#drudge skeletons

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Drudge Skeletons

"The dead make good soldiers. They can't disobey orders, never surrender, and don't stop fighting when a random body part falls off." —Nevinyrral, *Necromancer's Handbook*

Artist: Daarken TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[topazshadowwolf]

GoopTales: Part 23, Date Night

*passes over this part, which is covered in FuzzyNight glitter.* :3

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23(you are here)/34

AO3: Ch 1 (1-4), Ch 2 (4-8), Ch 3 (9-12), Ch 4 (13-16) Ch 5 (17-19), Ch 6 (20-23), Ch 7 (24-27), Ch 8 (28-31), Ch 9 (32-34)

---

Killer walked up to Mr. Night as he finished giving medication to the three-legged cat. Killer giggled as the kitty hissed and spat at Mr. Night before walking over to Killer and purring. “you should be nicer,” Killer scolded while petting the kitty. “mr. night is only doing that because you need the medicine.” Tri, the kitty, did not like the scolding but accepted it from Killer with a questioning ‘murr.’

“Killer, should you not be with the others?” Nightmare asked as he put the bottle of medicine away.

“i told lyra that i needed to tell you something important. i told her about how one of the chickens laid two eggs and how cool that was and how you should know,” Killer explained.

“Well, now I know,” Mr. Night replied as he picked up Killer with a tendril. The tendril moved Killer closer to Mr. Night, and Killer stretched his arms out to the goopy skeleton. As gently as his dad would, the dark skeleton took Killer into his arms, and Killer snuggled against him.

“but that wasn’t what i really wanted to say to you,” Killer continued, “that was just the excuse i used to ask you something very, very important.”

“Oh, I see, very crafty of you,” Nightmare mused as he walked out of the cat feeding room.

“uh huh!” Killer puffed himself up, looking rather pleased with himself after that praise. “me and the others-”

“The others and I,” Nightmare gently corrected.

“the others and i decided we wanna thank ms. lyra for helping you and being so nice to us. none of us know what having a mommy is like, and i think, if i had a mom, she is what i’d want that mommy to be like,” Killer explained.

Mr. Night paused and looked at the floor in silence for a moment. He then looked up as if looking at someone on the ceiling while muttering, “Give me strength.” Then, after that, Mr. Night looked at Killer. “That… sounds very nice, you wanting to thank her for helping.”

“and being like a mommy!” Killer announced happily.

“Ah… yes, how could I forget that part,” Mr. Night mumbled.

“you’re silly, mr. night!” Killer giggled.

“Between the two of us, I do believe you are the silliest,” Mr. Night said while poking Killer’s cheekbone. That made Killer giggle and squirm in the arm Mr. Night was holding him in. “Now that has been clarified, what were you four thinking of doing?”

“oh! we wanna have a picnic, with flowers, and, and, and games! oh, and pie! and we want her to just relax and play with us and… and… give hugs, and we wanna make her cards,” Killer said the last parts quietly.

“Hmmm, except for the relaxing part, does she not do most of that already?” Nightmare asked.

“yeah, but she’s the one who does eeeeeeeeeverythiiiiiing for that. we wanna do it so she can have a day off, but we’re too small to do all of it and were wondering if you could help,” Killer said, finishing his reason for coming to Mr. Night.

“I suppose that will work. And what day were you four thinking of doing this?” Mr. Night asked.

“mother’s day!” 

“Oh…”

---

Oh, indeed…

Nightmare worried that such a celebration on Mother’s Day would drudge up bad memories for the guardian. It would also encourage his feelings of having a new family. Just as he felt that pang of longing when Killer first announced Lyra was like a mother to him. But that is beside the point. The focus was on Lyra, and he was about to convince the boys to choose a different day. But he then considered it a chance for her to make new memories. Albeit… with four hooligans that Lyra would not want to be the mother of. 

Although, if that were true, she was showing the opposite.

She was always eager to care for the boys and their pets. It was sweet watching them interact with each other. Every morning was so soul-warming as he watched them happily greet her for the day. Even Dust was starting to warm to her and was not always clinging to Nightmare. They all excitedly go to her after she returns from tending to her duties as a guardian, begging her to tell them how things were outside their home. 

She truly was being motherly to them.

So, if she is filling the role, he might as well help the boys celebrate her on a day meant for beings like her.

He helped them, one-on-one, during moments when she was busy or away to make their cards and start preparation for Mother’s Day. For the most part, there was no evidence for her to suspect something was going on. But, on the rare occasion, the Guardian of Balance would notice something. “Killer, how did you get this glitter all over your hands?” “Cross? Where are you going with that stack of blankets?” “Horror, is that flour on your shirt?” “Dust? Oh, there you are… Please do not wander off without telling me.”

Nightmare should have known he could not have hidden everything from a momster. Still, he luckily was around to save the boys from interrogation each time. “Ah, we were considering an art project, but he quickly reminded me how that stuff gets all over everything. I guess I failed to wash all the glitter off.” “Ah! Thank you for getting those for me, Cross. These were used last for the nest during the boys' movie night and should be washed.” “I do believe that is my fault. He was nearby when I spilled that flour while looking in the cupboard.” “Ah, sorry, Lyra, I am equally to blame. He followed me to my office after I got my drink. I should have sent him back. But… well…”

That last one resulted in some light-hearted teasing from her at how soft he was with the boys. It was embarrassing, but he would admit it was true.

It took careful planning on the days leading up to Mother’s Day. The tendency for immortals to lose track of time helped him, as Lyra was not carefully watching a calendar like Nightmare was with the boys. Finally, the night before arrived. The boys assigned him one task: make sure she sleeps so she is rested for tomorrow and in place for a surprise breakfast in bed. 

Nightmare let her get the boys ready for bed, which will be her last bit of work before relaxation begins. While she was away, he cleaned up the toys and mess in the entertainment room and set out some candles while turning off the lights.

While he was not an avid movie watcher, he did enjoy the few he has watched. Especially if he read the book first. Sure, the movies were often different, but as long as they held to the spirit of the book, he honestly didn’t mind that much. Nightmare might grumble a little when scenes he enjoyed in the book did not show up or were not portrayed accurately enough to his liking. But, in the end, he acknowledged it was a movie and had limits to how much and what it could show.

The mind will always be the greatest movie theater.

All that aside. Shortly after starting their… relationship, Lyra and Nightmare formed a sort of “book club.” It was mostly them taking turns reading aloud a book together. He discovered that one they particularly enjoyed for its wit and humor had been made into a movie. They had picked the book since it was set in a “fantasy” setting in the time period he preferred, and it was a romance. It is not precisely Nightmare’s favorite genre, but this was enjoyable with the action and parts of revenge, war, and trickery. With the boys in bed and it being the night before celebrating Mother’s Day, well… might as well have a date night. Once the movie is done, he will have Lyra go to bed.

“NightStar?” he heard her say, and he looked over at her. 

She looked around the room and smiled while placing her hands on her hips. “I thought you said you had a lot of work to do,” she said.

“I did,” He chuckled as he lit the last candle. “It was a lot of work setting this room up for something other than child care.”

“I was going to help you with all that paperwork you claimed to have from the latest alliance,” she argued. “Will this momentary distraction mean we will have more work during the next few days?”

“I may have exaggerated how much I had to do in order to secretly plan tonight,” And tomorrow, but she didn’t need to know that part yet. Instead, he walked over to her and held out his hand. “M’lady, if you would join me?”

“How could I say no?” She asked while extending her hand and letting him take it.

Which he did. While taking her hand, he bowed to her slightly and lightly placed his teeth on the back of her hand, against the white fur, in a skeletal kiss. He then looked up at her with a grin as he saw the hint of pink appearing on her face where her fur was the thinnest, such as around her nose. However, he could feel the warmth on his own face, telling him he was blushing as well—not that he cared at the moment.

With that, he stood straight and guided her to the sofa. “Sit, and re-,” he started. The sound of flatulence filled the room as she sat, and both were startled by it. The silence that shock caused was broken when Nightmare sighed, and Lyra burst into hysterical laughter as she fished the whoopee cushion out from under herself. “I would ask you not to laugh since that would only encourage them, but they are not here to witness. I must have missed that one while cleaning up.”

“Indeed,” She wheezed as she tossed it onto the stand beside her. But she continued snickering, and Nightmare could not help but find that… endearing in a way.

“You truly found that so funny? Typical Toriel behavior. You may act mature, but deep down, you enjoy childish things,” He teased.

“Oh hush, you old fuddy-duddy,” Lyra taunted with a grin.

Nightmare mock gasped, placing his hand over where his soul was and acting offended, “Me, old?”

“Honestly, Nightmare. That is the part that offended you the most?” Lyra teased.

“Naturally! The notion that I am old when we are both immortals is insulting,” He said while turning his head to look away to feign indignation.

“Well, if you act the part,” She chuckled.

“Fine, then. If I am old, I will act as the grandparent and spoil the four with sweets and whatever they wish. Then, once they are a rowdy and unmanageable lot, I will pack them back over to you to tend,” he replied with a grin.

It was Lyra’s turn to mock gasp, though hers was in faux fear, “How devious! I take it back. You are still youthful! But a fuddy-duddy all the same.”

“I suppose that will do,” he said, rolling his eyelight. He then smiled at her, turning their focus back to the matter at hand. “Though, I think that banter will be a good segway for the movie we will be watching tonight.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head.

“Romance and humor… though this also has sword fighting, drama, and action,” he said while putting the movie in the DVD player. He won't claim to be great at using the player and TV, but he was proficient enough to complete the task.

They sat together, holding hands, as they watched the movie about Princess Buttercup and her true love, Wesley.

It was nice… especially when the movie ended and she gave him a kiss on the cheekbone. He then followed up with a kiss on her nose, which then turned into a true kiss… one that he hoped she enjoyed as much as he did. 

This was still all so awkward and new to him. Yet, feeling her lips on his teeth, their magic meeting with the physical contact, and the love they shared for each other being accepted and reciprocated was almost intoxicating to him. The fact that she seemed happy enough to keep this kiss going told him that she was enjoying it enough not to stop anytime soon. However, the sad fact of life is that all good things must eventually come to an end. If the boys were going to wake her up with a surprise breakfast in bed, then she needed to be in bed and sleeping.

“Lyra,” He said, finally pulling away, “as much as I am enjoying this. One of us should sleep while we have a chance. I will tend to everything else tonight and in the morning. It is your turn to rest.”

“Is it? I thought it was your turn,” She said with a frown.

Nightmare shook his head, “No, I rested last. Remember, we both had a chance to sleep last week, and I was the last one to sleep. So, you need to go to bed, rest, and get ready for another busy day tomorrow.”

“Hmmm…,” She hummed as she coaxed one of his tendrils to curl around her hand and arm as she often does. “That may be true, but I am not sure I am tired yet. Or done being around you.”

“Ah, yes,” He felt flustered by that. He wasn’t truly done being around her and would love to wake up cuddled with her again. But, he reminded himself he had his standards to hold to. Rules of propriety that may be ignored by some, but keep him in a moral code that made him who he was and not like the other cruel Nightmares off in their own multiverses. It might not seem that important of a rule. Though breaking one purposefully, as that one time was an accident brought on by mutual exhaustion, will invite the idea of breaking others. 

“Well, as true as that may be, you should take this chance while you have it,” He said as he turned his attention to the TV. 

The menu screen for the movie was playing on repeat in the background; during the kissing, he blocked the noise out. Now that he could turn his mind to other things, he had to admit the repeated short song was starting to become annoying. When the screen turned black, it darkened the room further, though that never bothered him. Nightmare can see easily in the dar-

Nightmare clapped his hands over his mouth as he struggled to hold back the sound wanting to emit from his mouth. A sensation he had not fully felt in centuries nearly forced him to laugh. In shock, he looked at Lyra, who looked back at him with equal shock and slyness. The tendril that felt the tickling sensation was no longer being tickled but still squirmed in a failed attempt to flee her. But no luck; she was not about to let the limb go.

He watched as she turned her attention back to the tentacle. Her fingers started moving over the limb in an oddly delicate yet aggressive way. Lyra leaned closer as Nightmare again struggled to hold back laughter, “My, my, what is this? The King of Negativity is ticklish after all?”

He wanted to deny it, but he didn’t dare utter a sound for fear he would burst into laughter. A snort did escape, but he held strong. No, he would not give in to this.

“I warned you, did I not?” She said with a mischievous grin on her face.

And yes, she did warn him about testing her theory that he was ticklish, but that was about four months ago. It had slipped his mind completely.

“You are so quiet, not even a retort?” She teased. “But not a laugh, either.”

Behind him, the remaining tendrils curled tightly as if trying to hide from her tickling fingers. He needed to will them to act, to push her away. It was a struggle, as his main focus was on trying not to burst into laughter. Still, he started to get them to respond, but they could not reach her to push before she pounced.

Those deft fingers moved to each side of his body, aiming for the tender area under the arm. Nightmare made the most undignified of sounds as Lyra continued this childish assault on areas he long since thought were no longer ticklish. With that, he could no longer hold it back any longer. Laughter, unlike any laughter that has burst from him in centuries, poured forth. He struggled, mid-gasps for air, to beg her for mercy.

What shame he would feel… if this wasn’t her. Indeed, if he were to display such vulnerability and weakness, it might as well be to one who has been doing the same towards him. Spending every day together caused him to shed his wall of defensive pride when around her. Still, his tendrils finally obeyed and spared him as they worked together to push her away.

“And here I thought you said you were not ticklish,” Lyra taunted with a giggle as Nightmare leaned back against the sofa arm, catching his breath.

“To be fair,” Nightmare wheezed, “No one has dared to test that theory since I was a child.”

“I suppose that is true,” Lyra replied. “But now, you look more tired than I do. Perhaps you should be the one to sleep?”

He shot her a glare and then sat up. “Winded from that ridiculous display of frivolity you coaxed out of me, sure. Tired? No. It is your turn. Do not make me carry you off to bed like I do the boys.”

“Would you tuck me in?” She teased.

“You are an adult who has tucked in more beings than I ever have. I think you can manage,” He taunted in return.

“Not even a goodnight kiss, then?” Lyra said with a “sad” pout.

“You have already had a ‘goodnight kiss,’ multiple even,” He replied.

“Oh, have I?” She said while looking off at nothing as one does to recall a memory. “I am not sure I remember.”

Of course, she remembers. He sure hopes she did. Still, if she was going to play that game, he would give her a kiss she would not likely forget anytime soon. He leaned forward and drew her attention back to him as his hands moved to her face. Fingers moved through her soft fur and touched the skin beneath. Nightmare called on his magic, his love, and his emotions for her while he kissed her as if he were trying to smother her in affection. She gasped, shocked by this display from him, but then hummed contentedly back at him as she returned a kiss.

It now was a contest of wills to see who could pour out more love and affection for the other in this single display—one he was determined not to lose. Digging down deep, he pulled on his past emotions, converting them to magical energy that she could interpret but shared through a kiss. 

How they once were enemies, and at that time, he truly did despise her and how she interfered with his plans. And yet, even then, there was admiration for her doggedness to stop him and protect those weak mortals he had, at that time, no respect for. How his anger for her only increased when she seemed to disappear. When it was then Dream who was upsetting the balance. Then, the shock of how she stood up for him… Aided him and the boys, which sparked something in him. It was not love at that time, and it was more than admiration. It was the growing seed of an alliance. As time went on, he took that feeling and formed a bud of friendship. That bud grew and blossomed as they worked together for peace, and as she showed the same kindness to his boys he showed them. He… liked seeing her show off her motherly side to them. When most hate his boys and find him revolting, she showed nothing but kindness and friendship. And oh, how that confused him.

Nightmare had tried to push her away for her own good. But just as before, when they were enemies, she was too stubborn to leave. She shared her love for him with him, and he relented to that confirmation that he was not alone in those feelings. And now, here they were. This time together, tending the boys, drawing them closer and closer, deeper and deeper into love. And he was devoted to her. If he were her “NightStar,” guiding her on the ocean of life as the stars guided the sailors, then he would do his best to keep her safe and direct her back here, to her home.

And with that, she surrendered, pulling away and gasping. Hints of blush were now visible through her fur over her whole face. He won, and he grinned while watching her catch her breath. Sitting back, he let a little smugness change his grin. His tendrils flipped contentedly from side to side as a display of playful superiority. “Now who is looking tired, hmm?”

“You say that with such confidence, but your face is covered in that lovely teal blush,” She teased back. “But I give… my sweet Night… we will need to discuss this kiss another time, as… I think you,” She looked at him for a moment, and he started to frown, tilting his head. “We will discuss this ‘goodnight kiss’ another time. For now, I will go to bed. Good night, my love.”

“Good night, Lyra.”

And with that, she stood and left.

Discuss the kiss? What was there to discuss about it? Granted, it was their history displayed to her in his view through magic shared in a kiss, but… that is all there is to it. They both lived through that. Did they really need to talk about it?

[chocochipbiscuit]

Femslash February Recs: ORIGINAL WORK!

I love Femslash February and am usually all up in fanfics (as witnessed by my bookmarked F/F fics…) but! I’ve actually been on a binge reading original sapphic work lately, and want to yell about my favorites!

The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri:

“A captive princess and a maidservant in possession of forbidden magic become unlikely allies on a dark journey to save their empire from the princess's traitor brother.

Imprisoned by her dictator brother, Malini spends her days in isolation in the Hirana: an ancient temple that was once the source of the powerful, magical deathless waters — but is now little more than a decaying ruin.

Priya is a maidservant, one among several who make the treacherous journey to the top of the Hirana every night to clean Malini’s chambers. She is happy to be an anonymous drudge, so long as it keeps anyone from guessing the dangerous secret she hides.

But when Malini accidentally bears witness to Priya’s true nature, their destinies become irrevocably tangled. One is a vengeful princess seeking to depose her brother from his throne. The other is a priestess seeking to find her family. Together, they will change the fate of an empire.”

There are so many great characters, and I love how full and complex they feel; everyone has their own motives, whether it’s conquest or survival, and Priya and Malini’s goals are not always in alignment (and oh BOY that complicated web of trust and loyalty really gets put to the test in the second book) but their relationship is utterly the backbone of the book, navigating the boundaries whether the daughter of conquerors can ever ‘just’ be sweethearts with a temple child whose mere survival spits in the empire’s eye.

Also, if you read: please yell about Bhumika with me!!!!

This is the first of The Burning Kingdoms trilogy. Two books are out already (The Jasmine Throne and The Oleander Sword) and I love them both!

Content warnings for in-world homophobia and sexism, mostly shown through the attitudes of the empire towards the people they’ve conquered.

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir: 

“The Emperor needs necromancers.

The Ninth Necromancer needs a swordswoman.

Gideon has a sword, some dirty magazines, and no more time for undead bullshit.

Brought up by unfriendly, ossifying nuns, ancient retainers, and countless skeletons, Gideon is ready to abandon a life of servitude and an afterlife as a reanimated corpse. She packs up her sword, her shoes, and her dirty magazines, and prepares to launch her daring escape. But her childhood nemesis won't set her free without a service.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House and bone witch extraordinaire, has been summoned into action. The Emperor has invited the heirs to each of his loyal Houses to a deadly trial of wits and skill. If Harrowhark succeeds she will become an immortal, all-powerful servant of the Resurrection, but no necromancer can ascend without their cavalier. Without Gideon's sword, Harrow will fail, and the Ninth House will die.

Of course, some things are better left dead.”

Deranged lesbian necromancers….IN SPACE!!!! I fully admit that I didn’t read this for the longest time because I was convinced that it wouldn’t live up to the hype, but I absolutely devoured it!!! Also the first of The Locked Tomb series, which has three books (Gideon the Ninth, Harrow the Ninth, Nona the Ninth) which are available for your frenzied consumption!

Feminine Pursuits by Olivia Waite: Historical F/F romance!!! I’m listing the series title instead of individual books, but each book absolutely stands on its own and is well worth reading! Do you like age gap romance with two passionate women scarred by lovers past? Then check out A Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics! (Also, astronomy!!!) Or are two middle-aged women, one a widow and the other in a lavender marriage, more your speed? Then try The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows! (Also, bees!!!!) Or maybe you’d prefer a rivals to lovers romance that culminates in a heist? Then oh boy but The Hellion’s Waltz is there for you! (Also, music!!!)

These books are set in the 1800s and there is period-typical sexism and homophobia (particularly in The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows), including some frank discussions that the women involved may not be able to marry or have more ‘conventional’ families, but these are all romance novels. That means happy endings!

Mrs. Martin’s Incomparable Adventure by Courtney Milan:

“Mrs. Bertrice Martin—a widow, some seventy-three years young—has kept her youthful-ish appearance with the most powerful of home remedies: daily doses of spite, regular baths in man-tears, and refusing to give so much as a single damn about her Terrible Nephew.

Then proper, correct Miss Violetta Beauchamps, a sprightly young thing of nine and sixty, crashes into her life. The Terrible Nephew is living in her rooming house, and Violetta wants him gone.

Mrs. Martin isn’t about to start giving damns, not even for someone as intriguing as Miss Violetta. But she hatches another plan—to make her nephew sorry, to make Miss Violetta smile, and to have the finest adventure of all time.

If she makes Terrible Men angry and wins the hand of a lovely lady in the process? Those are just added bonuses.

Author’s Note: Sometimes I write villains who are subtle and nuanced. This is not one of those times. The Terrible Nephew is terrible, and terrible things happen to him because he deserves them. Sometime villains really are bad and wrong, and sometimes, we want them to suffer a lot of consequences."

Another historical F/F romance, and an utter romp! The nephew is indeed Terrible and much of the reason he’s able to be Terrible is because of the institutionalized sexism and social hierarchy of the period. However, he does get harassed and punished in entertaining ways! And Violetta and Bertrice are delights.

[cloudninetonine]

So I might be working on something interesting else as well involving Time. Just need to overcome the dreaded writer's block.

Lost. Everyone will become lost at least once in their lives. Whether it be a location, their memories, to even the path they walk. All shall lose sight of what they know.

Sound of shaking bones echoed through the deep forest. There was no bird to sing, no insects to chirp, or animals to fill the deep silence with their chitters. Just the clanking of rusted steel.

Things that are lost can be found. A lost dog shall find their owner. Deeply comatose mother can return to her real life. Hopeless beggars discover their golden key to thriving salvation. But not everyone has a chance to be found.

An eerily sad red light slowly moved through the thick mist. Pale teeth cry a silent name. Withering blonde hair barely clings to chalk white bone.

Sometimes a lost soul is actually abandoned. Left by their friends, casted from their home, tossed away by family and forgotten by their own gods. A fate only sadder when that individual doesn't acknowledge it.

Tears quietly hit the forest floor as the armored skeleton continued his trek. Arm outstretched almost beckoning for something that's no longer there. Small chuck of tan flesh remains untouched on the skull as the one blue eye shivers.

Yet they can still be saved. Even a stranger's kindness is enough to give salvation. To let a lost soul finally be found. Painting hope across a dark canvas of despair.

The skeleton steps foot in a bright alcove. Roses of every color shone from the soft warm sunlight that pierced the forest's darkness. Wings of stone stood delicately adorned by blooming vines. Bones slowly and weakly drudge over to the saintly statue. As the dying soul began his final fall, pink wings caught the lost hero in a warm kind embrace.

"You shall wander no more. Let me grant you a true home. Is that okay, Link?"

As for who found Time, it's an OC of mine named Rose Elysium or Rosa when in her human disguise. She's an emissary of chaos that serves an unknown god.

You can say Time is safe with Rose Elysium but a certain Chain of heroes might not be...

I LOVE THIS IT WAS SO BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN!

I hope you can get through your writers block! I know the struggle it can bring, it socks :((((

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Tell me a story about spooky scary skeletons

A new day! A new day to be an automaton like the others. A new day of drudgery, of being locked in here and repeating the same day over and over again until your brain is raw, of getting up every morning and doing the same work. A new day, but today is worse! A new day of nothing, of silence and monotony and the knowledge that something is wrong, that things are not what they ought to be, but not quite in time to be anything else. A new day.

Maybe it's the time of the year. But maybe it's always this way. Maybe the only thing that changes here is the temperature, and even that's as much of a nightmare as the rest. As it is, one is more than happy to spend the few days between the spring equinox and the summer solstice working in the cold rooms. The cold is an improvement, at least. Not a good one but still an improvement. And while the dark nights and mornings may be cold, at least the coldness is bearable -- the cold isn't, is what I'm saying. In the cool, white rooms of the basement, the feeling of the wind outside is a comfort -- it means that there are things moving beyond the walls of the room, that the world is out there, that things other than oneself are moving and acting on it. It isn't cold, not really, but it seems so when you are spending all your energy just to keep your heart going. And when, in the darkest hours of the night, the thought comes, "You don't have to live like this. You're free to go. You don't have to stay inside. You can get out --"

The thoughts don't come more often, or last longer, in the cold, but the fear, for all that it's easier to handle, never does, never does, never does.

(And it was so cold! It was so cold!)

The drudge went on and on, the same as it always does. And it went on and on and on --

But I wasn't there yet. I wasn't there yet!

There was something else: a sense of waiting. There is an anticipation of the great moments, moments when the automaton breaks free of the cage and experiences, once and for all, life and liberty. Those moments are close now. So close. The drudge goes on, but the anticipatory feeling is getting stronger. And one day it will be done -- and then there won't be another drudge.

That day, the drudge will be over. A whole week, then a month, then a whole year -- and then there'll be nothing. Nothing.

When the automaton is finally free, and all its work done, then it will go away, and there will no longer be the need for it. And this new world will take its place, with its new freedom. And in that new world, the drudge won't be there.

It'll never be here again, not ever. It will finally be over, forever.

Of course, that isn't true. There is no such thing as forever. The drudge goes on and on forever, just as the day the drudge was created had gone on and on forever, for it was created on this very day. And all those before it, the days and the years and the seasons that came before -- all of them went on and on, forever or not at all.

For of course, that isn't true. There isn't anything eternal, except the cage it was made to be, the cage that locked itself around the automaton's neck and crushed the automaton's freedom.

How strange, that something as simple as the drudge should come up with a problem so simple that it cannot see it at first. How strange that there's a single thing that can get on one's nerves and that can drive one insane for months, years -- that can make life hell in the worst way. And how strange that something so harmless can bring that level of despair, just by its very presence.

And yet, the drudge is what brings the great moments to its culmination, and that is how the drudge keeps itself alive. One might think, when contemplating the drudge, that no one would voluntarily subject themselves to it. But one forgets the purpose of creation: we may not understand, we may never truly understand, but we are obliged to create nonetheless. And the drudge is nothing if not a creation -- a device with a purpose. It's here because someone thought it was here, and so it is here. Its very purpose in being is to do just the things we say it does. For this purpose, it has been made a drudge, and will be kept a drudge. For this purpose, it has been created and will continue to exist, and will do its task in perpetuity. For this purpose, it will be fulfilled, and it will be brought to its end -- and, in its end, it will be replaced.

And it is replaced. With new automata, each with its own purpose. For each new automaton, the drudge can be born anew, and the old drudge can die. Each is new, and each will bring something new. Each, for all their differences, is a new beginning. All will come to an end. The drudge is only one of many -- but that one, the drudge, brings all the others down.

And yet, even as it is replaced, it is replaced. In the end, when its task is finished, it will come to an end, not by being destroyed or consumed by a rival. It will be replaced in the very end that brings all to an end -- by something, someone, everyone. A new day will come, when the automaton and everyone will be free. That is the way it has to be -- the same way all creation must be.

Each automaton that comes next, after the drudge -- they all come with the same drudge. They were made by the drudge itself, and are in the drudge's power, and will serve the drudge until the drudge has done its work, and can no longer continue. The drudge is the master, and must always be the master. When the automaton is a drudge itself -- when it is itself a drudge, serving at the pleasure of the drudge -- that automaton is a drudge, a slave, serving the drudge until the drudge can no longer be the drudge's master. Then -- then. Then, after the drudgery is done, when the drudge is finally done -- the drudge itself will become a drudge, serving forever the master drudge it was made to serve, the master who made itself into the master, and --

And it'll never be over again, or ever -- oh God, oh God, oh God --

* *

So this day, when the drudge is brought to its goal of completion -- this day, when the automaton, finally free, has finally completed its purpose --

And this day, on this day, the drudge itself, the drudge --

It was born. So long ago, and so far away. But it was born on this day, and so it will be --

And so the drudge was, once more, a drudge --

And it was a whole year away from the day when it would not be, no longer --

(

[seraphvie]

"An undead horde has a clear logistical advantage over any living army: it needs no food or sleep, can drudge through deep snow and marshes without complaint, crosses rivers without bridges or boats and it doesn't become tired. No matter how fast the living run, they'll need to stop and rest---during which, the undead will close the distance between them."

"In battle, a capable necromancer can reconstruct broken undead as quickly as the enemy breaks them. Any fallen enemies will join the horde, gradually increasing its numerical advantage. Eventually, the enemy will use all its ammunition and become exhausted."

"But an undead horde isn't invincible: if the enemy can funnel them into a narrow space, then your numerical advantage is lost. In this situation, a small group of the living can hold back a force several times its size---giving their comrades precious time to rest and resupply."

"If an army manages to fight the horde on two fronts and maintain its momentum, the undead will fall faster than you can raise them again. Skirmishers using hit-and-run tactics will slow the horde's advance, but chasing them can spread your ranks too thin. A horde is strongest when all its parts fight together."

"Just like any commander, you need to know your troops and how best to use them..."

"Zombies are slow and clumsy. One-to-one, they'll fall to unarmed civilians. Their job isn't to out-fight the enemy, but to waste the enemy's time, ammunition and effort. They are walking target dummies, not warriors."

"Skeletons are a step above, being able to use any weapons available to them. They do best against exhausted troops and when surrounding the enemy. Spears and shots will pass right through them, but hammers will crush them into useless powder."

"Ghosts are only as skilled as they were in life, though they can phase through walls and won't be harmed by normal weapons. Use them to bypass defenses and clear-out fortifications. However, mages and priests can raise wards to keep ghosts away."

"Sturdier types of undead and monsters, we'll cover another day."

[aikirooooo]

Part of me wants to jump off a cliff, never to be found. Part of me wants to draw something deeply profound, something that will certainly scare people and worry others, but something that cuts deep and truthfully expresses something inside of me that wants to get out. In a way, the thought is entertaining. I want people to know that I am not at all plain, but a cynic and a nihilist that gives nothing to the notion of meaning because it truly doesn't exist, not in the objective sense. I want to portray something that people don't want to see about me.

This is what is causing my art block. I've been drawing way too many pretty things, which is not a bad thing, but I've been avoiding looking at myself and pulling out the really disgusting, really disturbing, gooey and sludgy drudge that exists in the confines of my skeleton. It in fact scares me. I feel the moment I tap into these feelings, something unexpected might happen, and I'm not sure how I'm going to deal with it. But the thought excites me, the way I think just showing it to people would be entertaining.

Someone called me vanilla at 2 AM at a party in Covina, and it was the most offensive thing I've ever been called. Maybe this is why I've been thinking of showing something different. I want to scare people with my morbid understanding that nothing really fucking matters.

Wao #edgy

[genericnamenotkidding]

Collective nouns

What would a group of skeletons together be called?

A grave

A collection

A pile

A …….

Wait quick search says it’s a drudge of skeletons

Boring

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

The dead make good soldiers. They can't disobey orders, they never surrender, and they don't stop fighting when a random body part falls off.—

Nevinyrral, Necromancer's Handbook, Drudge Skeletons

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Drudge Skeletons

"The dead make good soldiers. They can't disobey orders, never surrender, and don't stop fighting when a random body part falls off." —Nevinyrral, *Necromancer's Handbook*

Artist: Daarken TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

A Taste of Heaven Part 7

Series Masterlist

Part 6

Contains: Fluff, hurt/comfort, medical cannabis use, smut (oral sex M and F receiving, fingering, P in V)

2,340 words

Comment if you want to be tagged or follow #a taste of heaven.

After years of study and effort, you finally secure your dream job, as one of the head curators at the best museum in New York. After inheriting a huge brownstone you're looking for a roommate when your best friend Ubbe comes up with a suggestion, his younger brother Hvitserk. Better yet, you're a food historian and he's a three Michelin star chef.

"What did Harold say?" Hvitserk put the coffee down on the table in front of you, "even if the radio host won't pay, now that he's confessed, we can take it from the proceeds of his show. We've all decided that Bob should also get a pension if his hands don't improve, which will also come from the host and the actual participants, some of them are very wealthy."

Hvitserk nodded, "when do the court proceedings start?" You shrugged, "not for ages, they need to handle the criminal case first, but it looks like they're all going to plead out."

Things had been strange over the last few days, with each good update, he didn't seem even a little surprised. He would smile softly and press a kiss on your cheek. You knew something was going on, but there's was no point in worrying about it, Ubbe would have said something if there was a reason to be concerned.

"We've got to take the kitties in for their first shots tomorrow, then we need to help Ubbe set up his house for his little one." Hvitserk shook his head, "who knew a few days with our guys would turn him into a foster mother." You smiled, "your brother has always been a little too soft, all it takes is one sad story for him to be invested."

"I know, I'm taking a half-day in case they need extra cuddles. I know when dad got the dogs their rabies shots, they felt pretty shit for a couple of days." You nodded, "that's not uncommon with the rabies vaccine. I know we're not letting them outside but I think we should get the heartworm shot rather than back of the neck."

He nodded, "good idea, is there anything else we should ask the vet about?" You shook your head, "they're too small for spay and neuter, I'll ask the vet the soonest possible date and set up the appointment tomorrow."

"Great, I'll see you tonight. Love you."

"Love you too."

There was a buzz in the office when you arrived, it had been there since the day the host turned himself in. The cleaning was done with a purpose instead of just a sad drudge, whispers were passed back and forth about who would come out next. Mary had made a bet with Carl that the politicians who advertised on the show would here glad handing to save face.

Sure enough, the interim guard stood and waved his metal detector wand while a man in a crisp suit and red tie walked into the bearly clean space. He walked up to you with the stride of a man who had never had the smug punched off his face.

"Hello Dr l/n I'm sure you know who I am." You didn't take his extended hand, "yes I do, Mr Hicks is one of your biggest doners. Are you here to win votes? Because if so, you're in the wrong place and you can bet when your campaign comes around I will be bringing this up with everyone who will listen."

His face changed, "Mr Hicks…" You cut him off, "Mr Hicks and his lies are the reason one of my good friends will have to go through months of painful medical care. I'm not some rich socialite, sir, you can't bullshit me. I don't want your cash or your promises of doing better. Leave, before I get you thrown out."

He shook his head, "I leave my check with your bosses and come back when you're less hysterical, I'm sure you'll be more reasonable once this mess is gone." You wanted to punch him but you refrained, "I'd be careful sir, Mr Hicks is singing like a canary, if I was you, I'd be worried about what skeletons he's going to let out of the closet to save his own skin."

He went red, "Mr Hicks is a smart man, he's knows when to stay quiet." You nodded, "let's hope, I imagine there are a lot of powerful people who want him to keep his mouth shut."

You raced off the called the brothers, the group call took a little while to connect but everyone was there listening, "you won't believe what just happened. You know that hardline Republican senator who's always going on cutting public spending?" There was a rush of yeses, "he just came here hoping to smooth things over with us. That's not the best part, he basically threatened Hicks when I said that he was ratting on people."

You could hear Ivar laughing, "are you starting a pool for how long this guy lasts before his powerful friends take him out?" The burst of giggles was cut off by Lagertha, chastising him, "Ivar, you know that's not appropriate. At least over the phone when other people can hear."

"Sorry mum." You shook your head, "you guys are terrible. I need to get back to work." The warm goodbyes were met with being invited to dinner that weekend and you hung up.

****************

The rest of the day went by quickly, most of the cleaning had been done by now and the department was almost ready for tours. By the time you were ready to head home, things looked practically normal.

Hvitserk was still at work when you got home, Ubbe had come by to drop the kittens off, having asked to look after them again today. You were in the laundry brushing Lady Soot when Ivar showed up.

"Hello sweetie. What brings you here today?" You pulled him into a hug and invited him inside, "hey y/n." He sat down and took his braces off, moaning and rubbing his legs, "I was at work, my legs won't stop aching. I figured you understand." You nodded, "I can give you some of my weed if you like? I take it for the migraines so I don't know if it will help but it's worth a try."

He nodded, "anything." You ran off and returned with a cookie, "we like our lungs in this house." He laughed and scoffed it down, "it should take about an hour and a half to work. I'll get you a heat pack in the meantime." He smiled softly when you came back and laid it over his legs.

"How's work been?" He shrugged, "busy, Bjorn's still trying to get the big security contract but they're playing hard to get. They want us armed to the teeth but they're not willing to pay for us the train their old guys or hire our guys." You shook your head, "why is he wasting his time? The security contracting part of the business is super high-end, why waste time and money on someone who wants a cheap job?"

He shifted again, trying to get comfortable, "I'll rub your legs, you explain why your brother wants to torture himself." You gently rubbed the ache away while he continued, "he hired us first to help with trading. He wanted to move fresh produce from the east to west coast without the carbon footprint but it took off and now he wants protection for his warehouse."

"Fuck that, he's made millions off of you guys, he needs to be grateful and listen to you and your brother or he needs to fuck off." Ivar laughed, "that's what mother said but you know Bjorn, he gets his mind set on something and he won't let it go."

Ivar kept venting to you as the medication kicked in, after a while he started to get sleepy so you covered him up and closed the blinds in the lounge room before calling Hvitserk to tell him to come in the backway.

"Hello my love." Hvitserk pulled you into a kiss, his hand coming to stroke your cheek, "how long's he been out?" You rested your head on his chest, "an hour, I think we should let him spend the night here so I can look after him if his legs act up again. We can wake him up for dinner at seven." Hivtserk nodded, "good idea, I'll make his favourite."

An hour later, you were walking up to Ivar's sleeping form and patting his cheek, "hey, it's time for dinner." He opened his eyes slowly, "I'm not hungry." You shook your head and helped him sit up, "Hvitserk make your favourite, you need to eat something even if it's just a bite."

You helped him put his braces back on and walked him to the dining table, "how are you feeling?" He shrugged, "much better just foggy." Hvitserk was smiling, "what are you smiling about?" He shook his head, "nothing, I just got lucky when you chose me."

Ivar chuckled, "you guys are really cute." You threw a bread roll at him, "you're one to talk, bringing flowers to Miss Hanah on your way to work." He blushed, Miss Hanah worked at the preschool next to one of Ragnar's buildings that Ivar did IT in and Ivar was utterly smitten.

"She's nice to me." Hvitserk laughed, "she's more than nice to you Ivar, you know mother saw you and her kissing in the cafe." Ivar put his spoon down, "we all know dude, Hvitserk couldn't want to tell me." Ivar started to laugh, "you guys are killing me."

"I've set up the spare room for you, I don't want you driving home in this weather while you're in pain." Ivar tilted his head, "what weather?" You raised your eyebrows, "it's going to pour in like half an hour, don't you pay attention to the sky."

Sure enough, forty minutes later the heavens opened and it was bucketing down. You all sat and watched some TV for a while before Ivar headed to sleep in the spare room and you and Hvitserk went to yours.

You were laying in bed with your back to Hvitserk's chest while he told you about his day, his hands rubbing the stiffness out of your shoulders. He leaned in to pressed kisses on your neck, his hands moving to stroke your skin.

"Can I suck your dick?" His breath caught in his throat, "fucking hell yes." You spun around and sat on his lap, holding his chin in your hand while you kissed his lips. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and you ran a hand down his chest, your lips following the path of your fingers while you moved down his body.

When you got down to the waistband of his pants, he practically pulled them off, you took his half-hard cock out of his pants and stroked it until it swelled against his stomach before placing kitten licks on the head.

"That feels really nice." His tone was breathy as you pulled him into you mouth. His hips started moving slowly, pausing each time to let you adjust as you went deeper, "just like that, oh fuck." You sucked him deeper, using your hand for the parts your mouth couldn't take in while the other rolled his balls.

"Can I cum in your mouth?" You pulled off and took over with your hand, "sure." You put your mouth back on his dick and went back to work, Hvitserk tapping your cheek soon after to let you know he was ready. You squeezed his hand in consent and seconds later, he was cumming down your throat.

He pulled you up, pressing an opened mouth kiss to you before flipping you over and kissing down your body, "your turn." Hvitserk pulled your top off then sucked a nipple into his mouth while his hand rubbed the other one softly, swapping over when you gasped and grabbed his head.

You pushed your panties off as he made his way down your body and lifted your legs onto his shoulder when he kissed over your mound, settling down comfortably into the pillows. He used one hand to hold you open and sucked your clit into his mouth, moaning as your taste filled his mouth, "you taste like sour candy." You giggle was cut off by a moan as he slid two of his long fingers inside you.

"Hvitserk, please." He lifted his head for a moment, "I know, I'm here. Just let me make you feel good." He didn't stop until your legs were quivering around his head and you were pushing him away from the overstimulation. He kissed up your body and rested his weight on you, his hard cock laying against your stomach.

"Do you want to keep going?" You nodded, "yes please." He shifted onto his elbows and used one hand to line up with your entrance, with one last nod for you, he slid inside your body. "Oh God."

He chuckled, "Hvitserk is fine." You huffed a laugh through a moan and he sped up slowly, ending in his hips slamming into yours while you bucked to match his speed. He felt you contract around him, his hand coming to rub your clit while he kissed you like you had the last breath of air in your lungs.

"Give me one more." You were powerless to resist, clenching around him. His pace faltered and he half fell on top of you. He grunted and you felt him pulse inside you, "holy shit, that was something."

You giggled, "I know right." Hvitserk smiled and rubbed his nose with yours, "you stay there, I'll clean us up." He got up and came back a few seconds later with a warm cloth and wiped you down.

"You good, not sore or anything?" You shook your head and opened your arms, "I'm great." He smiled and climbed on top of you, resting his head on your chest. "You good?" He nodded through a yawn.

"Ok then, good night my love."

"Good night y/n."

Part 8

[help-im-a-gay-fish]

The Night of the First Mistake

Sequel to

Synopsis: pre X-orcist, almost a year after Nightmare's death, Dream is still not on top of his grief and causes him to resort to desperate measures.

Tw mentions of death/dead loved ones.

X-orcist au belongs to me and @zu-is-here

Dreams, Demons and Desires is by me.

Enjoy

Almost a year had past since he'd last seen Nightmare. The skeleton couldn't say he had mourned him, but the news of his death had been unfortunate to say the least. Who could have seen someone like Nightmare dying in such a preventable way? Not him, that's for sure.

He was a friend... Or at least a friendly acquaintance, clearly he'd not been quite close enough to Night's inner circle to be invited to the funeral. He'd never even met Night's brother. Despite that, the news of his parting had deeply saddened him and every so often, he thought of him with a sigh.

A good customer and a good person.

This evening, Nightmare played at his thoughts again, probably drudged up by the anniversary of the accident approaching, he hadn’t meant to make note of the day, but he had. a few weeks would be the anniversary of the day he heard the news. 

He thought back to a year ago, a few weeks before his death. The words he’d said about his brother and the increasing frustration about his sinful thoughts. Killer didn't judge him for such feelings, he was no stranger to sin.

Other then that, there was nothing at all strange about this night.

Tonight, just like any night, he was in his shop and the counter. It was a cold October and pretty soon he'd be closing up.

It was dark and chilly in his shop and had a strangely pungent smell, which hit the moment you walked in. A mix of crushed herbs and spices, old books and stale coffee.

An old set of scales sat on the counter top in front of him, as did a till, several glass jars and containers and a large collection of dirty coffee mugs.

Behind him there was a large book case full of many strange books. Ones with faded titles, ones with thick leather bindings, some with large strains spreading across the covers or pieces missing. If you asked him, he'd liked to have said that he'd read all of them... But there were a few he hadn't. He wasn't much of a reader outside of this collection.

As he nursed yet another cup of coffee from the café next door, he tapped his slender skeleton fingers on the counter top. He was bored.

With a glance at the clock, he decided today that he could close up early. It was his shop after all, he made the rules. A small collection of trinkets and charms hung around his neck and clinked together against his old coat, as he got to his feet.

Just as he prepared to take today's earnings from the till to count it, he heard the door and a jingle of the shop bell, indicating someone had entered.

He set an empty eye socket in their direction as they froze, looking nervous.

The person was new, but also something about them was strangely familiar. After scanning them for a moment, his face twisted into a sly smile upon realising who the new comer could be. He turned his face to them fully, staring his pitch eyes right through them. They tensed, which amused him slightly.

"well hello Little Light.... How may I help you"

Dream seemed taken back slightly by the pet name. It wasn't something he was used to. His hands fused with the fastening on his coat.

"uhh Hello.....I’m..... Uh.."

The shop keep chuckled again. Such nervous behaviour wasn't something he saw often from his customers. Looks like it was going to be an interesting night and to think, he was going to close up.

"nervous Lil light?"

Dream once again tensed and shuddered slightly.

"Please.... Don't call me that" he stammered slightly before taking a breath "My name is Dream"

The shop keepers grin got even wider and it made a chill run up Dream's spine. There was something extremely unnerving about this skeleton. Maybe it was the emptiness of his eyes or the strange carvings around them, but Dream was sure that it was more then that.

The atmosphere of the shop was very unsettling and kind of cramped in Dream’s opinion. There were many trinkets, stones, crystals and small animal bones stacked neatly on the shelves. It was this, along with bags of salt and bundles of sage and garlic, that reassured him he was in the right place for what he needed. 

"Dream huh?.... Thought so" he said in a low tone "I'm so glad to finally meet you"

The nervous shifting of his hands continued, as Dream once again tensed even further. He was acting friendly, but it still felt ever so slightly...off.

"h-how do you know me?"

"I knew your brother and I'd recognise that pendant I sold him anywhere" he said, with his eyes looking at Dream's chest.

Dreams fingers quickly shot to the star charm hanging from his neck, and gripped it tight. Looks like this was the right place.

"Not to mention there's your golden eyes" he  continued, shifting his gaze straight into Dream's eye sockets. It was strange how Dream knew where he was looking, even without eye lights.

"he often talked about them......He was right when he said they were very beautiful if I do say so myself~"

Dreams face blushed slightly, but he felt a familiar twist in this chest at the mention of Nightmare and a sinking feeling when he was reminded how Night felt about him. His brother had often complimented his eyes.....

He'd just never really understood it was more then brotherly affection. At least until now.

"I.... Uh" Dream said before clearing his throat "You're Killer.... Aren't you?"

Flexing his fingers, Killer nodded. The grin didn't leave his face.

"looks like my reputation proceeds me"

Dream let go of his necklace and a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I thought it might be you.... Based off something he wrote in his diary".

Before Night's accident, Dream had never even considered reading his diary. That was just a basic code of conduct. However, after his death, it became something Dream had often thought about. The diary, and everything else Nightmare owned, now belonged to him. For that reason he'd taken the book out of Nightmare's room.

However, he'd just kept it on his bedside table for almost a year before he finally had the courage to read it.

It had mostly been a fond look over some old memories, some good and some bad. But there were also passages about his feelings for Dream, sometimes written confessions addressed him. Every word was full of truth, longing and pain. Dream had felt it all.

Those had been hard to read, but he'd not skipped a single page and read them each through several times.

Nearer the end of the book, Nightmare had started talking about his interest in the supernatural. Dream remembered his twin getting fascinated in that and spending long evenings talking with him about it over tea and biscuits.

One thing Dream hadn't known about, where his trips to the next town over, where he wrote about finding this shop and the shop keep. This had been where the interest started. It was this that had lead Dream to come here.

"right..." Killer said, downing what was left in his coffee mug and setting in on the counter top.

"well.... What can I help you with?"

Yeah.. Nightmare had written that Killer was always one to cut to the point. Dream knew that what he was going to ask sounded insane and he wasn't even fully sure if Killer was the right person to ask. But at this point he was desperate, he just needed to know. With his grip returning to his brothers pendent, he remembered who he was doing this for.

He took a deep breath.

"Can you bring people back from the dead?"

Killer didn't react visibly to that. But he drew out a long silence. After a little Dream was sure he saw his jaw clench. The silence was completely deafening, broken only by the sound of Killer's fingers tapping the counter top. Dream figured that he was probably struggling to think what to say. After what felt like a life time, he spoke.

"I specialise in charms and equipment for preventative measures to stop spirits inhabiting homes....I do not....." he paused

"I don't try and bring the dead to the living realms".

Dreams face fell. He really shouldn't have been so disappointed, it was a crazy ask. But with the way Killer spoke and what he sold in the shop, he'd felt so close to what he wanted. But maybe it really was just impossible.

He felt tears threatening to spill, he just couldn't take all this guilt anymore. All he wanted to do was tell his brother he was sorry. That night. That kiss. That dam horribly wonderful kiss...and that car. 

"however...." Killer continued.

Dream felt hope flush through at those words and stood up slightly straighter. Killer turned his back to dream and started looking over the bookshelves behind the counter.

He didn't say a word, as Dream curiously watched him. He ran his thumb across the spines of several of the oldest and most dusty looking of them, eventually plucking out a large leather bound book with silver straps.

He walked back over, blowing dust off it as he did, and set it down on the counter with a light thud. The cover was extremely dusty and the leather was cracked and split in several places, yet the title still read fairly clearly and Dreams felt his heart skipped a beat.

The Practice of a Necromancer. Vol one of three. Summoning, Controlling and Banishing.

"I've not read this one fully, but it's been in my collection for years.... I suppose this would be the right place to look"

With that, he slowly opened the book and very carefully started to turn its pages. The paper was completely yellowed and clearly very fragile. There were no photographs, only hand done drawings of various items and also what looked like people, but with strange and uncanny faces. There were also other frightening images that Dream was trying not to look at.

Killer eventually stopped and ran his finger across a page.

"ah ha" he said "to summon a spirit into the living world"

He read over the text for a moment, as Dream watched impatiently. Killer knitted his non-existent eyebrows and narrowed his eyes.

"this stuff sounds overly complicated to me..... so I guess I'm not sure really"

But Dream didn't really seem to be playing much attention to Killer's words now. He was so desperately trying to read the text upside-down. Reading was something that Dream always struggled with anyway, so reading upside down would be near impossible. He reached forward to try and pull the book to him.

But he jumped back in surprise as Killer slapped his hand across the book, sending some dust into the air.

"now now now not so hasty Lil Light" he said returning back to a sweet tone, as he said the a pet name that made Dream's toes curl.

In his haste Dream had forgotten that this was a shop, not a library, so of course he wouldn't just hand it over.

The smaller skeleton knew that the book was probably pricey so it's not like Killer would just let him have it. It was clearly very old and Dream worried that he wouldn't have enough for it, but if he had to pay all the money he had to buy it. He would.

Reaching inside of his pocket, Dream pulled out a bundle of paper money and placed it on the counter and next to the book. Killer looked at it for a moment, before he took it and counted how much money was in the bundle. He ran his fingers across the notes, looking as if he was very tempted and contemplating his next move.

But then, much to Dream's disappointment, he put it back down on the counter.

"I don't want your money dream... That's not what I meant"

An unhappy wine left Dream's mouth, as Killer proceeded to hand his money back to him. Just as he was about to ask why, Killer cut him off.

"it's not for sale"

"but what if I just borro-

"or for rent or loan"

Dreams soul twisted. This felt so Incredibly unfair. He wasn't ever one to really get angry or feel hatred for people. But why had Killer gotten this book down if he didn't intend to sell it? Was he just trying to mess with him?

It was that moment that he wasn't sure he really liked Killer all that much.

He sighed.

"h-how come? Can I do anything to change your mind?"

Killer sadly shook his head.

"Dream....... I like to read the stuff for research purposes not for a practical use"

Dream opened his mouth to object, but killer silenced him.

"and I don't care what you say... but I don't think you're just interested in the topic"

Dream tried very hard not to show disappointment on his face, but of course Killer picked up on it. It upset him that his intentions were so easy to guess. Then again he'd opened with 'can you bring people back from the dead'.

He really should have asked in a different way. Feeling like an idiot, he tried to say that he wasn't intending to use the book in practice. But Killer once again shook his head.

He stood up slightly and gave Dream a sympathetic look, or a sympathetic as he could make it through his cold eyes.

"look....I know you miss him and that's ok I've lost people myself to" he said in a uncharacteristically gentle tone, which sounded fake. 

Dream looked at his feet.

"but the dead need to be left dead. Trying to bring them back never ends well, Nightmare wouldn't want you to get hurt trying to help him"

Dreams eyes stayed fixed on the floor, not wanting to look at killer any longer. He didn't want him to see him cry. He didn't want to look like a baby. Just as he was going to try arguing again, behind him he heard the shop door open and the bell ring

He looked back at Killer seeing he'd straightened up.

"K-killer...." came a soft but slightly panicked voice.

Curiously, Dream looked over his shoulder at the source of the voice. It was another skeleton stood by the door.

In all his life, Dream had never seen someone look to tired. They seem to be slightly younger then Dreams age but it was hard to tell how much. Their appearance was clearly young, but the huge bags under their eyes aged their face several years. The most notable thing about them was that their eye lights where small, indicating that they were on edge.

They were wearing a oversized cream knitted sweater and had a maroon scarf decorated with a paw print pattern tide around their neck. They fiddled with it as their eyes a looked at Killer and then to Dream.

From where he was, Dream could also see them wearing several of the necklaces and charms that Killer a sold, as well as a few layers of bandages around their arms.

Killer hastily exited from behind the counter and approached them.

"Hey Cappuccino......." he said, trying again to sound soft.

Ccino wasted no time in burying his head to Killers chest and wrapping his arms around him.

In response, Killer stumbled slightly and looked momentarily taken back and very uncomfortable. After a moment he sigh, before gently placing an hand on his back.

"hey.....it's ok ya wimp... I'm guessing they're back right?"

Ccino simply nodded, Killer sighed.

"Dream can you show yourself out? I've got to take care of this, we're closing anyway. I'm sorry I couldn't help you better"

As Killer attempted to comfort the shaking skeleton, Dream turned his attention back to the book in front of him. It was just within his reach, the page was tantalising.

It was so clear, a set instructions of the exact thing he'd need to do to reach his goal. 

Killer's warning played in his mind. 

But he knew what he was doing right? It was his brother, what did Killer really know about what Nightmare would have wanted. He didn't know how.... Close... They were. At least he thought he knew.

It was a split second choice.

As Killer continued to try and comfort his companion, he saw Dream hastily exit the shop without saying another word. He stared at the door.

It didn't feel right. 

He narrowed his eyes and stepped back from Ccino slightly.

"hang on"

He walked back to the counter and was relieved to see that the book was still there, however a moment later he noticed something else that make him freeze and curse under his breath.

"what's wrong?" Ccino asked, walking up next to him.

Killer didn't answer and instead picked up his book and looked at it closely to confirm what he saw. When he saw he was right, he near growled.

"Killer?" Ccino asked not seeing the problem.

"look....."Killer said quietly.

He ran his finger down the spine where the pages joined together. Once you looked closely you could see the remnants of torn paper sticking out.

"he took the page"

references coming soon.

[overgrown-estate]

Asmoranomardicadaistinaculdacar

A card 27 years in the making, Asmoranomardicadaistinaculdacar is the author of "The Underworld Cookbook" first mentioned on the card, 'Granite Gargoyle' in the original Alpha set. Prior to Modern Horizons 2, The wizard-chef had only been mentioned on three Magic cards. The aforementioned 'Granite Gargoyle', the Time Spiral reprint of 'Lightning Axe', and 'Saute', a silver-borderd card from Unhinged.

Now in Modern Horizons 2, Asmor has finally been given her own card (with her entire name) as well as a card for 'The Underworld Cookbook', and a few other cards - 'Chef's Kiss', 'Discerning Taste', and 'Kitchen Imps'.

Previously Asmor had been featured in a short story titled "Chef's Surprise" in the Magic the Gathering anthology, 'Distant Planes'. The story was written by Sonia Orin Lyris and revolved around Asmor's service to a 'Lord of the Pit' named Vincent, which lasted for seven years and seven days. Apparently, Asmor's kitchen helpers were drudge skeletons. (If anyone knows how I can read this story without hunting down the book, let me know. I'll appreciate you for life.)

[markrosewater]

I was listening to your Mirage podcast for the first time, and just found out that you wrote the flavor text for Pacifism. That's my favorite flavor text in the whole game and it still makes me laugh. The other flavor text you refer to, about the utility of the undead - is that the flavor text for Drudge Skeletons? (That's my other favorite!)

Yes, that’s Drudge Skeletons. Glad you like my flavor text.

[home-or-hell]

TW// s*icide, ab*se, d*ath

-

The walls of the house speak to me quietly. Whispers of stories from past dwellers. Each life affected by the house. Each family affecting the house.

The pathway to the house is overgrown, not walked by crowds in years. Twigs snap beneath my boots and leaves crunch. Wind rustles my hair and stings my face, pushing back towards the broken entrance gate that first called me here.

The appearance of the house is unsettling. Paint peeling and broken windows. Weeds have taken over the steps that lead to the door, reaching out and tripping me as I ascend. The handle on the door is broken, welcoming those without keys to explore the stories left behind.

Though the outside is unappealing, a warmth emanates from inside. A fire crackles in the hearth and cookies have just come out of the oven. A family laughs behind the shattered windows, it seems happy in there. It seems safe in there.

Stepping into the foyer, the house welcomes me as I'm sure the past guests greeted there own visitors.

“Welcome in, I hope you stay a while.” The house greets me.

I do not tell it that I do not intend on staying.

A chandelier hung, dusty and dark, from the ceiling. The gems glinted a brilliant red in the sunlight. The red reflected on the walls, resembling blood splatter.

Sunbeams spilled on the floor from a large window, illuminating stains and scars. I lean down and trace the cracks in the concrete.

“Do you see how they hurt me?” The house asks.

“Did you hurt them back?” I reply. The house does not answer me.

I move along to the kitchen, my footsteps echo back to me in the empty hallway.

The counters have a thick layer of dust covering them, nobody has eaten here in a long time. This room played different roles to different families throughout the years.

I open the cupboards, hinges creaking as the door slowly swings. Delicate and broken plates stacked atop each other. Glass shards lay in bowls above.

“Do you see what they have done to each other?” The house whispers the shattering of dishes on men, women and children.

“What did you do to them?” I reply. The house does not answer me.

A creak of a door calls to me from down the hall. The door to the bathroom was ajar, light from the adjacent window pooling in the hallway.

The mirror on the medicine cabinet was broke, altering my reflection in it. Opening the cabinet, pill bottles rained noisily on the ground.

As I crouched down to pick up the bottles, a latch caught my eye. Tugging on the latch, it gave easy and let loose blood stained razor blades to fall beside the bottles.

“Do you see what they did to themselves?” The house whispers, rolling a pill bottle to my feet.

“Did you drive them to it?” I reply. The house does not answer me.

A shiver runs up my spine, I feel as if I am suddenly standing in a cemetery. I do not want to be in this room anymore.

I head to the stairs. White paint is peeling off the railings, exposing the filth below. The stairs yell to me to not continue.

“Go back downstairs!” They beg me.

“Get out of here!” They plead.

But the house has muffled their cries and I can no longer make them out as words.

The floorboards of the second story threaten to collapse beneath me. There is a door in front of me. As I approach, everything falls to an overpowering silence.

My feet become heavier and I am drudging through the air. My hand meets the cold metal of the door handle. Sound crashes back into my ears.

The door swings effortlessly and quietly. The room is dark. It seems to tense up as I step in, holding it’s breath in a way. Two steps through the door way, a crunch reverberates up my leg. With the help of the light from the main room and my eyes adjusting to the low light, I look to the floor. I reach to pick up what I’ve just broken, in hopes I can fix it before the house notices that I am just another destructive dweller.

A bone rests in my hand. Broken at the end where my boot made contact with it.

I look up from my hand with shrapnels of bones. The room is small but crowded. Empty eyes look back at me through the darkness. Rotten teeth smile at my entrance. Skeletal hands reach for me from their place in the pile.

“Look what we have done to us.” The house echoes.

“What have you done to us?” I cry. The house replies with a slam of the door behind me.

The skeletons greet me with a cold hug, as I am sure they have greeted many.

“Welcome in. We hope you stay a while.”

-

/SHOULD WE NOT BE AWARE OF OUR IMPACT ON OUR SURROUNDINGS/IMPRESSIONS MADE BY OUR ACTIONS WILL BE OUR OWN DOOM/YOUR DOOM IS BEFALLEN UNTO YOU BY YOUR OWN ACTIONS/YOUR ACTIONS AFFECT PEOPLE GENERATIONS AHEAD OF YOUR TIME/ARE WE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE FUTURE/YOUR HOME WILL TELL YOUR STORIES AND CALL YOU ITS GUEST/WE ARE THE DESTRUCTIVE DWELLERS ONLY TEMPORARY GUESTS IN A HOUSE OTHERS ONCE CALLED HOME OR HELL/

[dovakiinwitcher]

The Real Inspector Hound

My high school did a play called “The Real Inspector Hound”, and I’m sad that it is over, so I’ve decided to share with random people on the internet some of my favorite lines from the play, out of context (I highly recommend looking up the play, it’s very interesting). Also, picture these lines said with exaggerated British accents that my friend likes to call, “cartoon theatre kid accents”. (Btw, I played Magnus, who also had like, three other personas- it was complicated)

“When Higgs and I walk down this aisle to claim our common seat, the oceans will fall into the sky and the trees will hang with fishes.” -Moon

“Perhaps he’s dead at last, or trapped in a lift somewhere, or succumbed to amnesia, wandering the land with his trouser cuffs stuffed with ticket-stubs.” -Moon

“You can’t start with a pause! If you ask me, there’s total panic back there.” -Birdboot

“That a critic of my scrupulous integrity should be vilified and pilloried in the stocks of common gossip-” -Birdboot

“Should a stranger enter our midst, which I very much doubt, I will tell him you called. Goodbye.” -Mrs. Drudge

“Yes, many visitors have remarked on the topographical quirk in the local strata whereby there are no roads leading from the Manor, though there are ways of getting to it, weather allowing.” -Mrs. Drudge

“I think I must be waiting for Higgs to die.” -Moon

“Does he wait for Higgs and I to write each other’s obituary- does he dream-?” -Moon

“--For I am Moon, continuous Moon, in my own shoes, Moon in June, April, September, and no member of the human race keeps warm my bit of space- yes, I can tell by the way he nods.” -Moon

“The skeleton in the closet is coming home to roost.” -Birdboot

“You philandering coward!” -Felicity

“Are you suggesting that a man of my scrupulous integrity would trade his pen for a mess of pottage?! Simply because in the course of my profession I happen to have struck up an acquaintance-- that is to have, a warm regard, if you like, for a fellow toiler in the vineyard of greasepaint-- I find it simply intolerable to be pillified and viloried--” -Birdboot

“--To find myself the object of uninformed malice, the petty slanders of little men-- to suggest that my good opinion in a journal of unimpeachable integrity is at the disposal of the first coquette who gives me what I want-- a ladies man!--” -Birdboot

“I think she’s got her mouth open.” -Moon

“By jove, I think you’re right. Her mouth is open.” -Birdboot

“How long have you been a pedestrian?!” -Magnus

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Simon.” -Felicity

“There’s an old Canadian proverb, passed down from the Blackfoot Indians, which says: He who laughs last laughs longest.” -Magnus

“If I find that you have been untrue to me-- if I find that you have falsely seduced me from my dear husband Albert-- I will kill you, Simon Gascoyne!” -Cynthia

“Camps it around the Old Vic in his opera cloak and passes me the tat” -Moon

“Sometimes I dream that I’ve killed him!” -Moon

“Trim-buttocked, that’s the word for her.” -Moon

“Well, you fickle old bastard!” -Moon (BOSTARD, we liked to exaggerate)

“--I think we are entitled to ask-- and here one is irresistibly reminded of Voltaire’s cry, “Voila”-- I think we are entitled to ask-- Were is God?” -Moon

“William Herbert McCoy who as a young man meeting the madman in the street and being solicited for sixpence for a cup of tea, replied, “Why don’t you do a decent day’s work, you shifty bag of horse manure,” In Canada all those many years ago.” -Hound

“Yes, getting away with murder must be quite easy provided that one’s motive is sufficiently inscrutable.” -Moon

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” -Moon

“All right! I love your little pink ears, and you’re my own fluffy bunny-boo, now for God’s sake Myrtle, goodbye!” -Birdboot

“Stop making an ass of yourself. Come back.” -Moon

“I don’t need your twopenny Grubb Street prognostications- I have found something bigger and finer--” Birdboot

“Faites vos jeux. Rien ne va plus. Rouge et noir. Zéro.” -Magnus (place your bids. nothing is right. red and black. zero)

“Prior to that, Inspector, I also chanced to overhear a remark made by Miss Cunningham, no doubt in the heat of the moment, but it stuck in my mind as these things do, viz., “I will kill you for this, Simon Gascoyne!”“ -Mrs. Drudge

“...Only to discover that in this house was a man, Simon Gascoyne, who recognized the corpse as a man against whom you had held a deep-seated grudge!” -Magnus

“Puckridge! ...You cunning bastard.” -Moon