Hi I’m Not Dead I Swear. Have An Incorrect Fnf Quote, Might Do More

Did you cry at the end? I know you did. Don’t lie.

I love me a good heart-gutting, tragic romance where they don’t end up together :).

SEASON 3

A L I V E: Part 56.

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

A L I V E Masterpost / Sunny AU / Ko-fi tips / Twitter /

Wong: ...

Coming into a fandom late

is that a rat???????????

HEYhowdy, so,

lacking context right now, but I’ve been getting intrigue on this Gordon design but haven’t shared him yet just bc I have no idea how to introduce him :’]

I keep drawing him too much tho so here he finally is (and others bc im hopeless dsfkjhsfd)

at this rate Multiverse of Madness will just be several of our favorite dumbasses all yelling “what do you mean what the fuck did I do, what the fuck did you do???” at each other

Thinking about,,, Lalter

An if of an if, ghost among the ghosts, one of a kind. The result of solely one, specific, set of events.

There is only one of her, yet she’s called to Chaldea. To a Chaldea. To all Chaldeas.

She roams through the halls. The servants she meets often pass through each other like ghosts, unaware of each other; different Chaldea, different worlds. “Why do you ride a horse indoor?” Asks Jack, or maybe Nursery Rhyme, or maybe Bunyan, a few seconds a few Chaldeas apart. “Why do you ride a horse indoor?”

(Llamrei is like her; one foot, one hoof, between all worlds, the eye of the storm. Her friend. Her anchor.)

“You’re always up at the oddest hours.” Say Robin, and Sanson, Emiya. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

She can’t remember the last time she was awake.

Battles are easier. Singularities are easier. She’s at her most coherent when the world is breaking. It’s like only one of them can be whole at the time.

“Lalter!” The Master waves at you. “I’m glad to see you today! You’re so hard to find, I swear.”

Transient. Dream-dweller. Her very existence is but flickering. Of course she’d be hard to find.

(… And, admittedly, she’s made herself scarce. Seeing other versions of herself isn’t exactly pleasant. Like someone else watching her through her own eyes.)

The Master sits next to her and speaks of many things at once. The Master is asian, black and white. The Master is blond, brown-haired and red-haired. The Master speaks to her in Japanese, Russian and English. It’s all just sound. It’s all just a body.

(She’s heard people, many times, wonder how could the Master spare so much love for their servants. She wonders if the Master themself is aware of this. That Humanity’s Last Master could have been anyone, that they all overlap, a thousand eyes and a thousand voices and a thousand hearts that beat and echo and love love love.)

“It must be weird,” they say absent-mindedly (they for indeterminate gender and they for multiple) “to see so many versions of yourself on a daily basis.”

And she turns towards them, turns their head to their face and their timeline and their Chaldea, and can’t help but mutter; “Wouldn’t you know best?”