#was violently torn apart and destroyed forever

[dragynkeep]

Curious Cat was done dirty and nobody pointed out how tragic his character was in the show

I'm taking Gmod Cat away from these hoes. I'm their new owner now.

[lets-try-some-writing]

She Called His Name Moon

Earth spent many long ages alone with her maker. She never expected or hoped for a friend, much less an equal to come into her life.

Her Moon was not anticipated, but with time, he was gleefully accepted.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

From the moment of her creation, she was both alone and forever connected. 

She sensed her maker and fed from his slumbering form, but he was unaware. He slept. He dreamed. Never did he stir. Although sometimes she was able to peer into his wandering visions and distant memories. 

She saw a being of light and majesty. She could not understand his name when her maker uttered it in those echoes of experience that she absorbed during her feedings. The Bright One was kind to her maker. He always murmured soft things, creating sounds that echoed like the beginning of the universe. He was golden and shining blue all at once. Silver and green, red and violet. He was color, he was life, and his presence illuminated all around him. She sensed her maker’s love for the Bright One. She felt sorrow when she learned that her maker and the Bright One had been torn apart.

So many memories of her maker and the Bright One, both traversing the stars. They sought great wonders. She only saw faint flashes of the glories of the elder days. She did not understand when their love turned to anger, but as she grew, so too did the memories turn violent. The Bright One was upset, his radiant form blazing with the white-hot fire of a being so tied to the beginning that an end was almost impossible to imagine.

She saw visions of thirteen beings, creations of the Bright One. Children, he called them. She had never seen such lovely beings. Each of them shone like stars, gorgeous even as they attacked her maker with weapons made of molten supernovas. She cried out as she felt her maker’s pain, his rage, his loss.

He was alone when he was cut away from the Bright One whose face was stained with streaks of liquid sunbeams. 

He was alone when his cries went unanswered and his frame succumbed to the injuries it sustained.

He was alone when the cold crept into his fuel lines, forcing him into an uneasy slumber filled with memories of better times.

He was alone until the moment she was born.

“Father, do you hear me?”

She called out to him as he slumbered through thought and bond. He did not heed her, but for a moment, his conscience stirred. She could feel his rumbling thoughts and his fear of being discovered. As she grew and her frame continued to wrap around his, he became content, his slumber less pained and more at ease.

She could have torn away from him in those early ages. But she could not abandon her maker. She could not leave him alone when all they had was each other. And so she grew. She shielded him from reality and hid him from all that sought to do him harm. She relished in her maker’s memory, and each time she called out, he grew more and more gentle in his responses. He was not awake, but he was registering her presence. 

That was enough for her. She did not need anyone else. She did not need to know the Bright One or his children, no matter how much a part of her longed to see the places that her maker’s memory allowed her visions of.

“I will protect you. I will guard you from the light of the Bright One. You shall not be found.”

She murmured her promises as her frame grew and thickened. She was her maker’s shield. She was his guardian. She took pride in her work. 

But she was not enough.

She could not move. She could not attack. She was merely a wall between the Bright One and her maker. She needed children of her own. Those who would go forth and move in her stead in order to protect her maker. The memories she received from her maker told her that the Bright One and his young were angry beings that were neither tired nor withered in their wrath. They would not stop until her maker was destroyed, and that was something she could not allow, regardless of their familial ties to her.

“The Bright One made thirteen. He made children to strike you down. But do not fear father. I will make children of my own who shall fight in your name.” 

The Bright One molded light and god-forged metal into great glittering embers that gave life. She did not have such power and instead took from the dust and the blood of her maker to craft her creatures. Many perished on her surface, and so she changed to accommodate. Using the visions of mountains and seas from her maker, she shifted to give her creations room to grow. She could not make them timeless like the Bright One or his ilk. She was unable to reach out and forge from stars souls that would not extinguish. 

But she began her work all the same, inferior as it was.

Life grew upon her surface. And to each of her children, she sang the stories of her maker’s memory. They did not understand her, just as she did not understand the mighty speech of her maker and the Bright One. However, they heard her intent. They grew, they changed, and they brought with them the timeless memory encoded in their very DNA. Their strength was not in their frames, it was in their combined glory.

They sought the stars. They chased victory above all else. Each of them, so carefully molded, changed to become their own beings. They thought, they planned, and with every passing age, she watched in joy as they grew in strength. One day, they would go forth and see the stars in her stead. When the time was right, she would have an army more than capable of warding off the Bright One until her maker was strong enough to resist him again.

She was pleased, and while her maker did grumble and shift in his slumber in response to the new life being housed upon him, all was well. Her maker was a being of death and new beginnings. He would never be happy about lifeforms making his frame their home. But for now, they were safe, and with time, nothing would dare harm her maker. When the Bright One was no longer a threat and her maker awoke, maybe then she could see the places beyond the confines of her cradle. Until then, she could be patient. She would wait.

Ages passed her by. Her creations grew and started to emerge from their pools to walk on land. And not too long later, her long watch was broken by the tears of a being she did not know.

Bright as opal, stunning as the birth of a new galaxy, the being who came near was drenched in tears. He was of the Bright One, that much she could tell. But he was not one of the thirteen. He did not glow as they did, nor was his frame basked in the touch of beginnings. He was a younger child of the Bright One, and that set fear alight in her very spark. 

Her children were too weak to fight against such a being. He was too large, too powerful. And while she would gladly give her life in defense of her maker, she feared what might befall her father if she did perish. She couldn’t leave him alone in his anger. She felt his sorrows and sadness. She had no wish to see his memories repeated.

W̴̢̍͑̚͜͠h̴̨̝̋͒a̵̛͙̰̠̱̓t̸̹̄͗ ̵͈͈̓̍͋ͅa̶̻̠͖̒͆r̸̦̩͋̓̉͝ȩ̸̠̖̫͠ ̴̖̝̓̉y̵̼̝̘̯̐̿͘o̸̺̺̾͊͝u̷̲͙̐͠?̴͈̇͗̄̄

She did not understand him as he drew near. His speech was strange and yet lovely all at once. He sounded like the Bright One and his thirteen, although his words did not ring out like a song as theirs did. His voice was commanding, cautious perhaps, and laced with a rumble that spoke of long cycles spent weeping. A part of her pitied him, and the closer he came, the more clearly she could see his face. He was scared, and his optics were scoured. Sharp jagged burns ran along his face. He looked to be hardly able to see as he tried to assess her and her maker. His frame was dirtied and damaged, covered in scuffs and cuts she had been unable to see from far away. 

He still shone, but his light was dimmer now. 

"Leave us child of the Bright One. I will not allow you to harm my father." 

She hissed a warning through field and thought. She could not trust him, not when a memory from her maker showed her just how deadly the Bright One's children could be. Thankfully the being before her paused in his approach. He tilted his helm, his tears crystallizing as they ceased falling from his damaged optics. He drew no closer, and while she would have loved to flare her plating or attempt to flee, there was little she could do without harming her children, her maker, or herself.

She watched. She waited. The being did nothing for an agonizingly long time.

Then, he reached out.

"̸Y̸o̸u̴ ̴a̸r̸e̴ ̸o̵n̸e̴,̴ ̶a̴n̸d̴ ̸y̸e̷t̶ ̷n̷o̶t̴ ̵t̶h̶e̵ ̷s̵a̴m̴e̶.̷ ̷I̸ ̷s̴e̶n̷s̶e̴ ̴a̶ ̵s̸p̴a̴r̴k̷ ̶a̵n̵d̶ ̵m̷a̸n̶y̸ ̵y̵o̶u̷n̶g̶ ̸l̷i̸f̶e̵f̸o̶r̴m̵s̶ ̶s̶e̷p̶a̸r̷a̴t̷e̸ ̵f̶r̷o̵m̴ ̶t̷h̶e̴ ̵c̶o̶r̸e̵ ̸o̷f̴ ̵t̸h̶e̷ ̶U̴n̷m̷a̸k̸e̵r̶.̶"̵ She did not know his words as he gently drew close enough to touch her surface. He was delicate and took care not to damage places where her children flourished. She rattled in fear, but the touch was not painful, merely probing. 

"̸I̶ ̵d̸o̸ ̷n̵o̷t̶ ̷k̵n̸o̸w̶ ̵w̶h̴o̷ ̵y̴o̶u̵ ̷a̶r̶e̸,̷ ̶b̵u̶t̷ ̴p̴l̴e̷a̶s̴e̴,̵ ̶b̶e̵ ̷a̶t̸ ̷e̸a̷s̵e̴.̷"̵ He spoke softly now. His field pressed against hers incessantly but not dangerously. He was trying to understand how much she could glean from his actions.

She returned his gesture and tentatively enveloped him in her presence. It was startling for her to feel another being so very powerful aside from her maker. However, it seemed to shock the being too. He paused in his study, his damaged optics wide and almost frightened as he grit his denta.

She sensed conflict in him. He was at war with himself, that much was clear through the fire that ran hot in his field. Hatred, loss, sorrow, pain, longing, and so much more. He was aching, and despite her better judgment, she offered sympathy in swift warm flares of her field. 

He stilled once more and remained unmoving for a time, seemingly lost in thought. She worried for a moment, terrified that he might lash out after having concluded that destroying her maker was the best course of action. Thankfully, after her surface finished a full rotation, the entity smiled and called out in the rumbling voice she now found herself taking a degree of comfort in.

"̷I̵ ̴h̴a̶v̵e̵ ̸l̸o̶s̵t̴ ̵m̸u̶c̷h̷.̷ ̴T̵h̸e̵r̶e̷ ̴w̸i̴l̵l̷ ̴b̷e̷ ̴n̶o̴ ̵m̷o̴r̸e̵ ̷d̷e̸a̵t̷h̸ ̸t̵h̶i̴s̷ ̷c̷y̷c̵l̴e̴. His smile was sad and his battered frame heaved as his wrath seemed to seep out of his spark. She watched him as he pulled away from her surface and settled into her gravity, floating alongside her in the void of space. His optics, which had likely once been blue, were now scorched white. She found herself wrapped up in them as the child of the Bright One remained by her side.

He did not attack, he merely lingered. His presence swiftly became a constant, and with time, she began to learn his words. She gleaned pieces of his tongue, and he in turn learned how to communicate with field as she did. Their first interactions were crude and filled with raw emotion over anything else, but she took joy in them.

She could feel he held no love for her maker, but his care for her kept him by her side. He called her many things, the meaning of which she struggled to comprehend. Terra, Guardian-of-that-which-Grows, Gaea, Evergreen, Origin, and many other names. She loved each of them, but she had one name for the Titan who came to become more than a mere watcher as stars aligned and her maker continued to grow more and more aware beneath her surface.

"Dear one?"

"Yes?"

"No matter what happens, even if the Unmaker wakes, I will stay with you."

"I thought you hated my maker."

"I do hate him... but my love for you comes before all else. Nothing shall keep me from you, not even a god of death." 

"Why go so far for me? You are of the Bright One, a descendant of the thirteen."

"Because my spark sings for you and you alone." 

He smiled at her as he spoke his oath. She had not even been given the chance to process his words before he made a decision that shocked her.

He gave up his wings and thrusters to take on a form that would allow him to better remain by her side. Where once a mighty Titan stood, now a simple spherical body orbited her own. Bright as a star, optics glittering white like the firstborn of the thirteen, a strong frame forged from living metal. He was strength, he was loyalty, and he was eternal. Within the memory of her maker, few things matched those traits, and only one represented the simple bond of creation that was shared between her maker and the Bright One at the dawn of time.

Companions to stars and planets alike, she knew exactly what her dear Titan was to be titled after.

“Thank you for remaining by my side.”

“Always and forever. Never shall we be parted, not until the universe unravels.”

She called his name Moon.

[sunlovemoon]

🇵🇸 PALESTINE 🇵🇸

I sit here frozen.

Heart is in my throat.

The tears begin to swell.

And my soul is weighed down by a thousand bricks.

But whose pain is it that I feel?

It's the pain of mothers broken heart crying out for their children

It's the pain of siblings torn apart from each other

It's the pain of a helpless father in the grip of hatred and violence

It's the pain of the children lay under rubble heavier than the weight of their oppression

Their small, fragile bones seeping out of the destruction, crushed by hate & buried by indifference.

I feel their anguish in the depths of my soul

A burden too heavy to bear, a wound too deep to heal

I feel the pain of Palestine.

Are you not feeling what I’m feeling?

Do the hairs on the back of your neck not rise to the violent cries of a mother finding her young among the martyrs?

The loss of a father seeing his son die in front of his eyes.

Their pain is etched forever in my heart.

Do you still not feel the pain, oh world?

The cries of mothers mourning

The tears of children orphaned

The homes destroyed, lives shattered

The injustice, the suffering, the loss

The anguish of a people forgotten

Their voices silenced, their rights denied.

Oh world let's not turn a blind eye to the people

The brave people of Palestine

The people longing for peace and liberation

For justice, for freedom to live without fear,

To breathe without the heavy burden of oppression.

Let's raise our voice to their rhythm

stand with them and resound the world

In unity, we echo the plea

"From the river to the sea Palestine will be free 🇵🇸"

[hisui-dreamer]

through the endless daydream (part 1)

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader

Synopsis: There is a rumour that there is a hidden advisor of the Draconia family, who has guided the ruler of all fae for years. They say he is the one responsible for the peace established between humans and fae. What they don’t know, is that he has been doing so for millennia, cursed by the gods to be immortal as punishment until he can be killed by his true love.

Tags: angst with fluff, domestic fluff, historical, war, bot proofread

Word count: 3.4k+

Notes: Having recently watched the kdrama goblin, I got inspired by its themes to write a fic featuring general Lilia. This ended up being way longer than I expected so it is now multi-chaptered

Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧ Masterlist

The bustling metropolis of towering, modern buildings was filled with both humans and fae. The streets were lined with vendors selling all sorts of goods, from fresh produce to magical trinkets. Fae with their pointed ears and iridescent wings are seen to be walking alongside humans, who seem to accept their presence without a second thought. The city inspires a sense of wonder and serenity, the peacefulness made by the coexistence of fae and humans. The idea that fae and humans were once sworn enemies, on opposite sides of black and white, is something that no one would ever have considered.

In a time long ago, when the world was still young, there was a war between the fae and the humans. The war had been long and brutal, going on for years as both sides suffered from immense casualties. 

Lilia Vanrouge was a trusted general of the Fae King, who led his troops to consequent victories. He was unrivalled in both physical and magical power, summoning gusts of wind that would tear groups of soldiers to shreds. He became known as the Crimson Warrior, whose name was to be whispered in hushed tones and feared by all who opposed him. His enemies feared catching sight of his dark green armour that glinted in the sun with dried blood splattered all over it, his helmet resembling a fierce boar's head, and worse of all, his cold, unrelenting eyes as he cut down enemy after enemy that dared to face him.

The Crimson Warrior made a name for himself as a fearsome general, his exploits were told in taverns and around campfires, and his name was whispered in the halls of kings having earned countless medals for his contributions to their victory. His name would forever be engraved as a leading figure in fae history.

And yet, Lilia himself couldn’t find any of his achievements valiant.

No, when he thought of the war, all he could focus on was the chaotic and gruesome battlefields. The air thick with the acrid scent of smoke, the ground trembling beneath the feet of soldiers as they clashed in violent combat. The sky was dull, desolate, filled with the piercing screams of the wounded and the deafening roar of explosions.

On both sides, soldiers fought with fierce determination, their faces twisted in agony and determination as they clashed in brutal combat. Fae soldiers flew through the air, their wings beating rapidly as they rained down magic and arrows upon the human forces below while the humans fought on the ground, wielding swords and axes with deadly precision as they charged into battle. They were well-trained and well-equipped, but they were no match for the magic and agility of the fae. Still, the humans were determined, holding their ground despite their disadvantage and innovating strategies and exploiting the weaknesses of the fae.

The battlefield was a place of great suffering and loss, a stark reminder of the horrors of war. 

He had seen too many families torn apart, too many children left orphaned, and too many lives destroyed. As the remorse continued to prick at his heart, he found himself becoming withdrawn and distant from his fellow fae, unable to find solace in the victory he had fought so hard for alongside his army. He thought about the innocent lives that had been lost, and he wondered if there was anything he could have done differently.

Subsequently, he found himself travelling across the land, seeking to make sense of everything that he had experienced, to see the world beyond where he was brought up. To avoid getting recognized, he disguised himself as a cute young child, travelling from village to village, often only staying for a short time before moving on. 

He witnessed the devastation that the war had caused, the ruins of once lively villages now burnt to the ground. He witnessed firsthand the struggles of the people who were trying to rebuild their lives, soldiers who had lost their limbs trying desperately to find new purpose in life for their loved ones. But what surprised him most, was the resilience of the human spirit. He saw people of different backgrounds coming together to rebuild communities, the kindness and love families held for one another, and the hope that they had for the future. 

Then, on a day he would forever remember, he overheard a hauntingly beautiful voice that seemed to call out to him on the borders of a village in the outskirts. He pursued the sound until he stumbled upon a curious human, weaving dozens of flower crowns while singing.

"I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem

But if I know you, I know what you'll do

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream..."

The serene melody seemed to penetrate his soul, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds in a storm, Lilia found himself completely enchanted. He stood there, transfixed, watching them as they sang with such beauty and grace, delicate movements weaving magnificent crowns. 

Suddenly, they stopped singing, looking around them cautiously, having noticed someone's presence. Their darting eyes stopped as they lay upon the childlike figure. Their eyes filled with curiosity as they waved their hand to beckon him forward. As if his body had a mind of its own, he started stepping closer to the human.

"Hello, there little one." They knelt down to meet his eye level, and inquired, "What are you doing out here?"

"I... just happened to stumble upon your singing, and I couldn't help but come closer to listen." He answered meekly. "You sing beautifully..." He whispered as he felt himself blushing.

A soft giggle escaped their lips as a flush danced across their cheeks. "Why thank you..." A dazzling smile spread across their face. "What's your name, little one?"

"...Lilia." He answered without thinking. Names were important for Fae, for knowing one's name would grant them power over the other, and yet, Lilia felt that he didn't mind the human having power over him.

"Lilia...", they tested his name on their lips. "What a lovely name!" They gestured to the basket next to them, full of flower crowns. "Lilia, would you like to join me ? I'm making flower crowns for the children at the orphanage."

Lilia nodded, and sat down on the field next to them. The human began patiently teaching him how to make the intricate designs that they had mastered over years of practice. At first, he struggled to get the hang of it, fumbling over the delicate petals and stems. But the human didn't give up on him, gently guiding his hands and showing him the right way to hold the flowers. With their help, Lilia slowly began to improve and started to create elegant crowns himself.

Lilia couldn't help but be in awe of the grace with which they moved, quick fingers weaving the flowers with ease as they worked side by side, idly conversing. At that moment, he felt more content than he had in years.

But fate would not Lilia have a moment of peace, as a sudden gust of wind swept through the clearing, whipping his hood back and revealing his pointed fae ears. His companion gasped in surprise and shifted backwards.

"You... you're fae," they said in a quiet voice, trembling slightly.

Lilia's heart sank at the fear and distrust that pooled in their eyes. "Pease, don't be afraid! I mean you no harm."

They hesitated for a moment, but then they looked into his scarlet eyes and saw nothing but sincerity. Slowly, they reached their hand out.

"I believe you," they said softly, their hand gently petting his head. Lilia felt himself lean into their touch. "You don't seem like the others."

Lilia felt a rush of relief and gratitude flow through him, while a small part of his consciousness wondered if they would despise his true identity.

"Thank you... I promise, I will never harm you."

The human gently placed a flower crown on his head, hiding his pointed ears perfectly. "There. Now you won't need the hood." They stared for a bit, admiring their handiwork. "Would you like to stay with me at the orphanage? There are a few spare rooms that you can stay in. It must be difficult travelling so young..."

Lilia's eyes widened in surprise at their offer. He had expected them to turn him away once they had learned of his true nature, but instead, they were offering him a home.

"Are you sure that I wouldn't be bothersome?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I don't want to cause any trouble for you or the children."

The human shook their head, eyes determined. "You're not trouble, Lilia. You're a child, just like the others. And you deserve a safe place to live, just like they do."

With those words, Lilia once again felt the guilt of disguising himself prick at his heart. Still, he found himself wanting to stay with them, to continue to feel their warmth and kindness.

"Then, I'll be in your care." He says as he bows his head.

Lilia was grateful for the warm and welcoming atmosphere of the orphanage. He settled in quickly, helping out with chores and playing with the children, alleviating the burden on the caretaker and voluntarily taking up any laborious work that needed to be done. Occasionally, he would use his magic to help out around the orphanage, casting spells to fix broken toys or make the crops in the garden grow more plentifully. He made sure to keep his magic subtle, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself or make anyone feel uncomfortable.

As Lilia continued to spend time at the orphanage, he found himself increasingly drawn to the caretaker's warmth and compassion. He loved listening to them serenade the children night after night with lullabies that tenderly transported them to the land of dreams. He was amazed at how tirelessly they worked to take care of the children, always with a smile on their face and a kind word to offer.

Upon finishing their daily chores, they turned to Lilia and smiled. "Thank you for helping me, Lilia," they said. "I don't know what I'd do without you. Things have gone so much more smoothly since you came here."

Lilia felt a rush of gratitude wash over him. "It's my pleasure, Beastie," he replied, returning their smile, delighting in the giggle that resulted from the odd nickname that he settled on for them.

He couldn't help but feel a growing sense of attachment to the caretaker. He enjoyed their company, and found himself indulging in their smile and voice more and more with each passing day. The idea of a future with them, supporting each other and taking care of the children together settled nicely in his mind. 

It was all wishful thinking though. Deep down, he knew that his identity as the Crimson Warrior would put them in danger. Briar Valley would not look lightly upon the former general developing such a close bond with a mere human.

Despite his own reasoning, against all logic, he yearned to live a normal life with them, content in spending his life with them.

The days slowly blurred into weeks, and from weeks to months. It had been half a year since Lilia had started helping out at the orphanage. He knew that he couldn't keep his secret hidden forever, especially with his attachment to the caretaker growing stronger each day, he couldn't bear to keep lying to them. So, while they walked together through the forest to watch the sunset, he took a deep breath and decided to tell them the truth.

"Beastie," he began, stopping in his tracks. "I have to tell you something." 

They looked at him curiously, sensing the seriousness in his tone. "What is it?" They asked.

"I've been hiding something from you. I'm not a child," his voice soft and hesitant. "I..." he muttered, before taking a deep breath, "I am the Crimson Warrior, the Fae general that fought in the war against your kind."

They looked at him with surprise and confusion. "But... How...? You're so young..." They asked.

Lilia sighed as he closed his eyes and concentrated on transforming into his true form. The air around them grew colder, and a faint glow emanated from his body. When he opened his eyes, he was back in his true form, towering over his dear human. "I..." he said, now in a deeper, more mature-sounding voice. "I was afraid that if you knew the truth about me, you wouldn't accept me. And I didn't want to put you or the children in danger."

Their eyes widened in shock as they stepped back instinctively. "You... What? The Crimson Warrior... My father fought in that war..." They whispered in a trembling voice. 

Lilia's heart sank as he realised the implications of their words. "Beastie... I'm so sorry. If I had known..."

But they held up a hand to stop him. "No, Lilia. You didn't know. And I can't judge you for what you did in the past."

His heart warmed as his dear human seemed to have kindness for him even in his true identity. "I have committed terrible sins in my past, things that I wish I could reverse. But... I want to make things right. I want to help your kind, and make up for the harm that I've caused." Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at them with gratitude, "Beastie... Thank you... You were the one to help me realise my errors ..."

The human looked at him, taking in his words. They saw the pain and remorse in his eyes, and felt a sudden surge of compassion for him. "I believe you," they said softly, stepping closer to him, looking up and lifting a hand to brush away his tears. "I can see that you're not the same person you were back then. You're trying to change, and that's all that matters. We're all just trying to heal from the war. We can't change what's happened, but we can work towards a better future together."

Lilia felt a rush of relief wash over him, and he smiled at the human gratefully. "Thank you," he said, pulling them into an embrace. "Thank you for understanding."

They returned his embrace, their arms snugly wrapped around his larger frame. Savouring the warmth, Lilia pulled back slightly to see their face. Upon realising how close their faces were, the two blushed, before awkwardly pulling apart.

"Uhm... You should probably change back to your child form... It's about time we head back..." His human said bashfully.

Lilia's heart soared at their reaction, letting out a deep chuckle. "Fufu, you're right Beastie."

Upon reverting to his child form, they began walking back to the orphanage together, hand in hand.

Having discovered his true identity, the human found themselves drawn to Lilia more and more as the days went by. They couldn't help but admire the way he interacted with the children, and how patient and caring he was towards them. They noticed the way his eyes shone like rubies when he smiled, and how his voice seemed to soothe the children when they were upset.

The two had agreed for Lilia to only show his true form at night, just to be safe from anyone who might catch a glimpse of his identity. As a result, the human found themselves looking forward to the tranquil nights, as Lilia would gently serenade the children with his lullabies, his deep voice calming and enchanting.

Once the night grew late and the children finally drifted off to sleep, they would sit in the kitchen, enjoying a cup of tea as they readied themselves for the end of the day. The human yawned and stretched their arms, finding themselves feeling particularly exhausted. It had indeed been a hectic day, one of the children had found some paint and decided to have a little fun, only for it to end up all over the walls and furniture of the room. 

They rubbed their eyes to stay awake just a little bit longer, but it was no match for the fatigue that built up in them as they began dozing off in their chair.

Lilia noticed their struggle and without a word, lifted them carefully in his arms, their head resting on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body and the strength of his embrace. His human was startled by his sudden movement and they looked up at him. They couldn't help but stare in awe at his ethereal beauty. His pointed ears, sharp features, and the striking pools of red so alike roses were mesmerising to them.

Lilia carried them to their bedroom in the corner of the orphanage and gently laid them down on the bed, tucking them in with a blanket. His hand lingered on their cheek as he leaned in to give them a gentle kiss on their forehead.

"I love you, Beastie," he whispered softly, thinking they were already asleep.

But to his surprise, their eyes fluttered open, staring at him in shock. "What did you say?" they asked, their voice barely above a whisper.

Lilia felt his heart skip a beat, realising that he had just revealed his true feelings to them. He took a deep breath and met their gaze, his eyes filled with sincerity. His expression softened as he leaned closer, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from their face. "I said... I love you," he repeated, his voice quiet but firm. "I know it may sound sudden, but I've been holding back my feelings for far too long. I care for you deeply, and I want to be with you."

The human's heart swelled with emotion, and they felt tears welling up in their eyes. They had grown to care for Lilia deeply over the time they spent together, and even more so after learning the truth, but they never expected him to feel the same way. They reached up and cupped his hand on their cheek, squeezing it gently.

"I love you too, Lilia," they said, their voice filled with warmth and tenderness. "I want to be with you, too."

Lilia's eyes widened in surprise, having never expected them to feel the same way about him, but hearing their confession filled him with a sense of joy he had never experienced before. Without another word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to theirs in a gentle kiss. It was the start of a new chapter in their relationship, one filled with love, trust, and a newfound sense of happiness.

As they pulled away, Lilia gazed at them with affection and admiration. "I can't promise that everything will be easy," he said, his voice soft and sincere. "but I can promise that I will always be honest with you and do my best to make you happy. I promise to always cherish you and love you with all my heart."

His beloved smiled back at him, feeling their heart overflow with happiness and contentment. "I know you will," they said, their voice filled with love. "That's all I could ever ask for."

Lilia's eyes widened in surprise, but then a smile slowly spread across his face. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to their forehead.

"Thank you, Beastie," he murmured. "Thank you for giving me hope again."

Lilia Vanrouge had found his star, his bright, brilliant star that could light up the forlorn darkness. 

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

Part 2 ✧ Part 3 ✧ Masterlist

[teamhook]

The Last Witch Hunter:: CSSNS

Hello. I know I shouldn’t start a new one but I couldn’t stop myself. I hope this will be incentive for the Muse.

Thanks to the @cssns

Thank you to my lovely beta that is a saint @ultraluckycatnd

AO3   FFN

Summary:            

Witches are among us. After centuries of conflict, a truce was forged. Only one strict rule, magicks could never be used against humans. Killian Jones is the last witch hunter; he serves The Order of Blazing Sword and Cross and protects humans. Now, though, he needs help from an unlikely ally to put an end to the darkness that is worse than any known threat, and has been lurking in the shadows, threatening to destroy humanity

The fallen tree branches intertwined with the overgrown roots that covered the ground. The humid air made it difficult to breathe. The valiant champions included a widowed Killian, his priest brother, and their father. They were amongst the last line of defense. They had all lost so much already. Wives, fathers, mothers, husbands and children; families torn apart. They were walking into a death trap knowingly as they split away from each other. Each falling prey to traps and illusions created to not only torment their minds but end their lives. The only hope left was to end the Queen Witch’s power and in her death, humanity would find their salvation at whatever the cost. The band of brave men made their way through the ice cold mountains to her lair. The darkness of the forest aided the evil hag and her minions as they killed the men one by one. The screams echoed within the trees. They needed to reach her nest; the Hexen dwelled within the tallest tree in the center. The giant sequoia stood in the middle of the field covered in shadows, the vines bulging from the ground across the path. The perfect abode for those who worshiped the darkness. Light had no place here.

 The temperature dropped as the brave man could see his breath in front of him while he struggled to keep his wits and focus on the task at hand. He stepped over his fallen brethren while making his way deeper into the nest. He knew there would be no surviving the quest but failure was not an option.  

 The ground shook abruptly and grumbled. His attention was drawn to the silhouettes in front of him. One was crouched on the ground, and the other was kneeling in front of the first one. He moved swiftly to get a closer look, and to his dismay, he could now see the witch had her hand inside the chest of a man. It was an older man whose features were enhanced by the flame of the fire surrounding them. It was his father.

 "Liam!!" He bellowed for his brother to help as he rushed to save their father.

 His father looked at him one last time as life was crushed out of his heart.

 The ground trembled again, and it became icier as the sudden snow flurries covered his body. He reached the crone as she stood up to face him with an evil smirk. She moved quickly in front of him, and reached for his heart. He was able to evade her hands with a spin; he swung his iron blade at her as she cackled, mocking him.

 Killian finally managed to do the unbelievable and get the upper hand. The witch struggled to stay upright and she shoved her hand inside his chest. "I curse you to eternal life. You will continue to live and see all those around you die. You will be left behind. Forever alone." She squeezed his heart one last time before taking her last breath.

***

 His eyes shot open at the violent yawing of the craft. This went beyond turbulence. It was freezing. It was an abnormal storm. He stood up to find the culprit but the flight attendant stopped him. "Sir, you need to go back to your seat," the woman said as she pressed her hand on his hard chest.

 Killian could see the interest in her eyes but right now was not the time. "I'm sorry, lass. I need to use the facilities," he said in a low voice while invading her space.

 She smiled in return. “You should return to your seat.”

 “I promise to do so after I’ve done my business.” He crossed his heart.

 She looked around and noticed no one was paying attention to them. “All right, but try to be quick.” She smiled, hoping her leniency will earn her a nice lay over.

 Killian walked past the restroom to the small flight attendant station. He grabbed a cup of water and pulled out a pouch from his wallet. It had a couple of small tools including a needle, which he quickly dropped in the water.

 The plane jerked violently due to what appeared to be turbulence. The other passengers were beginning to panic as the oxygen masks dropped.

 The needle guided him to the source, a redheaded young woman hugging a black bag. Luckily the seat next to her was empty, so Killian sat down. The girl looked up with wide eyes. He smiled and said, "Lass, hand it over." He extended his hand for her to place the bag in. She was about to object then she gasped as she realized his identity and placed the bag on his waiting hand. He opened it and noticed the runes were stuck. "Bloody hell, lass. Why did you think jamming weather controlling runes together was a good idea?" Killian scolded as he sped up his actions; he poured a potion to neutralize and separate the runes using tweezers. “I've been looking for these for a very long time. Lass, these tiny things manipulate the weather. Rain, cold, wind, heat... and you thought it was a good idea to put them together in your bag? Do you know what you get when you mix a thunderstorm with cool, moist air? You almost killed us all. We are lucky you didn't get them wet. You witches have no idea the power you possess." He shook his head in disbelief as he pulled out a case from his jacket pocket and placed each rune inside after covering it carefully with a cloth.

 “I know you are the witch hunter. Are you going to kill me?” the girl asked.

 “Why would I kill you, lass? I just saved your life,” Killian said. “I have a code.”

 “Are you going to turn me in to the witch council? I didn’t do it on purpose. I inherited those from my sister. I swear it was an accident.”

 “No need to fret. Enjoy your stay.” He winked at her and stood up, leaving her behind to go back to his seat.

 The flight attendant noticed him walking back to his seat while she finished providing some water to the passengers to help calm them down.

 "Excuse me sir, I thought I told you to go to your seat?" the flight attendant said, annoyed.

 "I'm sorry, love, but a young lass was in distress. I just wanted to make sure she wasn't anymore. My name is Killian Jones, I much prefer being called that.

 How about I buy you a drink to make up for my lack of listening skills?" he said with a sexy raised eyebrow.

 The woman tried to play it as if she wasn't tempted but the blushed cheeks gave her away. "Well, Killian, I suppose that would be all right."

 "We can meet at baggage claim and set sail from there," he said as he raised her hand to his lips.

 Witches are among us

 Descendants from an ancient race called Hexen

 Their magick diluted, half-forgotten but dangerously powerful

 After centuries of conflict, a truce was forged

 Witches would live freely if they followed one strict rule, magicks could never be used against humans

 A truce is a fragile thing…

 There are those who long for the dark days of the Witch Queen, Gothel.

 It is those whom Killian deals with.

 For centuries, he has

 served The Order of Blazing Sword and Cross.

 I serve The Order in a different manner.

  I write Killian's history.

 I am his handler, his confessor, and his friend.Together we have kept watch and kept the peace.

 I’m Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo

Father Nemo arrived at Killian’s place to take the report from the most recent mission.

 The doorman smiled at the older man. “Father Nemo. I’m sorry, but he is in a meeting. Could you please take a seat while you wait?”

 The elevator opened and a woman exited wearing a flight attendant uniform.

 “I think the meeting is over, my boy,” Father Nemo said as he rose from his seat to walk to the elevator.

 Killian opened his door with a wide satisfied smile on his face. "Hello, old friend."

 Father Nemo rolled his eyes. "You know you are older than me."

 Killian shrugged. "However, as you can see, I've maintained my youthful glow."

 "That doesn't explain why you have no sense of time," Father Nemo scolded him.

 Killian rolled his eyes fondly.

 Father Nemo smiled at the man in front of him. Killian was physically younger, but was actually much older than him. However, time stands still for no one.      We should get to business    , he thought as he pulled out his journal and pen from his bag to prepare for the details. "I assume the mission was a success and you were able to recover the weather runes without incident?"

 "Aye, they are safely put away in the vault," Killian replied. "Old man, really? You get upset at my teasing but I believe you secretly enjoy it. That is why you are not willing to use any of the tech I gift you with. Where's the iPad I gave you?"

 "If you must know, I regifted it. Besides, you will not need to worry after my retirement." Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo reaffirmed his decision it was time to move on.

 "Oh, you were serious. I thought you would reconsider but since you are set in retiring, I got you a small token." Killian smiled as he handed a box to his old friend.

 "You didn't have to do this." Father Nemo grabbed the box and opened it to find a very rare, expensive Waterman 402 pen. "Oh my. I thought you didn't get sentimental. This is lovely but truly too expensive."

 "We've had a good run. We took out many dangerous covens. I finally got used to you and now you want to find greener pastures."  

 "I'm going to miss you."

 "You know you can still keep the pen if you reconsider," Killian said with a hopeful smile.

 "I'm leaving you in modern hands. Besides, the vow was not til death but to face it at your side."

 "You do know there are only two Dolan's advice I have ever listened to: my brother Liam, the first Dolan, and you."

 "Fine company I'm in but wait a minute, you ignored it all the time!" Nemo said irritated.

 "Perhaps, but I always listened."

 "Killian, what if you could retire too? What would you do?"

 "Ah, but I can't."

 "Just humor me."

 "I'm not blind to the importance of my job. Every day I wake up, the world is safe."

 "I wish you could live. Truly. You are missing the best part. The one that goes beyond ships passing in the night. Flight attendants or whoever you found for the evening."

 "There's nothing wrong with a dalliance."

 "You need to find someone to trust and share your life with."

 "Old man, let's finish this then."

 After they finished the report they parted ways. Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo left to finalize his report and hand over the file on Killian Jones to his replacement, Dolan the 37th, Father Gideon.

 Father Nemo's words of advice for the young Father Gideon were to serve with distinction and to remember that Killian was more than a weapon as the elders of The Flaming Sword and Cross loved to refer to him as. He was beyond his success rate or the numbers of witches in detention or the ones that paid the ultimate price for breaking the law.

 The next day, Killian's phone rang. "Hello?"

 "Mr. Jones, this is Dolan the 37th, Father Gideon. I'm sorry to inform you that Dolan the 36th, Father Nemo passed away in his sleep peacefully. The ceremony will be tomorrow."

 Killian was alone now. His friend was gone and it served as a reminder to not allow anyone else to enter his heart.

 The unexpected death of his old friend had reopened the scars left behind by the loss of his wife Milah, their young daughter Alice, his father Brennan, and brother Liam months later. Killian had spent years protecting his heart and focusing on the job, claiming he had a right to seek vengeance for all the world had lost. Now he was grieving for the last person he allowed himself to care for. He truly would die alone. The Order hadn't even given a proper burial to his friend as they now pledged the new Dolan. Killian couldn't stomach the ceremony and stepped out. He sat down on a bench and contemplated his life.

 The young Dolan the 37th sat next to him.

 Killian's eyes stayed focused on an object as he spoke. "Do you see that cornerstone?"

 Dolan, the 37th, nodded. "Yes, Sir. I do. I'm-"

 Killian interrupted him. "I watched them lay it in when all that was there was a cornfield. That was long ago. Everything changes, only I remain." Killian finally faced the young man.

 "Sir, I'm sorry for your loss. I wanted to pledge my life and loyalty to you. Please, call me Gideon."

 "Father Gideon, there are levels of evil everywhere. However, I've never seen people get old, retire, and die on the same day."

 "Sir, I know this isn't the proper time but I need to sort you out with a new identity and all that comes with it." Father Gideon stated as he pulled an envelope from the briefcase.

 Killian rolled his eyes. "I understand all of you Dolans are fierce rule followers but I will be clear. First, I don't need a new identity. Second, there are more pressing matters. Something doesn't add up. You were the last one to see Father Nemo. I need to go to his place." Killian stood and walked towards his black super sport 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle.

     At least it's not red,     Father Gideon muttered as he opened the car door and slipped in. "Sir, I understand, but a low profile is important to keep. As for Father Nemo, what are you thinking?

 "I'll know when I see it."  With that he started the car and drove to Nemo's home.

 They entered and Killian looked around. "How do you know when there's magic in the vicinity? It comes from four elements; fire, water, earth, and air. The correct alchemical triggers will reveal its presence." Killian informed Father Gideon as he continued his inspection. "It appears there was no magic here. However, if the window hasn't been opened, how did this get in here?"

 Gideon looked at the dead flies on the floor.

 "One means nothing. Two perhaps a coincidence but three, that means trouble. He was killed by witches."

 Killian got his confirmation once the glamor spell was lifted. "This is a declaration of war."

  @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @caught-in-the-filter @andiirivera @anothersworld @apiratewhopines @artistic-writer @batana54 @beckettj @bethacaciakay @bixisarusher @branlovestowrite @brooke-to-broch @captainodonoghue @carpedzem @chasedancer17 @cocohook38 @courtorderedcake @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @demisexualemmaswan @djlbg @donteattheappleshook @dovelyheart @elizabeethan @gingerchangeling @gingerpoliglot @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @hookedonaswanprincess @hookedonhiddles @ilovemesomekillianjones @imlaxdris71 @itsfabianadocarmo @jarienn972 @jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @k-leemac @karlyfr13s @kday426 @killian-will-do @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @kwistowee​ @kymbersmith-90​ @laschatzi​ @lassluna​ @let-it-raines​ @lfh1226-linda​ @lonelyspectator12​ @mariakov81​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @officerrogers​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @onceratheart18​ @pirateherokillian​ @purplehawkcaptain​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @revanmeetra87​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @sals86​ @scribomaniac @searchingwardrobes​ @seriouslyhooked​ @shardminds @shireness-says @snowbellewells​ @sotangledupinit​ @spacekrulesbians​ @spartanguard​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @swanslieutenant​ @tehgreeneyes @the-darkdragonfly​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @thepirateandhisson​ @therealstartraveller776 @thislassishooked @thisonesatellite​ @tiganasummertree​ @tomeandflickcorner​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @wellhellotragic​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @winterbaby89​ @winterbythesea @xarandomdreamx​ @xsajx​ @zaharadessert​ @myfearless-love @cosette141 @grimmswan​ @fleurdepetite​ @hookmecaptain​ @once-upon-a-pirate-ship​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @4getfulimaginator2022​ @nachocheese-itsmycheese​

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

Hunter Zolomon, once a happily married FBI profiler who grew up reading old All-Flash comics and obsessing over metahuman phenomena, found his life changed forever when--in attempt to repair his failed marriage and resurrect his mother and father-in-law--Hunter utilized a stolen components of a Cosmic Treadmill as the equivalent of a time machine made with paper clips and chewing gum.

The moment Hunter activated the machine, he was torn violently apart, negatively-charged Speed Force lightning activating the metagene of multiple versions of Hunter across the multiverse. On one Earth, he took on the legacy of Jay Garrick as a new, more violent Flash, fruitlessly opposed by his world's governments; on another, he took on the identity of Zoom to force other speedsters to become "better" to prevent tragedies like those he had experienced, by whatever means necessary; but most ominous of all was the appearance of The Judicier, a monstrous future version of Zolomon modified with Monitor-tech into a self-appointed "judge" of all Speedsters, imposing a draconian sort of cosmic law over all of hypertime to the benefit of parties unknown.

Reaching across the timepoint Hunter created the moment he activated his time machine, Judicier gave his past self a mission:

"Destroy The Flash."

[dragonofeternal]

HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO MEEEEE????

No seriously, how could you do this? How am I supposed to choose between them? DON'T YOU SEE???? BANANA AND HEMBRY ARE STRUGGLING WITH THE SAME DILEMMA!!!!

Both of them want the unachievable fantasy of the stage that doesn't end, the show that goes on forever, and they GET IT. They both achieve said stage through an unfair bargain with a being that represents the inherent voyeurism of the audience!!!!

The thing is, for Hembry, that stage is solitary, violent, tragic. He perishes again and again and again to satisfy the desires of the Watcher in the Wings. When he kills the people close to him, he despairs over it, but he does it anyway, living with the grisly reality of curtains made of his sister's flesh.

Meanwhile, Banana is FUCKING LIVING FOR IT!!!! She gets to have her ideal performance of Starlight, over and over, that perfect year of high school frozen in crystal that keeps her friends from ever growing apart or changing. And if she has to brutally defeat them over and over and over to do it, to loop that same year, what was it, like SEVENTY FUCKING TIMES???? then she'll do it! She'll gladly cut them all down so that the Giraffe will crown her Top Star!

But it's empty. The stage is finite. That's part of the beauty of the art form. Their performance CAN'T go on forever, and their attempts to make it do so (Hembry through creating the Watcher, Nana through winning the auditions) are what destroy them. Hembry's show becomes a horrible, unending tragedy until he is torn apart (with the audience left to wonder if even that is enough to end his nightmare); Banana's inability to let herself and others change means that when things DO change, she cannot adapt to it and loses her ability to maintain her lil timeloop.

AUGH.

I just have a lot of feelings about theatre and stories and these two are both just! SO!! AAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!

Round 2B.2

Propaganda under the cut

Daiba Nana: "Attends an all-girls acting (takarazuka) theatre school, has bananas for hair, her name literally means "big banana," kins the Phantom of the Opera (red flag). To get into spoilers: she loves her friends so much that l she looped the same year and did the same play over and over upwards of 60 times, so you could say she's a seasoned actor. Also so dramatic that she literally swordfights her classmates in an underground arena to keep doing that same play over and over. Again upwards of 60 times. She's normal"

Hembry: "This guy. This guy is kinda wild. He quits his job to pursue what he hopes will turn into an acting career, and to do that he has to make a god for himself: the watcher in the wings. The watcher in the wings helps him act! But there’s a catch, because there’s always a catch with these gods, the watcher in the wings really only likes tragedies. And all of a sudden, all of Hembry’s life has become one giant tragedy that he constantly has to act out. He is always narrating his own stage directions, as well as the stage directions for other people in order to nudge them into doing what his god wants in order for the story to be told. And it is not fun for anyone involved"

[balillee]

tommy's character gets far too much shit.

hi tumblr. i'm gonna need a few bitches to spread this post everywhere, essentially because i want someone, or just tommy really, to see it. so if you really want, you can screenshot it and post it on twitter, reddit, link it everywhere - go absolutely buck wild. i know he reads the VODS comments a lot, but they're chock full of people just insulting him, his character, his writing and everything about his story in the dream smp simply because they don't understand it and because they refuse to acknowledge his character's perspective (mainly because they only care about the pig). reading that many critical comments on something you've created can only make you feel worse about it eventually, and in light of all the awful techno apologist takes on his character, i wanted to basically just word vomit about how wonderfully crafted c!tommy is, as well as compile some other tumblr posts about his character.

there is a massive fuckin community of people who enjoy the character of tommy, because the character is incredible. i myself have made post after post after post commenting on and analysing tommy's character because i find that there's so much to pick apart. but that enthusiasm for his character only seems to be found on tumblr. reddit and twitter seem to hate his character, the VODS seem to be filled with comments from people who only care about techno's perspective (and treat techno as a reliable narrator, which, is the furthest thing from the truth - that guy lies through his teeth all the time), and the smp wiki is a hellscape of godawful takes and mistruths, not even on just tommy's character.

c!tommy is brilliantly acted and brilliantly written, and almost everything he does is either justifiable or has been rectified or admitted as a mistake. you can clearly make connections as to where he got his conclusions from. you feel what his character experiences, as a member of the audience, vividly.

if you look in the more objective sense, c!tommy, and this is especially in the context of him being the youngest character, is a scapegoat. people claim he's awful and destructive when in reality he's a lot less destructive than most characters on the server. a moment that comes to mind is where he diverts schlatt and quackity's attention from pogtopia by breaking part of the flag in manberg, and then replacing it so as to buy tubbo some time - he literally monologues after it about how he doesn't want to destroy but instead rebuild, and how he feels as if nobody else seems to understand that.

his arc in season two was incredible. it was very character driven, and it gave a spotlight to his motivations. at the start we see him in new l'manberg, and he's enjoying his time there, he's skeptical of his friend's presidency, but his main goal is to get back the discs so that he can stop dream and eliminate that threat. he made one screw up that didn't even matter to george, and he paid for it tenfold, even after dream had spent a while with puffy griefing the server and framing it on tommy - what tommy and ranboo did was convinient. then, in exile, we see c!tommy straight up get abused. he's gaslit and conditioned into being c!dream's friend, and in his brain he teaches himself that those acts of abuse are moments of bonding, and it eventually brings him to the point of wanting to end his own life - he's been torn away from his friends and his support system, and nobody will visit him consistently anymore because they only showed him pity, and all he had left was dream, who had hurt him.

but he doesn't die there, because while he didn't understand the full gravity of it back then like he does now, he recognises that dying isn't an escape, and he can beat dream, even if he doesn't know how. so this is where he goes to techno's place, and here's where the fandom starts to misinterpret the situation wildly.

it's the problem similar to when your parents tell you that they're owed something back because you put a roof over their head, despite that being Not How It Works. techno took tommy in and severely mistreated him emotionally. sure, and i understand this, c!techno is a bad communicator who isn't really that empathetic to anyone who isn't phil or wilbur, but that doesn't excuse the blatant lying to c!tommy's face, the guilt tripping, the friendship buying and the degrading. the day before the festival, tommy finally does something violent in his interrogation of fundy, and only then does techno tell him,,,,

that tommy's not equal to him, that techno doesn't respect him all that much, and that they're not friends.

from techno's perspective, and at the time, this was viewed as a positive development in their relationship. oh, he's starting to warm up to tommy! this friendship could really blossom!

no. from a more objective standpoint, what techno has just said to tommy is : 'i respect you only a little bit more now, because while you're starting to act more like me, you're still annoying and a burden.'

and i haven't even touched on the whole 'erasing the words 'Destroy L'manberg' from techno's to-do list' thing, because that instantly refutes the point of 'techno was upfront with his intentions the whole time' - because he wasn't! he may have said it the first time, but you also know what else he did? he repeatedly told tommy that they'd 'air the details out later' whenever the discs were brought up, and from a tommy viewer's perspective at the time, it was framed as if techno was no longer going to do that.

and i also haven't dared touch the 'i would have fought them all for you', because that's major guilt tripping if ever i've seen it.

so, the day of the festival comes, and here's where c!techno and his apologists completely misread c!tommy's thought process, and why he makes the decision he does.

tommy instantly regrets valuing the discs over tubbo, and it's framed as the culmination of tommy having become all the people he said he would never want to be like. and what does he immediately do? he tells tubbo to give up the disc, and he sides with tubbo. he puts his value in his friends, and, by proxy, l'manberg. and when he betrays techno, he tells him 'i'm sorry'.

from a more objective standpoint, tommy's time with techno is him valuing the discs over almost anything else. so, in leaving techno to be with tubbo again, he is valuing people above the discs. so when, on doomsday, techno says his 'discs aren't people' line, what he doesn't realise is that he himself fueled tommy's valuing of discs above people when attempting to fuel tommy's vengeance against tubbo and l'manberg. techno doesn't realise that he was an unhealthy presence for tommy, and an even worse influence.

what techno also doesn't seem to understand is that tommy never hated tubbo or l'manberg - tommy recognises, now at least, that his exile wasn't a product of tubbo, but a product of dream's manipulation, likely in part because at the time, especially with dream lying about tommy blowing up the community house, tommy was the only one who could see it because he had experienced it firsthand. so when techno sides with dream, it's like kicking tommy in the teeth.

and i want to mention that betraying someone doesn't necessarily make the person who was betrayed good, or in the right, or even justified, because tommy was entirely justified to leave techno. you know who else was betrayed? schlatt. but i don't see many schlatt apologists around angry at quackity for joining the rebellion.

tommy stole the axe of peace? good. it was a moment of tommy defining his self-worth, instead of having it defined by others. gone is the age of c!techno belittling him and deciding how much c!tommy should be respected. NEXT!

here's a moment i wanted to talk about that will forever be funny to me.

'i am a person.'

techno's very famous line from doomsday. techno says to tommy that discs aren't people, and that tommy should value people, despite not understanding that by leaving techno, he did just that. and what does tommy say in return, which has been omitted from every c!tommy-critical analysis, and every animatic?

'yes you are, but so are we.'

an acknowledgement of techno's hurt, to which tommy has already apologised for. a statement that says 'your hurt does not excuse, nor justify, the hurt you have inflicted onto us.' an acknowledgement that tommy has already learnt the lesson techno seems to be trying to 'teach' him. but you can't teach him anything by destroying.

c!tommy has had almost everything he has ever owned or built either taken from him or destroyed. ranboo even points out that the only two things of tommy's left standing are his house and his hotel, and if i'm honest, his house is dissheveled. it's a labyrinth of terror due only to how many times it's been torn apart. l'manberg being blown up didn't teach anyone anything about anarchy, or about valuing people over possessions. logstedshire being blown up didn't teach tommy to be obedient.

i could honestly ramble for ages about how nuanced tommy's character is and how much depth and complexity there is to his character's process and his relationship with others, but more than that, c!tommy is forgiving. he invites almost everyone who hates him to the grand opening of his hotel - if that isn't an indicator that he just wants friends, and not to be treated like the embodiment of evil, then i don't know what is. he holds grudges, but he doesn't really actively hate anyone, other than c!dream. but, we'll let him. c!dream deserves nothing but to be pummeled into the floor.

tommy doesn't spoonfeed his character nuance, and he doesn't really spell it out for his audience. he'll mention things like trauma and triggers in passing, but a lot of analysis on his motivations has to be picked up from what is said in passing or from what can be seen in between the lines.

i'd be here for hours if i were to talk about everything i love about c!tommy, because honestly he's one of my favourite characters, and there are so many angles you can look at his character from in terms of his age, his relationships with others, his motivations, his personality, his character arcs etc etc. so instead of doing that, i'm going to compile some much more specific analysis posts below to skim through because they highlight so many good aspects of his character.

^^ A thread about the 'yes you are, but so are we' line.

^^ About how shit the VODS comments are.

^^ A comment on how c!Tommy is actually pretty peaceful, and is actually less destructive than most characters on the server.

^^ Possibly the best c!Tommy analysis thread I've ever seen in relation to his trauma, which gives multiple perspectives.

^^ About how c!Tommy is treated as a scapegoat, and how, from an objective standpoint, he is no more violent than any other character, it's just that the little violence that is committed is blown far out of proportion.

^^ Tumblr user flypaw being a bad bitch, as per usual.

^^ c!Tommy being incredibly intelligent, and talking about wanting to rebuild and not destroy. A very underrated monologue of his.

^^ Something short about c!Tommy and c!Wilbur's relationship in Pogtopia.

^^ Less about c!Tommy, more a meta on L'Manberg. Really interesting to think about.

^^ A take on Doomsday.

I'll add some more posts in a reblog in the notes, but if anyone's post(s) is on this and they want me to take it off, let me know and I'll do that for you! Feel free to add your own banger c!Tommy takes or ones that you've found.

[stargaze-sunflower]

I really loved Dewey and Louie together in the finale, so I wrote something that could’ve happened off-screen :] 

Louie has a bit of a panic attack here, so be aware of that. Also there are spoilers for The Last Adventure.

Ao3 Link

.

The series finale of Ottoman Empire was not more important than finding FOWL, or dealing with Webby’s clones, or making sure that his family was going to be safe, but it was a lot easier and less stressful of a thing to focus on. There were too many angles for this one, and they were bouncing around his brain like the ball in a pinball machine, giving him a headache and keeping him in a constant state of heightened anxiety. He was overwhelmed, simply put, and all he wanted was to settle down and watch his favorite show.

Dewey was there, and that helped, even though his brother was more keen on adventuring than Louie was. Dewey was there, and he stayed, even when it became obvious that Webby was up to something, even though he had to be curious about the mysteries that were currently unfolding in the mansion. Dewey stayed and watched his show with him, and got emotionally invested right along with him, and that meant the world to Louie, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

And then Huey had barged in, out of breath and ranting about evil clones, and Louie just spared a moment to thank the universe for letting him at least finish his show first.

Webby had overheard, and she’d been understandably upset, but it still hurt to know that she was angry with them. She’d mentioned how they should understand wanting to know more about their family, and finding long lost members of it, and man, he did, but it wasn’t that simple. Della returning hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. It hadn't been an evil-clones-stealing-powerful-artifacts situation, but it hadn’t exactly been easy, either. Webby knew that. Webby was ignoring that. Webby was just thrilled to have sisters.

It made him feel a little more isolated, since apparently he really was the only one who seemed to have trouble accepting new family members. Huey and Dewey had accepted Della, and now Webby was welcoming her genetic twins with open arms and a bleeding heart. It brought up the memories of how alone he’d felt, back when everyone was excited for Della to be home and he couldn’t seem to get a grip and just be happy like everyone else was. He had been to only one to hesitate.

It struck him then that Webby was going through the same thing, but in reverse. No one else was ready to accept the clones as her family, and no one shared her opinion, and so Webby was alone in her feelings, just as Louie had been.

After Webby left the room, Louie and his brothers sat in silence for a minute or two, the ending credits of Ottoman Empire playing quietly in the background.

Eventually, Huey sighed and stood up, twisting his hat anxiously in his hands.

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Huey said, worry in his voice. “I don’t— I didn’t mean to make her upset.”

“We know,” Louie said gently, and Huey quirked a thankful half-smile in his direction.

“I’ll be right back,” Huey said, and then he left.

Louie and Dewey shared a weighted, concerned look, because sometimes it felt like their family was falling apart, and it reminded them that it had happened before. They’d grown up on a houseboat with only each other and Uncle Donald to call family, and that was because adventure had torn Scrooge and Della and Donald apart. Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Louie felt like the same could happen to them at any time. Usually, though, he had faith that his relationship with his brothers was stronger than that. Or at least, he had hope.

Louie sighed quietly, and then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye – something that he wasn’t expecting – and he blinked in surprise.

Huey had left his JWG behind. He never left that book behind. He slept with the thing, for crying out loud; he kept it on the bathroom sink when he showered. Huey must’ve been really out of it and distracted, to have forgotten it like this. It made Louie’s chest tighten, for some unexplainable reason; it made him worry.

Louie turned to Dewey with the book in his hand, and Dewey’s brow furrowed slightly when he saw it, even as he huffed a laugh.

���Guess we finally know what gets Huey to leave it behind,” Dewey said, amusement not quite managing to conceal the undertone of concern.

“I guess so,” Louie replied, and he stared down at the book in his hands for a few long seconds. “Should we…Should we take it to him? We should, right?”

Dewey shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, and stood up too quickly to be casual.

“Yeah, probably,” he said. “I want to check on Webby anyways.”

“Yeah,” Louie repeated, seeing the half-truth for what it was, and they left the room to go find them.

They looked in a few different places in the mansion, lightly teasing each other the whole time, trying to ignore the faint dread rising within them. And it wasn’t too hard, but then they walked into Webby’s room – destroyed, messy, signs of struggle, open window, escape route – and everything came crashing over them. They stood with wide eyes, unmoving in the doorway, almost afraid to go farther in. The JWG in the pocket of his hoodie suddenly felt heavier.

Webby was gone.

Webby was gone, and Huey was gone, and no one had been here to stop FOWL from taking them. No one had even noticed yet. Although maybe it had just happened? But that was almost worse, because it meant that they had been just barely too late to help. And where was everyone else? What if they’d all been taken, too? What if it was just him and Dewey left all alone just because Louie had wanted to watch Ottoman Empire?

Realizing that he was spiraling at an alarming rate, he shook his head and braced himself with a hand on the doorknob.

“They’re gone,” Louie heard himself say, and he shook his head again, trying to dislodge his own heartbeat from the inside of his ears.

“It—They can’t have been gone for long?” Dewey said, sounding baffled and scared. “We just saw Huey. We just— He—"

Louie backed slowly out of the room, feeling like every second that he looked at it was making him panic more and more.

“I’ve gotta— I’m gonna go look for the others,” Louie told Dewey, and his brother gave him a single nod and a quick pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll look for clues here,” Dewey said, voice shaking a little, and Louie turned to race down the hallway, heart pounding and breaths coming unevenly.

He burst into room after room, and when he finally found someone, he almost missed it.

Scrooge was lying unconscious on the floor, and Louie couldn’t breathe – he could hardly think. There was something extremely terrifying about the great Scrooge McDuck knocked out and curled up on the ground. It finally made things feel real, and scary, and impossibly big and loud. Webby was missing, his big brother was missing, and his Uncle had been bested.

Louie tried for several minutes to wake Scrooge, his voice getting shakier and shakier with each plea. His hands were trembling as he reached out to shake his Uncle’s shoulder, just like he used to do to Uncle Donald when he was little and had a nightmare and he was asking to sleep in his uncle’s bed—

Louie was crying, he realized, and he was hyperventilating, and he slid down into a hunched position on the floor and tried to get ahold of himself. His hands were shaking violently, and every now and then a full body shudder would travel from his aching, heaving chest throughout the rest of him. His lungs hurt, and he felt like he was getting too much oxygen and not enough at the same time, and he just wanted everything to be okay. Why was everything always going wrong?

He shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, hoping to stifle their shaking, but he was met with the hard surface of Huey’s JWG. He pulled it out of his pocket almost desperately, and a new wave of tears poured out of his eyes and as soon as he laid eyes on it. His vision blurred, and Louie curled up further, his knees almost to his forehead and the JWG clutched tightly to his chest. He was so, so tired of the world falling apart. And he wished his family didn’t have to always be at the center of it.

The already open door to the room Louie was in banged against the wall suddenly, and he jumped almost a foot in the air, his head snapping up to meet Dewey’s bewildered gaze as his brother entered the room.

“Louie? What’s—” Dewey’s worried voice cut off as his eyes landed on the unconscious form of Scrooge. “Oh.”

Louie frantically wiped at his face with one hand, still holding the book tightly in the other. Dewey came closer, his eyes bouncing between him and Scrooge.

“Is he— Will he wake up?” Dewey asked, and Louie shrugged, his breath hitching as he tried desperately to blink tears from his eyes.

“I don’t— I tried but— but he won’t— He—” Louie cut himself off with a gasping breath, hyperaware of the oxygen flowing haltingly in and out of his lungs.

“Hey, it’s okay, Louie. It’s fine.” Dewey was kneeling in front of him suddenly, grabbing one of his hands in a gentle hold, looking at him with eyes that were worried, but reassuring. “We’ll be okay.”

“How can you say that?” Louie asked quietly, breaking eye contact to stare at the JWG in his lap. “Webby and Huey are missing, and Uncle Scrooge is unconscious, and— and Uncle Donald is going to leave and he might have left already—”

“And none of that is forever,” Dewey interrupted, with his trademark determination and optimism. “We’re going to get Webby and Huey back, and Uncle Scrooge will wake up, and you know that Uncle Donald would never leave when we need him. If he’s left already, he’ll be coming right back the second he hears what happened.”

Louie leaned his head tiredly against Dewey’s, sighing deeply and nodding, his breaths finally slowing down and evening out a little.

“And you’ve still got me,” Dewey added, smiling a bit. “For whatever that’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot,” Louie said, nudging his brother in the side. “And you’ve got me, too. We’ve got each other.”

“Yeah,” Dewey agreed, and they both looked down at the JWG sitting innocently in Louie’s lap, unaware that it’s owner was in the hands of the enemy.

“He said he’d be right back,” Louie said quietly, feeling small and young, and Dewey squeezed the hand that he was still holding lightly.

“And we’re gonna hold him to it,” Dewey said, though his voice trembled. “He just might need some help, this time.”

“Well, he’s always helping us,” Louie said, newfound purpose growing into tentative confidence. “It’s about time we return the favor.”

Dewey grinned at him, a little shaky around the edges but otherwise unbreakable, and Louie couldn’t help but smile back, even though it was with less enthusiasm.

“Ducks don’t back down,” Dewey said, and Louie huffed a short laugh, which made Dewey smile wider.

Usually, Huey helped Louie when he panicked like this, but it turned out that Dewey wasn’t half bad at it, either. Maybe it was a triplet thing, or maybe he just loved and trusted his brothers enough that they knew him like the back of their hand. Either way, Louie was incredibly thankful, and he felt extremely lucky to have them, and deeply happy that they loved and trusted him in return.

“Ducks don’t back down,” Louie repeated, and he gave the JWG one last look before sliding it back into his hoodie pocket.

Next to them, Scrooge made a muffled groggy sound of pain, and Louie and Dewey shared a determined look.

“Let’s go find the others,” Louie said, new hope in his voice as he stood and helped Dewey to his feet. “We’re gonna get our siblings back.”

And Dewey could hardly disagree with that.

[yinnyguardian]

I HAVE AN OC IDEA!!

I was talking to a friend and we brought up clown core and fairy core... I figured why not make a dark twist on the two?

Imagine this!

TW: Mentions of blood, gore, death (Including children to make it more realistic), basically everything that follows that category. And there will also be throwing up mentioned for those with queasy stomachs! If you're ok with the rest but just don't like the mention of that, then don't read the blocked word after the sentence "The sight and smell make you queasy"

You're in a dark forest alone at night. You've heard rumors about an old, abandoned theme park and always have had a knack for exploring. Plus, you wanted to see what the fuss was about. After a while of searching, you finally find it, stowed away deep within the forest, hidden between the trees. The sight fills you with awe but also... nervousness. You don't know why, but a pit forms in your stomach as you take a step inside the gates. You read the sign that is posted inside, faded and just barely readable. "Welcome To Happy Guardian Acres! Enjoy Your Stay!" You let out a hum as you continue forward. There are rides, destroyed by time and taken by nature, littering the grounds.

You see a few tables with rotten half-eaten food. You would have figured people were just too lazy to throw it away and the janitor never got to pick it up but... For some reason, you feel that's not the case. It's almost like they left in a hurry... The thought makes you uneasy, and quite honestly, the smell of rotten food is making your stomach curdle, so you continue, wanting to get away from there. It was weird though... The more you looked, the more an unnerving feeling grew in you. Everything was just... Off.

You take a look inside one of the food stalls, gagging at the overbearing stench filling your nostrils. There was definitely still a lot of food here... Some even on the grill, seemingly half cooked from what you could make out from all the mold. This was... Weird... You suddenly regret coming here... Yet you continue.

You get to the fun houses... But something told you not to go in there. A gut-wrenching feeling that you wouldn't like what was inside... And there was a horrible smell coming from there... You couldn't pinpoint the smell exactly, but it was worse than the food, and you're not sure your stomach could handle anything more than that. You weren't that close to it but could still smell just how bad it was... You joke to yourself that you'll have to come back with those wooden clothes pins and put them over your nose like in the cartoons... But get no response. If you were in your friend group, you're sure some would groan while others would laugh... You regret not bringing them...

You sigh but continue. There was just one more part to explore and then you could go home. You seemingly hesitated as you reach the giant circus tent. Not only was that stench back and seemed as if it has been multiplied by ten, but you get a really bad aura from here. You suck it up, pinch your nose, and walk inside. Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you as you gasp, the reality of the smell and why everything was abandoned suddenly making sense.

Rotting limbs were strewn amongst the floor, covered in a dark crusted brown blood long since dried. There were intestines seemingly thrown, some even sat halfway inside the mutilated corpses, almost as if they were pulled out violently. All around you was dried blood, organs, and torn apart bodies. It was such a gruesome sight, and you couldn't help but take a step back. You suddenly feel something beneath your foot as it rolls from the pressure, and you fall. You look down to see what it was and tear up at the sight. It was a kid's head, their face forever frozen with fear and pain. Their eyes were torn out so violently and you hoped that when whatever did this that the kid was already dead... But you had a feeling that wasn't the case.

The sight and smell made you queasy... You couldn't take it anymore as you Empty your stomach of its contents...

This was a mistake... You suddenly hear some whirring and what sounds like the noise of a malfunctioning computer. You turn your head as you hear the tent flaps opening up behind you... And your eyes widen as you see what looked to be human at first... But you quickly knew better. Its limb had robotic joints and it was obviously a malfunctioning humanoid animatronic from what you could see as its head violently twitched, and its arm motions were sporadic. Its pale metallic skin was covered in patches of peeled paint, leaving the gray metal to gleam underneath. It’s joints were covered in dried mud and dirt. With how worn down it was, you were surprised it wasn’t rusted. It was wearing a tattered and faded rainbow clown outfit that was covered in dried blood and small bits of the guts that you now knew IT tore out...

But that wasn't what caught your eye the most, surprisingly, Not the outfit, Not the gruesome sight covering it, informing you of its deeds, not the fact that the animatronic looked decently like a human... No. It was the thorny vines that wrapped around its body. It had seemingly grown within it over time as where the joints connected, there were some vines coming out of the metal coating the arms. If the joints weren't there, you were sure you wouldn't have seen it and known it was on the inside too... At least if that was the only show of it. But it wasn't. Its Left eye was missing, and inside was a blood-red rose. Its eye scanned the room before looking down at you. You didn't even realize it was near you as your mind raced. What was this thing?! Why did it murder all these people?! Was the flower controlling it or was that just a force of nature that happened over time?!

You didn't know, but you didn't have much time to think about these thoughts as the horrid thing took advantage of your trembling form. It lunged forward and started tearing into you! You scream as you feel your insides being torn out. The pain was unbearable and somewhere deep down through the pain, you felt bad for all the people this thing killed this way, especially the small children that weren't spared from its wrath. You were happy as you felt yourself go weak. You knew you were going to die... But at least that was better than this feeling. In your last moments, you thought of your friends and family. The pained tears turned into ones of sadness. You're happy that this was far away from the outside world. You pray that this thing doesn't make it to the outside world and that nobody else finds this hellscape... Nor the monster that stayed behind

[sunshine-or-some-shit]

The Walk (Waterbending!Reader x Zuko)

A/N: This is the first thing I’ve decided to write. I’m not great but I’ve had a bunch of ideas that I thought would be neat so here you go! Hope you enjoy! (Hnnnghhh the synposis is so bad im sorry-)

Synopsis: In the lower circle of Ba Sing Se, Zuko finds himself following a group of teens through alleys and passages he didn’t even know there was. Suddenly, he finds himself in a small crowd. Then, everything changed when his eyes landed on her.

———————-

Zuko didn’t even know why he was out that night. Maybe the dingy smell of the apartment was driving him crazy, or it was his Uncle talking with the neighbors that stirred him awake. 

Either way, it led him outside. 

Suddenly, a group of kids his age trotted by muttering about some “waterbender chick”. Zuko’s head shot up, an inkling of hope that it could just be the Avatar’s friend. He watched the group slide into an alleyway, before stealthily following behind.

It felts like forever that he followed the frankly annoying kids. Through alleys and slightly hidden passages that he could’ve sworn weren’t there before. Finally, they made their way into the hidden plaza.

It was extremely bare on the ground, as if a small house was meant to be there. Above, clothes lines held up shabby, dark colored clothes and even some blankets. The walls of surrounding houses were decorated with signs Zuko had never seen before.  Towards the middle of the plaza was three large jugs placed in a triangle. About twenty people were scattered about, leaving the middle of the plaza completely.

He snaked along the wall, distancing himself from everyone else. Why am I even staying? He thought, scowling. Just as he went to head towards the exit, water sprouted up from the vases, grabbing his attention. It rose into the air, spiraling about. The three separate streams moved throughout the plaza before moving to an entrance he hadn’t seen before. 

A person leapt through the wall the water made, perfectly dry as if they sliced it in half in perfect time. They wore black, baggy pants with slits in the sides up to the knee. The fabric cinched around their ankles and flared out a little. Their top was a matching black, which wrapped around their neck and forming an ‘X’ across their toned back with the fabric. A dark but slightly see-through veil covered majority of their face, and black elbow gloves covered their arms, and coming to a point on the back of their hand. 

Zuko scowled, immediately noticing this was not the girl the avatar traveled with. He went to leave again, but the crowd had now gather close, effectively blocking his exit. The person stood in the middle of the triangle made by the vases, a smile seen through their eyes. 

“Thank you all for coming,” The person announced, giving an exaggerated bow. “I see quite a few new faces here. I don’t know how you found this place, but let me welcome you, to what we call the Plaza of Freedom. As cliche as it is, we are here to celebrate the good times, and accept the bad! We all need something to forget about the war with the fire nation.”

The crowd cheered while Zuko sunk in on himself. Most of the people here look like they aren’t earth kingdom residents, meaning they are escaping from war-torn villages. Villages destroyed by his people.

“Now, stand back, relax, and enjoy my show..” They drawled, and Zuko swears he could see a smirk under that veil. A person in the corner pulled out a stringed instrument, playing a fun and fast tune.

The performer twirled about the stage of stone. Majority of the water returned to the vases, but they had four small streams following her wrists and feet. They flung their foot up, doing an arch with the high kick, the water trail following it. Drops of water bounced through the air as they flitted about. Zuko stood mesmerized at the amount of control they had. Each step was as precise as the water drifting around. It was as if the dancer had a bubble containing all the water away from the onlookers. 

They finished their dance with a pirouette, the water trailing around them freezing as they finished. They held their tip-toed, graceful-armed stance for a few moments, before relaxing. They quickly bended the water back into the vases, before taking another bow. Another performer walked out as the previous started heading into the crowd, right near him. 

He started to move, trying to get out of the plaza he never should have found. “Hey, wait!” A hand grabbed his, causing him to violently whip around. The black-veiled dancer stood there, a calm and gentle look in their eyes. “You are new, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah, what about it?” He huffed, pulling his wrist away to cross his arms defensively over his chest. The stranger laughed a bit, looking up at him.

They crossed their arms over their stomach, leaning into one hip. “Relax, I’m not some officer interrogating you. If I was I wouldn’t be here,” They attempted to joke. They turned their head, seeing the next person, an earthbender boy who looked to be juggling, was starting. They smiled once again and grabbed his wrist, pulling him through another passage. “Come on, tough stuff. You look like some one who needs to relax!”

Zuko gaped, trying to form a response but no words would leave his mouth. The dancer dragged him around before stopping at a ladder leaned precariously against a house. They started climbing, gesturing for him to follow. Zuko realized with a sigh that he had no clue how to get back to where they were, and reluctantly joined them. 

When he got to the top, they were already laying down on the slanted roof of the house. He sat two paces away, knees pulled into his chest and looking away from them. Zuko heard them shuffling, only glancing their way to see they moved much closer, and were looking at him.

“So,” They trailed on, glancing at him hopefully. “What brought you to Ba Sing Se?” 

“The war.”

“Well, duh!” They laughed, sitting up and leaning their weight on their right arm. The left came up, unclipping the veil around their face. They looked Zuko’s age, maybe a year or so younger, with an obvious toothy smile on their face. “I mean, what made you choose to come here?”

 Zuko looked at them, giving them a look of confusion. “Why wouldn’t I come here? This city is one of the safest places currently, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” They muttered, looking off into the night. They had their right leg extended, with their left arm perched on top of the bent left leg. “I just always found it odd here. Almost as if everything is too perfect, y’know?” Their eyes had a faraway look, the smile once taking up their face morphing into a small frown. 

Zuko looked out to the sky, letting out a quiet hum of acknowledgement. “My name is (Y/N) by the way. Im a waterbender if you couldn’t tell.” They let out a small, pathetic laugh. “How about you?”

“My name is Lee. So, how did you get here? And, get the nice clothes?” Zuko replied, looking away when saying his name. They chuckled at his question, and he felt himself sneaking looks at the bright smile they had.

They laid down on the shingles of the roof, arms tucked under their head. “My parents left the Northern Water Tribe when they were newly-weds. They just wanted to travel around the four nations and learn. They had me in a small village in the Earth Kingdom a few years after they left. In the end, our village was burned down and we were either taken to prisons, or you are one of the lucky ones who escaped. That was my dad and I. My mother wasn’t as lucky…” They trailed off, sad eyes focusing on the starry sky above them. “As for the clothes, they were made by my mother. She loved to perform and we never had the heart to sell them, so when I fit in them I took to dancing in them for tips.” 

Zuko gazed at the ground solemnly, fists clenched tightly. “I’m sorry to hear that. My mother left when I was young.” (Y/N) shrugged, lips pulled into a firm line. 

“One day, this war will be over, I know it. Ba Sing Se can deny it all they want but it will be on their doorstep at some point. If they man up and actually take down the Fire Nation, then you can bet your ass I’m marching through every prison until I find my mom.” They quickly shot up, crouching down to maintain balance. “Well, Lee, I should probably get you back home. Thanks for listening to an optimistic dancer.”

They slowly walked back to Zuko’s apartment, taking the alleys that (Y/N) seemed to know like the back of their hand. A mindless conversation was passed between the two of them, filling the night silence. Too quickly, they reached the door of Zuko’s complex. 

“I hope I see you around,” Zuko smiled at them, a hand coming to rub his neck awkwardly. They let out a small laugh, shaking their head slightly. They leaned close, pecking him on the cheek.

“Come see me perform anytime, lover boy. Just ask someone for the Shrouded Mist!” They joked, skipping into the abyss that the just exited. 

Zuko didn’t even know why he was out that night. Maybe the dingy smell of the apartment was driving him crazy, or it was his Uncle talking with the neighbors that stirred him awake. 

Either way, he was glad that he left.

--------

A/N: hnnnn- I don’t like the ending it feels super rushed but I didn’t want to lose motivation to finish this so here you go! I hope you enjoyed if you found this and feel free to message me with requests or just to chat! (I can’t promise I speedy response but I will try my damn hardest-)

[angel-archivist]

pspspsp you should tell me more abt dead air

I WILL AND ILY UHDSIGHFDG PART 2 LETS TRY THIS AGAIN 

I really want to talk about part two a lot because Ive talked a lot about the set up and the basic idea of the Station and Carol and Jeff but I dont really talk about how it all comes together and stuff!! I wont be super detailed because i am constantly in a state of ‘i will make this a story someday so I shouldnt tell people everything’ and the constant need to tell everyone everything about the story.

Basically stuff happens when Orion and crew finally locate the station. Orion wants to talk the station out of doing what its doing (forcing people to like :// relive trauma, generally tormenting innocent people and occasionally make them like explode or smthing fuihfg it very much depends on the fear, on the guilt u know. Like one time a caller called in and answer a few questions before sing/screaming until she just ceased. So like some fucked up shit happens when the station goes on air. 

Whereas Ricky and Sofia and basically everyone else agreed the only way to stop the station is to like destroy it. The crew ends up getting separated in the station and like set of to part two stuff happens, Static runs into Mr. A he plants seeds of doubt,

The big thing that happens is Radio, tries to ‘feed’ Orion to the station in an attempt to have him replace them as the radio host. Orion pulls away and Redacted bursts in before the walls of the station could like full submerge Orion and like saves them. like when i say a bunch of stuff happens i MEAN a bunch of stuff happens including radios corporeal form being torn apart, Carol and Jeff trying to trap Orion in a closet of ‘puppets’ and in the end the station being ‘destroyed’  despite orion having stopped Ricky from stabbing its heart LIKE WHIUEUIFDGGH A LOT OF STUFF HAPPENS. But in the end they blow up the stations physical place and because of this redacted whos tape recorder had been destroyed earlier in part 1 leaving them trapped on Orions side with a very fragile tether between the realities, is thrown violently back into the In Between. 

Part 2 deals with most people believing Redacted is gone, Orion pretending they dont care because they feel guilty for feeling bad and attempting time and time again to bring Redacted back. Also carol comes back and fucks with him, and instead of like Orion chasing the entities/monsters/the station its the other way around because now their the only physical remains of the station (they have eye scars running up the arms that Radio had pinned them to the wall with as it like tried to eat them ://) and Orions chasing after the belief that Redacted is simply trapped on the other side so their trying to pry their way back into the in between. 

They do end up doing it and Ricky, Sofia and Static come with him. And this is where most of the In Between lore comes in and we learn about REDACTEDS past. and Mr. A becomes the MAIN antagonist as before he was like a big bad in the background more than the forefront he’s actively trying to capture redacted in the in between in order to lure Orion to him so he can control the last remaining piece of the station. Oh yeah also Static rejoins Mr.A :( not forever just briefly because after the head scientist dies he tries to paint it as if he had no idea of what was happening to Static 

[merinathropp]

"I see Corona. It's covered in black rocks. And I see Cassandra. She’s conquered the kingdom, destroyed it forever. And you know what the weird part is? What I’m most afraid of is...losing Cassandra as a friend. Forever." 

- Rapunzel, S3 EP9 ‘Be Very Afraid’

There’s been some chilling stuff on this show. But nothing has unsettled me more than seeing all these warm, familiar locations in Corona utterly abandoned and destroyed by the black rocks. It’s horrible and violent and the perfect manifestation of Cassandra’s rage and despair literally consuming the world around her. She’s punctured buildings, cracked walls, ripped up the floor, torn apart banners. The people have fled. The city is a graveyard. This is the stuff of nightmares, quite literally. Rapunzel’s greatest fear has finally become her reality.

[sir-silly]

The Last War fan review

So, our beloved show has ended. And while I wish things would have gone differently, I did cry with relief when Clarke looked over and saw everyone already waiting for her.

Anyway, I wanted to share some of my thoughts on the finale.

1) Going right into the title sequence kind of shocked me. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but I was just immediately like “oh.” It was a bitch-slap in the face that they left a gap in the credits for Bob Morley. Why you gotta do us like that?

2) Murphy screaming “come on” while they used the defibrillator on Emori was heartbreaking. And his little whispered encouragements were so freaking cute.

3) Clarke rampage? Yes, please! I love me a badass woman. However, unlimited ammo is a sin in writing. The moment Octavia picked up the sword was a big “oh yes.”

4) Did Cadogan not care about his son like at all? Lmao. Why is he so hung up on Callie and not his other kid (who I can’t even remember the name of). I don’t care if they explain in the prequel, that’s still a shitty parent choosing favorites. Along with his wife, like, was she not his greatest love? It was Callie? Kinda fucked up.

5) Why the fuck could Jordan figure out it was a test and not a war in 5 seconds when the Disciples were studying that shit for decades? I know he’s Monty’s son, but he’s not a genius or anything.

6) Thoughts on the test: I think Cadogan would have failed and the human race would be destroyed. Why bother asking questions if you already know all the answers?

7) Why wasn’t Gaia in the finale like at all?? Like, what the fuck. She was hunting??? For what?? That really annoyed me because I’ve grown to really like her and there was no point in her not being involved in the last episode. They seriously couldn’t have thrown her in there? Like, come on! Even Niylah was there! (not saying that I don’t like her, it’s just that Gaia has felt far more important to the story than her).

8) I do think that Jasper and Hope are cute together, and I know they spent the majority of their lives either alone or only with their parents, but GOD I can’t stand how awkward they are. Also, I know ya’ll have feelings for each other and shit, but is now really the time to be making out?? Why do people think that’s okay in literally the worst situations? I know it’s a show, but come on.

9) And how the fuck did Jordan throw and catch that sword? He’s a child who’s never fought a day in his life. Unless they suddenly want to tell me that Harper and Monty were secret ninjas and taught him all their tricks, I don’t believe that.

10) I’m being pissy and bringing up things from the past, but I don’t care. Why the fuck couldn’t Harper and Monty gone into cryo? I know they were happy and shit, but I’M NOT. How the fuck did it take so long for him to get into the files for Sanctum? His ass has done that shit a thousand times before in about two minutes and suddenly it takes him 80 years? Bullshit.

11) I’m still being pissy, but how the fuck does Jordan know what a magician is? “For my first trick, I will make an army appear.” Bruh, no. Monty wouldn’t have known what a magician was either. If they weren’t being taught what a Navy Seal was, there’s no way they knew what magicians were. Calling bullshit on that one as well.

12) I was pretty surprised that the Disciples didn’t start firing on Wonkru immediately. Like, this is the war they’ve been gearing up for forever and they don’t attack as soon as possible? Also, where the fuck did Wonkru get their war paint? Do they just constantly have it on their person? Or did their asses literally spend time making their paint before going to Bardo?

13) I fucking love Miller and Jackson. They’re freaking adorable. Murphy’s flat “I am glad you are safe” was so fucking funny. Also, saving Emori in one scene just to kill her in the next is bullshit. They should have just killed her the first time and done the same thing anyway. Murphy screaming at Jackson to do something and sobbing was heartbreaking. Fantastic acting on Richard Harmon’s part.

14)  Octavia putting on Lincoln’s same warpaint again was once again, so sad. I miss that man. He was too good for his own good. And while I do think that her and Levitt are very cute together, I’ll always prefer her with Lincoln. But I think that he would be really happy that she has found someone new to love.

15) Apparently whatever Echo “did” to Levitt was so forgettable that I don’t even know what she’s talking about. Bad writing. I shouldn’t forget that in just a few weeks, I should remember as soon as I see the two of them in the same room.

16) Lexa. Just all of it. There were some suspicions that she would show up for the last episode, but I didn’t really believe them because I didn’t understand how she would be integrated. I’m glad that they did bring her back, but I’m also not. It was amazing to see her back by Clarke in all of her armor and glory, but knowing it wasn’t actually Lexa was just a punch in the face. It wasn’t her mind, so it’s almost like they didn’t bring her back anyway. I honestly would have preferred if they used someone else for her Judge, because that just really didn’t do it for me. Their hug was sweet, but it didn’t even count as her returning. I personally think that her Judge should have been Bellamy or Madi instead, as they both certainly could fill the role of “the subject’s greatest teacher or the source of their greatest failure...it can be their greatest love.” This is just my preference. Believe me, I know how much Lexa meant to Clarke, but as a fan, bringing our favorite Heda back in that way wasn’t the best way to do it. As a writer, it makes sense, but it doesn’t as a fan. The writers can’t just think of what is the best storytelling, they have to think of what those watching will think.

17) I’m confused about the mindspace? Why did Clarke wake up in her solitary room with her memories painted all over the walls, but Emori woke up in the castle with a view of the desert? Why wouldn’t it have been her and Murphy’s cave? Is there a reason it was the bedroom and not the cave?

18) I know this isn’t canon in any sense, but could you imagine if Murphy and Emori fought over John’s body and she won, and then suddenly woke up with a penis? How fucking funny would that be? Just had to throw that out there.

19) Can I just again reiterate how fucking cute Miller and Jackson are?

20) I’m curious about the location of the test. Why did Cadogan’s take place on a pier, while Raven’s happened on the Ark? If it was their favorite place, wouldn’t Raven’s have been actually out in space? Like during a spacewalk? I’m confused about that.

21) I knew that Raven was somehow going to be involved in the test just because of the trailers we got for the final episode. My two guesses for who the judge would be were Finn and Abby. Though I am happy that we got to see Abby again, I would be curious to see if the scene would have played out any differently if it had been Finn.

22) Where was the full line that was given in the trailer? Because that was amazing. “We’re selfish, and we’re violent, and we have destroyed too much, but we survived.” I loved that line far more than what we got instead, which was simply, “Have we made mistakes? Yes. Clarke, me, all of us, but we were just trying to survive.” I definitely would have chosen the former over the latter. Poor choice on the editors’ parts.

23) How the fuck did Octavia and Echo go out to the field and get Levitt with Echo only being shot once? With all the bullets, the three of them should have been torn apart, I don’t care how much Indra could cover Octavia. Calling bullshit on that as well.

24) Bringing this up kind of late because I’m giving my reviews as I’m rewatching the episode, but what they had Eliza do was really fucked up. Her and Bob suffered a miscarriage during the filming of season seven, so the scene of her holding Madi and crying “my baby” is like 10 times more heartbreaking. If they made her film that after having a miscarriage mere days, weeks or few months before, that’s really, really messed up.

25) They really played-up Sheidheda’s bringing back of “jus drein jus daun” in the trailer. In reality, it was far less intense. I would have preferred what I had been expecting, which was him coming to help convince Wonkru that they would be able to win. However, I am super glad that he is dead and Indra finally got to kill him. I love how that bigass gun just turns people into mist lol.

26) The beginning of Octavia’s speech was literally like “what the FUCK guys” and it was hilarious. And I swear to god if I hear her say “we are Wonkru” or “you are Wonkru” another time, I’m gonna scream. I know it was legit the last episode but I’m sick of it by now lol. When Indra was like “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Octavia’s face was just like “omg me too” and it was really funny.

27) Bellamy. His situation was a whole problem itself. He deserved a hell of a lot better and wHY DID HE CUT HIS HAIR I LIKED IT THE LONG WAY. Anyway, you can bet your ass I’ll be writing a different ending where he didn’t die because FUCK THAT. When I do, I’ll be sure to share it.

28) I’m fucking confused about Murphy and Emori both transcending. Because, what the fuck. Emori died. The dead don’t transcend. Her mind wasn’t even in her body, it was in Murphy’s. So how the fuck did she end up alive and in her own body again. I’m glad she’s alive, but I just don’t understand. It would have made way more sense to have either not had her die in the first place, or to have Murphy, Miller, and Jackson keep pumping her heart so she technically “lived” anyway like Echo.

29) If Madi had decided not to transcend, would she still have been paralyzed? I mean, I would assume not because Levitt and Hope’s gunshots were healed, as was Emori, but I’m curious. Also, wouldn’t Raven’s leg have been fixed? Because if they only fix recent wounds and not old ones, that’s stupid.

30) On the point of Madi deciding not to transcend, why did she? Why didn’t so many other people choose not to? Like, not one Eligius prisoner or person from Sanctum chose to live? No one else from Wonkru? Why didn’t anyone else other than the main cast and guest stars not transcend? I totally understand the Disciples transcending, but seriously, nobody else wanted to live? That’s really weird. Madi and her friends really couldn’t have chosen to live on Earth with Clarke and the others? I just think it’s really unrealistic that not one single person outside of the group chose not to transcend.

31) I was really surprised that Murphy and Emori chose not to transcend, because as the Judge said, they would eventually die and not join them in the infinite. It shocked me due to their fear of dying and wanting to be immortal, but I’m really proud of them.

32) I’m disappointed that those who don’t transcend can’t have children. There were suspicions that Emori might have been pregnant (which were never confirmed), but the idea of her and Murphy having a kid together was adorable. They’d have their teeny tiny families with those two, Hope and Jordan, and Octavia and Levitt.

33) This isn’t as much me pointing out a problem as me wondering, what was Clarke going to say to the Judge when she turned around? What else did she have to say or ask? Was it about Madi? Or maybe Lexa? Or just transcending in general?

34) It’s pretty shitty that some of our questions went unanswered due to the fact that there will be a prequel. On the other hand, I live for lore, so I’m just glad that they eventually will be answered. But still, that doesn’t excuse shitty writing.

35) I want to see a stupid edit of Picasso taking the test where the Judge is Madi.

I think we all know that season seven was really not what we wanted it to be. We’ve been really disappointed by the writers and unfortunately, this is what we got out of it. I believe they really could have done a better job, but I am at least glad that everyone ended up together.

The writing was lacking. Too many questions were left unanswered, I don’t care if you’re making a sequel or not. Plot holes. It really could have been a good season if it was done better.

My ranking of the seasons is as follows: 3, 2, 4, 1, 6, 5, 7. Seasons 4 and 1 are kind of interchangeable for me in spots three and four, as are 6 and 5 in the two spots behind them, whatever the order may be.

But I still love the show. I love the characters, their development, and many things about it. It has been quite the journey and I am glad to have been a fan of the show.

May we meet again.

[real-fanta-sea]

MICHAEL APPRECIATION WEEK Day 7: Free choice

For this day, I have prepared something special - this fic was laying around in my drafts for almost a year and I’m so happy to finish and publish it!

The name is The leap of faith and happens after Michael falls to his dead during ending B. It is rather heavy and lacks happy ending + there is a mention of attempted suicide and canon death. It is not graphic, but some of you might prefer not to read about it and I think it’s fair to warn you. Oh, and the pairing mentioned is Trikey. For those of you who prefer AO3, click here to get redirected to the work. For the rest of you guys, just click on “keep reading”. Hope you’ll like it! 😊

The thunder rumbles through the air, vibrating everything in a deep and untamed matter.

“Michael! Let’s just-” 

Michael looks up, trying his best to look tough while somewhere deep inside, he is scared shitless as the same thunder echoes through him. He’s holding desperately, palms sweaty, onto his life. Franklin, holding his forearm as hard as he can, let his mouth gape open in a shock. Finally, a true, fucking human emotion.

A few heavy, ice-cold raindrops dampen Michael’s forehead. This all feels too familiar, he thinks to himself. This time, though, he won’t wake up with a jerk, sweat pearling up on his back. This time, there won’t be anything else than a void, sucking him in. He won’t stare back at steel grey sky as it dissolves into his perfect white bedroom ceiling. Not this time.

Another lightning illuminates his final scenery. Michael peers at depth down below his feet and then back up to a familiar face. Franklin fights with himself - he can see it in his sharp sculpted face. The rain falls heavily now and drenches his cheeks, and the moist reflects red and white signal light high above their heads. How the hell did he end up this way? Here, up above his concrete grave? Up here, hanging down the chimney railing, with this snake of a friend being his last straw between life and death? And then, the sudden realisation washed over him like a cold tide. And then, without a blink or a second thought, he lets go. A pair of hazel eyes, troubled, terrified, torn and lost, sink down into darkness. “I won’t leave you, Mikey!” is a distant echo of a raspy, terrified voice in between the rain and thunder. “I won’t leave you, Mikey!” A fraction of a grin passes Michael’s lips “But hell was I more than ready to leave you…” is his last thought as he lets go and let the gravity pull him down.

“MICHAEL!”

The world slows down with the first agonizing beat of his heart. Raindrops around him freeze in place, fire red and shiny like a scattered bloody diamonds carrying his weight. A flash of lightning illuminates the terrified face above him, hand outstretched, desperately trying to reach for him but also knowing damn well it’s too late. Michael looks around him. Everything perfectly sharp and visible, tinted scarlet and blue, with every edge glowing wildly. The weightless eternity of his existence, just hanging above the ground in between his heartbeats.

Ba-dum

A flash of bright white light blinds him for a second before he realizes where he is. The smell of an old truck, speeding on a dirt road is something hard to forget, especially when the smell attacks his nostrils so violently through an open window. Michael looks around him. The insides of the truck are darkened against the painfully bright sun reflecting the crisp green and warm ochre outside. The fuel tank is almost empty, the gas pedal glued to the floor. A photo of a nameless naked girl printed on a car scent card, swaying in a breeze under the passenger seat. Plush dice furiously swinging from side to side on the rearview mirror. All of this is oddly familiar.

Michael dares a look in the rearview mirror. He stares into a pair of bright blue eyes, full of determination and perhaps a bit of fear. He could swear he knows them too. A strand of dark hair combed back neatly, falls down to them, making him blink and swing it right back. He looks at his hands and sees no ring, only a rim of the leather sleeve of his jacket. Inspecting it further, he sees a couple of sewn symbols as it hangs nonchalantly by the sides of his muscular torso. He grins stupidly as his eyes follow lines of muscles sticking up against a tight white fabric of his tank top. He continues to check himself as the engine roars and hot air breaks apart on his windshield. His jeans are as tight as his top, and sneakers just as worn out as they should be to still be called fashionable. “Wow, this can’t be me” he grins as he checks his face in the mirror again. No wrinkles. No worries. No assassins after his ass. Just a pair of bright, ocean blue eyes and a cocky smile of a kid who hardly knows what future lays ahead.

Michael laughs as he pushes the gas even further, stomping on it like a fucking maniac. The engine groans with pain but accelerates anyway. Suddenly, there is a horn ripping apart the perfect memory. Michael looks into a mirror curiously, frowning his perfect eyebrows, a faint wrinkle haunting his forehead. A second truck, with the same roar and even greater speed, emerges from the turn behind him and by the looks of it, the driver is furious with him.

“Oh shit, here we go again… Just perfect!” he swears below his breath and takes a sharp turn right just as the truck reaches the back of his own vehicle. There is a high pitched screech as the truck turn in top speed, trying it’s best not to fall oven, rolling on only one set of wheels before falling back on all six with an angry thud sound. “I must find the damn plane, it should be around here somewhere, fuck” Michael swears and feels a couple of sweats drops pearl on his forehead. He looks back into the mirror. The truck is behind him. Closing in. There is a familiar shine of a gun in the dark behind the windshield. “FUCK!”

Another turn. Another screech. Sweat. Curse. Heart racing. Heat. Engine roaring. Plane. Where is the fucking plane?

Michael literally flies over the top of a ditch as he desperately tries to land the truck on wheels and not on its side. There is a glimpse of shiny metal in the distance suddenly and his heart races. This is it. Just to get there before the jerk gets him. He bites his lip and stomps on the gas again, furiously, desperately. The metal of the plane shines again as he gets closer and he looks for a man he was supposed to meet. Somewhere down in his guts, there is a fear mixing with anticipation and stirring his insides like a bloody blender. He can’t wait to see him and be saved.

A pair of slender jeans-clad legs twitch impatiently in the shadow of the plane. There he is.

If it wasn’t for a fact he could destroy the plane, he would have never braked so hard and just circle around to get the look again and again forever. He could, in fact, do it - this is his memory so he could do whatever he fucking please - but everything feels too real, including the young man leaned back on the wing of the plane.

Something in his pose is so captivating Michael can not quite put his head around it. The man’s elbows are supporting him, placed on a grey painted wing. Leather aviation jacket with a maple leaf sewn on it, wrinkled on his shoulders which were as wide and strong as his chest showing below his a worn-out t-shirt, yet slender and elegant as the line of his body run down to a perfect waist, accented by a belt of his jeans. One hip slightly raised as he relaxed one of his long legs, probably to even the weight of his heavy boots. Michael inhales deeply and gulped down something that feels almost like… Well, he can’t name it, but the look is captivating. The man looks in direction of the other truck, so Michael has a couple of seconds to study his face. It is framed by a thick mane of brown hair, and aviator shades, too big and dark to see his eyes properly. His nose as sharp as his cheekbones and jawline, with a trace of baby fat still there, giving him a dangerously adorable look. Where Michael loses it are his lips - full and with cupid’s bow curved in a perfectly kissable way, almost unreal for a man to have. Compared to his thin line of a mouth, these lips are angelic. Something deep inside of him awakens with a roar and the feeling of warmth fills him up completely, as he looks at the young man’s face again.

“Trevor…” he hears himself whisper. “T…” as tender as the letter can be, escaping his lips all over again to numb the sharp pain in his chest. What exactly is this feeling? Did he always feel this way about Trevor? Is his dying mind playing tricks on him?

He loses himself in a plump curve of Trevor’s lips for a moment once again before he’s torn from this perfect world with a wild screech of brakes and violent blow of a horn.

“Come out right NOW!” A hoarse voice calls from the other truck as a middle-aged man does his best to get out of the driver’s seat. Michael caught the sight in the mirror. While he takes a deep breath he kicks the door open and jumps out of the truck. 

“What’s your problem, old fart?” he yells, as cocky as he possibly can to cover how fucking frightened he really is, puffing up his chest, putting up a toothy grin and holding onto his hips to appear larger. “Can’t get it up so you drive all the way here to beat my ass for fun?”. The old man clenches his fists, squaring up his shoulders and cracking his neck. Michael blinks a couple of times as he watches the familiar figure step out of the shadow of the truck. As the man moves closer, Michael’s cocky grin freezes and slowly twists into pure horror. The man raises his head and if there ever was a bit of doubt in who it was, it vanished right into a face of the impaling summer sun.

It’s the older version of him. De Santa part of his soul, peering right back at him through a familiar frown with all the self-hate and beast-like cruelty written all over his wrinkled face. Michael’s mouth opens and closes in a shock. Is this who he has become? He can still remember all the things he did in his life as if his old self got caught up in the young body. He remembers, gets glimpses of memories, but it’s not the same thing as to face who he inevitably grows to be. De Santa looks him in the eyes as if he knows exactly what he is thinking about with an evil grin. As fast as he can, without blinking, De Santa raises his gun and points it right at Trevor.

Michael gasps. “What the fuck are you doing, you prick?”

Trevor flinches and presses his back against the plane with a deep growl.

“Put that down or I’ll make a pudding out of your brain right fucking now!”, Trevor utters with the only gun he could retrieve from the plane in a second, which, to Michael’s eternal amusement, is a fucking flare gun. De Santa shows a couple of teeth as he grins at Trevor. “The only thing I want is a second to talk to my little friend here. Don’t be stupid, Trevor, and give me a chance to make things right for both of us” The man with a flare gun raises his eyebrows and lowers the gun a few millimetres before raising it again. “Fuck, I don’t know where you heard my name or who snitched it but I swear to god if you botch this job you won’t see the sun up tomorrow you cake filled fuck face!”

Michael chuckled as he heard Trevor give his older self familiar names. He really let himself go too far to be called fit and made a mental note not to waste his second chance in life to eat the hate away. De Santa seems pleased as well, a heartwarming smile crossing his lips before they are solid and serious again. “Michael, I know what you felt back then, and what you feel now. I know you are going to chase it until you lose interest and leave a broken shell. Wasn’t it your... our favourite pastime after every game? Get a girl, get the most of it for a week and then ditch her without a second thought?” Michael blinks and searches for rusty memories. With eyes wide and lips pursued, he nods. “You see Trevor there? He’s not a stupid cheerleader you can play like a fiddle. Even now, with this badass facade of his, he feels something for you.” Trevor fidgets uncomfortably and Michael catches with a corner of his eye how Trevor swallows and lets his lips part for a second. Fucking Bingo.

“And you feel it too. That is a serious business, Michael.” De Santa pauses to raise his gun again. “You know what happens in future, don’t you? Say a word and decide - should I kill him and let you forget, get a normal life with normal wife and normal kids, the one you’ve always wanted…” he pauses to turn to Michael now, who instinctively raises his hands and stumbles a couple of steps back with a gun pointed at him “or should I kill you both to get this Shakespearean shit over with before it even begins? We both know too well what he means to..to us.” Michael exhales and feels the world slow down once more as he watches a tear roll down De Santas expressionless cheek and turns to Trevor. The wind plays with Trevor’s hair and his hands shake as he throws down his shades. A pair of amber eyes, wide with awe, pierce him with the same question. Growing old with or without him? Can he bear living without his precious punk? Can he let all the memories slip right out of his mind and fill it in with a long line of one night stands and even longer lines of coke? Oh, and why does his chest clench so much? Could it be...love?

Michael inhales carefully and turns back to De Santa, with time raging in the normal speed now. “Kill me. You know too well I could never live without him by my side.” A hot blow of wind carries a sound of a trigger, sudden and unforgiving. Michael blinks and watches a flare screw into De Santa’s eye, as he pulls the trigger too. The bullet licks his ear and jams with a hiss into the truck behind him. A high, blood-chilling scream pierce his ears and adds to wild pounding in his ears. Right before his wide eyes, De Santa’s body is fighting inevitable, hands trying to pull the flare out, only to help it dig deeper. Burned flesh and skin shed dreadful black shreds onto the dirt below their feet. Deep grey smoke fills the air with sweet stench and cries right out of hell. And then, silence and a pair of terrified amber eyes, vanishing into another flash of light.

Ba-dum

Michael opens his eyes to see a mouldy ceiling of a random motel, illuminated with a mix of orange, pink and blue neon light splattered across the room. His body feels hot but exhausted at the same time, gradually allowing him to sink back to full consciousness. He looks around, blinking to get rid of heaviness on his eyelids. Stark naked, his skin shiny with sweat, brilliantly white, glowing with reflections of light as a perfect opposite of the damp dark sheets.

Michael turns to his side, instinctively looking for a pack of cigarettes. He has always had one ready on a nightstand wherever he went and remembers this too well. He has always smoked after sex, he realises with a smug smirk and almost makes it to the pack before a pair of tanned arms wrap around him. A deep “Mikey...don’t leave me” comes from behind him, half snore, half sleep talk. Michael freezes for a second before turning around to make sure the deep, smooth voice belongs to the man he thinks it does.

Just as he remembered, Trevor stretched his arms in his sleep, for once looking peaceful and even angelic in all his content and innocence. He looks like a child, curled up on his side, hair in his mouth, stuck to open lips with a string of saliva. Eyes shut, barely moving, eyelashes long and shaking to the rhythm of his own light snores. “Mikey” Trevor whimpers again and curls even more, clutching the blanket, brows knotting. “Shh… I am right here,T” Michael whispers, and as gently as he can, brushes the lock of hair out of Trevor’s mouth. Trevor smacks his lips and smiles sincerely from his sleep. “I love you, Mikey...”. Michael jolts a bit but tries his best not to wake his sleeping companion. Was this even the same memory, or is his dying mind making a damn fool of him? Has Trevor actually said that? He blinks a couple of times, supporting himself with his elbow on his side as he brushes Trevor’s cheek absentmindedly with his fingers. With wide, serious eyes, Michael observes the goosebumps on Trevor’s arm, showing with each end every careful stroke of his fingers. Trevor’s snores and low mumble gives him the strength to continue down his neck, fingers outstretched, tracing smooth skin below his fingertips. Trevor moans from his sleep when Michael’s fingers gently brushed past his nipple. “You always had a soft spot here, T” Michael whispers under his breath and let his aching heart rule him for once. All the uneasiness and tense are suddenly gone as his tongue circles around his lover’s chest. The skin below him is salty and hot, and the taste lingers on his tongue, driving him mad. His hand wanders down the outline of Trevor’s body, tracing down his abdomen to find what he is looking for. Trevor’s cock welcomes his hand with a jolly throb and fit into his palm much better than he would ever admit. “Mmm” Trevor moans and arches his back, biting his lower lip “so much for sleeping with a horny cupcake beside me, huh?” and greets Michael with a toothy grin “Ready for round two, pork chop?” Michael chuckles, stroking Trevor slowly but firmly “I was born ready, baby” and let himself be pulled into a kiss.

The room dissolves around them as Michael seals his lips with Trevors, and some kind of force pulls them both up, right into the star painted indigo sky. His lips desperately caress and sucks Trevor’s and his tongue explore and swirls with a hunger he has never felt before. Just the kiss, just the taste, just the sensation is enough for him to forget who he became, where he belongs and what he was about to do in a couple of years in this reality. It is just his lips and Trevor’s lips under the moonlight and everything feels right in the centre of this universe.

He pulls back eventually, gasping for air, licking his lips frantically not to waste a bit of the heavenly taste of his lover’s lips, fading back to the stained sheets. Trevor pants below him, lips curved into a toothy, genuine smile he has only seen once or twice before. Michael can not help but smile back, cupping Trevor’s cheek with one hand, running his thumb alongside Trevor’s lower lip. Trevor purrs deeply under his touch, staring right back to his eyes. Michael feels something building up around his heart - a heat that could only mean one thing. “I love you too, Trevor” he exhaled, voice deep with honesty. With a smile, he watches the change in Trevor’s expression, eyes dark and wide, mouth open in shock. “What did you just…” Trevor gulped, tears collecting in his eyes as he crawls away from Michael’s touch. Michael’s chest suddenly hurt as if someone squeezed it. “Shh, I mean it - trust me, Trevor. Just trust me, baby, ok?” Michael whispers with a smile still playing around corners of his mouth, but not as certain as it was a second ago. Trevor jerks and jumps of the bed, retrieving slowly towards the window.

“Why are you always like that, Michael? So fucking full of lies” His voice trembled as much as his knees. Michael’s eyes look his body up and down, and only welcoming part is his dick, twitching, helplessly calling for a fondling hand “Why do you do this to me?”

Michael blinks a couple of times, trying hard to remember what he did to earn this reaction. As far he knows, this was one of those nights they spent together, drinking or drugging, crawling on top of one or the other, riding the hell out of the high, bodies twisted into a hot, sweating mush. It won’t hurt to ask, right? 

“Trevor, calm down. What the hell happened to you?” his voice firm and certainly more annoyed than he had meant it to be. Trevor puffs up, clenching his fists. “What happened to me? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO ME?” Michael stiffens as a shockwave of Trevor’s angered roar washes over him, leaving him speechless.

“Are you serious? You have a fucking audacity to ask me what happened with that knocked up tramp waiting for you at the altar now? What the fuck am I to you then, huh? Am I just a fun old cheap bitch you fuck after a score? A toy you toss away when it doesn't comfort your taste anymore? Or.. or a dumbass to do all the dirty work for you just for a meaningless fuck?” Trevor’s voice trembles again, but only to gather enough strength to rumble through paper-thin walls again. “I am not stupid, Michael. I can see the pattern. You get high, you tell me you love me, fuck me and then you sober up and get on with your oh so great denial only to do it again and again. You dance around in your pathetic suit pants, killing anyone calling you a faggot! Oh, and while you are at it, you knock up a hooker and marry her just to show everybody you are a good old boobs’n’snatch family guy. Do you want your American dream family with a coke-snorting bitch and a batch of white trash bastards? Well then be my guest and get the fuck out of here, Michael”

Trevor kicks the door open, spitting his name out with a sting of disgust that lingers in the air long after it is said. A familiar blue haze of Michael’s anger pierces right through him and floods his system. With clenched fists, he springs up. “Okay, whatever, dipshit. Just make sure you are not late tomorrow” is what escapes Michael’s lips, without him even noticing. Something constricts his chest as he pulls up his jeans and throws his t-shirt over his head, facing Trevor. There are wet trails on his cheeks for sure, but something dark creeps behind them. Michael looks up to see two broken mirrors of amber eyes, staring back at him. For once, he feels the urge to fight the memory and stay. Stay a little longer. Cup Trevor’s face in his hands and tell him he won’t ever leave his side. Tell him he means what he said and they should elope, riding scooters hand in hand to the sunset. Trevor’s sob brings him back to reality as he approaches him carefully. “Trevor, I’m sorry…” is the last thing he utters before the memory fades in the familiar explosion of white light.

 Ba-dum

Michael blinks as he opens his eyes, looking around. He hardly recognizes the surroundings - judging by the scattered tombstones, people hunched down dressed in black and a thick layer of snow, he is somewhere up north, and on a goddamn cemetery. With all the white around him and heavy snowflakes falling down from a steel-grey sky, he should have been frozen solid at least 15 minutes ago, but somehow, he feels fine. Weightless even. There is something odd in a way people pass him by, without noticing him standing there, walking right onto him “Hey, watch it!” he hisses as an old lady walks right through him, leaving but a swirl of air where an outline of his torso was a second ago. Her sniffs and crunches of fresh snow under her shoes fade out into a deepening silence. She didn’t even notice, did she?

Michael looks at his hands, terrified. They are... translucent? What the hell happened to him? Is he a ghost? Michael’s eyes widen and his mouth fall open. Did he die already or what? With a deep breath of crisp air, he once again raises his head and scrutinizes his surroundings. His head feels like it might explode with all the wild ideas and questions swirling inside it. Has he ever been here before? The place seems familiar. Why is he here? Is it somehow significant? Michael inspects the closest tombstone on his right and chuckles lowly. Of fucking course. This was his grave. Michael fucking Townley’s grave.

This is where the boy from the nameless Canadian airfield lays along with his dreams and ambitions, dressed in his old football gear. What’s left is a ghost, a memory, levitating in the air, thinking about what went wrong with his life to end up like this. Hated, hunted, betrayed by a man he considered his son, left by the one he called brother. 

A muffled sob from behind him makes him jump and turn around. A tall man in a stained thick coat looks right trough him and brushes his nose with a hand dressed in an old fingerless glove. Michael stares at him in awe - what the hell is Trevor doing here? If he is right in his assumption and the grave is still too fresh, the place would be swarming with FIB agents, waiting for those stupid enough to come his grave. Michael raises his hands to place them on Trevor’s shaking shoulders, but in his new form, his palms go right trough them only to fall back to each of his side. “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, TREVOR!” He tries as a feeling of panic raises within him. The taller man not even flinch. “TREVOR!!!”

The only answer he gets is the sound of teardrop crash landing in the snow beneath his feet. It is the first time Michael notices the broken posture and his shaking chin, with a stream of tears flooding it. It is the first time he sees Trevor truly broken. It is the first time he sees what Trevor meant when he told him he loved him.

“I know you hate it when I’m crying Mikey, but I… I just can’t help it” Trevor uttered in a high, shaky voice. “I’m just so sorry!”. Michael instinctively jumped when Trevor fell to his knees where he would stay if he had a real body, not holding back anymore. “I’m so sorry Mikey! This is all my fault!”

Even in his current form, Michael’s chest tightened. He has never admitted he hated to see Trevor cry only because it hurts him a great deal, and now with his closest friend kneeling broken on his alleged grave, the pain comes uninvited and sits on his back as heavy as a fucking mountain. 

“If I… If I stayed... if I was the one who helped Brad you could…”

“No, Trevor. If you stayed, you would be dead. Don’t blame yourself for my fuck ups.”

“It’s funny, I can almost hear you now, you know?” 

Michael freezes on the spot. Could it be... “Trevor, T, can you hear me?”

A low chuckle escapes Trevor’s mouth before it is muffled by sobs once again.

“Yeah, I know, it’s bullshit. Of course, I cannot hear you. I am just imagining things, I guess... I just want to hear your voice once again. I want to hold you and kiss you one last time. Remember that time,” Trevor blows his nose and takes in a deep breath, finally getting a grip of his crying “Remember when we stopped by a lake in the middle of nowhere, and you wanted to go swimming? How we planned to stay for a night but ended up camping for a whole week? I’ve never told you how beautiful you are in the morning light - I just called you a fatso then and you smashed my head with a pan.” Corners of Trevor’s mouth twitch with a shy smile upon the memory. Michael just watches him, desperate to hold him close and never let him go. Of course, he remembers the summer of ‘89 and the glint in those amber eyes whenever they watched him. He remembers the bubbly laughter, flat beer and the smell of campfire in Trevor’s hair when they made love.

“Remember how we drank so much we started slow dancing at midnight and the sky reflected in your eyes? That was the first time I told you I love you. You laughed and shrugged it off. But I meant it then and I mean it forever.” Trevor’s tears easily tear down his weak self-control and make his fists hit the ground with crushing force. “You told me I had no idea what love is, but I do, Michael, I DO!” A sudden yell made a couple of other people increase their pace and turn around in fear. “AAAARGH, I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH MIKEY IT TEARS ME APART!! I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU!”

Only now that Trevor hunched over the grave has Michael noticed a rope, resting stuffed into one of Trevor’s coat pockets. Oh no. Oh fuck. What is he going to do? Is he really going to… “TREVOR!”

The man in question just let tremors run through his body, hunched over the grave.

“TREVOR! DON’T TELL ME YOU WANT TO HANG YOURSELF!”

The only answer is the man slowly rising to his feet, chin pressed to his chest, dirty hair falling to his eyes.

“T, PLEASE, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!”

Trevor turns his gaze from the tombstone to an oak and its bare branches, standing mortified in the far end of the cemetery.

“NO, T, DON’T DO IT! I AM RIGHT HERE, PLEASE T!”

Corners of Trevor’s mouth twitch in what could be a smile, but Michael knows deep down it is relief. With the love of his life dead and gone, the world turning its back on him, with no future whatsoever, Trevor wants to go down the path of the last resort, the path Michael dreads.

“T, PLEASE!! I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU PLEASE DON’T!”

An easy, tired smile settles on Trevor’s lips. 

“Today is different, Mikey. I think I really hear you now - it is as if you said you loved me and wanted me to stay. But we both know I can’t love a whisper in the wind. You are here now and in a second you are gone. As always.”

Trevor takes a few steps, crunching of the fresh snow piercing the darkening sky.

“I want to be there with you, to see you and feel you the way you let me when we were young and high.”

Snow under Trevor’s feet listens in fear of what is it about to witness. Michael reaches out but fails to get hold of his friend once more. Trevor’s shoulders tense for a second before relaxing once again with a heavy sigh.

“Please don’t try to stop me, Michael. I have nowhere else to go. I need you.”

Trevor’s steps grow frequent as he inevitably approaches the tree and halts right in front of it, his fingers brushing over the smooth cold bark.

“Goodbye, Mikey. For now. I’ll see you in a few.”

Michael’s panic rises to levels he didn’t think were possible. He knows he can’t help Trevor, he knows he can’t reason with him but fuck him if he does not try to save him.

His eyes frantically search for someone, anyone he could call and alarm. The cemetery is almost empty. The only sound is the soft swish of snowflakes and screeching of Trevor’s boots as he climbs the tree to fasten the noose. There must be someone here - Michael knows his grave is the perfect moth trap - and fuck him if he’s wrong but there is a familiar figure leaning against the metal fence. “Oh shit, it can’t be…”

Dave Norton has just returned from his afternoon break with a cup of steaming coffee and a fresh issue of Los Santos Times when a strange touch of ice-cold air on the scruff of his neck makes him shiver. It’s not like he’s not used to long hours in freezing temperatures, but this one is oddly different. He puts down his cup and traces the back of his neck with hot fingers, but the snowflake he is searching for is nowhere to be found. “Oh well, whatever. Just a wind.” He thinks as he grabs for a cup when is suddenly tumbles over and spills all the coffee into the snow. In many years he has been an agent, Dave learned not to be surprised by a lot of things. Tax evasions, sex scandals, terrorist threats. It all shaped him in a twisted way and let him harden enough to act cold and precise in any situation he happened to be in. But this shit, it surprised the fuck out of him. He didn’t even touch the cup! There is absolutely no logical explanation of why it would bounce up and spill like that except for something grabbing it and letting go. Suddenly, the cold sensation was back and made little hair on his neck stand up in fright. Turn around. Look behind you. Turn around and look now. Those words bounce inside his head as if it was a pinball board and someone stubbornly added more and more balls to it. His head throbs, fighting the intrusion to no avail. In one bright flash of white light, a simple sentence appears right before his eyes: Turn around PLEASE!!

Ok ok, he’s turning NOW and… oh shit…

Michael has never felt this spend and tired in his life. He can barely see the outline of his own ghostly body now as it slowly dissolves into the void. Even if he wanted, he would barely give a fuck with the scene right before his eyes.

Dave stands below Trevor, forcing him up and back onto the branch. Trevor’s reddened face is damp with tears and his voice is hoarse when he shouts at Dave and begs him to let go, kicking a couple of times. Dave grabs for his gun and cuts the rope with a couple of shots that echo through the dark and bounce from one grave to another. Trevor falls into the abused snow below him with a loud thud and curls up in a fit of pained cry that makes Michael feel like shit. It is all his fault. The dark purple ligature mark in place of Trevor’s future “cut here” tattoo screams at him accusingly what his own mind has offered him so many times he stopped counting.  He always put himself first and made people who cared about him miserable. If only he could lay beside him if only he could comfort him, if only he was given a chance to tell him how much he loved him, how much he cared, how sorry he was for things to come to this end. His final thought before he dissolves in the crisp air is of a pair of warm amber eyes looking up at him with so much love and care it makes him shiver. “Please forgive me, T.”

 Ba-dum

A flash of bright white light led him back to his body this time. A roar of thunder kick-started the time. The shining diamonds of the raindrops hit the ground with a final splash before glazing the concrete with a red light covered wet coat. Up above him, Franklin curses. What a nice kid. “I forgive you,” he thinks as he braces himself for the impact. “I have the death I deserve” When Michael feels the cold touch of death on his back and draws in his lasts breath, the pure white light shines back in time with his racing heart, each flash brighter than the one before. All the pictures of his life run before his eyes - the first time he saw Trevor, the first time they kissed, the birth of Tracey, her first laugh and first uncertain steps, Jimmy’s first words, years of denial, broken promises drowned in whiskey and his recent flashbacks. He is about to die with a regret, Michael notes with a bitter taste on his palate - and that would be to make all of this right. If only he was strong enough to see past his beliefs and just let things happen as they were meant to be. If only he could turn back time, hug Franklin and let him handle things the way he wanted, call Amanda and let her go figure out her own happiness, give his children enough money to go to college and live on their own and then run into the pair of arms he sorely missed. If only he could tell him how sorry he was and how much he truly meant to him. He would hold Trevor close right there, in his ramshackle, grim-soaked trailer, stroke the summer heat out of his hair and whisper his feelings right into those beautiful ears. Yet another strike of thunder reminds him of what happened in the cemetery and the last teardrop escapes his eye and slips down his cooling cheek only to join millions of its kin on the ground as he exhaled one last time.

I love you, M. “I love you, T.”

[kinglazrus]

When the Time Comes

Phic phight 2020

Submitted by @pipermasters: how does Vlad react to having to spend ten years watching Dan destroy the world

Summary: Knowing you caused the end of the world isn’t easy, but Vlad's had to live with that fact for ten long years. A surprise visitor forces him to reflect on his role in Dan's creation and the destruction he brought to the world.

Word count: 2077

People say not to dwell on the past, but when the present is a hell of brimstone and fire, there's little else you can do. Ten years is a long time to watch the world burn, too long. Vlad often wonders what right he had to survive for so long, wasting away in the crumbling remains of his manor. He doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat, yet still he lives. Even with his ghost half long removed from his body, he lives. It must be some cosmic punishment. His debt to pay to the world. Everything is his fault, and for his crimes, he must witness humanity's slow demise.

Vlad didn't realize what he was unleashing all those years ago, what havoc it would wreak. How could he? When he sank his claws, quite literally, into young Daniel's chest, he truly believed he was helping the boy. It seemed like such an easy solution. Ghosts, despite all their emotions, have always been simple beings. They are not restrained by heartache and loss, left to frolic in the life-after-life without worldly concerns.

At the time, Vlad wished someone had been around for him in his college years, the same way he was for Danny then, to rid him of his pain. Abandoned by his best friends, left aching, alone, and—he believed—dying, a younger Vlad would have revelled at the thought of release. He only wanted to give Daniel what he himself could never have.

Daniel, sedated and unconscious, felt nothing. Despite all his villainy, Vlad wasn't cruel. At least not unnecessarily so. There was always a chance the procedure could hurt, and Daniel had been through so much already. Vlad wanted to spare him whatever pain he could.

The procedure was a resounding success. His modifications to Jack and Maddie's Ghost Gauntlets worked like a charm, not leaving a single scratch on Daniel's human body. The ghost in Daniel resisted at first. Vlad did not expect it to fight back, and he almost stopped, believing Daniel didn't truly want this.. But then he remembered his years of pain and misery and spurred himself on. His arms trembled, sweat beading his brow, as they fought their little battle of wills.

Vlad won out, in due time, dragging the ghost out of Daniel's body, a pale shade of itself. For a moment, the sudden success shocked him. He always had faith in his smarts and his abilities, but there was a little part of him that whispered it wouldn't work, that something would go wrong. When Vlad raised up his arms, Phantom hanging off his claws, that voice was silenced.

Until the monitor watching Daniel's vitals started shrieking. Phantom reacted violently. His eyes, so much duller than they should have been, snapped open and he threw Vlad across the room. Vlad knew, then, that something was terribly wrong.

Daniel's heart was slowing, his lungs failing. Phantom looked moments away from destabilizing, the wounds on his chest bubbling and seeping ectoplasm.

"Wh... at... did y... ou do," Phantom asked.

Vlad wishes, now, that he had tried to explain. If only he had found the words, he could have told Phantom, this was is you wanted, isn't it? Neither of them could have foreseen it going wrong. But Vlad's wits failed him in that moment.

Maybe it's just wishful thinking, wondering if he could have stopped it all back then. Perhaps Phantom would have listened. Or he could have ignored Vlad's harried excuses, and nothing would change at all. Vlad will never know.

His next memories are lost to a haze of pain. After getting his own ghost half brutally torn out of his body, he was left on the verge of death. Spirit broken, his very being ripped apart, he collapsed in agony. He remembers only the shadows and how they writhed as Phantom tried to overpower Plasmius.

Mercifully, he did not witness Daniel's death. Vlad awoke, cold, alone, consumed by a gnawing pain, and found the body. It was mangled beyond recognition, but he knew it could be no one else.

Vlad didn't know what horrors followed that harrowing night until weeks later. He secluded himself in his mansion, mourning everything he had lost. Without Maddie, without Daniel, there was nothing left for him beyond these walls. His wealth meant nothing if he could not have them. Locked in a prison of his own anguish, surrounded by riches most men could only dream of having, he was resigned to wallowing in misery.

He wishes that's how it happened. But Vlad had a price to pay. Fate, the world, whatever or whoever, refused to let him die. So, Vlad watched. Hiding away in his manor like the coward he was, he watched Dan destroy the world.

The killings were brutal. Violent displays of power that levelled whole cities. Nothing could placate Dan. Like Vlad, he was consumed by greed, hellbent to obtain something he could not have. No amount of destruction could bring back the people Danny had lost.

That pained Vlad the most. Dan was a monster, a cruel beast with no remorse. But inside he was a child in mourning. He was confused and scared and hurt, and Plasmius' influenced twiste him in horrible ways.

Vlad tried to stop Dan, but only once. Four years after Dan began his crusade against the world, Vlad finally crawled out of his manor, a pitiful slug, and made his way to Amity Park. By then, it was well on its way to being the last city on Earth, the only place fortified against Dan's power. Vlad stood outside its walls, an ecto-pistol in hand, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

"What a surprise! I never thought I'd see you again, old man," Dan said. He looked so much worse than Vlad ever imagined. Sickly pale, purple veins throbbing under his skin, bloodshot eyes. Despite all that, he gave off a suffocating aura of power. Vlad was instantly reminded of his own weak state. For the first time, he felt afraid of an opponent.

"Daniel, you have to stop," Vlad said.

"Daniel. I always hated it when you called me that." Dan raised his hand, firing a single beam of ectoplasm from his finger. Vlad flinched as it shot over his shoulder, singeing his cheek and burning his hair. The sight of it made Dan chuckle.

"Danny," Vlad amended.

Another beam shot over his other shoulder.

"That's not me anymore," Dan hissed, his forked tongue slipping between his teeth.

"Dan," Vlad finally said. When Dan didn't immediately attack him, he continued. "You can't do this forever."

"Funny words from someone like you."

"This won't bring them back." Vlad instantly regretted saying it.

Dan rushed forward, grabbing Vlad and pinning him against Amity's barrier. Despite not having a ghost half anymore, the barrier remained firm against his back.

"Don't act like you know me, old man," Dan growled.

"But I do, because you're part of me as well! Is this what Maddie would have wanted for you?"

"It doesn't matter what she would have wanted! She's gone! They're all gone!" Dan roared in Vlad's face, pulling him forward and slamming him back, over and over, against the wall. The back of Vlad's head struck the barrier, rattling his brain. It was like getting hit in the head with a sledgehammer. His vision blurred, dark spots filling his eyes, and he didn't realize Dan had stopped until he blinked and found himself on his hands and knees over a puddle of vomit.

The back of his head felt warm and wet.

Dan, disgusted, sneered. "It's not even worth killing a pathetic thing like you." Turning, he started flying away.

"Stop!" Vlad called weakly after him. Struggling to his feet, he raised the ecto-pistol in a shaky hand. "I will stop you, Dan. I can't let you do this anymore."

"Funny, you seemed okay with it so far."

Vlad pulled the trigger. The bullet shot out of the gun, flying straight for Dan, and... it did nothing. A hole opened in the middle of Dan's back, letting the bullet pass harmlessly through him. He didn't even look back. The gun fell from Vlad's hand with a clatter. He dropped to his knees, useless. That was the day he truly gave up.

—

"Why are you telling me this?" Danny asks.

Vlad pauses his tale, giving Danny a long, considering look. To Vlad, Danny's motives have always been scrutable, his face as easy to read as a children's picture book. Dan shares the same trait. He may be more brutal and more cunning than Danny ever was, but beneath all that sadistic violence are signs of the boy Vlad once knew.

Having Danny in front of him now is such an odd, yet liberating experience. It reminds Vlad of a time untainted by his machinations. This boy's future still has a chance. Vlad despises it.

"Since meeting you, little badger, my one wish has always been to impart my wisdom. You can't blame me for that. Humans are so attached to their legacies." Vlad leans back and gestures to the decrepit room. "This is my legacy."

Rising to his feet, he points to the ceiling. "That, out there, is my legacy. It is not one I want people to remember. I suppose, with how few people remain left, that won't be an issue for much longer. Is it so wrong for me to want to change that?"

"You want... to help me," Danny says.

Oh, how Vlad missed that slow wit of his. "Yes, Daniel. I want to help you."

"Why?"

"Because, as hard as it is to believe, that's all I've ever wanted."

Danny pressed his lips together. Nodding stiffly, he motioned for Vlad to continue.

"There isn't much else to say. I returned here and took up a silent vigil. If it is my fate to see this through to the end, then that's what I will do."

"That is pathetic."

Vlad's eyes hardened into a glare. "I don't expect you to understand."

"You're right. I don't." Danny gets up from his seat on the floor and gestures to the portal. "You all just gave up! So Dan beat you once, and you decided to never try again? That's just stupid. If you had all worked together, you probably could have stopped him. You guys might not care anymore, but I do."

Bitter, Vlad smiled. "Don't you see, little badger? That’s exactly why everything rides on you. Dan is both of us, even though he likes to pretend there's none of me in him. If your human half were still alive, Dan would be as much his responsibility as he is mine. I had my chance to stop him and I failed. Now, it's your turn."

Danny accepts, of course. A hero with a bleeding heart. Vlad removes the medallion from his chest, although not without one last threat, for old time's sake. The second it's out, Danny pops out of existence like a bad cutaway. One second he's there and then the next he's not.

Vlad stares at the empty space for a moment, then turns back to his chair, abandoning his gauntlets on the way. The medallion he keeps in his hand. It's been a very long time since he's seen one.

"It was you all along, wasn't it?" Vlad asked. He didn't need to hear the rustle of cloth to know Clockwork was hovering behind him. "How did you do it?"

"Time is a relative experience," Clockwork says with his familiar lisp. "Not everyone experiences it at the same pace."

"That's a lofty way of saying you kept me from dying so I could be here for Daniel when he finally arrived."

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Vlad turns the medallion over in his hands, running his thumbs across the gold surface. If he puts it on, here in his own time, he could live forever. But it would be in a hell of his own making. Sighing, he sets the medallion down on the arm of his chair and turns to Clockwork.

"What now?" Vlad asks.

Clockwork's gaze his kind, the wrinkles on his pale face tugging as he smiles. "I think you've paid your price."

Vlad closes his eyes and leans back, feeling older beyond his years. "Yes, I think so to."

Ten years is a long time to watch the world burn. He hopes it was worth it.