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valiant-portabella-pirkko · 1 year

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Tideturners: The Sidewinder

“Spend enough time in the Mists, and you’re bound to meet the most fascinating people.”

The Sidewinder went by another name, once. She sailed the seas, swindled and cheated, ransacked and pillaged. A pirate’s life was a harsh one-- unforgiving, violent, and usually sodden with salt water. Even among them she was fierce and unrelenting, a bold captain who fought tooth and nail to maintain the confidence of her crew. She made a name for herself, in spite of her rough origins and all the people who didn’t believe she could.

Her name was Mai Trin... But she doesn’t go by that name anymore.

It’s said that there’s many versions of Tyria scattered through the Mists. Countless, even. Sometimes they even clash, fighting for the resources that crop up in the gaps between worlds. Some are better off than others.

Hers is nothing but a memory now, and the origin of an ever-growing shadow that most will never see-- if they’re lucky. Some histories are best left buried.

“We’re the Tideturners, and we won’t be washed away.”

It all began with a simple proposition; a certain sylvari and a certain alliance, and an ill-fated plan to change the world. But this time, something was different.

The Commander of her world wasn’t quite like most. Brutal, relentless, and arguably more dead inside than the corpse minions he commanded. His lack of morals and intense ambition caught Scarlet’s attention, and she decided to invite him aboard the operation. He was an expert in slaying the dragons and their minions, and such insight could be invaluable with the goals she had in mind.

But this proved to be a dreadful miscalculation. Commander Ruju saw no difference between a rebelling dragon minion and a willing one. When the asura recognized seeds of corruption in her mind, he held no mercy.

And with the head cut off the snake, Ruju made his declaration; either what remained of the slain Briar’s alliance would fall in step under him willingly, or their remains would serve him in death. He was an ardent follower of the principles of Oola; necromancy and golemancy were destined to collide, and any who stood in his way would provide the materials to make that dream reality.

Captain Mai Trin recognized then that this wasn’t the Alliance she’d once believed in. The first to have believed her capable of greatness was dead, and Ruju saw them all as nothing more than replaceable cogs in his perpetual war machine. There was no future there, for the Captain or her crew.

Mai took any Aetherblades who were still loyal to her and fled into the Mists.

She’d spend the rest of her life wondering if they could have won when there was still something left of their world to save. Now they’ll never know.

“I spent most of my life making the wrong choices.”

“But if I can still accomplish something worthwhile with whatever time I have left, that’s what I’m going to do. I owe it to all the people who should be here instead of me.”

In the Mists, she and her Aetherblades cut their own path and their own future, far from Ruju’s war against dragons and Tyrians alike. They built a hideaway within turbulent lands where even time itself held no stability, a fortress that they prayed would never be found by the former allies they left behind.

Within the Mists, they thrived by learning to ransack Fractals. Taking from the echoes of realities that could have been, they found every resource they could ever need to survive. Food and water, technology, replacement parts, weapons and armor, raw materials... Whatever they needed, the Fractals would provide.

It was there that Mai would seek out the guidance of a familiar voice; she reached into the shadows, and the echoes answered, whispering. Scarlet Briar became her ally once more, offering advice and frustration in equal measure.

For a long time, it was just them. Mai, her Aetherblades, and the whispers of a mastermind who’d once promised them the path to greatness.

Years came and went, and the war of their world marched on, and on. Its consequences would soon prove unthinkable-- and inescapable. There were some lines not even pirates would cross. But Ruju held no such reservations.

Mai’s echo felt something within their world, a tie that snapped like brittle thread. For the first time, she was told-- begged-- pleaded with-- to return. Never before had the pirate experienced such a pull. Nor could she begin to imagine just what, exactly, had rendered the sylvari so inconceivably distraught.

And so they returned to Tyria for the first time. Airships flickered back into existence from the Mists, materializing over the skies of the Maguuma jungle.

The landscape below them was not the world they knew. Not anymore.

“... Scarlet wanted to change the world, you know. We all did. She inspired people just like Ruju, once. However you feel about that, there were plenty who believed that anything would be better than what they already had.”

“I can’t say it would’ve been, knowing what I know now. But at least she planned on there still being a world by the time she was done, whatever it would’ve become.”

The Grove was nearly unrecognizable. If not for the crumpled remains of the Pale Tree’s vast branches, she might not have realized what it even was.

Tunnels had been torn through the earth, vast caverns that formed what could only be described as a hive. The forest was teeming with massive insectoid beasts that only later would she learn had a name; the chak.

What had once been the sylvari capital city lay in ruins. The Pale Tree was dead. And under the shadow of her fading leaves hid what would, in another world, have been Tyria’s greatest hope. Mai wasn’t sure what drew her eye to that thicket and its glittering occupants, but the moment she laid eyes upon it, she knew she couldn’t just turn away.

So she called over her most loyal crew members, and they descended into the wreckage to seek something far more precious than any gold.

Broken bodies and dented armor littered the forest floor, yet they paid it no heed, cutting through the swaths of chak and stepping past pools of acid to reach their destination. It was there that Mai would be faced with the choice that would change her life-- and the lives of her remaining Aetherblades-- forever.

“... I’m no hero, or freedom fighter, or ‘chosen one’ or anything glamorous like that. I’m just the last line of defense, if you can say that when there’s so little left.”

“I’m the one they call in because everybody else is already dead. I don’t save the day, it’s already too late for that. I just clean up the rubble you so-called ‘heroes’ leave behind, bury the bodies your wars leave to rot on the battlefield, and patch up the few survivors who got caught in the crossfire.”

“Be careful where you toss that title around, ‘Commander.’ It doesn’t mean what you think it does, not around here.”

Hidden in the shrubbery was what remained of the Exalted; they had long since fled Tarir, their home utterly destroyed by a three-way war between Mordremoth’s minions, the chak, and Ruju’s Alliance. Their grand city was no more, and the same fate had befallen so much of the jungle that it even put the pirates on edge. As it turned out, Ruju had injected a mass quantity of highly toxic biochemicals into Mordremoth’s vegetation, but the poison had killed far more than just the dragon.

The dragon wasn’t just connected to the jungle; it was the jungle. And as it coursed through every vine, leaf, and root, it carried its deadly effects throughout the entire region. The chak fed on mass amounts of released ley energy from the killed vegetation, and since the chemical was only lethal to plants, they survived-- and thrived. Their population grew and grew and grew, evolving to utilize this new resource that now dominated their domain.

And as their numbers multiplied and their evolution accelerated... Their domain grew right along with them, undermining the entire landscape all the way into Kessex Hills. The Pale Tree had been a recent casualty; weakened first by an attack from the dragon and then from the poison seeping into her soil, she didn’t stand a chance when the insects reached their doorstep.

Now, with Ruju’s armies on the march across the continent, they had nowhere left to go. Their last shelter was in ruins, and the Exalted’s precious cargo was in jeopardy. It was only then that they would offer the last thing they had to give to the only hope they had left. Mai and her pirates weren’t the ideal alliance, but there was nowhere else left to turn.

Even the sylvari who had brought it to Tarir lay among the dead now. Mai didn’t know her name, back then. But her invocation did-- and whispered it as they looked upon the shining egg that should have been Tyria’s last hope.

‘Oh Caithe. You poor fool. I always knew your devotion would get you killed.’

“... You know, it’s almost funny. Most sailors believe in some kind of superstition, but I never did. If there was any ‘higher power’ out there, it didn’t care about us. We survived because we fought tooth and nail for every scrap. The open sea had no mercy, so neither did we.”

“And then I saw that egg, shining like a beacon in the ruins of a dead city that called to me with its last breath. And I just... Knew. Guess sometimes it takes the end of the world to really put things into perspective, huh?”

The crew was conflicted; some wanted to simply steal the egg and make off with it, but what then? The Exalted would fight to their last armor, and what would they even do with it? It only had value if they could sell it, and who would be its buyer? Certainly not Ruju, and no one else would want it. It was too precious, too powerful, too important to be treated as a mere treasure.

Mai and her invocation came to a joint conclusion-- one of which neither was certain, but both knew was unavoidable. Mai offered the strange, ethereal beings her hand. There was one path forward, and she was going to take it.

An alliance was forged, that day. And that was the day that the Aetherblades were no more. A new name was born, one that would echo through the Mists as it rippled across the fabric of fate-- a reflection of what they would become, and what they were going to do from that moment on.

They would be the Tideturners, one final holdout against impossible odds. And even if they couldn’t save this Tyria from the cataclysm to come, maybe they would still be able to save something else.

“I’m going to tell you a secret: nobody comes to live in the Mists if they have somewhere better to stay. We aren’t the only ones out here, but we all have something in common. We’re all running from something, hoping whatever we find out here will be better than what we’re trying to escape. Most times, it’s hard for it to be worse.”

“The Turnabout isn’t a vacation spot, or a military base, or anything like that. It’s a refuge for people who don’t have anywhere else to go. We don’t ask questions because we all have our secrets, and nobody needs to know who we were before, just who we choose to be now.”

“Those people are dead and gone, and they’re never coming back. We’re just the ghosts they left behind.”

The last of the Exalted were brought into the Mists aboard Aetherships, and settled into the fortress that would one day become known as the Turnabout. Glint’s last egg was safeguarded in the last place it might truly be out of Ruju’s reach, and in return, the Exalted offered their own magical knowledge to upgrade the facility’s defenses.

New weaponry was developed-- unique combinations of their ancient secrets and the steam-powered technology utilized by the Aetherblades. EX-Cannons were designed that would even act as an extension of the Exalted themselves, allowing the armor beings to interface more directly with the fortress’s defenses. And as knowledge of the continued destruction of their world slipped through the cracks, the sentiment began to slowly shift.

Even pirates had standards, morals that were too low even for them. They’d fight and plunder and pillage-- but this wasn’t about wealth or prestige or even survival, not anymore. And the more that Ruju’s army left naught but desolation in its wake, the clearer it became that this was far bigger than any of them.

It was the fall of Balthazar that shook the Mists, and tipped a far different scale than any had anticipated. Elder dragons were falling, one after the other. The fabric of magic was crumbling, and with it, their world, too. Scarlet began to whisper cryptic warnings of the ‘oblivion’ so soon to come.

Everything was about to get much, more worse.

“There’s worse fates than death. I know, I’ve seen my fair share. Corruption is pretty high on the list.”

“I could almost feel sorry for him, even after all this. I don’t know what Ruju is now, but he’s not an asura anymore. I’m not sure you can even call him alive. Whatever that magic did to him, there’s no turning back now.”

“It’s a part of him, and he’s a part of it, even if there’s not enough left of him to realize it for himself.”

Their scouts began to send back reports of a strange, dark substance that twisted even reality itself. It adhered to no laws of logic or physics, bending matter indiscriminately and killing everything that it didn’t consume. It was growing, faster and faster. If allying with the Exalted had been Mai’s turning point, this was the moment that would truly prove her change of heart.

The Tideturners returned to their world, one more, one final time. Their ships arrived to a Tyria ravaged by shadows and broken magic, this time on a mission that would have no happy ending; to get everyone out that would come, before there was nothing left to save at all. If the world had to end, they were going to salvage what little of it that they could. It would be here that Mai would don a mask for the first time, referring to herself as ‘the Sidewinder’ to conceal her identity. Her world would never trust their safety to a cutthroat pirate, but perhaps it could learn to trust a mysterious, unnamed Mists traveler instead.

Many were unwilling. They planned to fight until the end. Some were left behind, others were carried aboard, and a few even tried to fight the pirates themselves.

Captain Kiel was one of the ‘lucky’ few to be knocked out in the conflict and carried aboard; only after awakening would she discover what had happened. She’d spend the rest of her life coming to terms with it, just like so very many others. Eventually she would go on to become the Turnabout’s co-leader ‘Captain K’ alongside the Sidewinder, but that’s another story for another day.

That day would haunt the pirates for as long as they lived, for there were other things, dreadful, monstrous things, watching them with glowing eyes as they departed. The Mists were about to get a whole lot more dangerous...

The Grand High Sovereign didn’t go down with his world. And there were still so many, many other worlds out there for him to explore and dominate.

“We don’t worship the Six here. There’s only Five, and they don’t ask for our unconditional devotion. They know the role they played in our history, and we know it, too. When their people called out, they were silent. They left their worshipers to die until no one was left to pray.”

“They’re gods, but most of us treat them as guides, mentors, and allies. They don’t win our battles for us, and their power won’t turn the tide of war. That’s up to us. But they answer our questions, and offer their advice. They won’t save us, but if we know the right questions to ask, they’ll give us the tools to save ourselves.”

It would be in the years to follow that the Turnabout would change even more than it already had. Many refugees had fled into the Mists of their own accord, and now wandered among the shadows and demons with no direction and no resources. But they did not go unnoticed.

The Five remaining human gods had been watching. They dared not intervene with the god killer directly, but one thing became clear; if they stood by and did nothing, soon what little remained of their Tyria would crumble. Even the Turnabout itself wasn’t enough to keep them safe. Sooner or later something truly horrific would find them, and their last refuge would be wiped away as if it had never existed at all.

Despite their reluctance, Kormir eventually won the other gods over. They didn’t need to fight, but they did need to step in-- even if it wouldn’t be forever. A decision was made, and after far too long, contact was finally re-initiated-- and an offer was made to the survivors who remained.

The Five broke a piece off of their land in the Mists, Xotecha, and offered it as sacred ground for the Turnabout’s final iteration. Gathering the last stragglers, they aided in bringing the remains of their broken world to a safer location; the heart of a massive temporal storm, surrounded on all sides by walls of broken reality that nothing could easily pass.

And finally, they offered knowledge, one last boon that would teach the refugees how to navigate the Mists and its temporal instabilities more safely. Soon the Tideturners understood its intricacies better than any of them ever would have imagined, devising their own specialized suits that could insulate them from even the most severe and debilitating environments.

Eventually these suits would allow for the retrieval of the impossible and improbable, making for some unique new allies that would aid the Tideturners’ Mists excursions even further... But that, too, is a story for another day.

“Jade tech is really something, huh? It holds a magical charge like nothing else I’ve ever seen, even golem power cores can’t compare. It infuses the whole machine’s physical components with power, and you can do some very... Creative things with that kind of energy infusion.”

“That’s the most I can tell you about our systems, but I don’t think you’ll find anything like this outside the Turnabout. ‘ASP’ really is one of a kind.”

As the Turnabout’s population grew, so did its technological advancement and ingenuity. With it came iterations of Cantha’s jade tech, and new methods of energy channeling that entirely changed the way their facility operated. EX-Cannons were upgraded, and new technology allowed the Turnabout to revolutionize its entire interface in an entirely new way.

A new AI system was introduced to run the facility and aid the ever-growing population; ‘ASP,’ short for Automated Security Protocol. The Sidewinder oversaw its development, and became the head of security for the foreseeable future. The snarky, occasionally morbid AI soon proved to be an exceptional help around the Turnabout... With a sinister secret.

In truth, the ‘AI’ was no AI at all, but instead an extension of the Sidewinder’s secretive Scarlet Briar invocation. By directly interfacing her magic with the Turnabout’s jade tech energy conduits, she was able to devise a method of controlling everything remotely-- with Scarlet operating the machinery independently so she could focus on other matters. In order to maintain the connection, a pair of special magitech gauntlets were constructed with unique jade tech receptors that could channel her magic directly into the system, and generate a ‘tablet’ interface for ease of access anywhere.

Some would eventually become suspicious, but the more time passed, the more that the population came to determine that it didn’t make a difference. The AI was doing its job, Sidewinder was proving herself as an effective leader, and the Turnabout was providing for all of its residents with a surprising amount of efficiency.

Against all odds, people came to believe in the Sidewinder and the bold new world she helped to build. And, even if she knew there were plenty of others who would’ve been better suited to this position than her, Mai would fight every day to become the person that the Tideturners believed she was.

She wasn’t a hero, and she didn’t want to be one. But she could be a leader.

This would only be the beginning of their story, though... Ruju’s march would continue soon enough, and the Tideturners’ work will never be done. Not until the Grand High Sovereign and his void-enhanced army is finally laid to rest.

So, where are the Tideturners now..?

"In the taverns of Divinity's Reach, look for someone with a skull and sword tattoo on their upper arm. You'll see just the edge of it. Show them this coin, and tell them; 'I heard you're looking for lost treasure.'"

"They'll ask you; 'I'm always watching for hidden gems. How'd you find this?’ Answer them; 'it washed in on the tide.' They'll know what that means."

There are few groups more secretive than the Tideturners. Most would say they’re just a strange story whispered between Mist travelers, trying to explain shifting shadows in the distance and mysterious markings under rocks. Few outside their ranks have ever seen them, and even fewer knew what they saw.

Just know this; if the Sidewinder is about, the winds of fate are changing... And it’s likely not in your favor. Not because she brings trouble, but because she’s tracking the ones who do... And where Ruju goes, calamity is sure to follow.

So if you start seeing unidentifiable figures lurking on the horizon, and finding their sigil marked under arches, get ready. And if the Sidewinder drops by to share a drink and say hello, never let yourself forget she’s likely there on business. Ask her when the tide is coming in if you want the truth.

Where she comes from, there are no heroes, not anymore. The good ones never make it out alive. If you do, you’ll be the first.

So get ready... Because a storm is coming, and it’s closer than you think.

Additional Background Details and Headcanons:

- Mai adopted the nickname ‘Sidewinder’ due to its snake theming; I headcanon her to be of mixed Luxon (Serpent clan) and Elonian (Corsair) background, which in turn was why her ancestors weren’t living in Cantha; they left due to persecution from the Ministry of Purity, with her being the first to return after several generations of piracy on the fringes of Tyria. Likewise, Scarlet’s ‘AI’ persona was named ASP to match up with the snake theme.

- While the Sidewinder isn’t Aurene’s first choice as a Champion for various reasons, under certain circumstances she could, potentially, become the young dragon’s caretaker. However, the egg has not hatched as of yet; due to the differences during the time of Heart of Thorns, she didn’t gain as much magic from Mordremoth’s death and as such, hasn’t absorbed enough energy.

- In the significant amount of time spent separated from Mordremoth, ASP has effectively been ‘rehabilitated.’ While she often still makes snarky remarks and has a notably morbid sense of humor, she doesn’t act on her more violent impulses anymore and is actually highly defensive of her new home. Both she and the Sidewinder defend the Turnabout ferociously. Additionally, most Turnabout residents have become familiar with her since she often speaks through the intercoms and offers assistance for a variety of tasks.

- Most characters aren’t aware that the Sidewinder is Mai; those who do are mainly Captain Kiel and the former Aetherblades from her original timeline. Very few people actually made it out of her original Tyria, so there aren’t many who can-- or will-- confirm or deny her true identity. Some others they’ve taken in from later timelines (Agent Y and Joon, particularly) have a pretty solid guess due to knowing Mai in their own world, but can’t be certain.

- Due to the Sidewinder’s first experience with any ‘Commander’ being so overwhelmingly negative, she tends to be extremely cautious of any others she comes across using that moniker. Even the good ones tend to set her on edge; she’s seen enough timelines at this point to pick up on a pattern, and it always places them as a driving force of destiny. That said, she can grow friendly with Commanders on occasion, should they prove to be friendly in return.

- The Sidewinder never, ever introduces herself as Mai Trin, and her mask contains an auditory distortion module that disguises her voice. She never takes the mask off in public. It also contains numerous other mechanical and electronic components, including an internal screen and various overlays for observing various Turnabout statistics, and a sensory deprivation mode that blocks out visuals entirely if she needs to focus her revenant abilities.

- Her mask and gauntlets work in tandem to help focus the Sidewinder’s abilities; both have extensive jade conduits and circuitry built in, which allow ASP to interface with the Turnabout from anywhere and also prevent it from overwhelming her. If the Sidewinder is going into combat, though, she also has a specialized set of matching pauldrons that increase her power output. Both those and the gauntlets have magic that might seem familiar to those who’ve faced Mai’s revenant invocation in battle... Black spheres of magic surrounded by a red glow, just like the torment-inflicting orbs used by Scarlet when she spirals out of control. That resemblance isn’t a coincidence in the least.

- Sidewinder’s mech glows red instead of green, which may catch some off-guard; any technology influenced by her revenant abilities will change colors to match ASP’s crimson energy signature, and she’s capable of affecting anything that utilizes a suitably advanced system of magitech circuitry. ASP often acts entirely independently of Sidewinder, which can have both amusing and disconcerting results. Mostly it results in the ‘AI’ dropping in on electronic transmissions without permission to deliver quips and commentary.

- While she and Captain K still don’t see eye-to-eye on most things, they’ve learned to forge their differences into a strength. By meeting in the middle on various issues, they often come to much more creative and nuanced conclusions-- and that, in turn, allows them to lead the Turnabout much more effectively. While the Sidewinder typically handles combat management and defensive measures, Captain K is more involved in the political side and handles diplomatic matters.

“Welcome to the Turnabout. Rules are pretty simple around here: keep your weapons boxed in public spaces, don’t take things that don’t belong to you, fight only in self-defense, and don’t aggravate the AI. She bites.”

“... I’m joking, she doesn’t actually bite. But if you try your luck too much she still might shoot you with a stun cannon, so play nice. We don’t have enough room at the infirmary for every hotshot that feels like playing chicken with the defense protocol.”

#GW2 #Guild Wars 2 #The Sidewinder #Tideturners AU #EoD Spoilers #mentions of major character death #so yeah! god this took so long to put together lmao #I wanted to have this together so she has a proper 'character page' of sorts...#+ it has a general timeline of the Tideturners and how they evolved...#anyway. I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about Mai and the Sidewinder #becoming the Sidewinder is her second chance. an opportunity to be someone better.#Scarlet couldn't give her that. even Joon couldn't give her that. it was a decision she had to make for herself.#she isn't perfect. she's not a hero. she won't be the savior of the world.#but she does want to do right by the people who believe in her.#it's a bold new world and she's trying her best to deserve her position in it.#also ASP is really. really funny to write dialogue for i love her dearly #'This unit is not qualified to run an unsupervised health diagnostic. However if you sign this waiver I will be permitted to vaporize you.'#'Then health diagnostics will be irrelevant because you will be easily identifiable as deceased. Have a terrible day!'#Some kid asks her if hell is real and she says 'Yes and I'm in it.' what's it like? 'Customer service.'#literally just Discount GLaDos DJFHDKHDJ #also yes i took the time to take all those shots + did the color edits #+ designed the Tideturners emblem there too #anyway. time to stop before the tags get longer than the post

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achenetype · 2 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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frownyalfred · 4 months

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a what-if scenario, as proposed by @lurkinglurkerwholurks and developed by myself, @audreycritter and lurker over on discord.

The original what-if: You know those delightful scenarios where Bruce is so pressed or scared or in danger that he yells for Superman and Clark POOF appears? Take alllllllllll of those, all that fear and pain and desperation...What would be required in that moment for Bruce to yell Clark’s name instead of Superman?

He’s so so so careful. Would it be an extreme amount of those emotions, like Jason’s death? Or is it something he specifically needs Clark for and needs him NOW? Like how much would that scare the living snot out of Clark to hear?

What if: Bruce finds Lois close to death -- maybe a few seconds away from dying, and it's a sure thing. Her heart is still beating, but she doesn't have long.

It’s kind of like a scene in a movie, where something happens that’s so big, so quietly awful, everything slows down and the rules don’t matter anymore. Internally, Bruce would go really still and hyperfocus to figure out how to fix this, but he’s not stupid.

Bruce sees Lois and knows. He clears the comms, kneels down next to her, and calls for Clark -- all in less than five seconds. Because there's no one else to make those snap judgements right now other than him -- or even knows why they need to be made.

Clark hearing his name shouted like that would make his entire world go staticky with panic. Because hearing Superman’s name shouted like that by Bruce Wayne has always meant the end of the world, and somehow this is so much worse.

He’d hesitate for a second because surely it’s a mistake? Why would Bruce call him that on open comms? Why is Bruce's heart suddenly pounding in his chest?

Bruce calls him Clark for two reasons: 1) Because he's about to give Clark the worst news of his life and 2) to remind him of his humanity. To remind him he's Clark at his core, because what he's about to see will shake those very foundations.

There’s nothing they can do. No medevac, Clark can’t take her anywhere. She will die, and it’s a certain thing. Lois just needs to see Clark. She needs to be able to say goodbye.

Bruce is both their friends and that’s what makes it worse. The weight of that grief -- grief for Clark, but also Lois because she is his friend too. He loves her, too, in a completely different way. And now he’s watching another person he loves die in front of him and he can’t stop it.

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linkedspirit-fanartfunart · 2 months

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Warning: Depictions of character death

[Image Description: A 4 panel colored Legend of Zelda AU comic “Linked Spirit”. Panel 1: The Darknut's head is turned to the viewer, one eye and a splash of the dark purple ooze pouring out of the visor space. "HA ha ha I see you now" it says. Panel 2: Hero's Spirit, appearing as breath of the wild Link, looks disturbed and wide eyed. "Malice." Panel 3: The background turns black, and Hero, back in their green tunic, looks up at the Malice's giant yellow eye looming over them. "Killing the Hero again and again clearly doesn't work." It says "You must be destroyed" ('destroyed' is italic and bold). Panel 4: A glowing teal wheel with clipped scenes in each of in the 6 segments, each Link in the segments are colored in the same tunic colors as when Hero is shapeshifted as them. Hero's Spirit is in the center, curled up and clutching their hair. Their face looks fractured and generally featureless. The 1st segment features a hand reaching toward a blue ocarina, with Beast Ganon's hoof in front of it. 2nd segment Rinku is seen from behind a hand hovering over a headstone with the name "Link" in Hylian on it. 3rd Rinku sinking in water, indicated by small bubbles. 4th: Engineer sprawled on the ground, the pan flute in one hand, the Spirit of Healing hovering over him. Maladus's clawed paw beyond him. 5th: Hope hovering over his own body as a spirit 6th: Breath of the Wild Zelda (Bloom) holding onto Glider like within the Final Memory in botw. Under this segment, a ribbon like line turns into a glowing droplet. End ID]

masterpost

smh time travel makes the order of events so confusing sometimes huh?

First- Previous (30) - 31^ - Next (32)

#linked spirit #hopefully only confusing for a second before you go 'oh shoot wait'#loz au #legend of zelda #loz #linked spirit au #ls hero's spirit #linked spirit comic #botw is next can you tell :P #ls malice #finally I can tag my beautiful monster's name :P #I'm sure most people knew it was malice but i mean Dramatic Name Drop #ls hope #ls rinku #ls engineer #ls glider #death mention tw #tw major character death

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ricciardosgirl · 4 months

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you'll get lost

here in saltburn . .

let me guide you.

farleigh start x reader.

trigger warnings ; mentions of death.

————————————————————

it was an early morning , venetia had left me to gather my thoughts here in saltburn. we were the first to arrive. poor venetia was barely awake , so she decided to go have a nap. i got set up in my room — which wasn't next to venetia's room , which was odd. but of course , i was naive to think anything of it.

i was unpacking before the maids got to it , she told me that they'd throw out anything that they deemed ' scandalous ' and i had a lot of things considered that. until i heard a small knock at my door. i froze for a moment , hoping that it wasn't one of those damn maids yet.

i hurried over to the door , opening it and being welcomed by a tall handsome man , i hadn't seen him when i came in. he gave me a small little smile , looking down on me.

" hey. " he said ever so nonchalantly , i had no idea who the hell it was. it made me nervous. " hey . . " awkwardly , i leaning against my door frame. " sorry , probably just weirded you out , i'm farleigh — i'll be next door to you. " great , just what i needed , a guy next door to me.

the only reason i came to saltburn was to get away from guys — my boyfriend , now ex cheated on me. this was my escape. i nodded my head at him. " i'm y/n. " i hesitantly smiled up at him. " another american ? how wild. " he chuckled , i came from the windy city itself , chicago. " mhm , yeah. " i wasn't paying much attention , i was more focused on getting my shit together.

" what are you doing all the way out here ? " he leaned down a bit , i caught a good glimpse of him. he was handsome , great sense of style. he smelled oddly good. " i go to school out in london , needed a change of scenery. " i eased up a bit . . he didn't seem creepy. " ah , nice. " another smile from him , he's too friendly for his own good.

" so — it's a pleasure to meet you , i suppose you got stuff to do , sure venetia is going to be around here soon. " he tapped the door frame , attempting to leave. " she's not , i think she's napping. " i said , one hand on the door to keep it open. i could use the company , this place was ginormous . . but lonely. " i - uh . . don't really know much about this place , i don't even really know where i am in the house right now. " i tried to make small talk.

" it can feel like that , did venetia not give you a tour ? " he asked , i caught his attention. " no , she just took me to my room and said she was off for a nap. " i sighed , i didn't think venetia would be around for awhile.

" what a shame , this place is really beautiful. here , let me show you around. "

the hours passed as farleigh showed me around saltburn , we formed this slight closeness in the lonely halls. i . . enjoyed his presence , and i think he enjoyed mine. we talked for hours on end , we did have a lot in common after all.

i think i spent more time with farleigh than anything , we did everything together. sometimes i forgot that venetia invited me. i could tell that she was pissed — but i was just having fun. it was the best summer of my life , all spent with him.

but my favorite memory came towards the end of the summer. we avoided the hedge maze on my first go around saltburn , but i begged him to take me. we got lost , just laughing at our stupidity as we walked together. after awhile we reached the middle of the maze - there stood a huge minotaur.

we sat on the edge of the statute , admiring the beauty of the sky and the maze - until i caught his gaze on me. he stared at me , that dumb smile on his face.

" y/n? " he finally spoke. " yeah? " i turned to look at him , i met his gaze. " thank you. "

" for what ? "

" this summer. "

he was talking like he was on his death bed , but we leave saltburn tomorrow. " why are you thanking me ? " i asked , chuckling a little.

" because , it was the best summer i've ever had here. " i could feel my cheeks flush , i'd miss him so much. we never really spoke about what actually happened that summer , the bond we made - the things we did. we never talked about how one night i woke up next to him.

" i don't think i'll miss saltburn as much as i'll miss you. " he sounded hesitant , i nodded my head in agreement. this summer was one of the best i'd ever had , and it was all thanks to him. " i'm sure we will see each other again. " i stayed optimistic.

" maybe , maybe not. " that broke my heart , i stared in disbelief for a moment. " why ? " i looked down at the ground. " because i'm going back to america to be with my mother. " i understood , family comes first.

" then i'll see you next summer. "

" next summer. " he smiled , grabbing my smaller hand and holding it. " let's try and top this summer next year. " he chuckled , i agreed again. i sighed , deep down . . i didn't want to wait that long.

we sat in silence for awhile , birds chirping as time passed , he never let go of my hand. when i finally looked at him , he smiled at me. getting up and releasing my hand. " let's make tonight last. " he got hopeful. " forever. " i said , standing up and following him. i wrapped my arms around his waist from behind.

we stayed like that for a moment , none of us saying a word. he turned around , my arms still wrapped around him. that cheeky smile is all i remember , that moment repeating in my mind over and over again.

next summer , didn't happen. i didn't see farleigh again till we were standing over the grave of each one of the cattons. he held my hand as he silently mourned his cousin while i mourned my friend venetia. we didn't say a word to each other. we just stood in remembrance of our loved ones.

maybe in another life , another time.

#saltburn #angst #fanfic #farleigh start #archie madekwe #mentions of felix #mentions of venetia #major character death #this broke my heart #almost romance

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wispscribbles · 1 month

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hi i just discovered your beautiful art so i obviously needed to scroll down your whole blog to catch up on everything you posted haha

i just wanted to say that i got way too emotional after reading that post of yours regarding mw3 and your mental health… on one hand i’m so sorry that you felt that way, but on the other i feel it with my whole heart

ghoap content especially for me helped me these past few months with my mental health in ways i would never have expected, it was my solace and inspiration, i started working out too and got back into drawing, got a lot better at it as well!

but unfortunately i get way too fixated on fictional stuff and there comes a time that my brain switches up and connects the things i liked and comforted me with things that make me extremely uncomfortable and stressed out, especially if i fall down a fandom rabbit hole that i would never have searched up, beacuse i know myself, i know my limits and triggers but i feel like i’m not a part of the fandom if i don’t like and interact with every single headcanon, art and ship

these past days i was really down because of that, and the things i read (why did i do that???) and now when i think of ghoap i think of that stuff and im scared that i alienated myself from the one thing that made me happy

but discovering your art and with that your post reminded me that im not alone in these feelings, even if it’s not the same exactly, and i wanted to thank you, for sharing your thoughts that time i guess haha <33

((sorry for rambling))

Long reply under 'keep reading' !! CW: talk of triggers and MCD

Always feel free to ramble my way!!! How nice you could find some comfort in my art and ghoap stuff. Especially in my mw3 post. I've been considering deleting it a few times, but hearing it maybe helped to read in some way makes me happy I left it up.

I get where you're coming from - I very much use these fictional characters as a safe space, but ppl view them very differently. There's room for it all, "don't like, don't interact" is very much a policy I agree with. It's important to mute words and be aware of your own triggers as you browse stuff in this fandom, because there's such a wide variety of stuff out there. You do NOT have to interact and agree with every thought people have on this ship, that's impossible and super stressful. There's plenty of stuff and headcanons I don't vibe with. There are no 'requirements' that you have to meet in order to enjoy fiction.

It's part of why I enjoy ghoap - that their dynamic resonates and has sparked so much creativity and outlets for so many - but it also means there's gonna be a lot of stuff u don't necessarily agree with or feel comfortable with. For example, a lot of folks use the MCD in mw3 as a way to explore grief, which I think is really cool, but on a bad day that could potentially get my brain in a bad headspace, so I only check out that art and those fics when I feel okay. There's also a bunch of stuff I'd never want to interact with, and that’s fine !!

I'm personally quite vanilla and a sucker for exploring the softer, more domestic aspects of these characters. It's what brings me joy. I know there are parts of this fandom who don’t vibe with what I make at all, and would call it untrue to the characters. Some creators enjoy exploring the more violent or toxic sides to the source material. That's just how it is, we all need different things from fiction. As long as we're capable of chilling in our respective sandboxes, then all's good.

But if you're like me, and enjoy the softer things, then definitely be aware and careful while exploring this ship and fandom. I've seen takes on these characters that are so far removed from how I view them, that they're basically the complete opposite, and it can leave a very bad taste, especially if you're the type to hinge your safe space on fiction.

Just... be mindful of yourself and your potential triggers, be respectful and don't interact with things that make you uncomfortable to the point of feeling unsafe. Shape your own online experience to your best ability.

Hope you're doing okay and still find joy in ghoap <3

#ask #anon ask #long post #mcd #mcd mention #major character death #mw3 spoilers #ish #few extra thoughts in tags:#sry it took a while to respond. i wanted to give a proper answer #hope this makes sense or helps somehow #and if interacting with this fandom continues to have a negative impact on your mental health then take a break #i understand using fiction as an outlet or safe space (i do it) but if the bad starts outweighing the good then try to distance yourself #don't dive into those rabbit holes that u know will make u feel bad #i understand the urge but its so important to protect yourself online #I’m far from an expert on this stuff so this is just my two cents #stay safe!!

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randooffthestreet99 · 7 months

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HEAR ME OUT

Nightmare/Dadmare who is immortal. His boys, who are not.

Nightmare having to come to terms that, after a long, and as happy as they could have life, his boys were gone. Really, truly gone. (He keeps their dust in little jars with their jackets in their rooms)

The hatred he would hold about how unfair it was, that he had all eternity with the people he despised the most, and his boys were gone.

Nightmare going on a rampage once they are all dead.

Nightmare eventually coming to accept their deaths and grieving. Finally, finally making peace with everything and coming to begrudgingly accept his brother.

And once all the hatred, all the regret, the Negativity has left him, he reverts to his original form.

And Nightmare gets to see his boys again.

#nightmare sans #horror sans #killer sans #cross sans #dust sans #dream sans #angst with a happy ending #? i guess #idk #rambles #major character death #tw mentions of death #poor guy #dadmare #bad sans gang #bad sanses

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mika-writes-fanfics · 1 year

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As It Was

Dabi x Reader Angst

Warnings/tags: angst, hurt/no comfort, brief mentions of burns, major character death, pre-established relationship, reader cares for flowers

Synopsis: Dabi returns to you after completing his life's mission, his body now badly burned and damaged. He wonders, will you accept him with open arms? Will you take what is left of him?

Author's note: I've been on a Hozier binge. "As It Was" from Wasteland, Baby! was giving me major Dabi vibes. This is kind of different from the content I usually like to write and read, but I felt so inspired I just had to write it. Word count: 1.1K

He’s now thankful your home is on the outer reaches of the city, tucked in a secluded pocket between the border of the forest and the concrete hell of the city. After what he’s done, there’s not a person in Japan that wouldn’t recognize his face. Had you not lived in the middle of nowhere, he’d already be arrested by some weak police officer or jumped by some rookie hero.

It’s ironic, the thinks, that his opinion has changed. He hated it, at one point. You lived so far away from his shitty apartment at the time, meaning that every time he wanted to see you, he had to take the agonizingly long train rides. It was like you lived in a fucking retirement community since all the elderly would take the same train, giving him judgemental stares all the while. It pissed him off to no end. And if that wasn’t enough, being in the forest always reminded him of Sekoto.

But still, he bore it all for you, back before he let his rage consume him.

Before he devoted himself entirely to revenge.

Before he started burning himself all over again.

Before he fucked it all up.

Despite the way he left you, he hopes you’ll be kind enough to him to accept his return, to not instantly slam the door in his face.

If he even makes it to your doorstep, that is.

Each step he takes feels like a battle between life and death. These heavy and labored movements exhaust him, made worse by the state your driveway is in. Of all the days for it to rain, it just had to be today. The torrential downpours make the path harder to traverse. Mud clings to his boots with every trudging step he takes, threatening to suck him into the earth, burying him at his final resting place.

The puddles of water settling in the tire tracks of your car show him grim reminders of his appearance, showing him glimpses of just how ghastly he’s become.

He’s a burnt husk of what he once was.

Nothing is left of him now that he's achieved his life’s purpose.

The only thing that remains of him is this homing instinct to return to you.

To go back to the start.

To give you what’s left of him.

To feel his final sensation of comfort.

To feel loved again.

He’s faced with the reality of how long it’s been when he finally catches sight of your home. In the year he was by your side, he never saw those Foxgloves bloom once, as he met you in the late summer. But now, judging by the towering violet, bell-shaped flowers framing the sides of your window, it’s been three years.

It’s in this moment that his mind replays the memory of the following summer, the one in which he noticed you agonizing over the flowerless plant beds. He remembers it, with surprising clarity amongst the mental fog.

“Why do you bother taking care of those stupid flowers if they never fucking bloom?” He asked you, critically.

“They’re foxgloves,” you answered.

“So?”

“So, they do bloom, just biennially, and their flowering season just passed. You’ll see why I keep ‘em around in another year,” you explained.

The fact you even implied he’d still be in your life a year from then filled him with a sense of security. Whether you meant it or not, he took it as a promise, and kept it tucked in the darker reaches of his heart.

Three long years have passed since he left you, since he abandoned you without a word. But he has known you have a patient side to you, he’s seen it in the way you always gave him space in his darkest days, how you allowed him the time to come back to you when he was ready, how you never took his frustrating habit of pushing you away to heart, weathering his toxicity with love and carefulness. Maybe, since you’re so patient, you have been waiting for him. If you welcomed those flowers despite their long absence, maybe you’d accept him, too.

Normally, he’d sneer at the thought of you turning him into such a hopeless romantic, a weaker version of himself, but considering how there’s nothing left of him anyways, he’s fine with the idea. Maybe the positivity you give him would turn him into something beautiful again.

He finally climbs up to your doorstep and stumbles against the door. When his shaky and weak hands turn the knob, expecting to be met with a locked door, it turns easily without resistance. Your door is unlocked, which in his state of hopeful delusion, he interprets as you waiting for him.

Maybe you knew he would come back.

You had made it easy for him to crawl back into your life.

Or maybe you just forgot to lock it.

He swings open the door as he leans against the door frame. Any other time, the sound of the groaning hinges would grate at his ears, but right now, the sound feels familiar and comforting. It feels like nothing has changed, everything is as it once was.

He trudges deeper into your home, shambling past your living room and tracking mud all over your floors. There’s a pit of anxiety forming in his stomach the longer he walks through your home without seeing a glimpse of you. But it’s when he approaches the kitchen that he hears you humming, the sound calming his mind.

His boots thud on your tiled floor, loud, and uneven. He sways as he walks, bumping into one of your dining chairs, the movement scraping the chair against the floor. Your humming abruptly cuts off at the sound and you turn to the source, on high alert, only to see him propping himself up against the walls.

A sharp gasp escapes your lungs.

All he can see is you as the edges of his vision grey out. Against your better judgment, you rush over to him as his legs start buckling underneath him.

He starts to collapse on the spot. You close the distance and open your arms around him, catching his fall and attempting to bear the brunt of his weight.

Despite what he’s done, despite how he left you so suddenly, he can still feel your love for him.

It’s in the way you try to make sure he doesn’t fall, despite tripping being the least concern to him given his injuries.

It’s how your voice sounds frantic as you ask him if he’s okay if he can hear you, if he’s still in there.

It’s how you start to sob at seeing the state he’s in.

You’re so worried about getting him to lie on the ground safely and checking his pulse that you fail to see him softly smiling at how you fuss over him, what’s left of his burnt face forcing out a peaceful expression.

The last thing he hears, the last thing he feels, the last thing he thinks about, is you.

#dabi angst #dabi fanfic #dabi x reader #dabi x reader angst #major character death #Major character injury #tw: mentions of burns #tw: death #hozier inspired fic #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi #reader insert #gender neutral reader #no pronouns mentioned for reader #dabi x gender neutral reader

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whumperofworlds · 1 month

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Love it when before a Whumpee and Caretaker get separated for a long time/one of them dies, they have this exchange:

"I love you."

"I love you too."

It's so whumpy yet so sad.

#whump #whump prompt #love confessions #<it can be platonic!#caretaker x whumpee #<again can be platonic!#death mention #major character death

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ggomos-maribat · 5 months

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8 | bearing another mask

Part 8 of Marinette Dupain-Cheng is Dead | Masterlist

TW: a bit of SH, noncon touching

Lila sat in her dimly lit apartment with a souring mood on her face. One hand tapped against the side of her hot mug while the other held a fingernail wedged between her teeth. She stared at the email from her PR and legal team, which promised that they would put out the flames and advised that she kept quiet for the meantime so as to not worsen the situation. But it's not enough, she bitterly thought. No matter how much cleanup they do, those rumors were scars that would forever mar the face of her company.

She let out a slow breath. My sales will be affected, the employees, our suppliers. Why, why does this have to happen now? She switched to another window that showed an article detailing the designs she 'stole' from the deceased girl. I was taking inspiration, she seethed. Aren't those designs better off seeing the light of fame than being stuck in a piece of paper? If Marinette were alive, she should be thanking her.

Sharp trills from her doorbell snapped her out of her stupor. Quickly, she told herself to calm down and let the issues pass—people move on from one intriguing gossip to another in no time anyway. She glided over to her door and opened it up, expecting to see her assistant to greet her.

But instead, a tall blonde man was on the other side of the door.

"Adrien!" The smile froze on her face, albeit also showing slight surprise. "When I said I wanted to meet you, I was expecting to go to your place or something."

"I thought I should come to you instead, so I don't need to see your face ever again." His voice was devoid of any warmth, eyes lacking their usual shine. In fact, it was the coldest Adrien had ever been in front of her, as he clearly didn't bother to hide his disdain.

Lila snorted. "How nice of you. Won't you come in?"

Adrien actually stepped into the place, but only by the living room. Out of obligation, Lila headed into the kitchenette to open up the cupboards and look for something to serve him. "Want anything to drink? Eat?" She hummed. "I think I still have cheesecake cups from an influencer friend of mine . . . or oolong tea?"

"I don't want anything. I'm not planning on staying long."

"You look well." She tilted her head. "We didn't even get to talk much in the reunion. It feels like you were avoiding me."

"I was, in fact."

Lila paused, and looked at him with narrowed eyes. Can't we play pleasantries just for a while, Agreste? "Fine." Her lip curled as she neared him. "You don't want to talk like mature adults, I get it. I'll go straight to the point. Are you behind all those rumors?"

"No," Adrien replied coolly. "If it were me, if I were trying to protect Marinette's designs, don't you think I would've done that a long time ago?" A ghost smile flickered on his lips. "But I do think it's well-deserved for you. Your current silence means you've been put into your place."

"'Put into my place'?" Lila echoed. Maybe it isn't you, or maybe it is and you've just been waiting for the right time to strike. "Those posts are ruining the reputation of my brand! They're baseless rumors trying to make me look bad!"

"How are they baseless when you've clearly tried to rip off Marinette's creations and even designs from small businesses?" Adrien asked.

She scoffed, "Now you're insulting me just because you're back from that hiatus of yours? Look, I've built my company with my own hard work and talent. I get that you're hurt about Marinette's death but I don't deserve this for my petty lies in collège and lycée. They were white lies! I was trying to make friends. Why do you think our class ended up being so close after these years?"

Lila could see the enclosed rage in Adrien's eyes, one with a fire that burned as strong as the one setting off inside her, but he didn't act on it. His tone was calm and unwavering, albeit holding a silent venomous undertone. "You can't call your lies petty if they've hurt someone badly. You didn't make the class so enamored with you—you trapped them and manipulated them that they have no choice but to play along if they didn't want to be dragged to hell with you."

She put herself closer to him, looking him in the eye. Why did Gabriel have to go so soon? Why couldn't you have stayed obedient like you had all those years?

"That's bold coming from you," she whispered, breath touching his skin. He flinched a little. "You and I both know Gabriel would've entrusted his company to me, if you weren't already written out in his will."

She slid a hand up his chest, then to his shoulder, and down his arm. "I don't think the company is even holding up right now. When's the last time it had a show? What was the last design you released—"

"—Don't touch me—"

Her hand cupped his cheek lightly, but when he moved away, she grasped his forearms instead. "If you're smart, you'll realize you can't handle it alone. You need me, you need his protégé. My company can partner up with yours and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

But Adrien pulled away again, more forcefully this time, and glowered at her. "I think it's the other way around—it's you who needs me. If you can get me on your side, you have another celebrity backing you up, or you can divert attention from the scandals with another partnership."

Lila clenched her jaw, clasping her hands behind her back and leaning in to give him a saccharine smile. "Unfortunately, I don't stoop that low. If you don't want us to help each other, that's your loss." She ran a hand through her long hair. "Your father's company will go bankrupt, and Lilia Designs will be the new top fashion brand."

Calm down, she told herself. Although Adrien wasn't an option to be a pawn anymore, it wasn't that big of a deal. She just wanted to feel a little bit of satisfaction if she could put him under her thumb, see him helpless and compliant. But I can't lose my nerve here. If I lash out, I lose. I just need to be the bigger person.

"That's quite confident of you, Lila," Adrien said forebodingly. "We'll see, I suppose."

***

"There's one more thing we want to ask. Felix Fathom—was he related in any way to the case?"

"My cousin? What makes you think so?"

He saw some hint of hesitance on Tim's face. "He had trips back and forth from London to Paris at that time."

"He was helping take care of me after Marinette died while juggling his responsibilities at home." He shrugged. "Technically, I had no family anymore, aside from him and my aunt."

"Is there any way we can talk to him?"

He paused for a few beats, thinking it over. Then he replied: "I can put in a word for you, but I can't guarantee that he'll be available. His schedule's pretty tight nowadays."

He slammed the car door shut as soon as he got onto the seat. That woman's touch was still ghosting on his arms, making his skin crawl. His stomach was a gurgling pit of nausea and his jaw was clenched tight. Was that how Lila acted this whole time?

He kept himself from shivering while starting up the car. It had been a while since he adopted an alter ego, and still, he was yet to fully understand his cousin. Even as he donned Adrien's clothes, and messed up his hair to match the unkempt style, he felt like an impostor in his own skin. Ever since he appeared in the class reunion a couple weeks ago, a voice would nag at him telling him that he was a fake.

Adrien wore many masks, more than what Felix could bear to put on.

And now, Felix finally knew how much Lila had tormented Adrien. Disgusting. She's disgusting. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as he drove. He went through all of that, under the clutches of that vile woman.

But he knew he was the one who chose to be put in that situation. The job is done . . . the recorder is working and the camera was in place. He took a deep breath. Everyone will finally know her true colors.

Everything was slowly coming into fruition, but it wasn't over until Lila met her downfall.

Felix drove around for a few minutes just to make sure no one was tailing him. Then, he sped up and headed for the outskirts of Paris, in an isolated apartment building. He shrugged off his jacket after parking the car, and reached the top floor just as the first drizzle drops of an incoming storm pattered on the windows.

When he opened the door, he found an occupant inside already.

"How was it?"

Felix ran a hand through his hair, idly shutting the door. "Don't give me that look. It went fine."

"It's a live feed, Felix, I saw you." Marinette spun on her chair, following his figure with a disapproving stare. "I saw everything."

Felix tugged at his collar. "It was fine, it was my idea and my decision." Even if I hated her hands on me. "We got the video and it'll smear her reputation if the accusations on her haven't already."

He peeked at the computer where she had just been working, looking to change the subject. "What's that?"

Marinette sighed as she turned back to the screen. "Other testimonies popping up about Lila copying other designs. Turns out it's not only clothes—even accessories and jewelry too."

Figures, he thought. She can never be original. "Well, she got awfully greedy."

"I don't understand her sometimes," the bluenette murmured, "I saw her cry real tears at my funeral, and yet here she is, stealing from the deceased on purpose."

Felix poured himself a glass of water to dispel the sour taste in his tongue. "It's because she thinks she's not doing anything wrong."

He watched as she switched to the second screen, one displaying a high-security website with a sleek modern design. Big letters spelled out the brand: Mira Designs. A few months back, he had argued with her that a new branding could give her away because of the similarity to her former designs. But Marinette had firmly promised that that wouldn't be the case.

And that became the truth: 'Mira's' designs were different, better even, mirroring a rebirth in Marinette's creativity following the new life she'd made for herself. Lila's company paled in comparison, and Mira Designs had gained traction in such a short span of time. Although Felix wasn't an expert in fashion, he could see that Marinette was on her way to become a celebrity in the fashion world. But the appeal point in her company was that the designer herself remained mysteriously anonymous.

"We'll be hitting our quota by the end of the week." Marinette showed him the current numbers. "And you said you didn't believe in my designing abilities."

"I didn't say that." Felix rolled his eyes.

"You implied it." An amused smile tugged at her lips.

"You wouldn't be making these sales without my business expertise."

"Oh, right, yes I'm sorry Mr. Fathom, I must get on my knees and thank you for your help."

Felix snorted and grabbed his things again. He was reaching for the doorknob when Marinette stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. I need some air," he lied.

Of course she wouldn't buy that. She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm going out to visit Adrien," he finally said truthfully. "Just fix up dinner for yourself. I might come back late."

Taglist: @hammalammadamdam @toodaloo-kangaroo@missmadwoman@afanofmanyships@atomicherringpersonjudge-blog@wheredostarsgowhenyoudie

#maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #character death #major character death #angst #MDC is Dead #dc x miraculous #tw mentions of suicide #tw mention of death #maribat mystery #tw noncon touching

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tobythetrashyartist · 1 year

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A scene from Chapter 6 of "Haunting My Own Skin," written by @kirii-kitten

Here's a few warnings for the fic, read the tags on ao3 and read at your own discretion:

TWs: Suicide, Major Character Death, Alcoholism

#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #mob #kageyama shigeo #serizawa katsuya #reigen arataka #ekubo #dimple #tome kurata #comic #angst #tw suicide #tw alchoholism #tw major character death #i actually also wanted to draw the hug scene from the same chapter #i just think it would be fun to do so #but that will have to wait :)#ksjsksk ANYWAYS UH BYE #tws are for the fic the art has no mention of them

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this-world-of-beautiful-monsters · 3 months

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prompt: spider takes the bullet, not neteyam. quaritch will do anything to get his son back, anything. he'll even work with augustine's recom.

(warnings for discussions of past torture and character death, although really an astonishingly gen ending to this magnificent journey)

ao3

"They won't help you," he says. "You know that, right?"

Augustine stares at him, face studiously blank the way it used to get during long board meetings. He can see her tail twitching, though, ears flickering like she's trying to ward off a nonexistent fly.

Behind her, farther down the bloodstained rock, Mo'at'ite hisses, knuckles white around her bow (that bow, that fuckingbow, but Quaritch won't look at it, anymore than he'll look at the body at Augustine's feet). She and Sully both have their weapons drawn, but Quaritch isn't the slow target he was in the AMP anymore and Augustine's standing tall, fucking up their sightlines.

"Kiri," Sully says, voice taut. "You gotta get out of the way, babygirl--"

Quaritch barks a laugh, the ragged kind that comes when you're teetering on the edge of hysteria. "Babygirl? You shitting me?" He shakes his head. "Come the fuck on, doc. The Augustine I know would've put out her cigarette on any man who tried that shit with her."

"She isn't Grace," Sully says hoarsely. "Kiri, stand down now. That's an order."

Quaritch doesn't even dignify that shit with a response, just rolls his eyes (easier to avoid looking at the ground, at the body). Augustine doesn't seem particularly moved either, her fingers flexing as she adjusts her stance.

She could kill him, Quaritch knows, without any help from her so-called mommy and daddy. He can feel the power crackling in the air around her, buzzing around her fists, blood-metallic on his tongue. It makes his kuru ache, same way it had in the woods--back then, he'd been too focused on Spider Spider Spider to really pay attention.

He knows better, now. He'd seen what she'd done to Lyle after Sully's voice has crackled over the line, sharp and cold and still shaking ever so slightly: your boy's dead, one of your dumb fucking grunts shot him. Let my daughters go, or you're next. Sully's always been a shit liar, but it was the panicked look at Lyle's face that made it impossible to deny.

Fucking Lyle. He's lucky the way Augustine turned his brain to slurry when she did, before Quaritch could get his hands on him. Lucky he doesn't have to fucking stand here and not look at the thing on the ground, the thing, the body--

"You think they'll even let you bury him?" he asks. "The locals won't stand to have this shit in their holy grounds--they'll probably give him back to Spellman so he can get dumped in a fucking crematorium. You'll never see your Monkey Boy again."

The pipsqueak with the eyebrows, tail lashing. "Don't you talk to her--" he growls, but Augustine cuts him off.

"I'll never see him either way." Her voice is hoarse--Quaritch remembers the way she screamed on the ship, like something had been torn loose in her and would never be put right. He knows that feeling.

"Kiri," the older boy says, the one Lyle had screamed something about trying to shoot instead as his blood ran out of his eyes. "Kir, please, come on--"

"We've got his memories," Quaritch cuts him off fast, can't let her get swayed by her fake family now. "At Bridgehead, we--we scanned them. Got a copy." If they're still there; they better be still there. The kid had thrown a shitfit in the scanner like every time before, but he'd still gone into the revamped Soul Drive with the rest of them.

"You hurt him." There's blood dripping from the tips of her fingers; he wonders if Sully and the rest have realized it's not hers.

"I did," Quaritch admits, because he doesn't have any time to fuck around. "Whatever you want to call me, whatever I've done, you're right. But I want him back, you understand? I mean it, you know I do."

She does. He can feel this fucking eyes of hers burn into him, bright with whatever wacky upgrades she got from her own trip through the other side, flaying him deeply enough she can see Spider Socorro's name written on her heart, same way it's written on hers. Kid's always had that fucking way about him.

"I want him back and none of these assholes will help, none of them could if they fucking wanted to, but I can." Quaritch takes a step forward and the Sullys tense, knuckles white on their weapons. "And you--you've got the know-how, you're the egghead I need in my corner. You brought yourself back, didn't you?"

"She didn't--" Sully whines.

"Didn't she?" Quaritch doesn't bother looking at him, keeps his eyes firmly on Augustine as he holds out a hand. She looks at it, then at him, those little flashy lights twinkling across her skin like she's rebooting. Remembering.

"I offered you a chance to make amends and work on this moon together, once." She knows what he's talking about, he can see it. "You told me to go stick my dick in a woodchipper, and you were right. But I don't care about that anymore, I don't give a fuck about this stupid mudball we're on or the stupid mud ball we're from, I just want my son."

His gaze flicks to her family, just for a second, then back to her. "They don't see anything about you except the meatsuit, same way those RDA pukes did with me. And they don't see anything about--" His breath catches, twists, "him, except that he's a big fucking mistake, and they'll do everything they can to forget he ever existed."

Silence. Her jaw works and he wonders if she wishes she had a cigarette right now--seeing her without one feels more jarring than the baby face or the blue skin.

"Kiri," the little girl whines, reaching out before the Metkayina girl carefully tugs her back. "Kiri, please."

Augustine's hair rustles with a wind that doesn't exist and her fists curls tight at her side, fingers trembling. Quaritch wonders if she's going to burn him like she burned Lyle, or maybe just call up something big and toothy to rip him apart.

And she might have, if Sully hadn't decided to lunge across the island in a few big, stupid strides, clapping his hand down her shoulder. "Kiri," he gasps, tugging her back. "Come on--"

Her eyes flare (panic anger fear, quick and smashed-up the way it always came with her) and she whirls, queue crackling, palms raised high. Sully goes staggering backward with a yelp, clutching his bleeding nose, and Mo'at'ite lunges to catch him before his head hits the rock. Augustine watches him topple, stunned still, gaping in horror.

Then she moves. Turns and scoops the...body up from the ground, cradling it (him) carefully to her chest even as she hustles down the rock. No vocalization, but her banshee swoops down from the sky, landing with a whomp of wings next to Cupcake, and she's hauling the body (Spider) onto the saddle before Quaritch's got his first leg up Cupcake's side.

"Kir!" Pipsqueak yells, rushing to their side, frantic. "Kir, wait, don't--"

She holds out a hand and he jerks to a half, from his own volition or hers it's hard to say. "Look after them," she says, and then Quaritch is fitting his own queue home, not that Cupcake needs more encouragement to go go go as they soar into the sky.

They go swoop out over the smoldering sea, Augustine's hair--Spider's hair--whipped gently by the wind. Quaritch glances over his shoulder to see the Sullys vanishing, a scatter of blue dots rapidly fading from view.

"They won't follow us," Augustine calls flatly. "Their ikran won't listen until we're out of range." She shoots him a cold look, hand resting on his son's spine--Quaritch doubts he's getting near that body any time soon, but that doesn't matter, he'll make it not matter. "Lead the way, Ranger Rick."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, just to be an asshole, tossing off a snide salute before leaning into the next turn. She bares her teeth the way the kid used and follows, banshees swerving together to meet the rising sun.

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