#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."

[siderealcity]

I will always love the spectacular tragedy of this trio of characters. How each one tries to save the others and fails in a different, horrible fashion.

Hythlodaeus gives his life, everything he has, including his hope of living and dying with those he loves, to save Azem and Emet-Selch, and for this selfless act: Azem is torn apart. Hades lives for thousands of years in torment, slowly twisted into a monster. They kill each other, at the last. Did it work, in the end? Was his sacrifice worth it?

Emet-Selch backs a plan to save life on the star, only to lose everyone he actually wanted to save in the process. One trapped forever, unable to rest in peace, the other violently vivisected and then forgotten. The only way to release the one is to destroy the star he died to save in the first place. Repeating the murder of Azem over and over. Azem, who is beyond salvation, anyway, since if all this destruction pays off, they'll be sacrificed to take Hythlodaeus' place. Did it work, in the end? Was any of this sacrifice worth it?

Azem gives up their identity, their place in the world, and severs every connection that gave their life meaning, in order to try to find a route out of the catastrophe for everyone, and fails. They die alone, ripped apart by their mentor, to be tortured and murdered by Emet-Selch and Elidibus countless times, mostly by accident, an afterthought, an acceptable casualty of the grand plan, unmourned and unrecognized, and in the end the only thing they can do for the people they loved is deliver their souls to death. Did it work, in the end? Was any of their sacrifices worth it?

Has your journey been good? Has it been worthwhile?

Sometimes I think about Hythlodaeus existing as part of Zodiark for so long, being the first to go of a trio of people who intended to live and die together, people he gave his everything to, and then returning to his senses and moving on after 12000 years of stasis

And despite all those years passing, getting to reunite with the souls of those two dear companions and maybe even fulfil the promise of returning to the Star by their sides after all

But Emet-Selch is twisted by millennia of grief and anguish, warped into a villain by a desperation to restore that which he lost, and Azem was sundered, soul split and reborn a thousand, thousand times, another person entirely

Of course he is not a negative person, and he - better than anyone - can see that they are not gone. Emet-Selch’s actions prove that he has not lost himself entirely despite all he has been through, and even though the Warrior of Light is not Azem, they still carry their legacy, and the parts of Azem that were so fundamental to their self that they were burned into their very Soul

But even so, they are undeniably different in a way that would be clear to anybody who had known them as intimately as Hythlodaeus had. How must that feel, reuniting with the people you loved so deeply and learning that they have changed so much while you have remained exactly the same

[vampireshaman]

HEADCANON: A SHAMAN BETWEEN LIFE & DEATH

content warning: self harm (ritual bloodletting), death, violence, etc.

01. A FRACTURED SOUL

Haeseol’s very existence is a paradox—both a miraculous return from the dead and a haunting reminder of death itself. She walks a thin line between worlds, her spirit bound not only to her body but to the souls of those who paved her way back to the living. She was once torn apart in body and soul, and although her spirit pieced her body back together, she was left in a primal, fractured state—a raw, furious force that would have destroyed anyone in her path. Her grandmother’s intervention was the only thing that tempered her rage. Ming-Ji, in an ultimate sacrifice, willingly offered herself, knowing that her own flesh and blood could soothe the berserk fury consuming Haeseol. This act, while an expression of boundless love and duty, was also a final tether, binding Haeseol to her grandmother’s spirit and the weight of this sacrificial memory.

Resurrected yet forever marked by death, Haeseol now carries a constant, simmering rage that she must restrain with every breath. Beneath her distant composure lies a tempest of grief, anger, and raw power—a maelstrom she cannot afford to unleash. This powerful energy threatens to fracture her spirit once again, requiring her to remain in complete control of herself at all times. She has learned to conceal these emotions, veiling herself in coldness and distance, as though one wrong movement, one lapse in control, might unleash a force that could tear apart everything around her.

In America, her veil—a simple white shroud—serves as a barrier, shielding her intense aura from others and muffling the spiritual energy she naturally radiates. She wears it not only out of reverence for her grandmother’s memory but as a tangible reminder of her responsibilities and the pain she must carry alone. To her, the veil is more than a piece of cloth—it is a commitment to self-restraint, a buffer between her and a world unprepared for her presence. She knows that any show of emotion might invite unwanted curiosity or, worse, danger to those nearby. Each day, she takes special care to pull the veil over her head, keeping her expression guarded, her words measured, and her spirit locked away.

But Haeseol’s control is not simply a matter of willpower; it is a ritualized, sacred practice that demands regular maintenance. Every month, she performs a bloodletting ritual at the river near her family’s temple, offering her blood to the river god who watches over her lineage. She has come to understand that this ritual is not just a matter of reverence but of survival—each time, she channels the violent energy festering within her into the ancient waters, allowing the god to absorb the power that threatens to overtake her. The ritual cleanses her momentarily, easing the burden of her existence. It is a painful reminder of her grandmother’s sacrifice, as she must physically give of herself to remain balanced.

In the cold, predawn hours, she stands beside the river, her palm open over a wide silver bowl, watching as her blood gathers into the vessel. The attendants who join her are reverent but distant, knowing that this moment is one of vulnerability that she alone must endure. When the bowl is full, she whispers a prayer, her voice barely audible but carrying the weight of ages: *“For strength, for peace, for clarity... for all I carry.”* She pours the blood into the river, the dark liquid blending with the current, dissipating into the depths. As the energy drains, she feels both a fleeting sense of peace and the heavy, inevitable realization that it will soon return, and she will need to perform the ritual again.

However, the ritual is not so easily adapted to her life in America. Here, her practices must remain discreet, and she cannot always find the comfort of the river’s embrace. Instead, she relies on her family’s guidance from afar, adapting her rituals to maintain the tenuous balance. She performs her bloodletting in private moments, far from prying eyes, pouring her energy into small bowls of water or river stones that she carries with her. When no one is watching, she whispers her prayers and makes her offerings, trusting that the spirits will understand her distance from home. And yet, each ritual performed away from the temple feels less satisfying, as if her soul longs for the waters of her homeland, the quiet company of her ancestors.

Her daily life in SHIELD HQ only complicates matters further. The sterile, modern surroundings clash with the sacred energies she harbors, creating a palpable tension between her heritage and the clinical efficiency of her environment. The staff and agents see her as cold and enigmatic, rarely speaking beyond the essential, her tone measured and her face impassive. But behind this controlled exterior, she feels a profound isolation—knowing that her distance is necessary yet quietly aching for the closeness and understanding she once shared with her family and temple. Each briefing, each interaction, is a test of her composure, her sense of duty overriding her need for connection.

In rare moments of vulnerability, Haeseol allows herself to think of her grandmother, feeling her presence close by. It is a bittersweet reminder of her resurrection, as if Ming-Ji’s spirit is tethered to her, offering guidance and comfort in silence. Yet, she cannot speak of her grief or express the depths of her loss, for fear that even this small show of emotion might unravel the control she has fought so hard to maintain. When she is alone in her quarters, she will sometimes close her eyes and rest a hand over her heart, feeling the faint pulse of her energy. It is as if her grandmother’s spirit resides there, keeping her steady, holding back the tempest that lies within.

There are times when she feels the primal rage surge to the surface—an anger that could scorch the earth, rip through the souls around her, and leave her as the sole survivor. But she steels herself against it, clutching the white veil in her hand, grounding herself in the memory of her family, the weight of her grandmother’s final act. She knows that the rage is a reminder of her survival, of the life she now lives on borrowed time, and that she must keep it in check for the sake of those who still look to her for guidance and protection. Haeseol understands that her existence is bound by a delicate balance, that her life is a continual sacrifice—a dance on the edge of death, with every step measured and every breath restrained.

Haeseol’s coldness is a kindness, her distance a shield that protects not just herself but everyone around her. She accepts this, knowing that to embrace her emotions would be to embrace a chaos she cannot allow. And so, she moves through her life with a quiet grace, hiding her grief, her sadness, her fury behind a mask of composure. The others at SHIELD see only her calm, steady demeanor, unaware of the storm she conceals, of the sacrifices she makes each day to protect them. She carries her power as a burden and a blessing, a living goddess bound by love, duty, and the promise she made to her grandmother. For her, each moment is a reminder of her purpose—a constant struggle to remain balanced, to keep the world safe from the fury within, and to honor the legacy of her family

02. A SPIRITUAL PULSE FROM THE RIVER

Haeseol’s spiritual energy is a formidable force, ancient and intense, refined over generations of her family’s practice and devotion. Her spirit power is a blend of raw, otherworldly energy and a deep well of sorrow and discipline, giving her an aura that commands both respect and fear. In battle, she channels this energy into sacred arrows that she wields with precision, capable of dispelling malevolent forces or purifying corrupted spirits in a single, devastating strike. Her arrows are imbued with her spiritual essence, glowing with a pale, ethereal light that seems to pierce through both flesh and spirit, disrupting the dark energies they encounter and neutralizing curses and hexes in a radiant blaze. Haeseol’s spiritual energy is more than just a weapon; it’s a constant companion, a palpable presence that seems to hover around her like a soft, ghostly glow. This energy is so intense that she has learned to keep it tightly controlled, knowing that even the smallest release can attract spirits and entities from beyond. When her emotions flare—especially anger or grief—her spiritual energy stirs visibly, causing an aura of shimmering light to ripple around her, as if her very being is struggling to contain the vast power within. In these moments, her energy becomes volatile, as dangerous to herself as to her enemies, which is why she keeps herself so carefully guarded and composed at all times. To maintain control, Haeseol has developed a series of rituals and practices that allow her to channel this energy safely. One such technique is the use of purification talismans, which she places on her bow and arrows before battle to amplify their potency while restraining her energy from spilling over. When she fights, her energy syncs with her intent, and she releases it in precise, calculated bursts. This makes her arrows not only deadly but also deeply attuned to the spirit realm, capable of targeting entities that would otherwise remain invisible to others. Her energy is not purely destructive; it also has a deeply healing quality, which she draws on to cleanse and soothe restless spirits, as well as to mend wounds afflicted by curses or malevolent forces. But Haeseol rarely uses this healing aspect on herself, as she sees it as a means of honoring the spirits of her ancestors, channeling their power as a guardian and protector. For her, each act of healing or exorcism is a ritualized practice, a moment of communion with her lineage and a reminder of the duty she inherited. At her fullest power, Haeseol’s spiritual energy is blinding, capable of illuminating even the darkest realms. She rarely allows herself to reach this state, knowing the toll it takes on her own spirit and the potential for collateral damage. When pushed to her limits, her energy becomes a roaring flame that surrounds her, illuminating her form in a radiant, almost divine glow. In these moments, her arrows can slice through powerful barriers, exorcise entire legions of vengeful spirits, or cleanse cursed lands, leaving only purity in their wake. Haeseol’s control over her spiritual energy has made her a living legend among those who know her family’s history, a being of profound reverence who can channel both death and salvation with a single breath. Her spiritual power is as much a part of her identity as it is her legacy, binding her to a destiny she both accepts and fears. Each arrow she fires, each spirit she cleanses, is a testament to the strength she carries—and the quiet, steadfast resolve that allows her to wield such power without losing herself to it.

03. EXTENDED: THE PRICE SHE MUST PAY

Haeseol’s spiritual energy is both her greatest strength and her deepest curse—a raw, volatile force within her that burns like a living fire, ever hungry and dangerously intense. Being a chiropteran-human hybrid, her body and soul are in a constant state of tension. This energy radiates from her in powerful, erratic pulses, so potent that it feels like it belongs to an ancient, otherworldly creature rather than a single mortal being. Yet her death—those thirty minutes when her soul lingered between worlds—has complicated her energy even further. She is neither fully alive nor entirely dead, her spirit marked by that boundary-crossing experience. This liminal nature makes her power difficult to control, and it demands painful sacrifices from her each month to keep it from overwhelming her completely.

The build-up of her spiritual energy is nearly fatal if left unchecked. Her body, powerful as it is, was not designed to hold the force of death itself within it. Each day that she doesn’t release her energy, it builds, clawing against the walls of her soul and causing searing pain that spreads through her veins like wildfire. The longer she goes without release, the more it cripples her, sometimes putting her into feverish states that burn through her body, leaving her weak and delirious. At times, her energy becomes so overbearing that it can black her out, driving her into sudden collapses and dangerous spiritual comas from which she emerges only with the greatest difficulty. The toll it takes on her is clear in her pale, feverish skin, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, and the tense, distant way she holds herself, knowing that any excess emotion could push her body past its limits.

Once a month, Haeseol performs a ritual bloodletting at the river near her family’s temple—a ritual as ancient as the gods themselves and vital to her survival. With her self-healing abilities, this task is grueling; she must pierce herself repeatedly to fill the urn, each strike a release of pain and tension, yet an act of humility before the river god. As the blood spills, she feels a bittersweet relief, a reprieve from the constant, gnawing pressure within her. She offers her blood to the river, and the water god accepts her gift, pulling away some of her energy and soothing her aching spirit. In these moments, she feels a deep connection to her grandmother’s spirit, sensing that her ancestors guide her through each cut and every drop that falls. This bloodletting serves as a reminder of the sacrifices that her family has made to maintain the balance between life and death—a burden that now rests heavily on her shoulders.

To further manage her energy, Haeseol also takes regular ice-cold baths, submerging herself in frigid water to numb the burn that constantly threatens to consume her. These baths are not only practical but symbolic, serving to ground her body and soul in the present world, cooling the fire within her just enough to prevent it from consuming her entirely. When she enters the water, it’s as if the rage and grief within her are momentarily soothed, the intensity of her spiritual energy receding into a bearable ache. But even this relief is short-lived, and she knows that the reprieve will last only so long before the energy begins to rise again, demanding another release.

The depth of her power makes her a magnet for spirits, who sense the lingering traces of death within her and are drawn to it. Yet she can barely contain the energy herself; any spiritual possession would threaten to completely unravel her spirit, overwhelming her body and potentially killing her again. Her body, once a vessel for spirits to inhabit, is now too fragile, too saturated with energy for any such intrusion. This constant tension creates a fractured bond between herself and the spirit world. Haeseol feels their pull yet knows that her existence is perilously close to both life and death, neither fully belonging to the world of the living nor the dead. It’s a dichotomy she has to manage constantly—a deep bond to spirits paired with the knowledge that such connections can bring her nothing but harm.

In battle, her spiritual energy is both awe-inspiring and deadly, each strike accompanied by flashes of that raw, chaotic power. Her arrows are imbued with her very soul, cutting through darkness with a vengeance, but each shot depletes her reserves and frays the delicate balance she holds within. She fights with the fury of someone who knows the cost of losing control, each arrow a calculated, desperate attempt to channel her power before it consumes her from within.

The conflict within Haeseol’s spirit is a lonely one. Few understand the toll her energy takes on her, the constant sacrifices she endures to keep herself grounded. To others, she appears calm, disciplined, her power a seamless extension of her skill and will. But inside, she is constantly struggling, holding back the torrent of rage, grief, and primal force that her resurrection left behind. She distances herself from others, appearing cold and detached, not out of disinterest, but out of necessity—knowing that the closer someone gets, the greater the danger her energy poses to them. This control, this restraint, is as much for her sake as it is for theirs, a silent promise that she will bear the burden alone.

Haeseol’s life is a delicate balancing act between her duty and her survival, her power and her pain. Every ritual, every veil, and every drop of blood spilled is a reminder that her existence comes at a price—a cost she willingly pays, carrying the legacy of her family with both pride and sorrow.

[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.

[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"

[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.