#BUT THE SILENCE IS HURTING ME

[gfanlocalcryptid]

WHY ISN'T ANYBODY MAKING EVIDENCE BOARDS ABOUT thisisnotawebsitedotcom?

[lucreziagiovane]

"Both Oakes and Grainger have always done well when given the right material, and each has some terrifically frightening silent moments: an uncontrollable clenching of fists from Juan as he is exiled to Spain, a subtle grin from Lucrezia as she hears her brother's groans of pleasure shift to agony." — The A.V club

[habken]

I can't stop thinking abt mitsuki x inko x masaru. specifically if it happened when izuku and katsuki were way younger, so by the time they get to high school they're very used to being Brothers.

sorry all might, katsuki got suspicious about izukus training and followed him. yeah they're fighting now. sorry. at least it's only a brotherly wrestle and not like. explosions. for now.

Exactlyy lmao in my head, their parents’ relationship gets revealed some time after the sludge villain thing so they’re both busy training and didn’t notice how often their parents were hanging out or how weirdly close the three had gotten, but now they’re incredibly aware of it and each other and that’s when katsuki realizes something’s up with izuku one thing leads to another and now he knows about all might’s secret and ofa and it also helping clear up the beach.

Deku is also slightly better prepared for the entrance exam because him and katsuki duke it out a bunch

Deku vs kacchan but it’s just them rolling around and somebody taking the other’s arm and going “stop hitting yourself stop hitting yourself” and somehow they’re both less and more violent with each other than before

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Broken Roofs and Fixed Perspectives

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[sorrelpaws]

>be me >make a friend >hang out with him >he gets hurts due to hanging out with me >mfw my only friend might die because of me

[kybercrystals94]

Nightmares and Demons

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 Prompts -> Bonus Alternate Prompt: Light in the Darkness -> Week 12: Nightmares & Radio Silence -> Week 13: "Stop Touching Me!" // "I'm not touching you!"

Rated: T | Words: 1443 Author's Note: This is a roundabout sequel to my Febuwhump 2024 story Poisoned.

“Remember, remember, remember…” Crosshair murmurs through gritted, gnashing teeth. He presses the heels of his hands into his temples, fingernails digging into his scalp. “...remember, remember…” A sob. “...please, remember…” 

The girl came again. She knows his name. Speaks with a familiarity he craves. She tells him they are coming. Their brothers. Their brothers are coming. It is only a matter of time. He believes her. He has to believe her. If he doesn’t, he has nothing. Nothing but the poison that the Empire has leached into him. Needles and torture and endless, endless pain. 

Her promise, void and empty as it is, is like a light in the inky, consuming darkness. A fragile, flickering flame on the end of a match. It burns close to his finger tips, but he won’t let it go. 

“What have they done to you, Crosshair?” the girl asks when she comes. 

Crosshair tries to ignore her, tries to remember. Their brothers. Her promise. They’re coming. 

“...remember, remember, remember…” 

If he falls asleep, he doesn’t remember. He never remembers. 

He only feels the ghosts of memories, transparent and impossible to grasp in desperate fists. They brush past him, leaving lingering anguish in their wake. They never comfort, only torment and haunt him. 

When Crosshair wakes, it is silence that greets him. Not the girl. Not their brothers. 

Crosshair stands and looks out the grate of his cell. The other cell doors are swung open while his remains firmly latched. Why didn’t the guards take him too? Have they finally finished their experiments? Has he finally outlived his usefulness to the Empire? But that isn’t right. Something is wrong. 

Panic pricks his skin, stutters his heartbeat, quickens his panting breaths. 

He doesn’t understand. He should be grateful he is being left alone. 

He doesn’t want to be alone. He shouldn’t be alone. 

“...we don’t leave our own behind…”

“...we would’ve taken you back…”

“...it is his nature…” 

“...you're my brother too…”

The ghosts press in. Memories darkened with poison, glimpses of clarity in a clouded mind. He shouldn’t be alone. He doesn’t want to be alone. Please, don’t leave me alone! 

Crosshair stumbles back from the grated door. Nearly falls. “Guard?” he calls out. Don’t call out. Don’t draw attention. “Guard!” His voice pitches in his throat, a near scream.

A guard comes. He stands at the grate, looking in through a lifeless, broken visor. His blaster hangs loosely from one gloved hand. His armor is stained with blood and scorch marks. “You’re still here,” the guard says incredulously, voice thin and weak. 

Crosshair only stares back. 

The guard tips his head. “Funny. I didn’t think they’d leave one of their own behind.” 

“Behind?” Crosshair whispers. 

The guard opens the door. Steps toward him. “They came for the girl, they came for the others…but they didn’t come for you.” 

Crosshair thinks his lungs turn to stone. He can’t breathe, can’t draw in a breath, can’t speak a word. The guard takes another step. He lifts his blaster. “The Empire doesn’t need a singular, damaged clone. Its own kind don’t even want it. Why would we?” 

The girl wouldn’t leave him behind. Their brothers wouldn’t leave him behind. She promised they would come. For her. For them. They wouldn’t leave him behind. 

But they did. 

“Don’t,” Crosshair rasps out. He can’t move. His body paralyzed with something. Fear? Resignation? 

The muzzle of the blaster gouges into this chest. He feels its cold heat through the thin cloth of his shirt, over the pounding throb of his heart.  

Silence. 

And in the silence, the click of a trigger. 

***

Crosshair chokes on a frantic gasp of breath, the inhale burning down a raw throat. He tries to kick out of the blankets tangled around his limbs, but they hold fast, binding him to the horrifying remnants of the nightmare. Crying out, his frantic movements become panicked and uncoordinated until he falls with a heavy crash from his bed to the cold, unforgiving floor. 

The main light of his room clicks on.

The click of a trigger. 

The darkness is banished in an instant, but the terror lingers still. He thrashes, one hand trying to disentangle himself, the other an empty wrist useless to do anything. 

“Hey, hey,” a voice says, “Cross, it’s okay. It’s alright. It’s just a nightmare.” 

“Stop touching me!” Crosshair cries. He isn’t talking to the voice. He’s talking to the endless fabric that confines his movements, his freedom…

“I’m not touching you,” the voice says, sounding confused. “Hold still, let me help you. I’ll help you, Cross…just…” 

Hands, steady and sure, swiftly free Crosshair from the folds of blankets. He is too relieved to feel ashamed yet. Crosshair simply sits, skin burning with cold adrenaline, nightclothes damp with sweat. His breathing is short and quick. He needs to calm down before he passes out. He knows that, but his body doesn’t care. His body doesn’t listen to reason. His mind can barely comprehend it itself. 

An arm wraps around him. “Easy, easy. It was a nightmare. Breathe. Just focus on your breathing. Okay? Nothing else.” Loud, exaggerated breaths guide him to even out his own breathing. It feels like long, shivering hours before his mind clears enough to recognize Hunter at his side on the floor. 

Embarrassment readily takes hold as adrenaline seeps out, but Crosshair can’t bring himself to pull away. Not yet. He closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hunter asks.

Crosshair bites back the reflexive refusal. He lets the question settle instead, unanswered and expectant. 

Hunter doesn’t ask again, doesn’t move away. 

Omega talks about her nightmares, sometimes. Crosshair hasn’t tried to listen, but when the house is silent, and the only sound is the trembling voice of their little sister, confessing the demons that plague her sleep, it is hard not to. However, it seems to help her. The lies of the darkness cowering away in the light of the truth when Hunter tells her she’s safe now, Hemlock isn’t coming back, the Empire is no longer searching…she’s safe, she’s loved, she’s home…

Their home. 

“...it was about Tantiss,” Crosshair murmurs, his voice unsteady. 

Hunter hums. 

“I couldn’t remember anyone,” Crosshair continues, “The drugs they’d used clouded them. Omega was there, but I couldn’t remember her name. She told me our brothers were coming. They were coming for us…but I couldn’t remember who our brothers were.” 

Hunter’s grip tightens just a little, pulling him closer. 

Crosshair shudders against him. He has to finish or he never will. “In the nightmare, I woke up and everyone was gone. The other cells were open, all open except for mine. A guard came to my cell. He looked like he’d been in a firefight.” His throat constricts, but he can’t stop now. Even if he wanted to. The words rush out of him. “He said…he said that I’d been left behind. My brothers had come, but not for me. He said that I was no longer useful, that a solitary clone that wasn’t even wanted by its own kind was worthless…and then he shot me through the heart.” 

Shame washes over him as he exposes the dark corners of his mind to his brother. Thoughts he’s buried deep that claw their way out of the filth with sharp claws when he’s most vulnerable. He feels raw and unfortified, shivering on the floor of his bedroom. But at the same time, he feels protected. When his own strength failed him, Hunter stepped in, offering his own in the dark of night when demons both born and inflicted rushed in to torment. 

Hunter does not speak for a long time, but the silence isn’t empty. It is companionable. Crosshair has missed companionable silence. It is hard to come by. 

“I know that you know the truth,” Hunter says at last. “But sometimes it helps to hear it.” 

Crosshair nods. He is familiar with these words. He’s heard Hunter speak them to Omega many dark nights. 

“The truth is,” Hunter continues softly, rough voice low, “You and Omega escaped Tantiss together. You saved each other, and found us again. The truth is, no matter what the Empire thinks of us, you are our brother, and we love you.” 

Crosshair swallows back the emotions that threaten to betray him. 

“The truth is, that we are safe,” Hunter goes on, “and we’re together now. The truth is, you’ll never be alone again. Not if we have anything to say about it.” 

Crosshair sinks into the one armed embrace of his brother. 

He’s safe. 

He’s loved. 

He’s home.

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[thegunslingerletmedrop]

Lestat would have saved Claudia if he had the energy. I believe that to my core. -

Jacob Anderson

[riverrunscold]

Since we're sharing youtube comments, I wanted to share this underrated one

[freckliedan]

hi jam, what actually happened in 2012/2013? i got into the phandom in 2020, so i guess i just never fully understood? of course no worries if you don’t want to bring it up for whatever reason. (:

hi anon! i am always happy to discuss dan and phil history (editing to add: you can check out my tag on that here), especially since i've been around for long enough to have seen a Lot of it. the biggest factor is that dan and phil were outed in 2012; i have written about that before here.

i would reccomend rewatching dan's mental health series of videos (meaning of life, something i'm forgetting, daniel and depression, trying to live my truth) + BIG with the additional understanding that being outed at that point had a catastrophic impact on dan's mental health, especially considering his past traumas.

there were a lot of other reasons 2012 and 2013 were bad, some of which we knew at the time and some that we didn't.

dan's younger brother started to have social media, and fans were harassing him for information/pretending to be friends with him to get information/bullying him. that's something dan shut down HARD.

dan's grandma was also on twitter around this time iirc? so there was a very real chance he could've been outed to his family if someone had decided to cross the line in the worst way they could.

dan and phil had moved to london in 2012 without being able to afford it and without being sure they would get the bbc radio 1 jobs. so they were also under stupid amounts of financial stress while also adjusting to life in a new city when all of this happened.

2013 is also the year phil's dad was diagnosed with cancer. that's something that phil never shared until 2019 in his draw my life 2, but that's such a scary and overwhelming thing to be dealing with!

all at the same time!

the radio show era is also a time when dan and phil were so busy with projects and opportunities and saying yes to everything that it very, very clearly had a negative impact on them, which is something they have mentioned a number of times.

they were dealing with the transition into proper fame, too. i don't have enough toughts to gather about that but i'm sure someone else can speak to what that was like. a lot of youtubers of their original era left the platform at that that time due to the everything.

so. short answer. 2012-2013 was one of the most intense, overwhelming and difficult periods we know of in dan and phil's lives for so many reasons, even without factoring in the fact that they were outed. which also happened then.

they did not, in fact, have a difficult 2012 because people posted smut of them and they accidentally saw it. dan had already mentioned reading fic about himself on purpose at that point in time.

[arenabreadandbiscuits]

Sooo... Can we talk about Vox and Alastor Cause I'm literally obsessed...

Basically headcanons since of course I seen the post running around where Viv calls their relationship sad and complicated.

Being an 'angst-girlie' I HAVE to gobble this up so here's a few headcanons I immediately thought about.

Mentions of Valentinos acts against humanity so watch out for that. A bit, like a smidge, of kissing and making out mentioned as well.

For Starters

I happily wrote a fanfic for pics that @milariro drew (lovely artist, check em out!) and I think Valentino definitely plays a big roll in the fallout.

So Vox and Alastor were pals yeah, hung out, chit chatted, ate food together, even got close enough for Alastor to feel comfortable doing more intimate actions like cuddling and hugging and such.

I can't help but think of Vox perhaps being on the Acespectrum himself? He's giving "I will but I don't have to" so I get more demi vibes off of him. He probably doesn't give a fuck about anyone else like he does with Alastor so that's why.

I think he could build intimacy with others yes but he's so focused on his work usually outside of his competition.

Vox probably came to hell and started off really small and little so as he grew, he wanted to grow and took his time to try and get bigger. I would say that Valentino could come in here if not later when Vox seemed to develop feelings for Alastor and in doing so Alastor wants to return those said feelings but he's scared.

Scared of what? The unknown.

He probably is someone who doesn't like when he can't see what's going to occur or happen before it actually does.

He's a runner. Imma say that because I can be one. He cares for Vox but he can't stop the way his heart seems to race when they get just a bit too close...

Valentino probably comes in and ruins everything, most likely at a time when Alastor starts to get some sort of understanding on his own feelings and seeing Vox practically become infatuated with Valentino really leaves a void in his own heart.

Of course he wants to support Vox in his endeavors but... Valentino? Out of all people?

Alastor is most likely disgusted by even the thought of Valentino and seeing Vox so happy and eager with him sets. Him. Off.

A lot of arguments now, harsh words and such and really it's from Vox as he's confused and lost as to Alastor's behavior. He probably picked up on it and asked multiple times just for Alastor to brush him off every time so now that smoke is in the air everything is coming out.

Vox probably would confess he's in love with Alastor in this argument, tears, crying and all and Alastor can't help the way he feels about it

He feels he's at fault, and his airy silence doesn't help with all the anguish in the air already

He's scared. He loves Vox as well but something about the situation makes it hard for Alastor to swallow all the information and this leads to the 7 year disappearance

This mother fucker definitely leaves without saying a single thing to Vox and that hurts Vox more than anything else.

What else can Vox do without a single letter or sign as to where his friend went and of course he's going to know he's the reason to a certain extent

It definitely hurts both of them, like... World shattering.

Vox has no choice but to go to Valentino.

I can't help but analyze how Vox seemed... Happy? That he thought Angeldust quit when Valentino was raging. Vox does not love this man...

He of course knows about the things Valentino does... Or maybe... He doesn't? Like maybe he has an idea but he hates to think about it... He's never around when it actually happens to someone?

Valentino probably...has even done things to Vox himself?

Maaaannn like I said these aren't canon ofc but now I'm just rambling. Vox probably goes through similar ways of abuse from Val but he just puts up with it like everyone else? I can see him being so broken behind closed doors and when he's in front of others he puts on the cocky persona of his. It's something he's picked up from Alastor, smiling was a tactic all on its own.

He's unconscious of it but Vox thinks of Alastor all the time; when he wakes, when he works, etc etc and I think that in very little ways Alastor does the same thing.

Alastor definitely thinks of Vox often but he's so much better at hiding it. These two are so broken when they are alone.

I'm hoping they talk more about these two but OMG imagine so heartfelt ass communication after so maybe years... They definitely need it, to air out everything

And imagine that while they are Vox is speaking and Alastor is adamantly listening as he's always done and before he even knows it he's leaning forward, closer and Vox doesn't necessarily realize it until Alastor is just a breath away.

Tbh Alastor wouldn't even know what he was doing, it's like he's doing it unconsciously...no thoughts in mind and when Vox stops for a moment and just right then everything just seems to make sense? Alastor looks at him as if there's nothing but him and Vox would return the gaze before they closed in with a kiss

It's not just a little kiss either, it's one that starts off soft and gentle and leads into something hotter... Something raunchy as they cling to each other and hold each other.

Someone drew a pick with Vox being pinned against the wall by Alastor while kissing and I'll tag them (HERE) when I find them again but yeah it's like that.

It's like Alastor is letting off steam that's been trapped inside him for all those years even prior to his disappearance and he wants to be careful and gentle but he's... Excited, happy to have Vox in his arms again so he gets rough, biting, nipping, sucking until Vox seems to just completely become goop against him because in reality this is all he's wanted from Alastor... To be close to him, to hug him, to kiss him...

To help him, to protect him, to watch him grow and grow together with him.

Alastor still struggles with admitting it but he's just as happy to be with Vox too. (It's giving soulmates?? Soulmate AU ANYONE??! I'LL WRITE IT? PAY ME AND ILL START IT TODAY???!!! Support a disabled writer and I'll write whatever you want!~ current commission status: 3/5 stories to be done which I'll be working on right after this post)

Ahem...

But anyway they are married your honor!

I can see Vox coming to the Hotel after he manages to break free of Valentino. Maybe running off and disappearing on him and pulling an Alastor while Valentino rages at everyone else to find him. Velvet is broken between helping and not.

Vox coming to the hotel would be a shit fest to start off but... He is actually really helpful, and he takes the time to rebuild a connection with Angeldust and Alastor and he seems just so much more... Happy and genuine? And sometimes when Alastor notices he can't help but show a genuine smile as he admires Vox.

They would eventually come together to help publicize the hotel and WOAH are they banging!

The radio demon and TV demon have come together to help some crappy hotel rehabilitate sinners? Holy shit!

They reel people in from all over for various reasons whether it be fangirls shipping them or people actually wanting help and to grow...

They are happy together but...

Valentino and whoever is on his side of things definitely managed to also pick up on the sudden booming aura coming off of that hotel and maybe...maybe they'll pay a visit.

One that reminds Vox of everything that Valentino did to him and OMG imagine Vox having a panic attack or something, running off because he knows it's Val? Leaving Alastor to go hunt for him?

A fight would be interesting.

Alright alright, imma shut up.

I wrote this write the angst in mind but of course I rambled hahah. Either way, I said what I said. ÙwÚ

If you made it this far follow? Reblog? Comment???

MWAH 💋

- A

[valeffelees]

whenev im sad i remind myself that the first time i drew simon and baz (abt a year and a half ago) they looked like this

but my more recent drawings of simon and baz look like this

peace and love on the planet earth dont let your dreams be dreams yesterday you said tomorrow etc etc

[iwasbored777]

"But why did Gwen push Miles away like that if she loves him so much?" You ask as if in the same movie we didn't watch her father, the person she loves more than anything and the person that she thought that loves her more than anything, disown her right away because he learned one thing about her that he didn't like.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

And done! Mostly archivists, some Roier, Fit, and the rest of deathfam at the end. TW: aftermath of torture, major character injuries, fantasy sickness, ooc warning for probs everyone but the situation is fucked so who knows. It's 6638 words please just take it as it is and love it or at least the idea for me <3

The doorbell rings, and it pulls Cellbit from his sleep. He’s curled on the floor of the fear room, having never quite made it to bed last night. With a bit of effort he pulls himself to his feet, cursing out whomever decided to wake him at this hour.

If it isn’t important, he’s starting another murder spree.

“Coming!” he calls, unsure if it will reach, as he takes the elevator up and then stalks down the hallways.

He gets to the doorway, and rips it open. With a sigh he prepares to berate them, only to freeze as he opens the door.

It’s Philza.

Philza. Who has been missing for a little over two months.

Philza, dressed in rags and smelling of blood.

“Philza?” He asks, looking over him, looking for his wounds. “We missed you; where've you been?”

And it doesn't matter that Cellbit had been asleep, because Philza is somehow alive and somehow back, even after so long. He can’t be angry, not seeing him wide eyed and like this.

He doesn't get a reply, just a shake of Philza's head. He sways in place, stumbling into the wall. Cellbit reaches out, taking his arm and trying to support him.

Philza looks at him, and there's a purple taint to his eyes.

Some sort of void sickness?

What the fuck.

Cellbit wants to ask, wants to scream and to shout, but there are clearly much more pressing problems here. Instead he takes a deep breath, and tries to position himself to take more of Philza's weight.

Cellbit is a wet tissue of a man, strength wise but he could swear Philza was never this light before.

Philza, who flinches at the touch, then all but collapses against Cellbit's side.

“Do you have a warpstone?” Cellbit asks, already thinking through if he has the supplies to make a spare. “We should probably get you to the infirmary…”

The weight on Cellbit's side is suddenly gone. A trail of bloody footprints stain the stonework as Philza stumbles backwards, rapidly shaking his head. All until he's pressed against the wall and the… then he just shakes.

And, fuck, Philza is usually a sensible one. But it's been months, and he's wounded, and Cellbit can see the signs of torture and knows the obvious culprits but…

“Okay,” he thinks, and thinks again. “Okay. My drawing room then. I have the first aid kit Mike made for Richas somewhere.”

Philza calms, and hesitantly nods, and goes as if to stand before leaning back against the wall, and offering out hands instead.

Why isn't he speaking? Void-sickness, possibly, but if so Cellbit would expect the taint to be visible on his lips or throat. Roier would probably say something about trauma, but Roier isn't here right now - he's taken Richas and Pepito for a sleepover at Foolish's dragon and, hell, at least the children aren't here to see the blood on the floor.

He'll have to clean before they get home.

Still, Cellbit takes Philza's arm, helping him drape his weight across Cellbit. He drags more than carries him, and most of their movement is kept going only by Cellbit.

Beneath his hands, Cellbit can feel things - too thin, but then the Federation has probably starved him (why is he void-sick, if the Federation took him? That doesn't add up but who else would it be?). There's dried blood beneath his fingers, and some tacky like the scabs have not quite been able to set. There are ridges, too, new scars born across his skin. Philza’s own fingers are weak against Cellbit’s arm, hurting and blistered and the skin scraped like he had been scrabbling in gravel.

Torture. Cellbit knows what torture is.

He wonders if Philza remembers any of it, or if he is like him.

Either way, Cellbit is going to find Cucurucho, and rip his spine through his neck.

With a trail of bloody footprints they make it to the drawing room. Cellbit helps Philza sit, making sure he is steady before letting go. There's a water jug left on the table, so he gets Philza a glass, and hands it to him.

Cellbit doesn’t ask ‘where the fuck have you been’ like he wants to, nor does he comment on the man’s state, instead he says “wait there. I’ll get some potions” before turning and sprinting back up the stairs.

Potions, bandages, stuff for stitches, water and soup - he grabs two buckets of water and a bottle or three of antiseptic, too, just to be sure. Did the Federation have him? It’s the only answer Cellbit can think of - from just a brief look Cellbit could see he was covered in wounds, friction burns on his ankles and wrists while his feet bled, and he looks half-starved. He’s pale, too, too pale, and he isn’t sure whether to hope it’s blood loss or lack of sunlight as both options suck.

He messages Roier, just in case - Missa he’ll worry about later, once he knows what is going on. No need to worry Philza’s loved ones in the middle of the night, and certainly not when they’re surrounded by people.

HIs knife goes in his belt - there’s no room for mistakes.

And then it’s sprinting back to his front room, only to find Philza is… gone?

He would call it a hallucination, if not for the bloody footprints still all over his carpet, and the still-full glass of water beside the sofa.

“Philza?” he calls, swallowing the crack in his voice.

Did the Feds steal him back from his own damned house?!

There’s a shuffling nearby. Cellbit turns, looks up, sees Philza perched on his toes, bloodying the top of his bookshelf.

“Sit back down and let me see where you’re hurt,” Cellbit points to the chair.

Philza looks about and around, curling tighter into himself. He stares at the window.

Jumps down.

Bolts towards it.

Crashes into the glass.

There’s a very definite noise of main, but it’s muffled and something about it is /wrong/.

Cellbit grabs his shoulder, steadying him, leading him back to the sofa. His own hands are shaking, and Philza keeps glancing back to the window.

What about the window is wrong…?

As soon as he sits down, Cellbit goes to examine it. He cannot see anything odd, but pulls tight the curtains just in case. 

“Better?” Cellbit asks.

He does not get a response, so he just hopes that he is.

The next question is… What first… Philza’s body is an itinerary of injuries - his face and his wings suspiciously intact but for the exhaustion and the void-sickness in his eyes, the stain also dappled across his nails and small patches of skin - but Cellbit knows what he wants first.

Everything is bad, but it is Philza’s feet that are bleeding.

So he grabs everything and kneels before the sofa. Carefully, watching Philza as closely as he is watched in return, he takes one of his feet. Cellbit has to pick the remains of utterly ruined shoes away, just tiny scraps of the fabric which once made up the uppers and soles. Beneath that are the wounds, and around it the blood.

Some of it is stones, and mud, and sticks, and dirt.

Some of it is blisters, a mark of how long Philza must have been walking.

Some of it looks suspiciously like very, very deliberate slash marks - all across the soles of his feet, and across the backs of his ankles. They’re deep, and surrounded by cross-hatched scars of equally thin slashes, like the wounds have been applied again and again and again.

If Cellbit were to cut someone’s feet like that, it would be to stop them from running. With how deep the slashes are… He doesn’t think that Philza was ever supposed to walk again.

“Fuck,” he feels himself swear and this… this doesn’t look like the Federation at all.

The friction burns around his wrists and ankles, looking like chains, sure, but the slicing…? They’d trust their bars, and they’d torture with something bigger, and if you are genuinely a flight risk they lock you away. Not… Not this.

It’s just as cruel, but not really in their style.

So he’s killing Cucurucho and someone else, then. Just got to work out who, because he cannot think of anything else on the Island which would trap someone in the void.

Still he slowly works on picking out the debris, doing his best to clean the wounds with a cloth dipped in clean water and antiseptic poured on it as he goes. The wounds are so extensive, though, and dirty, that…

Well, Cellbit isn’t a doctor; he pours the entire other bottle of antiseptic into one of the water buckets. Once he’s done all he can with his fingers and the cloth, he shoves Philza’s foot into the bucket.

Philza makes a strange noise; Cellbit checks, but he is gestured at to continue, so… So he repeats the actions.

The second foot is, somehow, worse; the cuts are shallower, but there’s barely skin between them.

Cellbit is out of his depth, he’s so far out of his depth, but they need treating now, and Roier has yet to answer the message - he’s probably, like everyone else, already asleep.

He picks out the gravel, and places this foot more carefully into the antiseptic bucket, and prays it’s enough to avoid an infection.

From there he moves to where he felt blood before, tracking the wounds. These ones are smaller, simpler, much more like their usual issues. Cellbit knows how to clean up a cut and bandage an awkward shoulder wound - he’s done it before. He can bandage to give pressure to a sprained wrist, and he’s certainly had his fair share of blistered fingers in his life.

The quantity is wrong, all wrong, but actually tending the wounds is something anyone of the island could have done.

And then… And then he must get carried away, too busy charting them, too busy tracking the black-ish stains on Philza’s stress and trying to calculate how bad the void-sickness is, too occupied to be taking proper care.

Because he does not mean to scrape a blister on his palm, tearing it open and letting the fluid leak out.

But he does.

Philza screams, but it does not come fully out. Neither do his lips open, the sound trapped in his throat and his nose, and Cellbit…

Cellbit has a horrible realisation.

“Philza,” he asks. “Philza, can you open your mouth for me?”

Philza shakes his head.

Wait, English is ambiguous, maybe… Maybe he’s not…

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

One shaking finger is raised.

And Cellbit slowly nods.

He’s known things like this before, he’s seen it before - he’s done it to people before - but think of it being done to someone who has only ever trusted him, only ever tried to help or be his friend…

“Can I touch your lips?” he asks.

Philza doesn’t react at all. He stares at Cellbit and barely even breathes.

Still Cellbit approaches, hesitant hands reaching out. He cannot see anything, not like this, so…

So if he’s right…

It’s not glue.

He’d be able to feel it if it were glue.

Slowly, carefully, he pushes a finger between Philza’s lips

and there, at the back, he finds the stitches. Thin but strong, pulled extremely tight and narrowly sewn. There’s not even space for a straw, and Cellbit knows how to fix this but he’s not sure he /can/.

He doesn’t even know who he needs to dissect.

“I…” he stares at it, leans closer to look, examines the thread - it was white, once, but it’s brown with dried blood and spit. They’re set so far back that they’re sewn more into Philza’s gums than the skin of his lips.

Cellbit pulls his hands away, “I don’t think I can help without hurting you.”

Philza tilts his head to the side, and gestures with bandaged hands.

He seems… resigned. Like he expected this.

Scared, too, glancing now at the door.

Who can Cellbit ask for help? Philza would probably want Missa, or maybe Fit or Etoiles or… Someone else early. But Fit is helping Missa protect Chayanne and Tallulah, and Etoiles is knee deep in /something/, which…

Roier might know. Pac and Mike are scientists, they could. Foolish has all sorts of strange skills, as does Bad.

He could just put a message in the general chat, but he really, really doesn’t want to do that…

And, there is also the problem that everyone is asleep.

“I’m going to get you some pyjamas,” Cellbit decides on, rather than making a decision before he’s worked out the right answer. “Will you be alright?”

Philza nods, his eyes already drifting to the door.

Cellbit hates it, hates how wrong this all is; Philza should not be curled on his sofa, clutching at himself, injured and shaking in fear. But, he is, and there is very little that Cellbit can do about it.

Something to wear is a start though - he heads back to his room, leaving Cellbit behind. Nobody on the island has a lot of spare clothes, but he manages to find a clean and relatively soft nightshirt at the bottom of a chest. He shakes out the worst of the creases, deems it serviceable enough, and heads back.

Philza is gone.

Again.

This time Cellbit checks for the footsteps - wet and still slightly tinged pink. Cursing the man and everything else he runs after, hoping he didn’t get too far.

He finds him very close to the bridge’s warp plate. Cellbit grabs his arm and, this time, Philza fights back.

It’s not a long fight, only seconds before Philza is limp in his grip and doing his best to snarl despite his sewn together lips.

The stitches don’t tear, but his skin does.

“Stop that!” Cellbit tries. “You’re making it worse.”

Philza /freezes/ when Cellbit yells, and his heart drops somehow further into his feet.

“Just… Come back inside? Please?”

Cellbit is so fucking tired.

Philza… Shakes his head.

“Philza.”

He pulls away his arm, and tries to run.

It’s not…

“Why are you running?”

It is far from the tone that Cellbit usually asks that question in, but it’s still one.

Philza… Does pause. He can’t even mouth his words, but he gestures to his eyes, and then to the darkness around them, glancing over his shoulder as he does.

He’s been looking around a lot…

“You’re being chased?”

Given someone was clearly trying to keep him wherever he was, it’s the obvious conclusion.

He nods - once, twice, gestures harder at the darkness and makes to keep running.

And then his eyes catch on a rose.

Missa had mentioned something about roses, how they were supposed to protect the family. There had been a garden of roses, the children asleep and Philza and Missa sat talking beneath the moon. And then Phil just… Dropped through the floor mid-sentence. Gone, before Missa could grab him. Gone, just like that, from a garden that should have been a sanctuary but whose leaves were withered now.

They’d looked and they’d searched and they’d hunted, and all that could be found was a small hole, with purple-touched darkness beneath.

Much the same colour as the void-taint in Philza’s eyes.

Cellbit picks a rose from the bush, and hands it to Philza, “Missa mentioned they’re… protection charms for you?”

At the mention of Missa, Philza's eyes snap from the flower to Cellbit, eyes suddenly much wider and Cellbit…

Cellbit maybe should have said sooner, because all he would want to know if he’d been tortured is if Roier and Richarlyson were safe.

“He’s safe,” Cellbit promises. “Foolish is hosting a sleepover for the Eggs tonight - he took Chayanne and Tallulah.” 

Philza doesn’t look like he believes him.

So, Cellbit presses on.

“He showed me the rose garden, though the flowers were dead,” he continues. “And the… hole? Portal? Void-patch?”

Philza wriggles his hand, holds up three fingers, and huh. Between the rose and talk of Missa, he at least seems to have calmed a tiny bit. The talk of a dead garden seems upsetting, but he clings to the rose in bandaged hands like something precious.

“It was very small, very precise. Clearly whatever took you only wants you,” and Cellbit is spitballing, only hoping he is on the right track both emotionally and logically as he still pieces it together. “It hasn’t taken anyone else, either; even if you stay in my house, it’s unlikely it will take me.”

Frankly, Cellbit doesn’t care if it does - all the more chance to create a distraction for one of them to kill it - but he knows Philza will.

Because it’s Philza, and he’s a better person than Cellbit ever had the chance to be.

“So, please, come back inside?”

Philza looks at the rose, then at Cellbit’s hand, then hesitantly, very hesitantly, takes it.

It’s hard work, leading Philza back into the safety of the castle. He’s edgier than before, and keeps being startled by the slightest sounds. He is usually vigilant, noticing the smallest of oddities, but to jump at every animal scurrying in the underbush…

Cellbit sees him reach for an axe which is not there, and maybe that’s part of the problem too.

They make it back to safety, and Philza clings to the rose even as his feet are cleaned again - bandaged this time - and he is helped into the nightshirt. Cellbit has always been the taller of the two, but they were once of similar builds - it should not hang nearly as loosely as it does.

With his lips sewn shut… Cellbit isn’t sure he can help.

“They’re probably asleep, but do you want me to text Missa? So he can bring Chayanne and Tallulah in the morning?”

Philza hesitates - if he’s still being chased… Well, Cellbit can guess why the concern.

“I can put some wards down, and ask them to come with Roier? He’ll look after them.”

He gets a nod this time, though it is slow.

Cellbit pulls out his communicator, focused as he tries to think of how to tell Missa - it’s not even a case of what would he want to know if Roier was in Philza’s situation, because Missa… Cellbit doesn’t know the man well, but they certainly have very different personalities.

In the end he settles on ‘Philza appeared at my place last night. He’s hurt, but I’ve been looking after him. Get Roier to show you over. Doesn’t have a communicator or anything.’

He shows it to Philza, who hits send, and then with clumsy, bandaged fingers writes ‘Did HE hurt you? Be safe - HE still wants me.’

That message is sent, then another is typed. It’s just as slow, Philza obviously frustrated as he has to delete duplicated letters. Still, he turns Cellbit’s communicator towards him, and shows him the message.

‘Cut it’

That those words took three minutes and clear /pain/ to write cuts deeply into Cellbit.

Just being stabbed is too kind for whatever did this. Cellbit will tear it apart with his /teeth/.

“Cut what?” he asks.

Philza hesitates, before stealing Cellbit’s knife, and bringing it to his lips.

“Stop!” Cellbit grabs his wrist, disarming him far more easily than he should have been able to. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

The reply he gets is a withering glare.

It’s good to see him have some confidence back, whatever the roses mean, but if he’s going to use it to hurt himself…

“I don’t… Think I can do this,” Cellbit licks his own lips, running a thumb of Philza’s.

His hand with the knife in it is grabbed, and tugged on.

“Fine!” If he doesn’t, Philza’s going to do it as soon as his back is turned, isn’t he? “God, I’ll try. But just enough to drink something, okay? I don’t trust myself.”

There’s a long pause, but eventually Philza nods. Cellbit swaps his knife for a smaller switchblade, flicking it open and peeling Philza’s lips open. He aims for the centre where there is least risk of damaging other things, carefully slotting the knife through…

Fuck.

He manages to cut a few of the strings, but in doing so he catches Philza’s lip. It’s not a deep cut, but he can see the blood bubbling.

He wants to lick it.

He presses a tissue there instead.

“Hold this, just let me get you a straw.”

Cellbit waits to make sure Philza has the tissue held in place - he’s smiling at him, how is Philza smiling at him when he /cut/ and /torture victim/ - before running to the kitchens.

How is he being trusted like this? He’s a fucking murderer, a heartless, cruel man; he isn’t…

He isn’t someone you fucking trust with a knife near your face.

What has this island done to him? He doesn’t mind it, doesn’t… He doesn’t hate it, he actually likes it - the having friends, the having family, the people relying on him.

It’s fucking terrifying, though.

This has only proved that.

He still needs some moments to calm down. His hands shake with the memory of blood on Philza’s lip, and it’s all he can do to pour some soup into a saucepan, and set it on the hob. Half-remembering the last time he starved he adds extra water, thinning it down. While it cooks he makes himself tea, and fetches Philza water, apple juice, and a selection of straws.

It takes a few minutes to warm the soup through. Once it has, Cellbit has just about found his footing again. He serves it up, and carries everything through.

“Here, sorry about the wait,” he says.

Philza has somehow found a second rose, and is awkwardly braiding them together. With his hands it is loose, but Cellbit can see what he’s trying for.

His lip has stopped bleeding, at least.

Neither is put down as he’s handed the glass of water. It takes Cellbit a few moments to work out the problem, but eventually realises; with his own fully functional hands he helps Philza angle the straw through the gap in the stitching, and lets him drink.

He drinks like a dying man, and Cellbit supposes it’s close enough to true. He doubts either of them have any idea how long his lips have been stitched together, but it’s long enough that the thread is stained…

Philza manages the water, then looks curiously at the rest of the tray. Cellbit offers it to him; he hesitates over the juice, but points at the soup.

Cellbit checks the temperature first - drinking the water had been slow enough to cool it down a little at least - before helping Philza once again. This time he has to help support the bowl as well as the straw. It’s awkward, but they manage it between them.

About a third of the watery soup is managed before Philza refuses more.

Cellbit has no idea if that’s good or not.

Still, they’re both exhausted, and it’s something to keep him going, and Roier will be here in the morning. Roier isn’t a doctor, of course, but Cellbit trusts him with significantly more delicate things than himself.

Cellbit can be dexterous, but delicate is for investigations not handiwork.

Forcing Philza to walk again on his injured feet seems needlessly cruel; the sofa is not the comfiest place to sleep, but Cellbit would put money on it being the comfiest place he’s slept in a long while.

“Sleep here - I’ll go grab some blankets,” Cellbit says, and he leaves, and by the time he returns Philza has already passed out on the couch.

He tucks the blankets around him, making sure he will stay warm overnight; the castle is draughty at the best of times, and when someone is sick and injured is not the time to tempt fate.

Then he sits on the floor beside the bed, knife in his lap, meaning to think and meaning to keep guard.

Most of Philza’s injuries are just torture wounds. They say little about his captor, or what they want. He’s clearly been in the End or the Void for too long - his eyes have a hint more purple, there’s dappled stains across his skin, and Cellbit isn’t sure which symptoms he has but it will probably make him struggle for warmth and fuck with his brain. That should be something like proof against this being a Federation ploy - they don’t seem to have easy access to other dimensions - but is not definitive.

The slicing on his feet despite the lack of it on his wings also is not definitive, but does not fit their usual goal. Unusual location and unusual goals? Probably not them. Stitching inside his mouth… Adds to that, really, the Federation are more cut your tongue out or sedate people sorts, not sew them up.

A goal, a goal… Philza’s face and his wings are mostly untouched, which would imply some awful… display piece, Cellbit supposes. The rags of his clothes would count against it, but perhaps he was only allowed to wear them when he was needed. Despite that appearance he could not have been that highly valued - the stitching in his mouth prevents drinking, so he would have died in another few days. Mentally scattered, but does seem to recognise people and places still - Cellbit rules out brainwashing, or at least if they tried it they failed. The injuries don’t imply anything sexual, which leaves…

Cellbit runs through it all again. Nothing quite makes sense, except…

End entities don’t like water, do they? Maybe they don’t need to drink.

Do they even need to eat? Or do they exist on some other sort of sustenance?

If he was held captive by something with no need to eat or drink, the sewn up mouth is no longer incompatible with the idea of a trophy, or a prize…

---

At some point Cellbit must have fallen back to sleep, because he wakes up to yelling. He doesn’t even think - he grabs the closest item - bucket of water - and throws it in the direction of the assailant.

He recognises the voice about three seconds later, when Roier shrieks.

“Fuck! Sorry!” Cellbit’s awake now, hair stuck to the side of his face as he scrambles up.

“Bitch!” Roier shakes off the water then, realising Cellbit is getting up, latches onto him.

Now they are both wet.

“Are you okay?! Roier’s revenge is had, or maybe not as wet hands trail all over him. “Fuck, Gatinho, don’t message me asking for medical advice at 3am and leave blood on the carpet! Come wake me up next time!”

“I’m fine!” he promises back. “I’m sorry, I’m okay, I’m fine - is Missa with you?”

“Missa?”

Roier left before Missa was awake. Fuck. Hopefully he works it out, because Cellbit’s too asleep for this.

“It’s Philza,” Cellbit replies, dropping his voice at the secret. “He woke me up last night, looking for help. I think?”

Roier’s lips form a perfect O, as he turns and finally spots Philza still sleeping on the couch. Cellbit watches as he looks him over - most of the injuries are beneath the blankets, but he is still clearly unwell - and then sees the straw in the part-finished bowl of watery soup.

A rose is still clutched in Philza’s hand, just visible where it slips out from the blanket.

“How bad is it?” Roier asks, quiet.

“They sewed his fucking mouth shut,” Cellbit replies. “I cut a little so he could drink, but stopped when I caught his lip. Cuff burns on his wrists and ankles, fucked hands, they sliced up his /feet/ so he couldn’t run, then he ran on them barefoot anyway.”

“Stupid Feds,” Roier’s nose twitches.

Cellbit shakes his head, “there’s void-taint on his chest and in his eyes. No idea how sick he is, but the Feds don’t have End access.”

“That we know about.”

And Cellbit has to concede that point - still, he talks Roier quietly through Philza’s other injuries, and explains what he did. At the end, his husband looks about as helpless as he feels, but does pull a small pair of scissors out of a pocket.

“We should probably give him, I dunno, antibiotics or something,” Roier pulls a face. “For his feet. How do we treat void-sickness? Is it just keep him away from it?”

Cellbit has no idea - it’s not like he has spent prolonged periods of time in the End, “someone will know, right? Maybe when Missa gets here?”

Roier raises an eyebrow and, fair, Missa also has likely never been to the End, but Cellbit thinks the man deserves more credit than he ever gets. If it’s for Philza, he can probably brute force his way into the answer by sheer stubbornness alone.

That entire family is a bit like that.

“If not… We can at least ask who they want telling,” Cellbit concedes. “I didn’t want to just put anything in general and have everyone on my house.”

“We’re going to murder whoever did this, right?”

“Of course.”

Roier kisses his cheek, and once Cellbit is done blushing he finds Philza watching them.

“Morning,” he says, as Roier notices and waves.

“Hey Philza,” Roier drawls on the name. “Cellbo says you got something stuck in your mouth?”

Philza flips him off. It’s a clear struggle for him to sit up, but he manages it.

“Is it okay if Roier takes the stitches out?” Cellbit asks, getting a withering look from both of them at how soft his voice turned as he said it.

Despite that, Philza nods. Roier nudges him into a different position, and sits opposite on the sofa; he actually remembers to wash his hands before peeling back Philza’s lips, and Cellbit feels a bit stupid for not thinking of that.

As he watches Roier carefully use the tiny scissors to cut the threads, Cellbit keeps guard. His fingers flick back and forth over his knife but there’s no target, nobody who isn’t dear to him here to use it on.

He’s helpless, and he knows it; hopefully between them they can work out who he needs to kill and how.

The threads are cut, and Philza is allowed a drink as Roier finds the tweezers in the first aid kit. Pulling out the threads comes with flinching and bleeding wounds, and there’s only so much that antiseptic-soaked cotton wool can do.

The thread-holes are small enough that they stop bleeding quickly, but the blood from Philza’s mouth is horrific.

There’s a thread or two left to remove when Cellbit hears the door, and remembers he should have checked his comms. He leaves Roier treating Philza to head down.

This time he opens the door to find Missa, Chayanne and Tallulah - and an awkward looking FitMC, hanging towards the back.

And Cellbit suddenly realises it’d be a really bad idea to let the children see their father while Roier’s still treating him.

“Is Phil…?” Missa asks.

“Roier’s treating some of his injuries,” Cellbit replies. “Do you want to help me make breakfast for everyone?”

The sign Chayanne slammed down is put away in favour of nodding, and grabbing his sister’s hand. If Missa bought Fit, even if only for directions, Cellbit is happy enough to let him in - he gestures for him to follow, and leads everyone to the kitchen.

It’s awkward, and quiet, and nobody seems to know how to break it. Still, Cellbit shows them around and admits “they sewed his mouth shut. Roier’s fixing it, but we need light and easy food, okay?”

For all he nods, Chayanne seems to misunderstand. There is some simple stuff, yes, but a flurry of activity and complicated dishes too. Tallulah arranges them on the plate with extreme focus, and Cellbit…

Cellbit takes the two adults, and uses the stove.

Quietly, while the children are occupied, he explains what he knows. They listen, Missa frets, and Fit’s face is grim.

“I want to check with him first,” Fit looks at Missa, who gives him a nod. “But I think I know what bullshit he got himself into.”

“You do?” Cellbit asks.

Fit shrugs, looks uncomfortable. “He was scared, thought he was being threatened… We’ll explain later.”

And that’s the sort of shit Cellbit could have done with knowing before this shit happened. He’d like to strange someone, but he knows why he wasn’t told; Purgatory was… rough, to say the least.

“We didn’t tell anyone,” Missa adds, in Spanish, Fit glancing at his wrist to read the translations. “Fit only knows because it started when I was gone and the kids were missing.”

Cellbit doesn’t feel much better - the egg cracks with a little too much force, and he imagines it’s a skull.

It takes a little while for breakfast to be ready, and Cellbit hopes it gave Roier enough time. He warns the children their father is probably hurting, so be gentle, and also his mouth and hands hurt so he may not say much.

They consider him with far too much seriousness for their age; Tallulah writes a sign for them both, simply reading ‘I know’.

He leads them back through. Philza is holding some gauze to his lip, curled up in the corner of the sofa and watching the room. Roier sits on the other corner, sword clearly in grabbing range even as he tries to keep up low and playful chatter. It goes quiet when everyone else enters.

Chayanne and Tallulah move first, running to their father’s side. Neither of them touch him, though, waiting for the quiet ‘hello’ spoken in a deeply hoarse voice, and for Philza to offer them each a hand. Missa follows, taking the middle spot on the sofa. He hesitates, barely risking moving, but Philza leans his head on his shoulder and so Missa snakes an arm behind his back.

Every one of the four of them is either carrying or wearing a rose. Now he looks, Fit has one too.

“Was it him?” Fit asks, sitting heavily on a chair opposite.

Philza nods.

“Well, fuck,” Fit sighs, and looks around. “I’m gonna guess you need stuff for void-sickness? Anything else I should ask Pac e Mike for?”

And of course Tazercraft are the obvious people to ask. Scientists with a habit of breaking reality have likely seen this before.

“Antibiotics,” Roier adds. “For preventing infection in wounds dirty for too long? And painkillers.”

Philza gives him a withering glare at painkillers, but his hands are busy with his children and even if his lips are now free, it must /hurt/.

Chayanne distracts him by placing a huge amount of food both on his lap, and the floor all around. Missa laughs and Philza looks fond, but shakes his head softly. Missa takes one of the broths, though, and offers it to him.

Despite having his mouth free, Philza still reaches for a straw.

And Cellbit, Cellbit wants answers, but Fit is texting his boyfriend who Cellbit hopes has Richarlyson, so there’s not really anyone to ask.

Roier pulls a silly face at him.

Cellbit likes to think he’s above pulling one back, but whatever he does, Roier laughs anyway.

But, he does have breakfast for everyone else, so he hands it around and drinks his coffee and waits impatiently patiently for the family to quietly sort themselves out.

Eventually, Philza looks at Cellbit, mouthing ‘thank you’ and then, “I… you want to know?”

“Yes.”

Philza looks at Missa, then Fit - both of them nod.

“Fit,” Missa says. “Can you? I am not sure all of how to say it in English.”

Fit sighs again, puts his communicator away, and nods.

“What do you know of the Ender King?” He asks.

It’s a name that Cellbit has never heard before, but ideas are already forming; Roier is also shaking his head, a shrug on his arms and confusion in his eyes.

“Right,” Fit pulls a series of faces. “Now, I don’t know a lot. But, couple of months ago, Phil called me over to his house. It’s happened a few times - seeing messages and structural changes in the bunker I couldn’t see. One time Pac was with me, and he was just weirded out-”

Philza butts in, with a quiet, “it was Rose.”

“Rose?”

Philza nods, Chayanne slams down a sign.

‘She looks after us!’ the boy writes. ‘All of our familia.’

“She’s a goddess,” Missa adds, slowly, clearly thinking about his words. “But her powers are weak here… She looks after four, King only wants one.”

Tallulah adds ‘it’s why the bad things can’t find us’, and Cellbit isn’t quite sure which bad things Tallulah means, but it has to mean something.

Eye workers, maybe.

The idea of a goddess protecting a family is… Not exactly strange to Cellbit; he’s dabbled in the occult enough to know what sort of entities would do that, at least.

“She’s my,” Philza coughs, harsh, his throat not really ready for talking. “Spawn goddess. Where I come from.”

That’s stranger, but explains why she might like that.

“Right,” Fit says. “That one turned out to be less a problem, but the one that followed… When I went over Philza was in the middle of a panic attack, only not crying because Chayanne and Tallulah were there. He said a being from his dreams had contacted him, one more powerful than anything, against which there’s nothing we can ever do. Something about a war, and wanting Phil for himself. Phil made me promise to look after the kids if he was taken, that he’d find some way back but we were /not/ to go after him.”

And they listened? Cellbit is mostly surprised that they listened, but then Philza and his friends are more practical sorts than himself and Roier.

“There were more letters,” Missa says. “He started… corrupting Rose’s letters? Because he couldn’t find Philza.”

“And then he found you.” Cellbit finishes.

And it’s not the whole story, he knows it isn’t the whole story, but he’s got enough for the themes - a being which calls itself a god wants Philza for some reason is hunting him. That being comes from wherever Philza was before here, and has plans for him. Perhaps he is trapped as a pawn in a war between the gods and a war prisoner you are trying to sell makes sense for his treatment.

Perhaps he did something to piss off the god.

“My memory is,” Philza gestures to his head, and Cellbit knows the amnesia affecting many islanders touched him too, so he nods. “I don’t remember but…”

There’s a sign, turned to Philza where Cellbit cannot see.

Philza’s face shifts, and softens, and he reaches out for his children again as he says “I promised, didn’t I?”

“Does he have weaknesses,” Roier asks. “Everything has weaknesses!”

Philza laughs, bitter and dry. It turns into another coughing fit, one that leaves him shaking and leaning on Missa for support.

Cellbit notes Fit texting again, and has his suspicions as to what it says.

Once Philza recovers, he says, “the Ender King is fucking dead, mate. Water burnt him, but now he has no body… He’s weaker, can’t steal entire cities anymore, but he lost his weaknesses to.”

Worse than a god, it is the ghost of a god.

Has no body, though?

Cellbit looks at Philza again, and wonders - the void sickness has clearly done more to his mind than his body, and a deity of the End could likely manipulate it. If it had left him a functional body but empty mental shell…

War prisoner or flesh suit, either way Cellbit needs to work out how to kill a god’s ghost.

[Notes - void sickness. I’ve not really developed it but tldr overworld bodies are not well adapted to other realms. Too long in the void (also the End, where the atmosphere is void) fucks you up. Purple rash-like staining across skin, purple tint getting into your eyes. Common symptoms include dissociation, derealisation, and a susceptibility to the cold. If it reaches organs it can cause them to shut down, though always works from the outside in (or if caused by eating too much chorus fruit, which is an option, from your digestive tract out). The comment about Philza’s lips or throat with not speaking is if the taint had reached either his voice box or the muscles controlling his lips. Philza’s actually pretty fucking resistant to it, by a combination of genetics and very slowly increasing his exposure over time. Most people would be dead from that long, he’s just… It’s deep enough to cause muscle weakness in places, but it isn’t yet deep enough to cause damage like ‘lungs cease functioning’. The ‘bonus’ of his mouth sewn shut is they couldn’t feed him end-food, so it was only working out-in not in-out. Much like with fairies if you eat of the end bad shit happens.]

[wannabemylover]

I'm sorry, but Eddie was shot in broad daylight and thought, "this is it, this is the last moment of my life," and he reached for Buck. He thought he was dying, and all he could do was look at Buck and reach.

[appri-dot]

Nothing more isolating then finding this guy cute as hell

[gifsofstar]

Star Davis + domestic abuse 1.05 | 1.08 | 1.11 | 1.12