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achenetype · 3 months

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Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment.

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod.

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out.

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold.

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off.

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says.

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly.

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?”

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil.

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded.

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed.

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.”

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said.

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.”

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this.

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday.

You think you’re going to die.

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it.

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all.

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—”

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets.

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

#— ash's writing #pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #reader insert #y/n #pjo imagine #ok now we get into the warning tags #graphic depictions of injury #major character death #major character injury #reader death #alcohol mention #doomed by the narrative #genuinely im so sorry i really ran wild with this one good god #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #— ash’s answering!

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hardcoregayanalsegx · 7 days

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"Why would you do that to yourself" I'm trying my best to soothe the pain, trying to cradle it so that maybe just maybe it will stop crying out

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mipexch · 1 year

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heed heaven’s call, one way or another

#ultrakill #the ferryman #ultrakill ferryman #gore #body horror #ferrymen are so fucked up love that for them #ah yes i need to get into heaven. tears my flesh off and fights another guy to the death for a piece of cloth that makes me blue #context for this is smth hakita mentioned on discord awhile back about how the ferrymen differenciate themselves from husks by removing-#-their flesh. also to appear close to angels #maybe i need to add more warnings i do NOT want this to show up on someones feed as a complete gorey jumpscare #gore is Not my strong suit but im afriad. u get it #major gore cw #gen art

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birdsong-warriors · 2 months

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First | Previous | Next

Part 1: Friend and Family

See up to thirty pages ahead, with timelapses, on Patreon!

Backgrounds, brushes, timelapses, and other assets for sale on my Ko-Fi!

#swifthawk's chance #blood and bone #comic pages #death mention #blood #blood warning

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haveyouseenthishorrormovie · 6 months

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SUMMARY: Two lighthouse keepers try to maintain their sanity while living on a remote and mysterious New England island in the 1890s.

Sorry to use this gif again, but the mod feels it is particularly relevant to this movie:

#the lighthouse (2019)#psychological horror #cosmic horror #lgbtq #2010s #united states #canada #north american movie #mentionable warning #animal death #horror #movies #poll #mod rec

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theluckiestlb · 11 months

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I literally do not care if they say he’s a widower or it’s simply poor coping skills—unless the man were suddenly possessed by satan himself—no amount of grief can turn someone so callously cruel. I simply do not buy the Jekyll and Hyde narrative.

We’ve been told Gabriel had been a normal parent once...then underwent a drastic personality change after his wife expired.

???????

Adrien’s autonomy and consent have been continuously violated since his inception. He’s unaware of the fact and unsurprisingly blames himself for bending to Gabriel’s will.

His son is crying, on the verge of breakdown—literally begging—and Gabriel is completely unfazed by this distress.

Just as Colt Fathom came to despise/blame Félix for his illness, I suspect Gabriel harbors some degree of resentment towards Adrien due to Emilie’s passing. He may not be conscious of it, but there is a clear undercurrent of spite fueling his behavior.

The series has drawn explicit parallels between the senti-twins. They mirror each other’s pain and story. Félix has experienced cruelty firsthand and I don’t think he would go through so much effort to free his cousin/brother for naught.

(Also, before anyone boards the Emilie-hate bandwagon, please note/recall Félix’s reaction to her portrait. He has strongly held convictions, especially with respect to sentibeings and misuse of the peacock miraculous. I don’t believe he’d feel such fondness toward someone complicit in Adrien’s mistreatment.)

#ml #miraculous ladybug #ml spoilers #miraculous ladybug spoilers #emilie literally warned nathalie on her death bed #she knew gabriel posed some sort of threat #if I remember correctly she mentioned something about madness #Adrien Agreste #Gabriel Agreste #Felix Fathom #Colt Fathom #I'm sure I've made this post before #but the empty deprivation room really set me off

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just-antithings · 4 months

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Proship propaganda💀

This person writes rape smut

This person wrote a rape smut fic about a creepypasta character that is a canon a pedo

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #image #dni hall of shame #rape mention #pedophillia mention #nazi mention #eating disorder mention #caps warning #death wishes cw

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luffyvace · 3 months

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HIHIHIHI TYSM FOR DOING MY REQUEST ^U^ I hope u Don't mind me dropping another one u :'))

Can I have kusuo reaction to Reader-chan being mostly know for her gore/angst/horror series but looks like nothing for a person to write this stuff (she looks absolutely innocent) yet having a (technically an old man) friend who is also anonymous writer for one of kusuo favorite series yet the said look absolutely opposite of it (the reader-chan and her friend are like Junji Ito and hayao miyazaki)

I'm sorry if u couldn't understand the request:')) my English isn't really the best-

HII DARLING! No problem at all! Of course I don’t mind! Request at any time as long as they say open <3

ohhh so she’s a horror writer :> OHHH I was confused at first but as soon as I searched them up and saw the memes I understood 😂💓

This is such a cute and funny topic! Enjoy your hcs anon 💖 ⚠️ Gore mentions⚠️

Kusuo isn’t easily scared.

there are very few things that actually do scare him, considering he can sense everything coming from a mile away

But shows and books are an exception (given he doesn’t stare at the pages to see through the book-)

he’s not normally into horror but your manga is actually very interesting to him!

seeing a bunch of mutilated corpses packed together is quite a gripping sight for him!

and honestly he is obbsessed likes normalcy but your case is a type of unique he doesn’t mind :)

it’s funny since you have this friendly and kind personality and your work is the exact opposite of that 🤗

it’s giving the cute core girlies!! (and guys!! <3) 💓💗💖🌸🌷💞🎀

he still gets the perk of reading the chapter before publish and giving small ideas for stuff

You once put his favorite character from another series in one of the manga panels and he when he noticed it he had a little smile on his face! 💗

he wasn’t excpecting you to do that at all and it was a pleasant surprise ;3

your introduced him to your friend and he also likes his work now!

Y’all are literal polar opposites- and ngl? He enjoys the balance!

like when he wants some exhilarating and goosebump-giving action he’ll pick up one of your mangas’

and when he’s feeling mellow while eating some coffee jelly on his bed his new (second) favorite author to read from is your friend!

His number one author is of course you ♥︎

would recommend his friends (specifically Kaido) one of your mangas to freak them out

they definitely won’t be expecting it seeing as though your such a cheerful person! 🌸🎀🌷

I feel like Torisuka would genuinely enjoy your manga as well!

he doesn’t get scared easily by creepy stuff for obvious reasons 😋

so you’ve got yourself another supporter !!

I have a feeling my girl boss Airua would get creeped out but 1) she wants to support you so she would probably buy and either never read or 2) read it anyway because it’s so interesting

like you captivated people with your work!

just as much as your friend does with more gentler topics

but in a different sense

You make your audience quite literally cover their eyes in fear yet still peak through they’re fingers with anticipation !

like that’s how good it is!

a “I can’t look away” type of thriller!

also you know that really talkative guy with the bob?

yeah he over analyzes your manga once he finds out about it

(which let me tell you- Kusuo tried his hardest to keep him away from it—but much to his luck- he got a hold of it anyway)

thankfully he likes it!

he’s scared- but once again- he just can’t look away :)

he comes to you and gives your extremely detailed compliments and (positive) feedback after each chapter is released and says he can’t wait for more

he also tells his expectations and predictions for the next one and hopes you’ll live up to them

so when your exceed them he’s more than thrilled (GET IT?? Ok..)

he’s practically able to predict every book or manga he reads because he analyzes everything

so when your able to surprise him he’s impressed!

after Kusuo he’s the first one to buy a copy

(cuz yk Kusuo gets those special you-get-the-first-copy-before-it’s-published-because-your-my-boyfriend-privileges)

LOL

the bob guy is low key jealous of him for getting it before it’s even PUBLISHED

tries to bargain you to get that too but it’s strictly reserved for Kuu ♡

okay I looked up bob guy’s name

it’s Akechi Touma (oops)

LOL “bob guy”

enjoy!! Pretty short but I think they’re a delight~

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sirfrogsworth · 6 months

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The Pretty Average Trump Trauma

I really picked the wrong week to have a controversial post go viral.

The appeal deadline for my disability case is very soon and we just recently got the last of the medical records. My lawyer can get very busy and hard to reach. And I have been freaking out trying to get a hold of him to make sure everything is ready to be submitted. Thankfully he just emailed and said everything is on track and will be sent in for the appeal.

But having this weighing on me behind the scenes while also dealing with the blowback from my "vote for Biden" post caused me to enter into some unhealthy arguments and lose my temper on several occasions.

I didn't actually think about what would happen if that post went viral. Sometimes I write things and a hundred people see it, and it serves as a catharsis because I was able to get my thoughts and fears out of my brain.

And sometimes it gets reblogged 6000 times and I can forget I have a platform where that happens from time to time.

I wish I had written a better initial post. I think my thoughts in subsequent posts, along with the inclusion of what I think is a better strategy, would have gone a long way to help people understand my point of view. Looking back, that original post feels incomplete.

The post that ended up going viral was not inspired by reason or logic and it was never really meant to convince anyone of anything.

I thought I was preaching to the choir.

It was a representation of my fears. It was the result of two years of panic and trauma from the pandemic which ended in my mother's horrible death.

Let me explain...

On November 9th, Shaun, a YouTuber I respect, posted this.

And it scared the hell out of me.

A very popular leftist with a huge platform wrote this to 5 million people and I freaked out.

Shaun wasn't necessarily saying not to vote for Biden at the time. But he thinks people should all say they won't vote for him unless he calls for a ceasefire. I get the strategy. But I feared that nuance would be lost on many people and they would only see it as "don't vote for Biden... no matter what." Which was an accurate prediction on my part. The guy from Eve 6 has been going nuance-free for weeks now.

The one thing I greatly disagree with Shaun about is this...

Before the pandemic, I might have understood his argument. For the first two years, Trump was mostly an ineffectual goof. He had trouble getting a lot of his worst ideas to manifest. Most of the border wall he built ended up being repairs of existing barriers. And Obama droned civilians and kept kids in cages too—though Trump kept them in cages indefinitely and made up a rule that we can't actually know how many civilians he was droning.

So, a lot of the same, but turned up to 11.

But nothing about the pandemic response was pretty average.

There is something I have been choosing not to say during all of these discussions. I felt like saying it would be poor timing. I was worried people wouldn't actually agree with me. I worried it would make people think I was turning suffering into a competition. I didn't want to make it look like I valued certain lives over others. But then people accused me of all of that anyway. I was called evil and a collaborator and a supporter of genocide.

So I'm going to talk about it. Because the fact that few have mentioned it in these discussions has been bothering me. And the fact that the majority of society does not mention it makes me feel very alone in this belief.

I have long believed Trump and the majority of US conservatives committed a genocide of the disabled and elderly. I was never really comfortable calling it that word. I wasn't really sure how a genocide got classified as such. So I would just say things like, "40% of people who died during COVID should still be alive" and "Trump is responsible for hundreds of thousands of COVID deaths" and "Trump killed my mom" and hoping people would make the connection or at least see it as mass murder. I mean, this country judges everything by how many "9/11s" something is, but not the pandemic?

Donald Trump was the leader of the Republican party. When he refused to wear a mask due to vanity, his followers looked for something to excuse him. And I feel that directly birthed the "masks don't work" movement among conservatives. Donald Trump, having enormous influence among his acolytes, refused to correct this dangerous rhetoric. And he probably welcomed the cover so he could continue going maskless and not smear his makeup—even after he nearly died.

It is my belief this was the beginning of a genocide of apathy, deliberate and accidental incompetence, and non-compliance. And the reason for that non-compliance was not freedom as many claimed.

Conservatives did not like being inconvenienced.

They didn't like having to consider others.

And if competence requires effort and vigilance, they'd prefer doing the bare minimum.

Trump was famous for not filling vital administrative positions in the executive branch. Not only that, his turnover rate was 5 times higher than previous administrations. People were asked to do the job of several people because they didn't staff properly, and so those people quit. Thus creating a cycle of inexperienced new-hires that were out of their depth and asked to do much more than they bargained for. There is no way they could succeed in their jobs.

I think people forget that part of the role of the executive is the day-to-day boring administrative shit that is required to run a country. And when this day-to-day work isn't valued, it creates a crisis of incompetence. Which then creates things like not enough tests, not enough testing, Trump saying "if you don't test, it doesn't count", botched vaccine rollouts, rampant misinformation, poor education of the populace, and abysmal improvised press conferences where the President does a quick riff on injecting bleach.

This competence aspect is one of the hugest reliefs I had with the Biden administration. Not Biden. Not his policies. I'm talking about the regular workers getting shit done. This is the reason I am desperate to get my shit worked out with Social Security before the election. I once called Social Security during the pandemic and I literally got a recording saying to try calling back the next month.

Trump didn't care. People criticized him for not hiring people. He was aware of the problem. He just did nothing about it. And many conservatives praised him for "trimming the fat" or whatever. This idea that all of these government workers were useless burdens on the taxpayer fell apart during the pandemic.

There is incompetence caused by ignorance but it can also be a deliberate act. Trump was extraordinary in all forms of incompetence. He wasn't qualified to manage a pandemic. But he could have easily appointed experts and then gotten out of the way. But his narcissism would not let him cede power to anyone. He has always been convinced "only Trump can save you" and so his ego helped kill nearly half a million people.

Once the incompetence ball got rolling, that's when malicious apathy reared its ugly head. It was time to choose who they cared least about dying—who they felt was most useless. Conservatives decided it was time to devalue lives and start making sacrifices to save politicians' money laundering fronts small businesses.

Popular conservatives were going on TV and saying it was okay if Grandma died. It would be a worthy sacrifice to protect our freedoms.

The Lt. Governor of Texas, Dan Patrick, basically offered up the elderly for sacrifice all while claiming that he spoke for them and was also willing to die. Though I don't take his personal willingness very seriously, since he has the money and resources to get the best medical care and probably had no expectation he was in any danger.

“No one reached out to me and said, ‘As a senior citizen, are you willing to take a chance on your survival in exchange for keeping the America that all America loves for your children and grandchildren?’ But if they had? If that is the exchange, I’m all in. So my message is let’s get back to work. Those of us who are 70-plus, we’ll take care of ourselves.”

But you cannot just sacrifice the elderly. You may justify it by saying they have lived a long life, but many of the same health risks were shared by the disabled. Many of whom still had normal lifespans, but just needed extra care and protection.

There are countless elderly who cannot "take care of themselves" but they are still of value to our society. They are still loved. They watch and teach their grandchildren. They are the keepers of the family stories. They bake cookies and give you two dollar bills. They have random bowls of butterscotch all throughout their house.

But some need help. Some are sick. Some can't drive. Some can't walk. I guarantee not all of them were prepared to die for the cause.

And none deserved to die for a sports bar.

Oh, didn't I mention?

Dan Patrick owned a chain of sports bars that were losing money from the lockdowns. Did you really think he was sacrificing old folks "for the children"?

Thankfully Dan's sports bars are gonna be okay. He ended up receiving a $179,000 PPP loan... that was forgiven.

Then they started saying COVID deaths weren't COVID deaths.

"Well, they had a bad heart." "They were obese." "They had cancer."

They dropped the elderly excuse and began to openly devalue the disabled as well. If you were sick, what good were you? They considered us the next sacrifices for their convenience. If we wanted to survive, we shouldn't have gotten sick. It didn't matter that we could survive for years or even have a normal lifespan as long as we were protected by our communities.

And then began the non-compliance.

Trump's followers ignored masks and lockdowns and eventually vaccines. They were unwilling to protect the vulnerable and so many of us just... died.

Again, 40% of the US COVID deaths could have been prevented. Hundreds of thousands of people should still be here. Malicious apathy, incompetence, and non-compliance were the direct cause of this genocide.

The United Nations Genocide Convention identified 5 acts that typically constitute genocide. Only one act is required and in the pandemic 3 of the 5 acts happened.

Killing members of a group. Causing members of a group serious bodily harm. Imposing living conditions on that group that would destroy them.

I'm looking at that third one just now and realizing why we have advocates to remind us of vulnerable groups that need protection. I was thinking about how the elderly and disabled were trapped in hyper-contagious nursing homes and care facilities, but I completely forgot about prisons and the concentration camps at the borders.

I am not trying to diminish the awful things happening in Palestine right now. This is not a comparison of suffering—but a reminder. When a current terrible thing is happening, it can be hard to focus on anything else. But I do wish more people recognized what happened as a genocide and that the leader of that genocide, the one with the power to stop it, was Donald Trump. If we are going to base this voting decision entirely on acts of genocide, why is this not part of the consideration?

It is an awful moral calculus we have to figure out. One president is supporting and asking for funding for a genocide and I feel the other was the direct cause of another genocide. That's why I said both choices sucked. And the only way I could resolve this moral calculation was by asking what path would cause the least harm for everyone involved.

And the most disappointing aspect of all of these debates was the ableism. People told me if Trump was elected and I lost my benefits I should grow my own food and learn about medicine. They said I valued disabled lives above those in Gaza. They told me to imagine myself in Nazi Germany as a collaborator despite the fact I would have been euthanized.

But I felt like they weren't considering the disabled at all.

I am a disability advocate. So of course I am going to remind people to consider us in their voting decisions. But I'm tired of hearing I value lives differently just because I speak on behalf of a vulnerable group more often. I'm tired of continually having to justify my existence. And I'm tired of people dismissing the very real trauma caused by Trump.

It was not pretty average.

I'd like to tell you the full story of my mother's passing. All of the details. Even the ones I can't bear to type. But this isn't just my story. This is the story of countless others who had to watch their loved ones slowly die behind glass or over the phone or on an iPad.

I spent two years in constant anxiety trying to protect my two very sick parents. It was always assumed that my father was the most at risk. And that he was probably going to die long before my mother. But she had started a treatment for her psoriatic arthritis that turned the volume down on her immune system. Something that would normally not be a huge risk... but a pandemic changed that. A vaccine needs a functioning immune system to protect someone.

She could either accept the agony of stopping treatment or risk getting COVID. If people would have been willing to protect her, it would have been an easier choice. And she would still be around today. And I wouldn't have to worry about being homeless right now.

I don't know for sure when she was infected. I kept her inside as much as possible. But she needed those treatments and we had to pile into a crowded waiting room every time. And I remember a man in his fifties who seemed preoccupied with having to wear a mask. And when he thought no one was looking, he'd pull it down below his nose. A few days later she was being taken away in an ambulance.

A few weeks before my mother died, she called me on the phone. She was heavily medicated and they had two different breathing devices assisting her. The nurse was holding the phone up to her ear and she was trying to speak over the volume of the air rushing into her face from the masks. I could not hear her no matter how loud she yelled. So she asked the nurse to take the masks off for just a second so we could talk.

Her only concern was for my father. We all contracted COVID and she was so worried he would end up just like her. Thankfully the vaccine worked for him and he was okay at that moment. But she kept yelling, "Is Dad okay? Is Dad okay?" And I kept trying to tell her he was fine, but she was hard of hearing and the phone could not be held very close to her ear.

Unfortunately, the yelling made it harder and harder for her to breathe. She started gasping for air. The nurse kept insisting she put the breathing equipment back on, but my mom refused. "I want to talk to my son! I need to talk to my son!"

I knew there wasn't much we could do to communicate. And so I kept trying to yell "I love you, Mom. Everyone is fine. I love you!" I then asked the nurse to tell her that. And when she finally understood what I was saying, she burst into tears.

Her oxygen levels were getting dangerously low and she was fighting the nurse. And she just yelled out, "I'm so scared! I think I'm going to die! Tell Dad I'm sorry I can't take care of him! I don't want to die!" She kept repeating that over and over. The nurse had no choice and had to put the masks back on. My mom screamed and shouted "No! Please no! That's my son!"

And those were the last words I ever heard from my mother.

Gasping for air. Scared of dying. Worried about her family.

This moment has intrusively popped into my brain on a regular basis since it happened. It happens when I'm awake. It happens in my dreams. I have no control over it. I just have to keep experiencing it like it is happening for the first time.

After I saw that tweet from Shaun and then many others expressing the same thing (without the strategic aspect), my dread and trauma resurfaced with a vengeance. I've been reliving my mom's final words in my dreams. That moment keeps popping into my head. I feared the man I feel is most responsible for my mother's death may regain power and kill me and the last of the family I have left.

I keep asking myself the same questions over and over. What if there is another public health emergency? What happens to my trans friends if he turns the US into Florida and Texas? What will happen to the migrants at the border?

All I have is my two best friends. Katrina is gay and Delling is trans and disabled. All of us are vulnerable.

I wrote that post to help deal with the nightmares. Writing is part of my coping process. I didn't really expect it to go super viral. I just needed to get that out of my brain. But when people pushed back and started calling me evil and a collaborator and that I was valuing my life above those in Palestine, all with a huge heap of ableism, I found myself unable to let it go and not respond. I couldn't choose the healthy thing and step away.

While I feel I made some good arguments and put forth some solid ideas for other ways to handle this, I also got angry and lost my temper and stayed in arguments for way too long—all to my mental detriment.

My little world felt like it was collapsing and the world at large also felt like it was collapsing. I had personal horrors in my mind mixing with the horrors of this global conflict.

It was too much.

I don't regret what I posted. Many felt the same as I do. And I think my subsequent posts did a good job of expanding on my thoughts while also offering hope for alternate solutions.

But I do regret the timing and I wish I hadn't lost my temper. Especially in a reply I left with a lot of cussing.

People might disagree but I am hoping that people can understand the fear and trauma that influences my point of view.

I am actually willing to risk quite a lot to protect other people. Even people in faraway lands I don't know.

But I refuse to offer up the vulnerable to be sacrificed if it won't actually help anyone. That's what a Texas Lt. Governor would do.

#trigger warning #death mention #genocide mention

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raineandsky · 6 months

Text

The Villain's Housekeeper

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)

tw: death mention, implied torture

The villain leaves, as promised. The hero sees them off at the door for the first time with a smile they stop pretending is genuine after a few seconds.

The villain wraps them in a slightly desperate hug, to their surprise. Their body’s warm, their arms shaking slightly. Nerves? Dread? Fear? The hero doesn’t know.

“I hope things get better for you,” they mumble into the hero’s shoulder. “I really mean that.”

They lean back to hold the hero at arm’s length. Their eyes glisten with tears the hero can’t put an emotion to. Doesn’t want to. “Stay safe, [Hero].”

And with that they’re on their way, their coat wrapped tight around them and their step quick. The hero watches them until they disappear around the corner. They shut the door slowly, slowly, and when it clicks into place they vaguely realise that they don’t know what to do with themself anymore.

So they do what they always do—they clean shelves, sweep the floor, clean counters. By the time they’re done the house is spotless and they’re out of work to swallow down that gnawing anxiety in their chest.

They flop down on the sofa—they’re not going to use the villain’s bed whilst it’s still warm, they’re not an animal—and let the exhaustion of the work overtake their worry and force them into a light sleep.

Light enough that they wake to the sound of the front door quietly clicking open. They sit up, ready to vocalise their surprise at the villain’s return, until they hear that the footsteps in the hall are decidedly not the villain’s. Too heavy, too slow. Too familiar.

The hero’s on their feet immediately. They want to hide, to run away, to do something, but their body feels like it’s weighed down by stone as the superhero turns the corner into the living room.

“Ah, [Hero].” Surprise is lacking in the superhero’s voice. A small smile stretches at his mouth. “I heard rumours. It’ll be nice to have you back with us.”

With us. For a moment all the hero can think about is those long days in the jail, treated like nothing more than a stain in the agency’s gleaming record. “How—” The hero’s voice chokes in their throat, and they curse themself inwardly. “How did you know—”

“Good people do not hide things from the agency, [Hero],” the superhero says smoothly. “Common civilians are ranking higher than you in that aspect.”

“I wasn’t hiding anything,” the hero spits desperately. “I– I was never one of them.”

The last word comes out a little harsher than they intended. They were never one of the corrupt demons that kindly lets their nemesis hide in their home. No, no, of course not. No, no one would want to be like the villain.

The hero, though, didn’t become a hero without an innate eagerness to please. To prove themself. To show the superhero how good they can be.

“I was never one of them,” the hero repeats, and the superhero cocks his head. Interest. “I– I can prove it.”

The superhero hums a cold laugh, and for a moment the hero feels like they’re back in that awful little basement, chains on their wrists, swearing their innocence, assaulted by the sound of dragging leather behind them—

The hero quickly turns on their heel to avoid looking at the superhero any longer.

They lead the way to the villain’s office, desperate to keep themself a few paces ahead. A belt sits at the superhero’s waist, and they don’t want to get close enough to see him unsheathe it again.

The door swings inward. The superhero looks inside momentarily. His gaze turns to the hero. Disappointed.

Please, no. “This is– it’s [Villain]’s office,” they add quickly. “This is their house.”

The superhero’s eyes linger on them for a moment. His face gives nothing away. Then he turns away to step into the office, and it feels like the hero can breathe again.

The hero stays in the doorway whilst the superhero peruses like this is nothing more than his weekly trip to the shops. He flits through papers, looks through drawers. He taps his chin in thought. His eyes scan across the room curiously. Eventually, after an eternity of the hero trying to figure out whether this is how they repent, he glances back up to meet the hero’s gaze.

“This is a good find.” The superhero offers something of a kind smile, and the hero has to hold back an entirely too genuine grin of their own. “Good. Very good.”

He collects a stack of papers. “Thank you for this, [Hero],” he says as he lugs them into his arms. “Let’s head back to the agency, hm?”

The hero’s evaded the superhero’s fury. There’s no way this is real. They can’t believe their luck. “Y–Yes, sir.”

The hero follows the superhero to his car. Another one waits behind it, a sleek black thing straight from the agency garage. The hero swallows and averts their gaze—of course he knew they were here. Of course he didn’t come alone.

The superhero doesn’t say much on the journey back to the agency. His gaze speaks volumes without the words, continuously slipping to the piles of paper the entire way, a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips. The hero decides to point their interest to the world passing outside in the hopes that they can ignore what they’ve done to the villain to put themself in the superhero’s favour.

It doesn’t matter, their mind promises in sickening whispers. They’ll be dead soon. Step on their corpse to survive if you have to.

The superhero sighs shortly as he pulls the car into the agency’s underground garage. Waves the hero along as he lets himself into the building. Invites them into his office. Lets the door click shut behind him.

“It is nice to see you back where you belong, [Hero],” the superhero says as he settles at his desk. It looks comically small in comparison to the giant room it's set in. “And with documents! You’ve gone above and beyond.”

The hero allows themself the smallest of smiles. “Thank you, sir.”

“To prove innocence I don’t believe you have.”

The smile falters. Their heart leaps into their throat. “... What?”

The superhero smiles lightly. “We don’t do coincidences in this agency, [Hero]. Everything has a meaning. Even if it is a mistake, it is set in stone, and we will treat it as such. You relayed information to a spy. That is all I need to know.”

The hero turns on their heel. Security is already in the doorway, a pair of metal cuffs in his hand. The superhero laughs humorlessly.

“Don’t you worry, [Hero].” The hero whips back to him, their face surely a myriad of pain and horror and betrayal. “Innocence means nothing to us. You’ll make up for what you’ve done.”

The cuffs click around the hero’s wrists. They can’t even find it in themself to struggle against them. They just stare at the superhero, aghast. “You… you tricked me.”

The superhero arranges the villain’s papers on his desk idly. “It is nothing on me if you were foolish enough to trust me.”

The man behind the hero tugs them towards the door. Jail. Right back where they started. The superhero throws them one last smirk. Satisfied, cruel, mocking. Disgusting.

“Thanks for coming back, [Hero]. Really,” he says as his door swings open in a creaking goodbye. “It’s nice to have you back where you belong.”

(next part)

Taglist:

@runarelle @thiefofthecrowns

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #the villains housekeeper #tw death mention #tw implied torture #again!! if you skip for the trigger warning but still want to follow the series dm me or send me an ask!!#i can keep you updated if you wanna follow along without the bad bits!! dont want anyone missin out :)

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weaselishmcdiesel · 1 year

Note

I’m so sorry about Mumbo 😭

he was a good man...

#idk if this needs death warnings but ill add them #death #death mention #asks!#weasel speaks #art #my art

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haveyouseenthishorrormovie · 6 months

Text

SUMMARY: Giant mutant rabbits terrorize the south-west.

The mod has not seen this movie, but really wants you to read the below excerpt from the Wikipedia article. Because all I want to know is how they got Janet Leigh to star in this.

"Widely panned by critics for its silly premise, poor direction, stilted acting and bad special effects, the film's biggest failure is considered to be the inability to make the rabbits seem scary."

#night of the lepus (1972)#natural horror #science fiction #1970s #united states #north american movie #mentionable warning #animal death #horror #movies #poll #more than 50% havent heard

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kaytrawrites · 4 months

Text

QSMP - Crowbeast

Summary in which qPhilza is not ok, and goes off the deep end.

Notes CW // multiple main character death (non permanent), violence against semi-humanoid creature This is also very long (9.7k+ words)

---

Chayanne was slain by Code Beast Tallulah was slain by Code Beast Chayanne was slain by Code Beast Tallulah was slain by Code Beast

The feeling of icy, cold hands gripped Phils heart. He froze, staring at the words displayed upon his communicator. “Chayanne!? Tallulah!?” he screamed. He bolted past Fit, who was also staring down at his communicator in silent shock.

Messages from the other Islanders flooded the communicator.

<Etoiles> WHERE <Etoiles> WHERE <Etoiles> WHERE <Etoiles> WHERE <BadBoyHalo> WHERE ARE THEY??? <Etoiles> I WILL KILL THAT SON OF A BITCH <Etoiles> I WILL KILL THAT SON OF A BITCH <Etoiles> I WILL KILL THAT SON OF A BITCH <Etoiles> WHERE <Etoiles> WHERE <Etoiles> WHERE <Tubbo_> IM COMING

Fit followed after Phil, who was racing down the halls of the dungeon, occasionally screaming his children’s names.

Then Phil stopped dead in his tracks.

And Fit saw what had stopped his friend.

Shattered eggshells were scattered around the area, slashes and splashes of red covered the floor and walls. The air smelt of rot, blood and s̷̳̓t̵͕̿a̸͚͒ț̷͆i̷̱͝c̵͖͌. And in the center-ish of the room was a glitchy black and green figure; hovering above Chyanne’s rubber floaty and Tallulah’s red beanie.

Phil was completely and utterly silent as he slipped his scythe off his back and into his hand. He shifted his weight and leapt toward the Code Beast that had killed his children.

Fit bit back a curse and grabbed his potato cannon from its holster and loaded it up with a golden apple. He carefully lined up the shot and fired. The power of the apple shot out and blended into Phil’s aura, providing an extra boost to the enraged man.

Fit reloaded his cannon, the crushed apple core dropping to the ground. He aimed and fired again and again, trying to keep his friend alive as the Code Beast laid into Phil as fiercely as the man did to it.

The Code Beast knocked Phil back, its claw catching on the strap of Phil’s backpack, ripping it off. Phil’s ruined wings flared out to help catch his balance. Fit fired two more golden apples at his friend in quick succession. Then swapped his cannon’s ammo to golden carrots. He fired several shots toward the Code Beast, forcing it away from his friend for a moment.

He grabbed one of his splash potions and threw it at his friend’s back. The potion bottle shattered, the elixir infusing Phil with a burst of instantaneous healing. Fit threw several more, taking advantage of the small moment he had bought by swapping his ammo. Phil took advantage of Fit’s support and lunged forward to slash the beast.

“I'm here! I'm here!” Etoiles cried out, sprinting past Fit, toward where Phil and the Code Beast were locked in combat.

Etoiles whipped his shield around and blocked a strike that would have dealt a horrid blow to Phil. “Strike, my bro!” Etoiles called out as he surged forward, knocking the Code Beast back.

Phil paused for half a breath, and leapt forward to land a strike upon the Code Beast. His scythe morphed, becoming an ax.

Tubbo bolted past Fit, his own scythe in his hand. He paused for a heartbeat, looking over the battle arena. He froze when he saw Tallulah’s hat and Chayanne’s duck floaty. Tubbo screamed and leapt at the beast, screaming curses that would burn Bad’s ears.

Fit swapped his cannon’s ammo back to golden apples, rapidly firing and reloading.

Under the near unrelenting attacks of Phil, Etoiles and Tubbo, the tides of the battle turned, and Code Beast fell.

Code Beast was slain by Ph1lza

Phil stood above the body of the beast, his ax slowly lowering, and wings limp.

“Phil?” Fit asked. Phil’s knees buckled, and Fit dashed forward and caught his friend.

His eyes were vacant, his gaze flat. Fit carefully lifted the smaller man in his arms. Phil did not resist.

Tubbo picked up Chayanne’s floaty and Tallulah’s hat, and silently followed Fit back toward the waystone.

Etoiles stayed for a little longer, glaring down at the body of the Code Beast. But he followed after Fit and Tubbo.

The waystone at spawn whooshed as the group arrived.

Bad jumped at the sound, Bad freezing in his pacing back and forth. “Hey-” The words Bad was about to say died as he took in their utter, defeated silence.

Tubbo shook his head and Bad’s eyes went wide. “Are they really gone?” He asked. Tubbo nodded, and sank to his knees where he stood. Sunny sat down next to her Pa, leaning against him.

“Fit?” Bad turned to Fit for confirmation. Fit nodded, walking past Bad toward the elevator up to Phil’s home.

Bad stood in silence as Fit and Etoiles walked away. Tubbo was utterly silent, his grip on Chayanne’s floaty and Tallulah’s hat tightening. Bad turned on his heel and walked away from spawn. He was barely 50 feet away before he let out an unholy scream, and began to sprint away.

Fit took the elevator up to Phil’s home atop the wall. He flicked open the trapdoor down into the Garden of Hope and Music, and carefully descended to the air locked doors, Etoiles closing them behind. Fit pushed open the doors, and carefully set Phil down on the bed.

“Want me to stay, man?” Fit asked quietly when the man stirred slightly.

“Just go…” Phil muttered. “Just go…”

Fit slowly nodded, and rested a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “I’ll be here to listen if you need me.”

Etoiles and Fit left the quiet space. The last sound they heard from their friend was a shuddering sob.

—

The next few days were notably absent of Phil’s presence. The other islanders had gotten used to him appearing sometimes, silent and silly, when the bakery quests refreshed for the day and Chayanne and Tallulah weren’t getting up for the day. But those who usually spotted him doing the quests couldn’t catch neither hide nor hair of the man.

On the fourth day Phil finally emerged from the basement. His clothing choices were notably darker. He was utterly silent, responding with only one or two words when Fit tried to talk to him. He quietly did the quests as usual. Tucking the cookies into his backpack as usual. Leaving extra items for the quests in the barrels as usual.

But he didn’t stay out and about for long, quickly returning to the basement.

Each day he emerged he looked worse than the last time, which Tubbo mentioned to him. Phil didn’t even refute it. The next morning he wore the plague doctor gas mask he had brought back from Purgatory.

It quickly became a rare sight to see Phil out and about without the gas mask.

Well, it also became a rare sight to Phil at all.

After he hadn’t been seen for an entire week, Fit and Tubbo went to search the basement for their friend. The space was utterly silent. Fit examined the space. It was tidy. Too tidy.

Then he found the letter. It contained only 4 lines, 9 words.

“I can’t bear it. I’m gone. Don’t look. Sorry.”

Fit and Tubbo tracked down Etoiles by N.I.N.H.O, just as the sun started to go down.

“We found this.” Fit explained, handing Etoiles the letter.

Etoiles read the letter, the parchment crumpling slightly in his grip. “That son of a bitch.” Etoiles muttered. He paced back and forth. “He hates to talk about what he’s going through. I am more than ready to help!”

Fit nodded along with Etoiles’ angry ranting.

“Even The Goat needs help!” Etoiles snapped. “And Phil helped when I needed help! That old man doesn’t know when to ask for help! And he is too good at hiding when he needs help…”

Fit nodded. “Yeah. Getting information about his mental health is like pulling teeth. I just barely got out of him that he was having hallucinations a while back.”

Etoiles stopped and snapped around to stare at Fit. “Explain.” Etoiles ground out.

Fit paused, then sighed. “Yeah. So, you remember when the eggs vanished before Purgatory; well, Phil disappeared for about a week or so during that time. At some point after he came back, he took me to a part of a forest and told me that was where he had been trapped.”

Etoiles frowned. “Are you absolutely sure that?”

“Phil would not lie about that.” Fit crossed his arms, letting out a huff. “As I said, getting information about his mental health is like pulling teeth. Healthy teeth. So if he admits that he’s having issues, you can Always. Trust. His. Word.” He growled, more angry with himself than with the French cucumber.

“And how do you know what he’s like?” Etoiles asked, cocking his head.

“I faced him in War.” Fit replied. “When you face The Angel of Death in war, you learn something about him. And yourself.”

He huffed. “Look. What’s important to know is that Phil is gone. He’s left no clues about where he is…” His head snapped around, locking on a shadowy figure that zipped out of the bakery and ran toward the spawn warpstone.

Tubbo bolted toward the warpstone just as the figure reached it and vanished.

“Fuck!” Tubbo cursed.

“What the fuck was that?” Fit asked. “It wasn’t a nightmare stalker.”

“What’s more important is that it can use waystones…” Tubbo muttered. “I’m gonna need to move mine and put them in a secure box.

“Fuck man!” Etoiles said. “Now that I know you are moving yours, I’m going to secure mine too.” He palmed his warp stone. “I will talk to you soon.”

Fit nodded. “Alright. I will keep everyone updated if anything turns up.” He palmed his warp stone, warping to his base.

He turned and looked up at the wall. An aura of subdued mourning hung over the entire structure. Even the glowing trees that Phil and his kids had planted along the top were dimmer.

“Fuck!” Fit cursed. He turned and laid a hand on the waystone. He teleported back to that dungeon. He had been back here twice in the past month since Chayanne and Tallulah’s final deaths. But both times he could not bring himself to enter the room.

He slowly walked down the halls of the dungeon; the only sounds he heard beyond his ever-present tinnitus, were his own footsteps.

All too quickly he stood outside the room where the battle had occurred. He stared through the doorway, gritting his teeth. This place hurt his old friend in the worst way possible. Fit took in a slow deep breath and reached into his pouch for some of the sticks of tnt he kept there. He had to destroy this place.

He took a step in, Then a second, Then a third.

He stood over the few remaining crushed shells of Chayanne and Tallulah and flicked open the lighter. He flicked the wheel, and brought the small flame to the fuse. “Sorry kids…” He mumbled.

“NO!” A young voice yelled out, and a relatively small frame slammed into Fit. “Tio Fit! No! No! No!”

Fit lifted the lit stick away from the small person, and looked down at the raven haired child, then up at the brunette that ran up after them.

The hair of both youths were unkempt, and they had what looked like very dirty bed linens wrapped around themselves.

Fit threw the single stick away from where he and the two young ones stood.

He dropped to one knee to better look at the one who had grabbed him, face to face.

The one who had grabbed him had dark hair, with small glints of golden strands that caught the torchlight. Their eyes were a bright blue. And most notable was the skull shaped mark on their face.

Now, Fit hadn’t interacted much with Missa to memorize his facial features, but he knew Phil’s face. And this raven haired child looked an incredible amount like Phil.

Fit glanced at the other child, and even though their eyes were blue-gray, their curly poof of brown hair was identical to Wilbur’s; except far longer. And although they were darker than Wilbur, they unmistakably inherited his features.

“Chayanne?” Fit said, hoping beyond all hope.

The black haired child- no. The black haired dragonling nodded rapidly.

Fit glanced at the other child. “Tallulah?” He asked.

The brunette dragonling frowned and silently mouthed what Fit had said for a second, then nodded.

Fit lifted his hands and slowly signed out ‘Tallulah, remember the first time we met? Found you in basement by me, your papi and Forever?’

Tallulah grimaced at the last name Fit said, but shook her head. “It was only you and papi who found me. I was in an attic. Not a basement.” She corrected, her tone of voice a bit off due to her current lack of hearing aids.

“And Chayanne, do you remember that first meal I gave you? It was hashbrowns, wasn’t it?” Fit asked, praying that Chayanne would remember.

Chayanne shook his head. “Big Breakfast.” He said, insistently.

Fit let out a breath. They probably are Chayanne and Tallulah, but something was different. “How are you two… human?” He asked.

Tallulah glanced at her brother, having not caught what Fit said. Chayanne frowned then lifted his hands, flipping them back and forth, palm then back of the hand, repeatedly. While the light in the room may be dim, it was bright enough to catch on the scales on his hands and arms. He reached up and squished down his hair, exposing a handful of small horns crowning his head. “Not human.” He said.

Fit blinked. “Yeah. Not human.” He said. “How are you two even alive?” He asked, enunciating as clearly as he could.

Tallulah pointed to the shattered egg shells on the floor. “Hatched.” She tapped her chest. “Rules for life are different now.”

“Died after hatching.” Chayanne nodded. “Didn’t feel in danger like when small.”

“So, now that you two have hatched, that means you’ll revive like me or any of the other islanders?” Fit asked.

Chayanne and Tallulah nodded.

Fit let out a breath. “Ok. Then let’s get you two back to spawn.” He stood and started to leave, but stopped when he felt his sleeve being grabbed.

“No xp.” Chayanne said.

“Oh! I’ll set up a sharestone and ask Bad to bring some solid experience so you two can get back.” Fit explained. Chayanne nodded, and reached behind himself to grab Tallulah’s hand.

Fit started walking toward the waystone and sent a message to BBH.

You whisper to BadBoyHalo: I’m setting up a red sharestone. Bring solid experience or experience bottles. You whisper to BadBoyHalo: They are alive. You whisper to BadBoyHalo: I found them. BadBoyHalo whispers to you: what? BadBoyHalo whispers to you: im coming

Fit set up the red sharestone and messaged Bad the name.

The far taller man appeared a few moments later, quickly followed by Dapper, “Fit, how did you run out of experience so quick-” His words died as he saw the pair that quickly ducked behind Fit. “Who shrunk Phil?” He asked.

“I’ll explain a bit more when we get Chayanne and Tallulah back to spawn and make sure their spawn points are there.” Fit insisted.

Dapper was staring up at Chayanne and Tallulah. And now that Fit could see an egg next to the pair, if one of them curled up real tight, they would be able to fit inside a space about as big as Dapper is. Would Ramon be like these two when he hatched?

Fit shook off the thought and turned his focus to BBH, who was staring down at Chayanne and Tallulah. “Bad. Focus.”

Bad nodded. “Yes. We need to get them back to spawn.” He handed Chayanne and Tallulah a few blocks of solid experience. “You two head there first. Fit and I will follow after.”

Chayanne nodded, and he squeezed the solid experience, absorbing it. Tallulah did so too and the pair rested their free hands on the sharestone, and vanished. Dapper followed a few moments later.

As soon as the pair vanished, Bad turned to Fit. “That’s them. Without a doubt.” He said.

Fit let out a breath. “Demon thing, I guess. Weight off my chest having that confirmation.” He walked past Bad, who seemed to be visibly shaken. “We need to get those two tidied up. And see if anything about Phil’s turned up.”

“Wait. Hold up.” Bad said, grabbing the back of Fit’s jacket. “Explain about Phil.”

Fit paused, “Phil’s gone awol. Tubbo and I found a letter in his base telling us to not look for him.” He shook his head. “Look. Let’s just focus on the kids.” He warped to spawn.

Tallulah and Chayanne were sitting in the entrance to the spawn waystone room, Dapper was standing just outside. Fit glanced up at the wall and frowned. “Let’s head over to NINHO and get you two cleaned up.”

Chayanne looked up. “Dad?” He asked.

Fit glanced at Bad, who smiled. “Fit will go get him. Let’s get you two cleaned up.”

Chayanne grabbed Tallulah’s hand and signed one-handed to her, repeating what Fit and Bad said. She nodded and stood to follow Chayanne and Bad.

Fit headed around the other way from NINHO toward the elevator up to Phil’s place. He grabbed his communicator and sent a message to Tubbo.

You whisper to Tubbo: Do you still have Tallulah’s hat and Chayanne’s floaty? You whisper to Tubbo: If you have them, take them to NINHO asap. Tubbo whispers to you: I have them. Tubbo whispers to you: Why do you need them? You whisper to Tubbo: I found Chayanne and Tallulah

Fit opted to ignore Tubbo’s spamming of his communicator as he descended into Phil’s basement. He grabbed Chayanne and Tallulah’s main backpacks from where they had been placed carefully on their beds. He paused beside Phil’s neatly made bed, then walked past and grabbed Phil’s extra bucket hat.

Fit left the bunker, a bundle of clean clothes from Phil’s closet in his arms, along with the kids’ backpacks. As he approached NINHO, he saw Sunny and Empanada perched on the edge of the garden bed outside with Tubbo.

“Hey, Tubbo.” Fit said. “I’m guessing one of Em’s moms is inside helping Bad?”

“Yes. Tina is.” Tubbo folded his arms. “I would have come with you to find them, you know.”

“I did not know they were there.” Fit crossed his arms.

Tubbo looked down at the red knit hat and yellow rubber floaty in his lap. “What happened?” He finally asked.

“I found Chayanne and Tallulah in the dungeon. They are different, but Bad’s confirmed that it’s them without a doubt.” Fit confirmed.

Tubbo looked up at NINHO, and nodded slowly. “Ok. I will trust you on this.”

Fit headed in, followed by Tubbo. They headed to the bathing area. A curtain had been set up around one of the baths, Bad was knelt down by one of the others. Fit set the bundle of clothes and the backpacks down. Bad glanced up and nodded, acknowledging Fit and Tubbo’s presence, then returned to helping Chayanne scrub off a month’s worth of dungeon grime.

Fit started sorting through the clothes he had grabbed, making sure every article of clothing was clean.

Bad and Chayanne finished first, and Bad brought the raven haired dragonling over to Fit and Tubbo, bundled in an oversized, fluffy towel. Now that Chay was all cleaned up, he looked even more like Phil. Bad looked over the selection of clothes then shrugged off his backpack to grab some things. “I prepared these ahead of time for Dapper. I can make more.” Bad set some articles of clothing beside the ones Fit had grabbed.

Fit nodded. He hadn’t seen any in Phil’s base. Granted he hadn’t been looking very hard.

Chayanne slowly dressed, choosing brown trousers and one of Phil’s open back undershirts. Bad had to help get Chayanne’s wings through the shirt, being the only other person present who had wings.

When Chayanne was dressed, Tallulah and Tina had finished. Tallulah was bundled in a similar towel, and with her hair washed, it was far easier to see her twin dark purple horns. With the dungeon grime gone, the scales on her hands and arms were a pretty purple-pink. Her steps were quite unsteady, clutching Tina’s hand for support.

“Men, turn around, or get out.” Tina said sharply. Fit and Tubbo immediately turned around, shuffling toward the entrance to the bathing area. Bad stayed behind to help get Tallulah dressed.

It didn’t take long for Tallulah to be dressed, at which point Fit and Tubbo were called back. “Gonna need new hearing aids for Tallulah.” Tina said.

“I thought so.” Fit nodded. “I’ll see if Ramon wants to work on it.”

Chayanne grabbed Phil’s spare bucket hat that Fit had brought. “Where’s dad?” He asked.

Fit glanced at Tubbo. “We don’t know, right now.” He started. Not a lie. “I think it would be best for you two to stay with someone until Phil gets back. Is that ok?”

Chayanne glanced at Tallulah who looked back. “That is a good idea.” Tallulah said, nodding.

“Ok.” Bad said cheerily. “Who would you like to stay with?” Bad asked the pair.

Chayanne thought for a moment, but Tallulah spoke before her brother could answer. “Godfather Tubbo.”

Tubbo nodded. “Ok.” He knelt down in front of Tallulah and held out her red beanie. She took it carefully, flipping it around in her hands. Tubbo had cleaned it well. She put it on, tucking it under the back curve of her horns.

Chayanne stared at his old duck floaty. “It’s not going to fit.” He said. He looked over the sweaters that Fit had grabbed from Phil’s wardrobe. He grabbed a gray one that had little duckies knit on it.

Bad helped him get the sweater on, guiding him on how to tuck his dark feathered wings in comfortably.

“Who shrunk Phil?” Were Tubbo’s first words to Chayanne when the dark haired dragonling finished dressing and had plopped Phil’s spare stripped bucket hat on his head.

Chayanne snorted. “Tio please…” He giggled.

“Are you two sure about staying with me?” Tubbo asked.

Chayanne grabbed Tallulah’s hand, and nodded. “You are our godfather. Dad trusts you to care for us.”

Tubbo nodded. “Ok. Sunny’s house has some empty rooms I can set you two up in.”

It was a slow walk over to Sunny’s house, since Tallulah was having difficulties walking without support. Tubbo insisted that he’ll make her forearm crutches so she didn’t have to wait on someone to help her. And to have something to smack people with, he had slyly whispered after making that promise.

Sunny tried her best to make the space welcoming for Chay and Lulah, but Tallulah wanted to go straight to bed. Chayanne stayed up for a little longer, but was sent to bed within the hour because he was dozing off on his feet.

Over the next week, Bad checked in on Chayanne and Tallulah pretty often. Tubbo put together forearm crutches for Tallulah within 48 hours and she gleefully sat down to decorate them almost immediately. It took an additional day for Tubbo and Ramon to put together new hearing aids for her.

All through the week, various islanders reported seeing the dark figure around the spawn and the bakery. When spotted, it either bolted toward the spawn waystone, or vanished in a puff of purple particles after a few seconds. Fit managed to snap a picture of it and posted the picture at spawn for everyone to see.

A full week after Chayanne and Tallulah were found and brought home, Chayanne cornered Fit and demanded to know where Phil was.

And that was a conversation Fit had to drag Tubbo into.

“We don’t know where Phil is.” Was the hardest sentence Fit ever had to say. And the looks Chayanne and Tallulah gave in response were even harder for him to bear.

Fit and Tubbo explained that Phil had vanished leaving only a letter maybe a week or so before Fit had found Chay and Lulah in that dungeon. Tubbo showed them the letter, and Tallulah’s crestfallen expression broke him.

She silently left the house, probably heading to her casita. Chayanne left too, probably to the bunker.

Fit quietly left for spawn to check on the cookie quests. As he arrived, he could hear Bad muttering minced oaths in the room under spawn. Since Phil’s absence, Bad had been much more present to work on getting mobs for the cookie quests.

The shadowy figure that the islanders had been seeing raced out of the bakery and toward the spawn waystone. Fit sighed, but froze in his steps at the small figure that dashed out of the bakery after it. “Leo!” Foolish cried out, racing after the two.

The shadowy figure disappeared into the spawn waystone room and the sound of the waystone activating echoed out.

The small pursuing figure emerged from the room. “¡Maldita sea! ¡Casi lo pillo esa vez!” They growled, their tail swishing back and forth. Fit’s translator helpfully supplied the translation: ‘Damnit! I almost caught it that time!’

Foolish stopped his pursuit and dropped a large hand on the little dragonette’s head. “Yeah. You’ll get it next time!” He declared proudly.

Leo shoved his hand off their head with a “¡Deja de tocarme el pelo!” to which Foolish only laughed. ‘Stop touching my hair!’

“Oi Foosh!” Fit called out.

“Hi Fit!” Foolish called, waving happily at him.

“I see Leo’s hatched too.” Fit commented.

Foolish grinned. “Yes sir! My Leo’s awesome looking!” He declared. Leo lifted their chin, a broad grin on their face, as sharp toothed as their papa. Leo turned in place so Fit could see.

Their hair was deep, shiny black making their trio of golden horns stand out. Their usual red cap was flipped around backward. Cheeks and arms were covered in shimmery purple scales, and the tip of their tail boasted a webbed fin. Someone, most likely Foolish, had braided their hair into a beautifully intricate multi-braid style with pretty golden and purple beads throughout.

Fit nodded. “You look good, Leo. Dangerous.”

Leo grinned. “¡Apuesta a que lo hago!” They declared, lifting their chin in pride. ‘You bet I do!’

The clack of rubber on cobbles drew Fit and Foolish’s attention. Tallulah and Chayanne had arrived. Seeing Chayanne and Leo in close proximity, Fit would hazard a guess that Leo was shorter than Chay. Which Leo seemed to have noticed as well by the fact they started trying to stand up taller, nearly standing on tiptoes.

“Hola tio Foolish.” Tallulah said, smiling slightly. Her eyes were a bit puffy, but she looked fine otherwise.

Foolish gasped happily. “Talulu!” He exclaimed, grinning. He opened his arms, requesting a hug, which Tallulah accepted by simply thumping into his torso.

“Why is everyone here?” Chayanne asked.

“Well, Leo and I were working on the cookie quests,” Foolish started. “But when we got here, that goddamn shadow monster was already inside. Leo tried to catch it but it ran off and took the waystone again.” Foolish pouted, rocking side to side a little, still hugging Tallulah.

“Shadow monster?” Chayanne asked, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

“Not a nightmare stalker.” Fit added. “It hasn’t tried to attack yet. If spotted it just runs toward the waystone and disappears.”

“When did it start showing up?” Tallulah asked, having turned in Foolish’s gentle hug.

“Right around when Phil disappeared.” Fit said. “He… wasn’t doing good after he thought you guys died… He started wearing his Bolas mask more often and didn’t really want to talk much.”

Tallulah extracted herself from Foolish’s hug and pulled her teleport stone out of her pocket. She stared into it, sorting through the waystones she had saved. “Where did the Chunk Error Alley waystone go?” She said, aloud.

Chayanne frowned then pulled out his own teleport stone to flick through his saved waystones. “I recognize every waystone in my list. The Chunk Error Alley waystone is the only one missing… oh.” He looked up at his sister. “Remember what dad said when he showed us that place.”

Tallulah blinked. “¡Maldita sea!” She cursed.

“Language!” Bad called out from the room below spawn.

“Papa exiled himself to Chunk Error Alley.” Tallulah grumbled, shoving her teleport stone into her pocket.

“Chunk Error Alley?” Fit asked.

“A place dad found a ways-out that was really weird. Big tall cliff walls on either side of a valley. He said that if Lulah and I ended up dying at some point, he was gonna go there and just build.” Chayanne explained. “I already checked Rose’s Sanctuary, The Nest and both Uppies. Chunk Error Alley is probably the only place he could be now.”

Tallulah nodded. “That’s probably where he is.” She looked down at her arm crutches.

“I can go check.” Fit interjected. “What are the coords?”

Chayanne looked up at Fit. “No. I can go. He’s my dad.”

“And Phil’s my friend and I don’t want to let a kid go out on his own.” Fit countered. “Especially one of Phil’s kids.” Chayanne glared up at Fit. “I’ll place a sharestone when I get there and come back to bring you and Tallulah.” He offered.

Chayanne huffed but nodded. “Fine.”

Fit leaned back then pulled out his communicator. “I should see if Tubbo’s ok with Ramon staying with you guys for a couple days while I make my way there.”

Tallulah nodded. “He should be.”

“Yup. He is.” Fit confirmed when he got a response to his message to Tubbo almost instantly. “I’ll see if Ramon’s awake and let him know what’s going on.”

Fit palmed his teleport stone and vanished in a puff of particles.

Foolish rested a hand on Chayanne’s shoulder. “We’ll find your papa, I promise.”

Chayanne looked up at Foolish, and nodded. “I hope so…”

Across the server, Fit pushed open the secure door to Ramon’s little home. “Ramon? My beautiful baby boy~...” He froze as he saw what looked like Ramon’s shell shattered into two pieces on the floor by Ramon’s bed. “Ramon!?” He shouted, his heart dropping. He dropped to the floor beside the shells, and reached out, hesitant to touch.

“Ramon?” He whispered.

“Fit, shut up…” a young voice grumbled from the bed. Fit spun to look at the bed, where a groggy tanned dragonling was peeking out from under the covers. A pair of brassy horns peeked out of his dark, messy curls. Slightly off white scales were speckled across his cheeks like freckles, and his visible arm was completely white because of the scales. His face was notably more draconic looking than Chayanne and Tallulah, also having a set of asian dragon style whiskers.

“Ramon?” Fit asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah, I’m awake now, Fit…” Ramon yawned.

“You’ve hatched?” Fit asked, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“No duh, Fit…” Ramon shuffled the blanket around so he was able to sit up properly. He was wearing what looked like-

“Is that my shirt?” Fit asked.

Ramon crawled out of bed and yawned. “First thing I could find.” He said, rubbing his eyes.

Fit had to hurry to scrounge together clothes that fit Ramon while he explained what was going on. He let Ramon keep the shirt and found a pair of coveralls Fit had gotten from the federation that were too small for his larger frame. Ramon was pleased with them; and was perfectly happy staying with Tubbo and Sunny for a few days.

Ramon packed his tools while Fit packed for the long trip away from the settlement, and followed Fit to spawn where Tubbo was now waiting with Chay, Lulah and Sunny.

Sunny immediately ran up and hugged Ramon’s leg. Ramon gladly picked up his little sister, holding her gently.

“Alright. Chayanne. What are the coords for Chunk Error Alley?” Fit asked.

Chayanne relayed the coordinates and Fit added a waypoint on his map. He flicked through his other waypoints to see what waystones he had that would be close by to reduce the amount of time he would be traveling.

He found a couple. “Alright. I'm off. I’ve got a red sharestone. I’ll set it up when I get there and come back to gather everyone.”

Chayanne nodded. Tallulah grasped Fit’s hand. “Come back safe.” She whispered.

Fit nodded, then used his teleport stone to warp to the waystone closest to Chunk Error Alley.

It took a little under twenty-four hours to get there.

When Fit arrived, he paused atop one of the cliffs and looked down over the valley below. A road cut its way up the center of the valley, various houses were pressed against the walls of the valley, flanking the road. A number of hanging bridges spanned across the expanse.

Fit looked down across the valley, looking for any sign of life. His eyes were immediately drawn to the only being.

The shadowy beast that had been seen at spawn numerous times.

It was building a house.

Fit grimaced and backed away from the edge of the cliff. He set up the red sharestone in a little depression a little ways away, and warped to spawn.

Bad was just emerging from the room under spawn. “Fit! You’re back!” Bad chirped.

“Hey Badboy!” Fit replied. “I found Chunk Error Alley. But I also found that shadow beast we’ve been seeing here.”

Bad paused, his tail lashing back and forth. “I see.” Someone emerged from the room after Bad.

The woman was brunette, a bit on the shorter side. “I have the rest of the mobs in cages, Bad.” She started to say, then looked up and smiled at Fit.

Fit recognized the woman instantly. Granted, the last time he had seen her, she was over 90 feet tall. Phil’s amazing wife, Kristin. Also known as Lady Death.

“Hi Fit!” Kristin chirped cheerily.

“Kristin! Hello! When did you get here?” Fit asked. Shit must be going sideways for Kristin to be here.

“Late yesterday!” Kristin smiled. “I finally got vacation time, and Phil’s been telling me about the island, so here I am.”

“Oh.” Fit grimaced. “How much have you been told about what’s been happening lately?” He asked.

Kristin frowned. “Well, I know that Phil’s awol right now. I can vaguely sense where he is because he’s my Angel and that he’s alive.”

Fit let out a breath. “Well, that’s a relief to know Phil’s alive. Have you met the kids yet?”

Kristin nodded. “I have! I did some baking with Chayanne earlier, then helped Tallulah in the garden. Phil raises good kids.”

“Ok.” Fit glanced over to Bad. “Bad, call everyone you can to Phil’s garden. I’ve got news.”

It only took twenty five minutes for almost everyone to arrive. It took another thirteen for everyone to shut up so Fit could recount what he had seen. “So, the area has changed from how Chayanne and Tallulah,” Fit nodded to the pair of dragonlings sitting on either side of Kristin, “described the area. There’s now a road and buildings. And the shadow beast we’ve been seeing around spawn.” Fit finished.

Whispers and grumbles washed over the assembled group.

“I wasn’t able to see if Phil was there. But Chayanne and Tallulah want to go to look for themselves, so I think a guard would be a good idea to come with.” Fit continued. “Anyone want to volunteer?”

“If it’s for my bro or bro’s kids, I’m always happy to go!” Etoiles answered instantly.

Fit nodded. “Anyone else?”

Kristin and Bad raised their hands simultaneously. “Phil’s always been a help. Yeah, he’s emotionally constipated to the point he doesn’t admit when he’s having issues, but I want to help him.” Bad said.

“He’s my husband.” Kristin nodded.

Fit nodded. “Alright.”

Missa also raised his hand. “I’ll more than likely be useless, but I want to try to be of help.”

Cellbit, Baghera and Roier all raised their hands at the same time.

“He is Bolas.” Baghera said. “No Bolas left behind.”

“As Baghs said, Phil is Bolas. He is also a friend.” Cellbit nodded.

“I’m not letting Cellbit go without me.” Roier said. “And if it comes to a fight, I can take a few hits with my Mexican Lag.”

Fit chuckled and nodded. “Is that everyone?”

“I want to come.” Tubbo said. “Ramon can watch Sunny.”

Fit nodded. “Alright. Anyone else?”

Silence. After a few moments, Fit nodded. “Ok. So the raid party is: myself, Chayanne and Tallulah, Kristin, Bad, Cellbit and Roier, Missa, Etoiles, Baghera and Tubbo. Anyone else planning on coming with?”

No one said anything, so Fit nodded. “Very well. Everyone in the raid party, pack your bags tonight, and when the sun rises on the morrow, we will set out for Chunk Error Alley.”

The group dispersed, leaving Kristin, Missa, Chayanne and Tallulah alone at the top of the wall. Fit was the last to leave, offering a nod to Missa and Kristin.

Chayanne and Tallulah dragged Kristin and Missa down into the bunker. Chayanne shoved all the beds together into one large bed, and had to drag his papa back away from the trapdoor down to Tallulah’s greenhouse with a “Don’t you dare go back down there. This is YOUR home.”

That sleep was the best Chayanne and Tallulah had in quite a while.

In the morning, the raid party gathered at spawn. Backpacks were topped up with consumables, exp tanks were filled with experience, armor was double checked to ensure it was at its best.

The raid party silently used the red sharestone Fit had set up to Chunk Error Alley.

They approached the edge of the cliff and looked down over the valley below. A waystone was resting on a raised dais down below. Etoiles was the first who leapt off the cliff toward the waystone, his glider catching the air, allowing him to land safely.

He activated the waystone, and brought his shield up, looking around for any sign of the shadow beast. Nothing. Etoiles waved to the rest of the group, who also used their gliders to descend to the waystone.

“It’s changed…” Tallulah said. “The cliffs are softer.” Chayanne nodded in confirmation.

The cliffs rose high into the sky, casting parts of the valley into shadow. Slightly ruined houses and twisting trees lined the foot of the cliffs; bridges spanned the expanse overhead.

It was a beautiful sight. And almost utterly silent; except for the bird cries.

High overhead, birds flew and screamed. Crows. Thousands of crows.

A small flock landed on the roofs of the buildings flanking the road further down the valley. At first it was the one, soon joined by seven more. An additional two joined the resting flock. Then three more landed to silently stare at the raid party.

Fit felt a shiver go down his spine at seeing the thirteen gathered corvids.

The sound of their caws high overhead grew more and more fervent. Something was coming.

A large figure leapt down from the cliff, landing silently before the gathered beings. And the raid party saw the shadow beast clearly for the first time.

It was almost totally covered in feathers, vibrantly red eyes peered upon the group above a wickedly sharp beak. It was easily taller than Fit, probably somewhere around three, maybe three and a half meters tall. It was somewhat humanoid, with two legs and two arms, but it had an additional pair of limbs in the form of two massive feathered wings extending from its back.

Its eyes narrow as Chayanne steps forward, his scythe in hand. “Where the hell is my dad, monster!” The dark haired dragonling demanded.

Purple particles swirled around the Crowbeast, and a few moments later, it vanished. The particles trailed off further down the valley.

“Fuck!” Fit cursed. “Looks like we don’t have time to search the place for Phil. We might need to fight that thing.” Fit glanced at the avatar of the Goddess of Death. “Can you sense Phil in this area?”

Kristin nodded. “He is here. It’s very hard to pinpoint exactly where.”

Fit took the lead with Etoiles and Cellbit on either side. Following behind were Kristin and Baghera flanking Chayanne and Tallulah. Roier and Missa were behind them, with Bad and Tubbo covering the rear.

The group made their way down the road, keeping an eye out for the Crowbeast.

They had to pause a few times because despite the cobbled road being relatively flat, Tallulah was struggling. Tubbo ended up carrying the small dragoness.

All too quickly, they arrived at the far end of the valley and were faced with a courtyard. Where the Crowbeast was waiting.

Chayanne pushed past Fit, his scythe in hand. “I’m going to kill you…” Chayanne growled.

The Crowbeast’s eyes narrowed. ”Leave”. It growled. ”There is nothing for you, child”.

“SHUT UP!” Chayanne screamed. He leapt into the air, his feathered wings giving him extra lift. Chayanne landed the first strike.

He clung to the Crowbeast’s head, laying into it with his scythe. The other adults spread out around the courtyard, beginning their assault.

Fit loaded a gapple into his potato cannon, firing at Chayanne. Missa grabbed his throwing knives, each tipped in a different potion effect, and threw them into the Crowbeast’s hide.

Baghera revved her chainsaw and leapt at the beast with a scream. Cellbit followed after his blood-sibling, echoing her scream. Their madness fueled screams brought the Crowbeast’s attention to the pair.

Etoiles and Bad attacked from the far side, laying into the Crowbeast’s wings. Tubbo acted as support for the trio with his potato cannon, firing gapples, occasionally swapping to golden carrots to do chip damage to the Crowbeast.

Kristin took position beside the entrance to the courtyard, and fired volley after volley of tipped arrows at the beast. Tallulah released her battle beasts from their cages, trilling a tune on her flute, directing them to attack the Crowbeast.

Fit swapped between gapples and golden carrots. Aiming at his allies between the strikes to the Crowbeast.

The Crowbeast bucked, throwing Chyanne off after about 12 seconds, and the dragonling scrambled away from the beast and took up position beside Kristin to fire more tipped arrows at the beast.

Baghera and Cellbit laughed as they carved into the Crowbeast’s hide, tanking its focused strikes with the help of Fit’s gapple support.

Etoiles was bantering easily as he blocked the few heavy strikes from the Crowbeast that were aimed his way. “Oh! I almost felt that one! Come on! Come on! You can hit harder!” His taunting was helping Baghera and Cellbit immensely as it was drawing the Crowbeast’s agro away from the pair and toward the man with the near invincible shield.

Roier kept up a fast stream of Spanish with his strikes with his orcish sword. He caught a few stray wing blows from the beast, but his Mexican Lag massively reduced the power of the blows.

”Enough!”. The Crowbeast bellowed, and a surge of power pressed down on all gathered, knocking almost everyone off their feet. Only Etoiles and Kristin managed to keep their footing.

The Crowbeast seemed to grow an additional meter in height, a shadowy aura cloaking it. The wounds they had inflicted began to close.

Etoiles struck at the Crowbeast several times. Then pulled back with a french curse as the pressure abated and the Crowbeast swung a taloned hand at him. “It’s Withering!” He called out, falling back to where Kristin and the kids were. He grabbed the bottle of milk Tallulah tossed to him, knocking it back quickly.

The Frenchman dashed back into battle, swapping from his scythe to a multishot crossbow. He loaded it with fireworks and fired into the Crowbeast. The fireworks exploded into multicolored stars, the scent of burning feathers joining the smell of blood in the air. The Crowbeast reared back, its wings flaring, before it dashed at the Frenchman, swiping at his shield.

Baghera got a bit too close to the Crowbeast’s swipes at its agile opponents and was knocked across the courtyard into one of the buildings. “Baghera!” Cellbit screamed, laying into the Crowbeast, ignoring how its Withering aura destroyed his skin and its talons rent his flesh.

Fit cursed as he fired gapples at Cellbit, the instantaneous healing almost countering the heavy blows the Crowbeast landed, and the Regen slowing the harm of the Withering. Roier leapt upon the Crowbeast’s back, hacking away at the back of its head and wings, his Mexican Lag once more protecting him, this time from the Crowbeast’s Withering aura.

Tubbo worked to keep Roier’s health high, occasionally swapping targets to Etoiles or Bad. The latter of whom had stepped back and was now firing his own bow at the Crowbeast.

Missa muttered under his breath in Spanish as he clambered to his feet and hurriedly opened his backpack to craft more throwing knives. Fit paused his attacks to hand Missa a pack of poisons to apply to his knives.

Missa quickly finished crafting new knives and applied the poisons. He returned to throwing, going slower to try to reduce the amount of missed throws, aiming for the open wounds the close range fighters had opened. And the Crowbeast’s eyes.

Bad quickly disengaged to locate Baghera. She was hauled out of the house rubble, Bad dumping Instant Healing potions over her. She revved her chainsaw again, and leapt back into the battle, driving her chainsaw into its side, shredding flesh.

Bad followed after the golden duck woman, his own withering aura surrounding his scythe. He leapt into the air, slashing at the Crowbeast’s torso.

The Crowbeast snarled and reared back. It screamed, and its wings flared and pumped down powerfully, knocking Baghera, Cellbit, Roier, Bad and Etoiles away.

The wounds the group had just inflicted began to close again, but the Withering aura seemed to lessen.

Baghera, Cellbit, Roier and Etoiles raced back in, followed by Chayanne. Bad fell back, swapping to his multishot crossbow to shoot fireworks at the now raging Crowbeast.

It attacked indiscriminately, its regen higher than ever before. Any shallow cuts were almost instantly healed.

The islanders laid into the Crowbeast with even heavier strikes, trying to wear down its stamina and overwhelm its regeneration.

It was slow going, taking multiple minutes to draw close to the point of exhausting the Crowbeast.

Baghera and Cellbit wailed on the Crowbeast’s wings, bone crunching under Baghera’s chainsaw. Roier pummeled the back of the Crowbeast’s head, being grabbed at least twice and thrown across the courtyard.

Bad had swapped from dealing damage to focusing much more on supporting the fighters, racing around the courtyard, throwing Instant Healing potions and swapping totems whenever they popped.

Tubbo had swapped exclusively to using golden carrots, shooting burning rounds into the Crowbeast’s feathered hide.

It was beginning to slow, the Crowbeast’s attacks were growing weaker, and less frequent. That spurred the fighters into one last push, attacking with everything they could.

The Crowbeast’s limbs faltered and it dropped to the cobbled ground, heaving. Chayanne took a chance leapt into the air, his grapple squawk firing out and latching onto the Crowbeast’s head. He slammed into the Crowbeast’s skull, and swung his scythe to bury the blade into its eye.

The Crowbeast is bleeding. The Crowbeast was slain by Chayanne

A ragged cheer surged from the fighters, and Chayanne stood gasping before the Crowbeast. He raised his scythe. “Where is my dad?” He demands.

The Crowbeast says nothing, simply laying panting, slowly bleeding out.

“ANSWER ME!” Chayanne screamed. “I KNOW YOU CAN TALK! WHERE IS MY DAD!?” He sobbed, raising his scythe.

The Crowbeast slowly looked up at Chayanne, the red of its eyes slowly fading. It said nothing.

Chayanne brought the scythe down, tears streaming down his cheeks. His scythe landed the final blow upon the Crowbeast just as its eyes fully cleared, becoming a beautiful, piercing blue.

Ph1lza was slain by Chyanne [-]Ph1lza

The Crowbeast lay dead upon the ground, its hide shredded by the fighters.

Chayanne stood over the body, trembling. The death message displayed across everyone’s communicators sent an icy chill over every single person awake. Even those not present at the Crowbeast’s death.

Tallulah sagged against Kristin, trying to muffle her sobs.

Chayanne dropped to his knees, his scythe clanking against the cobbles.

Missa slowly approached his son, kneeling down beside the dragonling and the transformed form of the man who helped raise the kid. Chayanne collapsed against his pa, tears streaming down his cheeks.

It was a silent return to spawn. Even Kristin’s insistence that Phil’s soul was ok wasn’t a sufficient balm for the hurt everyone was feeling that day.

The feeling of losing one of their own bit deep into all.

Over the next few days, Chayanne, Tallulah, Missa and Kristin stayed with Tubbo; Chayanne and Tallulah refused to return to the bunker that Phil had built for them.

Tubbo and Sunny insisted that Chayanne and Tallulah get out of the house after their first day of holing themselves up in the room Tubbo had provided for the pair. Kristin accompanied them on the short walk.

When the trio approached spawn, Bad was climbing up the ladder from the room under spawn. Except he was a good meter and a half shorter than usual. He paused and stared at three. His clothes were different. Far more formal than usual.

“Chayanne. Tallulah. Miss Kristin.” He said, nodding. The voice was wrong. And going by the series of events that had been going on, this had to be…

“Dapper?” Bad called out from the room. “You still have the Love Potion.”

Dapper looked down then at the red bottle in his hand. A mischievous smile wrinkled his pitch black skin. “I don't have it dad. I tossed it to you before I went up. Is your magnet on?”

It was silent down below except for the rummaging sound of Bad looking through his numerous backpacks. Dapper grinned. “I love messing with dad.” He whispered.

“Dapper, I can’t find it.” Bad said, sounding frustrated.

“Oh! I found it in my back pocket.” Dapper grinned.

“Dapper!” Bad snapped, quickly climbing the ladder.

Dapper was a near clone of his father, pitch black skin, large demon wings, a pair of small curved horns at his hairline, and pure white eyes; the only differences being Dapper had white hair while Bad had dirty blonde. And Dapper had scales.

He looked to be only slightly taller than Tallulah. Only slightly. And he didn’t look at all mad about it. Yup. If you asked him, that’s what he would say. Not mad in the slightest…

“Oh! Hello Tallulah! Chayanne! Kristin!” Bad chirped happily.

“Hello Bad!” Kristin replied cheerfully. “How have you been?”

The two adults delved into small talk while Dapper, Chayanne and Tallulah shuffled off to the side. “How are you two holding up?” Dapper asked softly.

Chayanne shrugged.

“Really shit.” Tallulah said. “I- I just want my dad back.” She let herself drop to the ground to sit, her arm crutches splayed out to either side.

Chayanne sat beside his sister, and she leaned and rested her head on his shoulder. “I want him back too…” He mumbled.

Dapper stepped around behind his siblings and hugged them from behind, also wrapping his wings around them. “I’ll see if there’s anything in my grimoires about summoning souls of the departed. It’ll probably take me like a week.”

Chayanne nodded. “When you find something, come grab me and Tallulah.”

Tallulah and Chayanne eventually drifted back to Tubbo’s place with Kristin. Each morning Kristin took the two out on a walk, and each night after dinner, Tallulah and Chayanne went on a walk privately, just the two of them.

On the fourth day after the events at Chunk Error Alley, Kristin burst into Tallulah and Chayanne’s room. “Come come!” She chirped. “Spawn! Something has happened!” Chay and Lulah followed Kristin to spawn, where Fit and Etoiles were waiting.

“Hey Kristin!” Fit said upon seeing the trio arrive. “Can I ask what’s going on?”

Kristin waved everyone over to the waystone. “Come to Chunk Error Alley!” She insisted, warping away moments after the words left her mouth.

Etoiles frowned. “Well. Let’s go.” He said, shrugging. He quickly followed after Kristin.

Fit glanced at Tallulah and Chayanne who were both hesitating in the entrance to the waystone area. “If you don’t want to go, I can send Kristin a message.”

Tallulah inhaled and stepped up to the waystone. “I trust her. Papa spoke highly of her, so I’m going to trust that things will be ok.”

Chayanne nodded slowly. “What Lulah said.” He agreed.

The pair warped to Chunk Error Alley, Fit following close behind. Kristin was pacing back and forth, waiting for Chay, Lulah and Fit to arrive. She waved to them, indicating to follow.

The group of five walked down the road down Chunk Error Alley, crows cawing overhead, eventually they reached the courtyard where they had battled the Crowbeast. Where they had slain Philza.

His warped body was gone, the blood from the wounds the islanders inflicted having long dried. Dark feathers were scattered everywhere. The courtyard now felt so large.

Kristin stepped around behind Tallulah and Chayanne and pointed toward the center of the courtyard. “Look.” She said softly.

They looked. They saw. They ran. They grabbed the man who they treasured most in the world.

Phil dropped to his knees to clutch his children. “Chayanne? Tallulah?” He said, his voice soft as he leaned back to look upon the faces of the pair.

“It’s us, dad.” Chayanne said, grabbing onto Phil as tight as he could.

“Don’t you dare leave like that. Ever ever again.” Tallulah thumped Phil’s shoulder, squeezing him like he would vanish in a moment if she let go.

The soft rustle of feathers surrounded them as Phil’s dark feathered wings wrapped around them. “I swear. As long as you don’t die on me again. I’ll stay right here. As long as you need.”

Tallulah nodded against Phil’s shoulder. “I promise we aren’t going to die. Ever.”

Phil gently folded his wings and carefully stood, letting his beloved fledglings keep hold of him as best they could. He looked up at the three waiting and smiled. “Kristin…” He said softly.

Kristin walked up and intertwined her fingers with his. “I’m here Phil.”

Phil glanced at the two others. “Fit. Etoiles.” He smiled.

“Phil! My man. You’ve been through some shit.” Fit quipped. “Certainly came out the other side looking a bit better.”

Phil burst into laughter. “Fit, oh my god.”

Fit unlooped one of the thin lengths of leather he kept around his wrist. “You might want to tie up your hair, Phil. It’s a bit longer than before you turned into a big crow man thing.”

Which was the truth. Phil’s hair was noticeably longer than a month ago. Where before it just reached his shoulders, it now reached below the bottom of his shoulder blades.

Etoiles grinned at his friend who was wrapping the cord around his blond hair into a fluffy tail, then gasped. “Oh no!” He cried out in his joking tone. “The tropes! You have the anime mother ponytail!”

Phil paused then burst into laughter. “Nooo!” He cried dramatically, leaning back a little. “What will my family do? I will die offscreen for some mysterious reason and that’ll kick off the hero’s journey for my traumatized eldest child!”

Chayanne punched his dad’s shoulder. “Dad shut up!”

Tallulah had dramatically fallen over. “Noo!” She exclaimed in the same jokingly dramatic tone as Phil. “I shall be so devastated by my pa’s offscreen death that I shall give up all music until my brother completes season 3 of his hero’s journey at which point he will return home and suddenly I’ll be ok again!”

Fit laughed at the trio’s antics. Kristin giggled then leaned in to give Phil a quick kiss. “My adorable Tech Guy Weeb.” She said teasingly.

It was a quick journey back to spawn. Fit had brought some solid experience so Phil was able to warp back to spawn, startling Bad who was in the middle of sorting out stuff for the cookie quests.

“Oh my gosh!” Bad exclaimed. “Philza!?”

“Sup Bad!” Phil chirped.

“I'm so glad you’re back!” Bad said. Two small beings ran past him and right toward Phil. “Ah! Pomme! Richas!”

The two smaller eggs thumped into Phil’s legs, making little sounds. They placed signs simultaneously, Richarlyson finishing writing first. ‘PHIL WHERE DID YOU GO?? YOU MISSED SO MUCH!’ Pomme finished up quickly after with ‘everyone’s hatching left and right im so overwhelmed’

Phil laughed and carefully knelt down to hug the pair of rambunctious eggs. “Ye. I’m back. Glad you two are ok.” He looked up at Bad. “You alright mate?”

The tall demon’s shoulders slumped. “It was so busy when you were gone. I was staying up at all hours trying to track this shadow beast thing that kept showing up at spawn. AND TURNS OUT! It was a certain angsty crow.” Bad leveled Phil with a glare.

“Oh.” Phil grimaced, his wings flaring then folding tightly against his back. “Sorry bout that mate. Wasn’t in the right headspace.”

Bad sighed. “It’s fine, Philza. At least you’re back and can start to heal now.”

Phil nodded. “Yeah. I hope so.”

Fit went and raided the bunker for clothes while Kristin, Tallulah and Chayanne took Phil to Tubbo’s. Tubbo was ecstatic to see Phil alive.

Fit brought a bunch of clothes for Phil. He ended up going with his usual outfit, but since Chayanne was wearing his spare striped bucket hat, Phil borrowed one of Kristin’s wide brimmed hats.

In the following days, Chayanne and Tallulah refused to leave Phil’s side for very long. Although his appearance had barely changed, Phil seemed far older than he had ever been. And whenever Chayanne and Tallulah left him alone and returned, he seemed… off.

So they stayed with him. As much as possible.

And when they couldn’t, Kristin took over staying with her husband.

Phil was a broken man. The Crowbeast was evidence of that. But his family was bound and determined to fill those cracks with gold.

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crowsandturtlesandbatsohmy · 3 days

Text

ROTTMNT Bad Future

so uh, I had an idea today about how I imagine future Donnie went out. This isn’t the whole story btw, just what I would consider the first chapter.

Warnings: Undisclosed illness, blood, mentions of death, self-worth issues, quarantine, Leo deals with problems by ignoring them, mentions of Leo and Raph arguing. If there are any I missed please let me know!

—————————————————- Everything ached. A shudder ran throughout his body. He went to sigh and wheezed instead. A hacking cough forced him to sit up, blankets falling away and leaving him even colder than he already was.

Red. Drop, drop, drop.

A slow breath, then. In and out.

What was that buzzing?

He swung his legs over the side of his cot and got up on shaky feet. He leaned against the wall as he staggered along towards his chair.

Oh. The buzzer. That was what woke him.

The buzzer.

Clarity.

He launched himself away from the wall, lurched across the room, tripped, and caught himself against the abnormally-sturdy glass door, trying to catch his breath whiteout inhaling too deep.

Everything ached.

Mikey stared back at him from the other side, eyes wide and concerned.

“Dee… you have blood on your chin.”

Donnie grunted and wiped it away with one hand. Breath after breath. A wheeze, another hacking cough, and then he lifted his head to meet Mikey’s gaze. He pressed the button to talk.

“…G’morning—“ another wheeze. He dropped his volume, drew shallower breaths. “…’morning Angelo. Status report?”

Mikey hesitated. “Donnie—“

“Status report, Michael.” Too loud. Hurt. Cough, cough—stop—more coughing— hurtstoomuchstopit— finally a break. Finally air, finally he could breathe.

He met Mikey’s gaze again. Fixed him with an “I’m older than you, do as I say” look. A look that had gotten so much practice since the invasion. Since everything went wrong. And even more since he got sick. Stupid, stupid, stupid stupid stupid dumb-dumb-Donnie with your dumb-dumbness getting yourself sick—

“Donnie!”

Donnie’s attention snapped back to Mikey.

Oh. Oh no. The ‘kicked-puppy-meets-Dr.Feelings’ expression, as April called it.

He looked away. “Report?” He pleaded in a whisper.

A beat of silence. Static, then, “April isn’t getting any better.”

Donnie slammed a fist into the wall with a grunt.

Mikey didn’t even flinch. Instead he looked for all the world like he wanted nothing more than to pull Donnie into a hug and not let go for a long while.

Donnie ignored it. Shoved the thought to the back of his mind.

April.

She’d been caught in the trap meant for him, had the same illness he did.

I should have known. It’s my job to know.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He met Mikey’s gaze again.

“Donnie. Don’t blame yourself.”

Donnie scoffed. Bad decision. He squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of pain and nausea, opened them when it passed.

“It’s not your fault.”

“The trap was meant for me, Michael,” he said quietly. “And I can’t fix it. I’m the science guy. I have to fix this and I can’t. I’m useless—”

“DONALD!”

Donnie’s mouth snapped shut and he looked up at Mikey again.

“April doesn’t blame you. Casey doesn’t blame you. Leo doesn’t blame you. I don’t blame you. The only one blaming you is you, so knock it off before I razzmatazz your shell.”

Donnie snorted at that, deciding against pointing out that Mikey couldn’t get near him without exposing himself. For Mikey’s sake of course, and so they didn’t argue longer. Not because the reminder was painful. He was an emotionless bad-boy after all, and isolation was a bad-boy’s dream.

“Casey Junior?” He asked instead.

“Leo’s keeping him busy, or else he’d come visit more. I’m talking to Leo about it today. Casey needs more time.”

Casey needs more time with you and April before you go. Donnie could extrapolate. He knew what Mikey really meant.

“Appreciated. He has been reluctant to leave and I dislike having to be the ‘bad uncle’ and send him away.”

I need more time with him too.

Mikey understood. Mikey could extrapolate too. He offered Donnie a sad smile.

“And ‘Nardo?” Donnie asked after a moment.

Mikey frowned and looked away. “He’s… taking it hard, Dee. He’s losing you and April all at once.” A pause. “He hardly lets Casey out of his sight, unless it’s to see you.”

Donnie’s heart sunk. “He’s mad.” The words were bitter.

“He’s scared,” Mikey corrected gently. “He doesn’t know how to handle this, so he’s ignoring it. If he comes to see you, that makes it real and he has to deal with it.” Another pause. “I’m talking to him about that too.”

Donnie snorted. “No rest for Dr. Feelings, huh?”

Mikey smiled again, weary beyond his years, but said nothing. A brief pause, and then he shrugged. “That’s my report.”

Another pause. Donnie frowned.

“‘Angelo?” Donnie’s voice was quiet.

“Yeah Dee?” Tension in every line of his body. Forced cheer. ‘Everything-is-fine-because-I-have-to-be-fine’. The same tactic he used when Raph and Leo argued.

“You forgot yourself.”

“Oh.” Mikey’s smile dropped.

Silence.

A long moment. Then another. A sniffle. At last Mikey met his gaze, placed a hand to the glass as though maybe, just maybe, he could reach through it and get to Donnie.

“‘M scared, Donald.”

The same words he used to say when the arguing reached its height for the day, back when they were still kids living in the sewers and Leo had been recently promoted. The arguing had gone on as they grew up and faced the apocalypse, but Mikey had become numb to it. Just like Donnie.

But Mikey didn’t need Donnie right now. He needed Donald.

“I know, Angelo,” he replied quietly. The same soft voice he’d learned for Mikey’s sake back then and later adapted for a very very— two very’s— small Casey Junior. A beat of silence passed. He drew a shaky breath, set his hand over Mikey’s on the glass.

Palm to glass to palm. “I’m scared too.”

“What am I going to do without you?” Mikey whispered, still not meeting Donnie’s gaze.

Donnie didn’t know what to say. Neither did Donald. “You’ll keep fighting. And you’ll look after Leo and Casey Junior, like you always do.” Logic. Facts. Donnie or Donald? Donnie couldn’t tell anymore.

“I need you.” Mikey looked up at last. “I can’t do this alone.”

His heart, the one he always claimed he didn’t have, felt like another big chunk had been ripped away. He’d lost a sizable piece when Raph died. Another with Splinter. A smaller one with Draxum. Even Casey, the first of their small family to fall, took a chunk with her. How much did he have left?

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t need it for much longer anyway. He had a week, maybe two at best.

What did matter was that Angelo needed him. Needed Donald.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say.

Mikey glared at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Stop blaming yourself. I told you, it’s not your fault.”

“No, Angelo, listen to me.”

Silence.

Donnie continued. “I’m not apologizing for getting sick, though I have every right to do so—“ he trailed off as Mikey’s expression shifted into something vaguely reminiscent of an aged Dr. Delicate Touch. “Not my point. Sigh.” He paused and drew a breath. “Apologies. This is… hard.”

Mikey waited. He always did when it really mattered.

“I am apologizing for leaving you. I am breaking my promise. And I am apologizing because I do not know what else to say.”

Mikey’s gaze softened. “I don’t blame you for the promise either. I know you wouldn’t be breaking it if you could help it.”

Another long silence.

“Donald?”

“Angelo?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Hm?”

“Status report.”

Donnie huffed a chuckle, only to regret it when another wheeze followed.

“I’m coughing up blood, experiencing bouts of nausea, and I have one week left to live, perhaps two if I am lucky.”

“I know that. That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.”

“Those are the facts, Michael. I am sick and dying and I am going to live out my final days in quarantine.”

“There it is.”

Donnie raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“You admitted it.”

“What?”

“That being quarantined is bothering you.” Mikey shifted to sit on the floor, back to the glass. “I know you, Donald. You’ve been trying to pretend that being locked up isn’t a problem, but I can tell.”

Donnie fell silent as he moved to sit on the floor, back pressed over where Mikey’s shell should be.

Cold. Flat. Solid. Not at all like Mikey’s shell, especially not now that he had his cloak on every time Donnie saw him.

Not Mikey. Glass. Because he was highly contagious and could kill Mikey by breathing.

A shudder ran through him, brought on by a tangle of emotions he doubted even Dr. Feelings himself could help him place.

He wanted a hug. Warm and too tight and too long and too close.

Another shudder ran through him. Cold, aching, blood on his hands, nausea coming and going in waves.

Mostly cold. Shivers passed under the shudders.

Yeah. A hug sounded great right about now.

“Donnie?”

Donnie glanced over his shoulder.

“Does whatever this is affect ninpo?”

Donnie turned away. “Michael, no.”

“I’m serious, Donnie!”

“You don’t know how much lifespan you have left!”

“I know how much you do!”

“You can’t afford to use your ninpo for things like this—“

“Like what?” Mikey challenged. “Like giving my dying brother a hug when he clearly needs one?”

“It’s not worth it Michael.”

“You don’t get to make that call.” Mikey got to his feet. His spots started to glow.

“Michael I forbid you—“

A golden projection of Mikey stood before him in the quarantined room. It grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him to his feet, then pulled him into a tight hug.

Donnie didn’t react. Couldn’t. This was bad. “Mikey—“

“Shut up and hug me, Donald.” His voice trembled, like he was about to cry.

That couldn’t happen. Stupid dumb-dumb little brothers and their dumb-dumb guilt-tripping big brother instincts activation.

He wrapped his arms around Mikey, buried his snout in the crook of Mikey’s neck. Found himself holding onto Mikey like a lifeline, unable to let go.

Mikey held on just as tight, his head buried in the crook of Donnie’s own neck.

“For the record,” Mikey mumbled without moving his head, “you’ll always be worth it, Donnie.”

Something wet on Donnie’s face, trailing down his snout, landing on Mikey. But then again, Mikey’s face was wet too.

Warm. Too tight. Too long. Too close. Just like always.

Mikey was scared. So was Donnie. But for now it didn’t matter. For now, they had each other. Just like always.

Mikey and Donnie. Mystic Warrior and Lead Scientist. Heart and Head. Art and Smarts. Orange and Purple. Peanut Butter and Jelly.

Angelo and Donald.

No matter what our dumb-dumb brothers do, I will not leave you.

Promise?

Well, theoretically in battle situations—

Donnie.

Sigh. Yes, ‘Angelo. I promise.

—————————————————-

Basically it boils down to, what if in his final days, Donnie the turtle who is the most touch-averse, was denied the ability to be in physical contact with anyone. Would he grow touch-starved?

I think he would. Donnie may say he doesn’t like touch, but his interactions with his brothers in the show tell us otherwise. I think he just prefers for it to be on his terms (which I totally get).

Anyways. Here’s my little Bad Future Timeline take. I already have Headcannons for it that I’d love to talk about so feel free to ask questions if you have any.

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #future rottmnt #future donnie #future donatello #pb&j duo #smarts and crafts #bad future rottmnt #bad future donnie #tw mentions of death #read the warnings #fanfic #crow’s scribbles #crow’s cawing #tmnt #future mikey #future michelangelo #tw illness

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