#the combat is even fun …….

[boimgfrog]

People are so scared of polyamory but it's normal as hell. Like it should not be this complex of a topic 4 people. Literally ur just dating more than one person. Or more than two people are dating each other. It's not some crazy concept like oh my god it's just a different way of dating

[strxnged]

hot girl activities

[joshuamj]

Been enjoying EoW so far!!

Redraw of this:

[bunabi]

Actually I'll talk about it now to clear my mind before bedtime:

I think I've played enough now to say definitively that I don't like Rook. I wish I could choose not to have Natalene smirk and quip so much. I wish the tone options made a difference.

I wish whenever I chose an 'I distrust Solas' option Rook didn't fire off what sounds and feels like a tumblr post. I wish Those Lore Drops weren't delivered via murals and then peer reviewed in the Veilguardian group chat.

And maybe more than any of those things: I wish Rivain was more than a coast and an arenaaaaa. 🫂

[aeon-uriel]

how im playing this game so far 😔

[serpentface]

Retconned Wardi firearms- a basic handgun, a highly decorative ceremonial handgun (belonging to Faiza), and a lance-gun.

Gun tech has officially been nerfed down to hand cannons (press F) (this has been a long time coming but I'd been fallacy of sunk costs-ing myself out of retconning).

Handguns are held similarly to a shotgun, with the butt pressed into the user's shoulder, one hand gripping under the barrel, and the other free to ignite the gunpowder. These represent the most advanced firearms in contemporary usage, both in make and in their use of uniform iron projectiles built to match the gun's bore for greater range and efficiency. Lance-guns are the more basal form, usually larger and mounted with the pole held over the shoulder, and are most effectively used by two people (one to hold and aim, one to light the gunpowder).

The spread of firearms is currently mostly limited to the Eastern Inner Seaway peoples (with some additional distribution via overland trade), and actual manufacture of hand cannons and gunpowder at Significant scale is limited to the region's core powers.

The reason for this limited spread is partially due to specific elements of the technology's history. Gunpowder was first synthesized by Burri alchemists and considered to be the discovery of the legendary divine weapon + solar fire of the deity Inanariya, and its formula (along with techniques for ideally refining its components) remained a closely guarded state secret. It was used predominantly in priestly contexts to generate flame and explosive sounds (in conjunction with earlier practices of generating multicolored flames with use of other chemicals), then integrated into combustible weaponry in the forms of fire lances, which would eventually develop into early handcannons.

The treatment of gunpowder as a guarded sacred or semi-sacred substance continued with Wardi adoption, where knowledge of its making is considered a closed rite. It's name (inya tsatsul or just tsatsul, a derived adoption of the Burri iñazatsūya) still reflects a divine solar association (the Burri word means 'sun's thunder', the Wardi 'inya' invokes the sun, 'tsatsul' is an adapted loanword and has no meaning independent of the substance itself), though its priestly use is now predominantly associated with the firearm'ed Odonii (rather than priests of the solar Face Inyamache). The composition of gunpowder can no longer be regarded as a Secret by any means, though efforts to obscure the methods of its creation are still moderately successful and has kept knowledge of gunpowder manufacture more limited than the total sphere of firearm usage itself.

The actual strongest limiting factor of firearm usage is the rarity of natural saltpeter deposits necessary for making gunpowder. The practice of actively producing saltpeter via nitraries has not been developed anywhere in the setting, and all is instead obtained via natural sources. These sources are rare and limited within the current spread of firearm technology, and result in gunpowder being a limited and expensive substance to produce. The weapons themselves are also very expensive to manufacture (a good quality steel SWORD is far too material-cost prohibitive for most people to own), particularly high quality firearms designed for use with standardized ammunition.

These guns are also very basal, and logistical difficulties in their use (weight, very slow loading and firing speed, high visibility, Relatively low reach and accuracy) along with the restrictive cost of production has kept firearms far from rendering conventional weaponry, armor, and projectiles obsolete (even within the societies that have access to them). They are still, however, very devastating in use within their contemporary context, particularly in that high quality guns have a longer range than the best arrow-based projectiles, and utterly negate most contemporary forms of armor at close range.

[tritoch]

in general trying to write a fully canon-compliant wol, as i conceive it, is an interesting project because the wol's life involves such a staggering amount of direct interpersonal violence it is almost beyond comprehension. the only people in the real world who did anything comparable are like, certain executioners for totalitarian states, and that's obviously a very different form of violence.

and like obviously combat in FFXIV should not in any way be taken as a 1:1 with real world violence, not least because the game repeatedly points to the idea that combat can in some sense be a joyous and glorious form of personal expression (as with ravana, susano, zenos, etc.), which doesn't really square with the reality of doing violence. but to even begin to conceive of a character who's capable of doing what the WoL does from ARR on and trying to take it somewhat seriously means basically making an extremely detached killing machine, who's fine using those skills for any rando willing to call the hit they're hiring you for a "quest".

it ends up dovetailing really nicely with the games as written, though; you start ARR being like "i am an instrument of violence directed by others :)" and not talking much or ever registering your own thoughts on anything, because who cares? you're a violence-doing machine. and then one of your friends gets mind-controlled and you gotta fight a might-makes-right fascist and you meet multiple people who think you personally are a really cool person with inherent value in their own right just by being a person and it's like, hm. maybe there are other ways to live. and that parallels really nicely with DRK in HW, and then you and alphinaud deciding that you are tired of endless sacrifices in the name of progress and you are going to save estinien, and then the WoL getting to walk into stormblood having really consciously chosen this fight rather than letting someone else choose for them.

obviously there are a lot of stories you can tell with your WoL but to me this is a big part of why my approach to it necessarily revolves primarily around violence and regret. you spend the core game and two expansions becoming a terrible angel of death and then get teleported to another world where you learn that some people literally consider you a psychopomp who escorts the dead to their final rests. then in the next expansion you meet someone who was unfortunate enough to be on the other end of things during your implacable killing machine days. THEN you accidentally cause the flower that symbolizes grief to be invented. the wol's whole life is haunted by overwhelming grief (mostly that of other people) and terrible violence (mostly their own).

[radroachmeat]

Girls who kill people together 💜

[angermango]

for some reason i had an inspiration to mix Madness in Ghost Trick art style n parody canon GT scenes that are way too good to pass on the joke potential for

oh and bonus MC-styled Officer Bailey and his buddy, aka Those Two Bros Chilling in the Office, Five Feet Apart 'Cuz They're Not....

and bonus bonus Auditors in GT-style talk sprites because they're so easy to draw lol (and no i don't have a bias for drawing more of the faved characters, no sir)

[velvetjune]

Jesse | esseJ

[stupidrant]

Since we’re on the topic of video games, im tired of these fucking remakes. Ive said it before but i’ll say it again each time. These companies dont wanna invest in an actually good remaster or port and would rather waste their time with these remakes bcuz “ooh look how shiny and better the graphics look!!1!1!1” often times it has an empty feeling because everything has to be ultra realism super 6000. Its gotten so bad that now regular gamers are starting to gaslight you into playing or enjoying them. So much has been lost artistically, (like the cool UI designs) that it’s now considered “juvenile” and that i need to “grow up” and “accept it” 😂

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

just woke up ….. may or may not . have played lads until late last night ……. may or may not be in love with zayne . casually . very very casually

[zylphiacrowley]

The Resilient Son

[doostyaudi]

I did it!! I put my employer ocs in my Rave-N au! It was very fun to think abt how they would be in this universe!

Oh, for those who need a refresher/don't know; the Rave-N world was very different a few million years ago, but rnaudi caused an multi-dimentional war that messed up everything so bad that rnmaker had to do a hars reset on the entire world.... They made sure not just punish rnaudi, but the rest of the employers as well (even tho rnaudi was literally the only one who caused trouble)!

Rnaudi is extremely unself-aware

[valhallavalgrace]

How are you adjusting to the whole Norse mythology situation?

LEO: I’ve mostly been bugging some of the older einherjar, and Hunding, a little bit, to figure this place out. Do you know how cool it is that some people have been here since the industrial revolution?? There's no way that I'm the first of my dad's kids to make it here. I just don't know who to talk to about it.

((Leo's coping mechanism re: Norse mythology is just hating himself more bc of course he doesn't belong in his own afterlife. but he won't admit that to anyone bc he doesn't know who can be vulnerable with.))

prev ask

[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.