#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]

PT - Will you be a Hero, or a Villain?

Summary: In a galaxy of superheros and supervillains, people are born with or develop a letter on their skin, indicating whether they are destined to become a ’villain’ (V), a ’hero’ (H), or a normal person (N).

Anakin made sure he was the only person aware of the V embed on his flesh.

Era: Prequel Trilogy

Characters: Anakin Skywalker

---

Snippet:

Anakin rolled the joints that made the fingers of his prosthetic arm. Even now, weeks after it had been replaced, it felt odd to him. The missing arm felt like a void, but it also brought a form of relief. Now, there was no proof left in his world that he didn’t belong with other Heroes.

He experimentally twisted the mechanical arm to show the underside of its wrist. The machinery smoothly complied. Anakin touched the cold surface with wonder. There used to be a V here. One that fastly became a burned mark, as his mother discovered it with horror. Villain slaves rarely lasted long, or if they did, it was in conditions where they wished they didn’t.

Villains in general weren’t the most long-lived people. Although, ironically, heroes’ life expectancy didn’t fare much better. 

Not for the first time, anger raced through Anakin's veins at the absurdity of the system that ruthlessly dictated everyone's life. No mark should define who someone was.

Sometimes he wondered if that anger came from his mark as well. But his mark was twice gone, burned and cut away. It couldn’t define who he was anymore.

Anakin was the Chosen One. He was the markless hero who would lead everyone beyond a world where children had to fear the day their marks were drawn, and a simple pattern on the skin decided a person's whole life. 

He was the greatest Villain, who would tear this wrenched society apart.

Anakin would show them. He would show them all.

---

Plot Description:

People either are born with or have appearing a mark on their skin: a letter, indicating whether they are destined to become a ’villain’ (V), a ’hero’ (H), or a normal person (N). Maybe the mark is decided by destiny, by an unknown magic filling this world- or perhaps humanity created a technology that, by studying a person’s life experiences and genes, calculates the likelihood of someone turning against society order. 

Qui-Gon finds Anakin on Tatooine, or in an equivalently sucking place. Finding out that Anakin is free of any mark, possessing neither a V, a H or a N, he declares him to be ’The Chosen One’. 

Anakin is always cautious to hide the remains of the ’V’ mark that would doom him, to protect the lie he and his mom told the slave Masters, and then the Jedi. They burned it away, so in a way, it was true he didn’t have a mark anymore. It was fine. No matter what the mark once said, he was a Hero. He was as good as the other padawans, if not better than them!

Padmé ends up learning about the nature of Anakin’s mark, but she doesn’t care. If anything, it is proof that her belief about the wrongness of this system is right: no mark should define people. As far as she is concerned, Anakin acts like a Hero, so he is one, no matter the letter that once stood on his skin.

Palpatine is at the top of the political world, be it as the Hero Head (a false H on his skin for everyone to see), or as the president (an inconspicuous N keeping him out of any suspicion). Obviously, his mark is a false one, only here for show. At the end of it all, when the time comes for heros to die and villains to finally rise, he reveals himself to have been a Villain all along. Somehow he did manage to find out about Anakin’s not-so-markless nature, and helped him hide that fact: it’s always useful to have one more hidden villain under his fold, even one in denial. 

Irony is rampant, and self-fulfilling-prophecies know how to rule a world. 

What do you think? Do the marks we are born with define us?

They don’t, not truly. But the Force tends to have a shitty sense of humor and destiny always comes knocking.

[nebsisdead]

EVEN STARS BURN OUT

Season 1 as 🧡M E M E S🧡

[sinvulkt]

MASSIVE MER ANI NOW IN WRITING

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex, CT-7567 | Rex & CC-3636 | Wolffe

Characters: CT-7567 | Rex, Anakin Skywalker, CC-2224 | Cody, CC-3636 | Wolffe, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Ahsoka Tano, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-5597 | Jesse, Clone Trooper Hardcase (Star Wars), CT-6116 | Kix, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Slavery, Or i consider it such at least xd, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Captive Animals, Dehumanization, Hurt Anakin Skywalker, Mute Anakin Skywalker, Angst, Clone Troopers Deserve Better (Star Wars), Clone Troopers and Jedi as Found Family (Star Wars), CT-7567 | Rex Needs a Hug, Protective CT-7567 | Rex, CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker Friendship, Child Ahsoka Tano

Series: Part 3 of Vaderkin Creative Exchange 2024

Summary:

In an Empire dependant on mer scales, the hidden caves beneath the Palace are host to very peculiar creatures. In order to care for them and maintain the riches that make the Empire’s pride, the Emperor, Palpatine, dispatch several soldiers to the capital.

Enter Rex.

Dedicated to you, @squad-724 , as part of @vaderkin-is-a-lightning-rod Vaderkin Creative Exchange 2024.

Enjoy your gift!

For @vaderkin-is-a-lightning-rod Vaderkin creative exchange for ZeroMax on ao3

@zero-max

Massive mer Ani? Massive mer Ani!

The artwork can be interpreted however you like, I myself like to imagine Palpatine having a magical creature under his castle that he uses for his sith magic

[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.

[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.

[sinvulkt]

☆.���

.

.

.

✨️.✨️

This is amazing. Marvelous. Magneficent. Sumptuous, even!

The design is brillant and the dragon’s towering posture noble, elegant, grandiose. He is, simply said, gorgeous. His radiant eyes are striking, as are his regal set of horns. The shine of leather and the glitters of scales light the whole art in a sublime hue. Luke’s position is well chosen, hidden behind the dragon’s imposing frame yet outstanding through his terror and the color play between shadows and clothes. Meanwhile, the broken chains makes a commanding statement against the opulent Master keeping them trapped.

All in all, it’s an excellent and impressive piece of work! Thank you!! 🎶

Also thank you @ravenite-void for the feedback and beta-ing. I’m glad I made you fell in love with my silly story.

I fell fell in love with dragon!Vader thanks to @sinvulkt and drew this for them, inspired by her fic The monster and the Child

The monster defending the child (11/2023)

[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 - 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.

[aeolianblues]

pop stars aren't born in the 70s anymore like they used to be. These days they're born in a year uncomfortably close to my own which makes me clutch my chest and cry out

[maryse127]

It's been years since I watched Clone Wars but it permanently ruined me. I watched A New Hope with my brother and his girlfriend tonight and I was having MANY Feelings about Anakin fucking Skywalker. I was so brave about it too

[secondpersonpoetry]

you’ve probably already read it before, but the poem Party by Kim Addonizio really got me tonight. first thought was “oh man. yeah” and then my second thought was “how can i make this about my hockey guys somehow………..”anyway! have a good one! 

oh. oh.

​

[ashthewaterghoul]

I Know For The Last Time You Will Not Be Mine So Give Me The Night - An Alternative Ending

     At some point, Dew felt a faint light licking against his eyelids. Did he fall asleep? Was it morning already? Though curiously, he still felt the back of Phantom’s shoulders pressed against his face. He reluctantly cracked an eye open, and instantly regretted it.     The light was coming from Phantom’s horns. Their stars and galaxies giving a final burst of energy, one last ditch attempt at waking up. But they never would. Or, What would have been the ending to Ch22 of Even The Brightest Stars Burn Out if I decided to be mean. Pretty sure this could honestly be read without the context of the fic but notes have a tldr.

Words: 1.5k

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Aether & Phantom, Dew/Phantom, Phantom & everyone

Tags: Death, alternative ending, angst, whump, Dewdrop needs a hug, referenced su!c!de attempt, funerals, Aether & Phantom are siblings, they/them pronouns for Phantom, idk how to tag this please send help.

A/n: Context! Phantom and Aether are siblings and Phantom got summoned to a pool of Aether's blood. Angst and shit ensues until Phantom decides to commit suicide. Dew gets there to talk them down, but not before the dagger they were going to use falls and slices their chest open. That and magic made it so they didn't wake up and were put in a coma. In ch22 we see the pack struggling and loosing hope, but Phantom wakes up! In this ending though, they decidedly… don't

~~~

    When the doctors came that dreadful evening, the pack all piled on top of Phantom, making sure they weren’t alone and surrounded by love. Copia had given Phantom the Ghoul equivalent of the last rites, and the pack had followed the Ghoulish tradition of preparing a body for death with some alterations considering they were away from their native dimension. They had washed Phantom’s body with various oils and herbs, each bearing a prayer, and finished by burning incense and using the ashes to draw various protection runes for Phantom’s journey into the Beyond. They had done the same for Aether, not getting the opportunity with Sunshine. Seeing the little Bat bearing the same marks their brother had just months prior twisted all their souls even more than they already had been. The universe really was a heartless bitch at times. The pack had put Phantom in their favourite pyjamas (Swiss’ joggers and one of Aether’s t-shirts) and Cumulus had made their curls look so healthy, you wouldn’t think anything was wrong.

    The doctors removed everything but the breathing tube, allowing the pack some final moments. It was weirdly quiet without the beeping of the monitors they had all become accustomed to. Phantom had looked so small amongst all the wires and tubes they had been connected to, yet they somehow looked even smaller now without it.

    All said their goodbyes privately, one at a time, then together took positions on Phantom’s nest. Phantom was rolled partially on their side so their head rested on Cumulus’ chest as that was how they always cuddled, Mountain sat against the headboard with them both against his own chest. Rain curled up by their feet while Swiss and Aurora rested their heads on Phantom’s leg. Cirrus shimmied herself between Cumulus and Rain, her head on their stomach, and Dew curled up around the back of Phantom.

    The bat plushie was in their arms, and one of Aether’s horns was in each hand.

Read below the cut or on ao3!

    The doctor turned off the respirator, removed the breathing tube and immediately left the room, shutting the door behind her.

    All the Ghouls shut their eyes, not wanting to see their horns fall away. The magic in the dagger was what made Aether and Sunny’s bodies disappear, so they also shut their eyes so they didn’t have to see it happen to Phantom if they disappeared too. All stayed silent as they cried, and waited for the last crackle of air to leave Phantom’s lungs, for their heart to stop beating, and for the stars in their horns to burn out with their soul.

    Dew, Cirrus and Cumulus would be the first to hear them go, and were entwining their tails, providing some comfort for what was to come. Silently, they all prayed that Phantom would come back. That their breathing would pick up and they would wake. But Satan hadn’t listened thus far, why would he listen now?

     At some point, Dew felt a faint light licking against his eyelids. Did he fall asleep? Was it morning already? Though curiously, he still felt the back of Phantom’s shoulders pressed against his face. He reluctantly cracked an eye open, and instantly regretted it.

    The light was coming from Phantom’s horns. Their stars and galaxies giving a final burst of energy, one last ditch attempt at waking up. But they never would.

    The last crackle of air left Phantom’s lungs. Dew, Cirrus and Cumulus felt those last heartbeats, so incredibly strong that they dared to think maybe it would be okay. But the last beat thumped, that last thread snapped, and none came after.

    Dew choked on a sob. Cumulus followed after the small clank of their horns falling away and out of their skull. And then everyone joined as Phantom’s body disappeared.

    As the Bug they were all clinging to - almost trying to follow them - faded away, they ended up holding each other instead. The horns fell to the middle of their pile, in a spot where the Ghoul themself was no longer. All of them watched as the stars and galaxy gave their last shine, and burn out into dormancy, just like Aether’s had.

    The bat plushie now had both of the brothers’ horns resting against its plush wings. Dew allowed himself a small comfort that the Bat themself was indeed with their brother again, and free from their pain.

    Although they had left the pack in a whole cosmos of it.

~~~

‘Phantom Luceat’

‘May your pain end, and your soul

paint the brightest stars in our skies.’

    It was engraved onto a stone that Dew and Rain had retrieved from the depths of the river. On it, Swiss and Aurora had combined their Earth affinities to etch the text alongside wisteria, carnations and baby’s breath, Mountain taking over when it got too much for them.

    It felt like a sickening Déjà vu as the pack walked up the hill again, to the lake, and to the second Dogwood tree Mountain had planted, grown and moved. Not to mention also feature a memorial stone for a Luceat at the base.

    They all had violet candles, carved with bats, and wore solemn expressions. Once again, they all said a few words for the little bat. Cumulus for the fourth kit she’d lost, Cirrus for her sibling, Swiss, Aurora and Rain for their partner, Copia for the third Ghoul lost in such a short time, and Dew and Mountain for the little bug who meant much more to them than words could describe.

    They built another pyre and Dew and Swiss used their affinities and the flames of the candles to light it. There wasn’t a lot any of them could throw in as Phantom had been topside for just months, Aether had been here for years. But they all found something. Copia burned the dagger once and for all, not caring for if the Clergy would chew his head off for destroying something so important for their rituals.

    All the pack and Copia stayed there until the pyre had finished burning and said the prayers to protect Phantom’s soul in the Beyond.

    Slowly, everyone filtered back inside. But Dew stayed, staring at the ashes and wishing he was part of it. He had begged to be taken instead of Phantom, and once again, he couldn’t get what he wanted.

    He lit a cigarette and tears pricked his eyes when the brief memory of him offering one to Phantom popped up. It was stupid, and Dew didn’t even know if they smoked, but he felt like he had to do something. As Dew took puffs of the cig, he had to wonder what if Phantom said yes? Would anything had changed? It felt like millions of what ifs ran through the Fire Ghoul’s head, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t cause him a bit of a migraine.

    Phantom was only 24 years old; Dew was 33. He’d lived as good a life as he would get by now, his birth family gone and his chosen family in a constant cycle of slowly disappearing. He’d seen the world that so few Ghouls get to see and can’t see or do much more that he hadn’t already been through. It should have been him.

    Dew reached into his pocket, and pulled out the several gemstones that he retrieved for Phantom. They clinked together in his palm and his heart hurt at the sight of them. His hand shook from the cold and his cries as he knelt on the edge of the lake. The other hand reached out and melted the ice. Dew sobbed as he returned the crystals to the water they came from.

    As was tradition for Water Ghouls, what could be returned to her, should be. It was a death tradition for a Water Ghoul’s horns to be put back into the Ghoul’s home waters, allowed to sink to the bottom and be with her in eternal rest and embrace. Dew also knew from Aether that the notion of life being a cycle - everything in it being its own cycle, knowing that everything returning home in the end - is incredibly important to Quintessence Ghouls. It almost felt like a meeting of their elemental traditions.

    Dew had hoped that one day, he would be able to combine them by making his nest nice and neat and pristine so Phantom can rest easy in his safe-space, only wanting to be his best for them. He would fill the nest with comforts for them both to share, grab Aether’s old star projector so they could have a mimicry of laying under the stars that had exploded at the perfect times for them to meet. He would've used the courting traditions to ask Phantom to be his.

    Omega had once told Aether “Fuck the Fates” and Dew could quite honestly say that would be his next tattoo. The Fates were cruel, life was cruel, the universe was cruel. Phantom was too young for all they went through, and they absolutely should not have died.

    It happened to Omega, then Aether, and now Phantom. So, Dew cried as he was forced to realise that, in the end, even the brightest stars burn out.

Go read the main fic on ao3! One shot master post can be found here

[seraphseye]

omg i finally remembered my login here

[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