Simon doesn’t consider himself a serial killer, despite his body count. He’s just someone who doesn’t have qualms dealing with nuisances. He’s a retired vet, after you’d killed enough people, what’s a few more? 

No, his kills were just business, practical. They were men who made the mistake of getting in his way, of being inconvenient. Most, anyway—there’s at least one or two whose only crime was being an especially annoying cunt. Sometimes, some people  “jus’ need killin’”. 

As a butcher, he does find the implication funny, but no, he’s not eaten any of the scum he’s off’ed. “Don’t serve ‘em up to customers, neither”. After all, Simon’s got far higher standards than that. They weren’t even fit for dog food and he has a reputation to uphold. No one can compete with his quality. 

No, you’re nothing like them. You’re special.

Never in his life had he seen a prettier creature—and you’re absolutely prime. He’s salivating just looking at you, plump and oh so soft. He can see it in the way your skin wobbles gently as you move about. Simon couldn't find a straight line on you. And he’s looked. He’s been transfixed watching you, aching.

You live your life meandering obliviously, no brand in sight, not even a tag on your ear. He's surprised no one else snatched you up. Poor thing left to fend for itself ‘s cruel. Nothing else to it. 

Wrangling you was simple, it’s not like your large form actually offered you anything towards your defense. It was easy, really. Your lack of instincts was staggering, it was even more shocking that you lasted this long, he almost couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

You were clueless to the danger, even when it was directly in front of you, it only endeared you to him. Your eyes roved over him, not paying him any mind, just carrying on about your undoubtedly inane business. Only when he was on you and it was too late did you start to kick up a fuss.

The look of panic on your face was just priceless. All this crying and babbling nonsense like, “What are you doing?!” and “Stop!”.

Simon's main concern was not damaging you too much, he was careful. Just a single huge bicep around your neck and any fight you had seemingly evaporated with fright. You're bent over in a headlock, his grip as rigid as a pillory, but he’s not applying enough pressure to actually choke you. You’re just forced helplessly to come along or be dragged.

Not that it would have mattered if you were too wild to be led, he would simply tighten his hold, and allow up a quick nap. He’d pull out the dolly, load up the truck and be on his way.

On the big stainless steel work table the metal stings you even through your clothes. Unfortunately for you, even that scant protection doesn't last. The sight of the shears was enough to paralyze you again, and with a handful of strategic snips, Simon rips your last vestiges of humanity from you. All your skin transforms to gooseflesh, shivering on the table, but your nipples is where his roaming gaze finally settles.

He’ll have to remember to adjust the heat later. After all, “‘s a bit early to start chillin’ you”, he’d chuckle. You were a bit of silly thing, he thought. Maybe it’d be a minute till you’d actually catch on.

You're his little prize. Simon will coddle you, give you plenty of softness and warmth. You’ll not want for blankets, pillows, and other such treats, but not a stitch of clothing will ever touch your skin again. There would be no hiding your nakedness.

“Clothes? Clothes ‘re for people, what y’ need clothes for?” he scoffed. You don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s a question, because he doesn’t want you to answer. A dog doesn’t answer “who's a good boy?” does he? 

He’s measuring you, jotting things down. You think distantly that the pencil looks puny in his fist. While he's at it, he's feeling and squeezing every inch of you. You’re groped and prodded like some saran wrapped package of beef at the grocery store.

Only when you think there’s finally a reprieve, you’re being hogtied. You’re trussed up in practically half a roll of twine, fat bulging between the strands, desperate to escape its bite. Simon says it looks good on you, can’t resist taking one of your new little rolls between his fingers, giving you a teasing pinch. You struggle of course, but the terrifying man commands you to “Settle”, says the only thing your fussing will get you is rope burn. 

He claps you on the ass affectionately, assuring you that the scratchy string is only temporary. He knows a guy for leather, does good work. All hand stitched. Simon will have a proper harness made for you. Something with a lot of d-rings. It will be more comfortable for you and he can situate you how he likes with minimal bruising or chaffing. 

As he admires your skin, he’ll remark offhandedly that he’ll have to ""'ave somethin' from you" too. He’s not usually one to bother, but it’d be a travesty to waste hide like yours. Couldn’t find more supple could y’? He hasn’t decided what’ll be yet, he’ll need to do some maths to figure out how much material you'll make. Behind his mask and the façade of impassivity, he savors your reaction. That’d be about the first time your consciousness flees from you.

Simon will lay it on thick, praise how "well-marbled" you are. Delectable. So plump and well-fed, you can't blame him for any of this, really. He'll say something about kobe beef and taking good care of you. He’ll massage you daily, knead every inch of you between his huge oiled hands. He'd take his time, temple t' toes. You couldn’t get a knot in a muscle if you tried.

Your more delicate bits don’t escape his tender ministrations either. He takes painstaking work in rubbing your insides down with thick fingers, wringing orgasms from you until you're limp and still as the rest of the meat in his shop. Says it’s good for the flavor, will make you even sweeter.

It’s all completely horrifying, it has to be a nightmare. He says all this so casually, like he’s telling you the time of day. This man is truly completely deranged. 

His hands are always on you, it’s never fucking ending. He's taken it upon himself that you never “exert” yourself and you have no choice in the matter. Bastard won’t even let your hands free to eat or bathe. He "grooms" you. Brushes your hair, trims your nails, cleans your teeth, brushes, lathers, rinses, dries, moisturizes your skin. It’s humiliating and you hate every second of it.

The juxtaposition is too much, the horror and absurdity of it all. All the restraints and manhandling, your looming demise, while insisting on soft surfaces for you, water temperature just right, food carefully curated and cut up just so. He won’t let anything happen to spoil the meat.

He doesn’t spare any expense on your “feed” either. You eat what he eats, might as well be eating off his plate. Albeit simple, it’s good food, you don't see a point in denying it. It's fresh and flavorful and to no one’s surprise it includes a lot of meat. Always from his shop of course, only the best for you.

He’ll bring out some new parcel every night for dinner, unfolding the brown paper wrapping, holding up to you to admire his work. “‘S a ribeye”. He goes on about the marbling, the even color of the meat. “Couldn’t find fresher” he’d say, "was only jus' bleedin' this mornin'".

You’re his captive audience. There’s nothing else you can do but warily watch him make dinner, even if seeing a blade in his hand gives your heart palpitations. Steak, sautéed mushrooms, jacket potatoes, roasted broccoli.

You’ve long since stopped fighting him when it comes to meals. Because it can always get worse. After being bent over on the floor, forced to eat off a dish without the use of your hands, you’d resigned yourself to the fact that eating off his fork was a sufferable compromise. Still, if he’s in a mood he won’t even allow that. You'll eat off his fingers, and he’ll laugh at your expense and chide you when you inevitably “make a mess”. 

The food was prepared, but this time the kitchen knife didn’t leave his grasp. It wasn’t a steak knife. It was too big and not serrated, but that didn’t seem to bother Simon. It certainly bothered you. Its presence loomed like a guillotine in your peripheral.

He feeds you bites between his own. Every mouthful and he looks so pleased. You desperately missed his mask at meal times. At least then you couldn’t see his smug fucking face.

On the plate the steam billows and curls. The meat gives easily under your molars, practically melts in your mouth. Hot and rich and juicy, it’s basted in butter, with garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary, seasoned with cracked peppercorn and flakey sea salt. It’s a touch rarer than you’d like. 

You wish you were capable of escaping the horror of it all for even a second, pretend you were anywhere else, with anyone else.

Simon punctuated his first bite with a low rumble of approval, watching you with those dark, cavernous eyes. He’d continued in that way, a man content in silence.

”...you'll taste better.”

He waited until your last bite to say it, maybe that was mercy on his part. The meat transformed in your mouth, became sinewy and bitter. You couldn’t swallow, and went to spit it out. But he expected that apparently, was on you in a second. Giant rough hand sealed over your lips, practically enclosing the bottom half of your face, smooshing your cheeks up into your eyes. 

“Chew.”

It takes longer than usual, but you try to obey. His hand hasn’t moved from your mouth.

“Swallow.”

His eyes move from yours to your neck, his thumb grazing your throat lightly, tracing the bite’s trajectory as you force it down. His eyes are back on you then. 

With Simon’s free hand he deftly pierces the last drippy morsel off the plate with the knife, popping it between his scarred lips. The hand still on you moves, migrates to cup your jaw, gradually starting to squeeze. You don’t have any fight left and open before it becomes painful.

Fear paralyzes you again, when he brings the knife towards you.

The movement is slow, as if he’s actually concerned about frightening you. He’s holding it longwise, pointed off to the side.

Then it’s on your tongue.

He drags the flat of the blade’s length across the trembling muscle, leisurely, only moving it away to flip it and clean the other side, myoglobin discarded on your tongue 

“They’ll say ’m ‘spoilin’ ‘er rotten’. Eatin’ off my own plate, sleepin' in my own bed, warm under my roof. Keepin’ you safe indoors. Such a sweet, tame thing, are you?”. He strokes your cheek, wiping at a drip at the corner of your mouth with a thumb before popping that in his mouth too.

Whenever Simon’s put up enough with your smart mouth, he enjoys the look of your wide wet eyes and your trembling lips stretched around a padded ring gag.

The sounds you make when gagged are special little nonsense noises, almost like you're trying to talk like a person would. Sweet, pitiful sounds. He also loves when wet, choked sobs that cascade out of your open mouth, forcing you to drool. “You’re so messy, sweet’eart. Nose runnin’, too.” Says you're leaking from practically every hole. Eyes, nose, mouth, cunt.

Sometimes, you might almost be fooled into thinking he feels sorry for you in those moments when you're hyperventilating and hysterical, or wailing so mournfully. He always hushes you when you're crying, pets and hold you, dries your face, as if he’s not the cause of your tears. Despite how much Simon adores the taste of them, adores the soft jingling of the little cow bell tied ‘round your throat when your whole body quivers with sobs, the stress will sour the meat. He’ll say as much, but surprisingly it doesn’t help calm you down.

If it was necessary, he's not opposed to sedation. After all, he's done the research to find one that won't affect your flavor. But most of the time, his solution to your despair is yet another thorough fucking. Dopamine to counteract the stress.

Simon forces the orgasms out of your body as easily as he forces his cock into it, you're utterly helpless to stop either. His livelihood is working with his hands and unfortunately he’s damn good at it. When all's said and done and you're spent, he’ll lightly chastise you for working yourself up, for fussing.

He loves the heft of you in his hands, weighs your heavy tits in his palms, grips your ample belly. Simon can't resist taking mouthfuls of you into his mouth, worrying your supple fat with his incisors. Your tits, ass, thighs, arms, belly, back fat, hell, your double chin. It doesn't matter, any squishy bit of you. You're always afraid he might be getting impatient, that he’ll take a bite out of you, but he never does. Simon says he's just sampling, maybe tenderizing you a little. 

His favorite taste of yours is still between your legs. He has you thank him for being so careful there. Past you inner thighs and plump mons, the pressure of his teeth yields, feeling barely a graze. 

He likes putting mirrors in front of you, says he wants you to see how lovely you are. Your hands are clipped together, chain snagged in one of the shop's many meathooks, just low enough that you don’t strain your shoulders or quite have to stand on your tiptoes.

He directs you to watch, popping the lid off of a permanent marker with a squeak.

He maneuvers you this way and that as he works, dragging the marker down your body. His lines are surprisingly clean considering his canvas is such a pliant, organic shape. Hands are as steady as a surgeon. The marker tickled terribly on skin, the ethanol smell burning your nose, making it hard to think.

It only took a minute to recognize what he was doing. Your skin itches under the felt tip. You flail, trying desperately to smear it, to muss his work, but the ink dries too quickly.

Simon wouldn't let you keep your eyes closed, so in that moment you were grateful for the onslaught of tears blurring your vision somewhat.

That day, he showed you all your different cuts, as if you cared, as if you were together enough to pay attention.

Chuck, rib, loin, sirloin, rump, round, flank, plate, brisket, shank.

He tells you which are his favorite. Tells you which of his mates he’ll have over to enjoy you, ponders what pieces he’ll think they’ll like best. How to cook different cuts to get the best effect, that some cuts are naturally tougher and have to be cooked slowly, while the other cuts are tender and fatty, can be cooked at a higher temperature, quicker. 

From the very beginning, he’s referenced the “Big Day”.

He’ll ask if you're excited over the shinnnnk of a knife against a whetstone. Simon always keeps his tools in order, clean and sharpened expertly, but he thinks he'll polish them up extra shiny for the occasion. To a mirror finish, so you can see yourself. You're so beautiful, it'd be a cryin' shame for you to miss it. 

It’s been months now you’ve been with him and the day never comes. 

...

You didn't dare question it.

But if you did, Simon would just chuckle, amused that you're so eager. Maybe he'll say that he decided he wants some milk from you instead.

[sunnymainecoonx]

How many people witnessed softie food addict horror who needed something in his mouth or he would actively kill and turn to cannibalism 🧍‍♀️ or was that just me.... anyways honestly it was silly.. he'd maybe get along with cook horror... I just like fanon crossovers guys*sadge

Anyways canon horror is also silly(really silly. What an asshole, man)(no seriously he's actually such an asshole.. I might love him for that but-) I don't think he would get along with the others(loser)

[caeslxys]

Something I think is extremely interesting thematically when it comes to connecting what Downfall and the ideas it tackled to the overarching narrative of campaign three is that the things Downfall made a point to showcase of Aeor—Cassida, Hallis, the visual of an aeormaton proposing to her partner, the specific and intentional decision to shed light on a far from insignificant amount of the population being civilians or refugees—is that it plays in perfect parallel across from what is happening (and, really, has been happening) to the ruidusborn on Exandria in present.

Bear with me for a moment. Aeor is ultimately a city that was collectively punished for the decisions of its leadership. We could (and, judging by the amount of discourse around this particular topic already, probably will) argue about what the Gods’ motivation for all of this was—whether it be that they could not, in the end, bear to kill their siblings or that they were terrified at the prospect of mortality—for me it is a very healthy dose of both—but for this I am much more interested in the latter. They were scared. That, really, is the driving force behind both this arc and their role in c3 as a whole.

Why I point this out is: It is far more interesting to me, especially as we go back to Bells Hells this week, to dissect the Gods and their decisions not purely on sympathetic motivation alone but as beings in the highest seat of power in the highest social class in Exandria.

So, having established that the Gods (in relation to mortals) are more a higher social class than anything we could compare to our real life understanding of divinity and that Aeor was eviscerated largely because of their fear—what is the difference between those innocents in Aeor caught in the trappings of their autocratic government leadership and a divine war on the ground, and those of the ruidusborn being manipulated both by Ludinus and by the very thing that inspired such visceral fear in the Gods to start with. I would argue very little.

I think of Cassida, doing what she genuinely thought was right and good and would save people, her son, and the object of her worship—and how that did not matter enough to any of them to spare her because of the fear they held at the very concept of mortality. I think of Liliana and Imogen, one of which we know begged for the gods to help her or send her a sign for years on years, and how every single one of their largest struggles could have been avoided had the gods loved them, their supposed children, as much as they feared what they could be. I think of how the thing that did save Imogen, in the end, was a woman who herself existed in direct defiance of the gods will. I think of that young boy, sixteen years old, that Laudna exalted on Ruidus.

I think it’s completely fair to judge Aeor’s overall society as deeply corrupt—it was!—but its leadership and police force are not a reflection of every one of its citizens. Similarly, it is fair to judge the Ruby Vanguard as corrupt—it is!—but its multiple heads of leadership and even the god-eater further are not a reflection of every one of its members.

Notably, and what I think the Hells will latch onto, this did not matter to the Gods. It did not matter that Cassida was trying to help. She was still too much of a risk. Will it matter, what Imogen does? Will it matter, if that young boy is in the blast radius when they decide to take no further chances?

I’ve seen a lot of people say that the Hells will side with the gods and I don’t think I agree. Especially as Imogen has been scolded and villainized over and over for daring to try and save her mother—who herself has been seen by some as an irredeemable evil in spite of her drive being the exact same—her family—but when it’s the Gods it’s justified? When it’s the Gods, it’s sympathetic? Too sympathetic to criticize further than “they’re family”?

I obviously do not think the Gods should die or be eaten or what have you, and I certainly don’t agree with Ludinus (though I find him much more compelling than just a variation of hubris wizard), but when talking about the Gods in Aeor and in present it isn’t really at all about their motivation or their family. It can’t be. Too many people, including our active protagonists, lives have been effected for it to be as cut and dry as “they’re family”. These are your children. They are your family, too.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Training

I am back with this AU :D @spotaus

This drabble is a lot earlier than the last few drabbles. shortly after Nightmare's first birthday, and kidnapping.

The gang decides they should really start to learn more about their new powers :3

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

*------------------------*

Cross nods as he crosses his arms “You guys ready?”

Dust looks very unhappy to be up already, Horror is next to him trying to get him to stand up. Killer just grins and salutes “Yes sir!” and he throws in a wink.

Cross ignores the obvious flirt as he tells his own body to cool it. Not the time nor place.

Cross takes a deep breath and continues on with what he was saying “Good! It is time we do something which we should have done long ago.”

Killer raises a hand “Make out more?”

Dust just keeps laying in the dirt. Not making a single move to get up “We already do that now.”

Killer nods “We should still do it more.”

Cross sputters and glares “Training! We need to train!” They had tugged Nightmare in for a nap in a nice warm little nest in a sunny spot nearby them. He is still sound asleep and hopefully he will sleep right through this all.

Cross has high hopes for that as Nightmare seemed to hardly wake up whenever they made noise.

Cross glares at the two on the ground “I am serious!”

Horror chuckles and stands by his side “Calm Cookie.” And he rubs his shoulder and Cross feels part of him melt as Horror smiles at him. God what did he do to deserve them all?

Cross feels reassured and turns back to Killer and Dust his two more unmotivated mates, oooh he is still not over the fact he can call them his mates now! “I am serious! We need to practise our new powers!” especially with Nightmare suddenly getting new powers as well. They need to be prepared.

If… if anything like that kidnapping happens again… Cross had been so lucky his powers just… worked with him instead of doing the normal uncontrollable flickering in and out of view. They need to practise this and work on it! They need to be ready!

Killer sighs as he leans on his hand “How do we plan to do that exactly? I don’t have something that we can just work with without going around town and telling lies and hoping it doesn’t backfire. And Dusty still shocks us when he gets overcharged.”

Dust just points at Killer as if to say ‘what he said.’

Horror hums “May be hard… but we need to practise and learn. Having the powers and magic won’t be useful until we can control them and know their limits.”

Cross nods “We can’t count on powers we can’t control. Even if we can’t control it we need to at least understand our limits a bit better.”

Killer pouts “You guys are my limit.” Then he grins and winks as he finger guns at them “And my weakness.”

Dust groans from the ground as he just covers his face with his arm “Can’t believe I agreed to this madness.”

Killer grins and pokes his cheek “You did! And now you are stuck with me!” Killr sounds very happy about it.

Cross glares “Guys I am serious! What is Nightmare gets taken again and we can’t do anything because we don’t understand our powers!?”

Killer’s face grows dark as he crosses his arms “Won’t happen again.”

Cross glares “We don’t know that. That is why we need to practise and learn.” He checks his mates. Killer sighs but gives in with a pout and a nod. Dust may not have moved but he is still here which counts. Horror had been down for this idea from the start.

Cross nods “Good!”

Dust speaks from the ground “How exactly?”

Cross frowns as he thinks “well… we need to figure out what triggers the powers… So try some stuff…” He stands up taller “I will go first!” It is easy! He did this before. He knows how to train and practise new skills or ideas for moves. He just needs to get in the right mindset.

Horror nods and joins Killer and Dust, forcing Dust to sit up right as well.

Cross takes a few deep breaths. Something about his magic makes him able to be invisible. Lets try that first.

He thinks about hiding. About staying out of sight. About following people quietly.

Cross opens a socket but sees this three boyfriends still watching him. Okay. He is still visible.

Mmh.

Cross closes his sockets and thinks. Hiding. Being invisible. Not being noticed.

No exclaim that it worked.

Cross stops as he taps his chin in thought. He is doing something wrong with this. He doesn’t even feel his magic react to his request.

Killer leans on a hand as he watches “No luck?”

Cross shakes his skull “Not yet… It doesn’t react to me thinking and wanting to hide or anything like it… I figured that would be a trigger at least.”

Horror frowns “Nothing?”

Cross sighs as he rubs his neck “Nothing.”

Dust yawns as he watches “Maybe it wasn’t hiding. You weren’t exactly hiding when you went after those assholes who took Nightmare.”

Cross frowns and shakes his skull “I was thinking about following them and not being noticed.” Neither worked.

Dust yawns “I would say you were doing a bit more than just being not noticed or following them but sure. It is a start.”

Killer shoots Dsut a look “I mean. We always notice him anyway.”

Dust snorts and nods “Very true.”

Horror looks at both of them disapproving but shoots him an apologetic smile.

Cross however knows he has a frown on his face. Thinking back to when his powers tended to activate… Generally it was when he wanted to hide or not be seen. But when he thought about more context to when he wanted that. Then it only happened when he was already nervous about something. Normally in some way related to them being discovered and found. Or more specifically, Nightmare being found.

But when it reacted? When it actually did what he wanted and needed? It was when he was focused on hunting down the pieces of filth that took their babybones…

Cross takes another deep breath and focuses. He thinks back to that mad dash. That rushed feeling. The need to get his baby back to his side right that second.

That is when this power had answered. That is when he had had most control. Without even needing to think. It had moved and done what he wanted without having to focus.

It isn’t about focus.

It isn’t about control.

It is about trust.

Cross forces his shoulders to relax. Focusses on the trust he feels in his mates. The trust in himself to do what he can. That he is able.

“Cross you are doing it!”

Cross opens a socket and watches as patches of him are hidden and others aren’t. It doesn’t feel like being gone or being unnoticed… It feels like parts of him are covered in a thin blanket. Cross mentally grabs it and just imagines wrapping himself with it.

And he is gone from view.

“Cross you did it!” Killer cheers “Way to go Crossy!”

Cross however has no control. It is like how he trusts his body to catch him when he jumps off something. How he trusts his body to run and catch him. How he trusts his movement.

It isn’t just a power he can lead or learn to control. It is different. It is like his body.

Cross takes a few steps around. Noticing that he is completely silent as well. huh. Strange. Still Cross speaks just to test “Seems like it isn’t only sight. My steps are much more silent than I am used to.”

Dust tilts his skull confused “Well.. .when you speak we can hear you just fine…”

Horror hums “Like when you want to speak you are obvious. But otherwise hidden.”

Cross shakes his skull and his mates blink confused at him. Cross glances down and sees his is visible again. Huh. As soon as he wanted-no, tried to communicate nonverbal he became visible again.

It isn’t focus. It isn’t thought.

Cross looks up at them “It is instinct.”

Horror, Killer and Dust all share confused looks before looking at Cross.

Cross shakes his skull as he tries to put his thoughts into words “It is instincts. These powers? It is more than just power or magic or movements. It is more than skill. It is about…” he can’t find the words. It is so strange. He is used to having to practise and work and try again and again. Failing over and over until you finally get the basics and then you work from there.

The powers are still finicky. Unpredictable. But they are there. Ready to work at just the right… need? Want? Wish? Hope? Anything for them to work.

Killer hums thoughtful “huh… maybe that is why my stuff just… acts the whole time? Because when I tell white lies I want people to believe it? So it just does the thing…” He frowns “especially with the woman in fur and mud… explains why she hasn’t tried to sue us yet.”

Dust glares at him “Don’t tempt faith…” but he leans on his leg “Doesn’t explain my stuff… the static just grows a lot… and if I don’t use magic we get another thunder storm situation.”

Horror shakes his skull “it does make sense. You want to protect Nightmare. Be ready. Your magic and body and power work together to have everything it needs to act right away.”

Dust frowns before huffing as he looks to the side “Whatever.”

Cross feels his soul give a little flutter. Can you blame him?! Dust looks so embarrassed wit his tiny blush!

Killer grins as Horror “Your turn H!”

Cross nods and quickly changes places with Horror.

Horror seems to think as he stands there. Considering the ground for a moment before making a pulling motion.

The ground shudders and a tiny piece of ground seems to slowly move over while other ground moves to fill in the space left behind.

Killer sighs as he leans against his knee as he stares “Looking good!”

Cross can’t help but agree. Horror has somehow figured his stuff out just passively. By careful and gentle nudging and feeling the powers out. He hadn’t been able to explain just muttered about moving what felt natural.

Killer had sighed wishfully that he wished he could do that stuff.

Cross for one is happy Killer doesn’t have this power. He would either try to dig a very deep hole or just make a very large tower. Cross isn’t sure which option would be worse.

Horror shrugs as he moves back to the group. He joins them and Dust leans against his side. Staring hard at the ground that moved so effortlessly for Horror.

Cross smiles at Horror “amazing.”

Horror shrugs as he mutters “It is physical. I don’t create or destroy stuff. It is about moving stuff one way and pushing other stuff to fill what is left…” he shrugs.

Dust chuckles as he just leans against Horror “That is amazing…” he stares at his own hand and frowns.

Horror just pulls him closer as Killer leans happily against Dust with a large grin “Your lightning is real cool~” Killer lowers his voice in a purr as he keeps staring at Dust. Cross isn’t sure if Killer is trying to flirt right now, or force Dust to believe what he says even if Killer knows his power doesn’t work against them. Killer just continues to talk when he sees Dust roll his eyes. Killer purrs and just lays on Dust as he purrs at him. Dust looks away from him with a tiny blush.

Killer grins and purrs “So much power. Just at the tips of your fingers. Only thing keeping it from exploding and destroying everything is your control and stubbornness to keep it tempered down~ Yet not once did you ever zap Nighty with it.” Killer grins wider as Dust starts to blush and look embarrassed.

Yeah. Cross gets it. Killer can get intense with his affection… Cross also still gets overwhelmed with it.

Cross is happy they know how to help Dust. It sometimes stings a little that those three had already been so close long before Cross joined them. He notices it with moments like these. When he is lost in what to do or how to act or help and-

Oh no Kiler is watching him.

Killer looks at him critically before grinning and pulling him closer until he is right up against Dust and Killer expends to cover both their laps.

Killer grins at Cross with a clearly mischievous look in his eyes “Great idea Cross! And you figured your stuff out so quickly! You just needed a moment to learn and study your skill and boom! You understand it! and thanks to that we could better understand ours! Fucking brilliant and fucking talented. Skilled beyond believe and you know yourself and your magic so well which just makes this so much more impressive!”

Cross knows he is blushing. He tugs his little bandana up to try and cover part of his face. His bandana had been a gift from the others… because he mentioned how he used to have his own bandana much like blue used to have. And they just got him a new one. It is a nice grey one with purple stripes. It is soft and fuck now he is just more embarrassed as he tries to hide from Killer’s compliments with the very gift his mates gave him!

Horror doesn’t stop it. Instead he just smiles at them with that handsome little smile as Dust and him just have to suffer through the storm of compliments.

Killer grins as he looks so happy as he just stares up at them from his spot of honour “And then you guys just look fucking amazing when we have some time to ourselves as well.”

Cross glares as he feels like his skull will explode and he hisses “Killer. Not with Nightmare so close.”

Killer laughs and winks at them “It is fine. He is asleep anyway-”

A small yawn “Are we cuddling?”

They turn around and spot Nightmare standing next to them. One hand rubbing his sockets while he other is holding unto one of the blankets from his other nest.

Dust is quick to focus on their baby “We are taking a break from practise. You slept well?”

Nightmare yawns again and climbs over Killer to get to the spot where Cross and Dust sit against one another. Nightmare gets to his spot which makes him able to snuggle into both their sides. A happy little hum as he closes his sockets.

Cross carefully takes the little blanket and tugs it around their little child. All cozy and comfortable.

Killer’s purring has only grown in volume as he watches them. Perfectly comfortable to lay across their laps with Nightmare snuggled in against all three of their sides.

Horror pulls them closer and sighs happily “A break sounds perfect.”

Cross laughs and nods. Sure they hadn’t practised much yet but they already got their goal completed. Which was to better understand their powers.

Now? He just wants to enjoy this moment. How comfortable and loved he feels between his mates with their son.

*------------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[mostlyvoid-partiallyflowers]

The most recent episode of Interview with a Vampire let's us see Lestat's side of the story and see how it compares to Louis' accounting of their relationship. As a result, it reaffirms just how unreliable of a narrator Louis is, but it also further illuminates elements of his character that the director and writers have been playing with since the beginning of the show.

There's this part in the episode where Lestat turns to Louis and apologizes and it's framed with Lestat turned to Louis on one side and Claudia on his other side. They're the angel and devil on Louis' shoulders, but who is the angel and who is the devil? And as my friend said, Armand and Daniel are placed into that same dynamic with Louis later on. We are being asked to decide who to trust, who's telling the truth, who's the good guy, but the fact of unreliability robs us of that decision.

This whole story is about Louis, he's the protagonist, though not the narrator, and he is constantly being pulled in two directions, no matter when or where he is in his story. He's a mind split in two, divided by nature and circumstance. He's vampire and human, owner and owned, father and child, angel and devil. He's both telling the story and being told the story. His history is a story he tells himself, and as we've seen, sometimes that story is not whole.

Louis is the angel who saved Claudia from the fire but he's also the devil who sentenced her to an life of endless torment, the adult trapped in the body of a child. He's the angel who rescued Lestat from his grief and also the devil who abandoned him, who couldn't love him, could only kill and leave him.

He's pulled in two directions, internally and externally at all times and so it's no wonder that he feels the need to confess, first to the priest, then Daniel, and then Daniel again.

He's desperate to be heard, a Black man with power in Jim Crow America who's controlled by his position as someone with a seat at the table but one who will never be considered equal. He doesn't belong to the Black community or the white community, he can't. He acts as a go-between, a bridge, one who is pushed and pulled until he can't take it anymore. He's a fledgling child to an undead father, he's a young queer man discovering his sexual identity with an infinitely experienced partner. He's confessing because he wants to be absolved, that human part of him that was raised Catholic, that child who believed, he wants to be saved. He wants to be seen.

Louis wants to attain a forever life that is morally pure, but he can't. He's been soiled by sin, by "the devil," as he calls Lestat, and he can never be clean again. Deep down, I think he knows this, but he can't stop trying to repent. He tries to self-flagellate by staying with Lestat and then tries to repent by killing him, but can't actually follow through. He follows Claudia to Europe to try and assuage his guilt. He sets himself on fire, attempts to burn himself at the stake, to purify his body, rid himself of the dark gift.

Louis is a man endlessly trying to account for the pain he has caused and he ultimately fails, over and over again, because he can't get rid of what he is. A monster. He's an endlessly hungry monster. He's hungry for love, for respect, for power, for forgiveness, for death. He's a hole that can never be filled. He can never truly acquire any of those things because he will always be punishing himself for wanting and needing them in the first place. He will never truly believe he deserves them and as a result, can't accept them if they are ever offered. He can never be absolved for he has damned himself by accepting the dark gift and thus has tainted himself past the point of saving.

[eastbluecrewed]

things you can't get back

aka i've been waiting so patiently to see kidd get his ass beat by shanks (affectionate)

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I'm not ready to shut up about Aveline and Carver--so, when you go see Aveline in Act 1, you can catch up with her a little bit and that's where this conversation can happen:

Aveline: "It's just one more change, though. The real end for me was Ostagar. What about you, Carver? You were there. Do you feel something similar?" Carver: No. Aveline: All right, then. Bit of a tit, your brother.

I wanted to see what she would say if Carver isn't in the party. Instead, she says this:

Aveline: Carver was there. I imagine he feels something similar. If he allows it.

......well, at least she didn't call him a tit?

[chronomaza]

Finally found a better place to host Kaivasita!

Please download the version from here instead, as not only will the google drive link not work anymore soon, but this version has a few minor fixes to things I missed (mostly small formatting issues)

Please share this around!

Also, if anyone has any suggestions of where else I can upload this I'm still open to ideas, I'm looking to host Kaivasita in as many places as possible.

IF YOU LIKE, PLEASE REBLOG AS WELL!

(Please, hardly anyone bothers with books these days, especially not original fiction, and it's hard to get attention for something this ambitious when you have a follower count as small as mine. I've been working on this for 3 years all by myself, I'm doing this for completely free and my budget is zero, this is the only way I can advertise this book aside from people sharing the pdf itself. Even if you don't read it, someone who follows you might. Please, please, please reblog.)

[captain-lovelace]

I think the thing that really makes it so frustrating that people insist that you can write good horror without liking or reading or watching horror is that it comes from a refusal to acknowledge that horror as a genre requires skill specific to it. It's this assumption that because they've felt fear they understand it, and can therefore inflict it on their audience using whatever skills they already have. There's just one issue: not a single person on this planet has never been afraid, so it's a really easy emotion to get wrong in fiction. It's extremely easy for a portrayal of fear to come off as, for example, cheesy, or unintentionally funny, or disingenuous, or for it to just be too personal to be scary to other people. Studying how fear is written and portrayed, both effectively and ineffectively, makes you better at doing those things yourself. In order to write better horror, you have to treat horror as a genre worthy of attention and study. And I, personally, would argue that means that you have to interact with it.

One of the biggest and most important pieces of advice that I got as a writer was to read. It's hard to be a good author who doesn't read, and it's even harder to be a good genre author who doesn't interact at all with the genre that you're writing in, because you have massive gaps in your knowledge that you're not even aware of. You might not even be able to properly critique your work! You have nothing to draw from, nothing to be inspired from except things that were not made for the purpose of inciting fear-- you're fitting a square peg in a round hole and hoping it works.

The people who say no, you can write horror without having read horror, are the same people who would never say the same thing about whatever genre they like the most. On some level they're aware of how much it sucks to have someone with no experience in a genre come in with 100% conviction that they are actually the genre's savior, before coming up with something stale, bland, and full of half-baked inspirations from whatever bits and pieces of genre media they picked up through cultural osmosis, all of which they're convinced are so original because they have no idea they're drawing on any sort of larger tradition. But, because it's horror, this for some reason does not cross their minds.

The argument seems to be that you don't have to read horror to write horror. You don't have to like horror to write horror. You don't have to care about horror to write horror. It's a genre that requires zero effort, zero knowledge, zero skill you can't get elsewhere. It has no value-- but you, the person who doesn't know anything about it, you can give it value.

They don't seem to realize just how insulting that is to hear.

(Final note: queer horror and horror by POC both have rich histories, as does horror that isn't USAmerican or Western European in origin. It's a genre that is popular almost worldwide and has a lot of really excellent offerings from everywhere. Also, in addition to horror movies and novels I really recommend checking out horror short stories/anthologies, which can really show where the genre shines. Don't shy away from older horror, as well! Some of my favorite horror stories are from the 19th century.

If you love the idea of horror but have never really found anything that clicked, I guarantee that there is something out there that you will probably like, and if you want to write horror seeing the sheer breadth of what's out there will help you write better horror-- if at least to show you what you would like to see more of, or what might be missing.)

[wrightmourmarriage]

i looove the contrast between rick's vocals and the backing vocals in wearing the inside out, especially in the second chorus, like i think it's really important when talking about the song that the protagonist is giving this front-facing idea that he's fully relieved and committed to getting better while he's still hiding their turmoil and sheer anger at what happened to him. which could mean nothing about the mental state of richard wright

[allastoredeer]

Ya'll ever just

Why is housing so impossible???? Why are there so many hoops you have to jump through just to get a roof over your head???? Who thought it was a good idea to make it hard to live on just one income???? Why is it so hard to live off of two incomes for that matter???

I have a job, I pay taxes like everyone else, so why is it a constant back and forth struggle to pay bills and buy essentials. You know, little things like food. I just woke up, I'm hungry, and I'm craving a few billionaires right now. #EatTheRich

Capitalism continues to suck the life out of me and I am being a husk of my former self.

[apebellica]

WELCOME vol. 1/3

A collaborative non-binary zine about liminal spaces

Floors upon floors of empty corridors, incongruent spaces stacked on narrow, wide, long rooms. Warehouses. Strange windows. This is an hotel. Collective and dissonant. Timeless, in a labyrinth of non-existence. Open the Door, what do you see? You enter a house, Is it your house? You are not sure. You peek behind another door. Childish dolls, blurry shapes, strange entities you saw in your dreams suddenly appear.

This zine is a collection of non-places, a hotel hosting the weird; the horror; the uncanny.

Behind this threshold you will explore strange happenings and distorted scenarios through the eyes of non-binary folks & queer creatures.

Ready to get lost in the backrooms? 

This project features 33 different artists

You can download it for free here

More info on my ig @apebellica

[puppetmaster13u]

Oh boi even more of One au in like 3 hours lol

I like to think that like how in @phoenixcatch7's Doll au there's gas versions of like cures and such in the batfam's gas masks since they don't need to breath when possessing the puppets right? I like to think there's an organic version of that with the meat puppet bodies, at least with Bruce, where the plates on his neck opens up into vents of sorts, pictured here with a few spikes removed for visibility reasons.

This gas could be some cures for like Joker venom & Fear gas and such, or it could also be sedatives, paralytics, could even vary between each member. (For example in the Cryptidverse Steph has Anesthetics on her claws, Jason has reflective powder that mimics embers/sparks, Cass has paralytics, etc). Honestly I am just brainstorming so this could definitely change lmao

I do like to think they start developing their own venom though, gotta' have those fangs & tusks for some reason lol

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Found

After some thinking I decided to write this little thing :3

I was thinking between this drabble and one that was about Dream and decided to go for this one.

Mostly because the timing for later in the series is just so much FUNNIER if this one is done first. (you guys will understand later)

First Drabble and original prompt by @spotaus Prev Drabble Next Drabble

No beta and no edits. We jsut going.

*---------------------*

Killer sighs as he rubs the sweat of his skull. You would think it is cooler now than the summer but it hardly matters when you are physically active.

Ugh. He hates cleaning duty.

Still he looks around the area he is cleaning up and grins proudly. They had realised that the decliding cliff was facing the south meaning it had so many sun hours.

Horror had offered they could grow grapes using the cliff side and because those where plants that liked to climb up they could use the vertical area to create more space!

Also leaving the flat area for them to do soemthing else with. Killer had been thinking about trying to convince the others to agree to animals but he may need to plead a bit more for that idea.

Still he looks over at Cross nad Horror, both are setting up trellises along the side to help start to grow. All preparation work for their first season of course.

Tehy hadn't quite decided what they would make of the grapes, maybe even just sell the grapes themselves. But they will figure it out. Killer had offered the obvious wine but he hadn't been too excited about it himself. Seemed like a bad idea to make wine when you have a babybones running around.

Even so. Tehy aren't in a hurry. They first need to manage to grow some to begin with.

Killer stretches his limbs when he hears a strange sizzle. Killer blinks and looks back up the side of the cliff before looking at Cross and Horror confused. Both looking up themselves as they no doubt heard it as well.

They assend their, newly repaired, stairs and get to their normal area. It looks fine but Dust is also out and looking around wiht a frown on his face.

Killer gets to his side "Ngihtmare?"

Dust hums "in the nest. Sleeping with his bat." he looks around again and shoots Killer a look "sound?"

Killer shrugs, he has no idea. Cross shoots upright as he looks up "oh no..."

Killer looks up himself and feels himself freeze. becuase he knows those glitching effects. The sizzling gets louder and with the sound of ripping fabric the very universe opens up.

Moment later a figure they all know appears.

Error blinks as he looks around before spotting them. He huffs annoyed "hello abominations. I am looking for your boss." he looks around and frowns "Why are you in this dump?"

Killer freezes. Waht do they do?! Normally it was Nightmare who contacted Error about things he wanted or shifts or jobs or anything. Error coming to them?! Unusual! Also! How the fuck?!

Killer huffs as he crosses his arms "We are busy. How did you even find us here?" Did they leave traces? Did they mess up? Do they still need to move around again?!

Error looks smug as he jumps down from the roof and lands in front of them soundlessly "I obviously looked into the code of the multiverse, antivoid and void."

Killer feels a part of him relax. While most of them can in someway check a universe's code. Checking the code of the multiverse itself is a skill only Error can reliably do.

Error looks very annoyed as he crosses his arms "Do you ahve any idea how long it took me to find you? It is so annoying! Now. I got to talk business with nightmare. Where is that octopus?" he looks around.

Dust growls and glares at him "leave."

Error blinks and tilts his skull "Since when do you talk?"

Dust keeps glaring "Nightmare doesn't want to see you. Leave. You are not welcome."

Killer must admit Dust has guts but also Dust not the time!

Killer tries to nudge Dust further back but Dust refuses to move from his spot. Oh shit.

Error glares at Dust "You dare try and get in my way? The destroyer!?" he chackles as he raises a hand. Strings slowly appearing in the air "I will show you what happens if you do. Now. How about you-"

"Wait!"

Killer feels his skull freeze as he looks at the door. Oh no.

Error frowns and turns before looking confused at Nightmare. A large error sign in Error's sockets as he just stands there frozen. Nightmare doesn't say a word but just keeps looking at the other god.

Error blinks and slowly turns to Killer and points over his shoulder "you abominations made a tiny abomination?" Error looks utterly confused.

Killer almost wants to laugh at that notion but he just isn't sure what to say. What can he say to make Error leave them be? More importantly what can he say that would keep Error from telling everyone about what he saw here? Where could they even go if Error can just check the code of the multiverse to find them!?

Before Killer cna say anything else Nightmare takes a step closer. A very panicked sound leaves Cross before he just sprints by Error to stand between him and Nightmare. Keepign his arms spread in front of Nightmare as a living shield.

Error frowns at him and studies Nightmare.

Nightmare gulps before he has that same tiny grumpy stubborn look on his face that Killer just adores. Nightmare huffs as he crosses his arms "What? I thought you wanted to talk?"

Error stares and then he takes a step back "what the fuck?"

Killer mutters it before he cans top himself "language" look they all had just been trying to fix their own cursing a bit but it is habit for all of them.

Error dismisses him as he takes a step closer. Cross summons a weapon and growls at Error "Not a step closer. you can talk from a distance."

Error rubs his sockets. Stares at Nightmare. Rubs his sockets again. Stares at Nightmare again. Then he calls up the code screen for this universe. Looks at Nightmare again. the he looks at Killer and just mutters "What?"

Well would you look at that. Aparently even the destroyer hadn't seen everything in the multiverse.

Dust takes this chance to get to Ngihtmare as well and pick him up. he huffs "What is wrong? You are acting like you have never seen a child before."

Error stands there before waving at Nightmare "That is Ngihtmare! The Nightmare?!"

Horror just crosses his arms and raises a brow "so?"

Error blinks and the error messages around him get a bit worse before he waves at Ngihtmare again "So!? Since when is he a child?!"

Killer grins himself even if his soul pulses quickly. He makes a show of leaning against one of their new fenches "I mean. For a while now. Since his birth. Then again his age was frozen when he corrupted so..." he shrugs.

Error stares at him "No?! He wasn't a child?! He was... You know! Adult? dripping goop and tentacles?! Remind you of anything?!"

Killer raises a brow and shrgus "yeah. Turns out? Not an adult. Just a babybones with magical god apples making a corruption shield around him and temporarily giving him the body he needed to do his god thing." Killer figures it is fine to tell Error. Error will be able to find out anyway and honestly they don't need Error being mad at them for lying.

Error stares at him. Looks back at Ngihtmare. then looks back at Killer for a moment "you aren't shitting me? You are fucking serious?"

Killer sends him a look "dude. seriously. there is a six year old here. Try to not swear." he shrugs and walks over to join Cross and Dust, and Horror for that matter. Killer continues speaking as he walks "It is hardly needed to curse the whole time."

Nightmare shoots him a look and mutters "hypocrit."

Killer grins "you know my tiny boss!" he grins and pokes the tiny cheek. Nightmare looks away embarresed and flustered. mh... weird.. normally he doesn't mind the poking...

Error frowns as he looks to the side before looking at Nightmare "So what now? No goop?"

Ngihtmare glances at Error for a moment before nodding. It takes him a bit to find the right words. Nightmare still speaks softly but with how quiet it is his voice still seems loud "I... I am sitll a god... I think... Just not of balance anymore. I can't do stuff with that anymore..."

Error stares at them for a moment. looks around the area. Then looks down thinking. there is a small loading bar showing his thought process.

It hits full and he straightens "well... I am leaving." he turns to the side adn starts to mess with a coding window again.

Killer frowns "That is it?!"

Error pauses and shrgus "obviously? I was looking for Nightmare, you know, king of negativity and god of balance and all that sh-... stuff..." he glances at them before looking back at the window "Nightmare isn't that anymore. So I will have to figure something else out."

Cross looks anxious as he steps forwards "No one can know! If they know...." he rubs his hands "Just... please..."

Error pauses again and shrugs "Don't see the point in sharing. After all. He isn't the god of negativity. And when people ask about him they want to find the gooped up bas- guy who had all powerful magic and abilities... Why give them the location of a child and his group of babysitters?" and Error disappears through a portal.

A long silence.

They... are fine?

That... that was pretty much him saying he wouldn't tell anyone right?

Like... They are good?

Killer glances at the others and they all share slightly unsure looks. Nightmare however looks at where Error disappeared.

Nightmare just stares before getting a very tiny grin as he hides his face a bit and mutters "he is cool..."

Killer freezes. Nightmare's tiny blush. the embarresment. the way he tried to looks tough and controlled and cool... before when Ngihtamre always searched Error out. The fact Nightmare was always very willing and easy about helping Error even if it hardly helped his own goal.

No.

No absolutely not!

Killer turns to Nightmare and makes him look at him. Ngihtmare huffs and looks annoyed while Killer stares at him "No."

Dust shoots him a look "Killer what are you even saying-"

Killer continues as he stares at Nightmare "No. No crushing on Error. I don't care he is technically the only other god who was nice to you or was understanding about your work. You are not allowed to have a crush on him. He is dangerous and crazy and you can do so much better."

Ngihtamre has a lsightly panicked look on his face as he looks away and mutters "I don't... he is jsut..."

Cross blinks before laughing "Killer calm down. It is just a little crush. Kids have those all the time."

Killer shakes his skull "Nightmare will evnetually grow up again!" may take them ages or not. Hell they don't know how gods grow up but still! Killer isn't allowing it! No way! He looks back at Ngihtmare "You are too young and too tiny to even think about liking others like that so stop that. And even if you do start thinking like that WHEN you are an apropriate age! You aren't allowed to like him because he is crazy and you deserve so much better!"

Horror chuckles "what is the appropriate age?"

Killer's mind blanks before he answers "When he is thirty! Physically! AT LEAST!" and even then Killer isn't sure about it.

Cross snorts "you aren't even thirty... physically."

Killer huffs "And I am a bad example. We don't do what i do." he stares at Ngihtmare.

Nightmare just looks down embarresed before pushign his face back into Dust's shoulder.

Killer will accept that answer for now. But maybe he will need to look through the stuff they have. Clearly no romance novels or movies are allowed anymore. He will have to check it all. Honestly what are those people thinking?! Showing romance to such young minds!

Cross snorts and leans closer to Dust "Somehow I did not expect Killer to be the anti-date parent. Yet here we are."

Dust hums "same. expected it to be me."

Horror chuckles as he leads them back inside.

They still remain watchful and pack some emergancy bags. If they notice even the tiniest sign that their location is compromised they are leaving. They give Crop and update and ask him to watch out as well.

But..

Nothing happens.

Not even a peep.

Nothing.

days go by and they slowly start to relax and get into their own rhythm again. Cleaning and repairing stuff. Getting ready for the next spring and talking with some town folk.

Today is a day that Killer, Dust and Nightmare are just laying in their nest watching an old western movie on the repaired tv, thank you Dust.

It is nice and calm untill.

sizzling.

Killer shoots upright and a small portal opens up. only for a black skeleton hand to drop something through it before it closes again.

It had fallen right in Nightmare's lap and Ngihtmare blinks confused at the small hastly packed present.

Dust looks over his shoulder and a check later and it seems fine. Dust nudges Nightmare and Nightmare first opens the small card.

Killer leans close and reads wiht them.

It is just a card saying 'so he knows which side to aim towards when he grows up.'. Which, weird.

Nightmare blinks at it before opening the present and he lets out a tiny gasp.

Killer stares as he sees a small woolen doll octopus. It is bright purple with a tiny grumpy face on it.

Nightmare feels the plush carefully as he stares at it with pure awe. A tiny purr starts to leave their baby bones.

Killer is going to have to make plans in advance to make sure that WHEN Nightmare is a teen he doesn't try and hang out with Error. Killer will also have to figure out how to successfully threaten a god.

On his 'to do' list it goes.

*---------------------*

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Also Also

Error finds them

gang: *panic*

Error leaves again because whatever but leaves a little plush for Nightmare.

Gang: ... okay.

Nightmare hugging the plush: I did always think he was real cool... *slightly wishful stare*

Killer realises baby has a first crush: ... *PANIC TIMES FIVE* absolutely not!

[shower-racoon]

imagine if the Terraria bosses were on tumblr. what would they even post