#but hurt is only mentioned

[letsplaythermalnuclearwar]

hey you know what would be like. the WORST possible thing? if no time had passed for mortals during God Games. if the entire time, Odysseus had just been frozen on that ledge. and at the start of the Vengeance Saga, Ody's still on the ledge. he looks to the skies, to the trees, out over the ocean. he looks for an owl with knowing eyes and strains to hear her voice over the waves, because surely, surely she'd come for him. the haven't spoken in nine years and he ruined whatever relationship they had when he stupidly, foolishly let the cyclops live, but she has to still care, right? she was his mentor. she was his patron. he meant something to her. he's sure of it

but she's not there. he waits, but she's not there. he closes his eyes, sparing himself the view, and steps off the ledge

and is saved by Hermes. and Odysseus briefly thinks that he has died, since Hermes escorts souls to the underworld. but Hermes assures him that, no, he's alive, Athena heard him, she bargained with Zeus, he can go home now. he can finally go home

his friend came through

[sysig]

Ah, childhood memories (Patreon)

[buddie-buddie]

let me go home (i'm just too far from where you are)

9.5k - T - established bucktommy

Tonight is going to be perfect.

The dinner, the wine, and then, when the moment’s right, he’ll ask Evan to move in. It isn’t the grand proposal Tommy’s saving for later on down the line, but it’s the first step. And it’s one he can hardly wait to take. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait much longer. He’s washing the last of the dishes when he hears Evan’s car door closing in the driveway. Tommy wipes his hands on a towel, excitement bubbling in his chest as he heads to the front door, ready to greet his boyfriend. 

When he swings the door open, his words die in his throat. 

Evan stands on the porch in front of him, pale and hollowed out, his eyes distant and unfocused. His hands tremble where they hang at his sides, covered in blood. Blood stains streak across his t-shirt, every inch of him radiating exhaustion and something deeper, something raw. 

“Evan," Tommy breathes, his heart lurching. “Are you okay?”

Evan doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Concern washes over Tommy in waves. His mind races with possibilities, each one more horrifying than the last.

“Evan,” he tries again, more insistent this time.

read on ao3

[extravagav]

Yk I never did truly recover from the sick fic chapter

[many-gay-magpies]

god what really gets me about dead boy detectives and what i think i love so much about the show and the relationships in it is that like. the romantic and sexual relationships aren't portrayed as being more unique or important than the platonic relationships. they're all just RELATIONSHIPS.

charles and crystal's attraction to each other and eventual hookup isn't this big end-all be-all relationship that shatter charles and edwin's friendship and draws charles' attention away from edwin; it's just a THING that happens. they're just two people that care about each other and happen to also be attracted to each other, and a hook-up happens, then they decide that neither of them are in the right place for it and it's nothing awful. crystal kisses charles, but it isn't some big spectacle of her declaring her love for him; it's just her saying goodbye and that she cares about him, like her hugs with niko and jenny and her handshake with edwin.

edwin realizes he loves charles romantically and tells him, and charles says he doesn't really love edwin romantically BACK, but it's okay, because they still love each other so much in so many other ways that this one tiny difference could never change them—and it doesn't!! they're still just as close, still care for each other just as much, still SHOW that care for each other just as much. their relationship didn't completely end because edwin loved charles in a way charles couldn't reciprocate, but at the same time it isn't "solved" by edwin getting over it, because there's nothing TO solve. it's just another type of love, added to everything that already exists between them. and they have LITERALLY FOREVER to figure out what it means.

the relationships between edwin & niko, crystal & niko, and crystal & edwin aren't given any less weight for being solely platonic, just as charles & crystal's relationship and edwin's feelings for charles aren't given (that much) MORE weight for being romantic. crystal and charles' conflict in the closet is about EDWIN, about how they're BOTH his friend and BOTH want to get him back; it has very little to do with the feelings between THEM, romantic or otherwise. similarly, the weight of charles' and edwin's relationship isn't diminished in the LEAST by charles not reciprocating the romantic side of his feelings (or SAYING he doesn't reciprocate, at least—we can all argue about the legitimacy of that in the notes).

i'm sure there are more examples than this, as well as probably some examples that CONTRADICT this, but like... by and large, it feels like dead boy detectives is a show where all the relationships are given equal weight regardless of platonic, sexual, romantic, or familial status, and as someone on both the asexual and aromantic spectrums who has struggled time and time again with shows casting out the importance of all other relationships in favor of prioritizing romance, that is INCREDIBLY refreshing to see.

[lizzylucky]

Draxum hadn't accounted for the fact that when he gave four hatchling turtles the DNA of a human being in order to give them greater intelligence, he would effectively be making himself a surrogate father to actual children, with wildly different needs.

When he sent his gargoyles to obtain a sample of DNA from Big Mama's prized warrior, the intention was to create his own. They were to be the prototypes for an army of simple creatures with just enough heightened intelligence to learn combat and follow commands, that he might defend Yokai kind with.

Instead, he quickly discovered the integration of human DNA had been a little over successful in allowing his test subjects to learn and think and feel in a civilized manner, going so far as to override some of their natural instincts as turtles that would otherwise allow them to learn to care for themselves. He had to feed them, by hand, with bottles.

Like infants.

They were easily distraught by unfamiliar things, and quickly became dependent on Draxum in every sense of the word. They babbled, they cried, they explored things with their hands, their tails, their mouths.

It was an unplanned adjustment needed to be made, but no matter. If anything, learning to understand the new hybrid emotions of these turtles would allow Draxum greater advantages when they grew enough to safely learn combat. Preferences, likes and dislikes, needs, diet, and so on, all became more complex areas of study.

Even a couple years in, he found himself continually surprised. Brain scans had shown that the turtles were more intelligent, still, than anticipated. They, truly, seemed more human in mind and function than anything else, with only some base instincts and behaviors left to influence their personalities. They retained many reptilian traits, but overall had the bipedal anatomy and function of humans and some Yokai. It had been an infuriating discovery at first, but Draxum had to admit that over time he became fond of it.

Each turtle had developed his own personality. The eldest, for example, had a love of plush toys, and showed a fierce protective instinct over the others. The youngest, Draxum had learned, was contrastedly reckless and excitable, not nearly so reserved or gentle as the first. Additionally, he was, decidedly, to be kept away from any and every writing utensil unless under strict supervision (unfortunately, this was learned a little too late, as was evidenced by the clear markings left in several work benches). Then, of course, were the slider and the softshell, who had the most bizarre relationship. They were constantly fighting with each other, but utterly inseparable, and each showed an incredible and unique curiosity, constantly exploring and watching and studying, with concentration filling their eyes in ways Draxum had never seen in other children so young.

Embarrassingly, it took another couple years before Draxum realized he couldn't simply refer to them by their species' names. It certainly was effective, but they were not the mild, simple creatures he had once expected them to be, and he knew that they never would.

Now, they were vocal, playful, inquisitive... energetic. By the gods, were they energetic. They never stopped moving, never stopped talking, never stopped eating, never stopped wanting or needing.

...This is why Draxum never had children of his own. It took all the time and energy he had to spare, and then some. Although it would be a lie to say he wished they were any other way.

They had so much capacity to learn, and with their emotional propensity could one day come to understand exactly why Draxum was doing this, which he knew would be an edge in their combative styles.

As he introduced them, slowly, to more of the world's culture and knowledge, he felt, in a new way, that their very existences were revolutionary. A perfect, synergistic unity between two entirely different families of genetic material, with numerous enhanced abilities. And they were children. They maintained all the properties of regular children, but had so much more in store! Such grand destinies! They would be, inarguably, the greatest warriors of their time when they were grown. They would be the compassionate, skillful heroes of all Yokai, the first of a new generation of super mutants, and the key to overcoming the evils of the humans who had overtaken the surface and posed such threat to all who lived below.

It was with great reluctance that he allowed himself to accept, however, that not all of mankind was evil. There were many forms of art, beautiful in different ways, there were some rare people filled with kindness, inventions that utilized resources in ways Yokai kind had never thought to. Perhaps he had been a little stubborn in his ways, a bias cementing over time that blinded him to some of the beauty that did yet exist in such a species.

Make no mistake, humans were a threat. Innocent families lived in fear, in hiding, of the governments and ruthless sciences designed to invade, to blaspheme the name of knowledge, with no regard for the safety of this people.

Draxum could live with being an outlaw to the Yokai if his experiments would lead to their salvation. He may be their villain in today's papers, but in history books he would be a hero.

Still, he wished to amend some of his practices. Even if only to his turtles, he would be known for his ability to change and understand. He would be fair, and he would be truthful.

And so it was that he told the turtles the nature of their existence. Perhaps he muted some of the details, to protect their minds until they had more understanding, but he would not lie to them about their DNA. He told them of Lou Jitsu, and their human genetics, and he begrudgingly allowed them access to the culture of the humans. He would let them choose their interests unbiased.

In the process, he came to know of some of the revolutionaries of human history. Though he wasn't particularly inclined to believe there were no evils involved, he was intrigued by the strange moral code that the humans boasted from their different time periods. The turtles, as well, were fascinated by the stories of war heroes and generals, seamstresses and inventors, artists and royalty.

Initially, when it came time to redesignate his turtles, Draxum had been inclined toward the names of those whose legacies persisted in the humans' culture even today- perhaps a president for the slider, a scientist for the softshell, a great general for the snapper, and an artist for the young box turtle. It seemed, somehow, clandestinely right; carefully considered to exemplify each of their personalities.

And although he had begun to get used to the possibility of names like "Monroe" and "Edison", his indecision on the matter seemed to be working against him. He was taking too long, and the boys were growing smarter.

It was a day in August, later that year, that he found his two youngest arguing over a Renaissance book, oddly enough. The elder two took to a game of knocking "secret patterns" on each other's carapaces, which he dismissed before he could allow himself the confusion that came with wondering why a five year old would want to knock on a spiked shell for fun.

After breaking up the fight and confiscating the book (which, as it turned out, the youngest only wanted because it had pictures in it, much to the chagrin of the other, who insisted that reading it was much better than just looking at the pictures), Draxum found himself idly flipping through pages of rustic images and rudimentary ideas, developed by people with strange names.

Maybe he was simply too tired to consider it properly, but, feeling defeated in his endeavor, he chose four names at random and assigned them to the young turtles, deciding it had been long enough.

It took a while to get used to, but soon "Raphael", "Leonardo", "Donatello", and "Michaelangelo" truly fit.

Over time, the boys grew... ravenous. They devoured everything- food, information, technique. They were learning quickly everything Draxum taught them. They practiced with Huginn and Muninn, leapt up, around, over, and through everything in the lab, and took special interest in action-filled films.

And Draxum grew fonder. He wasn't entirely surprised, of course; it's natural to develop some sense of sentimentality when caring for anything this long. Even if they had been the simple minded turtles he expected, he knew this was inevitable, to a degree.

What startled him was the sudden sense of fear that came with watching them train. The alarm that made his heart beat harder when one of them fell from somewhere high or any time they ran simple drills with weapons not blunted and made from wood.

He subtly began to intensify their defensive strategies, taught them where they were most vulnerable so they could protect those spots, insisted on perfecting their abilities to parry, block, and dodge before anything else.

And, over time, he found himself training them less often than before, thinking, "I must preserve their innocence and prolong their childhood experiences". After all, it was an essential part of development, was it not? If it were tarnished too much, they might become unwise or unjust as warriors. And, really, Raphael was only 8 years old, and he was the eldest; they were much too young to be exposed to the harshness of what their combative training was really for.

He told himself that, time and time again. He told them that, making certain they understood that their training was not a game. It wasn't untrue, certainly.

Really, he just wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to admit to what extent he cared about them, because it was too much. It was more than he could ever have been prepared for. It was more than that passion to protect Yokai kind ever was, and if he ever realized that, he might become the compromise to his own purposes, to the very reason these turtles exist this way to begin with, and then what? What was he to tell them, why was he to train them, who did they exist for if not the inhabitants of the Hidden City?

No. He couldn't do that. He simply would not allow it, not when so much was at stake.

And yet...

More and more often he desired simply to watch them. He was growing weary with worry, and with that tight feeling that arose in his chest each time one of his boys so much as frowned.

Raphael loved to carry his brothers on his shoulders. And he prided himself on being the big brother, in every way. He liked repeating instructions Draxum gave to the others, and tended to play caretaker anytime someone was sad, or had a bruised knee. He often played the "bad guy" in their made up games so the younger ones could "win", he was the mediator in big decisions, like what book they should read before bed, and he seemed always ready with an armful of stuffed animals when he wanted to express affection. So strong, incredibly strong, but soft spoken and sweet.

Leonardo adored Raphael. Just as Raphael did Draxum, Leonardo liked to imitate and repeat instructions. He tended to take charge in many of their childish endeavors, and had a propensity for dramatics and heroism, often pretending to rescue his brothers. This seemed to irritate Donatello to no end, unless he was also playing the hero, and often times he was. The two were usually glued to the hip, though Leonardo liked to make a point to tell all his brothers about everything that went on, and would take a movie night with the three of them over a one on one outing with Draxum any day. He was exuberant and joyous, and very driven by the concept of justice.

Donatello, similarly, seemed to care very dearly about maintaining a bond with all three of his brothers, but he was peculiar, often more reserved and enjoying his alone time. That child read and read like he might never get a chance to again, and he absorbed what he read like a sponge. Quite a few times Draxum found him pulling apart whatever he could get his hands on, and though an effort was made, there was no hiding place the boy couldn't discover in his quest for Draxum's tools. In spite of his quizzical, sometimes stoic nature, Donatello was sensitive, and very thoughtful. He would spend hours talking about his books and his ideas- some of which were very clever- and he was expressive in secondary ways- sitting nearer his brothers even without interacting, crafting things out of paper as gifts. Even the little heart-shaped mark on the back of his soft shell seemed a fitting part of him- he wore his heart on his sleeve, so to speak, and didn't even realize it.

And Michaelangelo. There was an innocence and joy and goodness about the smallest turtle that had struck Draxum. Even when he was younger he always wore a smile and liked to see the good side of things. And he idolized his brothers. With him had grown his creative inclinations, filling every colouring book, drawing on every wall, and absolutely plastering the other turtles with stickers. They were a pain to wash off, but Draxum couldn't bring himself to mind it, especially given the elder three always loved their baths. Ironically, it seemed Michealangelo did not, enjoying it only under specific circumstances. Heat, bubble bath, and bath toys had quickly become a necessity. So too did bath crayons, the need to express himself coming through even when bathing. Everything about the ornate box turtle was bright and colourful.

Draxum... loved them. Dearly. Every facet of their personalities and growth. Every unique trait and behavior.

It was terrifying. He couldn't afford to love them. He couldn't afford to see any more goodness in the humanity they showed. He couldn't afford to change his goals right now.

So he continued disregarding the feeling, trying to reason that everything he did for them was to nurture their instincts as warriors, as science experiments, as specimen.

But a pained scream one day, different from any of the ones he heard when they were frightened as infants, when one of them tripped and fell, when a spat led to hitting, sent his heart into his throat and had him racing through doorways with more urgency than he had felt for anything before.

He had demanded an explanation, panic translating to perceived anger, and three of his boys looked up with teary eyes. Three, but Donatello remained curled up on the ground, wailing his little heart out without ever looking up, and it was one of the most heart wrenching, painful sounds Draxum'd ever heard.

Raphael sat not far from the smaller boy, looking over his shoulder seemingly at nothing, at Donatello, then up at Draxum and back again. Both Leonardo and Michaelangelo burst into frantic, panicked explanations, none of their words coherent enough to understand through their tears.

When Raphael stood, exposing red-tipped spikes on his shell and pointing frantically to Donatello's, it didn't take long to figure out well enough what had happened.

It became quickly a very long day. All four turtles were distraught, and though Draxum had more than enough first aid knowledge to address the situation, bile had threatened to rise the very moment he pulled out the suture kit.

The cuts were deep, and jagged. And poor Donatello cried the entire time, even after a numbing agent had been applied.

Draxum had never thought that in depth about Donatello's soft shell. Not like that. He chose a softshell for the experiment because it would provide greater flexibility, greater agility. It gave an advantage that the hard-shelled turtles did not have.

Now, here... The soft carapace, spongy and leathery and bloody...

It was an accident. Of course it was, Draxum never doubted that. He had to assure that none of his boys were in trouble, no one was in trouble, no one had done anything wrong.

But for the first time he had to be honest with himself. For the first time he couldn't deny how much he cared about the turtles. His turtles. His boys.

He wouldn't, either. If this was what it was, if this was something that could happen again because he insisted on making them into warriors, into fighters- if this could happen on purpose, if this could happen worse, if this could happen with malice and hatred in mind...

Draxum wasn't unused to physical affection, by now. All four boys adored hugs, although Donatello was usually more reserved about them. Now, Donatello clung like his life depended on it, sniffling and whimpering, having cried so long he had no more tears. Draxum clung back, idly smoothing over the edges of the bandages, holding the frightened, exhausted turtle to his chest, cradling.

He did so until well after Donatello fell asleep. He couldn't bring himself to put him down. He accompanied the others to bed, assuring them once more that things were alright, and then simply stood in the walkway, holding his boy tightly.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't go through with it. They were children, every bit as innocent and deserving as the Yokai he wished to avenge and protect. He could train them, prepare them to protect themselves, but he could never send them into battle, ask them to put their lives on the line, much less demand it.

How could he?

It took months of processing, of agonizing his way through the healing process with Donatello, of watching the other boys proving their humanity, their curiosity, and their innocence time and time and time again. His mind was constantly at war with itself, his heart constantly in turmoil and distress, worsened by the turtles' confusion at his sudden change in behavior.

What was even worse was that they would.

They would absolutely sacrifice everything they had for his approval, and for what they understood as "right". He could see them, easily, being willing to submit their very lives to a greater cause if he asked it.

But was he "right"? Even if this experiment had gone exactly as planned, was he right for ever considering putting these turtles into the station of a warrior? Even if they had remained turtles in mind, if they never expressed complex emotion, if they could not speak, if they did not have distinct and colourful personalities, would it have been right?

Was what he saw in them now what they would have been at heart, regardless of circumstance?

Or was it the humanity, that he stole from Lou Jitsu?

Perhaps... perhaps it was time to learn. To consider the root of his motivations.

He couldn't do this to them.

How could he?

[mothfables]

It happened in a crash of thunder.

They were making their way along one of the roads in an unclaimed Hyrule when the storm hit. It had been looming all day, making itself known in tight scars and aching joints.

They had just come upon a rocky cliff when it happened. Thunder boomed out of nowhere, making everyone jump. The rain came a moment later, bringing with it a chill that had some of them gasping.

“Let’s find shelter!” Warriors called. There were enthusiastic sounds of agreement.

Twilight pulled the hood of his pelt over his head only to pause. Something felt off. He did a quick headcount. All of the usual troublemakers - Wild, Hyrule, and Wind - were ahead, eagerly searching for some place to take shelter from the rain. The rest were trudging along as well as they could.

Everything seemed fine. He continued walking.

…Wait. Someone was missing.

The rancher stopped in his tracks, counting again. Wind, Wild, Hyrule- that was three. Time and Wars in their armor, glancing worriedly up at the clouds, five. Sky holding his sailcloth over an unhappy Four. Seven. He made eight.

…Where was the Vet?

Twilight glanced around, trying to spot his missing brother. He turned around and-

Oh.

Legend stood frozen in the middle of the road, hands clasped over his ears and eyes shut tight. Thunder boomed again and Twilight watched as he flinched, curling into himself with a barely-audible whimper.

Oh no.

It was no secret among them that Legend hated storms. Twilight hurried back towards his brother, calling out to try and get his attention.

There was no reaction. Legend remained frozen.

“Lege, hey, lookit me.” Twilight knelt down before him, noting with mounting worry how pale he was, just how tightly he curled into himself. Thunder rolled again and Legend flinched hard with a choked sound.

Twilight frowned. Calling his brother’s name again produced no result; Legend stayed unresponsive. A fourth bout of thunder had him shuddering and Twilight biting his lip.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He hesitated to touch him, but calling his name wasn’t working. Legend hated being touched without warning, but Twilight didn’t see any other way to get him out of the rain. With a sigh, he shrugged his pelt off and draped it over the smaller boy, making sure the hood was securely over his head before scooping him up and hurrying back to the rest of their brothers.

The Captain was the first to notice as he approached, his brow furrowing at the shaking form held close in protective arms. He sent Twilight a concerned look which only deepened when Legend let out a small, scared noise.

“We needta git ‘im outta the rain,” Twilight said. Wars nodded and was about to reply when he was interrupted by a shout.

“We found a cave! It looks like there’s enough room fer all of us!”

Wind waved at them from a large opening in the cliffside. The heroes still on the road hurried over, grateful for the chance to get out of the storm.

Inside the cave was thankfully dry and large enough for them to spread out and have their own space. The roof was even high enough they could have a fire without having to worry about the smoke.

Twilight moved to the back of the cave, as far from the entrance as he could. The sound of rain was quieter there, and he felt Legend’s trembling lessen a tiny bit.

“Shh, shh. I gotcha,” he murmured. “Let’s getcha outta those wet clothes, yeah?”

Legend whimpered and clung weakly to him as Twilight tried to gently wrangle him out of his wet things. Warriors came over after changing out of his own soaked clothes to help. Together they managed to get Legend out of his wet clothes and into something soft and dry.

The younger boy didn’t resist, only pressing closer as thunder echoed through the cave. Twilight and Wars shared a look over his head.

“Reckon he’s small, if he’s actin’ like this,” the rancher muttered lowly.

Wars sighed. “Yes, I think that might be the case. Do you think it was the storm?”

“I dunno what else it could been. ‘e was fine earlier, just grouchy cause his scars were actin’ up.”

Wars nodded before crouching down to be level with Legend and speaking softly. “Hey, bud. Are you feeling small right now?”

A muffled whine was his answer and he exchanged another glance with Twilight.

“Do you want me to hold you while Twilight gets changed? You can go right back when he’s done if you want.”

Legend didn’t respond, instead pressing even closer to Twilight as his right hand drifted towards his mouth. Warriors was quick to catch it, rubbing gentle circles into his palm in apology when Legend made an unhappy noise.

“I know, bud, I know. But Twi’s gotta get out of his wet clothes too. Come here.” He gathered Legend into his arms before shuffling around to sit against the wall with him in his lap.

He held his little brother, still rubbing circles into his hands, as he watched the rest of them work to make themselves comfortable to wait out the storm. Wild had managed to get a fire going and was in the process of preparing dinner. Four was furiously toweling himself dry while Wind went around gathering everyone’s bedding, most likely with the intention to make a nest for them all to cuddle in later.

Things had just gotten to a point where they were calm and relaxed when the weather took a turn for the worse.

Lightning flashed, painting the world a blinding white, followed by the loudest clap of thunder yet.

Legend jolted from his place against Warriors’ chest with a cry. Wars managed to catch him before he fell, wrapping his arms around him securely. Legend let him, staring into nothing for a long moment before he burst into tears.

He wailed, shoving his face into Wars’ chest to hide from the storm raging outside. His brother held him close, covering long ears and rocking side to side in an effort to calm him. Soft humming filled the air, a welcome distraction from the dull roar of rain outside their shelter.

It took time but eventually Legend’s tears slowed. Wars ran a soothing hand through his hair as he hiccuped, letting go of the tight grip he had on the older hero’s shirt to rub at red eyes. The captain gently wiped the tears from pale cheeks before pressing a kiss to his brow.

Wet violet eyes peeked up at him from behind damp hair. Wars smiled and tucked a lock behind one of those long ears. Legend sniffled and moved to nuzzle against his neck. He let him, used to the other boy’s way of seeking comfort.

“You feeling a little better, honeybun?”

A small nod against his collarbone. Wars leaned his head against Legend’s, earning a sigh.

“I bet yer tired, huh, kit?” Twilight murmured, laying a hand against Legend’s back. “Let’s git ourselves t’bed, yeah? Wind’s got a nice comfy nest built fer all’a us.”

There was a beat, then a tiny “…okay.”

“That’s th’ spirit. Awright, let’s go!” Twilight helped Wars make sure he had Legend in a secure grip before standing. Then they made their way over to where the Chain was waiting in the aforementioned nest. Wild was the only one missing, still working on dinner.

Wars settled down near the middle, Legend curled in his lap. Sky crawled over with a blanket and tucked him in with a smile. Then he took Legend’s face in his hands and pressed several kisses to his cheeks with exaggerated ‘muah!’ sounds. Legend gave a wet giggle at the affection.

Sky beamed. “There’s my little bird! Are you feeling better, baby?”

Legend nodded before his face scrunched and he yawned, nose quivering. He laid his head on Wars’ shoulder again with a content sigh.

“You can go to sleep if you want, honeybun. It’s alright.” The rain had died down a fair bit, a quiet patter on the cliff outside. Wild finished dinner and came over, plates in hand, and smiled when he saw Legend cuddled up to the captain.

“I’ll save his for later,” he whispered.

“Thanks, champion. I know he’ll appreciate it.”

Warriors began running a hand through Legend’s hair, feeling the boy in his lap relax at the soothing motions. He leaned more and more heavily into the captain, one hand grasping loosely at Wars’ shirt while the other rested under his chin. A moment later tiny squeaking snores sounded.

Sky cooed. The other heroes exchanged adoring smiles at the sight.

“Alright, that’s bedtime for us, I think,” Wars whispered. “Sleep well, everyone. See you all tomorrow.”

With that, he carefully moved to lay down, Legend still wrapped in his arms and snoring quietly. He felt more than saw someone lay a blanket over him, his own eyes already drifting shut from the assurance of safety and family.

“Goodnight, captain,” was the last thing he heard before he let sleep embrace him.

[spaciebabie]

at first getting diagnosed with cptsd was like, "yay my trauma has been validated (it always was valid)!" and i really thought that was going to be it, but then i started to do research as i do whenever i realize i have something and learned that!! the way i experience socialization is!! quite horrid actually!!

[pluralthey]

dissociation!!!!!

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Dawn

I am back because i got home from work and I got no chill! :D @spotaus

First one Prev drabble Next one

Okay. So why this one? Because i realised it was a while since i wrote a drabble from Horror's point of view and that is criminal and it is a great excuse for me to showcase some stuff from the quiet and very observing sockets of Horror! (also gives me an excuse to not think about the drabble order i got now and that thought i messed it up a bit which I need to think of a solution for)

Ready? Let's go!

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

Horror makes sure to carefully close the door to the greenhouse. It is still early but he is used to those.

He enjoys the cool fresh air as he walks towards the house, small basket filled with fresh monster food. Horror is happy he got permission from Crop to harvest the plants in there for their meals.

He quietly opens the door and listens for a moment. He saw Cross leave the farm a little while ago to do his own morning workouts and by the sounds of it the other three are still asleep.

Which is good because he needs his own sleep. Horror knows very well that Dust is the one to wake up with Nightmare if something bothers him in his sleep.

He found the two of them awake and reading a book one too many times for Horror to believe they just had an allnighter.

Horror likes being up early. Maybe strange for him but he got used to it in his old universe. The best time to check his traps and search for food had been in the very early morning, or very late night depending on how you look at it, as most people would be asleep.

It is a leftover habit and he just kept going with it when he joined Nightmare's gang.

He puts the food away in all the right places and goes about getting the ingredients for todays breakfast. He notices the fresh milk and eggs and the choice is obvious. Some pancakes would be great.

He starts preparing the ingredients as he takes the time to measure it all. The milk makes him chuckle.

Watching Cross realises there was a cow had been funny. Finding Cross in a tree shaking with a cow under it had been hilarious. Crop ahd been apologetic as he explained that his cow, Betty (Killer had mutters "of course it is claled betty") was aparently mischievious.

Horror had his doubts but Cross swore that the cow would know when he left the farmhouse. That the cow would stand at the edge of her field and stare at him.

Cross did not go to the east side of the farm anymore. aparently that was Betty's territory in his mind.

Nightmare liked petting Betty however so you have your ups and downs.

Horror mixes the ingredients slowly but surely. Thinking about Nightmare, "Shouldn't you still be in bed?"

silence before a soft mutter "Not tired anymore."

Horror chuckles as he shoots Nightmare a look. He looks fully awake and adorable in his new wool sweater. Horror grins "God powers?"

Nightmare shrugs "I mean probably. I never needed sleep before. that is still new." They hadn't really noticed anything that could be connected to Nightmare's godhood at the moment. Maybe it had gone domant, at least that was Cross's guess. Dust just thinks Nightmare's magic is now focussed on healing instead of weird god shenenigans.

Speaking of healing! Horror gives him a stern look "bandages?"

Nightmare rolls his eye lights but mutters his answer "All still in place and good. Killer replaced them after the bath last night,"

Horror nods. With that secured he relaxes abit "Want to help?"

Nightmare is already by his side and stands on his tiptoes. Horror chuckles as he gives him a look "Need a chair?" he would offer a stepstool but the chair is more stable for him.

Nightmare looks at the counter annoyed before nodding his agreement. Horror grabs a chair and puts it near the counter. Nightmare climbs it easily.

Horror really wants to pick him up but they do have the rule that inside Nightmare should walk around himself to carefully train his spine. It is still much to early to already start carrying him. Horror knows that if any of them start they won't stop.

Nightmare reaches for the ingredients, some fruits for inside the pancakes, before pausing and staring at his sweater.

Nightmare has been very careful with his new gifted clothes. Horror himself is also very careful with the set of clothes Dust got him.

Horror frowns at the food he is making. He really hopes he can quickly find soemthing to do here to earn money. At the moment only Dust has something and it is starting to show, even Killer seems to be getting annoyed with himself over it.

Until now Horror and Cross helped around on Crop's farm. Which he was happy to do as it only seemed fair as a way to repay Crop for letting them stay. Horror has also been learning the basics about farming, farmland and farmwork from Crop. It is still a lot and not everything sticks in his skull, probably falling out of that hole. But he is getting better at it. He hopes with this Crop can maybe get the news out that both of them are more than willing to help around with heavy duty work and get a bit of cash flow.

Killer... Killer has a very specific set of skills. Sadly not specifically useful on a farm. Even if he is great with the animals and can herd pretty much anything, which is very useful but well. Most people won't let you near their animals unless they trust you and Killer is Killer.

Horror just feels bad that Dust is pretty much still Ngihtmare's main caretaker, got the rough end with the backstory they settled on, and has to deal with work to get cash. Only to spend all of it on them all.

Horror can see it is starting to wear him down. He just hopes they can figure out how to balance everything better.

It is another reason he loves these mornings. Because morning time means Dust, and Killer, both sleep in and Horror gets time to supervise their babybones. Horror adores the time wiht Nightmare. Especially when alone because then others don't watch them nervously the whole time.

It is exhausting to be seen as something dangerous even if he knows it is true. It is why they mean so much to him, they never treated him like that. None of them did.

A glance confirms that Nightmare has carefuly rolled up the sleeves and is taking extra care with cutting the fruits, using one of the duller knives which won't be able to cut bone. Horror turns back to getting everything else ready. He has to concentrate to push his intent into the food. He wants them to enjoy and like it. Feel the things he can't say to them.

Horror knows what he wants and feels but also knows none of them are ready to hear it. Horror has known that from the moment he realised what he felt was. The curse of being the only emotional stable one.

He still remembers all the way back near the start of them meeting and chuckles to himself. they did not get along at all.

Nightmare immediantly looks up "What is funny?" he looks adorably confused.

Horror thinks for a moment "Remember when you brought me in?"

Nightmare blinks before giving a slow nod "Yeah... I had hoped you would calm Killer and Dust."

Horror chuckles "Can't believe you thought i could do that."

Ngihtmare shrugs as he finishes up his task and just sits normally on the chair "I mean... It worked." his hands find the glass of juise Horror got him.

Horror pauses for a moment before nodding. Nightmare is kinda right with that one. It hadn't worked right away but he made it work. Mostly because he had had a lot of motivation.

Nightmare, still a fully active god at that point, had offered him that he would slowly but surely fix the food problem in his universe in trade for his service, something about it being too severe for him to be able to instantly fix but if Horror worked for him he would work on it. Horror had figured Nightmare had known about his little weird immortality situation with his own universe's core and accepted.

Turns out he just wanted him to fix whatever had been going on with Killer and Dust. Because they would fight. Constantly. And those two got very close to killing each other a few times.

Horror had eventually managed to somehow form a connection and bond with Killer. It had been rather easy and Horror was able to become friends with him over coworkers. Eventually find him not just annoying but funny. And later think fondly of his antics.

Dust took longer. Which had been a combination of Dust just being an introvert and not looking for connections or at least not in the way that made that clear to Horror. And well Horror heard bits and pieces of what Dust had done and had honestly been disgusted with the idea that Dust just murdered his whole universe and his own brother. Just to fight one human? Just to end a timeloop?

It was well after he managed to get them to stop, or at least contain the damage of, their fighting. Well after he started working for Nightmare more permanently that Horror realised how the multiverse worked.

And how fucking unfair it was.

Because aparently? stupid fate or some shit? That decided how your universe worked. His would always have ended up with a famine and starvation. Killer would always lose control and be controlled, abused and used by the human. Cross would always be the end of his universe. Dust... Dust would always have to kill his universe. No matter what he tried or solution he tried.

It wasn't until later Horror learned that Dust had tried everything. Multiple times. That Dust had learned to play multiple musical instruments in the time of resets. That he had learned to cook, and tinker. He master chemistry. Everything in the hopes it could give him a solution.

But the fates had already decided his ending, much like for all of them there was only one ending possible for them. And in the end locked him in a dead AU make by his own hands when no other options was left. Just like all of them had been.

Horror has to admit it took him a long time to get Dust to admit those things to him. Msotly because Horror had been standoffish before and that he accidentally gave Killer advice to treat Dust like one of the many stray cats he interact with.

He hadn't specifically said that. horror had just told Killer that maybe Dust would like Killer more, or at all, if Killer learned to respect his boundaries. Horror had mentioned how Killer could learn each cat's limits so why not Dust?

Worst part was that it actually worked.

Horror rubs his face "I give him cat advice." his voice sounds pained. Dust had been so mad at them both.

Nightmare nods "I remember. Dust left for three weeks." he snorts "which really is very catlike..." more thoughtful "And then you two got mad at me for not telling you where he went." He blinks and shrugs as he drinks from his orange juice.

Horror ignores the cat comment as he looks at Nightmare "Why didn't you tell us?" Dust had actually been recruited to help Nightmare with the balance. Something Horror only started to do after helping Killer and Dust be less homicidal.

Nightmare blinks at him wiht those wide sockets "I didn't want to force any of you... If you wanted to leave..." he speaks softer and softer "I wasn't going to stop you if you wanted to leave... if you didn't want to stay..."

Horror frowns and picks Nightmare up. He embraces him and hums "I am sorry we left..."

Nightmare shrugs as he pushes clsoer to him "You came back..."

hah... yeah they did. Much like Dust did all that time ago. He was gone for a few weeks before returning after killing Ink bringing back one of his fucking sketchbooks as proof. Obviously killing Ink does little in the long run but it was quite the powermove. Dust had glared at them daring to say anything. Killer of course had muttered something about Dust bringing back a kill much like a cat.

Horror is still not sure how he managed to stop Dust from Killing Killer that day.

Horror puts Nightmare at the table and gets a small yogurt and fruit snack ready for him. Just so he can eat a tiny bit. See how his magic will handle food today. Nightmare starts eating it when offered and that is a good sign. Means his magic is actually sending out the signal that it needs food today.

Horror goes back to flipping pancakes. Horror tries to stay in the here and now but his injury makes his mind likely to wander. and with already having been thinking about them.

He still remembers one of the early missions, after Horror learned about fates cruel games. Dust had still acted the same but Horror had tried to be more friendly. He had been close to giving up on it as clearly it wasn't working as Dust was still standoffish. Only for Dust to pull him out of the way of an attack from Ink, getting hit instead.

Later Horror had demanded why he did that and Dust had just shrugged. He hadn't had an answer for him. It confused Horror to no end. Horror was immortal because of that fact that his magic had been used in the core and bonded to that. Meaning as long as the core in his universe was fine he would return to life.

The gang had known this and Horror knew that Dust knew this. And yet. Dust had heard all of that and looked at the large monster Horror had become saw soemthing worth protecting. Something that needed protection.

Horror thinks he fell a little bit in love that day.

Much like how one day Horror just realised he couldn't stand the idea of not being near Killer or never seeing him again. That even if Killer could be annoying that he didn't wish him any pain or harm.

How it warmed his soul that Killer, and Cross later, would hide behidn him. Seeing him as someone safe that would protect them. See him as someone trustworthy.

Cross, so eager to please and desperate for affection and affirmation. but once he relaxed so smart and funny. Loyal and always ready to help...

But now is not the time to try and see what any of them thought or felt. They are dealing wiht a lot at the moment and they need to concentrate with trying to make staying here work.

The front door opens and Cross walks in quietly. He sneaks a glance at them and smiles when Horror catching him looking. Cross waves to Nightmare "Hey guys. All good?"

Horror nods "Nightmare helped." he flips another pancake as Nightmare drinks his juice with a smug little smile.

Cross grins "Good to hear. I will quickly get cleaned up and help. Dust and Killer?"

Nightmare hums "Still asleep." and he sips his juice again.

Cross nods "Good to know. be back in a bit" and he goes towards the bathroom. The pipes groan softly as Cross no doubt turns on the shower.

Horror finishes the last pancake and gets to wrok on getting the drinks and coffee ready.

Another day for them to figure out how this will work. Horror is just happy they are all here, everything else can wait as long as they stick together.

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

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[4sh-n4]

Bruce Wayne, who can't cook to save his life but can bake better than even Alfred. The catch? He can only do it in the night after being awoken by nightmares. No one knows about his extraordinary skills other than Alfred and Dick, because everyone assumes that the baked goods in the kitchen are made by Alfred. Dick knows because when he was younger and couldn't sleep because of nightmares, he used to join Bruce in the kitchen and watch him work.

Dick Grayson, who is an absolute disaster in the kitchen because he keeps getting distracted, but give him a microwave and a dream and he'll prepare a solid three course meal that actually tastes decent. He's also an excellent cocktail maker, which is funny since he prefers to have his alcohol straight without any mixers (he still puts the little umbrellas in his glass though, don't be mistaken)

Jason Todd, who is an ACE in the kitchen because he refused to ever be helpless with food again after getting off the streets. He was going to eat, and he was going to eat WELL. Especially since he finally had the resources to be able to actually experiment with what he likes and what he can do with different foods, instead of just what's cheapest or most easily found. The one thing he can't do? Crack an egg with only his hands without getting any of the eggshell pieces in the food. He needs to use one of those little egg cracking tools. The thing that pissed him off the most about this is that the one thing Dick can do brilliantly in the kitchen, is crack eggs with one (1!!!) hand only.

Tim Drake, who is definitely not michelin star level (the Drakes had a cook for Tim's entire childhood so he never had to learn), but has learnt to sustain himself with instant meals and those little ramen packets. He somehow always makes them taste good though, adding toppings and making sure they are some form of nourishing, even if that just means adding a fried egg on top and calling it a day. He also knows the difference between all the different little types of tea that alfred likes to drink just by taste, and is the only other person in the house that can make a perfect cup (that is Alfred approved). It always shocks everyone else, because Tim is notorious for hating the taste of tea.

Cass Cain, who has no culinary abilities and does not want them either. Her skills in the kitchen start and end with making sandwiches. But whenever she goes out to eat, she always goes to a chinese restaurant and gets something that she hasn't tried before, because she was never introduced to any foods of her culture and wants to taste them all now. Oh, and she can do super complicated tricks with the knives, her and Dick have constant competitions about who can do the coolest thing.

Steph Brown, who lives off of takeaway for most meals, but can make better breakfast foods than most people in the house. Waffles, pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, you name it and she can make it. Only if it is traditionally eaten before noon though. She also worked as a barista part time for a while, so she knows all the fancy coffee recipes.

Damian Al Ghul Wayne, who doesn't care to cook other cuisines, but taught himself how to make almost every middle eastern and south asian dish he could get his hands on, because it helped him feel closer to his home and his mother when he first moved in with his father. His fondest memories of his mother are of her feeding him his cultural foods and telling him about their origins. It was the only time they did not speak of work, or his training, but instead about what his father was like as a person, about the things his mother has seen on her travels over the years, about his maternal grandmother, about his interest in animals.

Duke Thomas, who can cook enough for a 15 year old but doesn't touch the kitchen of Wayne manor very often, not unless he's just sitting on the counter watching others or helping minorly. His memories are still fresh enough to bleed when touched and all his memories of him cooking in the kitchen have his parents happily dancing in the background on Sundays with loud music blaring through the walls as they teach him how to chop onions without crying or knead dough.

Alfred Pennyworth, who only had the most basic culinary skills when he began working for the Waynes, just enough to keep him alive when he was in the military, but was forced to learn how to cook when he was unexpectedly given custody of an 8 year old. He can cook better than most professional chefs in the world now, but he still hoards Thomas Wayne's old cookbooks like they're the only tangible part left of the man who once filled the halls of the manor, even though he knows that's not true. He'll pass them down to his grandchildren one day...just not today. Today, they're still his.

[blimbo-buddy]

I hate Jimmy but I like him in the fact that we’re supposed to genuinely hate every fiber of his being. I think the story tricks us into thinking he’s a good person, or at the very least a morally grey character, and it’s like the story itself shows annoyance toward it while also giving us a sense of sympathy for falling to the same manipulation that Jimmy puts others through. But that is only if we actually realize the truth.

it shows annoyance towards us as the player/viewer but saves its special hatred for Jimmy. Not us, Jimmy. It’s annoyed that we show some kind of good will towards Jimmy before the silent reveal in the text that he assaulted Anya. It’s like the game acts like how an actual person would realistically react to this stuff: the player/viewer glosses or barely acknowledges the aspect of rape (as many have while playing the game) and the game shows fury towards you. But if you piece everything together about the assault, then it’s like the rose-tinted glasses fully come off and you see the horrible situation for what it actually was, for who Jimmy truly is

the game is like a test for its player/audience.

do we gloss over the horrific actions of Jimmy, the smaller details in the conversations between Anya and Curly, and the context clues of what Jimmy did to Anya; and thus allow the game to show its righteous fury towards our incompetence

or

Do we realize the truth of everything, of the actions of our protagonist; actions that we were led to ignoring by the main character himself before learning about what he’s done to everyone on the Tulpar; and thus allow the game to still show sympathy towards us while also rightfully being frustrated and maybe even hating us still

in other words: Do you eventually see the tiny, dead pixel in the vastness of it all; or are you so used to seeing the bigger picture that it never crosses your mind until it’s too late

[agardenofideas]

i hope sunny gets a villain arc if tubbo wont get one fully

like i need her to lash out at every single adult around her for not carring for her pa or her (looking at phil who offered to care for pomme and dapper when he wouldnt for sunny on tubbos Confirmed death), for no one taking her pa seriously, for taking things from them, from her pa until there was nothing left of him.

i need her to lash out at the adults for never seeing her pa hurting and thinking it wasnt serious, i need her to lash out in peoples faces how she had said they were worried for her pa and the adults just said hes like that or he'll get better and he didn't

i want her to lash out and reveal that tubbo said to her he felt more seen and cared about by a fed worker who was learning to have emotions than from any islander around

i want her to burn things, even if not a house and just a wood she placed down to set fire, i want her to do that, i want her to blow things up and lash out and be heard

cuz if being a good girl for her pa ends with them unheard and him dead then she will be heard now and once this thing called Creation gets her pa back to her, she is not letting him go

if any of the adults who didnt do anything to get him back cared for him in life and cared just a bit in death, they dont deserve to see her pa back again, he is sunny's and sunny's alone

i want sunny to spew vitrol and fire and to lash out at everyone, she deserves to go on a murderous rampage too as a treat

[mintjeru]

is it such a sin to want to live?

open for better quality | no reposts

my shop is open!!

[skittlesking]

any headcanons for my boy geno?

Mobility aid Geno! yknow that DT did some damage (Papyrus carries Geno at the end of aftertale id i remember-). Geno probably uses a variety of mobility aids, defaulting to a cane or crutches :]

[idalenn]

To reach The unreachable star