#⌘Killer Glare|(Obsidian IC)⌘

[takeyoutoskull]

@skullkxd: “Stop callin me runt!” Even if it’s true, it’s still a sore spot. “An’ I don’ gotta be king! I work there! But I’m at the top of the board of trainers!”

Sid turns his head, with a silent 'my bad...' Flannel places his paw on Sid's shoulder and shakes his head for Ree. Old habits die hard, but he should've remembered better.

His voice, a monotone deep bass, quieted for a moment as his face softened as they told him the news.

"That so... You really know. How to keep at it, don'tcha."

The Kantonian young man, although out of full Skull 'uniform,' daps it up with Ree.

Words tried to spill out from the awkward lanky young man's lips, but stop just short. Instead, he gave Ree a gentle squeeze of the hand, brow furrowed.

He missed him. He's so sorry. And he can't even say it.

[takeyoutoskull]

Sid nods sagely, closing up his phone and slipping it back in his pocket.

[I hear ya. So how about this? Whether you choose a Rockruff or not, I think you two should get catch it together. No bond is better than that. Big G helped me put together my new team like that.]

“I mean… y’aint wrong, but…”

They look carefully at the photos. These are from way before Sid joined skull, and probably from before Ree was even in the team. But…

“… a persons first Pokémon is special. I want to make sure it’s a good choice for her.”

[the-bed-gremlins-reading-list]

Til Dawn

Characters: Caerwyn, Lucia Warnings: Death, Suicide (kinda?) A snippet I had one while prepping ideas for the canon shorts, this one was meant for if Caerwyn scored high in the poll. I ended up liking it enough to type it up and share.

Dragon Spine Pass was the only safe - reliable - path through this part of the Blue Mountains. It had taken no guesswork to know that the fleeing rebels would take this path north towards the ruins of Ithel.

Mira had taken a forward party ahead to try and prevent the rebels forcing a desperate last stand in the pass where their small numbers would be bolstered by the high obsidian glass walls. That party now lay dead before the pass.

She had promised her to be careful - that she’d be there when they celebrated returning peace to her Empire. Lucia drags her gaze away from trying to determine which of the bodies is her fideles.

Their killer lifts from the crouch over the last of them and wipes his chin free of the soldier’s blood, smiling at Lucia.

Lucia glares back.

She does not recognize this vampire. Not that she questions the source of his grudge - Ithel was destroyed by her hand and she has little doubt that the rest of her reign will see many assassins whose heritage is thick with magic.

“It is nearly sunrise,” she notes.

“Not for another hour, Empress,” the vampire replies with a shrug. “You’ve already given me enough blood to hold that long - at least.”

“Medulloi has such loyalty from an assassin?”

“Let’s call it…a debt. I owe him a rather large one,” the vampire’s shrug is airy. His eyes the predatory black of a vampire on the hunt. His pale skin smeared with blood and his already red hair turned dark and sticky with it.

Lucia scoffs, “You threw away how many centuries to buy that man a few hours?”

“It is a very large debt.”

Lucia levels her sword, another glittering blade manifesting in her free hand as she forms it of ice. “What is your name, debtor? So the histories might remember this foolishness?”

“I promised him til dawn - I suppose you plan to make me work for an honorable death,” the vampire draws his daggers with a laugh too jovial to feel fitting on this killing ground. “I’m called Caerwyn.”

She nods before she's in action - a blur of movement.

[musicofglassandwords]

The Guardians

sorry, I’m posting this before the next battle scene, but I really enjoyed writing it. constructive criticism or anything you find a little off in the scene is VERY much appreciated!!

if you haven’t seen this The Vanished Kingdom around yet, this is basically an intro to the MCs of this tale!

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The rest of the skylals filed in, leaving seven chairs on one side of the table empty. After a few more minutes, whispers floated in the air, and the queen looked around anxiously.

The guardians were the skylals who worked the hardest and fought the worst battles among the council. Their services were required all over the world in order to fulfill the peace treaties Ciana herself had arranged, and it made sense for them to be late. But she wasn’t sure if the rest of the council would understand that.

The Seven’s reputation had been torn apart and sloppily sewen back together by rumors and gossip. More and more the skylals would argue against them, angered at their cold words, and supposed haughtiness.

After so long without participating in battle, few on the council still believed in the power of the Seven. 

Ciana let out a sigh of relief as she saw the first glimpse of movement down the open doors.

A slender boy with a neatly tucked tunic, polished glasses, and combed hair came in, his slight smile sheepish. His collar was stiff, his clothes neat and clean. He tapped his fingers nervously on his leg as he nodded to Ciana.

“Apologies for being late.”

“No worries, Fortunato,” Caian said gently, glancing nervously at the rest of the council.

The legendary Charmer, who could change fate with a snap of his fingers. Death and life were only a game for him, all else beneath his notice. 

He nearly tripped settling into his seat, a bright flush spreading up his pale skin. Someone laughed harshly, and he looked down into his lap, fingers tapping quicker and quicker against his side.

Screams cut off the derisive laughter, as a cloud of indigo smoke appeared in the seat near Nato, and formed into a boy covered in bruises. Kyran rolled his shoulders back, looking perfectly at ease, despite the purple and indigo marks across half of his face.

 He bowed to Ciana, sprawling casually in his seat, glancing around the table.

The Assassin, the ruthless killer, who was spoken of with both horror and reverence. He had killed whole cities, forging forward despite his wounds. Scars were painted all across his skin. 

Who was currently doodling on a piece of parchment, as two more Guardians entered the room.

Some of the Shifters coughed as Valera walked by them, absolutely covered in fine dust. Clouds of it rose up off of her, as she took her seat by Nato. Every movement she made, caused more dust to fly off, and it wasn’t long before half the room was coughing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tying her red waves back, “I just came back from Lerain.”

The girl who had come in next to her had taken soft, quiet steps, as if stepping on thin ice. Her dark green hair was twisted into a bun, her clothing loose and flowy, a dancer in the night. Her dark skin shone under the light, and she slipped into her seat as silently as a snowfall.

The Passion and the Silencer.

A girl with emotion and firepower more explosive than a volcano. Her ability to ward and attack had been allegedly unmatched for centuries. She left horror in her wake. 

The Silencer had been whispered about for just as long. With a flick of her fingers, she could put an entire town to sleep, she could heal any disease. One of the strongest warriors in the world. 

“The other three are coming,” Valera said clearly, in response to Ciana’s nervous, questioning look. She glared fiercely around the table, noting the sneers and derisive glances the four of them were currently receiving. 

“Thank you, Passion,” Marsem said, his chin tilted up, “Might I respectfully remind you, that in the future to polish yourself up a bit before a council meeting especially?”

Valera’s face reddened, her brown eyes turning distinctly scarlet, and she opened her mouth, just as a crash sounded in the hallway, and her attention was temporarily diverted.

Sahrina covered a smile with her hand, as a slow voice said from the hallway, “I hope you didn’t like that vase too much.”

Marsem swelled up, stomping towards the entryway, intent on avenging the vase as a light blue glow flashed temporarily in the hallway.

“There we go,” that same voice said, “Calm your feathers, Marsem.”

Seconds later, a shabbily dressed boy with wild blue hair, stumbled in. He raked a hand through his hair, winking at Ciana. A thief with no sense of respect. 

“Sorry for making you wait,” he said carelessly, immediately tripping and faceplanting onto the floor. 

The Jester, renowned for his unpredictably mad actions and his lack of remorse for anything he did. Ruthless, uncaring, and able to call lightning to his will.

“Seth,” Sahrina whispered, sliding out of her seat and helping him up, “Are you alright?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” he grinned at her, lowering his voice, “Glad you’re safe, Rina.” 

“Your Majesty,” a girl with ombre hair, and savage features turned towards Ciana, “How much longer must we wait for these so-called legends to stumble and stagger their way in? If any Sources saw them, the reputation of the council would crumble.”

“Give it a second, darling,” Seth drawled, lounging in his chair, legs hooked over an armrest, “We always strive to be fashionably late.”

Skye swelled up, then considered it beneath her to even acknowledge her comment, venting her anger on the piece of parchment in front of her, puncturing holes in it with every stab of her quill. 

But true enough, only moments later, the last of the Guardians entered the room. The instant the boy and the girl stepped through the doors, bruise-colored light ringed the doors and they gently closed shut.

Black obsidian swung on a pendant against the girl’s collarbone matching her black silk tunic and pants. Her expression was grave as she pulled back her bright gold hair into a plait, slowly gazing around the table, assessing the expressions of the others as she sat down.

The Uniter, the one who bent both darkness and light to her will. If she needed, she could cause blindness in an instant, or pierce one’s heart with a shadow spear. And she very often found need to. 

The final guardian slid into his seat, his hair casting a shadow over his eyes, his posture slumped and inelegant. He was so perfectly still, he was almost a statue, frozen in the light.

He acknowledged no one in the room, remaining silent as Ciana began the council meeting.

The Mystic, the schemer and planner behind the war and peace of the world. He had the ability to absorb magic, and learn the tactics of other magic users.  Nothing was impossible for the Mystic, and no one was safe from him. 

Silence ruled the room, as Ciana continued her recitation of the details of the murder, and informed the skylals of their duty regarding the trading season. At the end, she set her scrolls down, and opened the floor to questions.

No one moved for a moment, then the Uniter’s hand rose up.

Ciana nodded to her, and she spoke, her words clear and unmistakable.

“What was the point of this entire meeting to be called?”

“What do you mean?” Marsem spat, chin tilted in defiance, “How can you question the decision of your queen?”

“She means,” Kyran said lazily, ignoring the dark red stain that had begun to spread on his tunic and the blood that had started dripping down his temples. “We have better things to do.”

“Assassin, you’re bleeding badly,” a skylal observed.

“Oh, I know.” He glanced at Ciana. “Go on.”

“Answer us.”

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Tagging: @lmorasey, @nomadian-novelist, @onthewingsofwords, @feathered-quill, @stories-by-rie @sunlight-and-starskies, @coffeeandcommas @notquitenovelist @whatwasmyprevioususername​ @writingqueensworld

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

The pale moonlight of a foggy night was cast over a large gothic castle of massive size and splendor. Built from the very mountain that still made part of its daunting walls, the place was a basin of darkness and a storm of ice and wind to all, and very few traveled here for good reason. But that was not tonight as the castle was teeming with the forces of the Demon King Ganondorf, who simply could not pass up this opurtunity to take the dark fortress as his domain. Thousands of minions from the lowest Bokoblins to the mightiest Lynels were busy with orders to clear house and take whatever fancied their desire as clearly no one was home in the castle and it was ripe for the picking, the owner having been long gone that now the castle was a ghost town. However two warriors had managed to sneak in and evade the monsterous forces as they trailed after the King of Demons himself as he searched for something. 

Deep within the castle grounds, Simon and Richter had managed to find Ganondorf as he was watching a group of imps search through various powerful artifacts they procured from the castle treasury and brought to him. Sensing the two Belmonts enter the room as he barked out orders and the imps left with their haul before turning to the two Vampire Hunters. A Haughty smile on his face as he greet them. “Simon, Richter, still being petulant dogs i see.” He grinned wickedly as the two had recovered from thair last beating and gripped their ancestreal weapons for a fight. Ganondorf just took their silence as compliance for another smackdown as his hands were coated in dark magic. “If there is one thing I enjoy about you pesky holy warriors, its your stubborness to submit. Alas i’ll just make use of your souls.” He chortled out in a chuckle as they did battle once more, and once again it was in the favor of the Gerudo. Richter was beaten down first like he was nothing and Simon had his legs broken followed by the King of Evil proceeding to choke him with the Vampire Killer. Richter was currently pinned to the floor with the Sword of Sages impaling him through the gut, weakly reaching out for Simon as his metal whip was shattered to dozens of pieces before him. 

“What’s wrong kid, your pathetic ‘holy god’ not lending a hand?” He mocked as he took to enjoying himself with viciouly beating the Belmont duo within an inch of their lives, who knew Ghirahim would have solid advice to release work stress. Simon gurgled out though strained breath as he weakly grasped a flask of holy water and smashed it against Ganondorf’s face. Which did absolutely nothing to faze him mind the light steam coming off as the shards of glass fell off and water dried away off his face. The Gerudo God King felt insulted by the attempt as he let go ov the chain whip and backhanded Simon as a few of his teeth flew out and he collapsed. Getting off and yanking his sword from Richter’s body as he watched the younger one crawl to his elder.

“Its been fun, you two, oh who am I kidding, your both pathetic.” He sneared out in mild annoyance as these two were mere gnats to his presence. If you can’t rely on others, gotta get your hands dirty yourself. Charging dark magic thorugh the long blade, Ganondorf watched in humor as Simon cradled Richter who was losing blood fast. “Rest easy son, Lucina is waiting for you at home.” Simon said as he pressed a hand to Richter’s wound and vowed to get his family safe despite both facing imminent death. Ganondorf just rolled his eyes at the show of love and fired off a beam of warlock magic to the two. Time seeming to slow as Simon shielded Richter’s body and smiling to him in pride.

However the air around the trio darkening as shadows and power condensed before the two Belmonts and took a form, the form of a crimson clad figure as the beam rammed into him. splitting apart in many directions as the beam was cut and pushed against a strong force. Ganondorf caught off guard but growling and pushing more power as Simon looked up to a pair of glowing red eyes and a pale handsome face. “You…” Simon uttered out with a frown as he stared at Dracula, who held the beam of magic off from obliterating Simon and Richter. Dracula raised a finger as if asking for a moment then looked to Ganondorf through the magic and clenching his fist as the beam burst in power and Ganondorf was pushed back a few inches from the force. The dust and smoke clearing to reveal Dracula, the Prince of Darkness, standing before Simon and Richter Belmont and facing Ganon. Dracula dusted off his hands and sighed out before looking to his 'family’. 

“I see your as stubborn as my own grandson, ironic you both share the same name…” Dracula commented as he cast a spell with a wave that had Richter’s wound freeze over with ice to stop the bleeding. “While I should admonish you for acting reckless again, now is not the time. Loki, get these two children out of my castle…” Dracula said as a dwarf being burst into the room in black smoke, his green eyes sparkling with mirth as he gathered their weapons and grabbed them as all three vanished with Simon getting cut off as he was gonna speak. As Dracula focused on Ganondorf, he grew a smile and greeted his guest.

“How kind of you to invite yourself into my home and act like you own every tile, Dragmire. But what can i expect from a thief posing as a king.” The Vampire said as Ganon just glared at being stopped yet again from disposing of two peons and denied his fun. The ground next to the Dragon bubbled up with blood as it took the form of a humanoid creature, woman in figure as it bowed and spoke in a raspy voice, “My prince~…” It said as Dracula replied in a curt tone as if adressing the news. “We have uninvited guests, see to it that my legions are freed from the hibernation spell i set up centuries ago.Been a long nap, I deduce everyone is quite famished,” He said with a hint of humor as the blood creature sprouted a toothy fang filled grin and seeped into the stone and marble floor. 

Dracula watched Ganondorf and could feel his anger growing at him, the one being that dared defy the Demon King and twice now disrupt his activity. Gabriel just reached into his cloak and brought out a familiar old weapon as he paused and tucked it back away. “On second thought, I’d rather not make it quick and easy. You, my little pig king, deserve a stern punishment.” Icy magic emenating as Dracula summoned his favored mystical weapon, The Void Sword, as Ganondorf lunged with his sacred longsword in a roar of fury.

Within the caverns beneath the castle was a titanic collumn, known simply as 'The Tower’, the obsidian marble was the very foundation of Castlevania and the exuded dark energies that would draw creatures of the night from around the world. The blood being reformed and moved to the beheamoth pillar as it was chanting Enochian and hands glowing with the blood of The Dragon it was connected to. Stepping up to it as its hands pressed on the black stone and glowed in power, the chanting finished on a forboding note, “AWAKEN, LEGIONS OF THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS.”

The castle let off a light glow of red power as the forces of Ganondorf all began to feel the grounds shake as some stumbled and they looked aorund in confusion and worry. Then the noise followed as they picked up the roars and wails of thousands of unholy monsters as the darkness poured out  every manner of supernatural. Needless to say the forces of ganon were woefully unprepared as they were swarmed by the legions of Dracula and torn into. The sights were bloodbaths as the monsters of the night proved too fast and too overwhelming for the army of the Demon King. Harpies and Gargoyle littered the air and took down flying beasts while many beasts, undead and enchanted being overrun the invading military. One would spot a Necromancer decked in red and purple robes in the graveyards hunting the Poe’s as it was flanked by Dark Acolytes and reaping souls with fun. Lycans running down and dragging down big Moblins as Vampires cut down Lynels and Darknuts with large enchanted armors smashed away the small fry or crushed them easily. Even demons, those that submitted to Dracula after the fall of Satan got their fill as they hunted down many others. Any that were not torn apart by the supernatural were dragged off screaming and struggling to the kitchens and dungeons to be made use of. 

Simon and Richter reappeared away and out of the castle grounds as they watched the castle from a distance, The imp letting them go and speaking in a humored tone. “There we are, apologies gents but I must be getting back, i can smell the goodies these visitors will be not needing~” He beamed with a smile and then reached into his pack and brought out a pair of medallions embalmed with five blue gems. “A gift from my Prince, a sign of good will and hopes that you two don’t do anything rash again. Light Magic medallions, powerful holy work capable of benefitting any warrior of light and tuning their gear for the better.” The Chupacabras smiled and tucked it into Simon’s tunic as Simon nodded in thanks, though a bit repulsed by the lil imp. He got up and felt a gauntletted hand on his shoulder, looking to see a pale dark blue clad vampire looking at him in light concern. 

“Its time for you to return home young Simon, father and I will attend to this thief. May both of you have a safe journey.” The pale vampire smiled and took his hand off Simon’s shoulder as he walked to the castle. “Wait, what is your name, vampire?” Simon called out, curious and surprised the being did not attack him. The vmapire turned back and replied. “Alucard, formerlly Trevor Belmont, til we meet again, Holy Warrior.” He gave a bow and turned away as the Chupacabras already left and Simon turned his way and into the woods with Richter sleeping while the laght magic slowly seeped into their bodies and worked on healing them. Alucard approached the gates and drawbridge as two heavily armored Moblins had managed to excape free of the horrors and spotted him coming, not the brightest of Ganons races, they thought him easy prey and charged with roars as Alucard just burst forth in a teal mist and blur of white and dark blue speed. Appearing again and still walking as he flicked The Crissaegrim free of black blood and sheathing the blade with a bored look as he walked past the gates. The forces of Darkness taking a moment to bow to Alucard as they were feasting on the enemy. 

The two Moblins collapsing as their runs slowed and one froze up before shattering into shards of ice and the other had white hot holes stabbed into and thorugh its armor in the vital spots, being cooked alive by hellfire. Collapsing as their shadows pooled out and they were pulled in by Shadow Beasts claws into their own shadows and the inky black mass moved into the castle to continue their fun. 

Unknown to all, or just ignored by Dracula’s forces, a certain woman watched the whole carnage from a cushioned seat as she held her opera glasses up and focused on the battle between Dracula and Ganondorf, the Demon King actually being hardpressed and a scowl marring his face as The Prince of Darkness had him on his toes easily. Void Sword vanishing as Chaos Claws came out and grasped the sacred Sage Sword in one hand as another came in to deliver a punishing right hook that had Ganondorf tumble back and growl as his blood leaked through grit teeth while Dracula let out a smirk, this was gonna be fun~.

Palutena watched in light worry for Dracula as she knew to mess with Ganondorf was to risk certain death, but here Dracula was, making Ganondorf his lackey and besting him in combat, all while having that handsome smirk on his face. She had a light blush as she focused on Gabriel and his every move as he beat and humiliated Ganondorf, the orb of her staff recording the whole thing as this was gonna be a great story for the others who disliked Ganondorf and his armies. 

Ganondorf was gonna never live this mockery down, and the others wouldn’t let him either. 

[takeyoutoskull]

“Sometimes you’re a six... And that’s alright. Got a face even a Mery couldn't love. The guard dog still stands.”

💎 (Woof woof.)

“.... 6/10. Explanation pending.”

Pending explanation ETA: 3 years.

[theolddarkmachine]

I’ll Take The Blame, You Take My Conscience- Ch. 4

“You love him.”

It wasn’t a question. Panic burned the back of Shiro’s throat as his eyes widened at the statement. He had known his feelings for Keith for some time now, but he knew better than to act on it, aware that he was nothing more than a friend in his best friend’s eyes. It was better for everyone if he just kept it to himself. At least, that’s what he had thought. Then he’d started noticing small things, like how sometimes Keith would let his hands linger on his skin for a fraction longer than he needed to, or how he could feel his gaze tracing the long line of his body when he thought Shiro wouldn’t notice. He’d been planning on telling Keith how he felt at the party. It was amazing how quickly things could change.

“Let him go, Shiro. He’ll need a tool, not a lover. And your love will only make him weak.”

AKA the one where Keith is the leader of a Yakuza clan, Shiro is his ever loyal tool, and they’re caught in a gang war.

Amazing commission by prllnce!

Ch. 1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

AO3

Consider this your torture warning! Things get dark and twisty here. It couldn't be helped, y'all had to know it was coming after where we left things off lol

Please also excuse any things that may not be accurate, I uh, am not well versed in writing torture scenes.

Reminder on helpful terms:

Oyabun- Clan leader. Saiko-komon- Chief advisor to oyabun. Waka gashira- Middle men between oyabun and clan members.

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Shiro’s consciousness crested on him like inky black waves of ice cold ocean. The freezing tendrils of darkness weighed him down, holding him below the surface and numbing his senses, and just out of his reach glowed the muted grey light of the outside world. A low, rumbling pressure of far off voices pressed against his ear drums and he struggled to grapple onto the sounds. If he could just anchor himself to something, maybe he could pull himself out of the frigid pool that was suffocating him. His lungs ached as they struggled against the oppressive weight on his chest, and his bones cried out against the fingers of frost that were wiggling deep into his marrow.

Shiro.

His name echoed through the darkness wrapped in heated tenderness. A soundless whine burned deep in his throat as he tried to find the voice.

You always sneak off.

The smooth glide of fingers across his forehead, smoothing his forelock back from his brow, sent a shock through his veins that beat back the ice. His lips tried to form the name of the man he so desperately wanted to see. A phantom touch of lips on his temple pulled him closer to the surface as heat pulsated through the contact. The dim light grew brighter against the black backdrop of his conscious. It felt as if he was everywhere and nowhere all at once, dragging Shiro out of himself, like he always did. He struggled to say his name again, lips stumbling on the monosyllabic word that filled him with a warm bubble of hope. There was a strong grip on his wrists that towed him closer still to the light.

C’mon, Takashi.

Shiro’s eyes fluttered, letting in grey murky light in quick flashing intervals that left spots of light dancing in his vision. The first thing to hit him was the heavy, metallic scent of blood that clung to the air. His stomach rolled as the sickly smell invaded his senses, bile rising dangerously in the back of his throat. Cold metal bit into his wrists as he attempted to raise his hands to his mouth. His vision began to clear of the bursts that had blinded him, revealing a darkened warehouse room. A solitary window high on the wall illuminated the space with dusty sunlight that gave the metal table just to his right a sinister gleam. The source of the stomach turning scent was painted before him in the form of the bright garish red of blood spilled across the floor.

Haxus’ body lay in the crimson sea, eyes upturned in silent horror and a smile carved into his throat. A stooped figure was beside him with his back turned to Shiro. Even without facing him, he knew who the hunched figure belonged to. A shiver of fear tickled his skin in the form of an icy drop of sweat that rolled down his temple.

When Shiro had last seen Sendak, he was nothing more than a thug exercising excessive force on one of the shopkeepers in Yanaka. It had been just after Keith had taken over, and the Raion were still standing on the shaky legs of their newborn leadership that they heard of the man threatening the shop so close to their home. Whether he went as a show of dominance, or a way to exert the pent up rage he’d held within him following the attack from the Akuma, Shiro was still unsure. That night he’d gone and waited for the then unnamed man with his pistol, his tantō, and a thirst for blood that nearly choked him. It was how what would normally have been a pedestrian show of force and possibly a fist fight ended with Sendak mutilated and clinging to life. Nearly a year passed before the whispers of a new Akuma climbing the ranks made it back to the Raion. Tales of the so-called One Eyed Demon were always tinged with the crimson of the blood he spilled and the blackness of the promise he’d made to return the favor to the Raion’s saiko-komon.

Shiro often regretted that day, but now as he watched Sendak spit on the face of the corpse beside him he couldn’t help the small seed of fear that buried itself deep in his gut.

“It’s pathetic he couldn’t follow simple instruction and bring us the one thing we asked for,” Sendak’s voice was thick with muted rage, though towards the dead man on the floor or towards the living one in the chair, it was unclear. He slowly stood from where he’d crouched, eye passing over Shiro coldly as he turned toward the metal table. Sendak drummed his fingers over the surface as he stared thoughtfully at the array of tools that laid across it. Shiro struggled futilely against the cuffs that linked him to the chair bolted to the ground as he heard a voice answer from behind him. The seed of dread bloomed within his stomach as fingers gripped the back of his neck.

“In a way, this may be so much better.” Zarkon’s voice was a deep bass sound akin to rolling thunder. Shiro bit back a cry as his fingers sunk deeper into his skin and pulled his head back so he was looking up at his captor. His dark eyes seemed like endless pools of melted obsidian as they glared down at him. It was the same stare he remembered from all those years ago at the temple and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling against his grasp, which only pushed him to tighten his hold. Everything began to spin as the blood flow was restricted by Zarkon’s grip. “Isn’t that right, Shiro?”

With a jolt, his head was thrust forward again. Sendak’s black eye was settled on him with a wicked smile on his face as he started to walk towards him with a hammer clutched in his grasp.

There was a sickening crunch of bone beneath metal before Shiro’s screams tore through the room.

***

The first time Keith came to, he was still in the furniture store surrounded by debris and coagulating gore. As he tried to push through the murky bog of his mind to connect the chain of events that had landed him there, he was vaguely aware of Hunk and Lance as they came barging into the store with their guns readied. The loud, distinct bark of Hunk’s voice shouting his name was the last thing his senses latched onto before he had been resubmerged within the inky quagmire of his conscious.

The second time he’d come to, he found himself tucked safely within the sheets of his bed. Feather pillows loomed around him in a protective embrace and he felt the familiar scratch of bandaging wrapped tightly around his chest and middle. His brain felt thick as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls and a distant memory danced on the outskirts of his mind just out of his reach. Try as he might to catch the fleeting memory, it flitted through his grasp, taunting him for getting so close and yet being so, so far. He let out a frustrated sigh and was immediately met with a sharp stabbing pain in his ribs.

Staccato clicks of a keyboard cut through the din of his pain as he noticed Pidge sitting at his bedside for the first time. Her legs were tucked beneath her and her laptop was balanced on her thighs as she tapped away, her eyes never leaving the illuminated screen reflected in her glasses. Ruffled brown hair stuck up around her head in a crown of casual disarray and bruise like bags stained the skin beneath her red tinged eyes. He recognized the expression that pulled the corners of her mouth down as one reserved for those in mourning and felt a quick stab of pain ripple across his chest.

“Pidge?” His voice was thick with the gravel of disuse. The sound of her typing paused just long enough for him to tell she’d heard him before it picked back up again in double time. When Pidge was truly worried about something, she had a tendency to type quicker. It had once been something Shiro had pointed out as a joke, noting that she never typed like that when she was supposedly worried about any of the clansmen, which meant she must have never truly worried about them.

Why would I worry? You guys are trained killers and gangsters, she’d said with a shrug of her shoulder and a quick flick of her tongue between her teeth. Now the sound of her keyboard bled together into a constant hum as the keys were pressed impossibly quick. Her eyes never left the screen and her mouth turned down ever so slightly further. A burning hollowness started to fill his chest as the memory that was evading him tiptoed closer.

“Pidge?” He said again after attempting to clear his voice of the grit and sleep. “Pidge, where’s Shiro?”

Keith couldn’t remember a time he’d awoken bandaged up without Shiro being there by his bedside. Even when they’d both found themselves in bad shape, he’d always managed to make it to his side. The room seemed hopelessly empty without him filling up the space beside him and fixing him with a disapproving glare that almost always kicked off a speech about how Keith needed to be more careful. Pidge’s eyes flickered up to meet his, her typing faltering once more before picking back up their pace. The burning emptiness continued to eat away at the space within his chest, making it harder to breathe.

“How are you feeling?” Her voice was strained as she sidestepped the question, raising alarm bells in his mind. With a labored grunt, Keith tried to push himself up further from where he lay in the mound of pillows. The cushioning was suddenly stifling and he was certain if he didn’t push his way out, he would surely suffocate within it. As he struggled against the mounting feeling, the memory danced within his reach and he latched onto it as if it were a life preserve. The entirety of the trip to Okazaki rained down upon him in a painful crash of hail and dreadful realizations.

We can’t lose another oyabun.

I’ll see you on the other side.

His heart began to crash against the inside of his pained ribcage as the onslaught continued.

Gun shots and blood.

The pained expression on Shiro’s face as he was held down.

Bright light before everything else went black.

Keith had been beaten, he’d been stabbed and he’d been shot, yet none of that compared to the pain that erupted within his chest as the memory faded away leaving him alone in his bedroom with the realization that Shiro had been taken. The emptiness of his chest throbbed like the pain of a shin splint. It was settled so deep within himself that he wasn’t sure where he ended and the earth moving hurt began. Heartbreak was its own kind of pain entirely, and in that moment he felt as if he were feeling every heartbreak across a thousand lifetimes as his being yearned for the one person that wasn’t there. A ripping sensation erupted in the middle of his chest, separating his sternum with a shock of wet heat, and it was a moment before he realized it was caused by a sob.

“Where is Shiro?” He asked again, his voice cutting angrily through the tears he refused to acknowledge. Pidge’s sigh weighed a thousand pounds against his shoulders as she finally stopped typing and carefully closed the laptop. Her hazel eyes were filled with the golden fire of determination as she fixed them on him.

“We don’t know.”

Those three words sent Keith into a tail spin. Like a crashing plane, everything sputtered and tumbled around him in a kaleidoscope of broken glass and smoke. Her words droned on as she explained how the Raion police contact in Okazaki had reached out to the clan about possible gunfire in the area. The words slipped into the cracks between the wreckage of his thoughts as he attempted to make sense of them.

“By the time Lance and Hunk got there,” she paused as she took a steadying breath and pushed her glasses further up her nose. “It was just you. No one else there was alive. They searched for him amongst the bodies but he was already gone, Keith.”

His breathing sped up as he picked through the pieces of rubble that were burying themselves deep within his skull.

Gone.

There was something so final about the four letter word. Shiro, his Shiro, was gone. No longer present, or departed. Not many that were gone in their world came back, and those that did hardly ever did whole.

“All we know for certain is that the Akuma have him.” The contact of Pidge’s small hand over his startled him. Looking up to meet her stare, he saw the tears that threatened to spill over. When she’d first come to the Shinku no Raion, Shiro had taken her in under his wing, seeing himself in the hollowness of her eyes. Though Pidge quickly became an integral part of the clan and had opened up to the rest of their misfit family, she’d always gravitated to Shiro when she needed someone to share her darkness with. Without him, she was untethered and lost at sea. It seemed her and Keith were together in the same boat.

“We’re going to get him back,” he said, his voice heavy with the promise as he squeezed her fingers within his own. The wreckage had settled, and in its place sat the cold calm of rage. It simmered in his veins and oozed into the open wounds that were laid bare in his chest. They would get Shiro back, and he would make them pay.

***

Keith was pouring over the maps of the known Akuma territory, his mouth twisted in a thoughtful grimace at the ache in his ribs from the bruises and broken bone that laid beneath the bandages under his shirt. His entire being felt as if it was pressing against the inside of his skin, trying to escape the confines of his flesh and his insides throbbed with his worry. So much precious time had been wasted on him as the Raion had waited for him to fully awaken from the near coma he’d found himself in after their run in with the Akuma. A low growl rumbled deep within his chest as he wiped a hand across his eyes in an attempt to push away the tiredness he had no right to deserve. It had been three days, and he hadn’t allowed himself to sleep since. Keith’s eyes continued to dance across the maps as if he could pull the secret of Shiro’s location straight from the dried ink on the pages.

His raw nerves had long since pushed his waka gashira away, leaving him alone with his messy thoughts.

We’re doing our best, Keith, but right now we’re chasing down ghosts, Lance had yelled after he’d returned with Hunk from a long night of prowling known Akuma docks only to receive a hardened glare for their efforts.

You can’t risk the rest of the clan for one person. Shiro would understand that.

In hindsight, Lance was right. If Shiro was the leader, he would know that one man was not worth the many he had out risking their lives to search Akuma hideouts. But Shiro wasn’t the leader, and he wasn’t there to be Keith’s good conscience. He also wasn’t there to stop Keith from punching Lance in the face.

He opened and closed his hand thoughtfully, rubbing his other hand against his knuckles that still prickled from the contact they’d made with Lance’s jaw.  

The sniper’s blue eyes had been filled with a mix of betrayal and sadness as he glared at his oyabun, launching forward in retaliation before Hunk wrapped his solid arms around his waist to stall his assault.

We’ll get back out there, Hunk had said, eyes downcast and refusing to meet Keith’s. I know you’re angry, Keith, but this isn’t our fault. With a cold look from Lance as he squared his jaw, they both walked out of the meeting room he’d locked himself in and didn’t return. Any communication from them came through Pidge, who had fixed Keith with her own cold silence after a particularly aggressive argument regarding her hacking skills.

Alone with himself there was nothing to push away the look in Shiro’s eyes as he had been held down just on the other side of the store from him. His grey orbs had been filled with pleading, wanting nothing more than for Keith to just cooperate long enough for them to regain the upper hand. The Akuma thought Shiro was the true oyabun, and maybe if he’d just listened, they would have left him conscious and maybe he could have done something to save him. The fact of the situation burned in his throat and he choked on it any time he tried to reveal his truth.

Lance was right about more than one thing. This wasn’t their fault. It was his. Keith was responsible for Shiro being taken, and now he may never come home. His rage filled cry ripped the silence of the room in two as he threw his fist into the metal tabletop. The rush of electric pain spread across the knuckles and down through his wrist. He pulled the pain up further into his skin, holding onto the sharp sting that reverberated in his bones if only to feel something other than the pain of the bleeding hole in his chest.

The door to the meeting room squeaked as someone opened it. Keith’s shoulders tensed against the sound as he turned his head slightly away to hide his grimace from the person that had entered his space. Teeth grazing his lower lip, and eyes downcast, he saw a quick glimpse of Pidge in his peripherals as she dropped another folder onto the table next to him without a word. Her steps were soft against the carpet of the room as she turned on her heel and headed back towards the door. The silence was deafening between the both of them and it only made the ache in his chest deepen. Nails cut into the flesh of his palm as he tightened his fist, ready to find another surface to unleash his rage upon until his skin was left bloodied and torn.

A worried cough pulled him from his thoughts.

“Maybe you should get some rest.” Pidge’s voice was guarded as he heard her return to the space beside him. “I can take over for a bit.”

“Pidge,” his voice was a warning as she reached for the map in his hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as she paused, judging if she should still attempt to take it from him and if it would be worth the impending fight. She sighed in defeat and dropped her hand back to her side and leaned a hip into the table.

“Come on, Keith.” The way she spoke reminded him of how he once saw Daiki speak to a wild dog that he and Shiro had once found outside of the temple. It had been shaking and snarling, drool foaming around its jowls at it snapped at anyone that dared come close. The realization that he was the dog and not Daiki in this situation burned his already frazzled nerves.

“You won’t help him like this.”  Silence hung between them as they let the statement settle in the air. With an angry huff, the oyabun pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes shut to block out the world around him. Maybe the blackness of the inside of his eyelids would swallow him whole.

“Every hour that passes just means a higher chance he’s dead!” Keith’s voice broke under the weight of his sleep deprivation and despair. With his head still turned towards the ceiling and his eyes closed, he felt her fingers ghost over his as she grabbed the map from his hands and gently eased it from his grasp.

“I know,” she said with a low shush. “But he’d want you to take care of yourself too.” His answering chuckle was colored with bitterness as he finally looked at her. Pidge’s tawny eyebrows were stitched together with concern, but he didn’t miss the matching dark circles they shared.

“You’re one to talk,” he said without any real accusation. She sighed again before she wrapped wrapped her arms gently around his waist as to not disturb the bandaging underneath and pulled him into a hug as if her small frame could keep him from falling apart.

“I don’t run a Yakuza clan though.” Her response was muffled in his shirt as he ruffled her hair quickly before returning the embrace. They stood together in silence, each trying to suck the pain from the other while simultaneously searching for their own salvation in the halos of their arms.

The moment of weakness passed as a strong knock echoed against the wood of the door. Pushing away from her, Keith pulled on his steely mask as all his emotions settled back into place as he turned towards the trespasser. A woman in a police uniform stood in the doorway, her crystalline eyes scanning over the duo as they pointedly stared back at her. Though she looked to be in her mid-twenties, her hair shone a bright silver in the fluorescent lighting of the room. He couldn’t help but think that it looked like starlight as it glowed around her face and fell down her shoulders.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” her voice was thick with politeness and a foreign accent. “I’ve heard of the loss of your oyabun.” If she noticed the way his shoulders tensed at the title, or the way Pidge’s eyes quickly flitted towards him and away again, she didn’t let on. Remaining where she stood-- whether as a sign of respect or fear, Keith wasn’t sure-- she continued.

“My name is Allura.” Her name was well known within the Shinku no Raion. Allura had become a phantom member of the clan, feeding them information from inside the police force whenever she caught wind of any Murasaki no Akuma activity. Hunk had made the contact and therefore kept up communications with the officer but Keith and his waka gashira had grown accustomed to hearing that intel had come from her. He felt himself relax ever so slightly at her introduction.

“I’m Keith,” was all he offered, not moving to close the distance between them.

“Pidge.” Her voice was curt as she kept up her defenses. Gold met aquamarine in a show of dominance before Allura broke the eye contact. A small triumphant smile tugged the corner’s of Pidge’s mouth upward as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Hunk said I would find you here,” Allura said, fixing her gaze on Keith instead.

“And what do we owe the pleasure?” He let his voice fall into an authoritative tone, brushing aside the way it reminded him of how Shiro would speak when acting as the oyabun. It made him feel like an imposter in his own role as he tried to fill the shoes of the man that served him.

“I brought someone that may be of worth to you in your search.” As she spoke she pushed away from the door to reveal a figure on the ground behind her that had been propped against the wall. The body’s head lulled to the side, his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle with his ear pressed to his shoulder and his eyes were shut. If it hadn’t been for the handcuffs and the angry red welt across one of his cheekbones, Keith would have thought he’d fallen asleep in the hallway. Familiarity dug its fingers into his skin as he looked at the man. Black hair fell over his forehead and his mouth was turned downwards in a frown that had haunted him for the past three days. The searing heat of bitter rage burned his insides as he recalled the way that same man had pressed the barrel of his gun to his forehead.

“His name is Prorok. I can’t tell you much more than that and the fact he’s an Akuma. I didn’t want to call in anything to look up his information so I wouldn’t need to take him in.” Allura’s disdainful gaze fell on the unconscious man as she paused as if considering whether to divulge anything else.

“He was wondering around Yanaka, which leads me to believe he may be useful to you.”

Keith wasn’t aware of the low growl that had escaped him until he felt Pidge’s questioning gaze tickling his skin. He felt his fingers twitch at his side, grasping for the daggers that normally sat on his thigh. His mind filled with the many different ways he would have carved them into his skin.

“Why are you helping us?” Pidge asked, snapping his twisted thoughts and pulling him back to reality. Her arms were still folded over her chest as she eyed Prorok.

“The Shinku no Raion saved my father when my own job could not. We are indebted to you,” Allura’s voice was small at the admission. A beat passed between the three of them and the only sound was the deep breathing of the unconscious Akuma.

“You owe us nothing,” Keith finally said, stepping forward and offering his hand to her. She took it gently, her sky filled eyes welling with tears at the gesture. With a quick squeeze of her hand, she pulled away and turned to leave.

“Tell Hunk we’ll be speaking soon,” she called over her shoulder. Her words fell on deaf ears as Keith glared down at the man on the ground. Amethyst fire blazed deep within his eyes, burning holes into his flesh. His anger rolled off of his skin in waves and caused the hair on Pidge’s arms to stand on end. In all the years she’d known Keith, she’d never once felt scared in his presence. Now, as she looked at the way his face twisted into a feral snarl at the sight of the Akuma, she felt the innate need to run. It was the first time she truly believed him to be a killer.

Without a word, Keith grabbed the metal that linked Prorok’s handcuffs and began to drag him further into the building. As she stood alone in the hallway with the silence weighing down upon her, she felt the icy fingers of worry run a trail down her spine.

***

Artificial light from the bright fluorescents overhead burned Prorok’s retinas as he slowly opened his eyes. At best, he’d hoped he’d have found himself on the cold hard ground of a police cell, and at worst he’d imagined he’d have ended up in the Akuma warehouse where they take the useless and the failed. What he hadn’t planned for was to find himself in the middle of what looked like a boardroom. Something about the mundaneness of the room felt infinitely worse to the other options. Rough rope bit into his bare chest as he struggled against the constraints that held him to the metal chair.

“You’re finally awake.” The cold voice reverberated off the walls and tiled floor around him. Soft footsteps followed as his captor walked from behind him, not looking up from the dagger he twirled quickly around in his fingers in a blur of black metal against white skin. Mauve flickered towards him from beneath the curtain of onyx bangs that brushed over his nose and in his eyes. The last time Prorok had seen those eyes, he’d had the weapon and the immobilized enemy. Now with the roles reversed and the steel that turned the liquid pools of purple into hard amethyst, he felt the distinct bite of fear.

Prorok had thought Zarkon would be the worst thing that would have happened to him. When they’d returned with the man they thought to be the oyabun of the Raion, they’d been met with the wrath of their own leader and Sendak. Before his eyes he saw as they demonstrated what happens to those that fail the Akuma and it had been enough for him to gravel for a chance to right Haxus’ wrongs. He conveniently left out the part where he’d had the true oyabun in his grasp and he’d left him battered and unconscious at the furniture store like a bleeding gift for their rivals. Zarkon’s smile was a jackal’s grin as he handed Prorok a box with explicit instructions to leave it on the footstep of the Raion temple. Something about the way he’d given the order sounded as if he didn’t expect the Akuma to return home alive, and as he watched the Raion leader begin to unbutton his shirt, he wondered if Zarkon had known all along.

The crimson shirt fell from Keith’s shoulders with a whisper, revealing the stark white of bandages that held him together. Prorok kept his eyes trained on the tight fabric that ran across the muscle of his back to avoid meeting the gaze of the Raion oyabun. Carefully folding the fabric, Keith set it on the table, next to the line of varying knives, hammers and tools.

“Can’t get blood on my shirt, you know.” His voice was pure ice and void of any emotion. That voice was the voice of a man that had everything taken from him, and now had nothing to lose. When they’d moved on the Shinku no Raion, they’d thought they were dealing the clan a killing blow. It was as Keith’s fingers danced across the cold, gleaming steel of the array of tools on the table, that he’d realized they’d only given the clan the drive they needed to be monsters. Settling for the black dagger he’d originally held, he turned back to Prorok with an inhuman scowl. Despair gripped his lungs, forcing the air from them as Keith stepped forward until Prorok’s vision was filled with the white, black and purple fury that the oyabun exuded.

“You’re going to tell me where Shiro is.” It was a statement, not a question. His captor dropped down on his haunches so that he knelt before him. The ropes chaffed his skin as he pulled against them again as if he could somehow get away from the near demon stare of the Raion.

“I’d rather die,” he spat, saliva speckling his things and the bridge of Keith’s nose. The cold touch of metal bit into the space underneath the fingernail of his right index finger as the oyabun pressed the dagger into the skin. Heated breath caressed his ear as Keith leant towards him as if he was about to let him in on a secret. His closeness was more unsettling than the tip of the knife in his finger bed.

“I never said you’d live.” With the quickness of a lightning strike, he pushed the dagger forward and underneath the nail, separating the plate from the flesh. The pain was blinding as he used the knife’s edge to remove the nail completely. Blood sprayed across his chest in a macabre imitation of a Pollock painting. Prorok sunk his teeth into his tongue in an attempt to cage his cry of pain behind his teeth. The sharp pinch returned underneath his middle finger as Keith pulled back.

“You only get the relief of death once you’ve earned it,” he snarled as he thrust the dagger upwards once more, scooping the nail free of his finger. Without another word he repeated the process with the remaining digits on Prorok’s right hand, the vicious light gleaming in his eyes as the Akuma finally broke. His howl ripped apart the otherwise silent room and filled it with his pain. Blood dripped from his fingertips and onto the floor like garnet rain that stained the once white tile.

“Where are they keeping him?” Keith’s voice was gruff, turning into a growl by the end. The exposed tips of his fingers were impossibly cold. He focused on the feeling in an attempt to push back the otherwise electric pain that was radiating up through his entire arm. Every cell in his body revolted against the trauma as it tried to protect itself against the injury.

“I don’t know,” he choked, looking away from the glare that would burn a hole straight through him. In truth, he really didn’t know. The last he’d seen the saiko-komon was at the warehouse where Haxus had been killed, but he hadn’t seen him since. Whether he was still there receiving his own torture or he was already dead and disposed of, Prorok couldn’t say. It was an admission that would sign his death warrant, and while he’d put up a front, his heart beat in triple time at the idea of his demise.

Keith’s tongue clicked against the back of his teeth as he stood and returned to the table. With his back towards the Akuma, Prorok searched futilely for an escape. Jostling against the biting rope that had rubbed his skin raw, he felt the chair he was tied to hop slightly. Throwing himself against the binding again, the chair scooted forward again with a loud scrape against the tile. Keith used his dagger to pop the cover off a light switch near the table, leaving a smear of bright red against the white wall. The exposed wiring was ominous in the light of the room as he attached a jumper cable to them.

Prorok rocked the chair again only to feel two of the legs leaving the floor. A moment of uncertainty passed before the balance shifted and he fell sideways into the pool of his own blood. A small sob escaped him as Keith’s footsteps returned to him and he heard the metallic clink of the other end of the jumper cable attaching to one of the chair’s legs. He watched as his torturer’s form walked back to the table and leaned a hip against it. The oyabun grasped the switch between two fingers as he fixed his murderous glare back on the man on the floor.

“That isn’t a good enough answer.” His voice was gravel and broken glass as he flicked the switch. Prorok’s vision went white as electricity ran through the metal of the chair and burned against his insides. Snot and drool rolled undignified from his nostrils and mouth as he shook against the ground, his body taken over by the white hot heat that coursed through it. As suddenly as it had started, it stopped, leaving his sight blurry with tears and pain as he gasped from the breath he’d been choked of as his body had seized.

“Let’s try a new question. Where do the Akuma keep their captives?” Keith’s fingers kept their hold on the switch as he stared intently as Prorok as if he could lift the answers straight from his mind with sheer willpower. His captive continued to struggle for breath as his heart hammered against the back of his sternum. He had barely heard the question over the heartbeat that pounded in his ears. Fear was deafening him as he realized he was going to die there.

“I don’t- I don’t know where Shiro is,” he stammered through a sob of mucus and tears. “Please.” Any fight he had left in him dissipated as he saw Keith’s fingers twitch over the switch.

“Keith,” a new voice cut through the din of his cries as another Raion joined them. There was a brief moment of silence before the oyabun turned his attention to his subordinate in the doorway with a quick nod to say what he needed to say. Prorok kept his eyes trained on the light switch.

“We received a package.” The newcomer’s voice was hushed as if he didn’t want to divulge the information to his leader. He felt himself tense against the ropes as he realized it was the package he’d delivered to their temple.

“What is it?” Keith asked sharply, annoyance coloring his tone. The mauve fire flickered back over Prorok before returning to the man in the doorway. His answering sigh was filled with unease.

“We don’t know. It’s-” a pause as he chose his words. “It’s for you.” The Raion’s gaze met Prorok’s once more before he gave a curt nod to his subordinate. Pushing away from the table, he held the tortured man’s stare with a look of vehemence and disdain.

The sharp amethyst of his eyes were the last thing Prorok saw before Keith flipped the switch and left the room.

***

His waka gashira stood around the package in the meeting room, staring down at it with suspicion. It was an unassuming brown box about three feet long and five inches wide as well as deep, and yet something about the simple cardboard made Keith’s skin crawl.

“Where did you get this?” He asked, his voice breathless as his fingers dragged over one of the edges. A small, rust colored stain had bled through the corner, leaving an ominous blemish on the otherwise light brown material.

“It was outside the temple.” Hunk’s voice was colored with a gruff edge as he reached into his pocket to pull out a folded half sheet of paper. “This was with it.” Ice filled his veins as he took the note. A weight settled across his chest as he took a steadying breath. His fingers trembled against the paper as he unfolded it, dread pooling in his gut as he read the words.

We want the real Crimson Lion.

Blood roared in his ears as his shaking hands reached for the box. A prophetic knowing feeling was gnawing at his insides like worms through dirt. He could feel the holes it left leaving his nerve endings bare for all to see as his fingers ghosted over the cardboard and found the edge of the box. His entire being screamed for him to open it while also simultaneously begging him to leave it closed. With a steadying breath, his fingers dipped between the lid and body of the box so he could tug it off.

Color fell away from the world around him as it stopped with a violent shudder. Everything was void of color, descending into a monochromatic scene of whites, grays and blacks, and all Keith wanted to do was paint it all red.

Red with his rage.

Red with his revenge.

Red with their blood.

An animalistic cry tore from his throat, shredding his vocal chords and leaving the metallic taste of blood in its wake. Three pairs of eyes watched him with a mix of worry and fear.

Before them in the box, nestled in brown packing paper, was Shiro’s arm.

[takeyoutoskull]

POINTS

“Ayo???????”

The point is returned. Obisidian's face, as always, looks as cold as ever... But anyone in Team Skull knows he's practically jumping with joy at the sight of them.

"Oy, Runt. You king of the tree yet or what?"

Flannel, his Midnight Lycanroc, joins Sid in striking the Skull pose.

[takeyoutoskull]

"why do you guys look like that?"

-locurasfantasmagoria

@locurasfantasmagoria

The masculine skull grunt signs at Ezekiel, amused by the question.

"[Hard to say. Could be genetics. Why do you look the way you do?]"

[takeyoutoskull]

Tag Dump!

[takeyoutoskull]

"[Po Town... Yeah. It does get pretty dreary, but there are plenty a'clearer days. Kinda sucks when we realized that all that rain can make some serious mildew problems crop up.]"

"[tfw the truants have t'clean up after themselves...]"

[takeyoutoskull]

Gay fish bracelets for the both of them :)

Oh...

Oh, fuck yeah.

[takeyoutoskull]

[Huh... Unovan Express, Platinum.]

He reaches down and taps at it for a moment.

[Betcha I can make it into somethin' sharp.]

“Anybody want a free credit card?”

They have. They have six credit cards. Why do they have six credit cards?

[takeyoutoskull]

    HOENN REALLY BE poppin’ off tonight, though.

"Damn. Why do they look like Power Rangers though?"

“Ain’t that just a rule in the Team Blank Handbook? I think the only reason big G ain’t got us in jumpsuits is ‘cause we threw the handbook into th’pool.”

[takeyoutoskull]

@oliver-frost​:

He could feel it. The glare sent shivers up his spine— He’d spent his life in Alola, and he KNEW that outfit, that emblem , that … Street punk bastard posture,

And he wanted nothing to do with it. He wasn’t any kind of interest to team skull! Maybe he could just -

Oliver turns on his heel and tries his best to skitter away without provoking this guy who was CLEARLY not in a good mood.

What was he squinting at so severely...?

Before long, the dark blue-haired teen stood up straight from his spot leaning against the wall, and began to follow after Oliver after stopping for a moment.

“Hey. You.”

A sharp, lower-toned voice reverberated from the masked teen as he kept his eyes trained on the other. He’s coming after him, a fist clenched.

[takeyoutoskull]

Mery slam dunks an empty wire wastebin over Sid's head and then Runs.

Oops, there’s a Midnight Lycanroc, who was EAGER to pounce on something the next chance he got. The wastebin clatters over his head, but Sid remains stiff as a board for a few moments… He kneels down and stares Mery in the eyes as the wastebin clattered away.

“…Afternoon to you too.”Sid picks up a permanent marker. Time to add some more tattoos.

@skullxcrushed