#gill's past

[n0rthyy]

ahh... a bit messy, isn't it?..

[amjustgoose]

Big fan of those fanarts of all of Charlie's characters where it's just

- Charlie Slimecicle

- Charlie Slimecicle

- Charlie Slimecicle

- dnd character that vaguely looks like Charlie Slimecicle

- dnd character that really looks like Charlie Slimecicle

- SIR GILLION TIDESTRIDER, CHAMPION OF THE UNDERSEA, HERO OF THE DEEP, PIGEON LORD, THE ONE, WARRIOR OF ROCK AND ROLL, SINGER/SONGWRITER OF GILLION AND THE TIDESTRIDERS' HIT SINGLE "THE HOLE IN YOUR HEART", MOISTURE MASTER, HORSE TAMER, DEFENESTRATOR OF THE ADULTEROUS, FRIEND OF DUGON, DUGON'S BEST FRIEND, DUGON'S PAL, WALKING FISH, FISH, DIRT EATER, CHUM OF CHIBO AND CHUMS, CO-CAPTAIN GILL OF THE RIPTIDE PIRATES, CO-CAPTAIN OF THE ALBATROSS, COMPANION OF PRETZEL, PARAMOUNT CHAMPION, KNIGHTER OF JULIAN THAT ONE TIME, PRETZEL CARRIER, LEVIATHAN TAMER, SERPENT RIDER, BROTHER OF DUGON, HEALER OF THE SICK, FRIEND OF DUKE D DUKEM DUKE OF DOOKE, EATER OF GRASS, BEATER OF ASS, GRANDMA'S GOOD BOY, DISMANTLER OF EVIL, EATER OF SHIT, CAPITALISM HATER, ROYALTY ASSASSINATOR, SUFFERER OF THE SPICE, WEED EATER, SLAYER OF EVIL, LOFFINLOT LIBERATOR, FRUITNINJA, EATER OF SAND, JUICE ENJOYER, RESCUER OF JOHN, FISHY, BITCOIN MINER, NFT PURCHASER, DRIPLORD, GRANDMILLION, THE ONE WHO WILL CHANGE THE WORLD, ROLLER OF TENS, GRIMM SLAYER, IN NEED OF A DAD, GOBLIN GOBBLER, LIME LORD, TUBER, CHIP'S NIGHTMARE FUEL, MONSOON AND MOON SON, EATER OF ASS, PRETZEL SEEKER, VIBE MASTER, PUSSY SLAYER, MURDERER OF VICE ADMIRAL KUBA KENTA, GILLION MOTHER-FUCKING TITTY-SUCKING TIDESTRIDER, EGG HATER, BONG OBLITERATOR, BABY SIGNER, BABYGIRL, THE RED ONE, SKILLION LIEDSNEAKER, FISHY BOY, TIDESTRIZZER, RIZZ REVERENT, JORTS STORM, HERO OF THE HOUR, POPPER OF SACKS, TREE HUGGER, SUMMONER RIDER AND BROTHER OF LUCY.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[OLD ART ALERT] A COLLECTION OF SCENES FROM THE GILLIONS CATSCRATCH ARC THAT BROUGHT ME GREAT JOY. i love fishy chips especially when its just gillion being delirious and violent and hostile

[left-side-up]

Mars

One hour, thirty-seven minutes, and sixteen seconds left.

Martyn wipes the blood from his face, still panting heavily. He won. As the red haze fades from his mind, so does the ecstasy of victory.

He's the last one standing. It's over. So why is his clock still ticking?

For the first time since becoming red, he's... numb. His eyes land on Scott's body.

"Come on," he whispers, as if breaking the silence would wake his teammate, as if anything could wake Scott now. "Time to go home."

One hour, six minutes, and ten seconds left.

It takes Martyn a while to carry Scott's body back to the Coral Isles and begin digging. He furrows his brow as he pushes the shovel into the earth, hoping the minimal enchantments will save him some time. He has to get this done. Has to make up for what he did, even if it's just a small gesture like this.

(Has to keep his mind off of the memories that have been slipping into his head since he killed Impulse. Soulmates, spyglasses, snow. Things that were stolen from him long ago.)

He groans as the shovel hits stone, then pulls out his pickaxe. This is going to take longer than he'd hoped.

Thirty-eight minutes and thirty-two seconds left.

Martyn almost sheds a tear of relief when the grave is finally deep enough. Instead, he spends those precious seconds setting down the shovel and going to pick up Scott.

He's badly burned from the lava, and the stab wound has left his shirt covered in blood. He'd hate that Martyn is leaving him in such a filthy set of clothes, but he'd also hate the idea of Martyn swapping his shirt out for him. It probably doesn't matter all that much- he's going to be covered in dirt either way.

"Alright, Smajor," Martyn tells him. "Time to rest."

He lowers his teammate into the grave.

(A fellow soldier of Dogwarts. A canary. And now, his Mean Gill. Though he didn't know it when he began digging, he's done this before.)

Once Scott is settled, Martyn picks the shovel back up. His work isn't finished yet.

Eleven minutes and fifty-one seconds left.

At last, Scott is put to rest, and Martyn is free to lie down and breathe.

The ocean breeze pushes his hair out of his face. He's acutely aware of the dried blood and sweat on his skin, but he can't be bothered with it. He's not spending his last ten minutes alive taking a bath.

Besides, he knows the feeling won't go away no matter how hard he scrubs at the grime.

With nothing to keep him busy, the swarm of memories attacks him with renewed fervor. A lonely bastion. A group of towers. A castle, drained of its warmth. A resentful soulbound, a traitorous group of four, a unified army. Everything bleeds together and pulls him in every direction he's ever been in. Each path leads to one thing.

Guilt.

Guilt for leaving the one person who was supposed to be by his side until the end. For letting each and every one of his friends die before him. For failing to protect his king.

And now, for killing his only friend in the world.

He lets himself drown in it.

One minute and forty-seven seconds left.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

The grave doesn't respond. Graves don't tend to respond to apologies.

"I think I'm only capable of being truly loyal to one person. And he's found his way out of this hell, so... yeah."

The waves crash against the beach. The sand in the hourglass trickles down.

One minute and nineteen seconds left.

"I didn't know that I was going to betray you. If this happens again- if this cursed game keeps going, I need you to find better allies, yeah? Don't trust me. I don't want to backstab you again."

He opens his eyes to find the sky clear and blue for the first time in a while. It's been filled with smoke and ash for the past few days, but it seems to have finally cleared up.

Thirty-six seconds left.

Martyn grabs the banner from his belt. He didn't know what it meant when he made it. He just knew that it felt right.

Now, he stares at the red flag of Dogwarts again, and he misses someone.

"I hope you found your way out this game for good. Not because I don't miss you. I just... want you to be happy."

Twenty seconds left.

"I wish I'd had time to apologize to you too. I wish we'd met somewhere nicer."

Thirteen seconds left.

"But there's no point in wishing here, is there?"

Eight seconds left.

Martyn holds the banner to his chest. Looks at the grave beside him. Closes his eyes again.

Four seconds left.

"Goodbye, Scott. Bye, Ren."

Three.

Two.

One.

[dizzybizz]

sleepy gill and gill with the bubbled evil cat

[teehee-vibes]

Thinking of Gillion and Finn today…

[that-really-dungeons-my-dragons]

Episode 102, Chip and Gill holding each other's faces arguing about Chip's wife. Gill kissing Chip on the forehead. Jay telling the inspector, "there's just some romantic tension going on right now."

This is a LOT.

[manhattan-gamestop]

Everyday I wake up and just feel so old

[thedreadvampy]

lmao it is undeniably true that I am Depressi Spaghetti but you know. fuck it we continue.

[russell-crowe]

russell crowe on "actually me" by gq

[luna-the-shark4254]

How old do you think Dr. Iceberg was?

Personally, I think he’s like late 20s, early 30s at most, but I do know there’s people who see him as like 60 or something 🤷

[n0rthyy]

Look at these pretty lil' gals, Deniseee!!✨🍃

[ghost-bard]

AroAce Gillion who gives ppl platonic kisses and is in a qpr w Caspian and Marshall John is real to me btw. It’s real to me.

[spacebugarts]

Stupid fish boy get out of my head /pos

[gufettogrigio]

Bastian contrario

Grimaud's cemetery is grim in the rain. Damon is the one who has had the forethought to bring an umbrella and wouldn't mind sharing but there's not much point. The wet gravel crunches under Jacques' sneakers a few feet in front of him, his steps almost a run. Damon has to bite his tongue. If they shouldn't be seen, why are they here?

Didier Pironi's tomb is unassumingly lined up in a row of others, him and his brother side by side. There's a few flowers, some in pots, some not. Jacques hasn't brought any.

He stands there, in his t-shirt and baggy jeans, stubborn under the rain, just a step away from the shelter of Damon's umbrella. 

"He had a lot of my father's things." - Jacques says  - "My dad never cared enough to have a journal, not enough patience, but he'd keep all of the train tickets, hotel receipts, the flyers and so on. All bunched up in folders. Pironi sorted them out for me in years and gave them to me."

"I didn't know you two talked."

There's a shrug. "He didn't want to. I am very stubborn." 

The rain doesn't let on. Damon considers it a victory that when Jacques decides to sit cross-legged on the gravel in front of the grave, he lets Damon sit by his side with the umbrella. He's soaked through, his bleached blond hair plastered to his forehead, his round glasses fogged up by the rain.

"Once, we were in Monaco, Jody and Pironi came over. I was at the table doing my homework and they came into the room and stayed there talking." 

He takes his glasses off. "I fucked up. I am not good at math."

Jacques says them but they are not his words. It doesn't make them a lie if you believe them. Damon hears what is not said: he has seen Jacques do math for the cars. He's good. A child of eight or nine should not be expected to be 'good'.

"Dad got mad and then got even madder because I knocked the pencil sharpenings over when I scrambled to try and fix the mistakes. He never…he never hit me. Not once. He would just walk out the room like I wasn't interesting anymore. I wasn't a very interesting child. Sometimes my mum wasn't a very interesting woman."

Jacques tilts his head, fingers gripping the tin frame of his glasses. He's never still. Damon knows the look on his face, PR proper. Lie,lie, lie. Keep the family secrets. How dare you do otherwise? But you forfeit your hand when you've killed yourself in a car and Jacques is here in sneakers and a t-shirt and all four wheels on the tarmac. 

"My first real memory of Pironi is him with pencil all over his hands from picking up the sharpenings, sitting next to me doing primary school math."

 He drops the glasses in the gravel and reaches out, the tips of his fingers grazing the headstone. "Didi knew who my father was. Didi saw what I saw. He loved my father anyway. He just wasn't blind. He always made me feel like I wasn't insane for thinking that my father was a horrible person. He also made me feel a lot less guilty for adoring him anyway. And if I win the Championship, I'll bring it to Didi first."

[peliginspeaks]

I haven't had the time or mental health lately to do much with Hallowrove, but rest assured they are currently narrowing down how many extravagantly coloured feathers you can glue to one outfit to make the nearest courtier pass out and fall in the river. Don't even ASK about the neckline.