#guys this is one of my favorite chapters

[guccigarantine]

I’m 100% supportive of people becoming obsessed with a background character in something but when people start saying something is bad because those background characters don’t get any character development we gotta slow down a little

[dunmesh]

these sketches from the dungeon meshi art exhibition are so good...!!!

[jamandjazz]

My personal headcanon is that Pony got his love for reading from Darry. When Darry was in high school he’d read the books he got in class out loud to Ponyboy and straight up just handed him some of the easier ones so they could talk about it later. In my brain the reason Ponyboy clings onto it so much is because it’s one of the things he and Darry REALLY bonded over when he was a kid and it just brings back good memories of when they got along better.

[sparkdoesart]

News! I beat a game today and i also have a new interest wedged into my brain!

We finished poppy playtime chapter 3 today and i am not okay <33

I lovw them both so much i cant

[demaparbat-hp]

For the Spirits—Chapter IX: A Rider Alone

I saw the footprints in the white of the snow

I counted thousands and I was just a rider alone

Eighteen degrees and eighty miles from home, oh no

—Nightshade by The Lumineers

.

Zuko stood at the end of the world, surrounded by miles of snow and the resounding echo of his own shallow breaths. He took everything in, closed his eyes to receive Agni’s light, and howled. Something howled back, and he smiled.

Keep reading here!

[sabo-torao]

THE REVOLUTIONARY ARMY PIECE IS REAL!!!!!!

[the-acid-pear]

Not to get into drama the first fucking moment I open my eyes after but calling the Phoneys slaves is such a bad take because the whole game is about that not being true. Like the whole fucking point is that by All Means they're not people. Not to the law, at least, and much less to Freddy's. This is the narrative you've been sold on since the very first game and that it's trying to disprove. Trying to show you thru their back stories and ending dialogue that, hey, these are actual people too!

Sure Jack can still be a turbo cunt to them but the Phoneys still do whatever the fuck they want if they so wish. Jake LITERALLY threatens with walking out on you like on the first month he's in. But this is also a major part of the plot like Where Else will they go if they're not here. Their choices are fucking dying or working at Freddy's Independent of Jack. AND THE POINT ALWAYS TENDS BEING FOR JACK TO BE BETTER BOSS THAN EVERY ONE THAT CAME BEFORE (unless he's evil but he rips Dave's head off he's just off the shits there he killed a baby dude c'mon he's no point of comparison for anything.)

Like to boil it down to "jack x phoneys bad because they're slaves" is literally Ignoring the whole game and all its trying to say. People starting these dramas are probably still in school you can't be so bad at reading baby it's concerning.

[sha-nwa]

“You came,” she whispered.

He blinked. “Of course I came.”

chapter 9 of my and @anna-scribbles fic!!!!!!!

[ruvviks]

Vitali kept cutting and cutting and cutting, tears dripping down onto his tank top and into the sink. He accidentally scraped one of the scissor blades past his finger- and his tears rapidly mixed with a few drops of deep red blood. He loved his hair. He had always done so- but his mother too. She had been obsessed with it, and when he had decided to bleach it she had been livid. But for some reason she had still allowed him to do it as many times as he wanted, as if she believed it would at least stop him from cutting it short, even after he had come out as transgender. And it had worked, somehow. He had never even dared to think about picking up a pair of scissors. Vitali let a single scream leave his lips as he threw the scissors down into the sink, gripping the edge tightly again as he nearly lost his balance. He was out of breath; shaky, shallow inhales providing him with just enough oxygen to not pass out, and he slowly looked back up at his reflection. And in that split second of realization, he regretted it. All of it. A sudden clarity washed over him and his sobs faltered, deafening silence washing over the bathroom as he carefully brushed his now neck-length hair out of his face. It was uneven; some strands barely even reached his chin. He looked different, now. Could barely recognize himself. — From Chapter 12: The Mother; read the full fic here

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@jacobseed

[tamaharu]

i know hes going through it or whatever but i honestly cant focus whenever kazakami shows up. he looks so much like what i imagine kim dokja to look like its distracting.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

So was anyone going to tell me Faust is a bigger menace than EVERYONE in the game put together or like. Was I supposed to play the Impossible Choices event (Vincent and Charles ver) myself. I LOVE that he's the definition of: 'being smarter doesn't make me more mature or helpful, it just makes my inherent lust for chaos/entropy all the more unstoppable' This shit FUCKS

I think this is the first time I've ever seen a character make Shakespeare's life a living hell and the latter didn't expect/see it coming, that was AMAZING. Mf was out here like "What the hell??? You lot don't make me suffer I make YOU suffer. Let a man obsess IN PRIVACY" and then nobody cared. Peak comedic interaction, no notes everyone pack it up

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Waking Nightmare)

Heyyy everyone! I'm scheduling this to post rlly early in the morning my timezone so don't mind that- We are officially (at least for a little bit) going in order for these drabbles! So, they may be a bit more boring than some of my other ones, haha-

Having said that, here's a third addition for the main-story! (un-edited as usual so please ignore my fumbles haha!)

(My beloveds @ancha-aus , @papiliovolens, and @mutzelputz ! Hi again!)

Comforting darkness. Night couldn’t be sure of the last time he’d slept so soundly. The remnants of a chill against his bones worn away by heavy sheets and a warm softness that engulfed him. 

His mind was bleary as he felt the edge of consciousness snake into his skull. Some little energy that sparked in his chest and urged his mind to catch up with the restlessness of his stationary magic. He was so cozy. His magic was right, though. Like every other day, he had duties to attend to and events to oversee. 

A meeting with the lord of a border town at 9 this morning, a temple-leader at 10, a break until lunch which he planned to use to help prepare Horror’s gear for his upcoming mission, then an incoming shipment of goods would arrive around 2, he’d host the merchants for an hour or two, then the Knights training would be at 6. Most of the tasks felt like routine at this point, there was always someone who needed direct audience, and Nightmare saw fit to at least hear them out, though some obviously took priority over the others. The shipments wouldn’t be too difficult either, and the merchants were often simply charmed to spend time in the parlor of the King, he usually only had to sit and listen to grand tales until the merchants excused themselves for their next delivery. Training was likely his favorite daily task, he usually looked forward to it. Getting to be active, see his knights active, it was a treat after a long day. 

Hmm. Actually. Why was he having such a hard time remembering his plans for their work today? 

Nightmare felt his brows furrow in the blissful darkness of his room at the thought. He always ensured he established a new routine before he turned in for the night. Usually mulled it over during dinner as the others chattered about any sort of interesting topic, and wrote it out in his journal before changing and laying down. Or, more usually, turning to other papers and projects in need of handling. 

Only, he didn’t remember doing any of that. 

He would blame it on his sleep-addled brain, but as far as he could recall, he only can think of Cross and Horror’s sparring. He’d called it a day when Cross fell into routine, but… That was where his recollection of the day ended. No dinner chatter, no late-night bookkeeping, it was almost distressing. 

Maybe he’d simply had a long night. Sometimes when he went without sleep for a week or two his sleep would be heavy and he’d be groggy. Ccino might’ve been right, he’d need to be more aware of his sleep-schedule. Especially if it was starting to affect his memory. He didn’t want to start forgetting things. That would leave him vulnerable, susceptible to trickery and claims against his fitness to rule. He swore he’d ask Ccino about it later, if his journals didn’t provide him with enough context to jog the missing memories, of course. 

The only good news was that he must’ve only been asleep for a normal amount of time. There had been no wake-up call, from Ccino, his knights, or otherwise. Perhaps he was lucky enough to have awoken before the rest of the castle deemed him needed and he might get a chance to explore his writing before anyone expected him. 

Right, that decided it then. It was time to get up and around. 

Soundless, Nightmare outstretched an arm above his head and let his limbs uncoil as well. Cold air surrounded them, and he thought little of it as he moved to shove himself upright. He planted his elbows behind him, lifting, only-

“Nightmare?” 

The soft voice didn’t so much as startle him as it confused him. It came from somewhere behind him. Above him? He opened his good socket and found the room was, in fact, not pitch-black like he’d assumed. There appeared to be a single candle somewhere to his left. More alarmingly, however, was the familiar crimson glow of a target-shaped soul. Though, as Nightmare caught sight of it in the darkness with his fuzzy vision, it wobbled a bit, shape becoming unstable. 

Why… 

He blinked in thought, his mind running slowly to catch-up. That was Ccino’s voice. 

Nightmare twisted his head, and spotted, now, Ccino. He seemed tired, and he. He had been tucked under the covers, right beside him. Nightmare realized, with a jolt, that one of his elbows was digging into Ccino’s lap, and he lifted his weight off of him the second he connected the dots. Ccino’s eyelights were wide and bright despite the obvious bags under his eyes, and Nightmare felt like his skull was full of pudding as he tried to figure out why exactly this situation felt so strange. 

Of course, Killer probably shouldn’t have been in his quarters, to start with. He was welcome, of course, but the only time Nightmare had asked him in for the night were when he had paranoia fits, back at the start. He doubted he’d ask in both Killer and Ccino at once, though. So perhaps Ccino had asked him in? To watch over them or to deliver something? But that brought him back. Why was Ccino in his quarters? He would never complain, of course, he had always slept best with Ccino nearby, his magic and voice soothed his troubles, but it was strange. He didn’t recall having a break-down. There had actually been very few major stressors over the past few months, and very few which would bother him enough to need comfort. 

“Ccino?” He questioned in return after his prolonged silence provided him nothing in the way of answers.

Though. His voice seemed to tip him off to… something. It was tired, a tone Ccino was all too familiar with, but it was not deep. It didn’t rumble in his chest or project beyond himself with ease. His voice was hoarse and weak, as though he’d been crying. And. It was familiar. In the same way that Ccino’s arm which wrapped at his shoulder was familiar. 

“You’re awake… How do you feel, my king?” Ccino asked, then. 

Yes, something was certainly wrong. 

In the corner of his vision he noticed that Killer had gotten closer, stood at the foot of the bed, his soul dimly illuminating the underside of his skull. His grin was wide, the kind which followed naming a new cat or testing the weight of a new knife. Something had made him happy. Nightmare, realized starkly, that he could not feel that happiness. In its place was the cold of the room, and an eerie internal silence. 

“Strange. …Cold.” Nightmare spoke without thinking. 

Ccino had always been able to help him with his troubles. It was second nature to tell his woes to his caretaker- Caretaker? Ccino hadn’t- Nightmare hadn’t thought of Ccino as his caretaker in years. Ccino was- his guardian. 

Ccino shifted slightly, and Nightmare felt the arm on his side shift so that it covered more of his side. A significant portion of his upper arm, over his shoulder, and across his back. He leaned into it a bit. Ccino was warm. 

He could feel warmth again. And cold. What had happened?

“I… imagine that you would, my king. How much do you remember?” Ccino’s other hand crossed over his chest to rest on Nightmare’s forehead. 

It was warm, and he only barely refrained from attempting to throw his whole weight into Ccino’s palm. The back of his hand nearly covered all of Nightmare’s forehead. It was strange. 

Nightmare wanted to answer him, to say that he didn’t remember, ask for answers. But he lifted his hand to meet Ccino’s outstretched arm and. Well. Those were white phalanges. Peeking out from his heavy, thick sleeve were little hands with pearly bones and a soft purple hue between the joints. His reaching fell short by an inch or two, coordination lacking, his arm felt shorter than he expected it to be. 

And on the same note, his back felt sorely empty. Tendrils missing from his spine. Nothing to wrap around Ccino, subconsciously or not, and nothing to lean back on. 

Memories started filtering back. Feeling unsteady, falling off his feet, collapsing and losing his senses. His magic, all draining, all at once. His knights there, arms holding him. Ccino holding him. 

“I collapsed. Didn’t I?” He asked, voice small. 

There was a gentle hum from Ccino. 

“Yes, you did. Your Knights said that just after training your magic seemed to drain away, and they called for me when you became unresponsive. Does that sound right?” Ccino explained quietly, removing his hand from Nightmare’s skull.

He thought about it for a moment, but it sounded right. There was no reason to doubt Ccino was telling the truth, either. Ccino wouldn’t lie to him. He nodded. Yes, it did sound correct. 

Nightmare pulled his hand closer into view of his eye, and shoved himself to sit up with a little grunt. His bones ached again at the motion, but he ignored it in favor of looking at his hands in the low light. They both seemed untouched by the dark substance that had made up his body for the past seven years. In fact, they looked like they hadn’t been touched by any injuries at all since he’d acquired the apple. No cuts from catching Killer’s stray knives or blocking Horror’s axe swings, nothing that would even hint at him having been part of any training at all. The only sign of damage, for course, being the groove along his inner left palm. His bone has slowly, but surely, been stripped away in that location from his repeated practice with blood oaths as a youth. He’d nearly forgotten the mark was there at all. The scar hadn’t transferred to the god-like body the apple had given to him. 

Tentatively, he pulled up his sleeves just a bit and found the, now unfamiliar, gleam of fragile, thin bone hidden beneath the heavy fabric. He shivered at the invasive chill, but nonetheless dragged the covers back. Someone, likely Ccino, had removed his boots along the way. His feet were just as his hands, pure bone, not a hint of the negative magic left. There was likely none hidden under the rest of his wardrobe either. Entirely gone. 

He was entirely small.

By his assumption, and likely the conclusion Ccino had already confirmed to himself, Nightmare was now, physically, exactly as he was the morning of the coronation. A frightened, weak, untrained teenager. He was 13 again. 

“This isn’t-” good. He stopped himself.

Nightmare felt his soul pound in his chest for a moment as a realization struck him. As much as he felt young again, as much as sitting beside Ccino brought him calm, time hadn’t fallen back. Just his body. And, considering how slowly it felt he was chugging through realizations, maybe his mind had fallen behind again as well. 

He looked back to the end of the bed. 

Killer was stood there. Or, well, leaned. He had draped himself partially against one of the banisters which supported the dark cyan canopy above Nightmare’s bed. He was still grinning, though it had been toned down. He worried, for a moment. He couldn’t feel him still. He knew that look was often associated with contentedness from him. But what if he was wrong? What if Killer was only wearing a poker face, already aware that Nightmare had lost the ability to sense his lies- 

No, this was Killer. He was Nightmare’s first and most loyal knight. Ccino wouldn’t let him nearby, let alone inside the room, if he was planning anything nefarious. 

“Killer.” nightmare drew Killer’s attention, and the other perked up, though he’d already been staring, “What is the status of the others?” 

He watched as Killer stood up a bit straighter and chuckled to himself. 

“The others are well, my lord. We’ve been taking shifts ensuring this room stays secure, and going about business as usual. Horror and Dust took up Cross’ training the past two days, and we rescheduled Horror’s mission for two months from now, since we weren’t sure when you’d recover and didn’t want to have anyone too far from home.” Killer reported, his voice low, as though expecting someone to be listening in. 

Nightmare let the information roll through his skull for a few breaths. 

His knights had all stayed. They’d all still been in the training room when it happened, so they weren’t unaware of his… affliction. And. Days. Two days? Killer didn’t just add information like that for nothing. He’d been out for two entire days. Wow. So much for his meetings and shipment-collections. 

He felt himself frown in thought, before he caught himself and schooled his expression again. 

“And. I assume no one knows about… this. Aside from ourselves, Dust, Horror, and Cross?” He questioned, then.

Killer nodded smoothly, “Our most valuable team player came up with a cover. The rest of the castle believes you’re resting after overworking the past few months. Not a peep outside the grounds far as I can tell.” His hand gestured to Ccino, and Nightmare didn’t doubt that his head of house would be quick on his feet. After all, Nightmare had done similar things, tucking away after working on long and draining new laws or projects. “We threw folks off the scent who visited by letting Dust listen to them. Scary bastard got the information pretty fast, it’s in your study for when you’re feeling better, my Lord.” 

That was good. Nothing he’d have to worry about having missed, no tarnished reputation. 

He shivered again. It was still cold, even wrapped up in his heavy everyday clothes. 

There was much he had to catch up on, much he had to do. First of all being that he’d want to go back to the library, research the ritual. His mother had ruled for hundreds of years and those before her had centuries under their belts. Nightmare had seemingly been stripped of the magic. Only after seven years at that. He’d need answers. For himself, for those who trust him, for his people… Oh he was not looking forward to facing his people. 

Point was, this wasn’t normal. Never in their recorded history had a ruler lost the god magic. Maybe his corrupted appearance had always been a warning sign, a connection not made between himself and the apple? Maybe it was that Nim had been somehow tailoring the magic to Dream rather than him, so receiving a host that was incompatible it would only thrive for so long? Or perhaps it was that bloodshed which never happened. Whatever burning desire to kill which had driven him to near madness in those first moments, in the weeks after, maybe because he never fed it enough, the magic starved? He hadn’t gotten blood on his hands since that first year… 

“Understood. Thank you, Killer.” Nightmare praised his knight. 

He needed to get started. Make up for lost time. He could already feel the nerves of uncertainty starting to kick in.

“If you could, collect them? I want to speak to you all, and-” Nightmare’s voice fell short with the sound of a clearing throat. 

He paused and glanced back at the culprit. Ccino. 

Nightmare had slipped free of his hold at some point, now only their legs touching through the comforter. Ccino’s arms were crossed and he was watching Nightmare with a look the king knew all too well. It was a dissuading stare, one he knew meant ‘think about what you just said and try again’ without saying it out loud. This was the stare he’d received when he’d brought Killer back to the castle. And hired Dust. And every other questionable character roaming the halls. 

The king remained silent in the wake of Ccino’s stare, though he looked at him with what he hoped were the big, watery sockets he used to wield in his youth. Maybe one thing might be working in his favor from this bodily downgrade. 

Ccino seemed to give in first, letting out a gentle sigh. 

“My king, you are still in recovery, you just woke up from a very large change. The castle won't expect you for at least another two days, maybe longer. Your knights will be patient. Besides, you have a skull wound, and I do believe that if I don’t help you tend to it before Horror sees you again, he may be distressed.” Ccino explained, lifting one hand out to gently pet over the blind side of Nightmare’s skull. 

The king was frustrated to find that he let out a little squeak as Ccino’s feather-light touch caught on a crack he hadn’t even realized was there. He flinched down a bit, and Ccino retracted his hand like lightning. 

Nightmare noticed, but he didn’t think much of it, too occupied with reaching his own little hands up to touch the bottom of his dark socket and trail up out of his line of sight. It hurt, if felt like his skull was on fire and a headache split through his thoughts when he had seemingly traced too much of it. Near the top of his skull, a little fragment was misplaced, other cracks and crevices trailing from it. Ouch. 

Unlike his palm wound, he didn’t recall being so injured on his skull. Unless. Oh, right. How could he have forgotten? At the coronation, before the magic had fully bonded to him. The blow that had made him half-blind in the first place. He hadn’t realized the strike had been so deep. 

He focused again on Ccino, and saw how closely he was being watched. 

“You- You’re right.” Nightmare practically mewled, “Killer, disregard that request. Continue with what you’ve been doing since I became indisposed.” 

He didn’t have to look to the Knight, having heard a ‘Yes, m’lord’ from the end of the bed. 

“Then, we should get this wound cleaned.” Nightmare voiced. 

Ccino hummed. 

…

The water was warm. That he was grateful for. It seemed to chase away the chill of the room he’d left behind. 

The bath was connected through a doorway, of course, but he’d asked Killer to stand guard and ensure no one entered. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this, least of all entirely nude. That would only end in disaster. 

It had been years since he’d taken a proper bath, the negativity never quite agreed with water, and yet Ccino had slipped into the routine as though it’d only been yesterday that he’d last done it. He started the water and collected soaps and scrubs and towels. Then he’d helped Nightmare out of bed, and walked with him to the bath. Locked the door behind them, and assisted Nightmare in removing his too-big layers. He was shaky still, with movements. It felt like he couldn’t carry his own weight anymore. 

Now, he sat submerged up to his chin in the clear, warm, water enjoying the weightlessness and trying to ignore the strangeness of looking at his own bones again. In some ways he knew this was him, but in others… 

“Nightmare, are you alright with me starting to clean your wound?” Ccino’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. When Night looked at him he continued briefly, “Horror said it might hurt, so if you need a break just tell me, alright? We can take as long as you need.” 

Night glanced to Ccino, and found that he’d, at some point, removed the apron Night had spotted on him earlier, as well as rolled up his sleeves, and removed his fur shawl. His eyelights met Nightmare’s, but he was pretty sure that they’d been examining his skull again. Based on how it had felt before, he didn’t doubt it’d probably hurt. 

“Yeah, okay.” He agreed quietly, leaning his back against the warmed edge of the tub. 

It was an inground tub, one seemingly carved into a smooth stone. It was far too big for him, especially now, but it might’ve fit his mother perfectly and given her room to stretch. She was a tall woman. Nightmare was curled nearest to one of the edges where ‘steps’ had been carved in. Ccino sat cross-legged just behind him on the ledge. 

He stayed still as Ccino scooped down beside him and cupped some of the water into a little bowl he had on-hand. Carefully, he poured it over Nightmare’s skull, moving one of his hand to make sure none of it went into his dark socket while he closed his other one. The warmth made him shover, but it was nice. He missed being able to feel warm. Maybe now he’d remember to light the hearth in the study more often. 

Next, he felt as Ccino must’ve grabbed a cloth, because he carefully slid it across the top of Nightmare’s skull. Just as his finger had, it snagged a few times, but Nightmare bit back the need to flinch. It was fine, he could handle it. This repeated a few more times, before more water poured over his skull. The repetition was calming. 

There was a pause, and then the silence of the bathroom was quietly filled with the beginning notes of a hum. Night knew that hum, it was the one that Ccino always hummed for him when he was stressed, or couldn’t sleep, or needed to relax. Of course, sometimes Ccino would hum on his own, too. When he was working, or when they were sitting in the study, or he was pleased with something. It was always a comfort. 

He figured it must’ve been to distract him, because a pressure invaded a portion of his skull towards where the big opening had been, and squinting his socket open revealed that Ccino had begun to actually work at the cracks left in his head. He had… some sort of brush, he thought, and scrubbed slowly, but with more force than anything previous. Sure, it hurt, but he didn’t want Ccino to stop, it’d better to get it all over with at once. 

The humming persisted, only pausing every once in a while for Ccino to check in with Night, but the young king always just nodded and asked him to keep going. 

Only when the wound was entirely clean did Ccino see to stop and let out a breath. 

“Alright, all done.” Ccino announced. 

If he’d been well, if he hadn’t had such an injury, Night probably would’ve let himself sink fully under the water and sit there for a few breaths. That would’ve been nice. 

“Thank you, Ccino.” He said instead. 

His skull still throbbed in protest from the cleaning, Ccino probably dislodged particles that had been in place for seven years just waiting to cause him trouble. Despite that, he shifted so that he could prop his arms up and out of the water, to look at Ccino. 

His head of house was already going about cleaning his supplies, putting them away all neat and tidy. He didn’t say anything, but when he caught Nightmare looking at him, he gave a soft smile.

Ccino stood to go return the items to their rightful place in the cabinet, leaving only a washcloth, soap, and several warm towels in his wake. 

Nightmare took up the washcloth and soap, taking the initiative to start scrubbing away at his own bones. This scenario felt like something straight out of. Well. Before. Before he found the scroll, before the ritual, before the coronation, before sending Dream away, before his rule, before the knights, before all of it. It was as though, in all that time, so little had changed. 

“Ccino?” Nightmare spoke up, the other skeleton was still on the other side of the room. He only continued when he heard a quiet ‘yes, my king?’ from across the space. “Ccino. I- I don’t know- I don’t know what I’ll do now.” 

He hadn’t allowed himself to have the thoughts before, to doubt himself, but the truth was blaring. He was young again. All the magic that had provided him security, that had been able to earn him a face of fear and power, that had drawn so many to respect him… it was all gone. He would do research, but he doubted he could get it back. The magic was provided by his mother’s soul, and well, he was sure that it was no longer with him. Whatever magic he’d assessed to have lost had to be gone. Long, long gone. 

And with the loss of the magic would come the loss of his status, and the loss of his status would mean the loss of everything. One well-placed sword-strike or arrow-bolt could end his life, and the entire kingdom would fall to the wayside in his wake. Of course, he believed in his people to maintain best they could, but he hadn’t even finalized his revisions. The farms were still being subsidized by shipments out of kingdom, the funding for restoration after the floods and storms wasn’t anywhere near finished, and he had no heir or next of kin to pass the throne to… except for Dream. And he loved his twin dearly, but he was sure his brother would seek to undo all his work, would dismiss those he cares for, would reinstate the blood-magic. It would leave way for slave contracts and sacrifices to arise again. 

“What do you mean by that?” Ccino asked, crossing the space back to him. Had he spaced out?

Nightmare returned to vigorously scrubbing at his neck and shoulders, using it as an excuse to partially turn away from Ccino’s gaze. 

“Everyone has followed me because I could promise protection, safety, a new life. My plans are not finished yet, and I’m weak now. Anyone who were to see me would see me as weak, and an easy target. I-” He paused a second, “I worry I won’t survive to be able to see my promises through. My- my state will only put people in danger. Put you in danger.” He voiced. 

He would have died in those first few weeks if not for the might of his magic. It worked as a repellent enough that assassins and rebels learned to not even go near him. Without that…

“My king, are you doubting the skill of your Knights?” 

Ccino’s question caught him off-guard, enough-so that he shot his skull around to look at him. What did he mean?

“No, they are highly skilled and powerful.” Nightmare answered.

Ccino was watching him with a stern expression, had he said something wrong? 

“Your Knights have been trained, by you, to do two missions. Their second is to serve and assist this kingdom. The first, which you seem to have forgotten, is to protect you.” Ccino explained, tone even. “Until now, you’ve simply been strong enough that they haven’t had the chance to show you just how often they’re looking out for your wellbeing.” 

Nightmare felt foolish as he stared at Ccino. He couldn’t muster any words, his mind was racing to figure out if he was right. 

“You know. He likely won’t say anything, so as to not wound your pride, but when I got to the training room after your collapse? Killer had you tucked in his arms, holding you close. The only reason he let go, I think, is because I showed up and you wanted to get to me.” Ccino explained, and Nightmare felt heat rush to his skull. He remembered collapsing, and Killer caught him, but Ccino was right, he hadn’t ever touched the floor. “And I was there to witness as your other knights agreed to stay. To continue to train, and work, and wait for you to wake up. Even Cross, and he’s hardly been here a fraction of the time the others have.” 

Ccino let out a tired sigh, and Nightmare stared at him, wide-eyed. “My point is, my king, that they have all seen you. As I see it, they plan to abide by their oaths, and their own morals, to continue to serve you. Not your magic, but you. So, at least for their honors, don’t dismiss them so readily.” 

Ccino moved again to sit at the edge of the bath, and Nightmare hesitantly sat his washcloth back on the edge. A sniffle escaped him as he let Ccino’s words sink in. He was right, of course. Without his being awake, any of them could have simply left, no harm no foul. And yet Killer was outside the bathroom door right this moment, the others working their hardest to keep up appearances. 

He sniffled again, and felt tears attempting to well in his sockets. 

“Y-you’re right, Ccino.” Night muttered, but, “You won’t leave, right?” 

He wished, a part of him at least, that Ccino would. He’d stayed here in this place that tormented him for so long. He’d stayed by Nightmare’s side through it all. But now Nightmare couldn’t protect him. Couldn’t keep him safe. He wasn’t even an adult anymore, he was young and inexperienced again, and- He knew he wanted Ccino close, though. Moments like this, selfishly, he needed. Especially now.

“My Nightmare.” He was only a bit startled as Ccino shifted and cupped his hands around the sides of Nightmare’s skull, careful of his newly revealed injury. He allowed himself to be dragged closer to the edge where Ccino was sat. “You know my answer. I have no plans to leave your side. Not back then, and especially not now. I love you too much to ever think of leaving.” And Ccino gently brought his skull down to nuzzle his nose against the top of Nightmare’s skull. 

The little king sniffled again and felt the tears fall from his good socket. He leaned his skull closer to Ccino’s legs and pressed against the soft fabric of his pants leg. Ccino always knew just what to say to him. 

“Promise- promise me something?” He piped up, socket closed, trying to stop the flow of tears. 

Ccino hummed in question.

“Promise you’ll tell me? If you’re upset, or sad, or mad? I- I can’t just know anymore, and I don’t want to hurt you because I don’t notice.” The again was silent. They both knew that Nightmare had been an ignorant child. That Ccino was good at hiding what he really felt. 

“I promise you, Nightmare. I will tell you.” He agreed.

…

“My lord!” Killer greeted enthusiastically when Nightmare trailed Ccino out of the bathroom. 

The knight had been standing standing in the space beside the door just next to the bed, and Nightmare looked to him as he exited. 

He realized, suddenly, that Killer was taller than him. 

Oh. That would take some getting used-to.

“My lord, do I have something on my face?” Killer asked, moving his sleeve to drag across his cheeks. 

Night realized, with a start, that he must’ve lost his poker-face along with the negativity which used to engulf his expression. He blinked, and watched as Killer, very much intentionally, smeared the magic which fell from his sockets across the lower half on his face. His grin didn’t fade.

“Well, you didn’t.” Nightmare responded almost out of habit, furrowing his brow. He tried to ignore the fact that he had to reach up in order to plant his hands on other side of Killer’s skull. It only occurred to him in a moment that he no longer had his tendrils to wipe away the excess markings like he would normally do. “Hold still.” Nightmare insisted, even though Killer hadn’t moved an inch. 

Instead of tendrils, Nightmare used one of his sleeves, pulling the baggy fabric up and over his fingers, to scrub at the still-fresh magic and wipe it away. It hardly took a few second, but he huff in content when he deemed it a job well-done and released Killer’s skull. The way the other straightened up and his sockets turned to crescents alongside his grin made Nightmare smile a bit to himself too, before he quickly turned away. 

Only when he saw Ccino standing near his desk with a fond smile did it occur to him that what he’d done must’ve looked silly now. Actually, he used to do it all the time without a second thought. Had Killer done that on purpose? Well, he usually did it on purpose, but. Whatever. Don’t overthink it! 

Nightmare quickly started to walk away, moving himself with wobbling steps towards his desk where Ccino had stood. 

He was still uneven on his legs, strides connecting with the ground much more quickly than he was used to, but he’d manage okay. The warm water had helped to loosen his sore magic and now only a dull ache persisted from the wounds in his skull. 

He was silent as he popped up onto the stool sat before it and pulled open the main drawer, just below where he would normally be writing. The drawer itself was full of papers, organized and filed away, several being scrapped versions of the newest laws he’d put into place. He moved those aside, lifting them onto his desk, before digging his phalanges beneath a piece of wood in the bottom. Secret pockets in drawers were nothing special, Nightmare had found there was one in about every drawer in the castle with any significant purpose, and so he rarely used them for anything actually important. Except for this one. 

He had to take a breath as he stared at the object before him, and lifted it up with careful hands so that the other two could see it. 

A mask. One carved out of sacred wood, made for him when he was only five. One of a pair, the other far off, safe in another kingdom with his twin. 

This one was flat, shaped like the curious, round face of a barn-owl, the eye-holes round and wide. The wood was an unnatural ashy gray, slightly tinged purple from years and years of exposure to his magic. IOn either side sat a thick, satin ribbon, which would easily support the weight when it was tied around the back of his skull. 

Nightmare, honestly, had never intended to bring this relic back out. It hadn’t fit his skull as an adult, and so he’d resorted to hiding it away in storage. A relic of an era behind him. And yet, here it was, back in his hands again. No doubt it would fit his skull just as perfectly as it had the day of the ritual, when he’d finally grown into it. 

“I’ll wear this, I think, when I return to my duties.” He voiced to no-one in particular, before turning to Ccino, “Would you do the honors?” He asked, lifting the wood to his skull.

Ccino was quiet as he stepped around and took up the soft purple ribbons. Ccino knew just how secure it needed to be, and we evidently careful of his wound. Nightmare knew when he was finished, and hopped off the stool. 

A mirror in the far corner of his room was his goal, and when he stood in front of it, he felt small. The clothes were baggy, his body thin and scrawny, his stature almost hunched. Had he always looked so scared as a kid? Maybe that was why Ccino had always stayed nearer to him than Dream. Most strikingly, his mask, and his socket, looked identical to the last time he remembered looking in a mirror like this. Aside from his dark socket, of course. 

No one had directly told him so, but they had been right to keep him inside, to not take him to the healers. He was probably about half his normal height with his bare feet against the carpet covering the stone floor. He looked tired. His magic wasn’t even right anymore. 

He laughed, quietly, at the sight.

“It looks like I’ll have to do some training of my own.” he voiced, already feeling tired at the prospect as he moved to untie his mask. 

By the time it slipped into his free hand, Ccino was at his side, and Nightmare passed it off to him to hold. He got closer to the mirror now, to get a better look at his skull. The light was still dim, but being more awake his magic was working to make up the difference. 

“Training, my Lord?” Killer questioned curiously from somewhere behind him.

Nightmare nodded to himself, prodding at one of the cracks which trailed down to his socket. He hissed before deciding not to touch them again, just look. 

“Yes. Not for combat, though. To alter my magic signature and appearance. King Nightmare doesn’t have purple magic, after all.” He explained, “I think if I tried to spar with any of you now I would be tagged in half a second.” 

He hoped his tone wasn’t too weary as he admitted it. 

Killer laughed from behind him, “I don’t know, I think you’d make it at least a minute if you convinced Cross to a dueling-spar.” He joked.

It was a tease. Nightmare laughed in agreement, feeling a bit lighter. It must’ve been obvious to his knight that his physical condition was poor, and Killer had been there to watch Nightmare learn to fight as they both trained together. He didn’t seem distressed that Night wasn’t much of a combatant anymore. 

He could do this. He could do this. He just… needed some time, was all. Just like before.

[applesjuice]

WIP Wednesday! I am very thankful for you guys here so have a little sneak peak for next week to celebrate the upcoming holiday:

They cried out her name: Juliana! She cried out theirs in raw desperation. The only thing she could feel was the branches holding her steady. 

Somewhere within the light there stood a figure. Or four. Or possibly many. She saw Arven, she saw the man who was Turo, she saw a whisper of a what if, a woman who had the boy’s eyes. She watched Terapagos devour time and space and the universe until there was nothing but her and the void before anything existed. Here that nothing was formless and empty, before something gave the void breath and it stretched, thinning until it was no more than a bubble. Inside that bubble she first saw the grass, and an unnerving horizon of purple. The intensity of it was irrational, sickly in how it billowed and swelled as if it were heaving.

Then came the pokémon who formed from the dust in the cosmos and they became living creatures. First there was Umbreon, then Porygon, then Porygon2. They held no love for her or anything else, not even eachother. She tumbled away from one’s ire, cut her knee on colorful shards of star that had broken. If this was what became of Terapagos, she didn’t mind it, as cruel as it was. The pokémon in question was nowhere to be seen. But Ogerpon was there, and still at her side. She quivered, and Juliana covered the ogre as best as she could with her own torso.

“Help!” cried Juliana. She patted her belt, couldn’t feel the familiar curve of her team. Her phone was no better; the screen was black and empty, the rotom within it no longer there. 

The air left her chest as she was tackled. 

Ogerpon screeched and she manifested her cudgel. A second umbreon came from the side, scurried under her cloak and bit Juliana bloody. 

She screamed. It was a horrible sound; both her pared voice and the guttural growls that were on her. Eventually Ogerpon batted it off, but her arm ached and she was afraid to look down at the mess of her sleeve. Now she was sobbing, and so so afraid. She called out for her friends, for Arven, for Penny, Nemona, her mom, each of her team. Her brother.

There was a stone pillar, and she crawled her way to it. Where was she? This place was not Oni Mountain, and the clifftops were not clifftops and the Crystal Pool was now sedge and she was lost and unsettled and so terribly confused. Whatever had happened was a long time away, and too far off from where she should be. There was Ogerpon, but it was as though every other pokémon was not such, but wild, feral, deranged beasts. 

I am all alone, she thought in her fear. Until she suddenly wasn’t.

A fit of laughter escaped and she could not feel any pain. She understood where she was then, in her grave, alone and where no one could follow. Her only regret was that she’d dragged Ogerpon with her, left her to fight and struggle when Juliana herself no longer wished to. So it made sense that here of all places and smitten with all kinds of bewilderment she was met by such trial, by Terapagos’s will, or perhaps her own death throe. But she knew she’d been lost to its power; inside the effervescent, or already gone. How else could she cope with the reappearance of Kieran before her?

[quazikam]

randomly feeling a very passionate himiko yumeno mood but I'm here for it

I just really love her

funny to think that I used to be able to easily call her my least favorite character in v3

glad I had a change of heart though, because she's really warmed up to me over time and is now one of my favorites for sure

[eggswastaken]

I’m so glad we have the new transformers movie!

Now all the old fanfics for transformers prime might get updated

No pressure I love you guys

[grubus]

More lil guys! Bonus Han Yoojin under cut, speaking like a true cat dad. (and being a cat dad)