#I felt so much better after doing stuff

[basket-of-radiants]

Why were you so disappointed by Rhythm of War?

This has been sitting in my askbox for years. I've taken several cracks at answering, only to get frustrated with the subject matter and burn myself out every time. I didn't like Rhythm of War. More than that, I didn't like it in a way that tainted my enjoyment of the entire series. And despite what it may seem, I don't actually enjoy discussing things which I don't like. I always want to talk from a place of good faith. Which is why now that my feelings towards the series are a little more positive, I think I can finally answer this.

I'm going to try to stay away from specific plotpoints and story beats for this post, because my goal isn't to nitpick (if for no other reason than it would take a week to write this post), I'm just looking to talk about my overall impressions. I think that might mean the only spoilers here will be structural? idk, if you haven't read Rhythm of War yourself then you should probably do that before looking for other people's opinions anyway. 

I liked Way of Kings when I first read it. I didn't love it at the time, but I liked it. Certainly enough to keep reading once I'd finished. One thing that made me a bit uncomfy, however, was the war against the Parshendi. They were this unknowable enemy which the book was not interested in knowing. An inhuman army. Their main purpose was to kill Kaladin's friends, or else be killed by Dalinar's armies. And yet the Parshendi, and the parshmen in the form of Shen, did show hints of personhood. And so it bothered me how Dalinar spoke so casually about how the Alethi had decimated their numbers, how the others used the war as a means to amass wealth and power. (It didn't bother me in a "this is a bad book" way but in a "these characters are bad people" way.)

One of my foibles as a reader is that when a book is very clearly treating one side of a conflict with more humanity, I tend to be a bit predisposed towards the other to account for that. And with the Alethi clearly being the invading party and superior military force, there was also some underdog favoritism. I didn't really like how the book treated the Parshendi. This is to say that going forward, the singers would be more important to me than any other through line.

So imagine my delight at reading Words of Radiance and meeting Eshonai, one of the Parshendi, who even gets her own point of view sections! They were no longer being treated as a faceless mass, we were getting to see things from their perspective as well. And it became plain to see the damage the Alethi had done to them. I couldn't really bring myself to root for Dalinar or really any of the humans against the listeners. I couldn't even bring myself to like most of these characters. I still enjoyed the book but once it became clear there wouldn't be a peaceful conclusion, let's just say that I wouldn't have wept for Dalinar and Adolin if Szeth had managed to off them. Like everyone in the book, I assumed that going forward all the parshmen would be turned into evil voidbringers in the everstorm and that the listeners were mostly dead. Except for Rlain, and Eshonai because I'd read or been told that book 4 would be Eshonai's book and thus had assumed she was fine. (Oathbringer spoilers, she was not fine.) So ultimately it was still a bit of a downer way to end the book. 

So imagine my delight at reading Oathbringer, where for the first time singers were being treated as people, full and real people, and where the human characters could no longer ignore or dismiss them. We met Khen and the others, common singers who were sympathetic and just wanted freedom from bondage. We see Venli grapple with the loss of her home. We see Leshwi and Moash connecting with and understanding one another. We learn of a history where singers were the original inhabitants of the planet. Parallel to this, Dalinar is having a truly excellent character arc about confronting one's past actions and acknowledging them to move forward and do better. I loved Oathbringer, for some years it was my favorite book, and I was excited as hell to see what came next. At the time, it seemed to me that there is a clear direction the story is going. Two books about needless war, and then a third where the main cast is forced to acknowledge the personhood of their enemies. This was so cool, all of my feelings from the previous installments were being validated, the characters were going to have to face what they've done in the past and outgrow their militaristic mindsets, I was so sure of that.

Imagine my disappointment when that does not even remotely resemble the direction the story went in Rhythm of War. RoW presented a clear, straightforward “us vs. them" narrative, where every character was totally fine with killing singers. Characters aligned with the singers were either flattened into wholly evil versions of themselves (Moash) or were expected to turn on their side in favor of the humans (Venli.) Because clearly there was no reason good people would be on the side that's all former slaves trying to stay free. Maybe there's some sort of accord or understanding between Navani and Raboniel that I might have found meaningful if the seeds of mutual understanding weren't already there in Oathbringer and then apparently ignored for a year by all the characters.

I have a lot of issues with how the listeners are handled in these books. (Here's some elaboration.) Following OB, I had thought that all my concerns were going to be addressed. Following RoW, I knew they never would be. 

Which is my main complaint, because that's the thread that matters most to me in this series.

I have a lot of other Things as well. Gonna just talk about a few big ones. 

One outsized source of disappointment that may seem a little petty, and which probably is, is that I felt mislead by the premise of the book. It had been announced that this book would center Venli and Eshonai, and I was unbelievably hyped for that. That did not really turn out to be the case. The purpose for their backstory chapters felt less about exploring them as people and contextualizing their arcs, and more about filling in gaps of world history. In the main plot, Venli was a POV character and she certainly played a role, but honestly not a very important one overall. To me she felt like a side character in her own book. I don't think it's controversial to say that the main character of RoW was Navani. A lot of people really like Navani and are happy about that. Unfortunately I'm not one of those people, and I found it all the more difficult to enjoy her when it felt like it was coming at the expense of some of my favorite characters. 

This particular gripe somewhat comes down to preference, obviously everyone prefers to read about characters they like more than those they don't, and it can go both ways. (For instance, on a craft/technical level RoW is probably the superior book to W&T, but I liked the latter a lot more because of my stupidly outsized attachment to Szeth and Nale.) But I do think there's something of a real criticism in how the book would rather focus on the feelings of a queen rather than those of a genocide survivor, and how the former's are given significantly more weight and import. It ties in with my main criticism, I think. 

And then there's how human/human racism had also been wholly cast aside as a plot point. Jasnah fixed slavery so that's resolved, and the only person who still cares about structural racism is the evil bad bad evil villain Moash/Vyre, who is now wholly irredeemable and who you're allowed to totally write off because he's sold his soul to Odium. I've already talked a lot about this. Other people have already talked about this, probably better than me. The writing was actually on the wall for me in OB, but again, RoW was when I fully accepted that this was never going to be addressed. 

There's something else that probably deserves its own discussion rather than being quickly tacked on at the end here, but here we are. This book changed how the series approaches war. 

In WoK, war was very clearly portrayed as a bad and inglorious thing. It was brutal, it was painful, those at the bottom died cruelly and unceremoniously and pointlessly while those at the top turned a profit. Every day was a new horror. The enemy were never evil, they were always just more people forced to go through the same thing. Through the next couple books, it felt to me that even if the characters had accepted war as necessary, there was still a tragedy to it. Conversely, in RoW (and W&T) war is basically a series of boss battles, in between which our protagonists can kill dozens of footsoldiers with barely a thought in the same way WoK had criticized.

Final note on all this, it sucks how we have no perspectives from the former-slaves-singers demographic. Those guys are really thrown under the bus, and seemingly get no self-determination now or ever. It was a glaring problem to me in RoW. Conscripted and enslaved humans and singers probably have just as much ground to form mutual understanding as a fused and a queen. (In fact they already had. In Oathbringer.)

In essence, RoW disappointed me because it left me with the distinct impression that none of the series's most important through lines (well, most important to me) were going to be resolved well. I liked W&T, but I haven't revised my opinion very much about the overall handling of these topics across the series. Maybe one of the reasons I was able to enjoy W&T so much more was because I no longer had such high expectations.

[leciraofthewilderness]

So, despite some faults, I really enjoyed totk, and on its anniversary I want to say something about it. Other people have said similar things before but it’s really important to me and actually a big part of why the story of totk was meaningful to me, so I want to also say it:

Zelda needed to come back from draconification. The story needed that. It wasn’t lazy and just ignoring “consequences” because (imo) that was the *point*

The point is to feel like there are going to be terrible consequences and then say actually, no. You can come back from this, with the help of other people.

To me at least, that was the theme of the whole story.

If botw was about how the world goes on past loss and grief and starts to heal (how flowers grow in the ruins and the world can be beautiful again, be worth saving, even if it has changed)…then totk was about a more personal kind of healing.

The weight of the world should not be on your shoulders alone…you, alone, should not have to fix everything…you should not have to sacrifice yourself, but when you do, someone will be there to save you from it.

This turned into a really long ramble so:

You (Link) gained so much and now it’s gone. It feels like you’re back to where you started and yet you know you have to do it all again…you were weak and you failed and you’re weaker now…but

You go down to the surface. Monsters swarm across it once again. Other people are fighting them too though. You help, but it’s not just you…

You go to the Rito, the Gorons, the Zora, the Gerudo…just like with the divine beasts, there are friends who help you save each region. But this time, part of them comes along with you when you leave. It’s nice, you realize, the first time one of them protects you from a monster you weren’t prepared for. You’re still weaker than you were before, but someone has your back…

When you go up to the sky you see a strange new dragon there. There’s something about them that feels familiar. You try not to think about it.

You go down to the depths too. It’s terrifying at first. You hate it. You only want to get what you came for and get out of the dark….but slowly, the light grows. You get stronger. The dark feels like a challenge you can face (and someone has your back).

There are spirits down there. You don’t know when they’re from, but some part of you wonders…are these all the people you let die in the Calamity? (You help them find rest from their wandering. The weight on your shoulders feels a little less heavy).

There’s so much gloom. The first few times the sky turns red and hands chase you (a reminder of what you’ve lost, how you failed) you just run. Eventually though, you have to fight. It feels like the (second) worst day of your life again. But you manage to get free of the grasping gloom and stand and fight, as wild and desperate as it is. Beneath the manifestation of your worst fears, there’s another thing to fight, but this time it has a face (a voice in the back of your head says…you know this isn’t all on you and your failure…it’s really Ganon’s fault right?). You get through it.

At every turn in your travels, it seems like something reminds you of Zelda. Her passion, her curiosity, her kindness. You miss her.

At first, the tears you find reassure you. She may be in the past, but she’s safe. She’ll come back somehow…but then you hear the word draconification for the first time. You want to believe she wouldn’t do it but you know her and the fear sits cold inside you. (Zelda is a lot of things. She’s been allowed to be more of them, since she was freed from her hundred year battle, without her father holding her back. But deep down inside her, there’s a vein of self-sacrifice that still runs strong. It’s what saved the world before, after all).

She did it. She really did it. She’s gone from you (from Hyrule) forever, and it’s all your fault. If only you hadn’t failed so utterly in the battle (you can hardly even call it that) under the castle. If only you’d caught her. If only you hadn’t let the sword break. You should have protected her you should have been better it’s all your fault and now she has to live with the consequences, forever. Everything really is on you, you should have been better.

(Zelda POV: you couldn’t call upon Hylia’s power in time, you were too content to let it wither and fade away from you, ready to be free of it. You shouldn’t have. He got hurt, the sword got hurt, it’s your fault…Sonia and Rauru help you channel it again, Sonia helps you learn how to turn back time…but you don’t save her. She dies because you couldn’t save her. Rauru dies not long after. There is no one left to guide you, once again. You could spend years trying to figure it out on your own. But you did that last time. It didn’t work. Self-sacrifice, stepping in front of someone you love, that worked. (You do what you can, to call upon the sages, to help Link in the future, first). And then you swallow the stone. You’ve come a long way, in the past five years, allowing yourself to exist. But in the end, self-sacrifice worked last time. It’ll work this time too.)

You (Link) go down beneath the castle. You were supposed to bring the sages but you didn’t. It’s nice, for someone to have your back. But no one else should get hurt to fix your mistakes.

They follow you anyway. They fight with you, against the hordes, against the greatest enemies you defeated together, along the way. They’ll have your back, even if you don’t think you deserve it.

You fight Ganondorf, and then the demon king, in the hardest battle of your life. You think it’s over and then the demon king decides it’s better to lose himself completely than let you win. You’re exhausted and afraid of yet another battle, but up there in the sky, when you’re falling, the Light Dragon catches you (you wonder why she changed her path to catch you, you wonder if there’s still something of Zelda left in there to save). With her help, you win.

And then you’re in some other realm. The spirits of Sonia and Rauru are there. You remember how the two of them and Zelda channeled such incredible power together. You think about Recall. Turning something back to the memory of what it was before, like Sonia said. You stand with them and you allow yourself to hope. Maybe the Light Dragon can remember the form she took so long ago, the person that she was.

And then you’re falling, and Zelda is falling, but this time you catch her. You catch her. She’s back home with you, finally, finally.

And maybe, one mistake doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You don’t have to be perfect. Sometimes, someone else can stand with you, and it’ll all turn out alright. (You can put the weight of the world on your shoulders, you can sacrifice yourself, but someone will be there to catch you, someone will be there to pull you back to yourself, when all is said and done).

[spotaus]

New Age AU (The Magic Retreats)

Hi guys!!! So, I wrote this one in a fit of passion, but here's a brief take 2 on the most important chapter of the fic and the first one I posted! (In which Night becomes Tiny again :] ) As always this drabble is unedited and un-checked so uhh. Good luck!

(HI @ancha-aus , @papiliovolens , and @mutzelputz welcome back!)

   The days felt like they were growing longer again. Maybe it was the change of the seasons, or the workload ramping up again making his nights bleed into his mornings. No matter the case, Nightmare was lucky to have moments of rest from his endless piles of debts and taxes and laws and requests that were strewn all about his office. They were nice, neat, piles now, but they seemed to be an endless cycle. He'd solve one problem and it would result in a new report of catastrophe somewhere else.

   Often, he wondered whether it was that his Mother's ruling style had truly worked, or if she'd ignored it. After all, she'd been a God amongst mortals, why would she care for a few challenged livelihoods amidst her paradise?

   The sharp clash of metal on magic drew Nightmare's attention back to the present. Against all odds, he'd managed to convince Cross to start training his sword again. When Cross had first started getting lessons to properly control his magic, harnessing even whisps of Nightmare's own spells on occasion, he'd quickly neglected his physical training. Over the last few weeks, Nightmare had voiced his worry that Cross might find himself up against another foe like Dust. One who he couldn't simply control. He needed to re-learn his old battle tactics. Only then, he'd promised, they would move on to harnessing both at once.

   So, now, he was sparring against Horror in the training room. Nightmare sat off to the side on the benches, Dust and Killer on either side of him watching intently. Two of his tendrils hovered readily before him, ready to pounce to intercept any wayward attacks or truly dangerous intent, though he trusted his Knight to not put his newest comrade in any real danger. The other two tendrils lay lax behind the bench, curling comfortably beneath where his other Knights sat at his sides.

   These were the sorts of daily distractions he enjoyed. Which pulled him away from the stress of the papers and the outside world. He could focus solely on his charges and how best to help them. They helped him so often, he just wanted to return the favor.

   His eyelight followed the movements, as Horror stayed more or less right on Cross's tail. His axe swung slower than normal, and it was obvious he was taking the training seriously without giving Cross a heart-attack from the force of his normal blows. It wasn't often Nightmare allowed them to pair up precisely because of that. Horror had no magic for Cross to control, none that would help him at least. Meanwhile, Horror's brute strength could snap Cross like a twig if something were to go slightly awry.

   A swing of the axe, Cross's longsword cracking against the handle as he blocked. A push-off, sending Cross back a few steps before he swung. Missed. The axe was on him again, this time towards his side. Cross jumped over it, swung his sword. Missed again. The axe came in again, from above. A narrow block, one which forced Cross to his knee, before Horror let up.

   Horror was simply a marvel of physical combat. He hadn't been a good fighter when Nightmare met him, but he'd learned very quickly. From watching the guards, from listening to Nightmare. Though, Nightmare was almost positive Killer had actually been his biggest influence. Killer, the cockpit, single Knight at that time. He'd taken Dust under his supervision at the time, practically heading the dismantling of the crime rings Dust knew so well all on his own. Meanwhile, Nightmare was working with Horror to understand how to fix the farming situation across the kingdom. Once things settled, and Nightmare expressed interest in having Horror stick around, it was Killer who showed off in combat training. Horror spun off his feet and pushed off his hands in the way expected of a much smaller, leaner, monster. Very similar to how Killer fought when he was playing around.

   It was evidently too unfamiliar for Cross. He'd been taught formal swordplay, but here in this kingdom? That was about as useful as playing with a slingshot and trying to operate a trebuchet. It seemed similar, but it could only get one so far.

   Cross had been steadily improving, of course. Just a year or so ago, Cross had been besting all the rest of the royal guard out on the training field. But placed against Killer, the best of the best at practical combat, no holds bar? He'd fumbled. Now, Nightmare knew Cross could hold his own against his proudest Knight. That meant a lot in such a short time. Pride filled his chest at the thought, as he watched the two of them clash again and again.

   He knew his time was running short for today. He'd had Dust and Killer work on their team-building and attack him earlier on in training while Cross and Horror were warming up. As he already knew, they were chatty, but very efficient in their coordination.

   "On your left!" Killer would call out. Dust would simply duck as Killer instead vaulted over his head as though emerging from the shorter Knight's shadow, knife in hand, glowing red with energy.

   Killer's use of deceptive verbal cues was a talent he'd come up with all his own. Nightmare remembered him pestering Dust over it every dinner for a week after he'd first thought of it. Dust had seemed annoyed at first, but Nightmare could tell after the first session of them trying it out, against him? He'd been unaware, and if his magic didn't work separate from his mind on occasion, they would have gotten him in the first two minutes.

   They'd used it again earlier, and even after several years it still kept Nightmare on his toes. He figured that was why he felt tired as he watched the two locked in mock battle before him. The cognitive challenges did tend to make his socket heavy with sleep. And he hated to admit it, but he always knew about when to end their afternoon trainings, because it lined up with when his mind would start to lag. Even years later, his body still seemed to respond to the familiar draw of a long-discarded bed time.

   He'd let them exchange a few more blows, before calling it off and ushering them all off to clean up before dinner. Even if he knew only Cross and Dust would go wash up. Horror would go change out of his training gear into clean clothes, he hated to look messy at the dinner table, abd Killer would simply stick to his side like glue.

   It never was a point of complaint, he appreciated the commitment, but sometimes he really did wish he'd at least take a moment to swap clothes. Sometimes he tracked all sorts of dirt and scraps of magic out of the training room and into the halls.

   Mm. The clashing seemed to have reached a rhythm. That meant Cross had gotten familiar with Horror's movement patterns again. It never lasted long, Horror was very adaptable, but it did mean that Cross would be locked into the stalemate now, or it'd be an easy defeat for Horror. Better to call it now and send them off with a bit of praise. They never ceased to impress him, they'd all grown so much.

   "Alright, end the match." he called. It didn't take hardly a moment for the order to register after his voice carried to the two monsters.

   Cross was the first to pull away, with Horror letting his swing fall short and his Axe's momentum swing up and into the air. He caught the grip and almost immediately stuffed it back into its own holster along his back. Cross sheathed his sword, and while a bit out of breath, he still grinned triumphantly and bowed amicably to Horror. Horror returned it with a nod. Their little ritual.

   "Wonderful work today, all of you." Nightmare announced, his front two tendrils slinking back to his sides as they no longer had danger to be hyper aware of. To defend against. "Tomorrow, I want to see you two spar again, I believe you are making great leaps in progress, Cross. Dust will provide you both with terrain obstacles in the form of erratic magic attacks to simulate a more turbulent battle field and provide Horror with more opportunity to practice dodging." The suggestion seemed well-recieved, and Nightmare let his good eyelight turn to Killer, who sat grinning beside him. "Killer, you and I will be doing more endurance training for your magic."

   "Looking forward to it, my Lord," Killer replied.

   That made Nightmare chuckle a bit. Once upon a time, Killer would tense up at the premise of magic training. Then, as he grew bolder, groan at the mention. He was not proficient in the sort of magic Cross, Dust, or he himself relied on, but his preferred weapon was a knife or two summoned by his own soul. Since it was magic, Nightmare insisted he learn to better sustain and alter it rather than letting it atrophy in the wake of his extensive physical training. Now, seeing him grin lazily at the idea, not a worry weighing on his soul? It made Nightmare feel a lot more justified in making the rambunctious Knight do the more "boring" practical training.

   "If we understand what to expect for the afternoon tomorrow, then you are dismissed. I will see you all at dinner," he declared. Humor filled his chest at the warmth which rolled off his knights at the mention of food. Dinner was always cooked by Ccino, and Ccino was the best cook. Nightmare would know.

   He watched as Cross gave a little salute before he turned on his heel to begin to follow Horror's lumbering gait towards the heavy doors separating this room from the hall. The newest Knight's voice was quiet, but excitable as he started to reflect on his techniques to Horror. He always debriefed after a training.

   Beside him, Dust swung forward off the bench and landed silently, already moving to follow the other two. His body-language always seemed disgruntled, and his expression was hidden under his darkened hood, but Nightmare knew he was pleased with his work tonight. Content with what he had accomplished.

   "Cross is gettin' a lot faster." Killer's voice was calm beside him, and Nightmare followed the other's hollow gaze to where the other three were discarding their gear, hanging it up on the racks near the door where they always stored the supplies.

   Four spaces, one for each knight. Killer had gouged his name into the wooden base of his own years ago.

   "I agree." Nightmare let one of his tendrils wrap at the ground around a leg of the bench. "It helps that he is eager and willing to improve on his skills. And that he has others to lean on as he continues to learn."

   Killer's scoff quickly devolved into a laugh at the thinly veiled praise. It wasn't unusual of him to slip it into conversation. A quick, gentle nudge of praise. Acknowledgement and appreciation. Killer had heard to most of it, and Nightmare often worried he'd find it insincere.

   As far as he knew, he never did.

   "You should go put up your armor as well." Nightmare suggested, nudging at Killer's back with a tendril.

  

   "Yes, sir." Killer chimed, the sharpness of his laughter still on his tongue.

   Nightmare rose simply, and Killer pushed off the bench with a quick hop. His feet planted, and Nightmare waited for him to take a step towards where the others were before moving to follow. It felt right, to see them all in one spot. Relaxed.

   He moved to follow Killer's quick steps, only... All at once his vision seemed to double, and he halted himself. He could feel his tendrils lash out, moving to stabilize him against the floor of the training room. He still stood upright, just barely, but it seemed all his balance had left him. Instinctively, in a fit of habit, he shut his good socket and took a moment. The swaying feeling he was gripped by, even after a deep breath an counting to five, did not fade. The darkness which usually seemed to calm him only seemed to make the swaying worse. He could not tell if the motion was coming from him, or I the ground beneath him was shifting like the deck of a boat. Without his vision he couldn't orient up versus down, let alone find his stability again.

   Opening his good socket provided him with orientation, though his vision still danced and swirled. He was looking down, down towards the brick ground, from the space behind his palm. When did he place his hand to his socket? The view included his legs, which he recognized now were shaking, and his tendrils which were trying to hold him in place.

   And...

   He jolted at the contact he could see but hadn't felt in the slightest. He skull reeled up so that he could see who had touched him. One hand on his elbow. The other- when did he grab Killer's arm? When had Killer turned around to look at him? Why was Killer looking at him like that?

   It was Killer, who had ahold of him, though he couldn't feel the Knight's touch, and he couldn't tell if he was gripping the other's arm at all. Though he was, he could see it.

   His vision warped again with the quick movement. A desperate bid to look past Killer. Was there a threat? The blurry form of Dust shot past him, he thought. Horror and Cross still seemed to be by the door.

   The ceiling. Why was he looking at the ceiling? No, wait, the floor now. It grew closer, in the space between himself and Killer, as the opening for him to see it grew smaller. Then he couldn't see it at all, his vision replaced swiftly by- training gear. The leather smell invaded his senses as the rest failed him. He couldn't feel Killer, though he knew the knight was near to him. That, as far as he could tell, Killer had caught him. That he'd sunken to the ground under his own weight.

   Why?

   His socket wasn't being helpful. It seemed, from what he saw, that his tendrils were trying to melt away as they moved errantly to slap onto Killer's back or the ground beyond. Surely that wasn't right? His tendrils had never wavered. He shut his socket again, letting his skull sink into the training armor again.

   It didn't occur to him for a few moments, that he couldn't hear his knights, until he suddenly could.

   The voices were loud and grating, breaking his wobbling darkness once again as he tried to force his socket back open. What was wrong with him?

   "Horror, I said go get Ccino! Now!" Killer. He'd know that voice anywhere, though he didn't like the angry tone. Like fire spitting from his tongue seemingly right above Nightmare's skull. "This isn't some sort of test, I- I don't know what this is. It can't be good."

   Nightmare tried to reach out. Not physically, it felt he still couldn't control his limbs. No, he tried to sense. Did the others know what was wrong with him? Was the rising panic in his chest originating from his own emotions or theirs? Had... had one of them done something?

   No, it wasn't them.

   "Shit." Somewhere behind him, he heard Dust's voice hiss. "His magic levels are dropping. And fast."

   For a second, Nightmare was stunned. What did he mean his magic levels were dropping? Though, it made sense. Somewhere deep in his chest he could feel it, the swaying motion as his magic tried to peel away from his bones. He-

   "What do you-" Killer still sounded frustrated, and he too spat an expletive a moment later.

   Nightmare, for the briefest moment, thought he felt touch again against his skull. He let his blurry socket fall closed again, the vision only worsening as his magic rocked with unseen waves of revulsion.

   "Cross, try to grab his magic," Killer ordered.

   The familiar splattering of the young Night would've been comforting, if the suggestion didn't fill him with dread. Killer knew better than that. They'd agreed Cross could only touch on controlling his magic. Nothing more. It was too vast.

   "W-what! I- I shouldn't-" Cross attempted to stammer a defense, but Killer was quicker with words. Always had been.

   "Just try. Now. Hold it in place and see if it stablizes." The command was a lot more controlled than the previous one, but his tone was leaving no room for error. "When the King and Ccino are unavailable, I'm in charge. Listen to me."

   Nightmare had never heard Killer take charge in such a way before, and in his haze he might've written it off as a product of his imagination. All of this being some sort of weird hallucination. But he felt the invasive force of Cross' magic snake over his bones.

   He'd felt it before, a sort of blanket or hand-hold aimed at the ends if his tendrils which could make them twitch a bit with Cross's own will. This time he felt it creep up the length of his spine and dig unseen claws into his shoulder blades. He could feel it, just like he could now feel Killer's chin and shoulder, where his skull had been tucked. He could feel the hand supporting his back, the other his side. He felt limp as the forceful magic washed over him.

   Nightmare gagged.

   Cross's magic caught on something, like a hook finding the fish, and for a brief few moments, Nightmare felt like he had a ball of gunk in his non-existant gut. Something heavy and feral, trying to escape.

   For just a moment, he regained a breath of awareness. He felt his Knight supporting his weight, he felt the nakedness of his back where his tendrils had completely abandoned him, he felt the emotions of the three still with him. Fear. Confusion. Anger. He didn't like it much. He still couldn't move his limbs.

   And just as quickly as it was stable, the hold on the wild magic slipped away. Like the fish had broken the string.

   It flowed up, like the force of a dam finally released. Through his ribcage, past his shoulders where Cross's magic seemed to dissipate all at once, into his mouth.

   Nightmare regained some semblance of control over his body at that moment. As the magic seemed to rush towards freedom. He shoved away from Killer all at once, the chill of the stone hitting his palms heavily and his socket opening if only to watch as he lost it. That dark, thick, sticky magic that had marked him as a bad omen. That had gifted him the power to rule in place of his twin. Protect those he loved.

    It spilled to the stone before him, and he was stunned to watched that, as he heaved suddenly labored breaths, it sunk away. Disappeared. Just like that, instead of his familiar darkness, the protective shield, the instinctive defense he had grown to know, he was staring at the floor. And the space in which his wobbling arms hid under too-big sleeves, and from the cuffs escaped perfect, pearly-white bone. Bone he could never seem to reach no matter how hard he scrubbed with water and soap. Bones that seemed so frail in the torchlight.

   "My king?"

   Nightmare let his eyelight raise from the ground. It wasn't as wobbly anymore, his vision slowly coming back to normal. He still took his time trailing from the ground, to look at Killer's pants. He was on his knees, hardly an arm's length away. Then the edges of his chestplate. His arms were outstretched, hovering barely away from touching Nightmare. He shook at the closeness, but didn't dare try to move. Killer's soul was wobbling. Nightmare's boww furrowed at the sight. It was very small, but he'd always notice the little changes and moves. Though, he noticed an absence of something at the back of his skull as he stared. Something missing.

   Killer's face was last. He looked serious, his dark sockets not a new sight, but Nightmare hardly saw Killer so serious. He'd seen the look before. Usually when he'd see someone bothering Ccino. It had always been brief, quickly disguised under his patented sadistic grin. Killer just watched him now. As though he was sone glass sculpture ready to tip off the end of the table.

   He hated, as he stared, that he couldn't- he could feel-

   He tried to shift, to whip his head to look for the knight he knew should've been behind him. And he was right, of course. A glimpse of Dust's shadowed skull and tense body-language told Night he was on high-alert, but Nightmare hadn't been able to feel him. Hadn't sensed his presence at all. No emotions, no aura, no nothing.

  

   "Woah, steady!" Killer yelped as Nightmare felt himself tilt.

   Looking up at Dust had disoriented him. The weight distribution was different now. His body listed to the side, and he flinched when arms wrapped around at his sides and tugged his upper half onto soft fabric. Killer's legs. Killer had caught him.

   "My king, Nightmare, it's you, right?" He sounded the same. Something told Nightmare he was uncertain.

   "Y-" His attempt to speak was short-lived. His voice wasn't right. It was high-pitched and raw. All the rumble and low tones entirely missing. He couldn't be sure if he stopped on account of keeping his pride alive, or if he feared speaking in a voice he hadn't heard in years.

   It didn't help that he couldn't feel them. No matter how much he tried, the only feeling in his chest was his own solitary anxiety. Balling up tighter and tighter, an old friend come home again. If he could tell what they were thinking- if he could know if he was safe...

   He bit back his panic, holding in the weakness which was threatening to give him away. Though, what else was there to give? If he was right, then the prophecy had finally rejected him. Left him as an offering to a pack of wolves.

   Nightmare knew he was shaking, but some irrational part of him thought that if he kept his socket shut that this would all be some absurd night terror and he'd wake up cozy in his bed, or exhausted at his desk, or maybe passed out on the floor. Somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  

   "What's wrong?" That voice was deeply familiar, and all at once Nightmare felt like he had a surge of strength. "Why did Horror rush me back here? Where is our King?" It was Ccino. He sounded more frustrated than anything else, but he didn't need to feel his emotions to know the rise to his tone. The worry buried there.

   "We finished training and everything was fine," Killer explained, tone as even as he could muster, "But when we were on our way out, he just collapsed."

   Nightmare pitied him, having to tell Ccino any sort of bad news. Nightmare didn't think as he attempted again to shove himself up. If only to catch a glimpse of Ccino.

   As he peered barely over Killer's shoulder, he saw what the others did. Ccino had some sort if flour or wheat all down the front of his nice apron, and a few streaks along the thighs of hid pants from where he'd probably wiped his hands along the way. His expression was a mix of concern and fury that set Nightmare's soul into a pretzel-twist of regret, and his eyelights scanned the room as he rapidly approached Killer. Obviously looking for answers.

   Only, Ccino arrived to Killer's side, and his growing rage seemed to stop all at once, alongside his steps. He stared down at Nightmare with wide eyes. Nightmare stared up at him wearily. The king's sockets were beginning to water. Ccino's expression, the way his balled fists twitched and relaxed, the way he seemed to lose all the tension I'm his body, just getting a glimpse at him. Ccino recognized his face, no doubt about it.

   "Nightmare?" Ccino's voice was small.

   Nightmare fumbled a bit as he tried to launch away from Killer. Having Ccino so close to him simply... broke whatever had been holding back the emotional damage within. It didn't help in the slightest when Ccino crouched and immediately tugged him away from Killer and into a gentle bear-hug there on the floor.

   For the first time, in a very long time, he found that the welling of tears in his sockets didn't result in dark, tarlike, goop that fell in chunks down his skull. This time the tears were real, a transparent lilac which raced down his cheeks abd planted themselves against the fabric of Ccino's tunic and apron. He wasn't wearing his fur, he was smart like that.

   Ccino's arms wrapped around his back like they always did, and Nightmare felt himself slipping. Ccino was safe. He had always been safe.

   Nightmare didn't have time to begin sobbing as he had expected, or to even begin to hyperventilate into Ccino's shirt or curl into a ball against his chest. The moment Ccino nuzzled the side of his skull, his vision went blurry again.

   At the tightening of Ccino's grip, he heard Dust's voice again. "Magic-loss. A lot of it." Faintly rolled into his mind like a distance voice two doors over. He didn't quite catch when Killer started to speak again, or Ccino worriedly said his name. Dust was right, the magic was gone. Out of nowhere. It was a lot for his little body to handle.

[doctorweebmd]

last graduation celebration of my medical training happened last night and it was so beautiful and touching; for the first time it felt real and in that same sense, final. it felt like the perfect way to close the curtain on this phase and the start of the next.

goodbye academia. hello the rest of my actual life.

[smoshingatut]

I'm kinda tired of dungeon meshi fans blatantly misinterpreting Kabru's goals, motivations, and character so they can ship him with Laios...like obviously it's awesome if you enjoy Laikabu but can you nooot twist Kabru's intentions for involving himself with the guy who constantly triggers his monster trauma and pisses him off so bad he gets brain damage so that he turns into "the guy who wants to suck Laios's dick" as his entire character? I've even seen people cut off Kabru's words to make it seem like he is admiring Laios because it would disrupt that narrative

[miodiodavinci]

i saw that you used to hint at oc stuff on twitter (don't ask me why im digging im looking for zola stuff lmao) why don't you post more about them?

i am simply terrified that if i post oc things online someone will steal the concept and run with it faster and better than i ever could have and then i will be devastated forever and ever

more seriously i have very little to show for any of my oc things (adhd brain making life difficult as per usual awawawawawa) and every time i've shared oc things in the past i've ended up never following up on it and it makes me feel bad and guilty so i've just convinced myself i will Never talk about my ocs until i have something substantial i can put out there

[adore-gregor]

Ooof

Looking at old posts, sometimes you just ask yourself what was I thinking 😅

[pardonmydelays]

i also think it's kinda cool how tyler makes me want to learn stuff

[teamfortresstwo]

In a life swap AU rather than just a role swap I think it would be sooo fucked up if Patroclus swapped with Theseus and Achilles with Asterius

[lastnightonthecyclone]

Another fucking wip on fnaf because inconsistency is my skill

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

-.-

[dashiellqvverty]

my opinion on season 11 is that ian and mickey were all over the place from episode to episode and i ultimately wasn’t very happy with where it ended for them

[shalvis]

Xenoblade 1 is the best game like ever fucking made and it has two of the most dogshit sequels ever fucking made

[blueish-bird]

sorry if I don’t remember your name or conversations/experiences or basic things about myself, every few weeks my brain gets factory reset and I have to relearn how to be alive

[depresseddepot]

finally FINALLY finished watching the legend of korra. it only took me LITERALLY ten years

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

I ran this morning AND wrote some AND made art and I’m so proud of me