#okay now that I'm all emotional

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm sorry I let down my guard.

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[ministarfruit]

this is my non-spoiler review of the doppelgänger routes

[trensu]

Guess who's baaaaack! It's me, I'm back to writing. My laptop when kaput back in May and I've only recently gotten a replacement. In celebration of this, here's more of stasis in darkness. Enjoy :)

.

“Hello. I’ve wanted to meet you for years,” the god said. 

“Years? But, why would you want–? I’m–I’m no one, Lord.”

“Don’t say that.”

The god’s voice hadn’t gotten louder, yet his words carried a force that made the room tremble. The air became heavy with it. Wayne’s breathing grew haggard under the pressure of the words. Steve tossed out any idea of false privacy and crossed the room in a few steps to kneel at the other side of the bed. He took Wayne’s free hand to anchor him. Wayne didn’t so much as twitch in his direction but his knuckles went white as he gripped Steve’s hand.

“You gave me your spoils and your stories every night. I felt your love in every word you spoke to me. You’re the reason I’ve been able to exist this long. Wayne Munson, you are the most important person in the world to me."

Wayne let out a wordless cry. The hand in Steve's shook. Steve viscerally remembered how it felt to have the god’s attention like that for the first time. He also remembered how guilty the god sounded after he realized the effect he had on mortals. With a slight grimace, Steve discreetly nabbed the Lord of Night's attention. 

"I think that was a little too much," Steve suggested cautiously in a low tone barely audible over Wayne's sobs. "Maybe dial it back a little?"

The Lord of Night nodded abashedly. When he spoke again, the pressure in his speech noticeably lessened though the love in his words remained.

“So, you see, I needed to meet you in person. To thank you.”

The last part made Wayne weep louder. The grip he had on Steve’s hand increased in strength, and Steve was sort of relieved Wayne was an old man because even this frail, his hands were pretty damn strong. If he’d been any younger, Steve would’ve had bruises for sure. The god waited patiently as Wayne collected himself.

“My Lord, y-you–” Wayne gasped as his crying subsided. “I don’t deserve–”

“Wayne, you crazy old man, are you going to argue with your god?” the Lord of Night said in the same teasing tone he used with Steve all those nights in his pilgrimage. Wayne’s eyes widened.

“N-No! I’d never–!”

The god laughed, playful and bright as a star. Wayne halted his protests to stare in awe again. 

“You know, I usually encourage a bit of dissent but this time, I’m putting my foot down. You do deserve this, okay?”

Wayne nodded dazedly. He still watched the god with soft, warm eyes. His hand twitched in Steve’s as if he wanted to reach up to touch the god. Steve loosened his grip to allow it but Wayne didn’t follow through with the motion.

“...you remind me of someone,” Wayne whispered. The Lord of Night tilted his head curiously.

“Do I?” he asked. At Wayne’s nod, he added, “I hope it’s someone good. I know what people say about me these days, and let me tell you, it’s not super flattering. King of Darkness this and monster herder that, blah, blah, mean and scary, blah.”

“I know better than to pay any mind to hearsay,” Wayne replied. "I’ve found that most people are fools, my Lord." 

The Lord of Night laughed again. Wayne looked delighted. 

The rest of the night continued along the same line. The Lord of Night listened eagerly to Wayne’s every word as he reminisced about past heists and recalled fond childhood memories. Steve kept to himself, for the most part, letting the Lord of Night and his last believer bask in each other’s presence. Wayne stayed awake as long as he could but finally fell asleep as dawn approached. The Lord of Night began to fade as the first rays of the morning peeked through the bedroom window.

“Watch over him for me, please?” the Lord of Night asked Steve. “I’ll be back tonight.”

“Of course, Lord,” Steve replied. 

The sun broke past the horizon and the Lord of Night vanished. Steve took the stone from the bedside table. He wrapped it up carefully in cloth before returning it to his satchel. That level of care probably wasn’t necessary considering it was solid stone but it was the only thing they knew would keep the god tethered to this plane so far from his last shrine. Steve was charged with carrying his god's tether and he would not let him down by being careless with it.

It was also the only thing he had been given that belonged to his god. Typically, a holy warrior would be granted a symbol of their faith by a temple priest once a god had accepted the holy warrior’s offered service. Most of the time it would be a simple pendant or bracelet with a god’s sigil; a mass produced thing any follower could obtain, the only difference being that a holy warrior’s token would carry a particular blessing from the high priest. A holy warrior would carry that as a sign of their commitment until they’ve earned a more prestigious item to replace it during their years of service.

Steve’s journey so far has been as atypical as it could get. Most warriors traveled to their god's grandest temple. They recited that god's specific prayer for a holy warrior's offering, witnessed by a high priest who would then reveal whether the offering was accepted. Steve's god had no official prayers of any sort, much less temples or clergy. Steve's god couldn't really remember his own symbol aside from a vague outline of it; not nearly enough for it to be inscribed on even the simplest of tokens. 

Regardless, Steve wouldn't trade his experience for anything. Most holy warriors toiled for years, even decades, before getting a chance to meet their god. Steve met his god nearly at the beginning though he hadn't known it at the time. He'd been able to see him and speak to him. Steve’s humble offering of servitude had been accepted directly by his god rather than by priestly proxy. So what if his god wasn't able to grant him a token for his pledge? His presence was a privilege Steve would take over any boon.

It was a sentiment Steve knew Wayne understood. Steve scooted his chair closer to the bed where the old man lay sleeping. He wrapped a hand around Wayne's wrist to track his weak pulse, and settled in for his vigil.

–

Steve woke Wayne a handful of times to make sure he drank some water or ate some of the vegetable soup Steve had thrown together using whatever he’d picked from the garden the day before. They chatted for a while; Wayne telling Steve about his life before age and sickness caught up to him. Eventually, Steve was able to coax him back to sleep when it became obvious his energy was fading.

At some point in the day, Wayne’s temperature began to rise. Nothing worrisome yet, but dread trickled into Steve’s veins regardless. The old man had been fighting whatever ailed him for a while now. If a fever overcame him, Steve doubted Wayne would survive it.

When the Lord of Night appeared alongside the fading sunset, he seemed as worried as Steve. Wayne sat in bed, propped up by pillows Steve had strategically placed. His eyes were rheumy but steady.

“You’ve seen the Door already, haven’t you?” the Lord of Night asked Wayne dejectedly.

Wayne’s gaze strayed from the god. He glanced at the corner opposite of the bedroom door. His hands shook as he tried to point that direction. Steve didn't see any door there. The god took Wayne's hand between his own, tangible to his last believer even as he appeared more translucent than the night before.

“It showed up earlier today,” Wayne whispered. The god nodded.

“You don’t have to answer yet, but soon. Once you go through the Door, you’ll be in Death's domain. No god is allowed to enter there besides him. I would have lost my chance to meet you if we’d been delayed any longer.”

“Good thing you have Ser Steve. He got you here real quick from what he told me,” Wayne said with a crooked smile.

“Has he been talking himself up?” the god asked amusedly. “Trying to impress the boss?”

“It’s my first quest,” Steve butted in with mild exasperation borne of embarrassment. He hadn’t expected Wayne to mention him at all during his communion with the Lord of Night. “I have to make a good impression.”

“To make up for the first impression, huh?” the Lord of Night teased. 

Oh no, Steve thought when he caught Wayne’s curious look. He wanted to hide his face in his hands. That would be childish. Steve was a man so he was above that, unfortunately.

“Wayne,” the Lord of Night said with palpable mischief. “In exchange for all the stories you’ve given me these many years, what if I told you how I got my very first holy warrior?”

“I didn’t know better,” Steve groaned weakly in an effort to stop the story before it began in earnest. The Lord of Night made a shushing motion in his direction. 

“It would be a privilege, Lord,” Wayne said with matching mischief.

“Settle in, my loyal follower, and listen closely,” the Lord of Night began with exuberance. “I call this tale The Trial of Nine Nights.”

The rest of the night, the god recounted Steve’s pilgrimage. The way he told it painted Steve as some sort of gallant hero. It was suspenseful and whimsical. It didn’t sound like Steve’s experience at all. Yet every word was true, told with a flair that Steve himself would never have imagined. Wayne had hung on his god’s every word, despite the sporadic interruptions caused by coughing fits.

“The way you tell stories…” Wayne said faintly between coughs as the story wound to an end. “You…really do remind me of…someone. My little starmaker*. He was…” His voice trailed off weakly as he tried to catch his breath again.

“Rest now. Tell me about him tonight, Wayne,” the Lord of Night commanded as he disappeared with the arrival of dawn.

Wayne’s temperature seemed to climb with the sun. Steve did what he could to help. He stripped the bed of blankets and draped cold, damp towels over Wayne’s brow. More than once Wayne had asked Steve to answer the door.

“Someone’s knocking,” Wayne insisted.

“I’ve checked already,” Steve lied. He hadn’t heard a single knock all day, much less one coming from the very door-less spot Wayne kept indicating. “No one’s there.”

Wayne drifted in and out of a restless slumber. Despite Steve’s efforts, the fever had not lowered by nightfall. The Lord of Night paced at the foot of Wayne’s bed with a caged restlessness. Wayne had yet to wake up. 

“I don’t think he’s going to make it. Can you do anything for him?” Steve asked, hesitantly. “You came here to help him, didn’t you?”

“No,” the Lord of Night said shortly. “I can’t. I’m not a god of medicine. I’m not a healer.”

Each word was said with increasingly helpless frustration.

“I’m not strong enough to calm his dreams. I can’t ease his pain,” the Lord of Night said angrily. “At this rate, I won’t even be able to apologize to him.”

“Apologize for what?” Steve asked incredulously. Steve’s question went unheard. The Lord of Night tugged at his hood as if trying to hide his not-face. He gave up his pacing and slumped defeatedly on the chair beside Wayne’s bed.

“His family has sustained me for so long. He’s so devoted to me, and I keep failing him,” the god said, voice thick with shame. The brooding silence that followed was unlike the Lord of Night’s usual demeanor.

Steve wanted to protest the god’s claim. He was tempted to ask why the god believed he’d failed his last follower. Steve had seen people who’ve scorned and rejected their gods for a multitude of reasons. Wayne had not behaved like any of those people. Wayne had been so happy to see the god, Steve couldn’t imagine Wayne wanting an apology of any sort.

Before Steve could steel himself to ask, Wayne finally stirred awake.The Lord of Night straightened and drew the chair closer to his last follower. Steve situated himself near the corner Wayne had claimed to see a door. There wasn’t anything Steve could realistically achieve by placing himself between Wayne and the unseen door. When Death’s Door knocked, there was nothing a mortal being could do to keep it from opening. Regardless, Steve hoped he could provide some semblance of comfort by standing guard. 

Wayne’s eyes were glassy. He lay limp and disoriented, making not a sound outside his labored breathing. Neither the Lord of Night nor Steve spoke. Steve didn’t want to startle the man nor bring his attention to the unseen door. After a few minutes, Wayne finally noticed his bedside companion. 

“You,” he croaked in a daze. “I know you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” The somber tone went unnoticed by Wayne whose entire face brightened with an unexpected joy. 

“Eddie,” Wayne said shakily. 

“What?”

“Eddie, you’re here,” Wayne said with more love and joy than Steve had ever heard from another person. He felt a momentary flash of envy that someone could hold another so dear, before it hit him that Wayne was speaking to the Lord of Night. The god seemed as dumbstruck as Steve over it.

“Is…is that me?” the Lord of Night asked. The god sounded so young and lost. It reminded Steve of Dustin and his friends when they were small. It inspired all the same protective instincts.

“‘course it’s you, Eddie,” Wayne said fondly. 

“Eddie,” the Lord of Night whispered. “Oh, it is. It is me. I’m here.” 

The words rang through the air. The finality in them nearly deafened Steve. The words were a realization that shifted the entire cosmos. The air he breathed, the light he saw, the very world he perceived had changed fundamentally. It was a change so loud and obvious, Steve was certain every human left on earth and everyone beyond the Door knew it happened. Yet between one blink and the next, the world remained the same as it ever was. Everything that had been still was and would continue to be for as long as the stars burn.

Inexplicably, Steve experienced a bout of vertigo at the shift that had and hadn’t happened. He fought back a wave of nausea that accompanied it.

“Eddie,” Wayne rasped over the rattling of his weak lungs. No longer translucent, the god appeared solid and real in a way he hadn’t even at the shrine where Steve first encountered him. Wayne’s wrinkled hand reached out to gently cup the Lord of Night’s cheek.

"Hey, Uncle Wayne," the Lord of Night said with a new voice. 

"My starmaker, I missed you. So much. But how're you here? You were gone, you di–"

"We didn't want you to be alone," Eddie, Lord of Night, responded thickly, leaning into the hand and covering it with his own.  "We wanted to thank you for taking care of us all these years."

"Don’t,” Wayne wheezed, teary. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Eddie. You deserved so much more than your pa or me ever gave you."

"No! No, Uncle Wayne, don't apologize," he said earnestly. "You were perfect. You gave us a home when pa died. We were so little and you protected us. You loved us. That's all we ever wanted."

“Oh, Eddie,” Wayne said in a heartbroken rasp. “That damn door’s been knocking all day. Who'll take care of you when I'm gone, Eddie?" 

"Don't you worry about that, Uncle Wayne. Steve's gonna look after me.”

“Are you sure?”

The Lord of Night took off his hood and turned back to look at Steve for the first time since he sat himself at Wayne’s side. All the air left Steve’s lungs in one fell swoop. His god had a face.

His god was beautiful.

The Lord of Night’s skin remained pale, providing a stark contrast to his large, dark brown eyes glittered with bittersweet joy and sorrow. His lips, full and a soft shade of pink, were pulled into a wide, mischievous grin that dimpled his cheeks. His dark eyebrows were almost hidden under wild curls. His hair draped over the slope of his shoulders and matched his eyes wonderfully.

Steve willed himself to stay steadfast and strong under the god’s gaze. The Lord of Night’s grin twisted a bit as if he wasn't entirely pleased by what he saw. The nausea from before came back because Steve knew what people looked like when he'd disappointed them. As usual, he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

“Yeah, I’m sure. He already promised,” Eddie, the Lord of Night, said. He turned back to Wayne and gently wiped the sweat off the old man's brow. 

“Good,” Wayne said with a. “You need someone takin’ care of you, the way you get in trouble all the time.”

“We weren’t that bad,” Eddie said with a watery smile. After a pause, Eddie continued reluctantly. “Uncle Wayne, if you need to answer the Door, you can. I won’t be alone.”

“Yeah,” Wayne murmured. “I’m tired, Eddie.”

“You won’t be for long, I promise, just answer the Door.”

Wayne’s breathing slowed. His eyes drooped closed. Eddie clung to his hand until it went lax. A choked sound escaped him when Wayne’s breathing stopped. Steve instinctively stepped forward to comfort him but Eddie abruptly stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. He whirled around and stumbled towards the empty space Steve left behind. 

“You better take care of him. Wayne is a good man, he’s earned–” Eddie said to…the wall? But stopped and reeled back. His mouth curved down in a scowl. Eddie’s eyes were dark and glowering as he stared at something there that Steve himself could not see.

“Oh, fuck you, I know I can’t do anything to you but–”

Eddie stopped again. He looked like he wanted to punch something. Or someone?

“I just want to know that he’ll be happy and saf–hey, asshole, I’m still talking you, don’t you dare– FUCK,” Eddie shouted at nothing. He panted in anger. Steve cleared his throat.

“My Lord?”

“I forgot how much of a dick he is. It’s not like I was asking for details! I don’t fucking care what’s past his stupid Door. It’s not a crime to want your family to, like, go somewhere good after. He could’ve just said yes or no!” Eddie ranted.

“My Lord, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh,” Eddie paused. “Right. You wouldn’t. And you shouldn’t. Not yet. Not for a long time, hopefully.”

------

*starmaker - so this is a reference to some lore i dropped in the previous scene during some edits I made after I had posted it on tumblr. basically, the legend explains why bedtime stories are a thing and that the lord of night creates a star for every story that impresses him. a really good book or author will get called a starmaker, though to the general population it's just a thing people say to denote greatness in stories without context of where the saying came from.

------

and now we're all caught up with what i've written so far, wow! but don't worry, i still have plenty more to write, stay tuned.

[vaggieslefteye]

CHARLIE MAGNE from HAZBIN HOTEL (2019): Pilot - "That's Entertainment" ↳ "So, I've been thinking: Isn't there a more humane way to hinder overpopulation here in Hell? Perhaps we can create an alternative way to change souls through... redemption?"

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

october 1, 2021 4:15 p.m. grant's house

[juhani] hello? grant, can i call you tomorrow? it’s late.

[grant] no, you can’t. i know it’s 11 o’clock where you are right now, and i don’t really care. you answered, so you’ve trapped yourself.

[varpu, faintly] juha, if you don’t talk now, he will never call you back.

[juhani] i want to speak with you, of course i do, it’s just–

[grant] fantastic, because that’s what we’re doing. we’re talking! i have 30 years of stuff to get off my chest, and i'm sure you have your own piece to share. not sure where to start, but.

[juhani] may i ask you a question? what did you overhear at dinner the other night? are you upset i'm moving? is that it?

[grant] i mean, that stung a little after the whole “i’ll be around to build a relationship with you,” thing, but i gave you my express permission to go home, so it’s whatever. we are both adults, so i am not going to fault you for making adult decisions that improve your life. i'm more upset by you claiming you didn’t tell me about your plans or include me in the moving and wedding stuff and whatever because i'm difficult.

[juhani] that’s not what–

[grant] oh, come on. don’t kid yourself. you said it yourself, anything involving me is like pulling teeth. i heard it loud and clear.

[juhani] well, when i tell you things, you never react well. it always goes precisely like this conversation is going.

[grant] really? never? because i remember being pretty positive about your proposal and about you contacting me in the first place and about coming to dinner to acquaint myself with varpu’s kids and about meeting varpu a while back…

[grant] what i react poorly to is you leaving me out, you calling me difficult, you complaining about me in front of impressionable people, etcetera.

[juhani] i don’t want to leave you out.

[grant] that’s what varpu said, too, but i didn’t believe her, so why would i believe you?

[juhani] i have no idea how to interact with you. i've apologized to you, told you i regret the events of your childhood. nothing works.

[grant] do you regret it? because it kind of just feels like you’re doing the same shit again. abandoning me for your own self-interests. oh, and this time you’re replacing me with a brand new family you treat better.

[juhani] i'm not repl–okay, what would you prefer me do when you push me away? you told me i was difficult.

[grant] when did i say that? i mean, that's true, sure, but i would not say that to you. what i probably said that you’re misconstruing is that talking to you is hard because i'm not comfortable around you.

[juhani] and how long will it take you to be comfortable around me? i don’t know what else you want me to do. truly, i don’t, and it is not pleasant to be rejected endlessly.

[grant] well, i'd have to forgive you, but i don’t. if forgiveness was meant to happen, it would not be instant. you’d have to keep trying with me, even if i piss you off, even if i push you away. you’re my fucking father, it’s your job. you show up for your kid even if they’re horrible or annoying. you never turn your back on them. but, you know, you didn’t show up for the first 22 years you were around, so you’d have to try extra hard now to change my mind.

[grant] but honestly, i will never be comfortable around you. i've realized that over the last few days. i did actually think if you just kept trying, i'd relax and be less on edge, but nope. you could become an honest-to-god saint tomorrow, and i'll still be furious because nothing will make me understand why you couldn’t have been a decent person when i was a kid. like, when i needed you.

[grant] and i don’t get why you weren't. i don't. i'm serious. i can’t comprehend it. clearly, you have it in you to be a decent person. you love varpu's kids. you're fatherly towards them. you take them on vacation, you invite them to house and wedding venue tours, you tell them about and include them in your hobbies, you remember details about them, you smile at them without being forced, you go to their weddings and don’t flip out about them being queer even though you were viscerally disgusted with me when you found out–

[juhani] you shouldn’t bring them into this. it isn’t fair. and i've taken you on vacation before, for one.

[grant] i am being petty, but i think it's fair because i'm not shitting on them specifically. and yeah, okay, you took me on vacation once. you took me to finland exactly once, but i never met your family, and i remember nothing other than the plane rides.

[grant] and you shouldn’t do this. we don’t need to split hairs. you don’t need to crawl through that list of grievances and “well, actually” me as many times as you can manage. one vacation changes nothing. that does not erase all the times you sat there like a lame duck and ignored me or mocked me or let my mother abuse me. there is nothing for you to pat yourself on the back about.

[grant] nothing.

[juhani] so, what are you upset about now?

[grant] why?

[juhani] why what?

[grant] why are you like this? why were you a terrible father? why have no heart for me or my sisters? why did you save all your love for someone else’s kids?

[grant] oh, and how about cerise? you sure didn’t care about your bastard kids either, did you?

[grant] shit. i'm sorry. that just kind of came out. that’s not how i wanted to, you know, pepper that into this conversation. i was going to save that for the end.

[juhani] how do you know about her?

[grant] doesn't matter. it's a long story.

[grant] on that note, what is up with the secret daughter? how’d that happen? is she the only one, too, or should i be on the lookout for any other siblings? and hey, you only divorced my mother in the last few years, so you were cheating. how many times did you fuck around on her, and why would you? you wouldn’t divorce her because you were afraid of her, but apparently it's no big deal to cheat.

[juhani] grant, how can i answer you if you don't allow me to talk? cerise’s mother michelle is a doctor. your mother and i were both at a conference in detroit about healthcare outreach, and…

[juhani] i know it seems contradictory, given how long i stayed with your mother, but i was unhappy in the marriage. i met michelle there at the conference, and she was kind and intelligent, and i suppose the rest of the story should be obvious to you.

[grant] goddamn, man. i hate my mother, but that’s bold: sleeping with another woman right in front of her face.

[grant] did she ever find out?

[juhani] eventually. you remember how she was with the finances. she tracked all the money going in and out of the household. you couldn’t have one cent go missing without being accused of something, and she’d always blame it on some incident with her brother and start ranting about him.

[juhani] look, the agreement with michelle was that i'd stay out of her life and send child support, and she wouldn’t interfere with my family either. i used to lie and tell your mother the child support funds were going somewhere important, but she didn't believe me very long. she did finally question me and find out the truth.

[grant] and?

[juhani] in hindsight, her reaction reminds me a lot of the one she had when you lashed out at her during your graduation dinner. very little left her speechless, but that did. initially, i should clarify. she would go on to never let me live cerise’s existence down.

[juhani] and to answer your question, as far as i know, cerise is the only other child.

[grant] as far as you know?

[juhani] i cannot rule out further surprises.

[grant] jesus christ. my grandmother is right, all men are dogs, but you most of all.

[juhani] does it upset you that much?

[grant] again, i don’t like my mother, but if i needed any more proof that you’re more spineless than a sea sponge, this is it. you were so unhappy with my mother that you’d cheat on her, but you’d not divorce her when your kids were vulnerable.

[grant] you disgust me. you slept around and thought with your dick before you spared a single thought for the kids you let my mother abuse. or for yourself! fuck you. if you’re going to be that selfish, at least be selfish enough to prioritize yourself and leave the woman making you that miserable!

[grant] and now i don’t believe you when you say you wouldn’t leave her back then because you were scared of her. do you seriously mean to tell me it’s less terrifying to cheat on her than to just walk out of the house and never come back?

[grant] i did that, you know? when i'd had enough of my mother, i told her as much and then never spoke to her again. and guess what? wouldn’t you be so stunned to find out she’s never tracked me down, never tried to call or email to reel me back in? she left me alone after i told her to go fuck herself!

[grant] and technically, you know it's possible to leave her, too. what did you say about the divorce? that she just rolled over and let you do it and was fine with you just coughing up all the assets and dipping?

[grant] exhibits A, B, and C that she’s a coward, too. she thinks she’s the boss, but if you fight back hard enough, she gives up. you could have left her at any point in time.

[grant] god. oh my god. you stupid, spineless motherfucker. i thought i'd maxed out on anger. apparently not!

[grant] you really could have been a better father. you could have had your whole little life overhaul decades ago, and you could have saved the entire family so much pain. you, me, elizabeth, kelly…

[grant] i should have suspected as much, and i guess i did, but it's shocking to realize over and over just how useless you are as a father. i think it can't get any worse and then it does. you are a complete and utter failure as a parent.

[grant] this is why i can’t forgive you. you didn’t have to mess up so badly. but no. whatever you got out of the relationship was enough to convince you to sit there and watch my mother ruin all of us, and even thought you weren't happy with her, you got by with fucking other women and only regretted staying a billion years later when you noticed you had nothing of substance left in life but my mother. and that’s a pretty depressing way to live, isn’t it?

[juhani] i stayed because i thought we deserved each other.

[grant] with that attitude, maybe you did.

[grant] listen, i'll admit this, no problem. it’s no one’s fault that she is the way that she is. it’s not even yours. she’s abusive, and what she does to other people is her fault and her responsibility. she’s excellent, too, at convincing you to just go along with it and never question her. it's not that hard to get caught in her trap at first, and she will try her very best to break you. but at some point, you have to question anyway. at some point, you have to recognize you deserve better and do something about it.

[grant] but you didn’t. not until it was too late for it to mean anything.

[grant] i would never think i've done everything right, but in the end, i've respected myself enough to make better choices and do something about the situation i was in, and i've had to do that because the adults in my life weren’t responsible or organized enough to fix things before responsibility fell into my hands.

[juhani] you are a braver and a better man than i.

[grant] i'm glad i am, but do you know how exhausting it is to be brave all the time?

[grant] i am because you weren’t. it is entirely because you failed. you weren’t brave enough to give a fuck about yourself or your kids, so i've had to be brave my entire life. brave enough to survive my childhood, then brave enough to leave. and guess what? i don’t want to be brave. i just want to exist. and back then, i just wanted to be a kid.

[grant] just a kid.

[grant] i wanted to come home from school and play with my pokemon cards and hear my mom and my dad say, “hi honey! how was your day? we love you!" i didn’t want to live in fear of what horror would befall me each and every day.

[grant] fuck you. fuck you. fuck you. you stole my childhood. you stole elizabeth’s childhood. you stole kelly’s childhood.

[grant] you and my mother, but you could have done something. you could have given us our childhoods back. you could have done something! you should have done something!

[grant] you didn’t have to do everything right even. parents mess up, i know that, but you could have at least tried. the bar was on the floor. i would have over the moon living in a single parent household with a father who at least showed up to my hockey games if he wasn’t busy at work and gave me a hug every once in a while.

[grant] and you know what, you did more than steal our childhoods. because you couldn’t stand to sacrifice your comfort long enough to take care of your kids, we all have to live in permanent hell. i have to spend the rest of my life freaking out when someone walks up behind me or speaks too loudly or–god forbid–touches me! it took me years to finally learn not to flinch when someone high fives me! and kelly–i don’t know what she deals with, but i know her life can’t be peaceful.

[grant] again, i am not blaming you for what my mother did–i know she was not kind to you either– but i do blame you for not even trying to stop her or get away from her. you were an adult with power, and you didn't use an ounce of it. actually, you did use it, just not for good. you threw me specifically under the bus because it was easier to let my mother use me as a punching bag than you.

[juhani] you’re right.

[juhani] you’re right, grant.

[grant] i have nothing else to say, short of "fuck you" again. i think i'm done yelling at you.

[grant] no, wait, one last thing. what did you even see in my mother in the first place? what was so enticing about her that you’d stay with her so long and ditch your college sweetheart for her?

[juhani] i don’t know. i don’t know anymore.

[grant] i guess it was two people drawn to each other's misery.

[grant] great. well, that’s all, folks.

[grant] good luck with the new family. maybe you can make it right with someone else and enjoy a totally fresh start because you will never make it right with me, and i will never let you forget what you did to me and my sisters. and don’t lose varpu again, by the way. she is, like, far out of your league–so far it's not even funny–and you are lucky to have this second chance with her and to have a good relationship with her kids.

[grant] also, just so it's clear, i don't want to speak to you anymore after this. don't call me, i won't call you either, except in one circumstance. i'll consider it on the day my mother kicks the bucket. we can toast to the end of that chapter of our lives and hope that the haunting ends. because surely you have to feel a little haunted, too, right? i have a sinking suspicion that’s why you reconnected with me. you don’t care about me. you care about that fresh start, about making yourself feel better about wasting your life and fucking up everyone around you.

[starry-bi-sky]

i have... ✨Danyal Al Ghul Headcanons✨ but specifically for my yaelokre danyal oneshot

There's also the tumblr post here but I recommend the link in the title because its the ao3 version, and that one is edited and has some stuff in it that's not in the tumblr post, and will be the version I'm using.

So for summary: this Danyal is also from a Demon Siblings Au where Danny is five years older than Damian. However, things turned out a bit differently, and Danny and Damian had a fantastic relationship with one another. Danny loved music and regularly came up with songs to sing to Damian with. Specifically the folk band Yaelokre's EP "Hayfields" (seriously go fucking listen to it its sooo good. Harpy Hare is the second song but its my favorite. Special shoutout to @gascansposts for introducing the band to me)

He falls off a train when he's twelve and Damian is seven while the two of them and Talia are on mission. He ends up with magically induced amnesia and wakes up in Arkansas while the Fentons are on their yearly Divorce-iversary visit to Aunt Alica, and since he can only remember his name, he ends up being taken into their care.

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

Yaelokre Danny has the same facial scar as Things in Threes Danyal, since he was initially another version of him where things turned out better. I'm debating on whether or not I should take it away however, and give him a different scar (maybe from when he fell off the train?), just because the scar is a pretty key identifier for Ti3 Danyal.

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

Danny frequently visits Aunt Alicia in Arkansas! Well, only after he gets settled in and stuff. He doesn't really like the city that much and prefers the countryside where Alicia lives. I know she lives in a cabin but I'm changing it to a farm, so she puts Danny to work and gets him to help her.

I don't want to confine his hobbies to only being star stuff, because people tend to have more than one hobby and I feel like it reduces him to one-dimensionality, so he likes to garden, and learns guitar. His room becomes filled with plants, and he turns their roof into a rooftop greenhouse right below to OPS Center.

He has a complex relationship with the weapons from his past, but he's not... like... appalled by it? When he finds his weapons in the Fenton attic all he thinks is that they're his weapons, and he starts carrying a knife on him afterwards. Essentially he becomes fascinated with weaponry because its one of the few physical ties he has to his past, and while he's not training like he is in the League, he allows his strong muscle memory to guide him through his katas.

Danny likes climbing things. This causes Problems For Everyone Else.

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

Danny was not the "kinder Al Ghul" in the League. His kindness extended to his brother and family, and that's it. To everyone else he had high expectations out of them, and the pride you'd expect from the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul and trained by its top members. While he wasn't like, unnecessarily cruel or anything, he wasn't merciful either.

This transfers post-train fall as him coming off as no-nonsense and unforgiving. He's not fond of the idea of giving people second chances, and is skeptical of the idea. He's disgusted by incompetency and views it as an unforgivable offense, especially if he thinks that the person should know better, although he's not sure why. Some egocentrism for the soul.

He doesn't like being touched by anyone who isn't family, and gets irritated when anyone grabs him or holds onto him for extended amounts of time. Dash has gotten hit so many times. With Jack Fenton's tendency for abrupt physical affection, it doesn't make it any better. I'd argue it'd make it worse because Danny doesn't want to be touched more often than not.

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

Danyal had a red scarf in the League that he wore on his last mission, it came off before he fell off and caught itself on the roof. Damian still has it and took it with him to Wayne Manor. He's got it locked in his room and takes it out when he's alone and missing Danny the most. One time he forgot to put it away before leaving his room, and Dick was visiting the manor for something and found it. Damian found him holding it and freaked out.

Dick could only say "I've never seen you wear this, Damian, this is really pretty--" before Damian shoved him to the floor and stole it out of his hands, before screaming at him; "Don't touch this! You don't ever touch this! This is mine! You hear me!?"

It caused such a commotion that the rest of the family present came to see what the fuss was about, and Damian kicked them all out of his room. Dick is the one brother Damian's the closest with, so the fact he reacted so strongly shocked them all.

This is likely what leads to the "Danyal" conversation.

[lale-txt]

walking out of battle covered in blood (read ellie's mafia!sakusa fic), saddling my horse to plunge myself in the next one as we speak (about to read wyr's enemies to lovers coworkers only one bed oikawa) with another fanfare echoing in the distance (glancing at dodger's mad dog fic on my tbr list as if i wasn't in love with all of seijoh already)

[kanerallels]

(rant incoming)

[mering]

even the dogs!

[planetarythorns]

oh I know its bad if I'm pulling out the hbomberguy plagiarism video i've watched it like 100 times already

Pre-show curse strikes again...

[penofwildfire]

The true fulfillment of Zane's worst fear is not his time as the Ice Emperor, but rather the time he spends cutting down his personality until he feels more like a machine than ever in response to the trauma of that experience.

[skibasyndrome]

.

[luminous-faerie]

rio being so in love with agatha that she lets her have time with her son. that she believes that giving them time together is a kindness, because she knows taking him away will hurt her. that she lets agatha raise her son and love him when she is very much not meant to. rio being so in love with agatha and so pained by the fact that she has to take nicky away from her that she waits until a moment where she won't have to face agatha, because if agatha saw her she wouldn't be able to do it. and that when she does take nicky she does it kindly. she lets him say goodbye and she holds his hand as she takes him away. rio being so in love with agatha that she sees her pain and her grief as a scar. that seeing such a raw and human pain in someone she loves is something so profound and powerful enough to cause death to feel pain.

[starflungwaddledee]

this is a long shot and i'm sorry to ask, but if you don't mind, can mutuals (or contacts or regulars... just... this community) of mine who aren't jumping ship like... let me know? will any of us still be here? is it over? i'm trying to know if this really is it or what's... even happening. i hate to reassurance seek but i'm feeling pretty miserable and confused.

edit: felt like i was being really pitiful and fragile making this but everybody is being so nice to me and responding so patiently with all your thoughts and i'm in tears of gratitude thank you thank you thank you 💖

[spotaus]

New Age AU (The King's Bed)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Killer wanted him to do what? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, it was gone. 

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

No time to linger on it. 

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

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

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

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

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

“My king?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Killer had been right. Insanely right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cross felt awful. Standing there. 

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

“Cross.” 

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

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

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

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

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

-

“Horror?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something wrong. Of course something was wrong! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

The hour passed by rather quickly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cross was stunned. Their king… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a scoff from Dust.

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

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

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

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

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

Dust nodded then, seemingly satisfied. 

The focus then, he realized, fell to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Killer grinned wide and nodded.

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

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

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

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

[hood-ex]

No because I'm mad at DC for covering up our dysfunctional family rep.

Don't give me this:

Nightwing (Vol. 4) #100

Give me this:

JLA #75

JLA #76