#So who knows....perhaps I will do that

[curator-simp]

God, could you imagine a Quarry musical??  I’m mostly just stuck on one idea in particular. It starts out with Laura and Max driving and they hear a sad woman’s voice singing, lamenting, crying for her son Silas. And it’s all like “I am here for you, I cry for you, I will kill for you, I will die for you” 

And that song comes back in the background during many of the werewolf scenes. 

The main crew does fairly well, Dylan still loses his hand, they do shoot both Chris and Caleb. But Travis doesn’t know that even Caleb is gone (like in the game).

And you have this big final number, the main cast celebrates that they survived, Laura and Max sing about how they will stay together forever, how Max found a place to study, all nice and happy. Dylan cracks a joke about how except for his hand it’s all totally fine. 

Everything gets dark. People think the show is over. 

But then. THEN!! 

Travis finds Caleb’s corpse. And he sings the reprise to Eliza’s song. He sings how his family was everything for him, how the kids were everything to him, how he just wanted to protect them, how he is there for them, how he cries for them, how he killed for them and now he dies for them. 

Fade to black. 

And a gunshot rings out into the dark.

[mini-minish]

have you heard of that new hot spot in ba sing se 🍵

[infernal-lamb]

some rushed doodles of our new goat darling........I have so many plans for them

[lucabyte]

you dream of devouring your friends whole

[dreadfutures]

Inquisitor Ixchel Lavellan, 9:52 Dragon

The years have not been kind. Despite even her own efforts, she lives.

[000yul]

you’ve never once done what i wanted you to

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade just... being normal(?) For a day. Doing house hold chores, watching shitty live tv, goes out to walk Puppins, showering with no smart remarks.

Yes, he still hums and taps on stuff, but it's much.. calmer.. now. In the sense that he doesn't want to cause a scene and would rather just be left alone right now.

But then... when he gets out. Surely he's going to be his silly self and say something, right?? Right???? Wrong.

He just... sits there. Boredly looking at those free magazines that you find sometimes at doctors' offices. The ones that are like "Home improvment for your loved one with dementia" or "50 dinner ideas for someone with diabetes"

Logan just blinks after watching him all day and goes "...Are you okay?"

Without a beat, he awnsers pretty monotoned. "I can't be manic all the time. That's just stupid to think." Before realizing he said it outloud. He perks up and starts laughing. "I mean- Yeah I'm great! What about you, Tiger?"

Again Logan just stares, blinking some as he tries to process.

"....How long have you kept up that act..?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, pumpkin!" It was like watching someone trying to impersonate themsleves.

"....Wade.."

"What is it cupcake?"

"...You don't have to do that."

"Do what? Gosh your so silly. My silly little sunflower."

Logan just stares at him for a bit more and quickly he panics, swallowing and starting to say anything he can to make him believe it was a joke but he dosn't believe a single word of it.

"...its not an act.. is it?"

It eventually ends with wade running out of excuses or things to lie about. He sits there, tears starting to run down his face as he thinks of words to say. You can see just how desperate he is to say something but he can't seem to get it out.

"..I....I-i."

"I know."

Wade just looks at him with this big scared eyes as if he was about to accuse him of faking or telling him he liked this wade better or something terrible like asking how to keep him this way but Logan pulls him into a side hug.

"...are you okay?"

His throat tightens, shaking his head. "..no."

"That's okay." Turning to give him an actual hug, Wade cries. Not because he's sad though. But because to Logan, it doesn't matter how high or low he was on the chart, who he was or how he acted. He loves him. He understands that acting like a crazy childish phycopath isn't a mask but rather who he was sometimes. And sometimes he prefered to silently lay his head on his shoulder.

Eventually Logan asks him if he has a personality disorder and Wade just shrugs. "Probably.... is that an issue..?"

"No.... do you want diagnosed?"

Wade pauses, remembers the last time he asked for medical help and shakes his head. "Nah... I'm good.. besides. I've come to like him."

"How long has he been in there?" Logan playfully knocks on his head and wade giggles a bit. A genuine true laugh. "I don't know. Probably forever.... are you sure it's not a problem?" He bites his tounge, waiting for the "because I like him better" but it never came.

"Why would that be a problem? Sure, you're a pain the ass but you're my pain in the ass." He says, mindlessly sitting for a second before quickly saying "DON'T-"

As wade is on the brink of explosion from laughter and some smirky comments.

[stars-obsession-pit]

(Another) Ghost in the Machine

DP x Hellblazer (the original John Constantine comic)

Ritchie Simpson continued to search frantically for the connection out of the computer and back to his body as he begged John to explain what he meant by saying “Goodbye.”

Had John disconnected him? He knew John’s sense of humor wasn’t the lightest, especially after Newcastle drove them all a bit insane, but that felt too far even for him. Nah, he’d probably just gotten himself a bit lost in the wave of energy he’d experienced in the Tongues of Fire network and was accidentally looking for his body in the wrong spot.

He pulled himself back and let his mental connection to the digital world expand outward, probing the rest of the machine for the connection. He knew he was in the right system, so as long as he looked thoroughly he’d definitely fi—

Everything flashed a surge of blinding white and then was replaced by pure darkness. He thought he screamed, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. Couldn’t even feel his own thoughts. Trapped in one single instant that stretched for indeterminable eons. Then, eventually (or was it immediately?), awareness began to trickle back.

He was still in the computer, though it felt… different, somehow. His thoughts still weren’t entirely in order. The first possible hints towards his location he found were the sound voices trickling through from the outside world. Voices he didn’t recognize. Young voices.

“I’m happy to help, Tuck, but I’m not really sure what you expect me to do here. You’re way better than me at this computer stuff than me.”

“By all means, feel free to keep complimenting me, but this has been frying my brain, man. I got this thing secondhand, and the system should be quite powerful, but there’s something using up a ton of its processing and I can’t figure out what. I was hoping you could do your ‘enter into the computer’ thing and see if you see anything.”

[nabaath-areng]

I have this one "OC" that does not yet have a name that I've drawn several times for a couple years. I was thinking that if I tried making them in FFXIV that I'd use elezen as a base... but then I remembered what other race have their near exact hairstyle... and now I'm like damn... I played myself...

[petricorah]

Zuko teaching Sokka how to dance!!!!!!

he's a fast learner [id in alt]

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

[critter-wizard]

ep 43 had me tearing up in a fucking shopping centre ‼️‼️

b+w alt version that I truly couldn't decide if I liked it more . Also I included a lot of thoughts in the tags but they're somewhat incoherent<3

[puppetmaster13u]

Another Dragon Prompt?

They had all figured they'd seen it all. Great wurms of thorn and vines, built by the land and leaves around them, massive wyverns of wind and storm whose roars were like a thunder crash.

But all of that was nothing when the city found itself dragged into the realm of green, where there was a deadly, horrible calm before everything fled.

The pair of drakes usually getting into things, one of gold and black scales, the other a kaleidoscope of blues and reds screamed, tearing across the land as it was torn asunder. The mothering dragon constantly dropping food on top of the people didn't even bother as it flew alongside the one usually stealing boxes as fast as their tiny wings could move. Even the drake with armor of steel and more aggression than a chihuaha turned kaiju raced away, leaping from building to building before seemingly recalling it too had wings it could use.

More dragons than Amity had ever seen before fled in great flocks, everything a panic, terrified of whatever they were trying to escape. Every shape and size, from the blobs to great wurms like the one who called itself Overgrowth, and they were running.

And then they saw it, first a familiar beast of pink flame and gouging antlers- the Wisconsin Drake, the Fentons had called it- with dozens of wings beating and ectoplasm spilling from a great gouging wound before it crashed into a building with a pained wail.

But it was what followed that truly horrified everyone. A great beast of night, fins flared out like massive wings as it swam through the sky, flames already gathered in its mouth as it stared down at its prey.

Amity had thought they had seen it all.

It did nothing to prepare them for the King's awakening.

[treasureplcnet]

assorted bodies doodles (transcript of that messy relationship square under the cut due to my handwriting/incoherency)

TAKE THESE W A GRAIN OF SALT i am like 90% joking:

hillinghead -> hasan, and vice versa: immediate mutual respect

hillinghead -> whiteman: he's incredibly smart, deceptively cunning but very kind. but he is also so annoying oh my god--

hillinghead -> maplewood: "please someone explain science fiction to me"

whiteman -> iris, and vice versa: two friends secretly think of the other as the sidekick

whiteman -> hillinghead: annoying him is quickly becoming a favorite pasttime

whiteman -> hasan: will not admit it but he wants parenting tips from her

hasan -> whiteman: has slipped a parenting book to him

hasan -> maplewood: deja vu about their future weirds her out a little, but she trusts her

iris -> hillinghead: fond of him from the time they spoke in the prison. enjoys fucking with him

iris -> hasan: SHE'S THE GOAT

[aardvaark]

im so glad that we never get a clear picture of sophie’s background in leverage & i hope we never do. however i also really like making up various, often conflicting backstories for her in my head. perhaps they’re all backstories for an alias of hers, ones she laid to rest back in season two.

[nexahexagon]

“Do you, um. Do you have to wear all the armor? Seems overkill for a stroll.”

“Your Majesty. I’m your guardian. I believe it imperative that I be at my best to protect you. And I’ve already left my helmet at your constant insistence.”

“Right! Right.. but, um.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes?”

“..Listen.. Do you hear that?”

“Um, no? No, what is it?”

“…Silence. Blissful, sweet silence. Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

“Oh.”

@silverskye13

I couldn’t sleep until I drew these guys (I’m learning armor be proud!!)

Prince Tanguish came to me in a dream (daydreaming at work while severely bored). I don’t know much of Royalty and all that, but I see Tanguish as something similar to an advisor to Tango? Within his council methinks. With Welsknight as Tango’s guardian. And Tanguish, instead of stealing, is constantly sneaking out of the castle (Tango makes fun of him for it and Welsknight hated him for it cuz he’d have to go looking for him if he stayed out too late, before Helsknight was appointed his guard at least). Or maybe he still steals, but it’s just small trinkets he sees? Stuff he can’t find in the castle. (Those homemade muffins were really to die for)

Helsknight didn’t want to become a personal guard, but wouldn’t deny the opportunity to annoy the hell out of Welsknight daily. I can also see Helsknight being acknowledged by the royal family by him helping Tango. Like Tango followed Tanguish when he was sneaking out, got hurt (fell when climbing down the castle walls?), and Tanguish ran into Helsknight first while looking for help [Of course Wels wouldn’t be there]. He’s a bit bristly at the beginning (the little dialogue at the beginning was one of the first things I thought of lmao) but he warms up eventually.

Anyways,, is making an art of an au of an au weird? It’s certainly was weird to type that sentence!