#but in reality its just sheer grief and rage that she a god of love must follow the whims of an apathetic Celestia

[voidscreamns]

./

[notbecauseofvictories]

Thoughts on the Leftovers so far ?

I'm four episodes from the finale and have too many thoughts to ever properly articulate. I feel like I could go insane just trying to break down a single episode into something explicable, comprehensive of my feelings? Let alone whole seasons, the entire run of the show.

I mean, at a given moment, am I thinking about:

Patti and Laurie during season 1 and about a grief that cannot speak its name, the horror and tyranny of loss that means you'll burn the world to ensure someone else is feeling a fraction of your unreasonable misery. (Plus---once you realize that Patti's misery isn't unreasonable, it's reasonable and almost banal, yet the damage that kind of damage can do...)

The Department of Sudden Departures, interviewing claimants for federal benefits---those questions. That auditor-lawyer mindset. The sidelong acknowledgment that there are miracles, but not where we can do a background check

Meg season 2 and the slighted madness and rage that makes burning down the world seem like an acceptable alternative

Nora, who is both ruthless and full, nonsensically full of hope, full of guilt, full of selfish longings and protectiveness and will. (She's my favorite, with all her spiky teeth-only smiles)

Miracle, a dystopian utopia! Only the 2010s could have imagined a City of God under state control and surveillance

Kevin, hobbling from projected fantasy to projected fantasy to desperately projected fantasy, pushing down messy longings, retreating when his experience of the world spills over the orderly confines he expects...and yet struggling towards something, wanting a something he can't articulate

Even Tom, whose history of abuse feeds into his longing for certainty, for authority over him; Kevin Sr. in season three, begging to be a prophet where his son refuses to look straight on at the strangeness in his life; Matt, who wants miracles and will bruise himself until he gets them vs. John Murphy, who will bruise everyone else until they stop talking about miracles entirely.

I was bent double, sobbing during "The Prodigal Son Returns" and yet was laughing helplessly during "International Assassin." It's very funny, terribly funny, and not at all humorous at all. But apart from anything else I'm enamored with the show itself, this 3 season tone poem where people are going increasingly insane---in different, nuanced ways---attempting to grapple with the sheer scale and unmovable reality of human suffering.

I think it might be the best television ever, it's very hard to watch, and I love it.

[demonprincezeldris]

Arthur found Zeldris curled up in a nest, reeking of grief.

"Zeldris?" He asked, blinking. "What's wrong."

"...I miss Gelda..." He whispered.

"...Who's Gelda?"

"She was my beta, my mate. Years before the Holy War even began."

"Oh! Oh, oh no, is she..."

Zeldris nodded and Arthur climbed in with him Hesitantly, watching for a cue he wasn't allowed, by the omega just rolled over to put his head in his lap. Arthur stroked his hair gently. "She'll... She'll always be my mate." He whispered. "Demons, we mate for life, I told you this when we bonded. That doesn't sever with death. It just... goes dark and cold and painful." He nodded.

"I... Zeldris, if it's ok with you, can I see her?"

"...alright." He whispered, offering up his hand.

It was an ability of Chaos that Arthur was working to sharpen. If he's touching someone, he can see their past, sort through the reality they lived.

He takes his hand, and looks as Zeldris draws forth his memories.

Meeting her, getting to know her, falling in love with her dry wit and honestly, kind of aggressive affection. Her touch that was always a little, yet somehow warm. Always harsh, yet somehow gentle. Bonding with her.

"Zeldris. Get rid the Vampire Clan."

The sheer horror when he was given the task to kill her. He could not directly disobey a God. (Arthur felt a wave of rage, as soon as he had Chaos mastered, he swore, he was going to beat those damned gods into oblivion!!)

Sealing her away with the other royal vampires, her masking her fear and hurt under a soothing, reassuring smile, but he could still feel everything as he fought back sobs.

The seal closing and suddenly, he was cold. The bond between them going dark and dull as she was put in a state of limbo, not alive and not dead, not awake and not asleep. He gave into the tears now, hugging himself as little tremors wracked his body. At least she was safe.

Then he was sealed too.

3000 years later, and just 12 years too late, as he finds out she's dead not even a week after he's been freed, and he shatters, taking advantage of his isolation to fall to his knees and scream.

Zeldris pulls his hand away and Arthur let's him, the memories fading from his mind. "I just... I wish-" Zeldris swallowed. "I wish I knew what happened to her. If it was fast, at least."

Arthur hesitated, thinking. "I... Can try and see. I've been working on it! A-And you're bonded to her, so I think I can use you as a connection to see her, especially if its relatively recently in history!"

"...Please?"

"Yes! Here, can I-" He took his hand again. "Ok." Deep breath, and look.

It took a minute, shifting through his bondeds soul, finding the thread that tied him to HIM, and then finding the one that was dark, quivering with grief. Once he had that he followed it until he found HER.

But that wasn't right, this soul was still attached to someone living. Or, well, in limbo, at least. He frowned. Or well, as close as one could get to frowning while in Astral. Another moment of shifting to find the right moment of time and he carefully pulled Zeldris over to watch.

Gelda woke from the seal as the others of her blood family did. Then she went along with their rampages and takeovers, hoping it would guide her to Zeldris, ignoring the silence from his end of the bond, hoping against hope that what she refused to admit wasn't true. She interrogated a human. The Demon Clan was gone. And she fell numb, moving through her days in a daze.

Then Meliodas came with his team of ridiculously powerful mortals. And then Gelda killed Ren (who had mistaken the BLONDE for him) so she could talk to him alone. They did.

"Meliodas. I won't ask how you're still here when Zeldris is not. Especially since you haven't aged a day since I last saw you 3000 years ago."

"...That's probably wise."

"I feel like you're probably the only one left in the world who understands. What it's like to lose everything, have nothing to go back to."

"I do."

"Then you know."

"Do I?"

"I don't want to live in a world like a parasite, doing nothing but existing day to day. Kill, drink, sleep, kill, drink, sleep. It's only been a few weeks and I'm SICK of it."

"...I can see where that would get tiresome."

"Yes. Meliodas. I'd like you to do it, please. It feels right."

"...Gelda, I... What if- what if he comes BACK, what then?"

"I don't think he will."

"He MIGHT, that's why I made this team of mine, to match the commandments!"

"Do you have proof? Do you have 100%, undeniable proof that he WILL return?"

"...No."

"Then please. Kill me."

"Gelda..."

"If he returns, somehow, against all odds. Tell him I'm sorry."

He sighed. "Ok." He raised his sword, as she smiled, relieved and grateful, murmuring a quiet Thank You, gathered his magic, and brought it down hard, obliterating everything around them in a giant explosion that blocked all vision. At least it was fast. So fast. She wouldn't have felt a thing.

A memory from Zeldris practically FORCED itself to be shown, just from the sheer pain and realization. It had been the first battle with Meliodas that Zeldris had fought in this new Era. And the moment they were away from the others, even though it was just for a second, Meliodas’s face had twisted to sorrow. "I'm sorry." He murmured, before Zeldris snarled and shoved them back into the fray.

He had thought his brother was making some pathetic attempt at apologizing for leaving the clan.

He'd never realized... He'd been passing on Gelda's last message to him.

A high keening noise left him and his Alpha held him close as they broke from the vision. Sobs shook his body. "Wait... Zeldris, something about that felt off, like we weren't seeing all of it."

"I don't wanna go back! I don't want to see her die again!" He wailed. Arthur closed his eyes tightly. "No, we- we have to, something isn't adding up here!"

He went back despite the Omegas protests and dug into the vision. He slowed it down, adjusted the angles, until- "There! Zeldris, look!"

The bottom of the pit, Gelda was unconscious, but unharmed, and he wove a seal of darkness around her as dust rained around them. "I'm sorry." He croaked. "I'm sorry, I know you don't want to be alive, I don't either, I understand, I do!" The seal was getting more secure. "But you HAVE to wait for him! I can't do this for you, because I can't do that to him. I'm so sorry. You'll be safe down here." Then the seal was complete and he stared for a moment, before gritting his teeth and leaving.

The vision faded as it showed the glass structure cooling, the dust from the giant hole settling.

Zeldris was gaping, mouth opening and closing. "I know where that is.... I know where that is!!! Arthur, she could- she could still BE there!!"

"Then let's go. Right now. I need to work on my flying anyways." He smiled as vague, gray, winglike shapes twisted from his back, and Zeldris nodded, strapping his sword to his side and scrambling out the doors to the balcony.

And they were off; to find his missing piece.

Oh god I LOVED THIS! The angst was so good, and so sad at the same time. I feel so bad for Zel, seeing his lover die in front of him.

[ahkaraii]

in Vergessenheit geraten [1068 words]

"This ends here, Herr Grindelwald. No further shall you or yours tread."

Gellert twirled his wand absently. "Do you no longer love me, then, Alchen? That makes me quite sad."

"Do not speak that word to me!" Albus looked far more radiant in the flesh than he ever did in the newspapers. "I do believe you do not know the meaning of it."

"Oh?" Gellert parried that painful magic with malice. "Is it not a system of prioritisation and a form of prejudice? I do recall you defining it as such to me, and I fear I took it quite to heart."

Albus nearly trembled with rage. The earth itself certainly did, until it didn't, for Albus had calmed himself quite forcefully. "I am not here to debate philosophy, Grindelwald." His pupils were sharp holes encased by ice, and nothing that loved him swam in those depths anymore.

"A shame," Gellert murmured. "I quite enjoyed our talks."

Albus talked no longer; he cast, with precision, animating the very wind to suffocate him. A childish part of Gellert wanted to think of it as sensual, but the reality of a painful, airless death was very quick to correct him of the notion. If Albus wanted to offer him death, then Gellert would kindly offer the dead, in turn.

"Incendio!" Albus hissed, as a battlefields' worth Inferi rose to overwhelm him. "Infamari!" It was, as ever, quite powerful magick; but Gellert himself was quite powerful, too, and there was plenty of fresh corpses about to throw at the slowly overwhelmed wizard.

"This earth shall be your grave, my friend," Gellert said. "Do not think this gladdens me."

"This Earth is tomb to us all," Albus said coldly. "Fawkes, to me!"

"Scheiße!" Gellert had to transfigure the area around him into Non-Euclidean space just to avoid the overcooked chicken's tornado of fire, which burned hotter than Fiendfyre. "Using the bird is cheating!"

"All's fair," Albus quipped, before neatly closing the distance with a single step, proving he didn't need the damn bird to bend reality to his will. "Incacerata!"

"Emancipare!" Gellert barked, and Apparated away with due haste.

Albus, the one man army, followed without difficulty.

The battlefield became as nothing beneath their feet, two titans clashing in a bout of self-purported righteousness. Earth and sky alike transfigured tenfold until the very matter splintered, void filling the overmagicked space, threatening to splinch them both by sheer backlash. To an outside observer, it was beyond description, the realm of Merlin and Morgana mere child's play; to them, it was a game of Go where the winner takes all.

And Albus was winning.

It was a souring notion: Gellert had the Elder Wand and the Dead on his side, and yet, in a battle of pure magick, Albus would always triumph. Gellert didn't need to do much mental gymnastics to admit this as certain, now. At this rate, he would lose.

But Gellert had not loved Albus in vain; he knew the darkest corners of his shame, and if anything could fell him, it was his own grief.

It was this that fuelled the Curse that Gellert insidiously cast. The Inferi's faces mutated more human, their vocalisations familiar. "Brother," one whispered. "Albus," another murmured. "Albus, you're hurting me..."

"Grindelwald!" Albus roared. "You dare use my sister's face against me!"

"She is no shade," Gellert said, plainly. "I wield the Death Stick; it has reached into the beyond for you."

"My son," Percival's Askaban-hollowed croak followed. "My son, you abandoned me..."

"How dare you--" Albus choked. "INCENDIO!"

They did not silence; instead, their screams turned more life-like.

"YOU KILLED ME!" howled many-faced Arianas. "YOU KILLED ME!"

Albus screamed.

Mind magic was Albus's specialty, like so many others, but his many-forked mind had a skeleton key. It was so easy to get under his skin, even now. The weight of his dead would someday end him, and today appeared to be the day; his very grief fuelled the curse that now overwhelmed him.

And then Fawkes' song broke through it like the sun through clouds.

"I truly do hate that bird," Gellert muttered.

"And I," Albus heaved, tears streaking down his battered face, "hate you. I hate you, Gellert Grindelwald. Avada Kedavra!"

It was an impressive and impassioned green, enough to send his soul to the next world shorn to bits; instead, the Death Stick neatly severed that future with a casual flick.

"And that is why you cannot best me, yet, old friend," Gellert tutted. "Not until you grow truly indifferent, will you be able to end me and mine. Avada Kedavra."

Fawkes was predictably sacrificial: with a dying cry, he burst into green-tinged flames and dropped to the ground with an unceremonious splat, its chick-like body sprawled in death.

"Fawkes!" Albus gasped, cupping the corpse in his mud streaked hands. "Oh, my dear--"

To Gellert's consternation, the thing managed a pitiful chirp, followed by Albus' wet, "Oh, thank Merlin--"

"Tch," Gellert sneered. Death from the Death Stick was usually permanent, but that thrice-damned Phoenix appeared, as ever, immune to death. "Get up, man, we're not done fighting yet."

"You wish me be indifferent?" Albus whispered, his form hunched over protectively. "Is this your end goal?"

"You know my goal," Gellert said. "As I know yours. And you shall not attain your ends until you stop caring so deeply about my own." He finally lowered his wand when Albus showed no sign of getting up. "But my dream, Albus, is you at my side. It always has been, since the day I met you--"

"If you want indifference," Albus interrupted, icechips for eyes. "Then I shall give you indifference. The whole world will be indifferent to you. I will erase you from living memory, until none remain that can recall you."

God damn. When Albus wanted to hurt, he maimed without discrimination. "Then I shall be repeated," Gellert said, lowly. "For I am no longer an individual, but an idea. And you cannot kill an idea--"

"--until you kill all that think it," Albus completed, seamlessly. "You've been speaking to my students."

Gellert smiled a very cruel half-smile. "Tom is really quite a lovely boy."

"I will do worse than kill you," Albus promised, tonelessly.

Gellert's childish brain always found Albus' violence sensual. It was so rare, and so very powerful. "Then rise, mein Schatz, and try." He fixed a tighter grip on his wand, and took a formal stance. "Consign me to oblivion."

[lotornomiko]

Triumph’s Tribulation Five Sneak Peak

Ah I usually don’t like posting until a chapter is complete, but I am having a lot of problems offline, in addition to the the third and final segment of the chapter, the check in on Midgard, is giving me no end of difficulties. It was supposed to be a Rufus POV but seeing as his POV keeps derailing the fic and my timeline, I will take whoever I can get to be the narrating voice for Alicia and Co. at this point.

I’ve actually debated posting five as it is, but I am trying to have each chapter have three segments, even if one segment ends up being incrediably small like the Lenneth interlude was in uh was it chapter two...?

Right now I have Loki (With Frei!) and Lezard’s parts done...I am posting the Lezard part at least...it[’s mostly finalized, although I’ll probably tweak some words here and there when I go over it for the umpteenth millionth time...X_X

I’d say this scene is PG 13, though it is Lezard so has some darker edge to it...but still hopefully worksafe...! Side note, the A ending got strongly influenced after rewatching the A ending, and all the events leading up to it. It left me with the strong impression and opinion that Lenneth had some kind of mental, nervous break down when the seal broke. I think I even wrote down a few lines from it...if not to use in this chapter, then maybe a future one! I’m also currently in the midst of rewatching VP 2: Silmeria...so maybe that will find my muse for the Midgard crew in this! XD

Onto the scene excerpt now!!

====

The marble of the floor had sealed itself together seamlessly, not so much as a sliver of a crack to betray the chaos that had gone on just moments earlier. That of the anger that had been felt, the world itself a living extension of what had been in its God’s heart. Such has been Lezard’s displeasure that in that moment, Creation itself had acted, moving to protect him and his interests, spiriting the frightened Goddess away to somewhere else safe. Safe from his rage, and safe from his desires, the man who had once been human,  having pushed too hard, too fast, too soon.

She wasn’t ready. He knew that, every bit from her fight to her flight had in fact acknowledged it, the fear that was in Lenneth’s heart. It had sent her running, the Goddess scared, not so much of what he might do to her physically as much as the emotional havoc he had been intent on wreaking. The truths that had needed to be confronted, and with it would come all of its pain, such sorrow born of those lies that the woman had told herself. She wouldn’t be spared its sting, not even God himself able to shelter Lenneth from the agony of breaking free of such warped delusions. The comfort it had once given her, was now nothing more than a crutch, one that that divine beauty needed to break free of if that heart of hers was going to stand a chance at any true solace.

It wouldn’t be easy, that fact something Lezard could acknowledge in his more rational moments. His beloved needed a far gentler hand than he had thus far been capable of, that near overpowering lust of his, making him impatient and clumsy whenever she was so near. So consumed with the want of her, his attempt at a controlled veneer had all but shattered when her fear had turned violent, Lenneth’s fist finding its mark against his jaw. It had left him so close to doing something unforgivable, illusions torn and discarded if not for his world acting instead. Protecting him as much as her, Lenneth swallowed up whole into an abyss that had opened up beneath her feet.

Even now she was still there, free falling in an endless darkness, that heart of hers in an absolute turmoil that would only be the start of her unraveling. There was both pain and pleasure in the idea of it, Lenneth this intoxicating brand of everything that Lezard could have ever wanted. Her heart, her soul, that of her mind and her body, her tears, her agony, and that of her happiness, the man wanted it all. He was obsessed with the having of it, of attaining paradise with so perfect a being. It was so close to a reality, that he could almost taste it, his blood stained hands reaching for it, for her, Lezard this newly remade being, the ultimate Lord of it all, Lenneth and the effect she has always had on him, the one thing this God could not control.

Even now he was tempted, sheer folly though it would be to go after her right now. Lenneth was too wild in the moment, too angry and afraid, tormented by a truth he had only merely hinted at, such insinuations holding the strength to make a Goddess reel in an absolute terror. It was a fear not just for herself, for what might be done to her, but that of her world, the paradise that she had created. That perfect utopia that was nothing more than a lie that her wounded soul had retreated into, every insinuation that Lezard could make had the power to tear that universe apart from the root, the very foundations it had been built and brought to life upon.

It was a world of desires, that perfect paradise grounded in a pain so blatant that it had nearly torn the Goddess apart. That heart of hers that had been so ripped to pieces by the sins committed against her, it had left Lenneth reeling in an agony even she herself had not understood, the Goddess so overwhelmed in the moment as to escape into a fantasy. An illusion, the deceits woven there all by her own hand, the ageless woman latching onto a figment, the fragment that had been dangling before her. Seizing upon it, with that earring in her hand, out of all the lives she had slept through, it had been the latest, that of a child, a girl no older than fourteen when she had died, that had helped feed into a delusion. In that moment she had been thinking not as a Goddess, but as a human, a child, torn apart by a loss that had been about more than just one man’s death.

The seal had been broken, a flood gate of emotions overtaking the Goddess. How much agony had it been, to remember them all, every last life that had hosted Lenneth inside them. The highs and the lows, their joys and their pains, hundreds upon hundreds of women, all helping to shape the Valkyrie’s humanity. Her compassionate heart, the depth of her millennia of experience far more than anything those scant fourteen years as Platina could have given. She was just a sliver of what had helped shaped the Goddess, so small and inferior a speck, the child was not who Lenneth was meant to be.

So much more than any one human girl, Lenneth was in fact a being so uniquely her own. A caring Goddess, one whose capacity to feel and sympathize with the mortals a threat that Odin and the other Gods could not abide by. They hadn’t killed her, they had done WORSE, the woman’s free will taken from her, her true sense of being SEALED away.

A safeguard meant to control that which the Gods could not understand, that human compassion that that particular Goddess had been gifted with, the likes of which had been cultivated and learned over the course of a millennia of different hosts. Through them she had loved, and Lenneth had cared, the woman so wholly unique in her ability to FEEL, the Goddess the champion that the mortals had needed. The Gods had feared it, feared Lenneth and the allegiance that such emotions had wrought, Odin needing the Valkyrie to be a good little soldier who fell into line with his own selfish wants. Unable to dominate her as she had truly been, that tyrannous God had tried to eradicate her spirit, that of her true self, through such archaic means, such a brutal manipulation of the self, such that Lenneth had been little more than a doll. A puppet, beautiful and perfect, and so wholly without the feelings that would have interfered with the Heavens’ schemes.

The Gods had seen her as nothing more than a Death Goddess, a chooser of the slain to bolster their own armies with the souls of dead heroes. They had let her pick from the brave as though they were mere flowers, calling into service warriors from all corners of Midgard. Leaving her exposed to the very thing that the Gods themselves had feared, the emotions that were so plentiful in the humans, putting cracks in the shield erected around Lenneth’s heart. Bit by bit, that ancient magic had been worn away, the seal itself eroded with each and every encounter, until it had finally shattered, and with it went Lenneth’s mind, the woman having snapped.

It must have been so, so overwhelming, to have been hit at once with all those feelings, with the many lives she had slept through, their hopes, their desires, all coming to life within Lenneth in startling clarity. Was it any wonder she had lost her true self in the process, spinning from one host to another, again and again, until she had latched onto the most recent, that of the child, those scant years of fourteen the most overwhelming dream of them all given how fresh it had still been.

Even grounded in that child’s psyche, it had proved too much. Lezard himself had born witness to it, to that mental break that the Goddess had had. The tears that had fallen, the screaming that had been done, it hadn’t been just the Goddess, but the child, Platina, made horrified by the one solace of her life, Lucian the only kindness and warmth she had ever known, LOST, killed in turn by his own refusal to let go of his own delusions.

It had all been such a mess, a tragedy the likes of which all else had fallen short. Her puppet strings not just severed, but left tangled across the board, Lenneth had been operating on a grief born madness, forgetting who she really was, to play fantasy for one ignorant human. For some fake facsimile of him, Lucian a shadow, his miraculous return to life nothing more than a figment born of Lenneth’s own desperation and desires. Instead of the warrior she had known, he was something new, a puppet who was nothing more than some idealized version of who she had thought him to be, Lucian just one of the many dolls whose every thought had been painstakingly crafted by Lenneth’s power.

Creation itself had been remade on desire, on such potent delusions and lies, the many souls there not the people they had once been. They were just shadows of those that had died, annihilated in the Ragnarok that Lucian had helped Loki bring about. It hadn’t just ended lives, it had wiped out everything, including that of nearly every living being’s soul from existence, such devastation a permanent end, the cycle of rebirth itself destroyed. Such finality was there to it, that no one, not even God, could fight against, the world and its people entirely eradicated.

It left the world in complete ruins, Lenneth’s land a paradise populated in lies. It was a copy, a mere imitation of what had once been, formulated out of fragmented glimpses, the memories she had gathered, the people there nothing more than a pathetic bunch of puppets. They were just these hollow husks of what she thought them to be, these seemingly ideal versions ultimately falling short, all an attempt that was unfulfilling when it came towards truly easing the pain in the Goddess’ heart. They were all lies that couldn’t make her truly happy, anymore than they could satisfy her needs. Each and every last one of them, Lenneth living in a farce, a waking dream that could crumble apart so easily given the right push. If enough care wasn’t given, the Goddess would crumble again with it, her psyche perhaps lost to yet another kind of fantasy.

Lezard couldn’t lie and claim that he hadn’t considered it. Hadn’t given thought to molding Lenneth into a fantasy that would suit HIM best. But ultimately, he didn’t want the illusion, that of those broken remnants of who the Goddess had once been. He wouldn’t be satisfied with just a sliver, wouldn’t embrace the farce of just one of her sides. He wanted her everything and her all, Lezard made mad with the desire, with that need. It fueled him, his obsession with Lenneth the motivating strength that had led Lezard into doing the impossible again and again. He had died for her, traveled through time for her, even become a God for her, such a warped semblance of love a catalyst that had no limits and no match. Not even Lucian could compete, that young man unable to see past Platina, and past the Valkyrie, to the supreme manifestation of the woman, a Goddess so sublime as to move a heart that had once been so unfeeling.

Her mark left on him, Lenneth had helped shaped Lezard into this mad man, so utterly devoted in the pursuit of her. Worlds had been ruined, people slaughtered, time itself run roughshod all over, yet his hands were no less dirty than any of the other Gods. Than even HERS, Lezard creating his own world, his own perfect paradise to ease the pain that was in HIS heart. That it spilled hurt onto others, was of no concern, Lezard an unfeeling God who had no desire to rule or be worshiped by anyone other than by Lenneth.

Such blasphemies should have been sins enough to weigh even God down, yet Lezard was instead made unburdened by it all, free of the demands the throne of Creation should have made of him. He was free, having discarded duty the way he had discarded bodies, nothing but time on his hand, and power, and harboring a patience that was fast running out.

====

[yakumtsaki]

Ok I knew I hadn’t posted Unions in forever but good lord. The screenshots after, not before, AFTER this.. are the previews for this. Like we’re literally talking ancient history here. Let’s dive right in and see if we can wrap this up sometime during a human’s natural lifespan. SO when we left off we were desperately trying to make friends for Wyatt’s final promotion, ‘desperately’ being the operative word. We’ve done some pathetic shit in our time but shittalking each other to Apartment Life nobodies is honestly peak gutter, so you know. our natural environment. Spoiler alert, the kids are teens now and Wyatt has still not gotten promoted! Truly the Picasso of incompetence.

Good ol’ uncle Gunther is also here for some reason which I’m guessing is ‘came over uninvited’ but at least someone is paying attention to Shajar for once. Beggars can’t be choosers and Gunther as a father figure is the equivalent of someone leaving a button and good vibes in your cup. 

-So you see Shajar, life is nothing but a slow march towards our certain doom so who cares if your parents hate you?? My parents hated me till adulthood and I turned out amazing as you can surely tell by my stripes/plaid/indoor sunglasses combo!

-Think long and hard before procreating, brother, because there’s no guarantee you’ll even like your kids. Looking at you, Shajar.

-Um can I go now?

-Don’t know why you’re here in the first place and not in the crypt where we’ve set up your bed and everything! Kids these days.

Oh right, Brit Brit is also here so I guess I did invite these douchebags over. Way to go @ me.

-BRITTANY HOW COULD YOU TEAR THE MORAL FABRIC OF OUR WIFE-SWAPPING-BASED LIFE PARTNERSHIP LIKE THIS???? JUST STEAL ONE OF THEIR PETS LIKE AN UPSTANDING CITIZEN 

DON’T YOU DARE BRIT-

Ugh nevermind, it’s Sophie aka Brittany in cat form. Take her!

And take Shajar too while you’re at it cause absolutely not @ Victoria dying but the gnome drama living on. ENOUGH. This almost makes me appreciate Cyneswith’s ridiculous 10 nice points for a split second..

..but then I turn around and see this. GOOD GRIEF. How did Jojo and Wyatt produce vegan Tinkerbell here not even god knows.

This alliance of obnoxiousness is but the first in what is gonna become a running theme of every annoying flop in this neighborhood looooooving Maxx. Can’t keep kindred spirits apart for long! Honestly this legacy is turning me from pet maniac to Captain Ahab, like on one hand you have fucking Maxx who hasn’t done anything yet but just you wait till he grows up- 

-and on the other you have FUCKING VICTOR’S GHOST TRYING TO KILL US EVERY NIGHT. Apparently Victor + being a dick = a love not even death can tear asunder. Seriously tg kids can’t die cause these overactive freaks are up all night till the sun, are up all night to get some (entertainment), are up all night for good fun, are up all night to get lucky murdered.

This happens about 3000 times per night, I’m not even taking pics of it anymore, but it’s worth pointing out that everyone in this house, both alive/dead and human/non has a raging hate boner for Shajar in particular. It’s uncanny and depressing..

..and speaking of depressing, UGH. My poor, poor Shajar. I actually attempted to intervene and have them interact being the moron that I am:

JOJO WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM 

.....................................WHERE IS VICTOR’S GHOST WHEN I NEED IT

Yea sure, waste your niceness reserves on fucking Goro here instead, who isn’t even the cat heir and is about to go live on the farm (not a euphemism, Daniel and Melody’s literal farm). This Jojo fuckery is seriously starting to bum me out on top of pissing me off, let me find something cute to look at to raise my spirits..

No.

No.

NO.

Disturbing stuff.

Seems about right.

Old habits die hard.

No.

Ugh.

Ugh.

UGH.

OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE

FINALLY. THANK YOU CATS. Now let’s get back to this nightmare..

..and I mean nightmare in the technical sense of something not real occurring when you’re asleep, because Wyatt maxing a skill is truly the stuff of Taylor Swift-Wildest Dreams.mp3. It’s official, the only thing standing between us and Wyatt’s LTW is social ineptitude. But what if we revolutionize the friend game by approaching someone who can’t leave..

..because she’s contractually obligated to be here?? Go for it Wyatt!

-So Kaylýnn, you have the français maid thing going, I’m French and in need of a hag, c’est match made in les paradis!

-Yea sorry, Henry III, but it’s my professional policy to not fraternize with married clients I have no chance of fucking. 

-But..but you’re just a face template fiasco!

-..I have some bad news for you.

Kaylynn left Wyatt dick in hand and went to pet the cats, so I guess the day has arrived for me to go from being the leading Langerak hater of this community to being the leading stan-

-and apparently the leading Jitmakusol stan as well, which as we all know is a large and very competitive group. DOWN WITH JOJO

Well at least you still have this invaluable stamp of approval! All I see in this pic is 3 bags of trash.

Look at this trove, treasures untold, how many assholes can one photo hold? The reason there’s more awful people in our house than usual is the “exciting” occasion of the Shajar/Wulf double birthday and honestly even by our standards this party was especially terrible. Like it makes the one where Komei and Marissa happened look like Project X.

When this is the situation 10 seconds in you know you’re in for a good time. I don’t think a single positive interaction took place this entire party and I’ve subconsciously (?) forgotten every birthday since. What a loss!

Wulf is up first, and of course since this is Wyatt’s literal one and only parenting-related job, it took 3 cakes to happen and no one is paying attention by the time it does.

Wyatt makes one last-ditch effort to kill his child via decapitation and obviously he thinks it worked thus the wide smile. But Wulf is named after the spawn of Satan, head spinning comes with the territory-

-as do incredible looks. Gunther hair + tuxedo, and you think your little yellow blazer is subversive?? Step it up.

-If the sunglasses weren’t blocking the power of my stare this child would be dead by my sheer resentment.

Happy birthday, Wulf! 2/2 surviving murder attempts.

Wulf gets this Don Corleone makeover because a) he also survived murder attempts b) wedding tuxedo c) trying to avoid a Gunther mental breakdown. He looks exactly like Wyatt, like I don’t think there’s a drop of Jojo in there..

..BUT MAN IS THE PERSONALITY PURE UNION. Another nice little addition to our ever expanding freakshow.

Shajar time and no one is paying attention now either but there’s no cake malfunction, they just don’t care! And why should they? What is she, their child?

Wyatt can’t even be bothered to stay standing for literally 10 more seconds. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a parent do that before but you can always count on Wyatt for this sort of innovation. 

And this is what Shajar grows up to: Wyatt half-asleep, Daniel waiting to beat him up and the rest reacting to Wulf having shit himself. I don’t think any further comment is needed. 

Now, having lived through the experience that was Daniel and having marveled at Shajar’s seemingly genetic unlikability, I’m sure we can all tell which is the one aspiration she should under no circumstances roll because it’s going to make nails on a chalkboard seem like a fun musical break.. Yes, this is not a drill..

..we have another trainwreck firstborn who can’t get their own family not to hate them roll popularity. AND DANIEL WAS NICE. Shajar is bringing 1 nice point to the table so all I can say at this point is fml. 

And of course because the above wasn’t bad enough on its own and we always need the overkill, gaze upon whatever the fuck this is-

-YE MIGHTY AND DESPAIR. GOOD GOD SHAJAR 

LOL. Well with the custom sky this is an Under The Dome situation so technically you’re not wrong but still. fucking popularity? Leave the sky alone and aim for ‘slightly above ground’. Even that is pushing it.

Good, finally we return to reality and face the facts. Couldn’t agree more! 

[survivormoves]

☠ (Emori)

( Emori will be fine. ) He repeated it in his mind like a MANTRA. On and on and on. The words sounded so hollow. Like she was trying to only reassure herself. To ease the pain of what was to come.  The words had lost it's meaning... ( My people will protect you. ) A bitter sound left him as he rested his head against the cold steel of the ladder he was chained to, face twisted in agony. Because this couldn't be happening. This couldn't be his reality. This couldn't be what they both had survived for. This couldn't be why they had found each other again. Why they had melded so easily into one another. How she felt RIGHT against him. Made him laugh, made him smile, how they had danced together in the mansion. Small moments of blissful peace.

Her smile, radiant as the sun itself...Causing his stomach to flutter whenever he had seen it. But he  couldn't recall her smile. He could only see the look on her face as Miller plunged the sedation into her neck. He could only remember the look in her eyes. ( Survive, please. ) How could he? How could he if the world kept stealing away from him what he tried to protect and hold close to him? Everything he touched seemed to DIE... ( You killed your father! ) His head turned for a second, taking in a shaky breath, tears of defeat trickling down his cheeks. ( He says you're cute... For a thief. ) A strangled sob left him, jaws clenching shortly after as he forced it down. Shoved it to the back.  Stormy hues opened to look toward the closed door, the bottom row of his teeth moving to the side a bit, top row grazing over hit bottom lip before slowly biting down.

( If she dies, you die. )

( Emori will be fine. )

There was a desperate snarl, a powerful yank to his restraints, ignoring the way they dug more into his flesh, breaking the skin even more so. He didn't CARE for it. The mantra in his head had lost its meaning long ago.  What would they care for him for anyway. It didn't matter what he did. He always LOST. " CLARKE! " he finally hollered, body tense as he gave another sharp tug at the restraints. No reply. Of course not. Frustration and despair boiled in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the closed door, straining his ears to HEAR what was going on. Because that was all he could do...

Seconds ticked by, anger fueling by the minutes that passed...  They wouldn't let him go. They knew better. They hadn't even DARED to step inside. If looks could've killed, he would've killed them all on the spot. ( After this doing the right thing can kiss my ass. ) He should've listened. Should've stayed the fuck away from Arkadia. From Skaikru. From people who didn't--

And then voices... Panicked voices. His heart leapt into his throat before plummeting down unforgiving into icy colds. The rage upon his face had MELTED into that of sheer despair as he stared at the door. He thought he was going to LOSE it here. The shouts were loud enough to be heard. The SCREAMS. Oh GOD the screams. He didn't even realize he was screaming her name, trying to tug himself free, ignoring the blood that started to drip to the ground. And all he could do was SCREAM. Scream for her, scream for them to STOP even though he couldn't SEE.

( Emori will be fine. )

Perhaps it was the SILENCE afterward that was the worst... The deathly silence as he sat, numb, his eyes fixed on the closed door, face pale. His wrist bleeding and red liquid dripping to the ground. The doors opening caused a light shift, cold hues falling to whomever stepped in. They didn't look to him. They looked past him. The guilt on their face made him SICK. Emori. All his heart seemed to scream was her name. EMORI. He didn't CARE for the way they looked at him. He didn't care for the words that tumbled out of their mouth. Apologies he had no use of. They all meshed together anyway. He couldn't keep them apart. They melded together until they formed a raging hurricane around him. His chest heaved, every breath feeling like a MOUNTAIN to be climbed as he looked past them.

And saw her...

( Emori will be fine. )

He thought his heart had stopped beating in that precise moment. He thought he had DIED together with her. There was an awful numbness spreading through him, hitching breaths being taken in and brows knitting together in disbelief. Perhaps it was the silence which was the most dangerous of all. The silence as he sat and stared at the ONE person who had accepted him, with all his flaws, all his mistakes. With his stupid sassy comments, with his sarcasm and his dry humour. Who's hand he had put to his heart and cherished, with a smile to his face. The woman who had made him BELIEVE he was worth it. He wasn't the WORTHLESS son who had been the cause of his father's death. Who had been the reason his mother had KILLED herself because she couldn't stay STRONG for her little boy. He wasn't the BAD GUY to her.

He had just been JOHN MURPHY for her... A teenage boy with a stupid crush that bloomed into love.

She had been his home as much as he had been hers.

And he had failed her.

There was a faint shake of his head, almost unnoticable as he finally let his eyes fall on one of the many. A MISTAKE. Something inside of him EXPLODED into a hot fury. A raging HURRICANE that would destroy anything on its path. And the SCREAM that ripped from his lips was near to BESTIAL as he tore and pulled at the restraints, caring little for the pain. Pain that didn't COMPARE to the grief of losing her. PROMISES of DEATH tumbled over his lips like VENOM, ready to KILL.  He screamed his throat RAW. Those who dared to come CLOSE were met by a FOOT trashing out, hoping to HARM. To HURT.  He saw RED.

( Sedate him...! )

ONCE did his skull CRACK against whoever tried to come CLOSE to him. He FOUGHT like he had nothing else to lose. And he didn't. They had taken the last shred of HOPE he had clung to. The LAST person whom he had put his faith on. They had TAKEN her and EXPECTED him to be okay after it?

( Emori will be fine. )

" LIAR! FUCK YOU CLARKE! FUCK YOU ALL! I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU! I'LL GIVE YOU A FATE WORSE THEN FUCKING DEATH! " he screamed, he snarled, he trashed and he fought until finally the syringe plunged into his flesh and he was met by DARKNESS. And the painful knowledge that he was ALONE and she was GONE. And then NOTHING.

You better kill me, because I will not rest until I got my revenge.