#go to live there. and they die there. like why

[sky-scribbles]

I'm going to say something controversial. I think there's something Veilguard does better than any other Dragon Age game. Namely: incorporating the companions into the plot.

Look, I love Origins as much as everyone. But to be frank: you could cut every companion except Alistair, Morrigan and Loghain and the plot could still work. Once you've finished the mission where you recruit a companion, there aren't other main quests that involve them in any way.

Oghren and Wynne could have stayed home after their recruitment missions for all the difference it would make to the main plot. Sten, Leliana and Zevran could vanish and nothing would change, because once they're on your team, they don't interact with the main plot at all. (There's the Temple of Sacred Ashes, I suppose - but even then, you'd be going on that quest whether Leliana and Wynne were there or not, and it's very telling that they can both die here and next to nothing in the rest of the game is impacted.)

Again: I love Origins. This doesn't detract from any of these characters being great, or from the story being great. It just means there's a layer of separation between the two. They're involved in the story, but they're not driving it, and you seldom get to see them have strong feelings about it.

DA2 is a huge step up. Your companions' personal stories are integral parts of the main plot. You can't do the Deep Roads expedition without witnessing Karl's death and its impact on Anders. You can't enter Act 2 without seeing Varric's brother betray him, or watching your sibling either die or begin a new path in life. Act 2's climax happens because of choices Isabela and Aveline have made. Act 3's endgame is all about Anders making one enormous decision. Even Fenris and Merrill, who have the fewest ties to the plot, have strong reasons to be invested in the Mage/Templar conflict.

And then Inquisition just... backslides. There are multiple companions you don't need to recruit at all, or can send away with zero alteration to the main plot. Your companions don't like Corypheus because he's bad, but no one - except maybe Varric - has any strong personal feelings about him. They have no personal stake in defeating him, not like Alistair has a personal stake in opposing Loghain, or Anders in opposing Meredith.

We go to the Winter Palace, and Vivienne is not made a part of that story. We have a whole subplot about the Wardens, and Blackwall only gets a couple of extra lines, if you even bring him. Their personal arcs could have been somehow impacted by these missions, and they're just... not. Sera is packed with internalised self-hatred that manifests as trying to distance herself from elven culture, to the point of sometimes lashing out at other elves. And despite all the missions you do where elven history features... Sera's growth past that flaw happens entirely offscreen between the base game and Trespasser?????

IMO, this is one of the biggest reasons why Corypheus is such a bland villain. He doesn't make anyone grow, except by starting a plot for them to be part of. He doesn't challenge them emotionally. No one is invested in him. Because no one interacts with the darn plot.

Veilguard, though? Veilguard keeps your companions interacting with the story the whole way through. The Treviso/Minrathous choice affects both Lucanis and Neve heavily, and impacts who they become for the rest of the game. These cities are personal to you, even if you're not a Crow or Shadow Dragon, because your companions love them.

The Siege of Weisshaupt is beyond personal to Davrin and Lucanis, both of whom are entrusted with major parts of the quest: trying to kill the archdemon and Ghilan'nain. Lucanis is affected by his failure to kill Ghilan'nain for ages afterward. Davrin is haunted by survivor's guilt; he should have died when he struck down the archdemon. He's alive. How can he live with that?

Whenever killing the gods becomes a possibility, Rook hands the lyrium dagger to Lucanis. When the squad go to fight the gods' dragons with the Wardens, Taash is the one to flush the first dragon out. When you infiltrate the Venatori, Neve tricks your way in, and everything that happens is especially weighty to Bellara, whose people have been abducted. On Tearstone Island, because of how Lucanis and Spite have grown, they strikes true.

Did you not hate Elgar'nan before that mission? Because you probably will after you watch him capture Bellara or Neve, and see his fellow god kill Harding or Davrin.

You know what's a great piece of writing? There's no reason Emmrich shouldn't have been an option to deal with the wards on Tearstone Island; he's one of the ideal options to take out more wards with the Veil Jumpers in the final mission. But you can't select him to do it. Because Emmrich has far less personal investment in the Elgar'nan battle than the other two. This is Neve's city. This is the monster who tries to call himself Bellara's god. The game makes sure the characters who take control of the Blight at the end are the ones with the greatest stakes in doing so.

One of your companions, not you, wrests command of the Blight from Elgar'nan. The final mission depends on how well you've come to know each companion's skills. They're just... always involved.

And they're invested, too. The companions all have serious personal reasons to hate the antagonists by the end. Lucanis and Neve have either seen their city burn, or know it happened at the cost of their friend's (and potential partner's) hometown. Davrin has seen his order devastated. These are Bellara's and Davrin's supposed gods, and instead of helping the elves reclaim their history and culture, they're trying to enslave the world. Harding learns that the Evanuris maimed and destroyed her Titan ancestors.

Emmrich and Taash have perhaps the smallest emotional tie - and sadly I do think Emmrich especially gets underutilized in the plot. But heck, Taash is still hella motivated by the way the gods are abusing dragons. And Emmrich is tied thematically to the main conflict. He's facing the question of immortality, while nigh-immortal beings are right in front of him, proving how that gift can be abused. The final choice of his personal arc is whether he's willing to embrace his personal, mortal attachments, at the cost of consequences that terrify him... you know, the same question that Solas faces at the end.

And don't even get me started on how everyone is emotionally tied to Solas. Harding and Neve watched him kill Varric in front of them. Everyone not dead or captured has to watch him drag Rook into the Fade. Just about every companion faces some kind of huge regret or failure at some point, in constant foreshadowing for Solas's prison of regret: both the literal one he sticks Rook in, and the mental one of his own making.

Veilguard has its problems, but it absolutely shines at keeping its characters involved and invested in the main story. It gives them things to do, it gives them reasons to care. For all the flaws this game has, this part is good writing.

[bakerstreet-and-beyond]

Hey please be careful in sharing things like this because a number of these things folks are claiming you can't search/get flagged since the Ban you very much still can search and or were things that were already being flagged for review BEFORE the 19th ...

Like- did we all forget talking about this over a year ago when there was a decrease in Pro-Palestine content due to outside suppression on the app or when real time Lives of fighting in Ukraine were being taken down? There's a reason why people on TikTok were using 🍉 and 🌻 instead of the flag or actually naming the countries.

Also the majority of negative comments being flagged about these awful people is because it contains the word "Fuck" which on Tumblr y'all've been dunking on how on TikTok you couldn't/can't say, "Fuck" "Kill" "Sex" "Die" etc in comments and descriptions for YEARS... Literally if you put those words in as tags, descriptions, captions or comments you get flagged; We've known this for A WHILE.

They took 170 MILLION users offline and then back, some issues people are reporting are literally growing pains of putting the servers in weird limbo life support after taking them down (technically the app is STILL banned) like the Live Feature needing about 24hrs to come back online and quality being nuked.

Certain users are missing or aren't uploading anymore because they deleted the app not because they are "Banned", which still since the app itself IS STILL technically banned, you can't re-download in the app store currently. We all thought it was the end and some actually deleted their accounts the day of because of how sure folks thought it was over.

Also the primary editing software people use for TikTok, Capcut, isn't back either because of this purgatory the app is in so people can't even make the videos they normally make too.

Under the cut here the actual results when you type in those terms into TikTok search and what I saw for Lives literally 48 hours ago

When Lives Feature came back on literally the first Live I got on my FYP was for a MLK Day parade and it was someone zooming in on a sign a little girl was holding that said "This is the Kings day, NOT his" followed by the next Live got was a gentleman walking around his neighborhood speaking in Spanish about how he's been up all morning checking out suspicious trucks in his neighborhood worried that they may be undercover ICE vans. Next Live I saw was someone talking about how no one can see her live and yet there was 5,000 people watching 🧍🏻the next video I literally got was a Luigi Update; unfortunately I didn't realize I should've taken screenshots of all this but also,

I'm in the US and not using a VPN, here are my results for the following as of 1/22/25:

The Radio Station only comes up as a banner at the top suggesting the account but, all the results are tho what you'd expect

These videos also are still here,

And this is what you get for searching "Fascism"

And our boi is still very much here

I hit my photo limit, but I implore you to type those terms in that supposedly have "no results anymore" and see they very much do and or realize that some things have already been removed well before the 19th

I really think letting us purposely spread that the app is now overly censored and the Meta buyout rumours is a tactic to further divide us. I really think, right now at least, the only thing they had to do was put "Thank You Donald Trump" in the return message, without having to actually change anything else, and then let folks go wild with the accusations, rumors, and conspiracies so then we all turn on the app ourselves and thus we won't cry about it being gone or that it gives us some falsely created moral high ground for deleting it/not using it anymore/etc and again will keep us more divided than together.

Literally this is destabilization tactics our government uses on other countries and it's own communities...

Thankfully there are creators on there who are also pointing this out as well as, just look at the comments on this post and you will see that others are saying, again in the US without a VPN you can still search these things in the post above.

It doesn't excuse the other fuckery definitely happening by any means but, they are letting us destroy ourselves and the 3rd space we created where we were the most united we've been on a platform in a while. They know how to push our buttons and we're all being played.

Already seeing people on tiktok saying “I still hate trump but he ate with this one” like … babes … you just got propagandized … that’s literally exactly what he created this situation in the hopes you would say …

[artuurle]

So what happened to Gru's eye anyways?

This will be very very tied into my personal headcanons about both Grujaja and a little about the drain so be warned:

info under the readmore for sanity reasons hope u understand<3

My interpretation of the drain is a very bad place to raise someone. The whole place is essentially the slums of a city- though the most dangerous part of the place isn't because of anything living, but because the place is actually crumbling from poor infrastructure. Gruja was from a very low income family that lived in that area; just trying to live like anyone else.

The infrastructure expectedly ended up failing and in the collapse he got cut really badly by some of the resulting shrapnel across his face and left arm. He was one of the "lucky" ones. If you could even call it that.

He sure didn't.

[starrygazers]

cross my heart (hope to die)

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ haiii :3 I only write like once a year but that won't stop me from yearning for these new characters. I love Amphoreus because I was a Greek myth nerd growing up and this new update tickles me in aaaall the right ways.

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ tags : angst, established relationship, mentions of character death

˖ ࣪⭑ ⸱ featuring : Mydei; minor spoilers for 3.0

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Mydeimos, the Crown Prince, has no fears. He tossed away his humanity when he embraced immortality, the tool that he needed to trek on this god-slaying journey. There was no room for fear, not when he had to fight the Titan of Violence. A man such as this was not capable of human emotions; or so he thought.

"So," you hum in a sing-song tone, draping your arms around Mydei's shoulders. "When will you take me to that new restaurant in Marmoreal Market?"

Mydei huffs, but makes no effort to peel your touch off of him. He turns around to meet your eyes; you're so close to him. If it were any other person, they would have faced the wrath of the Undying Lion.

You detect no change in his expression, so you start pouting. "Mydei! You promised me you would."

Mydei shrugs. "Did I?"

You roll your eyes, finally letting go of him and sitting on the empty spot next to him. "Dying doesn't exempt you from the promises you make, you know?"

The Prince can't help but crack a smile at this; you're the only person that he can comfortably joke about his immortality with. With you, it doesn't seem like the big deal everyone makes it out to be. Not the heroic Chrysos Heir trait that Phainon envies him for, or the source of worry for Aglaea and Tribbie. It's just another part of him that you've accepted.

Because you accept all of him.

You cross your arms and look away from him, mumbling about how the restaurant's been open for a month and it's not new anymore so there won't be as many people and why do you always have to go on such long expeditions, but Mydei shushes you by taking a strand of your hair and tucking it behind your ear.

A whisper of apology.

"It's okay," you mumble, extending your pinky. "Just promise again, for this life."

"I'll make a thousand promises if that's what you want," he says, and it comes out rough, like he's doing it to get you off his back. But you know better, you know him better.

He raises his own pinky finger to entwine it with yours. "How does the saying go again?"

"You're so forgetful," you laugh, and it's the most melodious tune he knows.

"Cross my heart..."

Mydeimos knows that he must suffer a thousand deaths, and a thousand more. He's content with this destiny, because he knows he is not given the privilege to choose. He must lay down his god for the glory of what little humanity he has left within him. He will trade a thousand lives for peace, and he will enter a losing battle with only his faith in the infinite lives that he has.

Perhaps this is what made him forget how flimsy a life really is.

In his usual boredom, Phainon once riddled him. "How heavy do you think the world really is? Like, a thousand Dromas?"

Mydei's response, in typical fashion, was to huff and call Phainon's musings irrelevant. But now, he thinks he can answer that question.

The world is really light in his arms. The world is pale, cold, and losing a lot of blood.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you manage to say before your last breath. Your voice is hoarse, but Mydei would beg Oronyx to loop it forever because he still thinks your voice is his lullaby.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He promised to take you to that restaurant, and many more. He vowed to bring peace to this world to one day crown you as his queen.

Mydeimos knows that he must suffer a thousand deaths, and a thousand more. But this was worse than death. For you, he would trade it all; his status as Crown Prince, his pride as the Undying Lion, his immortality.

A thousand life for yours.

"... and hope to die."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©2025 starrygazers. do not repost, copy, translate, modify, or use for AI.

if you liked this, consider buying me a ko-fi! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[spacegyaru]

it's almost 3 am in my country, but i have a fanfic idea for kaiser... i need to let it out;;

EDITED: HERE'S THE PART TWO SINCE YALL WANT IT (minors dont read pt 2 pls)

cw: michael kaiser x afab! reader | all charscters are aged 21+. pure fluff / mentions of kaiser's past experiences with his dad. nothing suggestive.

imagine michael kaiser falling in love with you, the owner's daughter of that one bakery that lived across their street. that same girl who gave him free bread everyday, and that same girl who would cry whenever he was wounded and bruised.

your family isn't the richest— but you owned the best bakery in the slums area. because of that, you were often a target of bullies. they bullied you because you have everything that most slum kids didn't have. you had loving parents, you were well-fed, and your parents have stable and honest income from the family business. you were also very pretty, so a lot of people made fun of you, thinking that you are a 'spoiled ditzy princess'.

until one day, you go out for a while to play with others. there, you met him— michael kaiser. he was all bruised and wounded. and to be honest, it looked like he was going to die... if you did not help him that day.

few minutes later, you gave him some water to drink and some sourdough bread to eat and take home. that's all your family's bakery sells after all. your mother also treated his wounds.

he introduced himself as 'michael kaiser' to you and your family. to your parents, he seemed to be a nice and a timid child. but to you, he was cold and a bit hesitant to play and to be friends with you. it was almost as if he hated you.

well, that's what you thought— until there were bunch of kids coming at you, wanting to bully you, pull your hair, and just flat-out mess with you. kaiser was the one who protected you. he told them that he won't hesitate to beat the shit out of them if they mess with you.

apparently, most slum kids are scared of kaiser, which means that you were sooo protected.

and ever since then, you would give him sourdough bread... and if your store is feeling fancy, you would give him some bread rolls that your mother made.

even if kaiser protected you a lot, he was still cold towards you. you thought that he wasn't just expressive.

the truth is, kaiser actually really really liked you. but he didn't have the confidence because he sees you as an angel, and he's just... well, he's just who he is.

fast forward when both of you grew up— well, both of you were in high school when the incident happened. by incident i mean, when he was arrested for alleged stealing.

during that time, both of you were still friends. but you rarely see him because of the 'sidelines' that kept him busy. still, you try your best to keep in touch. sometimes, you would pass by their home and give him something like sourdough bread and some bread rolls.

as time went by, you grew feelings for him. you no longer see him as the friend who protected you, but he was like a knight and shining armor. sometimes, you still wonder why he hasn't let you meet his new friends tho...

one day, kaiser got arrested for stealing. your family was deeply sad about it. they knew that his father forced him to do it— and that he's not the type to do something like that.

after that, you've never heard from him again. until a year later, you've started seeing him on billboards, commercials, and etc. it seems that he's playing for a team in germany.

despite all that happened and the separation between the both of you, you felt very happy for him. whatever success he was experiencing at this point, he deserved it. you were sad that he forgot about you, but eventually, you've come to accept that both of you live in two different worlds now.

until one day, you saw a familiar figure appearing on the bakery door. his usually grumpy expression was changed into a smug and confident one.

your eyes delighted to see who it was — it was michael kaiser, your knight and shining armor, who seem to have returned to see you again. he came back for you.

note: should i make a part two of this?lol

btw this isn't proofread so i apologize in advance!

EDITED: PART TWO YALL (minors dont read pt 2)

[overwhelmed-alien]

Jake “Hangman” Seresin: Passenger Princess

The general consensus in his class is that Jake must think he’s up there with royalty, and therefore deserves to be driven around. That’s where the whole “princess” thing came from, originally. Jake of course rolls with it, plays up the prim “driving is beneath someone like me”, chuckles at the good-natured eye-rolls, and hops into someone’s -anyone’s- front seat and immediately fiddles with the radio just to be a brat.

The true reason, one he will never utter out loud, is that driving terrifies him. He grew up in rural Texas with hundreds of miles of straight, flat roads from horizon to horizon. Roads that frequently were completely empty, maybe you’d meet a tractor once in a while. So 12 lanes of bottlenecked California traffic, horns honking, engines revving, cars swerving in and out of lanes, the bright sun making it hard to see, unnerves Jake more than anything. Up in the sky he’s fearless, but the planes, he reasons, aren’t crowding around you not caring if you live or die as long as they get to brunch with the girls on time.

Bradley clocked it first, naturally. They’d lived together for years, back when they were “Bradley and Jake”. How Jake would never ask to drive, never grab the keys on the way out, would always sweetly beg -“honey come grocery shopping with me, it’ll be fun!” - Bradley to accompany him anywhere he went. Bradley could never deny him anything, so off they would go, either in Bradley’s Bronco or Jake’s truck, him driving, Jake in the passenger seat. He always thought it was adorable, Jake hopping up beside him grinning like a loon when he got his way, grin wider when Bradley inevitably calls him Princess. But he started noticing subtle things that he wouldn’t have noticed years ago. How Jake closed his eyes and gripped the handle when someone swerved in front of them. How he fiddled and played with dials or his phone or the strings of a hoodie to avoid looking out the window. The film of sweat on his face that, thanks to the blaring AC, had nothing to do with the Cali heat. The knee that bounced until they arrived at their destination.

He’d tried bringing it up once or twice, Jake had always laughed and played it up, “baby I’m too cute to drive, we’ve established this.” So he drops it. But if he’s more engaging in animated conversations with Jake to distract him, if he sings just a little louder and dances in the drivers seat a little sillier to draw nervous green eyes his way and not the speeding line of traffic beside him, if he smiles a little sweeter and the “Princess” comes out a little more heated so Jake forgets the entire world around him for a time, well, he’d do anything for the boy in his passenger seat. When they break up -why did they break up again? He can’t even remember - he always worries about Jake, so much his heart hurts. Is he having to drive himself?

At the Hard Deck, with some secret mission looming over their heads, and Jake looking so damn good, so damn pissed off, so damn hurt -he’d really screwed up, hadn’t he? Jake had wanted to go home early - something about beauty sleep, Javy, please! - and Bradley, stopping his piano serenading immediately, without even thinking: “I got you, princess. I’ll take you home.”

And Bradley swears he can see every single emotion, from rage to relief, regret to guarded happiness, and so much fondness in those nervous green eyes he still loves so damn much.

(I won’t make Jake say “show me the way home, honey” because I guess it’s cliche by now, but I’ll still heavily imply he does with my whole chest)

[bitchface24-7]

Absolutely angsty idea, reader is a mortician and after JayVik disappear with the Hexcore they work on their funeral shroud and grapple with the feelings of being left behind. 😌

WAITING FOR YOU… - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: they’re dead. Your boys are dead. You’ve always held sympathy and empathy for the dead, caring for them, cleaning them up, ensuring they look just as their families remember them; it’s your job. But you boys are dead. And there’s no bodies to care for. So you make a shroud for them with items of there’s to burn in the furnace, it’s the best you’ll get. Your boys are dead, and you’re alone.

warnings: major character death, feelings of loss, mourning, depression, remembrance, angst, implied suicide, pre-established relationship

genre: m/m/f or m/m/m

p.s. now why would you do this? This was a great request and such an interesting plot idea, but goddamn it’s sad :(

The lyrics are from “Time in a Bottle” by Jim Croce. It was between this or “Fourth of July” by Sufjan Stevens

If I could save time in a bottle

The first thing that I'd like to do

Is to save every day

'Til eternity passes away

Just to spend them with you

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your boys are dead, you know it deep down. You swear you felt your heart stop when theirs did. You weren’t there for their death, you don’t even know what caused it, but they’re gone.

And they’re not coming back.

As a mortician, you care for the dead. You give them the honour and respect they deserve. You clean them, care for them, make them look like themselves so the families and friends can grieve in peace. It’s your job.

You never thought you’d have to do your job on your two loves.

They were so young, just barely in their thirties. Full of bright ideas and world changing plans. But things got out of hand, people got hurt. People died. Your boys died.

So now you’re here, in your mortician lab crying silently as you sit by your desk. There are no bodies. Nothing to remember them by, as if they never even existed.

You were all supposed to grow old together, live your lives, and love each other unconditionally.

But they’re gone now, they left together. And you’re all alone.

You know it wasn’t planned, but your heart still aches. It’ll ache until the day you die. You can’t imagine a world without them in it, but now you have to.

You’ll make a shroud for them. Just one. They died together, you’ll bury them together. You just need some items of theirs to use.

So you have to go to their lab.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

If I could make days last forever

If words could make wishes come true

I'd save every day like a treasure and then

Again, I would spend them with you

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Their lab is a wreck. Broken windows, papers on the ground, their desks are splintered, the blackboard is ruined.

You see their wheelie chairs, and you break down sobbing. You remember how they’d sit there and bicker. Work on equations and prototypes. How your conversations would flow late into the night as you all sat by one another and appreciated the company. You’ll never get that again, your boys are dead.

And you’re all alone.

You pick some things to put in their shroud. Some pens, notebooks, a few hexgems, you even take a spare cane and hammer.

They’re your boys, and they deserve a proper burial. Even if you can’t give them one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

But there never seems to be enough time

To do the things you want to do

Once you find them

I've looked around enough to know

That you're the one I want to go

Through time with

· · ──��──── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You go back to your lab, ensuring none of the other residents of the academy or the enforcers see you. You won’t let them stop you from honouring them, both of them. You can already see how Viktor will be forgotten, ignored, and villainized. You won’t let that happen, you’ll never forget him.

You’ll never forget his passion for helping others, helping the world. His sarcasm, his humour, how sweet he was.

No, you’ll never forget him.

You’ll never forget Jayce either.

But the rest of Piltover won’t forget Jayce. They’ll purposely leave out Viktor, and you won’t allow Viktor’s greatest fear come true.

You won’t allow him to be forgotten.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

If I had a box just for wishes

And dreams that had never come true

The box would be empty

Except for the memory

Of how they were answered by you

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You finish the shroud, a basic linen fabric. You put all their items inside as carefully as you can. This is their stuff, it’s them. It’s a replacement, but it’s good enough. You won’t harm your boys, they’ve already been through enough.

You hum a melancholic melody as you write their names on a slip of paper. Your scrawl encapsulating the love you have for them, and your loneliness. You won’t ever see their smiles again, hear their laughter, watch them grow old.

You just pray as the years catch up to you you never forget them. You’re one of the only people who’ll remember the real them.

You place your shroud onto the incinerator and gently place the slip of paper on top. You start the fire and conveyor belt, and watch as your two boys leave you for one final time.

You can’t help but whine when you see them enter the blaze, the paper incinerating almost instantly as the shroud slowly burns. Eventually all that’s left is the cane and the hammer, and it takes a while for them to melt down.

As if they’re fighting, as if they’re trying to stay with you. But they can’t, your sweet boys are dead, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You know they’d want you to live a long life without them, but you can’t imagine how. How will your life go on without them in it?

Hopefully you can still see them in your dreams.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

But there never seems to be enough time

To do the things you want to do

Once you find them

I've looked around enough to know

That you're the one I want to go

Through time with

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

What you don’t know is they can still see you. They see you cry, they see you scream in agony, they see you make their shroud, they see you break and become numb.

They desperately want to reach out to you, they want to comfort you, have you back in their arms as they fight away your worries and fears. They want to kiss your lips and hug you close.

But they can’t.

They don’t know how to get to you.

So they’ll sit and watch as you crumble apart, your sadness enveloping you in ways they’ve never seen before.

And they’ll pray.

They’ll pray to gods they don’t believe in anymore to save you, help you, love you. Maybe they can visit you in your dreams, maybe they can comfort you in the dead of night.

They just hope you don’t follow in their footsteps. Their hearts wouldn’t be able to take it.

(You do.)

(And their hearts shatter.)

I wrote this like the flash. Honestly the prompt really inspired me and it absolutely shattered my heart. Wtf y’all, get your tissues ready cause this is a doozy.

[noctumsolis]

"Ah. That's... very creative thinking, major. Tell me, how long will it be until the object reaches the sun?"

"Eight months, but that hardly presents a problem. No matter what he might try, Graf Entula isn't going to find a spacecraft that can get him near it."

"No I, I expect not. I don't suppose there are any that could reach... and capture the item, are there?"

"Shouldn't think so. Why are you sweating?"

"Well, major, the trouble uh, the... a miscommunication, um..."

"OUT WITH IT, MAN!"

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

Silence.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Did you actually see the object?"

"Of course. Bulbous, red thing. It glowed."

"Yes. That was it then. The cor omnium."

"I thought it'd be something nuclear like that. Could've made us the most powerful... but it was too dangerous, you convinced me of that."

"Fool. Damn, damn, bloody fool."

"Now just a—"

"Not you, ME! I should've... Look, it's the vampire that was dangerous, not the cor omnium. It's not nuclear it's, well I suppose you could call it a nucleus so... Sorry, no. It's the heart, you see. The heart. And when a vampire can get to a heart do you know what he does?"

"Eats it, I guess?"

"Yeah. Eats it, drinks its lifeblood. He would drain it completely and leave it a lifeless husk. And that. That..."

"You mean this uranium core is a living thing?"

"No, no, no. The cor omnium, cor, heart, omnium, of all. The heart of all."

"ALL WHAT?"

"All of us. All life on Earth. So, when the heart dies, everything dies. Everything that lives, will die. In... eight months."

"Oh. Aw, shit."

"Oh, the ancient artifact that no-one must ever find? The one that would doom humanity if that vampire ever found it? Yeah, I locked it in a steel box and launched it into the sun. Even if it didn't get destroyed, there's no way that undead Lord is ever getting it back."

[artist-issues]

You don't believe in love. You believe in people SUPRESSING a part of themselves, not caring how much it ACHES for them to do so. You are objectively wrong, and you do NOT belong on Tumblr. Any arguement you try to come up with against this is pointless.

You are NOT a real Christian.

People “suppress” parts of themselves all the time—for love. If by “suppress,” you mean, “I don’t choose to identify with everything I feel.” I feel like screaming at my mom when she hurts me. But I love her, so I’m not going to say, “gotta be true to myself, gotta live what I feel.” Many people feel like alcohol is what they need and without it, who are they? Many people even feel like depression is “a part of who they are,” so they don’t give it up.

Don’t you understand? What makes something I feel fall under the category of “who I am?” Because not all feelings are good, and most of them aren’t even rooted in reality.

Your feelings lie to you all the time. Right before death after years of dementia or a terminal illness, a person can suddenly become more alert and energized than they’ve been since the start of their illness. They get up, talk, and their feelings tell them that they’re better. And the reality is they’ve never been closer to death, and they’re dead moments later. It’s called “terminal lucidity,” and it’s been happening since humanity’s earliest history. And it’s just one example of your feelings lying about what’s real.

So how can you tell if the things you feel are a part of who you are, or a cancer you need to cut out of yourself because it’s hurting the “real” you? That’s what you’re calling “suppression,” and yeah, it aches, but letting it grow and calling it “part of yourself” is worse.

Figure out what standard you measure “who I am” by.

A Christian measures it by Christ. Who He says you are, not what you feel you are. After all, He calls us to die to ourselves. What did you think that meant?

And a Christian measures everything by what Christ says. That’s how I know “the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked.” It’s how I know you’re right; I don’t belong on tumblr. I don’t belong on this corrupt planet anymore: “If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but you are not of the world, for I have chosen you out of the world; this is why the world hates you.” And it’s how I know what real love is, and it’s Him. He invented it, He gets to define it.

And that’s the point of this argument. To get it out in front of people that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and nobody has a restored relationship with God, nobody can be their “true-selves” unless they die to their old-corrupt self and come to God through Jesus Christ.

So thanks for giving me the opportunity to answer and get that out in front of people again.

[quarterlifekitty]

Sliding into your dms because your pretending to be a man idea got into my brain and won't leave me alone. We'll have to suffer together okay.

Imagine you're a daughter of some lowly destitute baron, he died and now all you have is a house and your brother, Alex. You have to sell the house because your father had debt that hasn't been settled. Luckily, you'll still have money left from the sale. Unluckily, the money is not much. You can either use it to send Alex to the royal academy or you can use it as your marriage dowry, of which your prospect isn't great anyway since you're poor and barely even a noble. Alex wants you to use the money, he's long been disillusioned with the king (Shepherd) and he wants to go help the neighbouring kingdom fight off their invader. He'll sleep easier knowing you have a roof over your head. Still, the thought of being married to some strange old men makes you want to throw up. You think you'd rather die. But you also don't want to stop Alex from pursuing his dream. So you and Alex came up with the idea that will satisfy you both: you will take his place in the royal academy and he can leave in peace, knowing you'll be safer in the academy than alone without a house in the countryside. He'll tell people that he's sent you to live with some distant relatives somewhere.

Years pass and you thrive in the academy. You graduate and despite having no connections or wealth, your capability lands you a job inside the palace. It's nothing fancy, and likely you won't go very far working under a neglected concubine, but she's very nice and funny. The salary is also good enough that you think if you keep working for a few years you can buy a small house and retire back to the countryside. Maybe you'll even stay longer just to accompany your mistress.

All in all, life is nice and uneventful. The great nobles and the king might be fighting, but you and your mistress are so far down the political ladder it barely affects you. Or so you thought and so it should have been, if not for your mistress starting a genuine love affair with Marchioness Laswell.

Your mistress' affection for you causes Laswell to pay attention to you. And unfortunately for you, she's seen the real Alex before. She knows you're a fraud. You think you're done for, but Laswell says she understands why you do it. She says she won't let the public learn your secret.

And she doesn't, because Duke Price isn't the public. He's just a Duke in desperate need of a wife. Someone to help him escape the disadvantageous match that will only put him under Shepherd's control once more. What a good luck he has to meet you, a noble who is unaffiliated with king, at this exact time. Surely you'll be willing to help him out? Being a duchess is certainly better than pretending to be a guy. It's definitely less risky, he says. Do you know that using someone else's identity can get you to jail? What if the king finds out and thinks you're plotting treason? Off with your pretty little head then. Surely being his duchess would be safer. He'll protect you. Take care of you. Spoil you, even. You and your good birthing hips and however many kids you two will have.

TLDR, you pretend to be a guy to escape marrying strange old men only to marry another (worse) strange old man

So first of all. I LOVE THIS. And now for my paltry additions….

I think that once Price found out about you, he became extremely fixated for a number of reasons. One? He’d met you before. He visited the academy as an alumni, occasionally donated to the institute, and would visit to check on the allocation of those funds.

And he remembers seeing you, swimming in your too-large uniform. Absolutely decimating your studies. In his observation of the academy, he’d unwittingly found himself following you around to your different lessons and seeing you sweep the floor with every other student. It was clear you were extremely bright, and he heard the whisperings about you.

A shame about your lowly birth. You might’ve made a fine tactician.

Price, as a rather meritocratic man, wanted to have you in his service as soon as you graduated. But as with many of the finest things in the kingdom, you were plucked up and handed off as something of a present to one of the king’s newer, shinier consorts.

So when Laswell starts her dalliance with that very consort, it sparks a memory in Price. And he asks after you. Which gets Laswell to commit you more to memory when she meets with you. And suddenly it’s quite obvious. She tells Price all about it, with amusement on her face, at one of their weekly meetings.

Suddenly there’s a little click in his brain. Like everything’s slotting into place. He was denied you once, in one way, and it won’t happen again. Now he can have you in all ways. With the forces at his disposal, and your brilliance in tactics and writing, he may well have the makings of some serious political sabotage. With him as your husband, you could soar in a way your class and gender never would’ve allowed. And at the end of it all? You’re quite pretty. A new dress and a circlet for that boyish cut of hair and you’d be bewitching. He was eager to see what those loose tunics had been hiding.

You can’t refuse his offer. Suddenly, Alex is called by letter to care for an ailing relative who has no other means of support. The same relative that had supposedly taken you in. And John quite selflessly takes you in following, and from a public perspective, it all went so naturally after that. What could be more heartwarming and dreamy? A generous noble taking in a common born girl in an act of charity, and the two falling in love, enough to defy the gaps in their stations and marry. It’s the kind of thing that only happens in fairy tales.

But despite all of John’s political aspirations, he knows it must appear as if nothing is amiss. That means doing what any noble would do with a young, pretty bride. It means spoiling you with all the finery he can… and it means making sure that you’re with child within the year.

[noxturnalmoth]

Repentance

Summary: Repentance: n. the action of repenting, sincere regret or remorse.

Hurt, overworking and miserable, two souls find one another and fates intertwine even when they are worlds apart. How can one deal with the guilt of wanting something they cannot have? And why does going against the very principles you have imposed upon yourself feel so good?

Warnings: violence, crude language, themes of guilt, suicidal ideation, depression

Word Count: 5, 793

Masterlist: here

Chapter 1 - Erring in the City of Iron and Glass

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

"Go! Leave!"

"I can't! We stay together!"

"Just fucking leave! You'll end up dead!"

"I'm not leaving without you!"

Your voice screams, the is air scarlet and heavy with smoke, the sky is painted with burning flames as the stone beneath your feet is stained blood red.

Littered with corpses.

Children, men, women. It didn't matter to Piltover, Zaun and its people didn't matter to Piltover.

You never did.

You run after Hekarim, your older brother, your only family. But he is so much faster and your strides could only hope to match his as he marches into the fray like a Noxian soldier into a battlefield.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

The smell is enough to make you heave, burning flesh, gunpowder and chemicals, the smell of death.

"Don't leave me!"

"I need to, they need me!"

"You'll die! I don't want to be alone! Mom and dad said-"

He turns around, tears carving through the soot and blood marring his face. "Mom and dad are dead! They're gone! They have been for so long now!"

"You're all I have left! Please don't do this!" You cry out, finally catching up to him as he slows down, your knees giving up from under you as you hold him.

His arms wrap tightly around you, shielding you from the world crumbling around you. "If I don't fight for our freedom, then I don't fight for you. And I'll be damned if I can't strive for a better life, if not for me, if not for Zaun, then at least for you. Our people are fighting out there, and I can help, I need to do this little bird."

"I'm old enough Heka, I can fight!"

"If you don't survive, then I'd have fought for nothing. We finally have a chance at making a difference, I can't let it go to waste. As a Zaunite and as your brother."

Your shoulders shake, his do too. His hands cradle your face softly, his eyes raking over you as if to ingrain the sight in his memory before his forehead gently touches against yours.

The Zaunite symbol for love, a kiss shared to those you love most.

A goodbye.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

You claw at him as he leaves but your body is too weak for you to rush after him like before, the smoke erasing his silhouette all too soon as you crawl. Bile rises in your throat as you scream for him, shadows of your people falling like flies illuminated by the flaming bridge.

The bodies are piling up, surrounding you in a grotesque painting of mangled body parts and broken spirits. Yells echo in the air, yours, theirs, the enforcers', all swirling into an unintelligible cacophony of hatred, pain, fear, disgust and..hope.

Hope for a better future for Zaun.

Hope for a better life.

"Please!" Your people echo. "We are as deserving of a good life as any of you!"

Yet the pleas of Zaunite souls are ignored by the gods, the deities looking down, mocking your pitiful attempt at fighting for freedom.

Your legs shake, your balance all too troubled by the overwhelming scenery.

There it was, the proof that the lords above didn't care.

No, they didn't give a shit about any of you.

Neither did Piltover.

Neither did the rest of Runeterra.

Zaun was alone in its fight.

And you are now alone too. The last of your family taken in a conflict that should have never been, in a situation that could have been avoided if not for the greed of those in blue and gold.

You are terrified and all you can do is stand straight as you quiver in fear, watching the massacre happen.

Yet a noise you don't recognize resounds in the loudness of the battle, your own. A war cry, choked by tears, making its way out of your throat, ripping it to shreds as you rip a metal pole from a brethren's corpse.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

You run into the fray.

Fire burns your lungs, licks at your skin, and the blood covering you becomes wet again. The dried metallic essence fueled with life again as you bash an enforcer about to hurt a child.

"Run!"

And she does, her pink haired companion nodding at you in thanks.

You're gonna find your brother.

And if I don't then damn it all, I'll die here fighting too.

The gods don't hear you, they haven't for a long time. So you'll take the matter into your own hands and make them hear, make them see.

Bullets fly by you, piercing you with crimson lances of white hot pain, batons strike your young body, leaving trails of indigo while you soldier on. And you bash and bash, hiding behind the Piltovan forces before you skewer them, hiding between corpses so you can crack their skulls open, rage blinding your vision while you roar again. As loud and as hot as the flames that seemed to come from the river itself.

You have to.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

This pain is nothing, it's nothing compared to what you're about to lose, compared too all that Zaun has lost at the hands of the ones topside.

As if hell had opened itself up and you were about to be swallowed.

It's unfair! Why? Why? Why? Why?

Why?!

Bomb explode as your eyes watch a life drain because of you. You're a murderer now, you haven been since you entered the fray to fight for your people.

But so were they. Them in their ivory towers, them in their navy uniforms, them from the other side of the river. Them, them, them.

It's all their fault.

The loud bangs sound closer, yet so move forward. Only stopping at the sight of your brother, the man that raised you for most of your life after your parents died in the god forsaken mines Piltover has caged many of your people in.

It seems as if he's dancing, dancing the dance of your people. A dance of rage, of hurt, of hope. Yet you know he's fighting, not for his own life but for your own.

So your dead vocal chords cant help but let out a pathetic sound as the enforcers surrounding him beat him into submission. His body crumples yet he remains straight, even when brought down to his knees.

"Hekarim!"

His head turns and his look of horror turns turns wide eyes as a bullet is shot through his head.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

Then his body hits the ground, like many others around you. It ragdolls with a thud, crumpling to the ground lifeless.

Yet instead of the chaos you've been in for god knows how long since the revolt began, everything stops. Noises muffled, sight blurry and draining itself of every color. Every one of their eyes trail to you. Their filthy eyes, soulless and angry.

Then it all hits at once.

Kha nas xera.

I hate them. I hate them all.

Your throat doesn't make any noise when you yell and cry, stumbling over yourself as your rage moves your body like a puppeteer, pushing you to rush forward and attack. It doesn't make a sound as you're punched and kicked, as you claw at the men in navy blue.

It doesn't make a sound when they set off a grenade next to you.

Neither when your body is projected onto the stone fences bordering the bridge.

But your bones do.

A sickening crack overpowering every other unbearable noise when your back hits takes the blunt of the shock, a sharp breath burning your lungs with the flames surrounding you. Your mouth tasting blood, smoke and salty tears as you slump down with the other corpses.

You're gonna die. You're gonna die alone and you couldn't do anything else.

Hekarim had been right.

He'd fought for you and you've still gone and fucked it all up.

And now you'll be swallowed by the gaping maws of hell while the gods above get their entertainment.

You've been foolish, stupid, reckless.

You've been foolish and now you're paying the price.

"Wait for me in the abyss, Heka." Your soul calls out to one that has been long gone. "Mama, papa, I'm coming." One last tear escapes your eyes, the loud screeches surrounding you rolling over you one last time before they're drowned by the sound of your slowing heart while your eyes close.

Please gods above, take me away too.

But I beg of you let my people live.

"-llo?"

Janna, is that you?

"-ello?"

Have you finally come to protect us? After you've abandoned us to pain and misery?

"Hello?"

Wait, you're not-

____

"Hello! Runeterra to the bartender, anybody home?"

Your head snaps up.

You rub your blurry eyes, the first thing coming into view being a familiar mop of magenta hair, powder blue eyes concerned and gentle as you emerge from your thoughts. Warmth seeping through your shirt from the person's hand shaking your shoulder hurriedly.

Then comes in the cozy dark green wallpaper and mahogany hardwood floors that you've grown used to these past few years, scarlet curtains framing small booths carved into the walls. Chairs and tables arranged in a way you've memorized, carved in your mind's eye after years, and a cold, scratched, oak counter top beneath your arms contrasting with the warm touch nudging you awake. Next to the pink haired girl stands dark brown haired woman, her tan skin looking soft in the warm lights of the bar as her grey eyes observe you with worry.

Finally come in the rest, the smell of leather and alcohol, tobacco lingering at the forefront of it all. The sound of music emanating from a jukebox in the corner of the room.

"You're good, kiddo?"

A low feminine voice attributed to the older woman rings as you blink away the last of tears you haven't noticed were flowing freely from your eyes like rain from the heavens.

"Yeah, you've been staring at the wall, crying for the past ten minutes."

Only ten?

It felt like an eternity.

But then again, time is different in hell.

You shake your head with a drawn out sigh as your hands wipe at your face hurriedly, getting rid of the last of your daydream and its traces on your face.

"Oh yeah, my bad girls. What were we talking about again?"

"Oh hell no, we're not skimming past that dude." You groan at the scolding.

"Vi, really, I'm good. C'mon, you're gonna get on my ass for being distracted now Miss Darcy. I'm just a bit tired is all."

The girl looks at you unimpressed, her famous "shut up" look craving through her face like a chisel through marble. Yeah, she wasn't taking any of your usual deflection today. And Sevika neither by the looks of it.

"Really, I just think I've been working a little too much lately. I just need to rest."

"Bullshit, we both know you won't." Grumbles the taller lady, slipping behind the bar counter, next to you, before she cages you against the counter top.

"And that you're lying about being just a little tired."

Back groaning at standing for so long, hunched over in an uncomfortable position, you slump against the corner in resignation, grunting as your two friends corner you and hound you with care.

Undeserved.

Too much.

Yet always appreciated.

You've been working with them at The Last Drop for years, Violet recognizing you even years after the bridge "incident", as the Pilties called it, and offering you a spot at her godfather and uncle's bar. Not only to "repay a debt", which you insisted was non-existent in the first place, but also for friendship, wanting more people around her age in her life.

You didn't blame her, you were grateful in fact.

You were grateful to Sevika too, who endorsed Vi in her quest to get you in the staff due to seeing your teen self rushing into the fray thirteen years ago. Admiring your courage and scolding your foolishness, forcing you to promise never to put yourself in such danger ever again.

Back then you let out a bitter laugh, the promise easy enough to make from the traces the battle left for you.

Parts of your spine were broken to such an extent that you'd have to wear a brace for the rest of your life, limiting movement and straining you until the day you died.

Since that day you've been alone. Working shitty job after shitty job to sustain yourself while the Pilties seemed to go back to their peaceful lives. Your spine screaming louder after years of slaving away for your own safety and a life that was worth living.

Yet you persevered.

Clawed your way out of the pit that topside has dug for all of the children they ripped families away from.

And now here you are, working two jobs, having your small shoddy apartment and two friends you wonder if you truly deserve. They tell you that you do, yet it's hard to believe when every night is plagued with the same visions. Ghosts that seem to never want to let go of you, now even throughout the day. Clawing at you from the inside and screaming in your head, filling your eyes with sceneries straight from hell. Yet you know it to be far from the truth. Or hell is on Runeterra, and it likes your pain enough to rip you apart day after day.

You'd think you would have grown accustomed to them. Yet if anything, the constant reminders only make you grow more weary each day that passes.

"What's your schedule been like?" Violet slides next to you, her shoulder nudging yours softly to snap you out of your reverie.

"The usual? I don't know, I don't feel much has changed."

When you turn pain bites at your upper back and your hands grip the bar top, nails biting into the wood while you set your jaw to stop any noise of pain to escape you. Vi looks at you with the same expression she always has in moments like this, sisterly love. For being five years your junior, the girl surely know how to make you feel younger with her affections.

"Tell us, or we're gonna have to tell Silco and Vander about it."

"Yeah, can't have our bartender keeling over one night." Sevika sets herself on your other side and slides your stool under you, reserved for when your back gets too much. You nod your thanks and let out a groaned out breath at the feeling of your body not needing to hold itself up anymore.

"Just nine to five at the library and the usual seven to two in at night for the bar. Same as always."

"Same as always. Well seems like this isn't sustainable for you anymore. I don't even think it ever has been. You do know that working yourself to death is not gonna fix anything, right?"

"Have you been-"

"I have been, Vi. I've been journaling, I've been drinking less, I've been trying to get more than three hours of sleep per night. But I can't, nothing clears my head, I can't even afford a good therapist because they're so rare in Zaun it's like trying to find a unicorn, and like hell I'm going topside because they'll only extort me until I have nothing left."

The women at your sides nod in understanding. They've been trying to help yet nothing seems to soothe the storm of your soul, forever raging, ever restless, screaming from the depths of your very being and haunting you at every moment. Their support means the world to you though, and you feel like you never know how to show just how deeply important their presences are within the nightmare of your life. You feel like you're not grateful enough for all that they've done for you, not deserving enough. Like you're-

"You're not a lost case, Maestro."

You chuckle bitterly at the nickname, your two friends having nicknamed you as such because you were the "drink virtuoso" of The Last Drop. The young bartender that knew people's tastes like the back of her hand at first glance and who always knew which buttons to push to get clients to buy something more expensive if they could afford it.

"Sevika's right. She's doing better, Silco and Vander too, not to forget Powder and I. You'll make it. We just have to find the right coping mechanism, the right…thing."

Violet mumbles, cursing at herself for being bad with words compared to her more "proper" girlfriend Caitlyn, a Piltover enforcer born in one of the gilded city's most noble families.

"I know but I've tried so much. Many options I don't have the time for, others are too expensive, the rest just doesn't work. You two are keeping me afloat but I wonder if I'm just rotten work, like trying to help me or even simply being around me is just gonna end up wearing you down in the end."

The women chuckle and eye one another with a smile, one of their arms wrapping around your back in two half hugs.

"You? Wear us down? Now aren't you underestimating us?"

"I think you forgot who you're talking to so let's remind you. We're your best friends, and if you think you'll ever get rid of us because you're a mopey little shit then you clearly are overestimating yourself."

"Sev's right, you're a cocky bitch if you think you're so cool that you'll be able to push us away in any way, shape or form. We're the dirt under your nails, Maestro. Don't you dare forget that."

"Oh fuck off you two."

You chuckle along, the burning flames of the bridge cooled by the laughter of the women holding you.

"You know we're right."

"Yeah yeah, now stop being gay and help me cleaning. Butch one you take the booths, Butch two you take the floor. I'll take the tables and bar."

"Shut your trap, kid."

"Aye aye captain."

Are chuckled out as your two friends leave your side to get started on tidying up the bar, the soft notes of the jukebox rhythming the cleaning and softening the heaviness in the air while you stretch. Getting out of the stool feels like a ton of lead has been dropped onto your shoulders and pain fires through you like electrical current but you still pick up your rag, a bottle of cleaning product and make your way to the tables.

It's comfortably silent between the three of you from then on. Humming coming from your throat as you bend over, scrubbing away at the traces of alcohol and crumbs left by patrons on every table, placing the chairs upside down on each and every one of them after wiping them down too.

Vi taps your ass with the broom while passing by you and you slap her arm, the girl acting hurt and falling to the ground at the ministration.

"How could you hurt me so, dear friend?"

"You already got a fine piece of ass at home, don't be greedy Darcy."

And you offer your hand and Violet refuses before you grab hers anyways and drag her up, your body shaking in pain as you pick your friend from the floor. She pinches your hips with a softly scolding look before going back to cleaning the floor.

Time passes and the bar top is the last surface that needs cleaning, Sevika and Violet try to get you to stop but you push them away.

"My bar, my responsibility."

"Technically it's Vander and Silco's-"

"I'll rip your tits off Sev."

"Bite me."

"Nah, you'd like that. You whore." She barks out a laugh at that, "touché" escaping her painted lips as she gets out her pack of cigarettes, two little cylinders are pulled out from it and she places both in her mouth to light them. The flick of her lighter echoing through the now silent room before she gives you one of the smoking tubes.

You inhale, the smoke filling your lungs in an all too familiar way and nicotine rushing through you while you slump over the spotless oak with your arms crossed, your eyes softly closing to enjoy the taste of tobacco and the presence of the two women at your side.

Just a normal night, after a very usual day. You dread to think about your weekend, having nothing to do killed you a little every time it happened, the silence of your apartment too loud and only serving to fuel the maelstrom of feelings swirling within you at any moment. Anytime you try to sleep those days off you wake up sweaty and screaming like every night, unable and unwilling to fall back asleep.

Life for Zaun has gotten better, sure. Access to topside was not as restrained, the city was given sovereignty after the complete hecatomb that happened thirteen years ago opened the eyes of many to the destiny of most Zaunites under Piltover's rule. It took about seven years for the gilded city to surrender Zaun and accept it as an equal, since then business had been booming, general health and education got much more advanced yet a lot was still a work in progress.

Progress that was not achieved with much help from Piltover, no, but by the blood, sweat and tears of the people from the Undercity. Who worked hard to make living here much more comfortable with the new influx of income and trades from all around the world.

And you were proud of your brethren for making it this far, you were proud to be part of such an enterprise to make Zaun a better place.

Yet no matter how much you worked then, how much you work now, how much you fought and still fight, you still can't find it within yourself to find forgiveness. Not after witnessing what you had, feeling what you did. Even if Vi's girlfriend was a kind girl and very involved with her family to help Zaun, the actions of one still didn't make the bile rising in your throat when thinking about Piltover subside.

You didn't necessarily hate everyone topside. The targets of your rage were their police force and their politicians who, for three hundred and fifteen years, cultivated a mentality of elitism and classism that was the flail used to whip your people into submission. To make Zaun into their own colony, providing for their every whims while they stood behind you, twiddling their thumbs and laughing at your misery. So you still had a hard time feeling comfortable or peaceful with the people that persecuted your own, directly or by proxy, many had let this happen even if they knew it was wrong and that was something else you could not forgive.

None of the rage you direct towards Piltover can truly fill the hole within you, though.

A hole that had been dug since you were born, the intrinsic Zaunite anger at the unfairness of others' treatments towards you ingrained within every part of your DNA. A hole that became a fissure, similar to those trencher miners would die in, when your parents died in a crumbling mine that was left operating even with the dangers its state was dismal. A fissure that became an unspeakable abyss the day of the bridge revolt when you lost Hekarim and so many of your own, nearly meeting your maker as well in the process.

An abyss that you've tried to fill with anger, with so much work that your body would crumble the second you reached your small apartment, with your two friends' presence that although helped you, never filled the tear in your soul. No, the abyss grew with time, no matter how many books you read, how much music you listened to, how many hobbies or coping mechanisms you tried.

It grew.

And grew.

And although you've ignored it, you're becoming unable to. The exhaustion. Setting deep within your bones from the sleepless nights, from the overworking, the constant reminders of vision's you'd rather forget. It's like no matter what you try, your symptoms only become worse.

And you feel so much guilt.

At not feeling well, at not being able to appreciate the simple pleasures of life, at not seeing how far you've come, at your friends not being nearly enough to fix the broken, ugly mess that you are.

You feel guilt for losing faith at everything in life that pertained to you. You are on survival mode, and you can't flip the switch off. But there's only so much you can do on survival mode before you shutdown.

And right now you were going down that slide at immense speed.

One where your thoughts would drag you to commit something that would never be able to be taken back.

And you hoped that if it ever came to that, you'd at least be missed.

snap

Your eyes swiftly get to Sevika who's snapping her fingers at you, her other hand holding the ashtray under the cigarette currently burning away between your lips.

"Yeah no, we're not taking I'm fine for an answer."

"Sev, c'mon."

"No, girl, c'mon. You're not okay."

"Vi." You whine, taking a deep inhale from your cigarette, the smoke escaping your nose in two streams. "Really, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl I can take it, you know me."

"Not anymore it seems." Inhale, Sevika gazes at you with a knowing look shining through her steel tinted eyes.

"You're trying to do all of this by yourself. And we get it, we really do, but you're just pulling yourself deeper." Exhale, Vi brushes her hand on your arm comfortingly.

"We love you, and all we want is your good health and for you to finally be able to rid yourself of whatever's going on in there. You don't tell us because you want us safe, yet what about you?" Inhale.

"We've thought of something, and we know you'll vehemently refuse at first, but it's free and many people find comfort in it. Especially here in Zaun."

You tilt your head, smoke held in your lungs as you look at your two friends inquisitively.

"So, would you be willing to go to church?" Exhale.

Stub.

"No."

They look at one another in a way you knew all too well. They knew of your stubborn streak, to anything related to Piltover. And to faith.

You had prayed everyday for your parents' safety. They died, alone, in the dark and ripped to shreds by rubble.

You had prayed everyday for your people's freedom. They kept on dying unjust deaths by the hand of their greedy, self-important jailers.

You had prayed for your brother to be alive that day. He was ripped away from you before your very eyes.

You had prayed for your own death, to stop the pain, to stop you from losing everything when nothing was left anymore. Yet you lived.

The lords above didn't exist.

And if they did they had abandoned Zaun.

And me.

So like hell you'd go to a place of worship to any one of them. That day you abandoned them just like they did you, mockingly watching from above as meaningless deaths happened beneath their almighty gazes once more.

"Listen. We know. But would you listen to us?"

You look at Violet with expectant eyes, exhaustion pulling your lids down into a glare that has been carved into your face, never to be erased.

"Powder has a tutor, she has for a while now, and turns out he's a priest for the local Jan'ahremite church. He seems like a good man and maybe he'd know how to help, it's his job to lead those who are lost and all that. You could go to mass, test the waters, you could even confess! It's like therapy, but free."

You exhale a sharp breath.

"Vi's right, but there's also the fact that you'd be surrounded by a community. It would do you good, go at least twice. Please? We know it's far from what you want but it could be what you need. You don't need to believe, just to be there."

"What do you have to lose, right?"

You pull away, slowly making your way to your coat hung behind the bottle filled shelves, your back screaming at you for rest as you cover yourself, slipping one arm after the other in the long sleeves. You pass by the counter where your two friends are, stopping at their level as Sevika calls out for you.

"You can't keep on going like this, kiddo. We may not know what's going on in that head of yours, but we know it's far from pretty. Everyone needs something to believe in, and as is, we know your faith is in nothing but your own fall."

You scoff. "Understatement of the century Sev."

"Even more of a reason to try! We don't ask you to pray, to beg for whatever god may listen, only to see if it'd help. I'd be more than reluctant to step a foot in a church myself, and I know that Sevika too." The older woman scoffs as she nods at Vi's words. "But we know that wherever your mind's headed right now could potentially take you from us, and we can't imagine Zaun without you. Neither can little man or Powder."

"Hell, Vander and Silco would hate to lose you too, every patron around here and everyone at the library too."

"You're worth so much more than you can imagine to so many of us. So, please, at the very least if not for yourself, do this for us."

Your hands grip tightly at the counter top, a lump forming in your throat at the very thought of stepping into a god's space. Wanting nothing more than spit and yell in rage at their pictures and statues, never to be vulnerable for them ever again.

"I'll think about it."

Is all you can manage to let out.

"And that's all we ask."

You nod, the three of you leaving the building and locking up behind yourselves and Vi nudging her forehead to yours as a loving goodbye before she hops on her motorcycle.

"Kid, you know we love you, right?"

You purse your lips, eyes looking down as your heart drops to your stomach. Feeling all too undeserving of the words.

"Yeah, I know Sev." Your gaze reaches hers, and you know she understands what you mean with it.

I love you too.

You sigh and softly place your forehead on hers.

"See you on Monday, kid." She ruffles your hair lightly and walks away, her body illuminated by the kaleidoscope of Zaun's neon signs.

You get in your car, the music not loud enough to drown your thoughts, the words and melodies jumbling in and all too familiar self-deprecating dance as you arrive home.

Your body drags and you step foot within the threshold of the building, it slumps against the elevator's walls as you wait for your floor and it drops onto your bed as you arrive at your bed.

Your phone is put to charge, your clothes and brace are taken off for the night and you refuse to get up for any food or water. The comfort of your mattress pulling you in like quicksand in the deserts of Shurima even if your mouth is pasty and your stomach grumbles.

Your eyes trail to your ceiling, tears rolling down like a waterfall before you even realize what's happening. No sob escapes you, you believe you've exhausted your capacity for them since hell opened its gaping maw and presented you what it had to offer.

Exhaustion, bone deep, was eating away at you like water erodes stone. Your soul was rotting and although you could always keep yourself together it seemed like your willpower was abandoning you.

Just like everything and everyone always did.

Were Violet and Sevika right? Could going to this place of worship work, even with your hatred of those sitting on their golden thrones up above? Could this be it, the one last thing that could help you from drowning further in the dark tar possessing every inch of your heart?

I don't think so.

Yet as much as the thought of standing before the eyes of a deity makes you sick, you make yourself sicker. A hateful, pained and pathetic little thing you are, filled to the brim with so much sadness that no good can truly reach you and pull away the black veil blinding your soul. A disappointment, a failure.

And yet your two friends still remained by you.

You could wallow all you want, but bile rises in your throat at the thought of hurting the girls that stand by your side even after everything.

Even if respite in death is all you crave now.

Maybe you could try one last time. To make them proud more than to save yourself. Although if the latter came with the former you would accept it with open arms.

Yet I still find myself unable to believe that the broken mess that I am can be fixed.

I am beyond saving.

But for them you'll try. Your final attempt at piecing yourself back together.

Your eyes close, the last of your tears contained beneath the dam of your lids. Images quickly flickering from the bridge to Sevika and Violet standing next to a grave, their gazes a storm of regret and pain as they cry and call out to you softly. Praising you even after you took the cowardly way out, even after you abandoned them.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

Yes, for them you'll try anything.

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[most-datable-datable-bracket]

MOST DATABLE DATABLE CHARACTER 2 THIRD PLACE

Claude propaganda:

"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"

"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.

His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.

His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.

And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."

Elliott propaganda:

“Just look at him. Pure hunk energy.”

“I will punch anyone who dislikes him. He’s like a fire emblem character in the modern day. He’s so flamboyant and handsome, he can play the piano and he’s best friends with the old fishing man!”

“dramatic writer man with sexy hair”

"Since I like elliott. I will state some reasons why I like him

Imagine if Mr. Darcy didn’t insult your family first time you met him, that’s Elliott. The man who’s basically the hallmark romance love interest. He’s a writer who moves to the small town in the country side to find inspiration for his writing. Then he finds the farmer.

He has a crab living in his pocket

He can play the piano (hopefully it isn’t the river flows in you however)

His fans sometimes hc him as a merman and that’s just a major plus IMO

He genre of the book he writes is dependent on what genre you say you like.

He also sends letters to you if you marry him

Okay and also some things I dislike

His liked gifts, the easiest one is pomegranates, which cost like 6000g to grow a tree if you don’t pick the fruit cave. I AM NOT GETTING SQUID INK IN YEAR ONE FOR YOU.

he might be British /j

The fact he has no kitchen but still likes food like lobster, like he is just a mystery. Lives in a cabin, with no kitchen, no washroom (okay no character has a washroom), but still likes the most fancy food out there and has luscious hair worthy of a L’Oréal ad.

Gifting him on rainy days when you don’t have two hearts"

[sirhamburrger]

DIE WITH A SMILE (m. bachira x reader)

━☆ (post-apocalypse au, for day three of @phantasmaebg) ━☆ in which the only thing you can do is join him in undeath. ━☆ wc (written portion): 831 || tags/cw: f!reader, reader is a researcher working on a cure for the virus, bachira is part of an elite military squad, major character deaths (both bachira and reader, among others)(this is a zombie apocalypse au after all) || event m.list ━☆ why did i write this... this is so sad *runs away crying*

meguru bachira is beautiful. a little tired - that much is evident from the dark circles under his golden eyes - but still: beautiful. his eyes practically light up when you step into the room, clad in full personal protective equipment. 

for a moment you get self conscious of how you look dressed like a walking banana, but that all disappears when he chuckles warmly, making you blush beneath your mask.

“you’re even more beautiful than i expected,” the squadron member breathes.

you cock your head to the side, highly skeptical as you take a seat in front of him. “you can only see my eyes, though,” you point out, voice muffled.

“yeah, well.” a short pause, then, “they say true beauty is all in the eyes.”

you don’t quite know how you should respond to that, so you don’t.

you end up talking to him than is honestly necessary for the psych eval. he’s a sweet man, and the things his squad-mates have said about him are proven true - optimistic, cheerful, perceptive. somehow, the man you’ve only ever been able to talk to over the phone from behind a reinforced glass panel has become one of the people you trust most in this world.

maybe it’s the way he listens to you intently about the stresses of work, lets you confide in him about hard days - especially really hard days when you find out another one of you has been lost to the virus - trusts you enough to spill his own secrets too.

maybe it’s the way he laughs, or calls you pretty when he’s not calling you “doc”. maybe it’s the way you relate to him, both being people with risky jobs. in a broken world like this, either of you could go at any minute. but he helps you accept it, and he helps you embrace it.

but maybe it’s the way he tries to reach a hand out to hold yours on the table during a particularly hard part of the conversation, but restrains himself, a dejected and heartbroken expression on his face.

how ironic that the only thing you want is the only thing you cannot have. not just yet, at least.

it’s been three days since squad z perished in tokyo’s biggest hot zone, and meguru is not doing well.

it started with erratic vitals - high blood pressure, arrhythmia, severe migraines, then escalated  violent outbursts. your superiors don’t allow you in the room with him any more, even though you’d bet your life he would never hurt you. it hurts to see him like this. delirious, in mourning, broken.

he is not the man he once was, and you’re not entirely sure he’ll live long enough to see that change.

he still talks with you, so at least that hasn’t changed. you are one of the last few scientists on earth even remotely close to synthesising a cure, since many have been wiped out already. it’s stressful, frankly, and you’ve had shameful, selfish thoughts about ending it all - joining the dead before you are forced to walk amongst them. but meguru tells you to keep your chin up, doc, you’re getting there.

and who are you to say no to him, if not for the fact that he’s not doing much better himself?

you open up to him once, more than you think you should. you tell him about how you’ve wanted to be a scientist for the longest time as a child, but before that, you wanted to be a singer. but your parents saw no future in it. so you never pursued it further.

in the quiet of the space between you, then, meguru bachira asks if you would sing for him.

and you do.

you don’t even notice when he starts to cry, but you know that you’re crying too.

you bring him flowers sometimes. he lets them die in a corner of the confinement cell. you can’t blame him for not even trying.

the horde has broken in.

all your colleagues, your superiors, your friends - they’re all gone. they’ve all been reduced to mindless monsters, hungry for human flesh. now, those monsters push against the door, trying to get to you.

you stare back through the glass, eyes landing on meguru, who convulses on the ground, clutching his head. his head jerks backwards, blood spilling from his mouth. just like all the others. you let out a sob, your heart aching for him.

you fumble for your phone.

the air smells like blood, and meguru looks like hell.

you pad towards him slowly, tears streaming down your face. you freeze when he notices you, hunger in his bloodshot eyes. you take a step towards him. hold his hand. embrace him. tilting your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.

he’s crying now as he mumbles something. it sounds like i’m sorry and thank you. maybe it’s both. you feel hot breath on your neck, and his sharp teeth sinking into your skin.

and all is well in the world.

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[insert-random-account-name]

Crappy Character Analysis, part 6

I've been putting off this one, simply because I love Contrarian, everyone loves Contrarian, and I was worried I wouldn't do him justice. BTW, if you haven't read any others, I'd recommend at least reading Cold and Stubborn before this one.

part 1 (Broken)

part 2 (Skeptic)

part 3 (Cold)

part 4 (Paranoid)

part 5 (Stubborn

VOICE OF THE CONTRARIAN

Contrarian is my favorite voice, so let’s just get that out of the way. I’m doing my best to give him a fair analysis, but if there are any flaws, that’s probably why. I’d say a good 40% of Contrarian content was added after the Pristine Cut, probably because the fandom loved him so much. He basically lives up to his name. Any time someone says something, he immediately tries to counter it. Slay the Princess? No thanks. The world beyond yours is beautiful? Eh, it ain’t all that. Take the knife? Only to throw it out the window! In fact, throwing the knife out the window is his MO, seeing as he does it in three separate chapters (Stranger, Razor (No Way Out), and Fury (through Adversary)) and the only reason he doesn’t do it in the other two chapters he shows up in is because there are no windows for the blade to go out of. He also dabbles in bending reality, working together with Stubborn to keep you moving without your muscles. He is also, objectively, kind of a jerk. He calls Hero a baby for being upset at whatever abomination you see in the Stranger, refuses to give the Narrator vital information, antagonizes Stubborn by calling him weak, and then proceeds to manipulate him into throwing away your weapon, and then delivers the line that goes to the affect of “Oh, are we lying? I’m happy to be here, and I like all of you.” Of course, he does turn a new leaf at the end of the Stranger, and if you get the Stranger’s cabin at the end, he seems to have matured since the last time you’ve seen him.Contrarian exists to amuse himself. You get him by not taking the consequences of your actions seriously (not going to the cabin, fighting the Adversary unarmed, not taking the blade/stabbing yourself in the Razor, cutting your throat in the Tower). This attitude makes him careless. He wants to sow chaos, start conflicts, and just have fun. His commitment to the bit helps you survive and fight in the Apotheosis and the Fury. Who cares if you die? You were going to anyway. Contrarian doesn’t fully realize the effects his recklessness has on others until it is far too late. In the Razor, if he throws the knife out the window, he thinks of it as a funny bit. But after he realizes that there will be no getting it back, he admits he might have acted too hastily. Something similar happens in the Stranger. There may be a more deep-seated root to his nature, as well. One that most people miss. Contrarian is a contrarian out of frustration. You tried running away from the problem, and now it got worse. Now you have to face it, and he isn’t happy. If he has to confront his own mistakes, well, he isn’t going to make it easy. If he has to be miserable, so does everyone else. He reminds me of Cold, in a way. One turns to indifference, while the other turns to indignation. This point is accentuated by a line in the Stranger ending, where he confesses that he thinks of himself as the worst part of you. In the Stranger, it takes the entire world collapsing in on itself for Contrarian to fully realize the harm he’s caused. Once he sees the bigger picture, he shows remorse, and suggests that you try and help the Princess. In the Stranger ending, when you return to her cabin, he’s had more time to cool down and reflect, and he shows a surprising maturity, holding back on yeeting the blade. This may be the only voice who got significantly more content in the Pristine Cut, yet whose depth lies in pre-Pristine Cut content.

[cryptid-killjoy]

Curly hair was down for the count!

He started screaming at the top of his lungs shrill like a girl. "ZOMBIE! ZOMBIEEEEEEEEEEE! OH GOD! Get it!" He was scrambling, flailing, trying to gain traction in a way that looked worse than a spooked cornered cat with nowhere to go. Bebop wasn't helping at all. He didn't come running to his aid like usual. What triggered him to open his eyes and focus a little was Bebop's voice saying, "Well, well, well, look what the Mother Ginger dragged in."

Then Jax finally noticed it wasn't a zombie that tackled him.

"ELLIE!" His face lit up like Christmas unlike the cautious way Mazzie had presented in Candy Land. "Ellie! You're here."

He pointed at Babyface too. He was smiling so big his eye was like slits and could barely be seen, so happy. He started hugging back.

When Bebop saw Babyface he stood up. Babyface started to smile. A genuine smile. It looked like he was coming in for a hug. Their whole damn family was dead. It was going to be okay this time.

Then he actually got the knuckle nudge. "Look at you actually living through this bullshit. Damn. There's a Beagle Holocaust out there and you're what I get?"

There was a time Babyface took it all and knew his place in the pack of Beagle Boys, but after everything he'd been through, he'd had about enough. The rest of the pack wasn't there to dogpile him if he barked back.

He took one glance to the air. He made up his mind and he charged his brother Beagle and started wailing on him. These two started a wrestling match that was a long time coming and long overdue. Every few jostles one would pin the other and say something snarky. While Bebop started with low blows like Wish it was you instead of Bouncer or insert name here type of jabs Babyface went in another direction when he finally got the upper hand. "Yeah, well while you're sitting here being a crybaby over who you didn't save, I was out there finding more Beagles. I was doing the footwork to start a new crew. I did what Ma Beagle told us to do not sit here on my ass doing nothing letting more of us die like you."

That one got Bebob too heated. He pulled a blade in anger. Babyface pulled his gun. They stared at each other and stared at each other.

Mazzie and Jax looked at each other. They both looked at Ellie. Everyone looked back and forth between each other and then suddenly both Beagles put their weapons down.

"Fine. Time." They'd say it simultaneously as if they both were counting down like it was a game. It was like they both knew if neither went for actually killing one another and they wouldn't because they were brothers that this was a Babyface won draw. He drew the weapon that caused the pause.

"Fine. Fuck." Bebop said sticking his blade in his back pocket. Then he'd start talking like nothing insane happened between them. "Who'd you find?"

"Black Arts. He's got some Beagle Babe with him. Calls her Nebby. Visited my Ma in prison, got some leads."

"Brandy? Zombies didn't take it over?"

"It's not in Nola, dope."

"Oh, right, right. Good thinking, little Beags." Then he rubbed the top of Babyface's hair as if he still wanted to infantilize him somehow even though he just got the drop on him not quite wanting to give up his position so clearly. He was the elder brother.

Mazzie looked over at Ellie as the drama unfoiled itself and then relaxed again. "So, everything's still the same."

Then she started grinning because at least if something was the same even though they knew nothing really was it was something to hold on to. Crazy as the boys being the boys was it; she didn't mind it being that something at all.

"Well, not everything." Jax blurted out.

Mazzie gave Jax a hard glare. She wasn't quite ready for all that, but then again why drag it out?

She waved them into the control room so they could start to understand what was different about Pleasure Island than before. They might not know it like the backs of their hands like Mazzie and Jax did, but they were going to start to understand this clearly the moment they got inside.

"Don't get your hands near them. Don't pet them or feed them."

"Pet or feed the donkeys?"

"No."

Then Mazzie pushed open the door as Babyface shook off his hair from Bebop rubbing it.

His cocky jaw fell wide open. His eyes were just the same. He couldn't decide if he wanted step backwards or run forwards. There inside the control room was the boat full of Beagles all chained to chairs including one of Mazzie and Jax's father's, Honest John.

An alive Gideon, the quietest one turned his head and said, "Oh 'ello there. I didn't expect guests. Do we needs more chains and brains or plates and sammiches? Which kinds of guests are you, dear?"

Then he threw a body part at the zombie Bouncer who started gobbling it down with no manners at all. Yes, Gideon was feeding the zombies.

This was only the beginning of the surprises inside.

“Yeah, but some half-pipes would be cool, some railings,” Ellie said, looking around. If it was themed like an amusement park, why couldn’t it have a skate park? “I’m sure the boys would love it.”

She knew that she was torn. And she knew that Babyface knew. And Mazzie, even if they hadn’t seen each other in a long time. It was a big decision - and she knew the clock was counting down. But for now - maybe just try to get through this night alive, and make sure that everyone else was as well.

She stayed back, out of the questioning that Mazzie was doing to Babyface, which proved that everyone here knew that she was on the fence. She kept her hand on the weapon, looking around for zombies, making sure there wasn’t anymore coming. Mazzie might be able to get the boys to stand down but no one controlled zombies.

But she looked back in time to see the punches to Babyface, and she couldn’t help giggling at that.

“I almost was,” Ellie admitted to Mazzie. “I was stuck inside of our base when everything went to Hell. The zombie virus in the air went away, thankfully, and then there was just the dancing. I duct taped myself to my skateboard and went to Babyface over in Halloweentown. I nearly wiped out so many times because my hips kept trying to hula-hoop or something, it was ridiculous.”

But then shes caught onto what Babyface had. Survivors. What were the chances - not many people knew about the island. Almost nobody knew about the island, actually. So how -

“Beagles?” She repeated, her eyes wide with disbelief. Of all the people - of course the Beagles would endure. There was so many of them, there was no way that all of them could be lost. "Like - Real-time Beagles?"

Big Time. Bouncer.

She put an arm around Babyface, hugging him close, rubbing up and down on his ribs. If there was any time to try to provide comfort, it was that moment, learning the absolute truth. At least he didn’t have to see them, though. Like how she had been pretty sure that she saw her parents shuffling about through Feral.

Her eyes followed up to the porch. Red hair. Looks like she was no longer the only Ginger in Feral.

“Son of a bitch,” She said, grinning. And then she started to run, flats hitting the pavement, going right up to Jax and tackling him down with a hug.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Finally bunkering down to get into the TF1 fic department. I've got a nice simple one shot I'm cooking up for all of you to ease into this new continuity. No promises on when it will be done considering I've got irl crap to deal with, but here's the title and a snippet.

Sometimes Apologizing Is Enough

“Why can’t I go instead? I can do it. I can land the killing blow.” Bee, in all his eternal empathy, stepped up to Prowl and gestured to where Optimus was already strapped down. Optimus wished he could confidently dismiss the unspoken fears of those present. He wished he did not still have an aching pit in his spark where youthful yearnings urged him to use this chance for selfish reasons. Yet, he knew what his wistful dreams desired. He was going to struggle with what was to come during his final act as Prime.

“No, I will not have you do this, Bee. If I kill D-16, it will look like a crime of passion. While Orion Pax will grieve, it will pass as all things do.” Optimus could only shake his helm from his place hooked up to countless wires he was unable to trace or identify. Bee went quiet at his gentle retort, his friend’s optics widening in disbelief as Optimus continued.

“But if you do it. If you strike him down on my behalf… Orion will never let you escape. It is very possible that he- I could become just as great of a threat if pushed to act.” Bee winced, a fact Optimus noted with a soft sigh. It was distant history for him, but once he was rambunctious, eager and filled with passion. If Bee went back and did what had to be done, there was a very good chance Orion Pax could take up the mantle Megatron held in their current reality.

It could not be allowed.

“I’m willing to die if it means my friends will live.” Bee’s retort was faint, filled with static from old injuries poorly healed. Optimus’s gaze softened seeing the distress on his friend’s face. Bee was always nobler than him when it came to sacrifice. Where his dear friend was willing to offer everything for the sake of their freedom, Optimus was unable to let go of one mech who was, for all intents and purposes, long dead.

“That is noble, but the point remains. It must be me, or else my younger counterpart is bound to react unpredictably, whereas you and Elita are unlikely to lose yourselves if the crime appears to be accidental.” Again, he restated his point. He tried to smile to ease Bee’s concerns, but it did little. The former scout looked a moment away from breaking down as he pressed a servo to the glass separating them, his expression pulled taut in grief.

“Can you really do it though? You’ve always had a soft spot for Dee, even though we all know what he is now.” Optimus could not help the pang of guilt that flooded his processor at the critique, but he took it in stride. There was no point lying now.

“There is nothing I can say to ease your worries entirely, my friend. I am incapable of denying the lingering attachment to the one I once called brother.” Optimus’s voice rose above the faint hum of the machinery around him, hopefully reaching the audials of all those present to witness his last march.

“However, I promise you that I will do everything in my power to ensure this reality does not repeat itself a second time.” The promise came easily, and unlike the countless others made during their long war, this one did not burden him with guilt. It was an oath he’d taken long ago, in the silence of his quarters when the plan to change history was presented. To utter it aloud merely made it tangible, like a brand on his spark.

“Good. Or else I’m going back next time and I’ll beat both you and Dee up.” Bee, bless his spark, tried to lighten the mood with a weak chuckle. Optimus returned the gesture, despite being well aware it was a useless effort.

“I look forward to a future free of your wrath.” His faint jest was drowned out by the sound of the machine growing louder, a sign of impending activation. Optimus tried his very best to relax against the freezing surface of the berth he was strapped to. The cords and wires itched, but he dared not so much as squirm, much less consider just how badly this could go as he gave his confirmation.