#anyways angst yippee

[gunpowder-arti]

sad cat poem - spencer madsen

[arkiwii]

i absolutely love kristen x saria and could give a whole analysis about it because its such a beautiful relationship that was doomed to fall. kristen was already planning to die, and alone, since the start. they both cared deeply for each other, but it couldn't work.

i know a lot of people probably wish kristen would come back at some point, but im placing my hot take care: i dont think she should. like id say "if she did she would/should", but no, i dont think she should ever come back at all at any point. she dedicated her life to it, and she joined the stars. she's gone now. and saria needs to move on, to stop clinging to the past and grieve something that was already lost. she was left with a huge scar, but this scar needs to heal. if kristen came back, it would only make the damages on saria worse and will never let her heal.

i love silence x saria even more because it's the union of the future and the past. silence will help her to move on, to heal. she will show her a beautiful world. the broken rock and the plants growing on it making it beautiful etc. and at the same time, saria would be able to give silence the kind of support and comfort she deeply needs at the moment from her overwhelming duty. i wouldn't want to say it's THE relationship ever, but god fucking damnit its close to it. its beautiful. look at them mutually helping each other out. hits fist on desk

IF i didn't just woke up i'd write so so much more and give so much analysis and symbolism and all that stuff but im sleepy. ALSO i need to draw kristen and saria content one day but im so bad at drawing kristen and im clogged artwise i have so much to work on help

[bugsinshoes]

please don't bother trying to find her, she's not there

[ronithesnail]

What if the real reason senshi is so against ressurection magic is because if he had had it back when his mining group first found the dungeon then maybe he could have saved them from their fate.

If it’s so easy to revive people in this place then how come his family is dead anyway?

[shadowmilkinplacesheshouldntbe]

*bites*☀️

!! BLOOD WARNING !!

" ... Hah?"

" Eheh... eheheh... I... I don't think anyone's gotten to wound me like this in a long time..."

He's smiling, not the good, happy kind of smile though. It's more like a smile twisted with pain.

" Ahahahah... Oh wow! It really hurts! Guess that's what losing an arm does for ya! Hahahaha!"

It hurts.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurt-

" ..."

" A-ah... Kenzie..?"

" Such violent actions towards us is not permitted upon this blog."

carefully, she scooped Shadow Milk into her hand. Carrying him away from the impaled anon, though it didn't seem like he was bothered by the impalement, more like the Silver Knife used to do that.

" Come on, let's get you fixed up."

~ FIRST ASK PERIOD IS OVER !! ~

It seems that Mackenzie and Shadow Milk will be gone for a while...

[mystiquedrops]

Literally if you ask

Not only will you die of cringe (bc they lack evidence)

But I'll literally NEVER shut up about it, until you- Idk?? Sternly force me to STFU :3

(If you find this post in the tags, or any of my other posts, I sincerely apologize for those who do 😶😔-)

[thatcoyperson]

So this was originally written off of a prompt and also to bully my friend [hi Jonah if you're seeing this :3] but I figured Tumblr could have it. Not the best thing I've written but f it we ball

Anyways enjoy this short little bit of Last Life Scar angst!

• -------- • -------- • -------- •

“Why?” Scar asked, voice quiet, burn scars still stinging.

Grian raised an eyebrow, locking his yellow eyes to Scar’s newly red from his place in the doorway. “Why what?”

A breath left Scar as he searched for the words. “Why’d you leave me alone?”

As soon as the words left Scar’s mouth, Grian’s entire demeanor changed to something much more closed off. Defensive. “I didn’t leave-”

“No you did leave me.” Scar didn’t even let the man finish his sentence, cutting him off with harsh words. “We were fine, Grian, everything was fine. We talked, we were still friends, it was fine,” Scar could feel the pain in his chest being twisted into anger by his newly red life. “But then- oh but then we get here and suddenly you’re against me. You take my life, take my friends, kill my horse who was the only friend I had left on this god forsaken server-”

“Now we both know that you stole that horse from me-”

“YOU DON'T GET A SAY IN THIS!” Scar snapped. Grian’s wings noticeably tensed at the sudden raise of volume, and Scar felt a shot of pride run through him, masking away the pain that made his heart hurt. “You don’t get a say in any of this after you’re the reason I’m alone,” saying that outloud made him realize the irony of it all. He scoffed, standing up and turning to face Grian fully, “Its funny, y’know, that you’re the reason I’m alone up here. Of all people on this server, it had to be you.”

Grian let out a sigh. “Scar it’s not only my fault-”

He barely got his sentence out before Scar started talking again. “After everything on Third Life, after everything where you swore your life to me-”

“Scar-”

“-after you stayed by my side even when I was red-”

“Scar.”

“-and after you told me you wouldn’t leave me even after you went yellow-”

“SCAR.”

Grian's rising volume finally made Scar stop.

“You told me you wouldn’t leave me,” he looked at Grian, the walls of artificial anger beginning to crack and the pain starting to show through again. The pain of being alone, left behind, forgotten. “Why did you lie?”

A response didn’t come from Grian for what felt like hours, choosing instead to look at Scar with an unreadable expression that gave away nothing. Something was swirling in the back of his eyes though, and one part of Scar - the part that longed for warmth, longed for the desert, for his friend - wanted to believe it was guilt, remorse. But he knew better than that. At least now he did.

And a response never truly came from him. The pair stood there in silence, Scar just barely holding onto the few strings keeping the walls around his heart held together, until Grian silently turned and left.

“What's left of your stuff is in the chest,” were his final words.

The strings snapped.

And Scar stood frozen in the middle of the room as his vision blurred with tears.

[winterwrxter]

Me making slightly angsty Suitcase art cus i was bored?

(It's more likely than you think!!1!)

Lyrics are from The Contortionist by Melanie Martinez

(LISTEN, I STAN MELANIE AND I'M ACTUALLY HYPERVENTILATING AT THE THOUGHT OF ME POSSIBILY GOING TO HER CONCERT)

[becauseplot]

Nightmare of Nightmares

a tiny Roommates/Cellmates AU fic to take a break from writing Prime Meridian and bc im thinking abt them. takes place mmmm definitely within a few months of the events of Shared Living Space. Cell is just starting to become a more-or-less 'common' fixture in Felps' apartment, staying for as long as two days at a time before heading out again. he spends a majority of his time out doing...whatever it is he does when he's not at Felps' apartment. it's not uncommon for Felps to see Cell show up at odd hours with a new bruise or bandage wrapped somewhere, and sometimes Cell walks in with a grin that's just a bit too wide, even for him. Felps tries not to think about it too much.

(TWs: nothing really? there's some vague descriptions of violence that aren't that graphic save for like one well-detailed threat. it's brief tho. and references/allusions to cannibalism because obviously.)

It's the middle of the day on a lazy Sunday, and Cell has been tossing and turning on the couch for the past several minutes. He’s not typically a restless sleeper—quite the opposite, actually—so it’s strange for Felps to see him shifting around, restlessly tilting his head side to side.

Felps figures he must be dreaming, or something like it. What does someone like Cell dream about, anyway? Probably eating Felps, or putting Felps' head on a pike. Or eating Felps and putting his head on a pike. Or just murdering people in general. He must get a real kick out of that. Felps shrugs it off and continues working, reclined in the armchair and sorting through his email. Whatever Cell is dreaming about will pass eventually.

And then he whines.

Felps pauses and blinks for several seconds, processing that yes, there was a noise, yes, it was a whine, and yes it most certainly came from Cell. Felps glances up from his laptop again to look at the known murderer sleeping his couch. He's still shifting around, perhaps a little more animatedly than before. He settles for a moment, and Felps can see his eyelids twitching. Another half-whine, half-groan wheedles out of his throat. His lips move, barely parted, but whatever Cell might've said is much too soft for Felps to hear, if he said anything at all.

A few seconds pass. Then, Cell's face briefly twists, his lips moving again; and though it's still hard to decipher, Felps isn't certain that it's actual words that he's speaking. His chest heaves a few times, he makes another small noise, and he murmurs something again—no. Those...sound like they could be words. Garbled, but words nonetheless. Not Portuguese, though. It might be another language. (Cell speaks some English, doesn't he?) Or maybe it is just gibberish, Felps really can't tell; but whatever it is, it sounds urgent. Very urgent. And Cell is starting to breathe harder.

Huh. Felps starts to consider trying to wake him up before he shoots that thought down immediately. Why even bother? And he knows for a fact that Cell sleeps with a weapon under his arm—Felps can see it now, a small blade revealed in all of his tossing—and Felps doesn't want to wind up on the wrong end of it if Cell wakes up swinging.

Still, Felps' email has become an afterthought at this point. Felps watches, almost amazed, as Cell continues to toss more violently than before, breathing harder to the point of gasping, voice high and reaching and cracking and begging—

A shout. Cell's eyes fly open as he shoots up and yep there goes the knife arcing through open air. He's got a hand braced on the side of the couch as he bares his teeth at some middle distance, panting like he's just sprinted several miles. There's a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his face. Cell is sporting a furious expression so tense and wild that Felps—if he didn't know any better—would say pitches over to the other end of the curve and lands somewhere in the realm of terrified.

Cell, the murderer, the cannibal, the nightmare of so many people's dreams, just woke up screaming from a nightmare. It's almost novel, but Felps supposes that Cell is still just a human. And humans, people, get nightmares. Basic psychology. Though, it's hard to imagine Cell to be really, truly afraid of anything in particular aside from, possibly, getting caught by the police and being hauled back to Alcatraz. (Once in Alcatraz, he would end up spending quite the stint in solitary—one of the only things they found that could actually get Cell to behave, if only for a little while.)

A beat passes. Cell's eyes dart frantically, but it doesn't look like he's really seeing anything. He's still gasping. His legs have kicked away the towel Felps makes him put his feet on when he's sleeping, instead digging the heels of his boots into the cushions and pushing himself back against the arm of the couch, knife still in hand.

Felps hasn't exactly woken up fighting before, but he's had his fair share of nightmares. He knows how disorienting they can be. Best not to have the guy with the weapon and the horribly violent impulses forget where he is. Felps clears his throat. "Hey Cell."

Cell snaps his head towards Felps. He blinks several times. He stars at Felps, and he looks around the room...

...And his breathing starts to slow. And his shoulders start to slump. And the fury-terror starts to melt away. And the hand brandishing his knife drops into his lap.

And Cell is quiet. No threats, no growl. He just stares at the floor and drags a hand down his sweat-soaked face and breathes—something like relief. It's eerie, coming from Cell, and Felps, frankly, doesn't know what to make of it.

"So," Felps says. "The Monster of Alcatraz gets nightmares, huh?"

A beat. Then, Cell scoffs at him. "Inspiration," he snarls, voice dripping with venom despite his breathlessness and sleepy croak. "For when I carve out your guts and drag your entrails across the floor, Felps."

Felps raises an eyebrow. "You know, you could just tell me you want to be left alone."

"Fuck off."

"See, there we go." Felps closes his laptop and glances at the clock on the wall: just past twelve. "Eh, actually, before I do that—are you planning on staying for lunch?"

Cell makes a vague noise. He runs his free hand through his messy hair and scrubs one of his eyes with the heel of his palm. He sighs heavily, like a half-aborted yawn.

"...Yeah," he eventually decides.

"Did you bring me anything?"

Felps knows he did. Felps won't make him anything if he doesn't pitch in somehow—one of their new 'rules'—and Cell's backpack is looking a little more full than usual. In lieu of an answer, Cell picks up his bag from where it's slumped against the foot of couch and drags it into his lap, rummaging through it. Felps, meanwhile, stands, dumps his laptop on the armchair, stretches, and grabs the TV remote. A moment later, Cell produces a small paper bag and holds it out to Felps.

Felps crosses the living room and peeks inside: tomatoes and lettuce, in decent enough condition. Felps has certainly used worse. He could add in some of his carrots, chop them up, put some dressing over it and make it a salad. Rice and some seasoned meat (chicken—no red meat allowed when Cell is present) to go with it could be nice.

"This works." Felps grabs the bag. Cell lets him have it, and Felps tosses him the remote. "Your pick. And either fix the towel or boots off the couch."

Cell huffs, but he swings his legs around without protest, boots on the floor. As he flicks through channels, Felps brings the produce into the kitchen and opens up the fridge. He pushes aside his own tomatoes and lettuce to get to the carrots.

Sometime later, Felps finishes putting together lunch and brings a couple plates into the living room. There, he finds Cell curled up on his side, fast asleep yet again—no tossing or turning this time, though. Just sleeping.

Felps rolls his eyes with a sigh. He puts the extra portion down on the coffee table, lowers the volume on the TV just a bit, heads back into the kitchen, and returns with a cover for the plate.

(A nightmare having a nightmare. What could Cell be so scared of?)

(Well, whatever it is, Felps hopes he never has to meet it.)

[canonically-a-genloser]

"you're not my homeland anymore"

title from "exile"

Sneeg, Charlie, and Ranboo were exhausted.

None of them had slept in what must have been days. Even Ranboo had nodded off a few times, though they jolted awake every time they leaned against something because of the searing pain that would immediately engulf their senses.

Sneeg intentionally hadn't processed the escape yet, spending most of his time going between all three of their wounds left from their last show to make sure none of them would get infections.

To Charlie, though, every mile further away from Showfall was another mile between him and home. And what about Randy, what if there was still a way to save their dad and they'd lose it if they left his corpse in that building, he questioned in his mind, though he never would have said it out loud. Charlie knew he trusted Sneeg with his life. He always had. That couldn't change now, right? Not for anything-

"Time to go," Sneeg said out of nowhere, and Charlie jumped. He nodded at Sneeg before the older could say anything about it, though. Questioning averted. For now.

"For now" only lasted until Sneeg stopped a couple hours' drive later. Ranboo had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, carefully cushioned on the few ragged blankets Charlie had managed to find in the loft bed despite its being hardly a crawlspace big enough for him. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.

"I can tell you're thinking about something," Sneeg said bluntly, forcing him into the present once more.

"No, I'm not, I'm just tired," Charlie said with more of a petulant tone in his voice than he'd meant. It wasn't entirely a lie, he supposed he could argue if Sneeg tried anything.

Sneeg shot him a look that made Charlie's resolution to keep that lie going dissolve entirely.

"Alright, fine, I'm just not- not great, man! Alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? I thought it would be fucking obvious-"

"Talk to me, then."

Charlie stopped in surprise, looking up at Sneeg. He paused for a moment.

"You know what? No. You already know what I mean."

"Do I?"

Charlie couldn't fathom why or how Sneeg appeared so calm. Why he was being so patient. Charlie was panicked and tired and he didn't even know where to start. He was scared for Ranboo, yes, but he wanted to go home. As selfish as that was, he wanted to go back. At least at Showfall, they could have gotten reset and none of the trio would be hurting anymore by now.

He realized he must have said something out loud, because Sneeg looked him in the eyes a second later.

"You know in the end, everything would just get worse. I know you do," Sneeg said. There was no emotion in his voice, but his eyes betrayed him to Charlie. Charlie, who had known those eyes longer than he'd known how to say his own name. Charlie who could have seen the faintest flicker in his brother's eyes and known when something was deeply wrong. Like it was now.

"You wanna go back, too," he spat at Sneeg. "Don't even lie to me."

Sneeg huffed. "So what if I do," he said defensively, looking away from Charlie.

The damage had already been done.

"Then why-" Charlie laughed, almost hysterically- "why are you upset at me for wanting to go back?"

"I know what this is about, okay? Showfall didn't love you, Charlie!" Sneeg interrupted him. "Sure, you were the favorite our entire fucking childhoods, but at what cost? Don't you realize what they did to you because of that, Charlie?!"

"Well, what do you know about what they did? Huh?" Charlie retorted, his tone biting. "They never loved you."

Silence fell over the dimly lit kitchen as though it were a graveyard.

"I shouldn't have said that," Charlie's voice finally said, sounding smaller than Sneeg had ever heard it.

"No, you're right," the older said, a fake smile plastered across his face as he looked up. "You're right. I know they didn't. That's why I carried my boyfriend's corpse around for who knows how many years. That's why they killed the only two people who ever fucking cared about me. That's why I was a fool for thinking you would be any different, then or now. That's why I tried to kill both of us, I thought it would change something."

Charlie did remember. He remembered the way Sneeg had loomed over him, knife in hand. He remembered the way he hadn't retaliated, partially because he knew the drones would save him before he fully died but partially too because he did feel guilt for Showfall's complete refusal to acknowledge Sneeg's existence. He remembered wondering if this could somehow atone for everything he'd ever done to Sneeg as white-hot pain shot like a firework through his small body. He remembered the look of instant regret on his brother's face as he backed away in terror. The drones had gotten him a moment later, just before Charlie's vision and any further memory of the event faded out.

Charlie sucked in a breath, swallowing thickly as though that would make the memory leave. "Sneeg, I- I'm sorry-"

" 'Sorry' won't bring Randy back, Charlie," Sneeg blurted out. 'Sorry' doesn't fix over ten years of being abandoned by your own brother."

"I know, I- I know," Charlie managed out. He didn't know what else to say, though he knew it was the wrong thing before it even left his mouth.

Sneeg seemed to recognize that in Charlie's expression, and he finally looked down in defeat.

"Charlie, I'm tired," he finally admitted.

Charlie was already hugging him by the time he closed his eyes to take a breath.

"I hate you," he told Charlie, wrapping his arms around him. A chuckle interrupted Charlie's sobs for a few seconds because here, at the end, they both knew he didn't mean it.

Finally, Charlie pulled away. "Ranboo could- could probably use some company," he pointed out, wiping his eyes. "Why don't you go lay down for a bit. At least try and rest."

"You too," Sneeg insisted. "They- they won't find us out here," he said softly.

The younger nodded, knowing without looking that Sneeg needed the company too. Whether to be sure Charlie wouldn't leave or otherwise, he was too tired to decipher.

Still, Charlie figured, wherever Sneeg was was where Charlie himself was meant to be, for good or bad.

And if Sneeg meant to find a way to live without Showfall, who was he to refuse him that after everything?

[whumpy-wyrms]

hope your artist/weiter’s block ends soon, i know how it feels to be in a creative slump and it suuucks. attacking it with my teeth

i did a dewdle for encouragement (tried to do anton too but i cannot do his hair for some reason)

AAAUAWAHHHH CREP THANKS FOR THE DEWDLE!!!!!! :DDD HES SO SILLYYYY

killing art block for the both of us!!! it’s dead now!!! i’m gonna work on brc or maybe the borrower basil au tonight :))

[arkiwii]

ask game

arknights

1, at what point did you start shipping your otp

12, what actually got you into the game

15, what character for the chopping block

thank you for the ask, and for adding the question with it!! seriously helps lmao <- too lazy to switch between replying to the answer and the post

1. I think I already explained it in the past, but it's still a funny fact to me; I actually started to ship them before I even played Arknights. For those who fell asleep and did not followed, my otp is Saria/Silence. Why? Because a friend presented me some characters, and explained to me that Saria and Silence were exes and had an adoptive daughter. Which is, not exactly canon! But I DID believed it was. When I actually played the game and checked their files, I realized that there was nothing in canon that stated they were in a relationship pffft - basically I got gaslighted and believed there was something canonically romantic between them

Well that doesn't stop me. I can't remember when I really, really got into the ship, but mayybeee after I read the manhua? Anyway, all of this to say, I've been shipping them for a year now, and the insanity can't be cured

12. The. the birds. Well! Technically, it's because a few of my closest friends were playing the game and I started to get intrigued, but maybe I wouldn't have started if it weren't for the Liberi. "Imagine I play the game just to collect the birds /j /j" I said a year ago. yeah. that statement didn't aged well.

But the game seemed interesting too! and most of all, I already loved some characters my best friend presented to me, which were Aciddrop, Projekt Red and Silence. So of course I wanted to get to know them more!

15. I'm not sure if I understand the question, but I suppose it means which character I'd pick to kill in the story? mmh. Oren 💥💥💥

Jokes aside (all my homies hate Oren), I don't really know who I could pick. Arknights is already doing a great job at killing characters and making these deaths memorable and justifiable (FrostNova and Outcast,,,), I never told myself "why they killed this character??", and it's very good for a story. So naturally, I don't really want anyone in particular to die, and if I do, that's because they were destined to die in canon anyway, like Parvis, Gertrude or Mandragora (she's alive if you're delusional). The only character I can think about, and it's a really big hot take but also my extremely angsty side talking, would be Ptilopsis. Don't get me wrong, I love her! But she's already dying in some way, her fate is sealed - and god, it would be so fucking sad and angsty if it were to happen. I love my meals SPICY

[lanternlightss]

so !!! was talking with @gracefullilyofthevalley and they gave such a good idea that the brainrot immediately hit and !!! have to inflict upon you all now.

Who is this woman?

It’s the question most prominent on Percy’s mind, right after, I wonder if I could shove a tree up Gaea’s nose?

Gaea, whose breath makes the ground tremble, whose face barely twitches in the dirt of the cliff.

Gaea, who dangles a woman, one who looks so achingly familiar that his chest hurts, over the end of it all.

Choose, Percy Jackson, comes a voice that haunts his waking steps. Choose. A second chance.

A second chance?

Percy glares at the dirt, wondering if he could spray some water and wash away her mouth. Wash those foul words, and whatever.

“A second chance?” He repeats. What is that supposed to mean…

Choose. Sally Jackson, or the world.

(Not again, not again, not again.)

Sally…. Jackson?

(Not again not again notagainotagain—)

His head hurts, his heart—twists. Who…?

The ground around him trembles. Columns of dirt burst forth, spraying all kinds of earth into the air. A few rocks get into his hair, and one leaves a parting gift of a cut across his forehead.

The columns warp, twisting and curling. He takes a step back as they surround him, reminding too much of—of—

He regrets it, immediately, as a deep crevice cracks and expands just centimeters away from his foot. A fire blazes from it, spreading out, burning away all the grass and forest. In the distance, he thinks he can see cabins set ablaze?

The woman—Sally, who is Sally?—is shaken once more. She bites at the vines around her, an arrangement of curses muffled behind them.

Choose, Percy Jackson, Gaea demands. Choose.

(Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it—)

Percy looks between Sally and Gaea, a little frantic, more than confused.

“What do you want?” He hisses. Sally has to be important somehow, Gaea only ever taunts him with shit like that. For why she’s important…

Sally is shaking her head. Don’t, she’s trying to tell him.

There isn’t a look of fear in her eyes. There isn’t even hesitance. All that’s there is determination, and, astonishingly, an ocean's worth of… love? A deep, shielding love that…. a mother… could….

Choose! What will you sacrifice?

The ground rumbles once more.

Sally is looking at him more comforting, now. It reminds him of the blue drink he had, way back then, when they were about to first set out. It makes his throat close, it makes his eyes burn.

She looks at Percy as if everything will be okay.

(Stop it, stop it! This will be the last, I can’t—)

He stands, legs trembling, chest heaving with unshed tears.

The vines constrict around her, squeezing. Percy startles, his hand reaching out, feels the bit of moisture in the air respond to him, feels the water trapped in the soil—the choice has been made, he has lingered too long.

Around him, the world washes out into grey and black. Sally, though, begins to glow instead.

He tilts, as something comes to mind, of a scene far too similar. Of his mother—(his mother, his dearest mother, please you can’t take her away again!)—trapped in the hands of a monster. A minotaur.

She’s yelling at him, (she’s smiling at him), telling him to go go go (it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay)—

The glow is bright, now, blinding. It pauses for all a second, and—

(Please, I can save her again, I can save her—)

It fades, the glow draining in an instant, and she crumbles into dust. It slips through the vines, falling to the ground, in an awfully, awfully somber way.

Percy stares, hand still outstretched. A part of him feels like it crumbled alongside her, alongside his mother.

(That’s not what’s supposed to happen. That’s not what happened. This isn’t right.

What have you done?)

“What have you done?”

The ground rumbles, once more, but it isn’t Gaea who’s the cause of it. Under his feet, it trembles, dirt skittering this way and that.

Gaea does not answer. Her closed eyes seem to burn into him.

It does not affect him—not as much as she might want it to. It does the opposite, and something inside him roars, angry and upset and devastated and bring her back bring her back—

“What have you done?!”

He brings his hands up, his stomach twisting, and all he feels is rage, rage, rage, (a horrific emptiness), rage, rage.

A jet of water bursts out in front of him, ten, fifteen, then twenty feet high. It responds to his rage (responds to his desperation.)

In a voice that shakes the very core of the earth, he screams, “Bring her back!!”

The water shoots forth, expanding as it does so, until a tidal wave crashes into the cliff. It seems to have done nothing, as when it flows back, flows through the fires that blaze around him, Gaea has vanished. The dust has been swept away, not a trace left.

His body shakes, his expression one of terror and rage. He wants to find Gaea and rip every detail of her face off, wants to swear and curse the gods for forcing him into another godawful world-ending quest, wants his mother—

Wants…. his mother….

Percy sinks to his knees. His throat burns. The images of his mom exploding into gold and fading to nothing overlap in his mind.

A tear drops down his cheek. More follow, until he is heaving and sobbing and wailing and cursing at the injustice of it all. He keels over, holding a hand to his mouth, as he grieves.

“Bring her back,” he croaks.

(I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, mom, I couldn’t—

I couldn’t save you again.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…..)

[hismourningflower]

g’morning dashie…

[robinwonder9]

Wheres blue in all of this? I bet he would love to help!

On a fateful day, Blueberry was scouting new lands with Error and Dream. They'd went on foot, traversing through a vast grassland in search of resources.

They'd went far, too far to call for help when they saw a dragon barrelling towards them. Emerald scales reflected the sunlight, the mark of a young dragon. Young dragons are, unfortunately, much more willing to leave their territory to seek things to kill than their adult counterparts.

As they quickly found out, the dragon was of ember origins and the land around them was engulfed in flames within seconds. They brandished their weapons, trying to surround the beast. Error aimed an arrow at the dragon, though his inexperience was too high o fa detriment. The arrow impaled not the winged beast; but Dream's eye.

Error shielded the downed archer and only watched in horror as Blueberry was torn to shreds and eaten before his eyes.

When they returned home, and rushed Dream to urgent medical care, Error spoke of great embers rising and conquering land without control. Flame lacked the respect and precision ice and lightning had, it was irresponsible in its conquest to end its ravenous hunger. Cross barred further expeditions to fire dragon lairs, marking several unexplored locations in his journal as too dangerous to set foot in.

[mystiquedrops]

I'm just gonna be bold and say it (I'm saying as if I was ever hesitant to post my other stuff- ok maybe I was a tiny bit but still)

NORMALIZE ANGST-FYING WHIT, CHAT !

Thank you :3