#even stars burn out

[sinvulkt-art]

Blob Vader get BOOPED

Here is yet another gift to @cinderfeather as part of the Vaderkin Creative Exchange 2024, organised by @vaderkin-is-a-lightning-rod !!

I just love drawing silly blobs. And accidentally clicked on neon color while doing my shadowing. I loved the result so I kept it :3

[sinvulkt]

Pre-OT - Cursed Noodle Vaderkin

Summary: After another reckless stunt, the Force is tired of Vader's antics and transforms him into a small dragon. It then put him on Ahsoka's path.

Era: At some point after RotS and Twilight of the Apprentice  

Characters: Darth Vader, Ahsoka Tano

Main tropes: Non consensual animal transformation (listen, i love that one), Kidnapping your fallen jedi master, Force shenanigans

---

Snippet:

Vader blinked. Or tried to. His current form did not seem to possess eyelids.

It did possess a passable set of lungs as well as six working limbs, which most people would have called an improvement. Vader did not. The sudden assault of smells, colors and heat confused his senses. Every few seconds he had to remind himself to breathe, the habit long lost in profit of going along the suit ventilator.

He had been walking in circles trying to get back to Coruscant after his last mission, only for the universe to try to stop him. First, his life support had broken under his opponent’s lightsaber blow. Then, the Jedi he had been chasing had escaped, helped by some rebels Vader had made sure would not come back. To top it all, as Vader wondered if he would die, the ventilator unable to provide crucial oxygen to his lungs, the Force had bent and twisted until it made him into this.

His reflection in water had not been much help determining his species. A porg-sized lizard of some kind, although it seemed to have wings. Vader barely attempted to move them. The additional limbs felt foreign in his mind.

Vader made another step, snarling at the branch who tripped him.

This place was filled with nothing but rats and porgs and banthas. That, and the ship he had seen landing in the distance. Vader was certain he could slither in and steal it. His current form may not have a thumb, but it would not be the first time he used the Force to pilote.

A convor dove at him, its claws scratching at Vader’s armor-scales. His wings raised by instinct as he hissed. The bird should have known better than to challenge a Sith Lord. Vader threw the Dark at it, intending to crush the impudent bird, only for his control to slip and the blow to overshoot. As it happened, all the convor felt was a breeze slightly disturbing its flight. It dove again.

Vader cursed as he slipped under a crevice. Something was wrong with the Force. He could feel it just fine, but his control was barely better than a youngling. It was as if all the midichlorians in his body had shifted. Which, looking at the paws clawing at the sandy earth of the crevice, wasn’t that far away from the truth.

“Morai?” a humanoid called.

Vader perked up. He knew that voice.

“Is anyone here?”

Memories of a young togruta laughing flashed in his mind.

Could it be…?

The convor dove again as soon as it saw Vader muzzle out of his hidhole. Vader scrambled back. That person was dead. It must have been his imagination.

Vader focused on the arrogant creature that dared make him his prey. It felt rather weird for a convor, the Light bending too unnaturally around the bird’s presence for it to not be Force Sensitive. Whenever Vader Force-pushed it, the blow dissipated before it ever reached the convor. His low control wasn’t enough to explain it.

Several seconds passed without the bird diving back at Vader’s crevice. Perhaps the accursed being had finally given up and chosen an easier meal. Tentatively, Vader dared one paw out. Boots blocked his way.

“Morai. What did you find?”

Vader scrambled back, only for fiery skin to descend on him. He definitely did not yelp as warm fingers slid beneath his belly to lift him up in the air. He bit the offending arm, but the stranger's hands held him strong.

“Ouch. You are quite a wild little one, aren’t you?” Ahsoka chuckled.

Vader stilled. His scales flattened as he bared his teeth against the truth. This sight should not be possible.

 Anakin Skywalker’s Apprentice was dead.

And yet, the buzzing bond between them whispered another true as two tattered threads reached for each other to mend. He hurried to pull back his side of the bond, but it slipped away from his grasp. Worse, their skin touching only strengthens the bond’s mending. Vader felt the moment they connected. A shiver ran down his skin as Light burned his inside. Simultaneously, Ahsoka’s eyes widened in recognition.

She held him up to her face level, lekkus twitching as she stared into what he knew must be golden eyes.

“Anakin?”

---

Plot Description:

The Force did not wish for its Son to suffer. It waited and waited, but Anakin stayed miserable under the Emperor’s thumb, barely attempting to escape. After Vader brushes with death, borderline voluntarily, the Force has enough. It calls to the rather Eldritch part within Anakin to transform him. Dragon-Vader is on the rather small side. He can be easily lifted and put on shoulders. As a Force-being, Vaderkin is very young, almost a baby. The dragon’s shape reflects that. Would it have been billions of years later, he would have been huge enough to wrap around a planet.

As per the Force terms, Vader cannot go back into human shape until he touches the light side or learns to balance properly the multiple facets of the Force. Dark and Light. Even then, he will never fully be human again, keeping draconic traits such as scales and wings. This might be of great interest to various pirates and slavers, or even to Palpatine whose apprentice suddenly became quite a bit more useful. 

Ahsoka is all too happy to see the crucial blow to the Empire through Vader’s disappearance, as well as to maybe, maybe get her Jedi-Master-turned-Sith-turned-small-dragon back. Now if only she can coax him onto the road of balance.

[nebsisdead]

EVEN STARS BURN OUT

Season 1 as 🧡M E M E S🧡

[mid-nighttiger]

i wonder how much of the common fandom misconception that the dark side is not actually bad comes from a misunderstanding of where the dark side actually comes from. from what i gather from folks who argue that the dark side isn't actually bad, it seems they think that someone falls to the dark side because they 'care too much' or because of anger over some injustice that must be corrected. if this were true, then the dark side seems pretty reasonable or even the right thing to do, especially for those of us who've felt that anger in real life due to an injustice we've faced and used it to galvanize our actions

but the dark side isn't rooted in anger. it's rooted in fear -- fear of loss of power, or control, or life, or another person. fear that can lead to anger, yes, but it's not the righteous anger of a protector for those less fortunate, but an anger that twists one's principles and causes hate and suffering. honestly, the dark side has more in common with the hateful people in real life who cause the very injustices we're angry about, who are often also afraid of a (perceived) loss of power that leads them to mistreat others

[ashthewaterghoul]

Easily the best thing I’ve ever written.

[goldkirk]

hey this isn’t aimed at anyone in particular but I’m saying it for the record here: if I tell you no, please stop messaging me about fundraisers and mutual aid.

I get enough messages that it’s impossible for me to keep up without devoting at least half an hour each day, when I’m not even on tumblr that long most days. Me having a boundary about this isn’t a moral failing, it’s a lifeboat for me on my own blog.

In my personal life I’m already advocating and donating literally as much as I can spare. This is not me not caring, it’s just me not willing to interact with that on the one place I go online to not interact with irl news and world events for the most part.

I cannot be upset all the time. I cannot be upset everywhere. I cannot use all my emotional and mental energy fielding my own upset from ongoing events. My options are to hold boundaries about this or stop coming online at all.

I’m all for sharing information and signal boosting to reasonable extents, but the scale of it this year is so large and so enduring that it is literally not possible to for me to participate on every account I have. I’ve previously shared links to Gaza eSIM donations and a major hub of verified Go Fund Mes here and elsewhere online. We, the online humans, know how to look those things up ourselves by now. There are many, many people choosing to do advocacy work, and right now, I can’t be one of them.

If you’re extremely upset when I tell you I can’t share/donate right now about a Gaza family or personal fundraiser you ask me to share here, just unfollow and block me. That’s what those buttons are for. Protect your own emotions and energy and get me off your feed instead of staying upset and continuing to engage with online people or content that upsets you.

Please don’t send repeated angry messages based on manufactured purity politics and moral outrage into my messages and inbox when I exercise the right to run my own blog.

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[pocket-size-cthulhu]

Andor is like if they made a political drama that was so good that most of the time you didn't even remember it was set in space opera universe

[ccbatman]

actually so evil how much of hal's internal world gets obliterated with the rewriting of his relationships with jessica and martin.

[amazingspider-z]

some more ghost rider sketches, version i guess i wanted to draw some bones,

including a partial prototype of whatever the hell the Rider has going on underneath his skin-suit (which might need more leather 'muscles' but. whatever), a theoretical endpoint of how dead Robbie could get in my verse, which. unlikely? extremely. but fun to draw, and a line-up of Robbie, Lisa, and Gabe

in theory, Lisa's sense of style was inspired by @wazzappp 's post of Claire's fashion Lisa, but, well, outfit design eludes me. so. brightly colored vague y2k vibes are. the best i got

[seraphseye]

omg i finally remembered my login here

[sinvulkt-art]

The Dark Wyrm

Here is my gift to MillionLights on ao3, as part of the Vaderkin creative exchange 2024 organised by @vaderkin-is-a-lightning-rod

Once I’ve read your prompt, the picture wouldn’t leave my head, so here it is!

[sinvulkt]

Pre-OT - Cyber Ahsoka Whump

Summary: Ahsoka gets captured by the Empire goons and used for Cylo’s experiments. Vader wanders off during one of his "maintenance" to find a half feral Ahsoka who has been modified.

Era: Pre Original Trilogy

Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Darth Vader

Main tropes: Non Consensual Body Modification, Cyborgs

---

Snippet:

Vader walked through the bland hallways of Cylo’s hideous lair. The mad man had been fascinated with Vader's build, and asked the Emperor to let him study his creation. Vader would rather stay as far away from Cylo as he physically could, but his Master ordered him to go, and so he went.

The Dark rose at his displeasure, teasing him with pictures of Cylo choking on the ground. The thought of getting rid of the man was tempting, but Palpatine expectedly forbade Vader to kill him. After his last punishment, Vader had no wish to summon Darth Sidious’ wrath.

An eerily familiar presence in the Force distracted Vader from his directed course. He glanced at the corner of his helmet visor. He still had a bit of time before his next appointment. At the next crossroad, he turned towards the source of the disturbance.

Soon enough, the presence felt stronger. Vader struggled to place the feeling of familiarity. It didn’t feel anything like an inquisitor, but it was too twisted to belong to a Jedi. Had Cylo captured a Force sensitive for his experiments?

The dim presence reached to his, hesitant at first, then stronger. It brushed against his mental shield, unable to get in. The probing should have stopped there, had the presence not latched onto one of Anakin's tattered bonds. The being's identity suddenly clicked in Vader's head.

Ahsoka.

Cylo’s creepy home was not where Vader expected to find his former apprentice. In fact, he did not expect to find her at all. Not after the abandoned lightsaber he found after Order 66. She was supposed to be dead. Curious, Vader reached back, probing her in return.

Something was wrong.

Her presence was a mess, as if someone had forcibly implanted Dark side bits into the Light. Her memories felt all over the place, jumping from the clone war to the Empire's birth. There seemed to be some dissonance with her body as well that he couldn’t properly scan from afar.

Something was wrong.

Vader’s pace accelerated.

[sunderedazem]

14 - bitter

Ancients? :)

You KNEW what you were asking for. So have some Elidibus POV of Azem and Emet-selch's break-up before the Sundering.

-

There are shards of red on the steps, and utter silence in the square. He blinks. Etheriys feels a little like a dream now, with the soft roaring of so many souls dulling his senses- but this sting of sorrow and shame he feels, distantly. It aches in a way he's sure he's forgotten, almost. And yet he and all those within yet remember…

The people are watching (not saved- but soon) stricken, frozen - all but one, whose cowl hangs down his back, whose silver staff is still tight-gripped in white-knuckled fingers. Who is walking away with a snarl on his lips and tears streaming down his bare face. Who has before the entirety of Amaurot denounced the Convocation, who has accused them of forgetting their duty, who has- has accused him of bias- 

They had to save the star. They have to save the star. And He was their answer. Is their answer. The roaring in his ears will never cease, now. He thinks the stretch of his very self was a small price to pay for the blue of the sky. He knows it. He volunteered.

So many had. And yet-

Azem storms out of the city center with his staff aglow in Light, wreathed round himself like a shield against- something, and he does not look back. There is only the sway of his long white braid as he departs, and Elidibus- watches it. Watches the narrow shoulders and frail stature recede into the distance, until shattered and broken and burning buildings obscure him from sight completely. Watches as one of Themis's closest friends turns his back on Zodiark and all the salvation he promises.

Elidibus does not understand it. He- remembers. Azem had pleaded with the Convocation to stay Zodiark's summoning, to give him time to find an alternative. Half the lives of their people was too awful a price for him - and Elidibus cannot condemn him for that love he has for their star and people, cannot condemn him for his dissent. Azem is the Traveler - the Shepherd. It would go against everything his seat stands for to agree. Lahabrea had not agreed - nor had Pashtarot - but in the end, Elidibus could not be partial. And thus Azem was given his time to find another way. But should Amaurot begin to burn- then they would have to act.

But he returned too late. Three days too late. And his solution was…incomplete. An effort commendable, to be sure. A solution worthy of gentle praise, and perhaps use later. But the star had fallen to ruin, and Zodiark could restore it. And then- then the star could restore their people. And Zodiark would save them all. He would save them.

He will. No matter if one man refuses to understand. Elidibus and Zodiark will save him too.

No matter how bitter that salvation tastes.

There are shards of red on the steps. Emet-selch is kneeling among them, his hands shaking, gathering the pieces one at a time. He is not crying, Elidibus thinks. Not yet, at least. He seems more stunned than anything. Of course, he is not the only one, if the way the silence still rings deafening has any meaning.

Azem has always had a temper, though it was not often apparent. But this- this by far had been the worst outburst Elidibus had ever seen from anyone, let alone from Azem. And worst of all, it had been a willful misinterpretation- a cruel misinterpretation, made solely to make a point about their plans to sacrifice the lesser creatures of the star to return those given to Zodiark to life. And- and perhaps Azem even had a point, if a misguided one.

He had always been thin of aether, incapable of all creation magicks no matter how simple, and sickly for it besides. His elevation to the Fourteenth Seat had been long delayed by a discussion of his health and the risks posed to his own wellbeing, rather than any disagreement with regard to his temperament or accomplishment as a researcher and theorist both. But to use his own recurring illness - which Emet-selch had cared for him through countless times - as a bludgeon to say that the Convocation must therefore count him among those lesser creatures-

I too am thin of aether. Weak, sickly- imperfect. Incapable of creation. Are these the only requirements for you to be willing to slaughter living beings in order to undo the willing sacrifice of half our people? I gave you another option! Those who are thin of aether - thinner than me! - may use this dynamis to restore our star, and you dismiss their capabilities save for their worth as livestock? You swore to hearken unto my solution, Emet-selch- you promised me you would have faith I would find a way and now you- you reject what I have found in favor of dishonoring your seat and returning the dead to life? Fine then! I count myself among these lesser beings freely, for I am more akin to them than you. And should you wish to wet Etheriys with their blood, you will start with me. And you will draw the blade across my throat with your own hands.

But even if he had a point- Emet-selch had only stared, utterly lost for words. The entire square had been quieter than death. Even Zodiark had seemed to still. And then, caught in the folly of sentiment, Emet-selch had stepped forward, had reached out a hand, had called- 

Helios- Helios, please-

There had been a whirl of black, a flash of red- and then Azem's mask had shattered on the wall above Emet-selch's head, had shattered into shards of his office even as his sigil had glared red over silver eyes.

I am Azem,  Emet-selch. I revoke the privilege for you to call me by my personal name- not only do I not know this man you have become, but us lesser creations have no names to speak of, now do we?

Elidibus had not known how to stop him. Emet-selch had just dropped his hand, jerking a little as if he had been struck by a physical blow.

And then Azem had gone.

And now he is gone. And Emet-selch is on his knees, gathering the shards of that shattered mask, cradling them carefully, as if he could piece together what was broken. As if he could repair a heart threaded with thorns, or another cracked down the center. As if saving the mask would save the man.

“...he will come back,” Emet-selch whispers then, staring at the bitter, broken ashes of Helios in his hands. “...I- I will have that much faith in him.”

And Elidibus- and in Elidibus, the dark waxes strong, and he lays a hand on Emet-selch's shoulder. 

“Nay- we will save him, my friend,” he promises, and watches as golden eyes behind a red mask snap to him and glaze over. There is weight in his words now - the promise of a thousand thousand souls and the hope of their people. “We will save him, and the star as well. We will.”

The doubt and grief in Emet-selch's eyes disappears, wiped clean by faith. And Elidibus smiles, heart heavy with certainty and the knowledge that in time, Themis's dearest friends will mend the rift born between them here. They will save Azem - they will - and the star he so loves, and all the people too. Elidibus will not allow for any end other than perfect salvation. The bitterness of these sorrowful days will fade, and Azem will smile again, and look upon Emet-selch with that loving mischief in his eye, and this will all be but a distant memory. 

They will. 

He will make sure of it.

-

Enjoy the angst/keep the change ya filthy animal

[ashthewaterghoul]

🎃 and 👻 for the WIP ask game, please and thank you 🖤🖤🖤

Seestor!!! (I always read your name in Nihil's voice for some reason lol) Thank you for the ask! :D

🎃Do you have any favourite brainstorming techniques? How do you like to gather ideas for your wip?

I like to try and plan and stuff but a lot of it is what I make up as I go along. Like, take Even The Brightest Stars Burn Out, I knew that Phantom was going to go through the ringer with their mental health, and I knew they were going to have a suic*de attempt (cheery ik) but getting there was a lot of making stuff up. Like the whole dreamshifting ability that made them see Dew's nightmare then accidentally claw their neck and visit the afterlife for a sec. All just kinda made up as I wrote it lol.

Sometimes I get ideas from hcs I come up with, sometimes it's other people's stuff and I do always try to credit where I can!!

👻Can you tease some wip ideas that have been haunting you/something you want to write in the future?

Ehhhh, got some very angsty ideas for mine and @bloodysyren 's fic A Cosmic Collision, Dew's not going to be having a good time at all for a while lol

But there will be some sassy Rain so at least there's that? 😂

Also, got a plan for the 'Mountain finding an abandoned kit who turns out to be Phantom and he raises them' fic, just need to actually start writing it. (I'm not obsessed with Phantom, what are you talking about?)

[deskgirl]

Thinking yet again about Edward Teach who can’t sit quietly with his own thoughts while fishing with Fang but sits quietly with his dying friend and listens to him in his last moments. Sure, there’s plenty of stuff that he could have said, but his attention was all Izzy wanted in that moment.