#batman#bruce wayne#dick grayson#batfamily#tim drake#batfam#dc fanart
seen from United States
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seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from Yemen
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
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These are the designs for Sonderverse Ink and Error as of now.
They're the forces of destruction and creation, and these vessels are a way for them to experience the world that they make up.
The avatars are clumsy, monochrome mimicries of skeleton monsters, and are poorly puppeted. Error moves stiffly and erratically, like some sort of marionette, and Ink's body bends and flows in ways it shouldn't.
Ink belongs to comyet and Error belongs to Crayon Queen
Ember (Lust), in a fuzzy sort of artstyle
He works with Valor (Swap) and Cross in Sonderverse as the Acolyte of Love, and I think he's pretty neat.
Bill and Fresh in pen/highlighter on shitty notepad paper, yippee! The song lyrics on the back of the paper are for A Crow's Trial by Vane Lily.
I think they'd hate each other in a very cartoonishly entertaining way that I can't quite articulate at the moment.
Insomnia
Epic has a sleeping disorder, and Baggs, sympathetic to his plight, offers to help.
uh....warning for mind control, mention of past self harm, middle-aged man yaoi, sort of suggestive?, and mediocre writing lacking a lot of context.
Baggs belongs to Megalommi and Epic belongs to Yugogeer012
“Heya doc,” Epic greeted, opening the door to his bedroom.
“Epic,” Baggs acknowledged, stepping inside and striding over to take the seat Epic had set up by his bed, all business, as usual.
Epic chuckled to himself and shut the door. “Relax, bruh. This is a friendly meetup, not a doctor’s appointment.”
Baggs leveled him a tired look, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know. I know, it’s just…once I establish the connection, it’s there for good. There’s no going back.”
“Uh, ok. So?” Epic strolled over to stand in front of Baggs, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“So, I’ll always have some power over you. I used to have an entire civilization under my thrall, does that not bother you?”
“I mean, you had a pretty good reason for what you did, bruh. Your people were in a tough spot and you did what you had to to keep them from losing hope. And…you haven’t used your power since then, right?” Epic said, plopping down on the bed.
“No, no, I haven’t had cause to do so, until now that is.” Baggs sagged forwards in his chair, head cradled in his hands. “...I…it’s just…I don’t want to take advantage of a friend.”
“Hey, hey, Baggs, buddy, I asked for your help, you’re not taking advantage of anything, well, unless you eat all my cookies while I’m snoozin’. Don’t do that, that would be totally uncool, bruh.”
Baggs chuckled, and Epic grinned, then took his hand and squeezed it until he met his eyes.
“Look, Baggs, if you’re uncomfortable doing this, I understand, I really do. I’ve put up with my condition for a really, really long time already. I’m used to it, it’s fine, really it is. If you want, we can call Sci and have a bros night instead, get stoned and watch Dr.Stone. But I trust you. You’re my friend, I know you would never use your powers to hurt me, and I trust you.”
“...with your very soul?” Baggs looked away, shifting in his seat and fidgeting with Epic’s fingers. “Becuase, you have to understand, Epic, once you let me in, I can make you do anything, anything, and you won’t be able to stop me.”
“That’s, uh, kinda the point, buddy. And, yeah, like I said, I trust you.”
“Completely?” Baggs asked disbelievingly.
“Well, I'm not gonna show you my search history if that’s what you’re asking.”
Baggs snorted, smiling despite himself, and stood, coming to stand in front of Epic. “Ok, ok. I’ll do it.”
“But, Epic,” He said, dead serious again, “If you want me to stop, say something, do something, anything you can. If I sense you fighting my control, I’ll let go immediately, I promise.”
“Okie-dokie Doc.”
Baggs’ frown deepened. “I’m serious, Epic. This is serious.”
Epic opened his bad eye and replied levelly, holding Bagg’s hands tightly. “I know. And I’ll say it again, Baggs. I trust you. I’m not going to fight you. I…” His voice faltered.
“I’m tired. I’m so tired. And I’m tired of being tired. I’m sure you understand. I need this, please.”
“Yes, yes, I believe I do…” He murmured, pulling the chair up behind him, taking a seat with his hands still clasped in Epic’s.
“But, tell me more about it, your condition.”
“Uh, ok, doc, but…how’s that gonna help me sleep?” Epic asked shakily, letting go of Baggs’ hands to wipe at his eyes.
“Well,” Baggs purred, resting his chin on steepled hands, the uncertainty he’d been plagued with mere moments ago nowhere in sight, “seeing as we’re such good friends, and this is your first time doing something like this, I want to ease you into it. If you have no more to say about your condition, then how about you tell me about that beautiful eye you’ve insisted on hiding.”
Epic shut his eye and looked down, tracing his fingers over his scar, feeling magic rush to his cheeks. He’d heard his eye called a lot of things, but beautiful certainly wasn’t one of them.
“Oh, is it a sensitive subject? It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. We’re here to help you get comfortable, after all.” Baggs hummed.
“No, I mean, yeah. It’s just a lot, and I’ve never told anyone about it before. I want to tell you. I want to get it off my chest, but I don’t know how.” Epic said, fidgeting with the drawstrings on his hoodie.
Baggs reached out and gently pushed Epic’s hood off his head, leaving plenty of time for him to protest, then tilted his chin up so that their eyes met.
Epic’s hands fell limp in his lap as swirling magenta and cyan filled his vision, calming, enveloping, washing over him in warm, pulsing waves, gently embracing his soul, but not quite touching it. He felt a dopey grin slip onto his face as his entire body relaxed and his mind went pleasantly fuzzy, “Heh heh, that feels nice.”
Baggs smiled and cupped Epic’s cheeks with hands as warm and gentle as the magic seeping into his mana lines. “That’s good. You’re doing so good. That’s it, just relax. It must be so tiring to keep all those walls up, dear, why don’t you let them down for me, hm? You’re safe with me, there’s no need to hide yourself away.”
There was a barely noticeable pull to the words, and while Epic distantly caught Baggs’ use of the pet name, his soul twitching and missing a beat, he was more focused on obeying his friend’s request.
Tears built up in his eyes as his composure crumbled, and he reached up to put his hands over Baggs’. “I’m so tired.” He mumbled, words coming out a little slurred.
“There, there. It’s going to be ok,” Baggs soothed, wiping away Epic’s tears with his thumbs. “You can rest soon.”
“Nooooo, it’s scary, and it hurts.” Epic whined. “I don’ wanna see them any more. I don’ want this eye any more. Make it go away…”
“Shh, shh,” Baggs gave up on wiping away Epic’s tears as they began to flow in earnest, but continued to hold him. “That’s it, dear, let it all out. Bottling up your feelings like this must’ve been so lonely, thank you for opening up to me. You’re doing great. Shhh.”
The warm, pulsing feeling intensified as it began to seep into Epic’s very soul, and he gasped, shuddering at the intrusive magic.
“Hey, hey, look at me. How are you feeling?” Baggs asked, nervousness breaking through again. “I need you to tell me if you want me to stop.”
“No, no don’ stop.” Epic said hurriedly, opening eyes he hadn’t noticed had drifted shut. “It feels good, like, uh, a hot tub, one of the nice ones, with bubbles’n stuff.”
“Ok, then. I’m going to take full control now. Are you ready?” Baggs searched Epic’s eyes, swirling magenta and cyan fading away along with the heavy warmth in his soul, leaving silence and emptiness in its wake, allowing him room to think.
“Yes, please.” Epic almost begged, desperate for the peace he’d just been given a taste of.
Baggs let out a long, slow breath, grounding himself, scraping up his composure again and giving Epic his signature, lazy, self-confidant grin. “Well, what friend could say no to that?”
And with a snap of his fingers, the magic returned, rushing in, overwhelming warmth and pressure, flooding through Epic’s mana lines and filling his soul, enveloping his consciousness and pushing it down, drowning out everything, thoughts, sight, sound, until all he felt was a blissful, senseless peace.
“There you go, dear. It’s good, I know. I can see you now. Your thoughts, your feelings, your very core of being, I see all of it. You’re amazing, astounding, but in so much pain. It hurts, and it’s been hurting for so long, but it doesn’t have to any more. I’m here now.” Baggs’ voice echoed through the swirling magic enveloping his soul, gentle and soothing. “Anything you need, I can give to you. Just, tell me. What happened to you? I can’t help you unless I know what’s wrong.”
“It’s my eye.” Epic heard himself say listlessly, feeling his own mind form the words and his own body say them without his prompting. “It was an experiment to make monsters more powerful. I was test subject one. It was a success. I got power. But, there are side-effects. Whenever I’m unconscious, it gives me nightmares. These aren’t normal nightmares, though. It’s exactly like real-life, but the world is wrong, all twisted and weird, and full of these horrible monsters, thousands of them, that all try to kill me. When they hurt me, the pain feels real, and when they kill me, I’m forced to wake up. I tried everything I could think of, hypnotism, meditation, sedation, surgery, mutilation. Nothing works. I’m not even sure this is going to work, but I’m desperate. I need rest.”
Baggs was silent for a moment, and Epic drifted, content.
“I see.” Baggs finally said, voice tight, brushing his fingers over Epic’s scar. “...mutilation… Did…did you do this to yourself?”
“Yes. I removed and destroyed the eye myself. It regenerated, though.”
The magic enveloping Epic’s soul tightened, flooding with comforting intent, and he sighed happily, sinking deeper.
“...listen to me.” Baggs said firmly, placing his hands on Epic’s shoulders and staring into his eyes with burning intensity, all the crushing weight of his magic behind his words. “When I tell you to sleep, you will sleep. You will fall into a sleep so deep, so, very, very deep, that, within the dream, you will be dreaming. Dreaming of peaceful, happy things. The surface, the stars, your friends and family, undisturbed. I am all around you, my magic enveloping you, protecting you from anyone, anything that wants to hurt you, even a part of yourself. And you will not wake from this deep, deep sleep until I tell you to, do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Very good. I’m going to release my hold on you, but the command is there, buried deep inside your soul, ready to be activated. Now…”
Baggs snapped his fingers again, and the heavy magic receded.
Epic blinked, sat up, and flexed his fingers, still a little spaced out. He shivered, suddenly feeling cold, exposed, and oddly alone.
“Epic, I cannot, in good conscience, let you sleep when you obviously haven’t bathed in days. You smell like rancid noodles.” Baggs said bluntly. “Go take a shower, for Angel’s sake.”
“Aw, c’mon, bruh. Can’t I just sleep now?” Epic whined. “A little grease in the ol’ joints never hurt anybody.”
“Absolutely not, you big baby.” Baggs said, pulling Epic to his feet and pushing him towards the bathroom. “Besides, I want to make sure there aren’t going to be any adverse reactions to my magic. Think of it like testing for a food allergy; take a nibble and wait. If nothing bad happens, then you can eat.”
Epic let his body go limp, forcing Baggs to catch his dead weight and effectively stopping their forwards progress. “What are you even gonna do if I start having a bad reaction, bruh? You already said you can’t undo the connection.”
“I’ll call Dream and Nightmare. They’ll certainly know what to do.” Baggs grunted, struggling to hold Epic upright. “Or maybe even Error. His speciality is undoing things, after all.”
“Bruh, that guy gives me the creeps, no way Jose.”
“Epic, I’m going to drop you.”
“Don’t they tell you not to drop babies in medical school?”
Baggs let go of Epic and let him fall to the floor with a loud thud and a muffled ‘ow’. “I never went to medical school.”
“Omagah, I’ve been seeing an unlicensed doctor?!” Epic said in mock-astonishment, not bothering to get off the ground. “Where’s my lawyer, I’m gonna sue.”
Baggs gave him a look, then they both burst out laughing, Epic rolling around on the floor, Baggs hunched over, clutching his sides.
“We don’t even have money here, what would you sue me for?” Baggs wheezed.
“I dunno, bruh.” Epic answered breathlessly. “Your transformer toys?”
“Those are models, not toys!” Baggs huffed indignantly.
“If you say so, bruh.”
There was a moment of silence as they both caught their breath.
“Ok, I’ll take a shower, doc.” Epic said, finally. “But you better let me sleep after, or I’mma have to get all kamehameha on your nonexistent ass.”
Baggs extended a hand to help Epic to his feet, yet again. “Thank you, my friend.”
Epic shrugged and stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him.
He wasted no time in tearing off his hoodie and climbing up on the counter, inspecting his soul between the gaps in his ribs in the mirror above the sink. He felt a little off, if he was being honest. The feeling that something foreign had invaded his system was still present. It wasn’t painful, really, just weird.
He reached into his ribcage and tentatively poked at his soul, wincing slightly as his hard, cold fingertips came into contact with the exposed organ.
It felt normal, nothing poking back at him from inside it like he’d been halfway expecting.
“Epic?” Baggs called, rapping lightly on the door, causing Epic to jump and fall off the countertop, only landing on his feet due to his nightmare-world-trained reflexes. “You didn’t grab any clean clothes to change into, so I brought you some. I hope that it was a lapse in memory and not a conscious decision to sleep in that filthy hoodie.”
“Oh, yeah, totally-completely, bruh.” Epic replied, opening the door to accept the neatly folded stack of clothes from Baggs. “Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.” Baggs said dully, eyeing Epic’s exposed ribs with a light magenta flush to his cheeks.
Epic opened his mouth to make a joke, then shut it, taking the clothes and closing the door again, face burning with flustered magic.
“Remember to brush your teeth,” Baggs said, voice muffled by the door between them.
Epic chuckled and went to turn on the water. “Ok, doc.”
…
Baggs paced back and forth across the length of Epic’s room, listening to the shower run, trying to calm his nerves.
He could still feel his connection to Epic, a slack leash he could tighten at any moment. It had been so long since he’d had this kind of power in his hands, total control over another being’s soul. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
Should he be nudging Epic towards relaxation? Should he hide the magic leash so Epic couldn’t feel it? Should he make it more noticeable so Epic would be able to resist easier? Should he provide a list of basic hygienic practices for his subconscious? Would that be helpful or just invasive?
Baggs could still see his brother’s face in his mind’s eye, from the first time he’d exerted his control over him. It had been necessary, not just for him but for all of monsterkind, but, oh, that look of shock and betrayal, of deep disappointment and fear, it would never leave him.
He never wanted to see anyone look at him like that ever again, including Epic.
Especially Epic.
Baggs let out a long, measured breath and took a seat on the bed, pushing aside those painful memories.
They would have to establish clear boundaries. That was all.
Baggs could respect boundaries, once set, and Epic was a man of his word. They would be ok.
Baggs just had to be patient, and stay calm.
So, he waited, and listened, clearing his mind like he’d practiced so many times, letting time flow by unmeasured.
The shower ran, then turned off. The sink turned on and off, on and off. There was a pause, then the rustling of clothes. And then the door was open, and there was Epic, looking refreshed, but exhausted.
Were Baggs a braver man, he would have commented on how good Epic looked when he took care of himself, sturdy, scarred bones shining in the dim lamplight, but as it was, he merely patted the bed beside him, pulling aside the sheet and allowing Epic to crawl in, tucking them around him and leaning down to whisper in his ear, “sleep.”
…
Epic awoke slowly, to the light of the sun shining on his face and the gentle swooshing sound of pages being turned.
It was a surreal experience, like he was living somebody else's life.
No jolting awake in a cold sweat before the sun was even up. No phantom pains shooting through his body. No lingering exhaustion.
He’d just had a full night of sleep, and had dreamed about stargazing, though the details were quickly slipping away.
How long had it been since he’d last actually slept?
Thirty years, at least.
“You snore.” Baggs stated in an annoyed tone, looking down at him fondly over the book he was reading in bed beside him.
Epic rolled over and closed his eyes again with a muffled, “mphf.”
the place where it rained
did this on google slides
don't mind the one frame that's out of order :p
Semi-Automatic
Found another Baggs x Epic fic in my drive. Don't remember writing it, and it's also not up to Sonderverse canon, so I think I wrote it after Insomnia, maybe a couple months ago...?
Anywho, figured I'd clean it up and share cause somebody's gotta post Eggs propaganda.
Synopsis; Baggs tries to take care of Epic and it goes poorly.
These skeletons got pronouns so; She/Her Cross, They/Them Nightmare and Dream, He/Him Epic and Baggs.
TW for self-harm, monster blood, and excessive headcanons.
Cross belongs to Jakei, Baggs belongs to Megalommi, Night and Dream belong to Joku, and Epic belongs to yugogeer012
Baggs was a creep, so he’d been told, despite his good intentions, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t vex him.
Yes, he could bend others to his will, make them want to obey his every word, make them need to be controlled the way he needed to be in control, but since being taken in by Nightmare and, been appointed the patron deity of biology, assuming the title of The Curator, he hadn’t used his power on anyone without being asked to, ordered to, or forced to for self-defense.
Spending half a decade being schooled by horrors beyond his comprehension, namely Nightmare and Dream, about the importance of autonomy, consent, and mutual trust and understanding had led to a great deal of self-reflection and improvement.
Yes, he craved the mana flowing through others’ leylines, but these vampiric tendencies were the result of his perseverance-infused soul, not his own consciousness, and he had vowed never to take advantage of another. He’d proven time and time again that his resolve was stronger than the carnal impulses of his corrupted soul, behaving civilly around the others even as his body screamed for him to drink them dry, and isolating himself when he felt his self-control faltering.
Yes, he used pet names constantly, but only because a real name felt so much more intimate, like he was using a term of endearment meant only for family, close friends, and lovers. He himself only ever introduced himself as Dr. Serif, or The Curator, and got uncomfortable when addressed as Baggs by strangers or acquaintances, and it was only right he treat others how he wished to be treated..
Yes, he lavished everyone he knew with compliments, but that was because he genuinely meant everything he said, not because he was trying to proposition them. If he thought Query’s little rambling fits were, quite frankly, adorable, or the care Epic showed to the younger skeletons in the castle was admirable, he felt it was only right that he say so.
And yes, he stared at people, but only out of scientific curiosity, not out of some sort of perversion. People were complex, fascinating creatures, and he was a doctor for gods’ sake, he dedicated his life to studying and fixing them.
He was staring at Epic now, as the engineer slept, studying his face intently, deep in thought.
He was attracted to Epic, of course, who wouldn’t be? He was intelligent, strong, kind, charismatic, and had that undeniable allure of somebody who could switch from an dick joke making idiot to a dead-serious, incredibly intimidating scientist on a dime. And that wasn’t even accounting for his physical attributes. How Baggs fantasized about being held by those sturdy, battle-tested arms, how he dreamed about kissing that cheeky, lopsided smirk, and how he longed to scrub away all those oil-stains and scuff marks that Epic never bothered to clean properly.
But Baggs was not a very brave man, and he would much rather keep Epic’s friendship as he had it than gamble it for something more. Epic was a good friend and colleague, not put off by Baggs’…eccentricities in the slightest, always there to coerce Baggs into resting and feeding when he was too caught up in his work to stop, always there with a smile and a joke when Baggs was having a bad day, and always willing to repair or create any equipment Baggs needed.
So, naturally, when Baggs noticed that Epic had some sort of sleeping disorder, he wanted to help. However, to his increasing annoyance, Epic was extremely cagey about the topic, and, despite Baggs’ persistence, denied that anything was wrong with him.
“Bruh, I’m fine,” Says the man who speaks about sleep with a bitter irony in his usually cheery tone and dark circles under his eyes that contest with Baggs’ namesake features.
“Seriously, Doc, estoy a-ok, chillax,” Says the man who always twitches and grunts and growls in his sleep as if in the throes of a vicious nightmare, but cannot be woken by any means, always starting awake without warning, completely alert from the moment his eyesockets shoot open with a gasping breath.
“Really, Baggs, drop it, I’m not…I’m fine, okay?” Says the man who pretends to go to bed at a reasonable time and instead stays up watching junk on tv, working, or crying (Epic is an ugly crier, Baggs has learned thanks to his chronic insomnia and the unfortunate acoustics of the castle; it would be endearing if it didn’t sadden him so) and goes without sleep until he starts having breakdowns and hallucinating, not that Baggs is one to judge, but it worries him all the same.
Worry, worry, worry.
That’s Baggs ever does, it seems. He’s a terrible worrywort, and he can’t recall if he was always like this, or if the experiment he’d done on his soul had made him this way, but nevertheless, he is. If he’s not fretting over one thing, he’s stressing over another, and the lack of control he has in his new life and amount of caffeine he consumes on an hourly basis does nothing to help.
And so here he is, watching Epic sleep, in that unnaturally deep yet incredibly fitful way he does, like a creep, and worrying about him.
He’d thrown a blanket over him, because he’d passed out at the table and it was a cold night (He would have taken the sleeping skeleton to his room, but, unfortunately, Epic was both a good deal larger than Baggs and heavier than he looked), and while the gesture eases a little of the ache in his soul, it’s still uncomfortably tight when he sees the pained, almost anguished expression on what should be a peacefully resting face.
Because he knows he could make it better, he knows he could help, but he can’t do anything because Epic is just so goddamn stubborn, and Baggs is left teetering on a razor's edge trying to decide whether he should just let his friend keep suffering in silence or step in a make him accept help. Forcing somebody to do something they don’t want to do, no matter how small, is against the rules that have been drilled into his skull by his eldritch patrons, but is allowed on the condition that there is a good enough reason.
That just leaves the matter of whether curing Epic’s condition, whatever it is, is a good enough reason to strip him of the autonomy of having a say in whether it gets cured, which is a conundrum, because one of the few things Epic takes deadly serious are promises, and he’d made Baggs swear never to use his power on him or Query when Baggs had moved into their tower from the dungeon. Baggs knows if he breaks that promise, he’d lose Epic’s trust instantly, and likely never get it back.
And that begs the question, is Baggs willing to sacrifice Epic’s friendship for a chance at improving his health, and would that even be the right thing to do? He chuckled bitterly to himself at how neatly this situation parallels the dilemma concerning his feelings for the old engineer.
Ultimately, Baggs is spared from making a decision as Epic jolts awake with a strangled yelp and elbows him in the jawbone with enough force to knock him out of his chair and onto the cold stone floor with a horrible cracking sound.
…
oh fuck
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
Epic bites back a stream of curses as he jumps out of his chair to crouch by Baggs’ side.
The biologist was sprawled out on the stone floor, eyelights snuffed out. A thin stream of ichor trails from his mouth, and a pool of it is starting to puddle under his head. The swirling cyan and magenta coloring is eyestrainingly vivid against the dark marble floor of the tower.
Epic could swear he felt his soul crack.
He did this.
He put off sleeping too long and passed out in a common area, and Baggs, diligent, oh-so attentive Baggs, had been keeping watch over him, and Epic had woken up from having his spine snapped in half and lashed out, not realizing that he was in the waking world. And the worst part is that Epic knew this would happen, he knew that he often wakes up confused and in pain, and he has attacked people in the past, but they’ve always been able to defend themselves. Neither of the skeletons he lives with in the tower have any sort of combat ability, and Baggs is the more feeble of the two.
Stars, if either of them could still die by conventional means, that blow would have killed him.
And it would have been Epic’s fault.
Carefully, he lifts Baggs’ head up to check the back of his skull, and can’t decide whether he wants to throw up or scream when he sees a jagged web of cracks leaking mana at an extremely alarming rate. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and makes a plan. He’ll heal what he can, then take Baggs to the main castle where one of the resident high deities can work their magic and prevent it from scarring.
“I’m sorry,” He mutters, placing a hand on the wound and channeling as much mana as he can muster into healing it.
Baggs whimpers, flinching away, and Epic holds him in place with his free hand.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, feeling tears well up in his eyesockets.
He knows Baggs will forgive him, the old biologist is nothing if not patient, but being attacked and wounded by a friend, even by accident, isn’t something you can just shrug off.
“I’m sorry,” he says a third time, as if apologizing will do anything to ease either of their pain.
He removes his hand to check the damage, using his coat’s sleeve to gently wipe away the multicolored ichor staining Baggs’ skull. The cracks are still there, faintly visible in the moonlight filtering in through the tower windows, but they aren’t bleeding anymore.
Sniffling and wiping away his tears, Epic tries to compose himself as he scoops Baggs into his arms, mildly surprised at how light the smaller skeleton is, and stands, forcing his usual easy grin and cheerful demeanor with an ease that sickens him.
Baggs’ eyelights have reappeared, though they’re dim and fuzzy. He’s crying, and Epic shifts his grip so he can hold him while using his least bloodstained hand to wipe away the tears.
“Sorry bruh, that was super uncool of me. Let’s go getcha fixed up.”
Baggs blinks bemusedly at up him and lets out a strangled groan, head lolling to the side as tears continue to stream down his face, clearly concussed. More ichor trickles out of his mouth and nose, mixing with his tears and staining both of their clothes.
Epic hurries to the nearest threshold, trying not to stumble on legs that somehow simultaneously feel like lead and jell-o. Which doorway in the castle should he shortcut to? Nightmare was technically Baggs’ and Epic’s patron, but the dark god didn’t exactly strike Epic as the nurturing kind. Would they be offended if Epic went to their warmer counterpart for help instead of them? He hoped not.
If so, he would deal with their rage when it came, but that wasn’t his problem right now.
“Hang on, bruh,” Epic told Baggs, tightening his grip on the wounded skeleton as he barrelled into the void and burst out into Dream’s quarters. There were several rooms attached to the main room he’d shortcutted to, but only one of them was emanating an unmistakable aura of warmth and light.
Epic kicked open the door to Dream’s bedroom, instinctively dodging as several sharp bone projectiles came flying at his head, and ending up with a blade digging into his back.
“Hey, bruh, it’s me, chill!” He exclaimed as Cross lowered her sword and moved into Epic’s field of view, mismatched eyelights shrunken and darting.
“What happened?” She asked, deadly serious as she always was when things went to shit.
Epic turned to face Dream, who was sitting up in bed, golden tendrils already reaching out to take Baggs from him.
“He needs help.” He chokes out, guilt and fear cracking through the mask and into his voice before he could stop them.
“I will heal him.” Dream assures him, lifting Baggs from his arms and gently squeezing his hand with a tendril, “Do not worry, it will be okay.”
“Epic, is there a threat in the castle, what happened?” Cross repeats urgently, grabbing Epic by the shoulders and shaking him a little
“No, bruh, I just accidentally decked him, it’s fine.” Epic shrugs, an involuntary tremor racking his body as he suppresses the urge to start rattling.
Cross lets out a breath, relaxing visibly, though still obviously perturbed, “Dude, what the hell?”
Epic just shrugs again, gaze straying to where Dream now has Baggs in their lap and is bathing his wound in golden light.
He should be fine now. Epic turns to leave.
“Hey, dude.”
Oh, right, Cross still has him by the shoulders. Can’t really do anything about that. She has an iron-bending grip strength and he is definitely not going anywhere until she decides to let go.
Fuck.
“Seriously, what’s up? You look like shit and there’s no way you just punched a guy we both know would lose a fair fight to a goddamn watercooler.”
“Well, I did,” Epic replies bluntly, biting back a fit of manic giggles and pulling back against Cross’s grip to see if she’ll let go. He needs to get out of here before he loses it. He knows he’s insane, but Cross doesn’t, at least not to what extent, and he would really prefer to keep it that way.
Cross doesn’t let go though, looking at him with such concern it makes him sick. “Is something going on? The tower’s pretty isolated, do I need to check on you more often or post guards? Did he-“
“No,” Epic cuts her off before she can finish the question, biting out a terse, “He accidentally spooked me and I accidentally hit him. That’s it.”
Cross sighs, finally releasing him, and Epic stumbles back a few steps, through Dream’s door and out of an arch woven of young trees, into the woods, cold and dark.
He made that makeshift doorway, and he’s the only one who knows about it. Nobody is coming after him, not now, not yet.
Cross’ll probably organize a search when he isn’t found in the castle after behaving so out of character. She’s a good friend, better than he deserves, and he’s glad she isn’t here.
Alone, his poorly patched mask crumbles, and a hysterical laugh bursts out of him as his grin hitches up so wide it hurts, bones rattling like a wooden windchime caught in a hurricane.
On autopilot, he shoves his hand into his eye socket, as pain greets him like an old friend, reaching for that damned eye so he can crush it, ichor splattering the inside of his skill as he screams, laughing uncontrollably as he pukes and his visions whites out, again and again and again, until either the eye gives up or his body does.
Either way, he’ll get to rest.
This is Seraph, the Titan of Flame
I haven't gotten their lore into a coherent format yet but I just finished this art so I figured I'd share.
I think he's pretty neat.
