#he a protective spirit now >:)

[yiqi-fr]

A WIP of Manju, the founder of my clan's village!

[mothsparksghost]

Life is Fickle, Life is Short, But Never Should it Be That Short

TW's: Major character death(s), faked deaths, suicide, mentions of suicide, heavy angst (with some comfort), Violence, Kidnapping

Batman had been off world for almost two months now. He, along with the Lanterns, had gone to aid in gaining Earth a new political alley if they were ever to be attacked by something the Leagues couldn't handle.

Safe to say, Batman was ready to go home and have a makeup family dinner. The mission had gone on longer then any of them could have predicted, and so he had to miss the last dinner they had. Bruce was actually quite sad about that, he loved when all of his family was in one room even if he never vocalized it.

So after finally docking the JL's space craft, Bruce and co. quickly scrambled out of the ship, ready to fill out the necessary forms and get to their respective families and friends. Immediately though Bruce could tell something was off.

The landing, which at least would have someone there to greet them, was empty.

Hackles raised, Batman quickly signaled to the Lanterns with him that something was wrong. When he didn't hear at least some shuffling from them, he turned to the unusually silent men. They were all looking at their respective coms. Some had wide eyes, others mouths were hanging. They looked shocked, scared, even. Batman did not like that.

At all.

"What are you all looking at?" the demand rang out, causing the group to flinch as if they expected a demon to bust down the door and shred them to pieces. With glances, they collectively shoved Hal out as if choosing a sacrificial lamb for a wolves dinner. Batman narrowed his eyes in discomfort.

Hal said nothing, just slowly approached the kevlar clad man. Holding out his coms screen, Batman finally got a look at what they were all horrified of.

!ATTENTION! All Leaguers To Justice Hall For The Combined Funerals Of: Agent A, Nightwing, Redhood, Red Robin, Spoiler, Black Bat, Oracle, Signal, and Robin, At-

Deftly, Batman stared down at the message.

He felt numb.

So numb.

And then.

Rage.

Rage at not immediately being told.

Rage at not immediately being pulled from the mission.

Rage at the entirety of the Justice League for having a funeral without even telling him.

Rage at not being there to protect his family from what had killed them.

And then, it clicked! It must be an elaborate, very, very, misguided prank. After all, Superman wouldn't let his family die! He'd hear the struggle, the fading heart beats, the screams for help.

HE'D HEAR THOSE!

Wonder Woman would have helped them as well! She had been given one of the few bat distress signals! They'd have pressed the button and she would've come running!

SHE SHOULD'VE COME RUNNING!

The League would have noticed!

THEY WOULD HAVE NOTICED!

So obviously it was a prank! A stupid, horrible attempt at getting him to cut back on work! That was it!

And with those thoughts, Bruce went sprinting down to the Zeta Tubes and teleported to the Justice Hall.

When he finally got there, it was decked out in black. Silly them, it seems as if he needed to go over what the Leagues bank cards should be used for again!

Silly, silly, silly.

Bursting through doors, he finally found the main hall.

With the entirety of the Justice League. Dark, Young Justice, the Titians, everyone.

And would you look at that! They were all wearing black! Silly them! Didn't they know that all black was meant for the Bats?

Scanning the room filled with people, with heroes, he didn't see his children or not children or even his father. Not a single one. Whipping around, he came face to face with 9 caskets.

9 photos.

9 pieces of his family.

Suddenly, Batman felt a heavy but gentle hand land on his shoulder. He would develop whiplash if he kept this up. The hand was connected to a Superman. To Clark. To a sad Clark. A guilty looking Clark.

Why was he looking guilty?

"B, I'm so sorry." Salty tears flitted down the man of steel's face.

But Bruce didn't care.

Because all too soon, he realized, it wasn't a prank.

It was real.

And he couldn't handle it anymore. He couldn't handle it at all.

Quicker then anyone there thought he was capable of, he whipped out that small piece of Kryptonite and decked Superman. It was an all out brawl between him and the Leaguers after that. And he wasn't the one loosing.

So he decided, 'Fuck it, fuck it all,' and left the Leaguers with bruises and new scars when the younger Leaguers asked him to stop.

He then Zeta Tubed his way to the Bat Cave. To the smoke filled, ashy rooms.

Everything was offline, everything was silent, everything was dead.

Climbing up the elevator shaft, he reached what should have been the manor. Instead it was a desolate waste land of ashes, burned wood, and silence. Well, almost desolate.

A single safe stood out in the wreckage. And in quick order, wielding something that he never thought he would, Bruce joined his children.

---------------------

"Fuck! FUCK!" Superman shouted at the new funeral. One that wasn't ever meant to supposed to happen. But was a funeral ever meant to happen, ever expected? The man stared the rare photo of a smiling Batman. Of an alive Batman. Of an alive Bruce.

Tears ran hot down his face like molten lava, even as he heard the rest of the Leaguers joining him in his sorrow. He had went and tried to find Bruce after being knocked out, and only found his cooling corpse instead.

Supermans thoughts were interrupted when a bang, not all to unfamiliar, sounded out. Whipping his head up, he thought he was hallucinating. Because standing there were 9 dead people.

9 people who should have been dead.

"YO, where's B? We gotta debrief him on what happened-" Nightwings rambling got cut off as he looked just beyond Clark.

The others soon looked, and then the screams started.

"WHAT! NO! WHERE IS HE?"

"B, THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY!"

"YOU UTTER BITCHES, YOU THINK THIS SHIT'S FUNNY?"

"DAD?! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

The wails of anguish filled the hall as the Leaguers surrounded them, trying their best to comfort the Bats as much as they can.

"What happened? Where were all of you?" Wonder Womans voice rang out above the quiet mummers and piercing wails. Alfred took it upon himself to explain, even if the wobbling voice hurt those surrounding him to hear.

"We were kidnapped by a rogue organization that figured out our identities. They were after Batman originally, but decided that the best way to get revenge was to torture all of us. They created clones, proceeded to slowly kidnap us one by one, until they eventually burned down the mansion with the husks inside."

And didn't that just make it so much more painful?

---------------------

He was floating.

He didn't know where he was.

He just was.

But he felt wrong.

He needed to do something.

Something to protect.

Not something, someone.

Multiple someones.

He needed to protect those dear to him.

He needed to protect his family.

His family.

Where was his family?

---------------------

With a sudden sharpness, a shadowy mass with flashes of grey skin opened its eyes. The eyes of the creature were pure white, and as it rose it's head, two horns became visible. It looked at where it woke up, surrounded in a cave system that pulsed with different colors, but blues being the most prominent.

Slowly, it got its bearings back to itself.

He knew he was dead.

But he also knew with a pulse of something, that his family wasn't.

And just like that, he was at two ornate doors, as big as the old manors door. He grabbed one handle with a clawed hand, pulling the surprisingly light door open. A vortex of green met his eyes.

All around was green.

He needed to fly.

He knew it should be impossible for him, but he didn't care, he needed to find his family.

To protect his family.

So with a flap of massive bat wings, he was off, looking for something.

That something turned out to be a giant, glowing, gothic castle. He quickly landed, hurdling through giant doors.

Soon enough, he met the one he knew would help. One that felt similar to him.

"̸̮͔̗̀̾̈́̕H̶̯̩̫̬͗̅̒̃͜ë̶̼́̆̿̿̒l̴̢̫͓̱̜̎p̷̻̩̻͇̯̞͌̅́̕ ̶͖̯͔̟̀̋̆͘m̶͉̹̳̯͑e̸̲̾ ̷͙̥̫̦̙̕f̶̡͎͈̾̾͋̓̐̀i̸̞̻͍̎̾͊n̷̰̻̮͓̤̆̄̾͒̅ͅd̷̢̦̩̓ ̴̞̼͈̦͕͛͊̚ṭ̵͖̂̂͗̔̾h̸̡͍̖̣̻͚̓͒̾͝ḙ̶̮́͛̇̎͘̚m̸̛̱̎̋̐̔͠,̷̧̰͕̤̬̝̑̚͝ ̴̹̃p̶̢̥͙̈́ͅļ̵͙̜̫͍̊̋̉̓ͅé̵͙͔̟̇ă̷̺͈̏̓͝s̵̙͖̣͔̔̊͆̍͘ȅ̵͇̍͒̚͝.̴̢̰̗͍̮̳̀̌̕ ̴̳͉̩̬̿̊̃͘Î̴͉̺̰̯̫̊̅͘ ̷̻͉͙̈́͛̍̀n̵͕̯̖̤͉̹̔͐̅̃̓̕e̷̡͉͕̖̅͆̊ē̷͇̊d̵̢̥̜̹̮͑͌͌͆͝ͅ ̶͕̫̿̈́̈́͝͠ẗ̵̪́̊ó̷̝̜̀̀͊͝ ̶̨͇͓͖̞̄ͅṕ̴̨̬̗͚̤́̔ŕ̷͚̐̊͆́̒ơ̵̰̜̭͙͒͑̒͐t̷͕̖͖̝̥̙̾́̕͝e̸̡̞͎͉͈͒͋̎͛c̴͉̘̔t̶̢͚̖̮͈̟͒̅ ̵̞̯̘̮̤̄͊͑̔t̵̡̪̭̜̟̕h̷̟̀e̷̟͊͜m̸̳̒͑̀́.̸̨̮͈͈̺̺̌̓̎̊̏̃"̵̺͚̰̹̗̃

And the Ancient made of cosmos, with flowing white hair, never ending green eyes, crowned with stars, ice and aurora's, agreed.

---------------------

They were being beat by that same damned organization that cost them their colleague, their mentor, their friend, their father.

And they were all loosing.

Everyone was preoccupied with something, whether it was Kryptonite suits, incoming hoards of androids, or rogue powers spilling out. Flashes, bangs, and screams from all sides filled the air.

It was looking like the Leaguers were going to die.

The Bats, who should still be benched due to the traumatic and catastrophic events done by them, were not holding back. Blood was being spilt by all of them. The no killing rule was shot with a single bullet to the head.

So they didn't hold back, not at all.

But it still wasn't enough.

And they were loosing.

They were bleeding.

They were going to die.

And then the sky opened up, a massive vortex made up of glowing greens filled the sky. It reminded those who knew of them, of the Lazarus pits. But the fighting didn't stop. Oh no.

It only stopped when they came through.

A massive, humanoid being made of swirling galaxies with an infinite number of glowing green eyes and what could be considered a halo of floating white hair. Atop its head was a crown of equal proportion made of icy rods with stars twinkling weaved through an aurora pulsing around it all. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

And then, another one came out. This one was different, but oh so familiar looking.

It was as if a living shadow took shape, sucking in all of the light. It had two horns that stabbed through the air, with clawed hands and feet resembling the many gargoyles around Gotham. It's massive wings were pulled back, allowing for what little color, yellows, to peak through. It had a long, slender, spiked tail ending in a sharp looking diamond. Its hair, or what would have been hair, looked like it was slowly melting off, sliding onto what little grey flesh could be seen. It eyes were a pure, glowing white, and only when it opened its mouth, that too many fangs, not teeth, could be seen.

It was terrifying.

It was comforting.

And suddenly, shadowy ice spikes rose from the ground, impaling the ones trying to end the Leaguers.

The Bats.

After that, it was soon known that the Big Bad Bat was back.

And he was different.

H̵̢̜͇̩͙͊̓͐́��ê̷̫̬͓͖͎̒̈́́̂̚͝ͅ ̷̧̟̝̟͖̭̪̬̪͇͙͝K̵̬͕͓̗̀̽̒̽̄i̴̦̪͒̇̿̑̄̀͝l̶̢̧̻̮̗̰͕̹̼͈͉̏ͅl̴̥̮̙̯͔͈̉̀͆̑͐͘̕ē̸̢̳̘͑̐̿̃͂͐͐͒͝d̶̨͍̬̗̦͈̙̩̰̍͐͑̌̆̃͜͝͠.̷̢̝̜̖͎̟̣́͗̍̌̂͑͒̌̌̔͜

----------------------

srry, this got away from me lol. Anyways lemme know what you think of it :} Have any questions? Please ask! Just know it might take a little while for me to answer. Any criticisms? Welcomed as long as they are constructive!

[merlinfromberlin]

Imagine. TFP but there was an ancient spirit/deity living in the Star Sabre.

Bee, after the fight at the Omega Lock, can't remember anything that happened after picking up the Star Sabre for the first time. His memories only set back in once he pulls Optimus back up onto the platform.

None of the Autobots discuss it either. The only thing they told him is that he killed Megatron. But they refuse to elaborate beyond "you grabbed the star sabre, jumped down, stabbed Megatron & saved Optimus".

Bee himself is not even aware of the hole in his memories at first. But then Raf starts asking questions about the fight and Bee always answers with the same sentence. "You know... it was a real doozie, but I got... lucky, I guess."

The first time Ratchet hears Bee say that, he flinches violently and then pretends like that is absolutely normal behaviour. No, you did not just see him crunch his incredibly fragile medical equipment. It's always looked like this.

Optimus also starts acting odd towards Bee. He can't quite look him in the eye but keeps observing him from a distance. They've also stopped their philosophical discussions (yes; I'm going to insert my headcanon that Optimus and Bee watch ATLA together and then use it as a jumping off point to discuss Cybertronian philosophy and culture into everything).

None of the bots would admit it, but all of them are doing their best to keep Bee confined to the base. He is barely out on patrol anymore. It gets even worse once they are back on Cybertron because now he doesn't even get out to pick up Raf anymore. He's always kept busy indoors. Not even Smokescreen wants to sneak out with him.

Still, no one wants to answer his questions about what happened at the OmegaLock. He tries to corner Smokescreen and Bulkhead about it because they are the weakest link when it comes to resisting Bee, his shenanigans and questions, but neither of them budge.

And then Bee starts noticing other signs of change. Sometimes, his optics will suddenly just burn brighter. Bright enough to illuminate dark rooms or reflect on metal surfaces around him. Sometimes he is no longer sure that they're really blue.

Then, one night, he has a dream. He is lying somewhere, prone on his belly, unable to move and incredibly tired. It's hard to comprehend anything that's going on. His surroundings are bathed in blue (?) light and he can't see him, but he can feel Optimus being there, incredibly tense as he stands in between Bee and something that's so old it should have dissolved into dust eons ago. Optimus and the thing are talking but he can only gauge snippets of their conversations before something soothes him back into deep recharge. Last thing he hears is Optimus' yelling his name.

Then he wakes up at the entrance of their base, Optimus and Ratchet waiting for him as he returns from a drive. He has no clue where he went. Or why they look at him as if he was a ghost. Until he checks his internal chronometer and realises that the equivalent of a week has passed.

And when he asks what's going on, Optimus just pulls him into a hug and holds him for a long time, not saying anything.

[dynamics-of-an-asteroid]

"currently struggling to find a suitable way to safeguard my first edition copy of The Strand that I got not too long ago" is this ..what I think it is ??

lukeskywalker_thesacredtexts.jpg? absolutely ♥

[spotaus]

New Age AU (The King's Bed)

Hi. That title sounds super dramatic but istg it's not. here's a Drabble which I've kinda been cooking because! Guess who needs to start writing the main story! (It's me!) This happens immediately following This Drabble which begins the main plot! (There's a bit of the same scene but from a different perspective at the start, my apologies! Picking up that strat from a certain pal of mine lol!)

Hello to @ancha-aus @papiliovolens and @mutzelputz ! (if these tags ever get old lemee know, but otherwise I'll keep trying to remember to add them!

No edits or beta-readings so, as per usual, good luck!

That wasn’t normal. Whatever had happened to the king was not normal. Everything had been tilted sideways in that moment. 

Cross had just been talking to Horror. He’d known what he’d stumbled on, the king was always encouraging him to break his rhythm and he was very aware that Horror always took it easy on him when they sparred. He had great self-control and an amazing handle on his strength. Cross couldn’t even take it as an insult, because he was honestly relieved he wasn’t coming out of trainings beat to a pulp. That hadn’t ever happened here, to any of the knights, no matter how dirty they claimed to fight. It gave Cross a change to evaluate himself. Ask the others what they thought of his work. Get honest answers. Horror was always receptive to the discussions, but Cross always wanted to act fast to ask, to get it out of the way. Training could stay in the training room, for once. 

He’d just finished hanging his armor up in the designated stand, only four were ever in use, his being tucked between Killer and Horror’s, when, past Horror’s hulking form, he noticed Dust shift and duck back towards the rest of the room. Unusual, normally he’d be quick to discard the set and move off to his room. 

The surprised sound from behind him finally convinced him to quiet and turn. Just soon enough to catch the way that Killer and the king were about halfway to the exit. To catch the way the king’s tendrils seemed to be propping him off the floor, how some were writhing, slinging around Killer. To catch how the king’s cyan eyelight disappeared behind Killer’s shoulder as he stumbled and collapsed. 

Killer caught him, of course, letting the weight of their king drag him down to the ground like a safety cushion. Killer never let any harm come to their king. This, though? The king had dropped like a sack of potatoes, and even as Killer held him, he seemed disoriented. Cross felt frozen as he stood and watched what he could of the scene, most of it being of Killer’s back. The king’s tendrils lashed sluggishly against the ground, tugged and slid away from the armor of the knight holding him. He seemed to shift, pushing himself up and turning his head to look around him, ignoring the increasingly worried prompting from Killer. My lord? My lord, what’s wrong? It was still stoic, but it was obvious his hackles were raised. This wasn’t normal. 

Dust had moved beyond the pair, standing at attention, his magic wafting over the room like a miasma. Dry and crackling, enough to make Cross wince at the familiar aura. It hadn’t hurt him on purpose, not since that first day. That was just it, though. Dust was searching for a threat. Some sort of enemy. Anything that might have done this to the king. 

“He’s not responding.” Killer voiced, though Cross couldn’t tell exactly to who. The king had sun down, now. His one socket was closed and- Was he trembling? Cross thought he could see the way the king was shaking in Killer’s grip.

“He’s losing magic.” Dust asserted, not turning around. 

It was hard to tell with Dust’s magic coating the room, but Cross could feel it too. That heavy, encompassing, energy that always followed the king? It was smaller. Less imposing. It seemed… It seemed like it was fading away, rapidly draining from some unseen leak. That shouldn’t happen. That’s not how magic worked. Unless, of course, a monster was bleeding out. A dying soul would flicker and fight, until it suddenly gave in, magic rushing out all at once as they started to dust. 

“He’s what?” Horror, from beside him, seemed to break out of the same confusion that had held Cross back. Kept his feet in place. “Is he injured?” He questioned, already taking a step towards Killer. 

“No, he’s not. Not that I can see.” Killer replied, though he didn’t turn to his fellow knights, his skull was trained down on Nightmare as he shook and hunkered with his eye closed. His tendrils were… His tendrils were melting. Sinking into the grouted brick of the training room and leaking away like little veins. Cross wasn’t sure Killer noticed. It made him feel sick. 

Cross watched as Horror stepped forward again a bit more quickly. 

“Let me take a look, Killer. Maybe it’s-” Horror was cut off by a quick snap from Killer.

“No. There’s no time. Go find Ccino.” It was an order. If it had been directed at him, Cross would’ve already been out of the door, but it was to Horror. Horror was a stubborn monster. A caring monster. Cross could see his expression shift as he stopped moving forward and stared at Killer’s back.

“This is bad, he needs a healer, not-”

“Horror, I told you. Go get Ccino! Now!” This time there was a bite in Killer’s words. One Cross wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from the senior knight. “ This isn’t some sort of test, I don’t know what this is. It can’t be good.” 

The burly skeleton in question grit his teeth. It was obvious to Cross he didn’t want to leave, but he shifted on his feet. His eyelight didn’t even meet Cross’ as he barrelled past him and out the door of the training room. 

That left him alone over on the other side of the room, watching things happen like a horrible accident. As Killer muttered something and Dust seemed to grow more stiff in his posture. Cross gripped the hilt of his sword nervously. What could he do? Killer didn’t want Horror’s help, he certainly wouldn’t want Cross’. He didn’t know much healing, and he couldn’t sense any threats, and-

“Shit.” Dust’s voice again. “His magic levels are dropping. Fast.” 

It was almost like a ripple of water being splashed into Cross’ system when it hit him. Just a moment after Dust’s words. That thick aura barrier dropped. Entirely. Whatever it was that made the king so imposing, so powerful, so familiar to be around. It all seemed to disappear. Cross rocked on his heels. Everything seemed too open, like he’d come up from under the surface of the water. 

“Cross, try to grab his magic.” The order rang in his ears a moment. 

Killer wanted him to do what? 

Everyone knew the king had never allowed Cross to attempt his control magic on him for long. It was supposedly for Cross’ safety, because the godlike magic was so dense and consuming. The king seemed to fear it would backfire not unlike Dust’s, only with a much more fatal result. Cross had respected the boundary placed, only gripping at the edges of the dark magic. Frankly, the king had been right, even the smallest of spells he attempted to control would require too much energy, and would slip away before he could do anything useful. This was an absurd thing for Killer to tell him to do!

“W-what! I- I shouldn’t-” Though he found, just like Horror, that Killer wasn’t looking for others opinions right now. 

“Just try. Now. Hold it in place and see if it stabilizes.” Killer demanded.

Cross knew better. This order did not make him feel good. The king was unresponsive, and technically Cross knew Killer was his superior, and he should be listening, but would the king be mad at him for trying to control his magic? Would-

“When the King and Ccino are unavailable, I’m in charge. Listen to me.” Killer sounded like he was getting frustrated. 

Cross could understand why, though. Their king lay shaking in Killer’s arms. The king lay dying. 

Cross moved closer by a few step, just close enough that he could see the king’s upper half. Killer had tucked the king’s skull into the space between his shoulder and chin, something so deeply gentle that Cross had little time to really process. Cross thrust his hands out, both sending out his wave of intent. He needed to grab tight to the source of that fast-fading magic. The one that he recognized so well and had lost track of in the air. 

Unlike usual, his magic cut through the tar-like body of his king and grasped at something settled in his ribcage. A tight, sticky, sickly orb of magic. When his magic brushed against it, the king’s magic seemed to solidify slightly, recoiling from his intrusion, and he snatched at it. 

Holding the magic looked like nothing. It felt like sticking his hands into a sopping wet puddle and trying to collect the wet dirt at the bottom, the pieces slipping through the space between his fingers, no matter how tightly he cupped beneath. So, he adjusted. Pulled his hands into a circle, entirely enclosing the magic and ensuring there was no escape. A cold feeling bit at his palms, radiating in the space, but it wasn’t as painful as he had expected. Though, he also doubted what he held was the entirety of the king’s magic. More likely, it was whatever was left after the big loss of energy, 

He was so focused on holding it in place, he had no clue how long he actually managed to hold it stable. It was still, there was a brief second where the familiar energy had returned. 

And just like that, it was gone. 

Cross still had hold of something, but it wasn’t the king’s magic. It was something else, tiny. Still familiar, sure, but the slime and gunk simply disappeared, like it had decided it had better things to do. He searched after it, but found it had gone, and there was no sign of it attached to the king’s soul. Distress filled him. Had he failed?

No time to linger on it. 

Cross jolted back a little as the king seemed to regain his senses. Cross watched as he shoved himself out of Killer’s hold… only to retch. He knew the feeling well, magic escaping in any way it knew well. His usually only did that after sustaining injury, though. As far as they knew, the king had never been hurt. Never was touched. 

Killer leaned forward, following the motion, and Cross was shell-shocked to find that the first knight refrained from touching their king as he gagged and lost more of that black goopy magic. It was dripping off of his bones now and.. Oh. What?

The king. The longer he heaved, the more of that magical substance sloughed off from his body. He wasn’t dusting. It was more like… he was shedding his skin? The goop pooled beneath him, slinking away into the crevices of the floor, and revealed bones. Bones. Pearly white, unmarred, clean bones. The king was a skeleton monster, they all knew that, but Cross had assumed he was a hybrid, maybe some sort of earth elemental in his ancestry. The monster who was crunched in on himself just inches from Killer was certainly a normal skeleton monster. 

And. he was small. It wasn’t obvious at first, but as Killer kept easing closer, Cross noticed. The king, or, he assumed the king, had a small skull. His tunic and cape nearly enveloped him. Sleeves hung baggy over his hands and his circlet had slipped over his skull to hang around his neck. Was this his true appearance? Was this their king?

It wasn’t until one socket blinked, a pale violet eyelight popping into view, that anyone spoke. 

“My king?” 

Even Killer seemed frazzled by the proceedings. Dust turned around now, and the three of them watched silent as the king lifted his skull and turned it. Slowly but surely. Until he met Killer’s gaze. Killer was looking at him so gently. The same way he looked at the kittens he’d show them in the stables. 

The king seemingly hardly noticed, because in a split second he whipped his head around to face Dust, only to lose his balance and topple over. 

“Woah, steady!” Killer was quick, and Cross was relieved to find he’d caught the king, pulling him closer and onto the steady platform of his lap again. 

He almost missed Killer asking their king a question. He almost missed the quiet squeak of a response which was promptly cut-off by the white-boned king. From this angle, Cross could see the other side of his skull. The king, before, had a cascade of magical energy obscuring the place where a second socket would have sat. Now, Cross could see the cracks of an old injury, trailing up from a dead socket into the top of his skull. An impact wound, by the looks of it. That didn’t set well.

The king still shook in Killer’s arms, but Dust seemed to have relaxed a bit. All of them could feel it, as Killer practically bundled the king up between his arms. The loss of magic had stopped. The king was stable. Weak, it felt like, but stable. A quick meeting of eyes from Cross to Dust revealed the truth of the matter. They’d need to wait for Ccino. That was all they could do. 

Killer had been right. Insanely right. 

Horror had returned with Ccino, and the poor guy had been frazzled and covered in flour, probably right in the middle of making desert for dinner. It looked like he was going to chew into someone, sounded like it too, and Cross backpedaled out of the way as the head of house made a b-line towards Killer where he was still dutifully on the floor. 

Horror stood just behind Cross, and everyone was there as witness to see Ccino’s expression entirely change. To something gentle and soft. An expression they each recognized, from brief moments of weakness, where Ccino would show them a kindness. They didn’t expect him to say the king’s name, or to see the small form of their leader scramble out of Killer’s protective hold and straight into Ccino’s awaiting arms. 

Cross almost felt uncomfortable, standing vigil to something he didn’t understand. The king, this… this boy? He curled into Ccino and began to cry. It felt like something he shouldn’t see, some private moment, some vulnerable piece of a secret he wasn’t aware of. 

The other knights, if they shared his discomfort, did nothing to show it. In fact, Dust took it upon himself to tell Ccino what had happened as they knew it. “Magic loss. A lot of it.” And Ccino just nodded and cradled the king’s skull closer into his shoulder. 

When the king passed out, it had only been a moment of distress before Ccino settled again and insisted the knights recount to him what exactly happened. Killer took the lead, he’d seen it all. 

Of course, there was a lot to worry about. Maybe he’d been in shock? Yeah, he could blame it on that. After all, their king seemed to be a child all of a sudden. But for some reason he couldn’t help but notice how the other knights were acting. Reacting. As Killer told Ccino the recap of the past few minutes, Cross noticed how Dust was tense. His white eyelights were moving subtly between their king and the rest of the room. His fists were balled at his sides, and his magic unreadable under the shadow of his hood. Meanwhile, beside him, Horror was only staring at the king with wide eyes. His good eyelight trained on the little form which would occasionally shiver against Ccino and be tucked closer into the arms holding him. And Killer. Killer was crouched exactly where he’d been, but Cross noticed that he leaned closer to Ccino, his arms a bit outstretched as though half-expecting to have the king returned to his arms. 

Cross felt awful. Standing there. 

The king’s magic had escaped him. Entirely evaded him. Maybe if he’d trained more, maybe if he’d been quicker to listen to Killer, he could’ve done something. Kept the magic in-tact. Maybe if he hadn’t reacted in the first place he wouldn’t have scared the magic off. Was this… No. No, the king had told him once. One person alone cannot be at fault for the whole. He imagined the king would be gently correcting him right about now if he were conscious. 

“Cross.” 

The soldier blinked as his name was spoken, and he realized that Ccino and Killer were both looking at him. Had they said his name sooner? Ccino’s face softened a bit. 

“Cross, go clean up. We’ll reconvene in the king’s quarters in an hour.” Ccino said.

“A-and the king?” He didn’t know why he questioned it. 

Killer rose to his feet, then. “I wasn’t planning on cleaning up anyways, I’ll be with him and Ccino. Just go about our schedule as normal. Word cannot spread until our lord wakes up and we can speak with him.” He seemed… unnerved. Cross wasn’t sure how he could tell. He just… could. 

Cross, against his better judgement, saluted and hesitantly moved away. It seemed Dust and Horror were already in motion. Had he spaced out? That was embarrassing. 

-

“Horror?” 

Cross muttered the other knight’s name. He’d cleaned up quickly, restless, and had rushed to the quarters of his bulky comrade. When he’d knocked, Horror had opened the door a bit. 

“Yeah? Come in.” Horror answered from somewhere inside.

Cross did just that, slipping through the doorway and shutting the door behind him. 

The inside of Horror’s room was warm. Cozy. Cross wasn’t sure how he kept it so warm, but he thought he’d heard something about magic-weaving from Ccino when he’d mentioned the warmth of a lent blanket. He hadn’t ever realized the comfort magic could bring in that capacity. Inside Horror’s room it was also very dark. Only a few scattered candles lit the space, and the soft orange glow was just enough to illuminate the furniture,a few cushioned chairs, a couch, a table, the wardrobe, and the large bed. The window had a curtain drawn over it, banishing outside light. 

Near the wardrobe, Cross spotted the shifting weight of his fellow knight, and the glow of his eyelight briefly came into view before bouncing away again. Cross drew toward the chairs and leaned his side against the high, sturdy back of one. 

“Something wrong?” Horror asked calmly. Seemed like he was rummaging through his clothes, and Cross noticed that the mass of fur which usually sat over his shoulders was absent. The tunic was missing too, his ribcage exposed. Cross tried not to pay it any mind. 

Something wrong. Of course something was wrong! 

“Our king, Horror. That- that doesn’t happen to normal monsters! Have you seen something like that before?” He whispered it, quietly. No one aside from them should’ve been in their wing of the castle, but then again, their king really shouldn’t have peeled like a banana either, so who knew what could happen next? 

Horror glanced back at Cross. It was a little bit of silence as Horror was seemingly formulating an answer. Cross was always willing to give him as much time as he needed to think, because he had good things to say. It was his own fault that his heel tapped against the floor, only muffled by the thick rug beneath his boots. 

“Mm. No, I haven’t.” He answered simply. “Then again, the king’s not like anything I ever knew. Just one more odd thing on the list.” 

Horror tugged a fresh tunic out of his wardrobe and tugged it over his shoulders, moving to ever-so-carefully clasp it in place around his front. Cross was quiet for a few breaths. Sometimes Horror would have more to say, but this time it seemed like he’d said his peace. He finished with his tunic and looked back to where Cross was stood. 

“It just doesn’t seem right. He was so small, and even Killer didn’t know what was going on! None of us could do anything!” He whispered again. 

At this, Horror turned and walked toward his bed. There at the foot, resting atop a chest, was his fur cape. He lifted it and shook it in the air a bit. Cross could see a bit of dust fly off in the low-light, but it was just as quickly clasped around Horror’s shoulders. 

“Killer hasn’t been here the longest. Ccino was here before all of us, remember?” Horror suggested. “He seems like he knows what he’s doing. We all look to him for a reason. I’m sure you’ll get answers when he wakes up.” 

This wasn’t what Cross wanted to hear! He was hoping for some wisdom, or insight into a secret previously barred from him. Horror had seemed all too calm when he saw the king in his state, Cross had figured he’d known something! Anything! 

“This is… weird. We’ll be fine, though. Promise.” Horror said finally. 

Cross sighed. No matter how desperately he was hoping this was all some sort of big practical joke, or that what he’d seen would make any sense to him at a reasonable pace, he knew that wasn’t the case now. His answers lay with the unconscious king and his most trusted follower, the head of the house. He guessed he’d just have to be patient. No matter how agonizing the wait for answers would be. 

-

The hour passed by rather quickly. 

Cross had made the choice to stay with Horror until they were meant to meet, and he hadn’t regretted the choice. He definitely preferred to have someone else nearby, it helped to keep him from spiralling.. Wondering what he did wrong. 

As usual, the wing was empty aside from them, and it wasn’t far to reach the private room of their king. The door was large and carved with the image of a tree, something Cross had grown very used to seeing ever since arriving here. Horror had knocked, and it was Killer who opened the door to let the both of them inside. 

The king’s room was large, though not much larger than the knights, and was decorated all in shades of cyan with that familiar red-ish wood that seemed to trail all the furniture of the royalty. The big desk in the king’s study was the same shade. The room was brighter than Horror’s, but darker than the torch-lit hall beyond. Sunlight beamed into the room through the two large windows and the balcony doors, providing the only light and casting heavy shadows on the far wall. 

To the left, where Horror started to move towards and Cross followed, was the king’s bed. It was large, it felt like it could probably fit half the council on its surface. Or, maybe it just felt so big because of its occupants. 

Near to the edge sat Ccino. His clothes seemed to have been loosely dusted off from the flour previously coating his front, but it seemed he hadn’t been able to do much else. He was sat with his back against the headboard and his legs partially covered by the heavy comforter of the royal bed. Plastered to his side, though, was the form of a young skeleton monster. The king. He still seemed unconscious as far as Cross could tell, but he was partially curled onto Ccino’s lap. His too-big cloak was wrapped around his sides, comforter tugged up as far as it would go without smothering him, and his skull exposed. Ccino was using one hand to press a cloth to the king’s forehead, while the other draped over the king’s back. The two of them seemed so small in the bed made for a god. 

Ccino didn’t acknowledge them, and Horror stopped a few paces short from the edge of the bed. Cross followed his example and stood tense and awaiting. Answers? Orders? He wasn’t exactly sure. 

It only took a few more minutes before Dust appeared in the door. Killer had been pacing circles into the floor at the foot of the bed, and Horror was seemingly entranced by the little monster the head of house was keeping close to his side. 

“It’s clear. Nobody.” Dust reported in a mutter, and Killer seemed to sigh in relief. He planted a hand on Dust’s shoulder, which the other didn’t shrug away. 

The both of them moved closer to the edge of the bed, and Killer was the one to round to Horror’s other side, closest to Ccino and the king. Only when they were all still was there any reaction from Ccino.

“Thank you, Dust.” Was what he said first. Dust must’ve been searching for hidden foes, saboteurs, assassins. Part of Cross worried that Ink might’ve been around, before he realized how irrational that idea really was. Dream would do a lot, but he wouldn’t risk Ink like that. Dust didn’t give any response.

“I am aware that this is a sudden change and I thank all four of your for your quick action to protect our king, on his behalf.” Ccino voiced then, his eyelights lingering on the small skeleton plastered to his side. Cross caught the way his thumb curved along the king’s forehead in a comforting motion. “It would be unfair and unwise to leave you in the dark about his state, so I’ll trust that our king was correct in appointing you as his most loyal and explain best I can.” 

It was only then that Ccino seemed to peel his eyes away from the small king and up to the surrounding knights. 

Cross realized, as Ccino skimmed over each of them, that. Well. He wasn’t technically a knight at all. A trainee a best, but no knight. He didn’t have a mask and had never been knighted. Was this a conversation not meant for him? 

The head of house’s eyelights lingered on Killer for a moment longer than the rest of them before he spoke. 

“Our king, Nightmare. This is the form he had on his thirteenth birthday, just over seven years ago when he attended his twin’s coronation. It’s the form he lost when he completed the ritual and became king as you all knew him, god-like and powerful.” Ccino’s voice was small. “I’m not sure how, but it seems that the magic which made him that way is gone, lost, and now he’s back to the way he was all those years ago.” 

There was a resounding silence in the aftermath of Ccino’s words.

“He never mentioned the possibility of something like this happening, I’m not sure it ever has.” Ccino said. “Despite that, on his behalf I request that we keep news of this change within this circle. I have no doubt that this is still our king and he will still perform his duties as needed when he adjusts to the change.” 

Cross was stunned. Their king… 

“You… said he’s only about 13?” Horror asked from beside Cross. He jumped a bit in surprise at the noise. 

Ccino gave a nod of agreement. Cross was pretty sure none of them missed how Ccino’s hold around the king’s back tightened. Just a bit. Protectively. 

“Young king.” Horror established what they were all thinking. “Is he wounded? I thought I saw…” Horror trailed off, but he gestured to his skull. He pointed to his uninjured side of his head, just above his empty socket. Right, that crack along the small king’s skull. Cross had caught a glimpse of it too when Killer was holding him. 

Ccino seemed all too tense at Horror’s question. That was when Cross noticed all of them had, at some point, gotten a bit closer. It seemed like they were looming. 

“You may take a look if you like, Horror. It doesn’t look like it’s harming him, but I believe it was a result of a blow to the head he took just after his coronation.” Ccino relented, and Horror stepped forward.

Ccino was gentle and honestly seemed practiced at gently shifting and nudging the king. Where he had been tucked into Ccino’s side and mostly hidden, Ccino managed, with a few small hums and leading of limbs, to twist the king so his skull was a bit more exposed and he lay instead with his back to Ccino, an arm now wrapped at his front. Horror waited patiently beside the bed, and only when Ccino had Nightmare in front of himself, practically fully in his lap, did he pull down the now oversized hood for Horror to see the wound. The king seemed to wince in his sleep at the loss of cover. 

It was as Horror looked, ever-so carefully pressing on the edges of the crack, and seeing the sleeping flinch of their ruler, that Cross realized just how much trust Ccino was putting into them. 

This room was full of killers, soldiers, ones who had chosen to follow a god-on-land. It was full of potential threats to the life of a wounded king. 

For just a moment, he was brought back to Ritten. The coup his brother had worked for years and years and years to bring to fruition. If XGaster had ever shown nearly an ounce of the vulnerability that the king was showing now, he would’ve been slaughtered on the spot. Many wanted his head, and now Cross realized, it was for good reason. Now, here, the king frail and asleep, only guarded by a single servant. This, if ever, would be the time to strike. To destroy the crown and claim the land as their own. No one in Orchard rivaled the strength of the knights. 

“It’s raw.” Horror’s report snapped Cross back to the present. The burly knight leaned away from Ccino and the king, but spoke to Ccino still. “Need to clean it, but it’ll hurt. Might want to wait till he wakes up.” He paused. “You said seven years ago? The wound?” 

Horror was always the gentlest of the knights, at least from what Cross had gleaned since arriving. Killer was full of sharp edges and had the same energy as a stray animal. Dust was always so closed off, and Cross knew better than anyone that he was skilled and attacked ruthlessly. Horror seemed so baffled by the wound. 

Ccino nodded in agreement with Horror’s question, and seemed put at ease as the other took another step back to stand tall again. 

“That’s. Someone struck him while he had the magic? Hard enough to hit bone?” Dust questioned quietly from his other side. He too sounded awestruck. 

Cross was aware that none of the knights were ever able to strike him during training, neither had Cross, but he assumed that was because the king had adapted to their fighting styles. Did this imply that the king had never been hit by any of their attacks dead-on? 

Ccino nodded almost sadly. “Tensions were high and both princes were distressed. Prince Dream lashed out and our king did not expect it.” 

Dream? That might’ve been the first time that Cross had heard utterance of the Prince’s name since he had arrived to the castle. He certainly hadn’t been forgotten, his traces still lingering about the place, but Cross felt like a bolt of ice slid down his spine at the mention of the one who had recklessly sent him here. 

Dream had told him the basics. How at the coronation his brother rushed in and took their mother’s soul from his hand. How Nightmare, the king, had eaten it in his place and been transformed into a beast unfamiliar. Had sent him away. For some reason, Cross had dismissed it as rumor, another piece of propaganda that Dream was telling to the hopeless saps that stumbled his way. But… This sounded like it would fit. A second half he didn’t readily share with the world, one where he was outraged at his twin and struck him. 

His mind wandered back to the tapestry. Nightmare’s image had just the same, round, perfectly childlike expression as the crown prince. No injury in sight. Did that imply there was a time where Nightmare had two eyelights? That the way his face had formed and obscured half his face was not a choice, but the result of a wound from his twin? Now that Cross thought about it, this young king did share the boyish features fading from Prince Dream’s face with age-

“That rat.” Killer spat all of a sudden. “I’d do worse than send my brother away if he bashed me over the skull like that.” He voiced. Ccino didn’t react to the comment, only gently shifting the cloth over the king’s skull. The king was looking a bit flushed, maybe from the magic loss? “Good thing you guys know better.” 

There was a scoff from Dust.

“So, our lord is alright. Just a bit… under the weather, we’ll say.” Killer continued, “Ccino and I discussed a little while you guys were cleaning up. Until he wakes up to give us new orders, we’re going to act business as usual. Training and rounds again tomorrow, tonight we’ll trade off guard shifts to keep watch and make sure there’s no one out to get our king or Ccino. Sound good?” 

He sounded jovial as he usually did, but Cross could see the tension held in the way he stood. Like he was waiting for an attack to go flying or to have to start running. Much like before when he had pulled rank, it wasn’t exactly a question. 

Horror nodded beside him. Dust, on his other side, shifted a bit. 

“No problems. Just.” He paused a moment to think. “If Ccino stays.” He gestured to the door. Right , of course, Ccino was the head of house. It would be suspicious if the king fell ill and his servant when missing. Along with that, he was pretty sure Ccino kept this castle running practically by himself. All the servants and guards would probably be lost without his coordination. 

“Don’t worry about that.” Ccino spoke up, “I trust the staff to be capable in my absence, and if I’m really needed I’ll ensure our king is in safe hands before handling any troubles.” 

Dust nodded then, seemingly satisfied. 

The focus then, he realized, fell to him. 

Cross stared blankly at Killer for a moment, before jolting a little. 

“Oh! I-” He stammered for a second before his mouth snapped shut. For some reason, in this exact moment, the past months he’d spent in the presence of these people all left his mind. Was he meant to be speaking? Did this apply to him? He hadn’t even realized he was part of the assembled group for a moment. Maybe it was all the years of simply standing around during important conversations, invisible and ignored. Maybe he was just spooked by Killer’s intense gaze. The weight of a choice. “I… Didn’t realize you were asking me, too.” He answered dumbly.

Killer blinked once. “Of course I am. If our king didn’t trust you to be included in conversations like this you would’ve been out of the castle months ago. So?” 

Cross glanced back to the king. He was still resting. He’d shifted so his face fell towards Ccino’s chest and the head of house had tugged the comforter up and around his lap as far as it would go. 

This was not like last time. There is no evil tyrant. There is no worthy resistance. This was not blind devotion. 

“Then yes. That sounds like the most logical plan. I will partake in whatever ways I can.” 

Cross felt pride well up in his chest with his agreement, an oath if only to himself that he would see this through of his own volition. Killer seemed much less excited by the news and gave an easy nod before looking to Ccino again. 

“Well then what are our plans for tonight, O' mighty Head of House?” Killer questioned. 

The tone shift seemed jarring to Cross, but the others didn’t bat an eye. 

Ccino took a deep breath before speaking. Four knights all awaiting his instructions. “Your first move should be to eat. I was done with all of dinner aside from the dessert, I’ll have to ask for your forgiveness on that front.” He said, “I’d like one of you to remain here with the king, have one of the servants bring a meal for whoever stays and one for the prince. The rest of you focus on maintaining normalcy. In the morning, I will go about rescheduling meetings and arranging for visits to be delayed.” His voice seemed to peter out the longer he went on, until silence followed in his wake. 

“Dust, you should stay for first shift.” Killer suggested, and the other knight nodded in agreement. “I’ll go clean up and bring food your way. I can take the shift into the morning so that Horror and Cross can get some rest.” 

Cross glanced to Killer at the mention of his name, but the knight was un-subtly watching the royal bed. Ccino with their king tucked tight against him still. For a second, Cross wondered how that must’ve been for him. The king suddenly growing small in his arms? Killer had been quick to cradle him after all.

Horror hummed at his side, and Cross noticed him back away. As much as a part of him desperately wanted to stay, to keep watch, to know anything more… Killer had spoken. Dust moved forward, hoisting himself up a bit to sit on a chest towards the foot of the bed. His vigil. Meanwhile Killer dragged his gaze away from the party on the bed and focused in on Cross and Horror, nearly ushering them out himself. 

This was a whirlwind, but Cross was not the victim. Just someone swept along. It’d be fine. The first hurdle would be dinner, and he could do dinner. 

-

Are you eating with the others? That trainee still had a little while to go before he’d be a knight, Killer was sure of it. Not that he didn’t have amazing skills, he just… needed to be a little more observant. 

No, save my seat still. I just know Ccino forgets to eat when he’s working on a project. He can’t go running on empty. Killer had shot back in the confines of the little personal kitchen that Ccino always used for the king’s meals. True to word their food was complete, minus some dough that had gone a bit flat and shapeless on the far counter, surrounded by flour powder. Normally they’d be served by the man himself, but they were all adults, they knew how to serve their own food. 

Killer had kicked the door open with his foot, moving through the doorway with ease and navigating into the halls. Balanced on his arms were three plates of nice warm chicken and various vegetables. Were those carrots? Sick.

He didn’t think much of it as he passed by servants and guards. They all knew better than to ask him what he was doing, and he knew that none of them were threats. Dust would’ve sniffed out a rat in the first minute of his search, let alone the hour Killer had given him. No threats were left inside if there ever was one in the first place.

He came to the ornate door and kicked his heel against it three times. It swung open revealing his shorter fellow-knight. His hood was still up, though Killer could see his eyelights were calm and white. No danger, no harm, but also probably no developments either. 

“I bring gifts! In the form of a warm meal I didn’t make!” He jokingly announced in a stage-whisper as he slipped in past Dust. 

Just as he expected, Nightmare was still curled up into Ccino’s side, though he’d once again been moved to lay more on the mattress than on Ccino’s dirty uniform and chest. Now, Ccino’s one hand was pinned by the sleeping king, gripped in his own, little, boney hands. 

Somewhere behind him the door closed, and Dust slipped past him with a quiet ‘thanks’. With his shape went one of the plates, taken seamlessly from his bicep where he’d carefully been keeping it steady. Dust didn’t bother with much else, taking up his position on the chest once again. If Killer didn’t know better, he would’ve joked about how he could totally fit Dust inside it. …He was saving that one for later. 

For now, he moved towards the bed again. Ccino watched him approach with a hesitancy, but it was not the same awkward and reluctantly docile stare he’d grown to know over the years. Ccino had never really wanted Killer here, he was a criminal and the king fresh to his rule, but he had welcomed Killer when he realized that Killer was sticking around. Ccino might not have known it, but Killer wanted nothing more than to bridge the gap imposed between them. He tried not to get his hopes up that this might have been another of many other little baby steps they’d taken over the years. 

Killer moved closer and set one of the meals on the bedside table just near Ccino’s side. “He’s still out cold, then?” Killer asked the obvious, and Ccino hummed in agreement. His free hand gently caressed Nightmare’s skull, and the pearl-white bones shifted comfortably under the contact. 

Something about this felt all too familiar. Those first days, back when Killer had arrived. When he’d spot the king crumble under his own weight and bare a weakness. It had always been to Ccino. In the nights he couldn’t sleep, he’d sometimes find the king lingering in his study, Ccino not far off on a couch. And then, of course, the documents. Ccino had cared for the king since he was a babybones. 13 years worth of helping and watching him grow. If it hadn’t been obvious to Killer before, it had to be now. How easily Nightmare slept at Ccino’s side, how Ccino had been so receptive to the change. How he had dropped everything to care for this now young king. 

“Are you eating with us after all?” Ccino questioned. Hopefully he hadn’t been staring, that would be awkward. He’d embarrassed himself enough times in front of the other that it probably wouldn’t matter, but he had to keep his composure now of all times. 

He glanced to the plate still in his hand. He scoffed. “As much as I’d love to, four’s a crowd.” He claimed, “This is for you. I figured I’d take up the sacred duty of making sure you remember to eat for yourself, too. At least until our Lord is awake enough to tempt you himself.” 

He gracefully bowed and firmly pressed the plate into Ccino’s open lap. A playful look revealed that Ccino was staring at the food a bit baffled. He opened his mouth to say something, probably to tell him off, but apparently decided against it.

Ccino shifted the plate to his right thigh, probably so he didn’t risk getting any on a sleeping Nightmare. He stared at it a second, before he nodded very subtly to himself.

“Thank you, Killer.” Was all he said. 

Killer grinned wide and nodded.

His spin back to the door left him double-glancing at Dust, but the other gave him a thumb’s up. “Enjoy the meal you guys, I heard the best cook this side of the sea made it.” He teased and slipped out before he could be scolded for the bad joke. 

He would stay, he would love to stay, but it wouldn’t be good. Dust was a lot more attuned to the magic in the air. He could sense threats and react a lot more quickly. Besides, Killer didn’t want to make Ccino uncomfortable. Sure, they were overcoming differences, but Ccino had always been the king’s left-hand man while Killer was his right. Ccino made sure he was calm, and happy, and feeling alright and taking care of himself. Killer was handling his dirty business, warding off harm and threats, acting as his voice. In a room where Nightmare commanded all, they could work like they had for the past seven years. A well oiled machine that had its own parts. This? This was emotional work. Killer hadn’t missed how the king had been shaking and trembling in his arms, tense and worried. The king had ripped away from him the moment Ccino had spoken. Of course, Killer couldn’t really blame him for that, if Ccino said his name like that he might go running too. Point was, Killer knew better than to cross that line. He’d defended Nightmare. Now it was time to give Ccino some time to himself… figuratively. 

He figured Dust would be invested and alert, but unlike Killer he wouldn’t be hovering, and fidgeting, and tossing his knife in the air, or pacing circles into the floor. He wouldn’t be internally cooing over the king’s soft baby features or trying to sneak closer just to see him. Make sure he was really, truly alright. 

Killer needed time to cool off. To come to terms with the current state of things. When he came back for his morning shift he was sure he’d be in a better state. Not worrying so much over how wrong it felt when Nightmare had shuddered and gone limp. Yeah. He could be normal about that. He just had to give it a few hours.

[phoenixcatch7]

Why can't we have a batman is the spirit of Gotham au?

He already is, in meta, in character, in theming. Him and the joker. He is so very built upon what Gotham is made of, and Gotham builds from what he needs in turn, the setting of his story.

What if that is the reason he can take damage that would permanently ruin a physical career and come back? What if that's how he's managed to maintain his no-kill streak to such an extent? What if that's how he manages to maintain such high maintenance and all consuming identities?

For the heart and soul of a city containing all extremes, the richest nobility and the lowest of the poor, the cruellest villains and the most compassionate heroes, orphaned children and ancient lineages, a city rooted in fear and madness and grit-teeth determination and hard won kindness, what better choice could you find than Bruce Wayne?

But what if he wasn't alone in that? What if Gotham has sunk to such a low because its spirit is damaged and corrupted?

For the heart and soul of the cruellest city in the dc universe, the most unrelenting and uncaring, the one that practically laughs at your pain and suffering as you try to make it through another day, what better choice than the Joker?

[yuri-is-online]

Hello yuri! How are you? I Hope you have a nice day!

When i play tdk i noticed something in jaberwock chapter that is if im not wrong, towa can control weather! Also his inhuman strenght and his octopus like pupils! Although the inhuman strenght can be justify as him being a ghoul, could it be towa is a non human ghoul? But we all know that non human ghoul are put in obscuary. So that might be a mystery for towa backstory! Also his inability to speak raise some question right there! Then we see towa speaking to mc when night come but, as day come he isn't speaking at all. I can't wait for more chapter to drop!!

Hello friend! It's pretty much a guaranteed thing that Towa is an inhuamn ghoul! Pretty cool right? As for why he isn't in Obsucary, I think the explanation is actually pretty simple:

Towa seems to control the weather in Jabberwock to a degree. When he isn't there it becomes bad, though this could be as simple as it becomes more "natural" when he's not there to keep it like old the windows desktop all of the time. This isn't an uncommon theme among inhuman creatures, powerful spirits are thought to have an effect on the environment around them including changing the weather to their liking.

Towa actively hates Ed. As Ed is the Captain of Obscuary, having Towa there would be problematic. The school is probably very aware that they can't really control either Towa or Ed, so having them both in close proximity where they would have more chances to fight just feels like a bad idea lol.

As for what sort of creature Towa could be... I have some thoughts? The ghoul's stigmas are thought to be anagrams of demons from the Ars Goetia, and while the name slips my mind at this moment one of the proposed ones for Towa takes a form similar to that of a unicorn. Unicorns as we know them are more synonymous with western mythology, but there is a beast similar to a unicorn in Chinese mythology called a Qilin:

I think they're super neat~ They are not described as having the power to control weather specifically? But bringing rain and throwing out lightning are powers often giving to Chinese dragons, which Qilin are sometimes depicted as being similar to. My main problem with this is that uhhh Qilin are usually thought of as being very nice. They can tell good from evil and I saw multiple encyclopedia entries about how it walks on grass without crushing it... perhaps Towa just sees people and anomalies as being less that grass?

They are also associated with the birth and death of "great sages and rulers." Which may of course mean literally nothing at all because there's really nothing saying Towa is/used to be a Qilin I just really like them and think it'd be neat if he was. I hope you have fun with Tokyo Debunker anon! I'm waiting on the next chapter too lol

[universeberrigarden]

I adore intern Kareem and I hope nothing bad comes of him even if I am fully aware of the ongoing trend with interns

[wally-two-shoes]

Oh my god?? why haven’t I ever drawn rabbit morty??? racing to my tablet like a rabid animal rn.

[ladychandraofthemoone]

Traintober Day 8: Bird

“Two birds on a wire One tries to fly away And the other watches him close from that wire He says he wants to as well But he is a liar

I'll believe it all There's nothing I won't understand

I'll believe (I'll believe) it all I won't let go of your hand”

Two birds on a wire totally fits Stanley x Kyle/OrangeChai angst: Out of both, only one survives, broken and with clipped wings….

I…I like to believe that Kyle still attempts to communicate with Stanley, not just with the fireflies but perhaps other ways? I’ve been rereading stories of people’s loved ones coming back to them in the form of animals and I know for sure Kyle would come back to him to keep him company, slowly help him heal and give a sense of security..

After all, the dove has many symbols as someone in mourning is often viewed as a visitation from the deceased loved one. The person in mourning senses a message of hope or encouragement from their deceased loved one.…

[titsthedamnseason]

so lowkey obviously vin must not be the hero right? or she’s going to take the power for herself? you see something is not adding up because her and sazed think she could be the hero because all of the signs she’s experiencing she has in common with alendi. the issue with that theory of course being the alendi was not the hero….or he was “the hero” but only presumably because no one ever got the chance to prove otherwise but kwaan did not think so ultimately…..🤔

[hyaciiintho]

AU idea for Sherlock — *ahem* Brainrot.

Send me an AU and I'll tell you what my muse would be like in that AU | ✿

Sherlock had long ago accepted that he was mad ever since he was young. Impressionable child as he was, Mycroft had always insisted he ignore the childish IMAGINARY friends that he so consistently conjured up, so much so, that Sherlock learned to pretend he didn't see them.

Before they had moved from their old mansion, he had met Jon, a tenacious companion who seemed to attach himself to Sherlock more persistently than the rest. They became best friends, but after his mother's passing, Mycroft took Sherlock away from the mansion Jon inhabited, leaving Sherlock to never see him again.

Imaginary friends were supposed to follow you, weren't they?

Sherlock never once dared utter a word of the things he saw to his brother after they moved. He was, after all, supposed to be recovering from such delusions, the Holmes brothers both fearing that he was his mother's son, through and through.

Yes, all of these phantoms were but conjurings of a sick and weak mind... or were they...?

Curious over seeking the truth behind his mother's passing, it was discovered that perhaps she hadn't succumbed to a simple mental illness. A dairy left behind revealed that she shared many a similar experience as Sherlock: The many imaginary friends she thought to have had, being blamed for the doings of said imaginary friends, and reportedly speaking to thin air when she insisted someone stood beside her.

Further research proved fruitful when the discovery of a special tool that had been gifted to his mother, one left abandoned and long ago forgotten in the attic above: A camera that was said capable of capturing the images of the dead.

It was hard to deny any of it as truth.

Not when Jon suddenly came back into his life, proving that perhaps there was more to the mystery than Mycroft had let on.

Yes, it would seem that Sherlock Holmes was, in fact, his mother's son.

[blackwinged-soul]

Actual thing I just half-hissed/whispered at my computer:

"I swear to f*cking god, if you people don't start tagging your memorys|hipping, I WILL eat you."

(There MAY have been a subtle Ry/ou shift lying in wait because I listened to In My Life today, which is a HUGE Ry/ou song for me, but that was HOURS ago. I saw that and it felt my entire back bristle and I SWEAR I felt sharp teeth, and I wonder how much of that may have been touched by the Ring S|pirit, come to think of it....)

(( What is it with this fandom/source and people shipping me with the people that I, personally, would LEAST like to see ever again? ))

( (( Aaaand per the usual Y/G/O Multi-Reincarnation/Version Life Chaos, now I'm sitting here baffled by trying to unravel how much of this feeling is Ry/ou and how much is S|pirit and how much is The Corruption. )) )

[tornscale]

Open Starter Call: Oo'ri Forestrider, Spirit of the Emerald Canopy

Giving my attention now to one of the Big Three I haven't in a long time, the lingering spirit of Oo'ri, friend to Val'um and Adragol.

I wanna give my forest loving dragon lad some love again, so slap that like button if you want him to poke around your inbox for mushrooms or other plants!

[marrow-bone]

It's worth noting how the 'traditionalists' have very quickly shown their asses to actually be 'white cishet utopia 50s tv told me existed-ists' (completely forgetting the public progressives of the 50s...) since after all pretty much every 'conservative' scare can be shown as a social norm somewhere throughout western history from a demographic they claim to idolize (don't get me STARTED about outside of it)

'Conservatism' means to be... Conservative. Focusing on keeping good policies moving forward, over higher-risk-reward policies. Today's 'conservatives' aren't that in the least, since they do the opposite; destroying all the good strides we've made through history and trying to brute force a grim rictus onto the past to hide the mistakes. Because a 'conservative' in the US right now is either a selfish manipulative asshole with more luck than brains, or one of the sheep he and his have literally brainwashed into literally being anti-Jesus.

I love how humans have literally not changed throughout history like the graffiti from Pompeii has people from hundreds of years ago writing stuff like “Marcus is gay” “I fucked a girl here” “Julius your mum wishes she was with me” and leonardo da vinci’s assistants drew dicks in their notebooks just for the banter and mozart created a piece called “kiss my ass” so when people wish for ‘today’s generation’ to be like ‘how people used to’ then we’re already there buddy we’ve always been

[lacilashea]

My name is Jaafar, I live in Gharra city, I started a donation campaign in the middle of the war to help my family buy the necessary food, clothes and other supplies 🙏, our house was completely destroyed and we lost all our belongings in this genocide, in addition to the lack of a monthly income and a source of livelihood for my family except for some humanitarian aid from UNICEF that contains only certain types of food, I ask you to support us and donate to me and my family through the link in the bio to buy vegetables, meat, clothes and necessary supplies. Help us rebuild our lives. Any small donation will have a big impact in our lives. 🙏💟

I love Jesus more than all and he is my Lord and savior, the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews, the rest on the earth and that much being God's son. as my Lord and savior, the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews and the rest on the earth and that much being God's son, got that posted for you love you and your family friend.