#because now he can never leave.

[canarydarity]

Hard to tell how indicative the bones on the floor are of anything about the catacombs themselves being how, every few minutes, Pix kills another skeleton adding to the collection. He swipes his sword through the one before him, and it collapses so readily into a pile of bone—like it was made to, like it was just waiting on his sword—that he has to wonder, not for the first time, what was holding it together to begin with. The bones rattle and clatter against those already littered around, and Pix sighs at the further disturbance to the scene as it was when he had entered; accounting for the damage likely done by mobs was going to make this hell to study. 

He grabs another torch and sets it inside one of the empty sconces that still adorn the walls, readjusts his grip on his sword—he can hear more lingering around the next corner; the low hiss that means a spider is near, the groan or two of a zombie.��

Pix picks up a chunk of cobble from the ground and tosses it down the hall, waits. Sure enough, out scuttles a spider. He disposes of it quickly enough, but it seems he’ll have to venture down the dark hall to goad the zombies. He glances at the clock he placed in his hotbar before embarking on this mission (it’s hard to tell how much time passes underground—something he learned quickly in his line of work). There’s still a good amount of daylight left, and he wants the catacombs cleared; he has other projects he has to move on to, things he needs to finish; he’ll just get through a few more halls—it won’t be an issue, surely. 

But the new corner he rounds remains dark even as he places a torch behind him to mark the way back. The groans can still be heard, but a zombie is yet to lumber his way, and so he has to wonder what's beyond his admittedly limited sight. Pix shuffles another foot or so forward, a torch in his non-dominant hand now as well, hoping for light, for vision. The research part of him—the logical academic—knows that it shouldn't still be this dark with the torches placed behind him nor the one in his hand, and that part is so much louder and more important than the one that knows this means something is wrong, the part that says turn around. 

The torch is lit, he can feel the heat of the flame as he observes it flicker in and out but cast no shadow on the wall behind—a wall Pix can’t even see but knows is there all the same. The circle of light provided extends no further than an inch or two out from the flame itself—comparable more to that of a birthday candle than a lit hand torch. If he hadn’t been staring directly at it, he would’ve assumed the fire snuffed out. 

He feels his eye twitch and his brows furrow. Academia liked concrete answers, things that could be explained and reasoned away—unequivocal proof. But Pix had always had a soft spot for the inexplicable, the ineffable. It was nice when he studied something and found an answer, it was riveting when he didn’t. How much more exciting to study it again and again, a riddle that begged not to be solved. (How much sweeter the prize if he were the one to figure it out in the end). 

His interest was piqued. He could feel it, the way his attention focused and his surroundings blurred and left him; his body on standby, his sword hand lowered almost subconsciously.  

In other words, it was entirely his own fault when the zombie grabbed him. Panic is never a good thing to welcome into a fight, but it likes to show up uninvited anyway. Pix's entire career revolves around studying human behavior, about how human nature cannot be fought against though it oft leads us to our own downfall and ruin. He finds it uncanny when he's reminded that this is a phenomenon from which he is not exempt. 

In haste, he elbows the zombie behind him and turns, back now to the darkness—the one not even his torch could dent. It’s an ugly bugger, eyes soft and misshapen from decay and skin so leathery it’s as if it's been treated and is ready for use as a saddle or armor. Logic replaced by horror, before he can run it through it advances, arms out, and Pix drops his sword to reach back, holding it at arm's length itself; their arms interlocked, pose not unlike meeting an old friend again for the first time in a while. His hands grip the woven fabric of what's left of its shirt, too old and worn to be from any time close to recent, and, despite the very real danger, his mind takes the time to process the period-accurate fabric, the hand-stitched design. He blanches again as he looks into its horrible milky eyes—this zombie was from the capital. 

Not sentient enough to know why it’s not actually getting any closer to Pixlriffs, the zombie makes a noise that sounds frighteningly human in its frustration and steps forward, and in his distraction, Pix lets it. The push seems to make his brain function yet again, and he shoves the zombie backward a good few paces away, but the momentum sends him stepping back himself, and his foot finds not purchase but, instead, the disturbing lack of solid ground, and with nothing left to do, he falls. 

He hits the ground with a thump and a crack and a lot of other sounds he would rather not describe as he feels they were likely very undignified. Winded but, it appears, still in one piece, he grabs another torch and strikes it against the wall, holding it up above him when it lights and shines this time as torches normally do. He buries the part of himself that is disappointed at this—the part that wants to panic and complain finally louder, now, than the part that says hmm. 

He didn’t fall too far, it seems. Now that the torch is lit he can see the gap he’d fallen through, just under a dozen feet or so above where he lays. It's obvious even looking from below how the stone floor had crumbled away, taking maybe one or two hits too many over time from overcrowded mobs or shifts in terrain or pressure aboveground. He tilts his head back but sees only another dead end behind him, and ahead looks like a further, deeper hall of the tomb he hadn’t uncovered yet, though the path is obstructed by debris from above; a net of spiderweb blankets the pile of stone and dirt, but no spider seems to be left guarding the web. 

His friend above seems to have lost interest now that he’s fallen out of sight, and its moans and groans get further away by the second. 

No immediate threat, Pix lets his head fall back onto the ground and takes a breath. He knew the crypt would be full of mobs, he knew it’d be hard, but still…

No, it’s worth it. It will be worth it. He has a job to do.

At least he isn’t defenseless—it’s more than he can say for the dungeons. Not a weapon to his name, fists wrapped in tape so red you’d never believe it’d been white to begin with; knuckles so raw and scraped and beaten by the time he’d made it out that they’d scarred that way—permanent marks of the fighter he was, of the fighter he’d proved to be. 

There was a fear there, too, at that very real and physical understanding of permanence. His studies proved expert in providing examples of what was permanent and what wasn’t, and where people weren’t, things were. He’d spent enough time studying what could be learned about a person by the things they left behind to begin to wonder if anyone at all would’ve remembered him if he’d died in those dungeons—not a singular weapon or item for him to leave behind and tell his story.

Pix stops wallowing. He sits up and reaches over his shoulder for his pick; he isn’t shocked to find that the shaft had snapped in two from the fall, it having been strapped to his back. He sighs, tossing it aside as useless. He’ll make another. 

He takes the time to remind himself again that he knew it was going to be difficult, and that difficulty was no reason to not continue. But it didn’t just feel difficult it felt…inhibiting. Dissuading, deterring, impeding. It felt deliberate. It felt like, stay out; like, we don’t want you here; like, leave us to our rest. 

(it wasn’t, it was something far more sinister. An idea he’d never thought to consider; like a torch was giving off too-little light in the hallway of a dark, long-forgotten crypt, he couldn’t see any farther than what was right in front of his own face. How cliche it’d be, in the end, when it came to pass—the academic too invested in their own research, too dismissive of the present danger posed until it consumed them. He’d have a moment to laugh about it later, when the dread had settled in and all options—or lack thereof—exhausted. While on the topic of permanence…

It was not go away that the tomb was saying, not a driving force out that was being enacted upon the archeologist, but a more frightening call of stay. A threatening but desperate find…become…join…

No, if it were trying to keep him out, why would it keep pushing him deeper? Add this to the list of things he’d realize too late.)

He stands and dusts himself off. The wall is thick and overgrown with glow lichen, and he grabs the nearest vines and tugs one, twice, three times before deciding it won't give and hoisting up. It takes a few minutes and a fair amount of huffing and puffing to get himself to the top and over the edge but he does it, collapsing on higher ground once again and taking a minute to slow his pulse. When he left the dungeons, he dove back into the studies he’d been missing and decided he’d had enough fighting to last a lifetime—this was not without consequence, he’s not nearly as in shape as he used to be. 

His sword is still on the ground where he’d dropped it, so he reequips and readies himself to push his way back out; he’d have to make time to come back and clear the rest another day. He would be back, and he hoped he would be welcomed. 

“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he says into the quiet blackness of the catacombs. He doesn't dare speak above a whisper, for there were still mobs around and his voice carried enough as it was, bouncing along the empty stone and quiet graves. “I'd like to tell your story.” 

There's nothing to hear but for the scuttling of various creatures far off in the dark, the shrill whistle of stray wind through small openings and holes. He raises his voice only slightly, a bit bolder. “Don’t you want me to do that? Will—would you allow me to do that?” 

Silence, and then—the rattle and clatter of a skeleton. It sounds like only one; he lit everything up pretty well on his way in, getting out should be easier. Striking another torch against the wall, Pix prepares to go. For a second, the light is brighter than it should be, its circle of light illuminating the hall completely, the hole he’d fallen into, the distance to the other side. He leans back to avoid the heat of the flame, and he sees it. 

The other side of the cave-in leads not to another tunnel but to an alcove, and empty it is not. His torch, though many feet away, sheds light on the scene; the heavily wax-encrusted stone above a pile of used candles and burnt wicks, the coin and other offerings of gold overflowing from bowls and chalices and any other orifice they could be piled upon, and her. 

He recognizes her immediately. The tapestry covers the majority of the wall, and though it's faded for certain, the lack of direct sunlight has done wonders at preserving what it could. The colors are familiar to his research, the subtle and light greens under warm oranges and yellows. He’s too far, he cannot see any detail; the background, what she's holding, her face—but he knows her. She’s their patron. 

The skeleton wanders closer, its bones clicking and clacking down the hall. Pix swallows. 

“I’ll return for you, I will.” It’s a promise. She’s holding a secret, he knows she is—he’s going to figure out what. Pix turns just in time to face the skeleton as it rounds the corner, and soon its bones join those on the floor, new and old alike. 

His words still echo off the caverns and crevices of the catacombs after he's left and gone, and though not possible to have been heard by human ears, the crypt whispers back good. 

~-~-~-~

Far below even the hole the archeologist had fallen in, leagues underneath the surface of the earth, buried perhaps the furthest underground of anything left behind from the ancient capital—so deeply you’d have to wonder if maybe it was done on purpose—the crown sits in a chest, waiting patiently to be discovered. It’s not a matter of if, but a nice decisive and quiet when. Eventually, the echo of the archeologists' words falls upon it where it sits, and slowly it begins to emit a soft glow. It says stay, it says find, it says become, it says join.

It says soon.

[bluerosefox]

BREAKING NEWS! Youngest Wayne's Secret Lovechild?!

Teenage Ellie taking care of deaged Danny and moving to Gotham to hide from Vlad because Lady Gotham offered them sanctuary and will keep Vlad out.

BUT

Chaos is set into motion when during a Rogue attack, Damian Wayne (not as Robin at the moment) saves him and returns Danny to Ellie...

The internet/news happen because of course it did.

And people mistake Danny as his kid and Ellie his baby mama.

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

As per usual, it’s DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms

ANYWAYS

A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. It’s very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costume���listen, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothes—and his slightly I’ll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.

The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kid’s clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kid’s mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.

“Did you manage to show him your costume?” the hero asks.

“Yeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.”

Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but… it sounded like…

The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. “Momma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesn’t get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!”

The kid’s mom just smiles. “We could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet he’d like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.”

The kid wrinkles his nose. “Like Vernie with the pizza bagels?”

“Like your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpa’s garden…”

The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didn’t ask anything further.

Not that the hero didn’t want to. But they’d learn something very serious.

One—there was a small town hero they’d never heard of. Two—that hero was apparently a teen. Third—most pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.

This… might require some phone calls.

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 209

Now Jason was planning on, well, a lot of things, when he came back to Gotham. He had a lot of plans, several of which had to do with the old man and even more that had to do with cleaning up Crime Alley, making it safer and all that. 

What he was not planning on was to find some sort of lab in the basement of where he was planning on setting up a safehouse. Nor was he planning on finding several literal children in cages inside said lab. Oh and Lazarus Waters- but children! With muzzles! Being experimented on!

Now he’d like to say he had a plan in what happened next, but if he’s honest everything had gone Green and he didn’t remember what happened next, only that he’s back home with said children and covered in blood. Oh and everything smells of smoke. 

… And apparently there’s more of these things dotted around Crime Alley with the rest of these kids, er, siblings? Family? Fright does mean family? Okay kids, he’s not turning into Bruce but you can stay here while he deals with this… however long that takes. 

He better not be turning into Bruce he swears-

[ryssbelle]

Floyd walking out of his room in the bunker like he didn't just spend the last 16 hours straight crying

[littlelightfish]

I would like to remind people that Chilchuck hasn't seen his wife in 4 years.

So he maybe wasn't there to see his daughters become adults, but he was there for the majority of their childhood.

When he left, Mayjack and Flertom were 12, and Puckpatty was 10. They reach adulthood at 14, so maybe yes, he was absent when they were still kids, but that doesn't mean he didn't maintained contact with them afterwards as far as I know. The thing he uses around his neck was a gift from Flertom, and he was using it when he met Laios's party.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

There is a brutal contrast in how Megatron and Optimus's stories end. Optimus nobly surrenders his spark, along with the Matrix of Leadership, having been sent off by his dear and trusted friends after giving them a fond farewell. He has accomplished his life's greatest goal; now he is able to rest. He dies willingly, at peace, bringing hope and giving life to the next generation by restoring the Allspark.

Megatron had already been killed, and was told that he can never join that very Allspark. Having been enslaved, and only released because of Optimus's actions, he is now reanimated, inhabiting his own corpse. His only remaining ally, who has constantly betrayed him, does not understand him. He flies off, alone, having lost all his forces and failed in his mission, and realizing that his life's greatest purpose was misguided. He is left, we can only assume, to live a hellish and hopeless life--a shell, consumed by the past.

And he did not tell Optimus goodbye. He knows that Optimus will leave him behind, will obtain the heaven he can never enter. He gives him the parting gift of his repentance, to acknowledge this. But in his refusal to say farewell, there is an echo of his own wretched endurance. He does not get to rest. Megatron will remain, eternally alone--eternally waiting for a reunion that will never come.

[ratatatastic]

Vanha Kauppahalli date: en full, a 2 minute 50 second masterpiece...

Primetime Panthers | 11.6.24 (x)

[wyyvoren]

How does one even angst cumplane

well it’s simple. you put them in a situation.

[zarnzarn]

(check the tags for more and also the tag for other fics in the story!)

athena, scowling as she gets bullied into marrying the people she pined over for the last 1000 years, suddenly realising something: wait a minute

odysseus: what?

athena, frozen: wait a damn minute you know what this gives me rights to do

penelope, also realising: oh fuck yes

odysseus: I don't like the sound of whatever's happening here what are you two fucking talking about?

athena, grabbing the marriage wine and tossing it back, then kissing her new wife and husband and handing penelope a spear as she picks up a mace: we'll be back shortly, you can start celebrations without us.

penelope: do u have anything that can start a fire

athena, pulling out an old contract and scanning it before throwing it over her shoulder: yes. are you scared of heights or can we fly.

penelope: fucking bring it I've waited years for this moment

zeus: where are they going

hermes, picking up the contract: they're going to... Ogygia? Oh fucking shit they're going to fucking kill Calypso- hey, hello, WAIT-

[jannacalendar]

I understand why it wasn't possible, but it's such a shame we couldn't get Jenny back for The Wish. She and Giles fighting a losing battle side by side and being hardened from it, but remaining each other's solace. Them piecing together the puzzle Cordelia presents to them and having faith in a world better than this, only for Anyanka to try and throw them by hinting at Jenny's death should they return. Giles faltering at the thought of losing her and Jenny, once again, sacrificing herself and destroying the necklace. The way she sees it: she'll either be dead by The Master's hand or by her own, and only one of those inevitabilities gives the man she loves a chance of survival. She kisses him as she plunges herself into the abyss, wanting the last thing she experiences to be his love.

Giles waking up the following morning, the pang in his heart he always feels whenever he remembers Jenny accompanied by a newfound feeling of emptiness, and he's not quite sure why.

[paimonial-rage]

lol yeah ok - how about 12 and 13 instead? - last anon

[Character Analysis Ask Meme]

What is Neuvillette’s love language?

As that he does not have a way with human relationships, Neuvillette shows his feelings best through acts of service and gift-giving. After all, words are difficult and easy to construe. Quality time often leaves him at a loss for the very words he has a difficult time with. And physical touch? That’s simply too intimate for him. So what better way to show how he feels through something concrete? Surely if he gives of his time and resources for the people he cares about, they will understand how high of a regard he holds them. At least, he hopes. 

What is Neuvillette like in a relationship?

As unfamiliar with human emotions as he is, you notice Neuvillette’s feelings for you long before he does. How can you not? You see it clearly—the softness in his eyes whenever they fall upon you, the fondness in his smile, the requests for you to stay if not just a moment longer. You are taken by surprise the day he notices. He approaches you with a troubled, albeit bashful expression. He says that it was brought to his attention that he has feelings for you. Adorable as he is, what else can you do but accept them?

Much to your expectation, there is a hesitance in his step after he begins to court you. He has never been in a relationship before. He doesn’t want to mess it up. So how close is he allowed to walk next to you? Is it proper to offer you his arm? Will you refuse him if he asks you to accompany him to a show? But your presence at his side leaves him light-headed. How many times this has lead to social gaffes and things of the sort? But when you laugh, how can he not chuckle to himself in turn?

With Neuvillette, you will find no bombastic displays of affection. There will not be poetic words of love and adoration. After all, Neuvillette is a simple man and will show his love through simple, yet earnest ways. He will want to spend time with you. He will want to do his best to communicate and be honest with you. He will want to make you happy in any way you see fit. He will do his best for you.

Zhongli's below the cut!

What is Zhongli’s love language?

Anyone close to the Geo Archon knows his penchant for gift-giving. Really, it often catches many by surprise the sheer thoughtfulness and rarity of the gifts he gives. Not only are they often pricey, but also chosen with the receiver specifically in mind. It’s not rare to see people moved to tears upon receiving them, touched by the amount of care he puts into each one. As with gifts, Zhongli is also liberal with the words of affirmation he gives others. He does not hesitate to state a person’s strengths, nor how high of a regard he holds them. With him, there is no room for doubt. 

What is Zhongli like in a relationship?

You don’t exactly know when you both became an item. As wordy as Zhongli is, he never bothered to tell you his feelings plainly. He even rejected you at first, stating he didn’t see you in that way. But then he said he’d try, didn’t he? And from that point, things began to change. How he’d invite you to Miss Yun’s performances, or offered his arm for you to take while he’d walk you home. How he’d tell you the most outrageous stories with a straight face, then laugh with an amused glint in his eye when you took him seriously. Somewhere along the way, the wall he kept began to fall.

Still, it is hard to tell his feelings as he never becomes the most physical with his affections. He does not hug you, nor does he hold your hand when you walk at his side. Sparing the moments when you’re the most endearing, he does not often kiss you of his own accord. Still, there is a level of familiarity and intimacy that he displays with no one else. You’re the only person he’ll let by his side on the days he wants most to be left alone. You’re the one whose opinions matter the most. You’re the only one he’ll tease as mercilessly as he does. You’re special.

With Zhongli, you realize that your relationship with him is not primarily one of romance, but of companionship. He does not simply view you as a friend. No, you’re much more than that. Out of all the things that come and go in his life, you are and will always be the only constant. You are everything to him. Even if you may part ways for a time, the place by his side will always remain yours. A relationship with you is a contract, one that he will always uphold. 

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Birthday Planning

SO! Fun fact. I was kinda running out of ideas.

Then I had THIS idea.

And well. After the last ride? We deserve cuteness don't we? ;)

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

No edits we diving right in! (pppst. @spotaus I got the new installment get in here ;) )

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

"Horror! Wait up!"

Horror blinks as he turns back around and searches the crowd. It only takes him a moment to spot the excited bunny monster. He tries to give a smile while he waits for a moment for the other to catch up.

Ellie stops before him panting harshly as she leans against him "Oh god." more pants and weezes.

Horror tilts his skull as he keeps the other steady "Hello Ellie... something wrong?" Maybe she needed help or something?

Ellie manages to pull herself upright again adn smiles brightly "Nothing is wrong! It is just I had something very important to ask you guys and saw you so i sprinted all the way over here."

Horror nods and gives her a look "What did you want to ask?"

Ellie grins widely "When is Nightmare's birthday? Like. No worries! I get that you guys havent been here for quite a year yet and with everything going on especially the whole kidnaping thing. we get you guys want the first birthday to just be you guys but Dani realised we still had some of our better quality cherry jams left over and I got the amazing idea to use those in a birthdya cake but! Well.. you know... gotta know when the birthday is. and we both figured it hadn't happened yet as you guys hadn't mentioned yet... so... When is it? And all you guys birthdays for that matter."

horror needs a moment to process all the information she just dropped on him. When he realised what she was asking he realised a tiny problem.

They all come from different universes and the calanders were not the same.

Worse.

Horror isn't even sure if Nightmare even has a birthday he celebrates. They never celebrated it as the castle.

Horror looks down at the groceries in his arms before looking at Ellie "Is it... okay I give an answer later?"

Ellie frowns before her eyes shoot up to his skull and hole and she cringes and rubs her neck as she looks abcka t his face. sheepish smile on her face "Right... sorry. That... that was a lot at once wasn't it? Just... think about it okay? And you guys got our number!" she takes a few steps backwards, almost bumping into someone before she disappears into the crowd again.

Horror sighs in relievve, crisis averted. Now.

When the fuck are their birthdays in this world anyway?

--

Horror returned home to his datemates and their kid. Horror still feels his soul pulse happily even at just the thought.

They sit together in the nest while their dinner cooks slowly in their oven. It is an old stone oven and Horror loves it. it is sturdy and takes up a lot of space but he love using it.

Killer frowns as he is still staring at his phone "I mean... We can just pick dates and call it a day? It isn't like I was still celebrating my own birthday back in my universe anyway. I only started that up again with you guys in the castle."

Dust hums his agreement and Cross nods too "True! XTale also wasn't big on birthdays unless it were the once which marked important ages. I am down to just pick one and call it."

Nightmare frowns as he looks between them before pushing closer to Dust "Not like it matters. It isn't like i am growing and stuff."

Dust nudges Nightmare's skull with his own and mutters softly "Hey... what did Fauna say?"

Ngihtmare doesn't say anything and just pushes clsoer to Dust.

Dust doesn't look like he is bothered by this at all as he just nudges Nightmare gently again "Come on... what did the nice deer doctor lady say?"

Ngihtmare grumbles but actually answers this time "That I won't grow until i am healed."

Dust nods "exactly. As long as you are healing you won't grow. Which, she told us is a normal response for children to have as their bodies and magic are much more fragile." he bonks their skulls together softly "Which means. You will stay our adorable six year old until you are healed fullly. Including physical, mental and magic health."

Nightmare looks down embarresed and mutters "should be healed by now... I am a god..."

Dust looks unimpressed "You are also a six year old who lived his whole life being abused and hurt and when you finally had the power to defend yourself you had to do an adult god's duty." he nuzzles him "Take your time. We aren't in a hurry and any monster knows what it means if a child isn't growing."

Nightmare relaxes a bit and nods. accepting Dusts words.

Dust looks content as he glances up before looking slightyl embarresed as he tubs his hood closer around his skull "what?"

Horror then realises he is staring and a glacne confirms to are Cros and Killer. Cross looks completely enchanted and Killer is straight up cooing. Yeah no wonder Dust is getting shy. He was the same when the four of them spoke about dating.

Horror smiles at Dust before taking his chance to say something "Well. We better pick a birthday for him." Horror smiles at Nightmare "Or do you have one we don't know about Night?"

Ngihtmare shrugs and mutters "Dream and I were born on the longest day of the year... I don't know which date it was in our universe and when it is in other universes."

Killer groans "Of course it was on the sunniest day of the universe- ugh." Killer shoots Cross a glare but Cross jsut sends him a warning look back.

Horror agrees. Killer would have no doubt said something about either Dream or Nim and neither of them matter. At all. Not when they have a babybones that probably never even had anyone celebrate his birthday.

Dust stays on task as he hums in thought "Well... we could figure out when the longest day is here... and say that is your birthday? usually those fall in summer."

Killer shoots upright "or! We can pick the day when the longest night happens! Go right to the other side of it all!"

Horror watches Dust and Killer debate the options while he watches their tiny charge think. and that is why he sees Nightmare blink and looks up a bit as he no doubt gets an idea. Then the doubt sets in wihtout him saying anyhting.

Horror speaks gently "Did you have an idea?" luckily Killer and Dsut shut up right away.

Nightmare shrugs and mutters "maybe... I thought... you know... I became six again... and you guys picked me up so second chance and stuff... so shouldn't that count as the day? Because it is the day this whole thing started?" he tugs himself clsoer to Dust.

Dust hums as he rubs his spine oh so gently "I think it is a great idea." he glances at Killer "Kills?"

Killer grins as he taps away on his phone "already on it! lets see..."

Horror smiles at Nightmare "I think we all agree it is a great idea."

Nightmare smiles a tiny bit and Horror sees a tine glimps of that confident monster Nightmare had been with his powers. Which is good. This means they are guiding him alright towards a future where he is confident in himself, and hopefully happy and healthy.

Killer sits up and holds up his phone in triumph "Figured it out! We got here near mid summer and we had Ngihtmare for two months at that point. Ngihtmare become his true self a month before we got him. meaning!" Killer grins at Nightmare "You are a spring baby!" Killer shows the date to them all.

Ngihtmare looks away embarresed and Dust nods "Sounds good."

Nightmare however looks a bit anxious "But that is so soon already?"

Dust nuzzles him "That is okay. We will just do a small party with us five. Well and Crop and Straw if they want to come."

Horror sees Nightmare looks surprised and just chuckles "It will be nice. Something nice to focus on and enjoy together." he rubs the tiny cheek and Nightmare closes his sockets to lean into the touch.

The five of them relax and eat dinner soon after that as they casually discuss when everyone wants their own birthdays. Horror makes a point of picking up their housephone and calling Dani and Ellie to give them an update on the birthday situation and to invite them the party if they want to and have time. Horror also gives Crop the same update and invitation.

They are together. They are healing. The are happy.

And they have a party to prepare. They have to make sure Nightmare enjoys his very first birthday party after all.

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

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[starfiresky]

Separated at dawn

[icarrymany]

the mh comics open up such an interesting narrative for our few surviving characters. to them, what happened in the videos was real, but to everyone else its a cool creative web series. when all of that is viewed as fiction, fans have a freedom to speculate about and invade the lives and privacy of real people. and that would be so uncomfortable and terrifying. imagine someone irl having headcanons about YOU. writing fan fiction about you and your real friends. assuming things about you PUBLICLY ! IN MASS!

wouldnt it be so cool to see a character grapple with that in like a self-reflective way? fans asking questions the muse is too afraid to ask themselves. of course, theyre the only person the answer matters to.