#getting close to the end either way

[falseroar]

Murder on the Warfstache Express

Part 10: A Ticket to Ride

((It's Big Dick Moneybags' turn to be interrogated, but as usual, all his thoughts are on himself. Afterwards, Abe has a few questions for Wilford as he tries to make sense of some things that aren't adding up.

Here's a link to the previous chapter, Part 9: Misplaced Motive. And here's one to navigate the whole series.))

Richard M. Bags, Esquire, barely looked around the darkened dining car before taking his seat at the small table with the air of a bored king taking his throne to hear the petty complaints of the little people, an image not helped when he leaned back with one arm resting on the seat of the chair and told Abe, “About time you pulled me out of there. I think I’ve had my fill of the riffraff for the rest of the night and then some, thank you very much.”

Abe didn’t take his seat on the opposite side of the table this time. Instead, he paced a loop around the scattered dining tables half-lit by the lantern sitting in front of Richard, making a wide detour to avoid where Wilford had retaken his vantage point and was lounging around and watching with all the delight of an under stimulated cat with nothing better to do.

“You said you didn’t know Happy when you two met at dinner,” Abe said, watching the rich idiot out of the corner of his eye even as he continued his pacing.

“Never seen him before in my life,” Richard answered, in turn studying his nails. “Couldn’t tell you the first thing about him.”

“And yet he seemed to know a lot about you,” Abe said.

Richard shrugged. “Lots of people do—it comes with the fame and fortune.”

“In fact, back at dinner you said you didn’t know anyone else in this car at the time, do you remember that?”

“No,” Richard said. “But I don’t doubt it. Why would I know any of those people back there? Look, detective, I know you have to do your bit here for the look of the thing, but you and I both know I didn’t have anything to do with whatever happened to that agent. Do I really seem like the kind of person who’d get my own hands dirty on such a vulgar task, especially for someone I barely even knew?”

“Here’s the funny thing about that: if I believed what everyone on this train has told me, then no one here knew Happy at all before he got on this train yesterday. Hell, most of them didn’t even know his name until after he kicked the bucket, much less care two cents about the guy.”

Abe stopped behind the chair he’d been sitting in for the last three interrogations and leaned on the back of it so that he was eye level with the rich man as he continued, “You though? Yeah, turns out you’re a different story there.”

“Oh, do tell me how they were singing my praises,” Richard said, chuckling to himself and missing the sharp intake from the other man sitting in the car as he eagerly waited for the detective to drop the shoe.

“Yeah, about that…”

“That man,” Dorene had said, straightening up at the mention of Bags, her soft, amiable demeanor immediately replaced by a harsh tone and a stern scowl, “is nothing but a cad and a scoundrel of the lowest order. I don’t think there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to make his pockets or his ego bigger, and I can assure you the latter is already inflated all out of proportion to any merit.”

“That’s, uh…” Abe admitted to being at a loss for a second before he recovered and admitted, “Probably accurate, but do you have a reason in particular to think that, or…?”

“I’ve had the unfortunate displeasure of spending some time in Richard Mayhew Bags’s company before,” Dorene answered, wrapping her burnoose tighter around her to ward off the chill in the train car. “At an auction, where we were both competing bidders for several rare items, and let me tell you, you can learn a lot about a person based on how they handle losing and winning. Do you know, before the bidding started, I shared with him some of the charity work I’m involved in to see if he might be interested, and do you know what he did?”

She looked over her glasses at the detective who waited for her to answer, the side of her mouth twitching with disgust at the memory. “He laughed. He laughed, and said…Well, better not to repeat those sentiments. Let’s just say, I wasn’t impressed, and I’ve done my best to avoid his company ever since.”

Benjamin tried a little harder to hide his disgust at first, starting with a weak, “I really shouldn’t say…”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re fine with the way he’s running this whole railway thing,” Abe said with a flippant gesture. “Guy’s practically a carbon copy for the actor, so you must feel right at home—”

“Excuse you,” Benjamin blurted out, nearly rising from his chair. “That fool is nothing like Mark!”

Abe shot a look around the car to make sure Wilford hadn’t returned, but the former butler was too angry to notice as he plunged on.

“Letting people go left and right without a care about how long they’d been with the company, zero concern for loyalty or hard work, every message we get is about how we need to cut costs here, there, everywhere, while he goes in front of the press and talks about how he ‘saved’ the railway, and from what? From people wanting to ever use it again?” Benjamin said, and Abe bit back any comparisons he could make about Mark dropping most of his staff just after the divorce or any of the much more damning things he said to the press on the regular.

“But when he’s riding the train, suddenly money is no object! Do you have any idea how much time we spent setting up that room of his, how much of our budget went into his personal wine stock for this one trip because he ‘can’t be seen frequenting the bar’ with the other passengers?! The man is a backstabbing disgrace only out for himself is what he is!”

 The chef had less words to spill on the man, but then he had zero of Benjamin’s hesitation in sharing his opinion with the slightest prompting.

“Man’s an asshole, plain and simple. Worst thing that ever happened to the W.W. Railway, and that’s including what happened to that other train that got stuck in the blizzard of ’82 for three weeks.”

“What…?” Abe started, but the chef just shook his head.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, man. Least we got heat and food to get us through until help comes and zero hungry bears in the back, I’ll say that much.”

“I still haven’t actually seen what’s in the back of this train,” Abe pointed out.

“Point is,” the chef pressed on, ignoring him as usual, “I’d still rather take my odds with that train than have to trust Bags or that toady that follows him around on anything. Both of them would throw any of us under the wheels of this train in a second if it meant saving their own skins. Hell, they’d probably do it if it meant adding an extra penny to their pockets.”

Not that Abe shared any of that with Richard. Instead, he just settled for saying, “…They’re not fans. In fact, I’m pretty sure everyone on this train hates your guts.”

“…Huh.” Richard thought about that for all of a second before shrugging it off. “Well, what can you do? I told you, you don’t get to where I am without stepping on a few toes along the way.”

“The kind of toes that turn around and kick your ass,” Abe muttered under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that, detective?”

“Just that you seem pretty blasé about that little fact for someone who’s received multiple anonymous death threats,” Abe said, pacing once again. “Why is that?”

“Well, I had been counting on Agent Apless to protect me,” Richard said. “But then he had to go and get himself killed—wait, you don’t think he was killed by someone trying to get to me, do you?”

Abe paused at that. “Do you really think this could all be about you?”

“Most things usually are,” Richard answered without a trace of irony or self-consciousness.

“While of this would make a whole lot more sense if you were the dead body, unfortunately that’s not the case,” Abe said.

“’Unfortunately’?”

“And why would someone stop at killing Happy if you were the target?” Abe continued without listening. “Or even need to go through him to get to you? What were you doing after dinner, while Mack was working in his room?”

“Sleeping like a baby,” Richard said. “Honestly, it was the best night of sleep I’d gotten since this whole death threat business started, at least until the train stopped and woke us all up. I’ll admit I may have been a little…spooked by our sudden stop and some noises in the dark, which is why I made Mack stay in the room with me. I’d have had the agent with me too, but Mack couldn’t get him to answer his door because, well, you know. We were fine until you dragged us out into the open to sit around in the lounge car like sitting ducks.”

“Exactly,” Abe said, getting a sputter out of the rich man before he continued, “You were asleep, alone, completely defenseless for hours—where does killing Happy come into that?”

Even if Happy had been keeping watch and caught someone breaking into Richard’s room, it wouldn’t explain the other evidence Abe found in the luggage car. What did that crate with the weird stone have to do with it, or the emptied weapons safe?

“Well, whatever this maniac’s reasoning may be, I’m sure you’ll handle it before they can finish the job,” Richard said, and once again Abe stopped his pacing to stare at the man.

“You just can’t imagine something bad actually happening to you, can you?” Abe asked. “Or, no, you panic and get scared, and then convince yourself that you can just buy your way out of the problem, is that it? Pay me or Happy or some other stooge to take care of the little wannabe murderer and continue on your way?”

“That’s your job, isn’t it?” Richard asked, shifting uneasily in his seat. “That’s why you’re here on this train, to protect me.”

Abe and Wilford shared a look of disbelief.

“Yeah, no, that’s not why I’m here. Trust me, I know that much,” Abe said. He approached the table again and fiddled with the lantern for something to do with his hands as he said, “No, I think it’s time you head back to the lounge car and sit back down with the ‘riffraff’ for a while.”

“But you said they all hate me, that one of them could be trying to kill me!”

“Then we’ll both have plenty to think about,” Abe said.

The rich man protested some more, but the detective shooed him off with a wave of his hand and, when that failed to work, pushed him out of the dining car and slammed the door behind him, leaving Richard to decide between standing in the cold connection point between the two cars or go on into the lounge car. Honestly, Abe didn’t care which he decided to do, so long as he had some time to himself to think.

Too bad there was a big, pink and yellow problem with that plan.

“You ever feel like you’ve forgotten something?” Wilford asked the dining car at large.

“…You’re joking, right?”

Wilford’s eyes creased with his smile. “Of course, of course, forget I said anything at all. Or, you know, don’t.”

Abe rubbed his face and turned his back on the other man, staring into the small window to the lounge car where Richard had fled freezing to take a seat far away from the others gathered around the bar.

“I’m missing something,” he muttered, and when Wilford made a noise at that, “I said missing, not forgetting. I know what they’ve all said, I have all of these pieces, but I know there’s something missing here, I just—”

He was pacing again without realizing it, and not for the first time wished he had something physical to put his ideas out there on, even just a notepad and pen so he could jot them all down and tear them apart, rearrange them until he could see the shape of the hole in the center of all of this.

“What do you normally do at this point in your little investigation?” Wilford asked. “When the corkboards and all the little photos and newspaper clippings and the string doesn’t fix it?”

“Like I know what normal is anymore,” Abe muttered, stopping at the window to look out into the darkness only to be met with a reflection of himself and the room behind him, the single lantern on the table glowing like a star but the rest of the room just vague silhouettes and shapes thrown up on the glass and merging with the drifts of snow outside until it was difficult to separate one from the other. Try as he might, he couldn’t find Wilford in the reflection, even though he heard the man’s voice clear as day behind him.

“Oh, yes, nice and moody answer, double points for that, but it doesn’t go and answer my question now does it?” Wilford sighed, and Abe heard the creak of the chair as the man tested how far back he could lean the chair before both went toppling over even if he couldn't see it. “You know, sometimes it just feels so obvious, like you’re looking at a man pointing a gun at you and, whoops, totally forgotten his name. Then other times it’s just…an itch in the back of your mind, a little something off, you know?”

“What are you talking about?” Abe asked, looking over his shoulder to find a bunch of empty tables and chairs, only the two he and the line of suspects had been using out of place.

“Forgetting things, of course,” Wilford said, now standing on Abe’s opposite side with a steaming mug of something in hand. He took a sip and stared out the long window, his mustache tilting as his mouth turned underneath it. “Or did you forget what we were talking about that? It’s okay, I get distracted sometimes too.”

Abe made a noise, a strangled combination of a frustrated growl and a yelp at the other man’s sudden appearance right beside him.

“Okay, more than sometimes,” Wilford admitted. He took a long, slow, slurping sip from his mug that filled Abe with a sudden desire to smack the thing out of his hands.

“Are you even real?” Abe asked, causing Wilford to pause mid-sip.

“That's an existential question that I am not prepared to answer at this juncture.”

“Warfstache!”

“Detective!” Wilford shrugged and took another long, slurping sip before answering. “What kind of question is that to go around asking people? Like being ‘real’ ever actually meant anything.”

“It means everything!”

“Does it though?”

Abe rubbed his face, turning away from Wilford so he could talk and think at the same time. “Nothing about this makes any sense, starting with you and how you—you’re constantly disappearing and reappearing, conveniently avoiding the only other people on this train who might recognize you, don't think I didn't notice that, just...being you in general and no one else so much as batting an eye!”

He couldn't see Wilford tilting his head, studying the detective's back with a thoughtful expression as he asked, “Be honest now, is there anything I could say to convince you one way or the other?”

“...No,” Abe admitted, glancing at the reflections in the window when he heard another long, irritating sip from that stupid pink mug with its words that wouldn't get out of his head. “But there is this.”

The detective spun around, and it was a split second after his fist connected with Wilford's cheek and sent that despicable mug crashing against the ground with a muffled thump that left it in several pieces that he realized it shouldn't have. Not when Wilford seemed to know exactly what he was thinking half the time, not when he had a habit of moving from one place to the other when eyes weren't on him.

Not unless he let it happen.

“Do you feel better now, detective?” Wilford asked, his voice slurring more than usual as he worked his jaw and touched his cheek with an exaggerated wince. “I'm a real boy! For a given value of ‘real,’ of course, but we'll take the win. One mystery solved.”

“Yeah, and about a dozen more to solve,” Abe muttered, wondering how he somehow felt worse now, and not just because of the pain in his split knuckles.

Wilford paused. “Those don't also involve hitting me, do they?”

Except even after that, Abe still felt like he was missing something obvious about Warfstache. Something not quite right, although with him it was hard to just point at one thing in particular. An aggravating irritant, on top of everything else.

“Would talking it out help?” Wilford suggested helpfully. “You said something about that before, right? Or was that later...?”

“Yeah, where do you want to start?” Abe asked. “How it seems like everyone on this train but the two of us has some kind of connection to Moneybags? How all signs point to a shootout in the baggage car but our dead man is found in his room poisoned, bludgeoned, and stabbed on top of the bullet in him? Why our dead man has a badge for an agency I’ve never heard of, or do you want to spend a few hours trying to decipher that letter he had on him from said agency? Or what the hell kind of agent runs around with a gun that looks like a kid’s toy?”

As if to accentuate his point, Abe pulled out Happy’s gun and dropped it on a nearby table, soon following it with the agent’s badge and the letter he’d had on him.

“There is one thing that’s been bothering me since the start of this whole rigamarole,” Wilford declared, and to Abe’s surprise he turned and pointed a finger at his chest, voice and expression both unusually serious as he asked, “Why did you get a double room, detective?”

“…What?”

“You heard me! Most suspicious thing around if you ask me,” Wilford said. “Mr. ‘I Work Alone’ with a side of hard-up detective who can’t even afford a decent outfit—”

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“It’s monochrome as hell and so 2018, but my point is, how does a guy like that end up in a room twice as big as he needs?” Wilford asked, physically and verbally prodding Abe until the detective smacked his hand away.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Abe asked, but Wilford tilted his head with an inquiring noise that suggested he wasn’t about to let it go. “I don’t know, it’s just the room I was put in, I didn’t pick it.”

“Ah! Then who did?”

“It…I don’t know, it was just the room that was available at the time, anyone could have ended up in it. Not like it even matters, since Happy and I ended up—”

Abe stopped midsentence and found himself voicing the thought that interrupted it out loud.

“Why did Happy want it? I thought it was to get closer to Moneybags, but he never actually said he was taking the rich idiot up on his job offer. On the other hand, our rooms were right next to each other, so it wasn’t like he was moving from one end of the car to the other.”

Wilford shrugged. “Maybe he wanted the extra space? Since clearly you weren’t doing anything with it, right?”

“What, to store all of his nonexistent luggage?” Abe shook his head. “I thought back in the luggage car he had something to do with the professor’s crate getting broken into, especially when she said he was real keen on that math she was doing related to her work, but that rock in there would be just as easy to hide in one room as another after he stole it, if that was his goal. My room was a little closer to the professor’s room, but Dorene was still in between them so he couldn’t hope to listen in on any conversations from there. Just what was he hoping to get out of a trade?”

Abe turned back toward Happy’s belongings on the table and leaned over them, staring down at the badge, gun, and letter as though if he just looked at them hard enough, he would find something new there.

“I’m missing something,” he muttered again, and vaguely heard Wilford’s voice behind him. “The letter, the badge, everything Happy said made it sound like he was on this train for a reason. He was scoping the train out all afternoon, looking for something.”

He paused and then turned back on Wilford. “Wait, what did you just say?”

Wilford froze, eyes full of innocence that Abe wasn’t buying. “Who, me? Why, I haven’t said a thing all night—”

“No, I heard you, I said ‘I’m missing something’ and you said—”

Wilford rolled his eyes. “Okay, I might have said, ‘Or someone,’ but who can really tell?”

He paused and gave Abe a searching look. “Unless you’re suddenly having a burst of inspiration, in which case I take full credit.”

Abe stood stock still as the idea sank in, before he was a sudden frenzy of motion, pacing back and forth in a vain effort to keep up with the thoughts clicking away in his head.

“That’s it! Happy wasn’t looking for something, he was looking for someone. He was going from one end of the train to the other this afternoon questioning people! Everyone agrees he never said anything about himself if he could help it, but Dorene said he was a good listener. That, and he’d done his research on Moneybags and knew enough about the Professor’s work to spot a mistake in her math—bet you anything those weren’t the only two he did his background research on. He was listening to see who didn’t match up, who wasn’t supposed to be here.”

“Ah,” Wilford said, eyes lighting up with understanding. “Trying to find out who among us is sus. Just like Monopoly.”

“What kind of games do you…” Abe stopped himself with a shake of his head and pressed on. “But you’re right, sort of. Happy goes through the whole train, listening and observing the passengers and crew, looking for…Looking for…”

There it was again, that something off, and Abe found himself asking, “He never talked to you though, did he?”

“Mm, can't say he did,” Wilford admitted, before prudently taking a step backward. “You're not going to hit me again, are you?”

“Eh...” Abe shrugged, unable to go so far as to commit to that, but continued his thought. “But when I described you to him, he didn’t seem especially interested in learning anything more, even after I said you’ve killed people.”

“Rude. Clearly a terrible judge of character.”

“But if he was so keen on going around and checking everyone, how could he miss you?” Abe remembered exactly how hard a person Wilford could be to find without even trying and corrected himself. “Why wouldn’t he try to find you? Unless it’s because I apparently knew you well enough to know you’re not an impostor—"

“Although not well enough to tell if I'm real or not.”

“—And he knew I was who I said I was because both Benjamin and the chef recognized me,” Abe continued. “All four of us unintentionally provided alibis for each other being who we say we are. Same reason he barely interacted with Moneybags and Mack until he was forced to during dinner—two people traveling together, neither of them can be his man. The other three passengers are traveling alone, but Illinois introduced himself to Ms. Whitacre right in front of him, and they knew enough of each other from their letters that he could rule them out after a few minutes. The professor’s the odd one out there, but he came prepared, well enough to check her work, literally. Then there's the engineer/conductor...”

“Yes? What about him?” Wilford prompted when Abe trailed off, but the detective's thoughts were not on Peter but on something he had said.

Or rather, hadn’t said.

“Wilford, do you actually have a ticket?” Abe asked. Peter had mentioned sending Wilford away multiple times for not having one, but surely...

Wilford rolled his eyes and scoffed as he plopped down in one of the empty chairs dotted around the room. “You sound like that guy now, all ‘do you have a ticket to ride,’ and I kept telling him I’ve never even played the game before—”

Abe groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. “You’re a stowaway?!”

Wilford perked up. “Oh, that’s a fun way to put it! But yeah, probably.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding the other two?”

“I also perhaps owe someone $20, or they owe me the money, and I can’t really remember the details anymore so it’d kind of be awkward…”

Abe considered hitting Wilford again, harder this time. Of all the reasons to avoid Benjamin and the chef, those were the only ones he could come up with?

But his eyes landed on the letter found in Happy’s pocket once again and he whispered to himself, “Stowaway…”

“If you could speak up a little…” Wilford suggested, only to blink owlishly when Abe rounded on him.

“The postcard, you’re sure you found it in the baggage car? You didn’t pick it up anywhere else?”

“This old thing?” Wilford asked, the postcard appearing between his fingers like a card conjured up by a street magician. “Of course I found it in the baggage car, that’s where you told me to search and it was right there in the middle of the floor where anyone would have noticed.”

Except Abe hadn’t, and he knew full well that Wilford and the general senses of time, space, or even reality itself rarely applied to him except when he could be bothered to let them.

“And I know I didn’t see it because it was still dark in the car with only the lanterns to see by,” Abe said, not sure whether he was explaining himself to Wilford or reassuring himself. “But I know I would have noticed something lying on the ground when I went into the baggage car earlier yesterday afternoon, just like Happy would have. Especially when the thing is a postcard sent from and addressed to two people who are not on this train, meaning it’s supposed to be on the opposite end of the train, in a car no one should have had access to since the train started moving. Do you get where I’m going with this?”

Wilford considered the question for all of a half second before answering honestly, “Nope, not even a little bit.”

“I’m saying,” Abe said, pulling out the set of keys he’d borrowed from Benjamin, “I think it’s time we finally had a look in that mail car.”

A good line, but Abe found himself hesitating when he did reach the door connecting the dining car to the kitchen car.

He looked back over his shoulder at the distant circle of light barely visible through the glass windows on the other end of the car, just long enough to confirm that the silhouette of the chef wasn’t already on his way to stop him, and added under his breath, “Better make this quick.”

The detective did pause in the space between cars to check out both of the side windows, his breath nearly fogging up the glass in the few seconds it took to look and move on into the kitchen car.

The very dark kitchen, which lacked the huge windows of the dining and lounge cars to let in even the reflection of moonlight off of the snow outside. There was only a single skylight overhead, which did little to help illuminate things now. Anyone working in here would have little to distract them from the currently cold ovens and cookware lining the walls above long stretches of counterspace with an island in the middle taking up much of the room in the center of the car.

Abe turned up the light from his lantern and held it higher, where it reflected off of seemingly every surface, from the polished oven doors and excessively clean counters to the absolutely massive fridge that occupied one corner of the car, its not so quiet hum filling the otherwise silent car. The light of the small flame left everything with an orange, flickering hue as though they had stepped into hell itself.

“Hell itself?” Wilford asked, repeating the thought that hadn’t left Abe’s mind. “Bit chilly for that, isn’t it?”

“To be fair, the guy who works here could be the devil for all I know,” Abe muttered. “Certainly wouldn’t put it past him to skewer us if he finds us in here.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t pick up another midnight snack?”

“Or anything sharp and pointy,” Abe said, slapping Wilford’s hand away from the knife block in the same breath. “And midnight was hours ago, probably.”

Actually, he didn’t have a clue what time it was. It being the middle of the winter and in less than stellar conditions, there could still be hours more to go until dawn, if the sun even bothered to show up at all.

“Then a pre-breakfast appetizer,” Wilford said, opening the fridge door only for Abe to slam it shut again.

And then reopen it to look inside himself, getting an indignant sound from the other man.

“Just checking to make sure there’s nothing in here that shouldn’t be,” Abe said. “You know, another bottle of poison, some more booby traps, maybe a body or two…”

“Certainly looks big enough to hold a few,” Wilford said, nodding. “But I can’t help but notice that looks suspiciously like string cheese you have there.”

Abe silently passed him another stick and closed the door, only commenting, “Well, no harm in checking. Come on, the next and last car should be the one we’re looking for.”

The detective led the way through the next door, pausing once again and wincing when Wilford ran into him so hard he nearly dropped his lantern.

“Could you watch it?” Abe hissed.

“Could you not stop every two seconds to monologue to yourself?” Wilford shot back, taking a piece of his string cheese and carefully pulling it free to eat.

“I’m not monologuing, I’m looking for clues,” Abe protested, drawing Wilford’s attention to the windows on either side.

Or trying to, but the other man’s attention was riveted on the piece of cheese in Abe’s hand, and the end very obviously bit off without any preamble.

“You heathen,” Wilford said, one hand held to his chest in shock.

In answer, Abe took another large bite before holding his lantern up to the window and saying over Wilford’s affronted gasp, “See the snow? No footsteps, here or on the other side, and the doors are locked on the inside—same for every car from here to the front of the train, and these are the only places where you can get out. No one on this train has left it since we got stuck, except when I went around with Benjamin and the conductor to take a look at the heap of snow blocking the tracks. If someone fled whatever happened in the baggage car, they either went into the engine car or back through the passenger car, no going around.”

“And that means…” Wilford prompted.

“It means I missed something, and so did Happy,” Abe answered as he shuffled through the keys on the ring to try and find one that matched the lock on the door to the mail car. “And this is the one place no one’s been allowed to check since we started.”

“Sounds fascinating! So why are we hanging around out here?” Wilford asked, and without waiting for Abe to point out the obvious, he reached forward and pulled on the door.

The door that, despite everything Abe had been told, clearly wasn’t locked as it slid open easily to reveal a figure standing just inside, holding a gun.

His gun, the tip of which was currently pointed at the center of his chest.

((End of Part 10. Thanks for reading!

Is it too late to be adding another character to the story, when we're this close to the end? Probably! Am I doing it anyway? Yes, yes I am. Also thank you to Mark for dropping that existential question line in that Poppy Playtime let's play, absolutely knew I had to steal that when I heard it.

There were 100% other ways to go about checking to see if someone's real, but Abe maybe still isn't over the whole "shooting me and my partner" thing...

Tag list: @silver-owl413 @asteriuszenith @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @95fangirl @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-star-eyes @shyinspiredartist @avispate @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard))

[ruporas]

need to exist in your warmth (id in alt)

[northern-passage]

a little update.. what i'm working on/prologue changes so far:

no prologue! it’s chapter 1 now

removed the option to leave clementine behind. you have to take them with you :3c

removed height options (sorry!)

in general, edited the cc to flow better

combat preferences have been adjusted-- all still the same but i've made it more obvious how each specialty works mechanically which will hopefully make fights more intuitive to win (or lose, if you want)

genderlocked the sibling. officially a Sister

edited a LOT of dialogue; hopefully it's an improvement and feels more natural

restructured the wraith fight so that it's consistent with the fight in blackwater. with the changes made to the combat preferences this should make the combat system overall cohesive now <- i'm still working on this currently but i am HOPING to finish it by the end of this month.

i have pretty much rewritten the entire prologue. wasn't my plan at the start but here we are... so things are quite different. but also the same. i also streamlined a lot of the choices & branches and cut/combined ones that i felt were just excessive.

i plan to update once i've finished making & importing these changes, and i will probably limit the demo to chapter 1 (previously the prologue) until i get through and edit chapter 2 (previously chapter 1) because i really don't want to have the demo be inconsistent for however long it takes me to get through the next edits. hopefully this will not take that long, and then i'll put chapter 2 & and part 1/what's already been published of chapter 3 back up. and then!!! i will move on to finishing chapter 3.

i know this probably isn't the update you all were hoping for but i'm excited for the next steps with tnp :-)

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - The Twins

You guys ready?! I don't think you are :3 @spotaus

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

Are you guys ready? For this drabble of 5000 words? <3

Get cozy. Because we are finally here <3 The long awaited meeting.

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

Nightmare rubs his arm as he glances at his dads. None of them look happy about what is about to happen.

Dust notices him looking and relaxes his face “You ready?”

Nightmare frowns as he rubs his arm again. Checking his own outfit again. He is wearing his favourite pants. They are wide and have nice ribbons on the side and they are a soft pastel pink. It goes nicely with his bat hoody.

Nightmare shrugs before walking towards Dust’s side and relaxes a bit when he feels himself be picked up. Dust nuzzles the side of his skull “Ready?”

Nightmare feels a lot less sure and mutters “What if this is a bad idea?” He has no idea how Dream will react to him. What if this is a bad idea? What if Dream just looks at him and walks away? What if… what if nothing is different? What is Dream still hates him? Still attacks him? Even after everything?

Sure Dream now knew that Nightmare did what he had to do to fix the balance. But Nightmare doesn’t know if Dream even knows why Nightmare attacked the villagers. They fought so often and he never wanted to listen… Nightmare still isn’t sure if Dream will listen to him.

Sure… Dream knows the balance thing now. But that is probably just because some other god told him. Maybe Error and Ink… Not Nightmare… Dream didn’t listen to him and never wanted to listen to him. What would change now?

What if Dream only likes him now because he is small again? Now that he isn’t the… the evil that took his brother anymore? Would Dream even accept that past as a part of him? Would Dream just always hate a side of Nightmare?

Could Nightmare deal with that? Could he accept Dream hating a part of him just to have some love from his brother? Finally after so much time?

Dust pokes his cheek and Nightmare sees the worried look on his face “Nightlight?” and he gentle rubs away a tear from his cheek.

Oh.

Nightmare is quick to rub the other tears away and mutters “What if Dream still hates me?”

Dust frowns and rubs his skull before pulling the hood on “Then… he is an idiot.” Nightmare blinks and stares at Dust. Dust grins back “You are our tiny adorable babybones. Maybe I am biased but I am unsure how anyone could ever hate you.” and he gets another nuzzle.

Killer grins and gives him his own nuzzle “Oh we are very biased. Our little boss is perfect and can do no wrong.” Nightmare feels himself get embarrassed as he looks away.

Cross sighs as he pulls Killer back “Kills, you will get more goop on him and he just had his bath.” Cross carefully checks his face before nodding.

Killer wiggles his eyebrows at Cross “Bet you don’t mind getting some goop on your face.”

Cross looks very unimpressed at Killer before grabbing his hand and giving Killer a half bow as Cross kisses his knuckles. Cross looks up and winks at Killer “Maybe later when we are alone. If you behave.” Killer sputters and glows bright red.

Dust rolls his eyes “Not in front of Nightmare.” and he gets another nuzzle which Nightmare happily leans into.

Horror returns to their side and checks his outfit before nodding “Should be warm enough.”

Killer sighs “It is still warm out…”

Horror hums “Better be safe.”

“Mh. If you four were planning on being safe you wouldn’t even be meeting with Dream and Blue with him to begin with.”

Nightmare looks up excited “Error!”

Error has appeared in their kitchen and shoots him a tiny grin before glaring at the others “It is an unnecessary risk.” He crosses his arms.

Cross frowns “It is actually necessary. If we don’t do this meeting on our terms in another universe it is a matter of time before we are found here.”

Nightmare doesn’t like that. It would mean hiding all over again. He pushes close to Dust “I don’t want to move.”

Dust hums softly and nuzzles him “I know. We don’t want to move either.”

Nightmare nods and looks at his hands “Is this a bad idea?” He knows it is.

Dust hums “Not precisely… we are just worried.” He nuzzles him again “We don’t want to risk you. In any way.”

Nightmare sneaks a look but Dust looks honest. Dust keeps looking at him “Do you still want to do this?”. Nightmare just stares at Dust but Dust looks serious “I mean it. If you changed your mind and don’t want to do this. We will blow this whole thing off.”

Nightmare frowns and looks to the side “Won’t that cause trouble?”

Dust shrugs “Maybe but we can fix that.”

Error nods “I am already working on relocating this universe to other coordinates. Meaning you will soon be hidden again.”

Dust nods and nuzzles him “Nothing has to change. We don’t have to go. You don’t own them anything.” He just looks at him “You have already had to do too much Nightmare. It is fine to just put yourself first.”

Nightmare frowns as he thinks it over before looking back at Dust “I want to see him.” because even if he is afraid. Even if he knows Dream will just hate him. Even if he knows this will just hurt him. He wants to see Dream. He needs to know for sure. Know for sure where they stand.

Dust nods and looks at the others. Nightmare can see that Killer and Cross clearly are not happy. Horror looks worried and rubs his skull “If you want to leave. We leave. No questions asked.” Nightmare smiles and leans into the touch.

Horror smiles at him before shooting Killer, Cross and Error a look “We are going.” Cross grumbles unhappily but gets his knife ready to open the portal.

They walk through and into a forest. It is still warm out with only a light breeze. The leaves are all a beautiful range of yellows, oranges and reds and Nightmare just stares in awe. It is so pretty out here.

Cross and Killer quickly check the area before nodding. Horror looks at them amused “We are still ten minutes away from the meeting spot. Lets go.” he shoots Error a look “You coming?”

Error considers and shoots him a look before speaking “I will keep an eye out. In case stuff goes south I will quickly move you to another universe. Any preference as backup?”

Nightmare speaks without thinking “Ccino’s.”

Error needs a moment as he types before nodding “Easy enough. If anything goes wrong I will send you there. In the meantime I will work on the relocation.” And he steps into a glitchy portal and he is gone.

Sigh. Error is so cool. Nightmare will figure out how to hold his hand one of these days!

Horror joins Dust’s side and mumbles softly “Do you want any of us to hold him?”

Dust frowns as he looks at him for a long time. Clearly not wanting to let go of him. Before he sighs and looks at Cross “Cross? Can you hold him and stay out of sight?”

Cross smiles brightly and nods as he is by his side within seconds “I will make sure they can’t see him until you give me the signal.” Cross’s hold is different from Dust. Dust’s hold is always tight and so close. Cross’s hold is more gentle but still steady. Unmoving in the way he holds him.

Nightmare hums and leans against Cross.

Cross takes a deep breath and nothing seems to happen but Killer gives him the thumbs up “Invisible to see.” Dust looks less happy and shifts his sight around clearly searching.

Cross must see it too because he takes Dust’s hand and helps him find Nightmare’s. Dust immediately relaxes. Cross smiles brightly as he speaks cheerfully “At least with the walk we can do it like this.”

Dust looks thankful and mutters that he is.

They start walking and Nightmare enjoys the soft sunlight and warmth around him. He lets himself relax as he feels Cross’s soul nearby. Safe and sound.

They enter a clearance and Nightmare looks up only to freeze. That are Dream and Blue. He feels himself sink closer to Cross and Cross pulls him closer as well. Dust has sadly removed his hand but Nightmare is still close to one of his dads and that is enough.

Dream looks up eagerly and looks between those there. Then he frowns.

Blue frowns as well “Euh… where is Nightmare?”

Killer grins as he holds up a knife “Just making sure we got some ground rules first.”

Dream frowns as he gets up himself “We already discussed those. No one will learn of this meeting. This stays between us all. No aggression and no making any move to remove Nightmare from you.”

Nightmare just keeps leaning against Cross. Waiting.

Killer nods along “Yes exactly. Those are the rules we settled on. But you know. You never said what you would gain from speaking to Nightmare.” he grins and waits.

Dream blinks and looks down. Messing with his shirt “I just… I want to see him… say I am sorry…” he looks desperate “You want me to beg?! Because I will! Just… Tell me what you want!”

Killer looks at Dust and Dust shrugs. Horror turns slightly and nods into their general direction.

Cross nuzzles his skull and slowly becomes visible. Much to the obvious shock of Blue and Dream.

Dream looks confused at them and mutters “Why take your child along?” as he keeps looking around hopefully. Blue however stares at him and Nightmare stares back. Nightmare can see when it clicks for Blue.

Blue takes a sharp breath and takes a few steps back “Nightmare?”

Dream looks at Blue and sees where he is staring. And he stares at Nightmare. Nightmare can see that it just takes one look for Dream to realise who he is. Dream takes a sharp breath and is already four steps closer before he even mutters his name “Nighty?”

Killer stands between them and has his knife aimed at Dream’s throat “Don’t.”

Dust has his own blaster out and aimed at them and Horror just stands between them and the stars.

Blue holds up his hands “Okay… let’s calm down…” he pulls on Dream’s shoulder and makes him take a few steps back. Dream however just keeps staring at him “Easy Dream… Easy… deep breaths. Just take a moment.”

Dream however is shaking as he keeps staring at him. He glances at Nightmare’s dads between staring “How… How is he… Why is he? What did you four do?!”

Killer sputters and glares “We didn’t do shit-” Dust immediately hits his skull.

“Language.”

Killer grumbles but nods “Yeah yeah I know. Nightmare don’t copy that.”

Nightmare rolls his eyes but leans against Cross more as Cross snickers into his shoulder.

Killer rubs his own shoulder as he speaks “Again. We didn’t do anything. All we know is. That one day his apple and god related magic disappeared. And what was left was Nightmare in his full glory.” Killer stops and grins “Well. His true form at least.” He grins a Dream and the grin turned sharper “After all… The apple thing happened when he was six… You had time to grow up once you exited the stone didn’t you? When exactly was Nightmare supposed to grow up?”

Dream is breathing shallowly as he takes it in. His eyelights small and staring at him. Nightmare can’t look away.

Blue is the one who speaks “You mean… the whole time… Nightmare was actually…”

Dust speaks calmly “Six? Pretty much.”

Blue just stares ahead and laughs as he rubs his forehead “A six year old managed to outsmart most of the other gods and stay out of trouble for almost 500 years… what the hell.”

Dust and Killer both freeze and Nightmare huffs as he crosses his arms “Not exactly… I had more like… thinking space and stuff… I was better able to handle the magic and powers in that form…” he leans more against Cross “Not anymore.”

Cross coos and nuzzles him “Our little baby.”

Blue gives a slow nod, huh he is holding Dream’s hand and squeezing his hand to reassure him? Blue smiles “And now… the apple magic is gone?”

As soon as he says it Cross pulls him closer and takes three steps back. Dream makes a pained noise as he reaches for him “please… please don’t go…”

Everyone is still. Dream takes a shaking step closer “Nighty? Please… I am sorry. I am so sorry. I am sorry I didn’t listen to you. I am sorry I didn’t hear you out before… When I first joined the multiverse. It was stupid of me to believe the words of those I just met over you. It was stupid of me to not even hear you out and I am sorry. I swear. I swear I have been working on fixing it. I made sure everyone knows it was my fault and that you helped them.”

Dream takes another step closer and Nightmare can hear all four of his dads growl at him.

Dream just continues talking “I am sorry… For way back too… I should have.. I should have stayed with you with the tree… I found a copy of our story… I know now… I swear. I swear I didn’t know. If I had known what they did I wouldn’t have left you! I swear!” he smiles.

Nightmare doesn’t know what to do. What to feel. It is… isn’t this what he wanted? Dream sees he is wrong. Dream is saying he would have been there for him if he had known… Then why does he still doubt it?

Nightmare frowns as he looks away from Dream and leans more against Cross again and speaks “You are just saying that because I am like this again…” there!

Dream shakes his skull “No! I swear it isn’t! I wanted to talk to you for this reason. To apologise!” he takes another few steps closer and Horror remains as a living wall between him and Cross and Nightmare. Dream stares desperate “I swear. I swear on my soul that I didn’t know and I was planning on saying all of this already.” He looks back at Blue.

Blue sees it and nods “It is true! He has been trying to find you for a year now. Well longer even! As soon as we found the storybook in Dreamtale. He has been wanting to talk to you. Before we even figured out the balance business! I swear and I promise this is the truth.”

Nightmare frowns as he stares at them both. Blue is a rather honest person… He looks at his dads for reference.

Cross sees him look and pulls him close as he mutters softly “I think he is being honest…” Cross did spend the most time with the Stars before he joined Nightmare…

He looks at Horror and Horror still seems calm. The fact Horror doesn’t have his weapon out yet says a lot about what he thinks about the situation. Killer and Dust still look unhappy but both of them are always unhappy when it comes to anyone being near him.

Dream rubs his hands and looks at them begging “Can I… Maybe… It would be amazing… And I get if you don’t want to but.” He takes a deep breath “Nighty… can I please hug you?”

Cross freezes and takes four steps back. A blink and a loud distressed noise leaves Dream as he looks around searching. Oh… Cross made them both invisible.

Dust growls as he stalks towards Dream. Lightning and electricity crackling loudly “You have some fucking nerve. After all the pain and problems you caused.”

Blue looks shocked as he mutters “Acolytes…”

Nightmare frowned. He isn’t sure what Blue means. They are just them…

Horror looks very unimpressed as Killer just laughs loudly “Really?! Still trying to steal him?! Like this?! You don’t even try to make it subtle.” And he shakes his skull.

Dream looks desperate “I am not trying to steal him! I just want to hug my twin!” he holds himself as tears leak from his optics “I miss him… I have missed him so much. All because I was too dumb and too blind to look at the facts. I just want to hold him. Hug him…” he looks at them begging “Just once. Please. Just… just tell me what you want!”

Killer huffs and looks unimpressed but Dust lets the electricity slowly shimmer down again.

Nightmare frowns before looking at Cross. Cross sees him look and looks panicked “You don’t need to.”

Nightmare rubs his arm and mutters softly “I want to.” Silence around them and yeah Nightmare figured everyone would hear.

Cross looks deeply unhappy but sighs before bringing their skulls together. Then he slowly walks over to Dream and Blue as Dream just looks so damn hopeful.

Killer steps between them “Yeah. We are putting in some insurance. Blue. Over there.” Blue blinks but nods as he walks to the side. Killer nods to Dust and Dust summons a loaded blaster aimed at Blue.

Blue freezes and looks a whole lot more nervous “euh….”

Killer grins “Insurance!” he grins widely at Dream “You make a single move to steal our babybones and your bestie will be turned into dust.” He winks cheeky “Understood?”

Dream looks horrified at Blue but so wishful at him “I… I… You can’t… Blue…”

Blue frowns as he looks up “You only shoot when he tries to leave with him right?”

Dust nods. Blue nods again and grins at Dream “It is fine Dream. Just stay with them and get your hug.”

Dream looks shocked but then so hopeful at him. Cross gets close and pulls him slightly away from him. Dream has his arms out and they shake lightly. Dream lets out a pained noise and Nightmare suddenly regrets giving that apple magic back to his cat version. Seeing as now the scars on his skull are very obvious.

One pass later and Dream is holding him. Dream just stares in shock at him “You looks exactly the same… except” tears leave his sockets and Dream just hugs him fully against him. Before he crumbles to the ground and Nightmare hears and feels Dream cry against him as he mutters stuff to him As he light as a feather strokes the scars on his skull.

“Nighty.”

“I missed you so much.”

“I am sorry.”

“I am so so so sorry.”

“I swear I will be better.”

“It is so good to see you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you so much.”

“I love you.”

That is the one that makes him freeze and react “No you don’t.”

Silence and Dream pulls away from his hug to look at him. Not permitting him even an inch to move away. Nightmare just looks down “You don’t love me.” That he knows at least.

Dream shakes and shakes his skull “I do love you.”

Nightmare rolls his eye lights as he mutters “You only say that because I look like this… If I had still been an adult you would have still hated me.”

Dream shakes his skull and just holds him close “I always loved you. I swear. I know I haven’t been a good brother. I know I failed in everything that makes a brother a brother and I swear I will do better. But I always loved you Nightmare.”

Nightmare looks to the side “You tried to kill me.” He still has nightmares of Dream attacking him.

Dream sniffs and sobs “I know. And I am so sorry and I swear I thought it was the only thing I could do.” he pulls back and brings their foreheads softly together “It… it is okay.” he sobs but keeps speaking “It is okay… if you hate me… forever. I would… it would be deserved. For everything I did. But I need… I need you to know. I always loved you. I swear to you.”

Nightmare just stares at him. He isn’t sure what Dream sees on his face but it must be that Nightmare doesn’t believe him as he just keeps crying. Dream rolls up as far around him as he can and just sits there. Sobbing as he mutters more apologise and love declarations. Promises to be better and do everything in his power to prove it.

The hug… is very nice though. Nightmare is surprised by how nice the hug feels.

Most shocking is that his soul recognises Dream’s soulbeat. It is so much like his own but slightly off rhythm. But unlike with his dads. His soul doesn’t move to match it. They just beat together, slightly out of sync.

Dream seems to notice as well as he holds him closer and Nightmare can hear him try to do some of those breathing exercises to calm his soulbeat. Nightmare can feel how Dream’s soul starts to beat a slightly different speed but it doesn’t change much.

Dream sobs and laughs softly “Why… why don’t they match anymore? They… they should match. They always matched.”

Horror huffs “Because his soul has other bonds to count on now. Nightmare isn’t depended on you Dream. And he hasn’t for a long time.”

Dream freezes and looks up shocked. Dream’s eyes shoot between Nightmare’s dads before turning back to stare at him.

Nightmare isn’t sure what to say. He however makes eye contact with Killer and reaches a hand for him. Killer is by their side immediately and grins at Dream “Well time to return tiny boss to us!”

Dream shakes slightly and Nightmare feels his grip tighten on him but after just one more very close hug Dream clearly forces himself to let go of him. Nightmare is back in Killer’s arms within seconds and it feels nice to be near the other soul again. Nightmare immediately starts to relax and feels his soul start to follow Killer’s rhythm.

Killer coos and Nightmare feels him walk away a bit. By the time he actually takes a moment to open his sockets again he is already back by his dads and Blue and Dream are standing side by side.

Blue has this soft look on his face but Dream… Dream just stands there shaking and staring at him. His hands close to his chest and tears clearly in his sockets.

Nightmare frowns and turns to be close to Killer. Trying to hide. Killer notices and immediately hugs him closer and shifts his hold. Hiding him a bit. Nightmare relaxes as he feels a bit safer.

Dust hums and shrugs “Well. You saw him. Goodbye.” And he turns around.

Dream shouts “Wait!”

Dust glares at him but Dream doesn’t glare back. He just looks begging “Please… please… I can’t… please there has to be some way I can keep seeing Nighty?”

Dust raises a brow “And what exactly could you do for him?”

Dream flinches as he rubs his arms while hugging himself “I am his brother… his twin… We are gods I can… I know I can help him… I can take care of him… I actually got information from gods and know what is going on.” He smiles hopefully.

But Nightmare just feels cold. He doesn’t want to be away from his dads!

Dust just laughs before glaring “If you think for even a second any of us trust you with our babybones you are wrong.”

Dream blinks and glares “I am his brother.”

Dust laughs “And what a good brother you have been. What? Haven’t done enough target practise yet? Or did you already conveniently forget that you had been shooting arrows at Nightmare since the first moment you saw him after you woke up from the stone?”

Dream flinches and shakes his skull “Yes- I mean No! I know that but-”

Dust just walks closer. Electricity crackling “Okay. Then you forgot about the fact that you spread rumours and lies about Nightmare? How you assumed what he was doing and spread that misinformation around? Making his job much more difficult?”

Dream shakes his skull “I know! I told others I was wrong and have righted that wrong and-”

Dust grins sharply “Or better yet. At the very start. When you didn’t believe him when he told you those villagers hurt him. How your first instinct when you saw him after your mother died was to attack him.”

Dream flinches again.

“Dust enough!”

Dust blinks and looks over. Cross stands behind him and pulls on his arm. “Enough.”

Nightmare doesn’t get it. Why-

Oh…

He is shaking… and crying.

Dust sees it and slowly walks closer and rubs his cheek “sshh… shh… it is okay… none of that will ever happen again… we won’t let it.” Nightmare holds an arm out to Dust and Killer easily hands him over to Dust. Nightmare relaxes a bit. It is familiar and safe.

Killer sounds very calm as he speaks “You lost any right to take care of him or watch over him long ago Dream. The things you fixed? That were things that needed fixing. That was your job to fix as you ruined them to begin with. But just because you fixed your own mistakes doesn’t mean that we or Nightmare have to trust you.”

Dream looks to the side and Blue rubs his arm as he speaks “Dream just missed him. I know I know very rich coming from him but… even if it isn’t possible for Dream to take care of him and I get it. You guys have been through a lot.”

Dream looks ready to go against it but Blue just shakes his skull at him “You need time to actually process all of this as well Dream.” Blue turns back to them “But… wouldn’t it be nice for both of them to at least get the chance to see each other? To talk? To maybe slowly start to mend their broken bond?”

This time Nightmare can see all his dads exchange looks.

Blue smiles “Just… please just think about it… I know you wouldn’t do it or agree to it for Dream… But maybe it is nice for Nightmare? To give him the ability and chance to get this bond back?” Blue looks hesitant but keeps talking “I know a lot happened. And that will leave scars… But isn’t it better to at least be able to mend that bond a little? To at least feel safe near each other?”

Nightmare frowns as he pushes close to Dust. Dust nuzzles him.

Blue nods “It is a lot… and I get you need space…” he shoots Dream a look “You both need space. Time to think and consider. Which we will give.”

Dream looks up pained “Blue no! I searched for so long and-”

Blue smiles sadly at Dream “Dream I know. I know this hurts… And I know you want this so badly and you missed him. But you need to let him make his choice. You know he is safe. You know he is healthy.” And he looks at him “Isn’t that enough for now? Wasn’t that the whole goal?”

Dream looks lost before shooting him another look “Yeah… yeah it was… I am sorry… I just…”

Blue laughs and nudges their shoulders together “It is a lot. Your mind is going a mile per second and you are terrified of messing up again so you are trying to fix things right away. Take a moment Dream.” And Blue grins at them “We really are happy you guys are okay. Especially after everything came to light.”

Killer looks very mistrusting at them but gives a slow nod “Take a moment to process this.” He shoots them a look and Nightmare can see Killer stare at him for a moment. Then Killer sighs as he rubs his skull “Fucking hell.”

“Language.”

Most surprising. That came from five sources. Nightmare looks over and sees both Dream and Blue look disapproving at Killer.

Killer looks so unimpressed at them “Seriously?”

Blue shrugs “He is six… at least now…”

Killer sighs but nods “Anyway! We are going home… Take a moment to pull yourselves together and also don’t try to find where we live anymore. It is creepy… Also you don’t want to deal with the backstory we made up for us there.”

Blue looks curious “What is the backstory?”

Dust answers very unamused “Killer made it up. Nightmare is mine biologically and there was a bad ex.”

Horror looks highly amused “Which… you two caused quite the stir because well… There is no denying Dream and Nightmare look alike and red plus blue equals purple.” And he waits.

Blue and Dream look shocked.

Dust looks so done with everything “You still own me Killer.”

Killer grins and winks “Anything you want dear. Tonight fitting your schedule?”

Cross coughs “Anyway! We are going...”

Blue looks highly embarrassed “Thanks for the warning…”

Killer snorts “Not like it matters anymore. Error should be done with relocating the universe by now.”

Dream shoots upright “Error is doing what?!”

Killer grins and nods “Hiding us again to keep rude visitors out! Talking about Error. Hey dude ready to pull us out?”

A window in the sky opens and Error looks out unamused “Only emergency. Do it yourself.”

Dream however glares at Error “You knew?! You knew the whole time where he was?! That he was okay?!”

Error raises a brow at Dream “Obviously.”

Nightmare however is more focussed on Error “Error!” and he waves.

Error blinks and snorts but waves back “Nightmare.”

Nightmare beams.

Blue gasps “Oh that is adorable.” Dream however glares very angerly at Error.

Cross at this point cuts the universe fabric “Okay we are going. All through.” Dust goes first.

They appear back in their home and Nightmare pouts at Cross “Why did we leave? Error was there.”

Cross looks amused “Because you are still grounded so no hanging out with Error until the being grounded is done.”

Nightmare pouts but a yawn breaks through. Dust hums and nuzzles his skull “Nap time?”

Nightmare nods as he pushes closer to Dust. This is nice.

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

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[natasha-in-space]

So I'm replaying Ray's After ending rn, and it got me thinking that what I adore so much about Rika as an antagonist is just how damn scary she can be. I always found those who cause harm with good intentions (at least in their point of view) much scarier than those who hurt you with pure intention on hurting you. I think the best example of it is this CG in particular:

Look at that. Such a loving, gentle expression on her face. Probably kissing his forehead. Because she loves him. Heck, without any context, this CG looks even sweet, if you think about it. And yet, all that is while Saeyoung is forcefully sedated on a powerful concoction of drugs even a trained agent like him can't do anything about (and Saeyoung WAS definitely trained to deal with this sort of thing, hence it's mentioned that this is a 'special' kind of drugs). He looks miserable. Bags under his eyes, his expression pained and troubled, even his hair is paler than usual. All that as a direct result of her actions. But she's utterly blind to it. What's scarier, is that she knowingly shuts off her understanding of what's really happening. She's not oblivious to it at all. She just chooses not to see it that way. Simply because she doesn't want to.

Rika is the type of antagonist that will cup your cheek into her warm hand with the most loving of smiles on her face, all while you are getting elixir poured down your throat. Even whispering to you that you're doing great, that the pain will soon pass, and that she can't wait to see you reach the happiness she knows you deserve. I won't be surprised if she even cried genuine tears of compassion during some ceremonies for her believers. All while being the sole reason behind their suffering.

And that's... God, that's terrifying to me. I love that about her.

Rika Kim, they could never make me hate you

[bonefall]

I’m rereading Po3 and despite its flaws I really enjoyed the introduction to the three. Jaykit isn’t mentioned to be blind in the first few chapters and instead they chose to show how much MORE capable he is compared to his littermates; until at the end of chapter 3, he brings up his blindness on his own. It makes forcing him to be a medicine cat SO much more frustrating because it really feels like they’re setting him up to be a warrior and choose his own fate (note i haven’t finished the reread this is just my first impression)

I like how you seem to take that path in BB regardless! It makes his arc so much more enjoyable

His arc in canon is super frustrating because he's such an independent character who clearly wants to make his own decisions in life, but then he just gets shoved into the medcat den. I LIKE that he ultimately goes there and that he enjoys it; but it was still really fucked up that they stripped away his autonomy in the process.

Re: they are not real, they are writing choices. Taking away the choices a disabled character can make over their own life, forcing them into a celibate nun role, and then going "awwwww dont worry see? he likes it! This was the best thing for him :)" was fucked up.

And imo it didn't have to be that way! You wouldn't have to go the FULL route I did with big changes, he could just be more involved in the descision to stop being a warrior apprentice and it would be fine. Minor change that would make a world of difference.

I do also have to interject to say though... blindness should really not be an extremely severe impairment for a ThunderClan cat.

I'm dead serious.

Whiskers are built-in sensors that tell you the exact position of everything within several inches of your head, ears swerve to pick up sound, and the jacobson's organ provides a sense of smell so keen that I have an entire Clanmew expansion draft because I needed to make WORDS describing the power of this sense that humans do not have. I cannot stress enough how delicate their other senses are, felines do not rely on their sight like primates do

ThunderClan lives in a mixed-oak woodland, where sight is already often obscured by foliage, objects are close together (for whiskers to feel), and nearly every movement makes noise against the leaf litter. RiverClan and (moor-running) WindClan cats would have a harder time with this disability than Thunder or Shadow.

Cat sight SUCKS to begin with. It sucks BADDD. They don't have color vision, they're significantly nearsighted, and they can't track up-and-down movements well. WC doesn't write realistic cats (more like small fuzzy people really) and I also work with more humanesque eyesight, but the only thing Jay should really lose is an ability to rapidly track a small animal swerving fast. Blind cats are often still excellent hunters in spite of that!

So it's an extra big waste that they railroaded him into a position he didn't choose, saying he couldn't be a warrior. This is the perfect disability to write, if you want to explore how ableism can impact the characters in this society who ARE legitimately still capable of nearly full independence, but still need to find accommodations for what they can't do.

In the same arc they're doing the dumb Cinder Reincarnation Plotline, no less!! Where SHE is also feeling like she has no choice over her "destiny," and gets a conflict over a potentially disabling injury

"Oh nooo if cinderpaw breaks her leg she wont be a warrior!"

"What the f-- Im Jaypaw and im reporting live from the scene where a Category 1 Idiot Moment is taking place. Woman breaks leg, suddenly everyone believes she is a horse, more at 11."

One of these days I should really make "herb guides" just covering how various sensory disabilities impact the lives of Clan cats and some tips for writing them as warriors, especially between Clans. Stuff you wouldn't usually consider, like how much noise deaf cats tend to make, how RiverClan would get a ton of sinus infections and lose their sense of smell, being blind in Sky vs Thunder, etc.

[cacw]

super splashfrost times

[raikirikiri]

since the naruto timeline is so… you know… inconsistent, for a word, i think it’s really funny if obito and rin are older than kakashi by some years. because then obito is really just having beef with a toddler like kakashi is 6 and obito is 9 or 10 and he finds this little feral dog child to be a major threat to his psyche. meanwhile rin has to be his voice of reason, saying no you can not hurt our 6 year old teammate, look at him he’s just a baby. and kakashi is snarling, on his hands and knees, barking like a chihuahua at them. and minato who’s a very busy jounin asks rin and obito to look after kakashi because he’s very messed up and could use a friend or two. but obito takes it as minato wants him to babysit his ankle biter teammate whom he loathes. but of course rin agrees and obito begrudgingly goes with her. and he doesn’t know how to deal with kids, being one himself, so he tries to boss kakashi around but little selectively mute kakashi glares at him and snaps his teeth at him any time obito so much as breathes air wrong. rin who understood minato’s assignment and asks if kakashi needs help cooking dinner or washing the dishes and is just generally friendly rather than bossy. obito still not understanding and trying to inflict bath time on a dog boy who viciously does not like water and the only people who can actually get him to take a bath are his dead father, minato, and pakkun. kakashi who likes rin enough and lets her sit on his furniture and kakashi who does not trust obito as far as he can throw him and growls at him when he so much as walks into the room. obito who’s had enough and decides to teach the baby a lesson. kakashi and obito who end up having a brawl in the living room while rin watches cartoons because hagoromo otsutsuki she’s just a girl! and she does not have the patience to deal with her asshole baby teammate and her stupid best friend teammate. minato who shows as up eventually and separates kakashi and obito and thinks they’re finally getting along until kakashi lifts his leg and pisses on the ground to mark his territory. the rest of team minato who finally realize that kakashi is actually just a puppy in human form and he is not housebroken…

[queenlucythevaliant]

Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down. 

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived. 

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out.  “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?” 

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset? 

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

 .

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him. 

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.  

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

 .

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

 .

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say. 

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

 .

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food. 

 .

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

.

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands. 

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

 .

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway. 

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say. 

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now. 

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered. 

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room. 

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters. 

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her. 

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?” 

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”  

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

.

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years. 

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl. 

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint. 

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to. 

.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet. 

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.” 

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try… 

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

[sysig]

Time Loops are they/them culture (Patreon)

Bonus of my little guy in ISaT style:

[zeb-z]

Foolish and Cellbit, day before the last day of Purgatory, fighting one v one to balance their kills because they have the same amount of kills. Cellbit quoting the “we are not fish” to him, Foolish smiling wide, “don’t forget, don’t forget!” Something about how maybe Cellbit finds the deeper meaning in the statement, or at least that there is one. How Cellbit confessed to his kills day one and Foolish confessed to covering for him. How the fish analogy for the federation and its workers as fish in an aquarium mean that much more. How Cellbit was the first person Foolish got a horse. How they worked together on that fort in the desert, Foolish on exterior and Cellbit on interior (“if you find yourself against the world, I’d be happy to build another castle with you”). How Foolish contains multitudes and so does Cellbit but at the end of the day, whatever side they seem to choose, whatever they tell everyone else, they are family. Against the Feds. Against Bad and the other team. Against the world. Don’t forget we are not fish!

[silksongeveryday]

Drawing Hornet everyday until Silksong comes out - Day 39

vibe check

not requested just felt silly

[rxttenfish]

while aaravi remains firmly within "yeah miranda has a difficult personality and isn't very easy to get along with + has many rough edges which are slowly being worked on but still going to be an issue" after having been very much so within the camp that miranda is a Vexing Bitch upon first contact/getting to know her, she DOES go from "miranda is unpredictable and dangerous as a merfolk and large macropredator and her emotions are inscrutable and random" to "merfolk aren't very hard to understand or predict and it's very easy to stay on the safe side if you keep basic rules in mind and don't freak out the second something unexpected happens"

[bittersweetresilience]

honkai: star rail or omori

HOW COULD YOU ASK ME THIS. I'M GOING TO PUT YOUR GARRUS FICS IN THE LIBRARY AND KISS YOU OVER THE PAGES.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

ohhhhmygod im gonna be sick. actually nauseous and i did it to myself - there was a spider on the countertop and i Panicked, grabbing the first distance-killer i could grab. it was a grease cleaner spray. i buried it in the stuff, walked away to recover mentally, came back

it fucking fell apart and dissolved into the cleaner. i both feel horrible and im disgusted beyond words. how the fuck do i get rid of it

[tribbles-the-lesbian]

For you ✨❤️pookie❤️✨another work in progressssss~

⬇️original sketch below⬇️