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owtenen · 1 year

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Cleo and Scar gives Bdubs a chance to prove his loyalties. He does exactly what they both expected.

The Ethubs final episode we needed.

TW: major major major depictions of injury/violence like wow i was very very graphic for literally no reason other than angst so…. yeah

———— word count: a lot…. i’m so sorry

“Mom!” Scar’s voice boomed through the rock, Bdubs jumped, he was focusing hard on the straps on his boots, Cleo wasn’t as startled.

“What is it Scar?”

“Come out here!” Cleo and Bdubs turned to look at each other, Scars voice was hungry and deep, and they both knew that meant blood was about to be spilled.

Bdubs hadn’t stepped out of the base in hours, and he found it hard to believe the moon was already high above their heads. He watched as the stars and the moon pulsed with light, and how the bridges in the sky left dark shadows in front of them. He wished he could sleep, the moon was too big here, too visible, it made his bones hurt and his hands shake.

“Don’t do it, Scar!” Skizz’s voice next to him made him come back into the present, and he sucked in a horrified breath when he realized what was happening before him.

Scar was in the center of a small ring of people. Tango had his bow drawn, and Impulse and Skizz both had their swords out. Cleo straightened beside him, and he could see shadows of the Bad Boys next to them.

“What’s all this?” Pearl’s voice came from behind Scar, and when he turned, Scott, Martyn, and BigB were there too.

Scar turned around to face his teammates then, and when he did, he dragged a half conscious body around with him.

“Etho-“ Bdubs said softly, immediately taking a step forward. He was stopped by Cleo, who put out a strong arm in front of him to stop him from going any further.

“Stay here, Bdubs.” He pressed his lips into a line and stepped back into his original place.

Etho looked horrible. His headband was missing and hair was full of dirt, and as Bdubs studied his head, he saw a large gash on the side of it next to his ear. It was bleeding bad, and if he didn’t get it checked out soon, Bdubs knew it would kill him.

Scar was holding Etho by his vest, and his shirt was ripped enough for everyone to see a large slash across his chest. Whatever Scar had done to Etho, it obviously wasn’t good.

“Scar! What did you do?” Bdubs tried his best to keep his voice normal, but he wanted to throw up at the sight of this. He needed to help Etho.

Scars smile was deadly, and he pushed his victim off of his knees and onto the ground. Etho tried to stop his fall his his arms, but they gave out leaving Etho fully lying on the hard rock, staining it with his blood.

“This is cruel, Scar. Even for you.” Tango pulled his bow back even more, and Bdubs knew he was about five seconds away from firing.

“Calm down! I’m not gonna do anything!” Scar held up his hands, and cocked his head towards Cleo again, “She told me to bring him here.”

Bdubs turned to Cleo, whose eyes were just as dark as Scars. He felt a gut wrenching feeling in his stomach, and stepped just a fraction of a step away from her, “What are you doing?”

Cleo turned to Bdubs, and held out her sword, “Letting you prove your loyalty.” She stepped away from Bdubs and towards Scar in the middle of the circle, the rest of TIES tensed up even more, and Tango moved so his arrow was pointed at Cleo. “Come here Bdubs.”

He didn’t, in fact, come here. He stayed right where he was, “No. What are you doing?”

Cleo gave him a death glare, and Bdubs all but turned into a puddle, slowly making his way over to his team.

As Bdubs walked closer, he pointedly did not look at Etho, but when he got to them, he couldn’t help noticing how his old friend slowly tried to get back up to his knees.

“Bdubs…” His voice was painful and barely a whisper, and as Scar pushed his head down, Bdubs had to close his eyes for a minute to compose himself.

When he opened them again, Cleo and Scar where a couple steps away and staring at him, “Kill him.”

Bdubs stood silent for more than a couple seconds, not processing what Cleo had just said. “What?”

“Kill him. Kill Etho.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

Cleo raised an eyebrow, “No. He’s our enemy. He killed your teammate just a few hours ago.” She pointed at Scar’s neck, which still had deep red marks where the fishing rod wrapped around it. Bdubs flinched, “So. Kill him.”

“Why me! Why don’t you do it?” Bdubs voice cracked, and Scar laughed at him. It sent bile up his throat, but he swallowed it down.

“Because we need to trust you.” Scar said, his voice on the verge of laughter.

“Kill him. For Scar and I.”

He looked around at the others in the circle. Tango and Impulse were staring at him with hate in their eyes, and Skizz looked absolutely terrified. He turned his attention to his Neighbors and the Mean Gills, who were looking on with suspicion and interest. He didn’t turn fully around to see the Bad Boys, but he could hear Jimmy and Joel muttered to each other.

He still didn’t look at Etho, instead, looking back at Scar and Cleo. “No. I can’t- He’s… he’s our ally! He made a mistake, Scar.”

They were having none of it, Cleo took a step closer to Bdubs, and snarled, “Kill him, or I’ll do it and you’ll be next.” She grabbed her axe and held it against Bdubs’ chest, “Your choice, son.”

His heart rate was beating a million miles an hour, but he had the strength in his body to nod once at Cleo, who in turn stepped back to give him some more space.

He finally looked down at Etho, who in the moments before managed to get up onto his knees again. They locked eyes, and Bdubs knew how scared Etho was in that moment. His good eye was blown wide with adrenaline and fear, and Bdubs suspected his redstone one was too damaged to see out of. “Do it.” Etho’s voice was just as small and horse as before, and it broke him even more. “It’s just an hour.”

Bdubs stepped back, his mind was in a million places at once, Cleo’s axe at his back and Etho’s face staring at him was too much. He took a breath, and slowly raised his sword to Etho’s neck.

Tango shot an arrow and it wizzed past his head, “Watch it, Bdubs. The next one will hit your face.”

“Bdubs, common man.” Skizz’s plea made his legs shake, and he almost had half a mind to drop the sword completely.

Then Cleo pushed her axe into his back slightly, and he tensed up again.

Etho closed his eyes and tilted his head, and Bdubs took another breath and pressed into his neck more. This game was supposed to just be 24 hours. So much better than the last times where they would be away from home for months. He didn’t want to come back, but Etho told him that there wasn’t anything important that could happen in that amount of time. He promised that they would be back in bed, whispering sweet nothings to each other before they both knew it, and that’s why Bdubs had agreed to this deal in the first place.

Now he was standing above his love with a sword to their throat and an axe to his back. Killing Etho was never an option in Bdubs’ mind. Even if they pretended to hate each other for the sake of the game, even if they stole and taunted and lied to each other, killing Etho had never been his plan, and here he was about to cut his throat in front of everyone. How did it all go so wrong in 24 hours?

Etho nodded, as if hearing all of Bdubs’ inner monologue, and Bdubs took yet another deep breath.

He raised his sword up over his head, and he saw Etho tense his entire body. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Impulse move in, and Skizz draw his sword.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and swung the sword.

He swung high, missing Etho’s head and turning around fully to the body behind him. Without warning, he dove his sword into Cleo’s chest, and flinched hard when he heard her axe clatter on the rocks below them.

“Wh-“ Cleo’s eyes were wide, and she grabbed on to Bdubs’ hands in front of them. Everyone was quite, and Cleo slowly turned her eyes up towards Bdubs’ own.

“I’m sorry.” Bdubs whispered, and before Cleo had a chance to respond, he pulled the sword out with a horrifying squelch. Before her body could fall to the ground, she disappeared without a trace, going into the afterlife to respawn.

He turned around fast, only getting a second to register everyone’s shocked and confused faces before Scar lunged at him, his sword slicing his arm deep. He yelped, but quickly got his bearings and blocked the next blow with his own sword.

“Scar- Scar common.”

“You killed mom!” Scar’s anger was terrifying, and yet Bdubs knew it made him sloppy. As Scar stepped back to go for another blow, Bdubs lunged forward and slashed him in the gut, making him disappear almost instantly.

It was quite again, and he took the time to drop his sword and help Etho up from where he was kneeling on the ground. He took Bdubs’ hand instantly, leaning all his weight on him like a ragdoll.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“We need to get you back to your base.”

“Bdubs-“

“Bdubs!” Cleo’s voice rang out over the rocks, and Bdubs’ heart rate went from fast to faster.

“Common.” He turned to Tango, whose bow was now half loaded and pointed at the ground, “A little help? Maybe?”

That seemed to snap all of the TIES back to attention, and they all made their way to over to Etho to help him back on his feet, “We have supplies in the tower, let’s go.”

As they started walking away, Bdubs felt an arrow pierce his shoulder. Hissing in pain, he turned around and looked over to where Cleo and Scar were standing.

Scar had his bow out, and Cleo had her axe and sword, “You’ve chosen your side, Bdubs.”

He felt Etho’s hands on his upper back, and a pinch of pain as he pulled the arrow out of his shoulder. The warm feeling of blood running down his back was grounding, and he felt the wind on his face again. “I’m sorry.”

Cleo just smirked, but it was angry, “No you’re not.” She spat, “And you’re going to regret this.”

As he stared up at his now former alliance, he felt Etho’s hands around his arm again, “Common, Bdubs. Let’s go.”

After one more moment, Bdubs just to look back at Etho and his teammates. They might not want him here, but Etho did and that’s what matters.

“Let’s just get Etho back to the tower.”

Etho leaned on Bdubs the entire walk back, and Bdubs held onto him tight for the rest of the night.

————

Oops my hand slipped.

I was literally going to make this so much longer but then i saw how long the “box” was and i was like bitch ain’t nobody gonna read any more than that so i stopped 😭 maybe i’ll write a part 2 but that would mean committing and finishing a fic and…. yeah that’s never gonna happen

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yolowritter · 1 month

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Plagg's past holder is...Not Great™

Hello there everyone, and welcome back to another post! This here is a little something I cooked up for Plagg in "A Case of Ladybug Luck". To give some context, I very much consider the Kwami to be Gods, and treat them like it. So when the story moved towards exploring them further, I decided to write a piece of Plagg with a past holder. Yes, Sullivan's name is a Dark Souls 3 reference. I'm a nerd, sue me. Actually don't, I can barely pay for my readers' therapy. Anyway, this can be read as a standalone, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to post! Enjoy!

Trigger Warnings: Emotional manipulation, extreme apathy, plague and disease, and mass-genocide. Abusing Cataclysm is very dangerous to others.

A man sits on an old throne, inside a forgotten, crumbling keep. The roof has long caved in on one side of the chamber, letting the rain and thunder slip through the many cracks. The halls of this castle are silent, without so much as the squeak of a mouse to interrupt the heavy breathing echoing in the wind. His face is covered by a cracked helmet, one adorned with the faceplate of a panther’s skull. And the rest of the body rests inside an ever-rusting suit of black plated armor, decorated at the knees and shoulders by silver claws. Those very arms extend to wrap around the body, as if in a tired, pointless gesture of protection. Pontiff Sullivan sits upon his dusty throne on an eerily quiet night, with only the occasional strike of thunder to shatter the silence.

Beyond what tired eyes can see lies the rest of the keep, a forgotten Lord’s castle than once stood tall and proud. Moss and tangled vines have begun growing on the exterior walls, most of the windows blown to pieces by howling winds, and not a single soul’s footprint to be found. Rather, all Plagg can see with his endless eyes are the harsh claw marks on the ground, another result of his master’s choice of adornment. On the bottom side of Sullivan’s boots lay the jagged claws of a fierce black panther, a terrifying beast whose presence haunts every speck of air the God of Destruction can perceive. By his rough estimate, Plagg guesses it must have been at least two decades since even a stay cat set foot inside this old keep, at the top of a small hill overlooking a small town. Even the massive greatsword laying against the throne’s arm has been gathering dust, slowly eroding with the passage of time.

His master does nothing but sit on this very spot, has not moved in what the Kwami thinks may be weeks or even longer. All ‘round the ancient castle lay dark scorch marks of pure Destruction, one of which is visible through a half-crumbled wall just a few halls away. The howling winds continue to tear the keep apart one stone brick at a time, and Plagg is left only with memories. He recalls the battlefield, those very fields just outside the main gate. Said former testament to human engineering now lies ajar, with worms slowly eating at the wood it’s mad of. But once, many years ago, it had been the sight of war. Sullivan, then a young and determined knight, had finally gathered whichever friends could be mustered to retake his ancestral home from the boy’s uncle. Plagg cannot remember for the life of him if they were actually ever related by blood. Yet…the Kwami cannot find reason for the detail to matter. No, instead his jumps to Sullivan’s bravery and courage, to the sheer presence of shining gold that almost three hundred men had rallied behind. A kind smile and encouraging words had appealed to morals and knightly conviction once, the same features now lay hidden behind a faceless mask.

That boy…is gone now. Plagg knows as much, but is still tethered to this shell of a man, a shattered reflection of valiance twisted into nothing more than self-righteous foolishness. That was why, in the pride of his old age, Sullivan had sent his servants and knights all away to far-off lands, back when a single sliver of goodness still nested in his heart. The breastplate’s tattered cape billows in the wind as the Pontiff finally stands, armor crafted by the magic of Plagg’s Miraculous creaking with every movement. The Kwami feels himself strain as much as the metal plates, having held Sullivan’s pitiful existence together for so long that he, a literal God, has begun to long for the separation that so defined his kin before first contact with humanity. Truly, even being formless once again would be preferable to this horrible stagnation that permeated the very concept of Destruction.

With great effort, a single step is taken, and then another…and another…and another, until eventually the aging Pontiff’s legs have carried them both across the deserted halls and up a staircase that’s barely stable enough to hold a single man’s weight. It’s then, overlooking the surrounding lands from high above, that Plagg finally sees it. His Destruction, the echoes left behind by that great Cataclysm which brought Sullivan and his comrades victory, a gain in which the Kwami had once gladly shared. It’s been so long since he’s observed the full scope of that battle, if only because no mortal should be able to do the same. And yet, the Pontiff takes deep, ragged breaths as he gazes to the black flickers lining the grass, almost as if marking the ground with timeless scorches. Plagg feels it too, the subtle way in which they tremble in warning. He’s already known of course what any deviation from the throne-watching entails, but now it’s fully confirmed.

In the town below, a single traveler rests at a tavern, coughing lightly as if to clear his throat. Not a soul suspects, fewer have even heard the rumors, but what is death if not the slow, methodical destruction of physical matter? What is impending doom, if not something Plagg can feel? The stormy night goes on, and a blinding flash of thunder splits the skies as Sullivan begins to raise his arms. Trembling old bones and half-shattered armor both creak in protest, much more resistance than the God of Destruction can bother mustering. Still, the Pontiff manages to raise his clawed gauntlets up to an opening in the crumbling watchtower’s stones, and murmurs the word under his breath.

Cataclysm. A notion that Plagg had once been proud to personify, when that very same power had turned a legion of bloodthirsty, half-mad men to dust right before Sullivan’s eyes. The Kwami had used it then in desperation, this flicker of divine power. To save his Holder, a brave man he’d grown far too attached to for anyone’s good. With golden hair to match the aura surrounding the young knight, and green eyes glimmering with brilliant rays of hope as banners were raised in victory…Plagg had failed to see the darkness skulking underneath. That same evil was now made manifest in wisping black smoke ‘round the old Pontiff’s clawed arms, with a pained grunt as viscous veins of inky puss flickered to life all across his body.

The once rosy tint of the boy’s cheeks had long been stolen, replaced with a pale, ghastly complexion fit only for the horror stories told about the many creatures which had great aversion from the sun. Plagg hadn’t bothered to learn what the folktales were calling them this century. The black energy crackled all through Sullivan’s body, sapping both his and the Kwami’s lifespans to bring forth the very power that even a God like him had grown to fear. Of course, Plagg had heard the justification countless times, so many that he had truly began to lose count faster than Sullivan lost his mind. Yet it mattered little, when the dark mist of Cataclysm spread throughout the air, carried by howling winds all the way to its unsuspecting victims.

A raspy cough nearly tears through the Pontiff’s lungs, and he desperately clutches a crumbling wall to stay upright. “It’s a mercy, Plagg. They are all sick, and I am the cure…” he speaks the words with a conviction the Kwami once admired, and falls silent once more. In the town below, the Plague has begun to spread, from the traveler to the innkeeper, and then to another. The swirling dark mists flood the air around the slumbering villagers, and Plagg feels each and every bright soul disintegrate into absolutely nothing, leaving naught but tiny specks of ash.

#miraculous ladybug #a case of ladybug luck #ao3 fanfic #plagg #past black cat holder #kwami as gods #abuse of miraculous powers #can you tell im mentally ill #and a menace to society?#but hey thats just a theory #anyway yeah #I'll post more acoll soon #just wanted to share #this magic moment #of ripping off Dark Souls

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new-hyper-fixation-every-week · 2 years

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There's only two things that make me gender dysphoric

Noel gruber

Mischa bachinski

I simultaneously want to date Mischa and also be him

#ride the cyclone #rtc #mischa bachinski #noel gruber #can you tell im mentally ill

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yellowistheraddest · 10 months

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insatiable desire to quit art yet simultaneously being completely emotionally and spiritually dependant on drawing,, yeah

#i hate her but we are getting married tomorrow and we are so in love but i hope a truck hit her #can you tell im mentally ill

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sweetenerjoji · 1 year

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my stan list evolution (teen era)

13 - My Little Pony

14 - Dan and Phil, Waterparks

15 - Dan and Phil, Waterparks, Blackpink, BTS

16 - K Pop, Waterparks

17 - K pop, Waterparks

18 - Waterparks, Ariana Grande, Joji, Taylor Swift, Doja Cat, Olivia Rodrigo

19 - Ariana Grande, Joji, Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, Madison Beer

#stan list #stan evolution #it changes every week #might change next week too #can you tell im mentally ill

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melodicdownpour · 1 year

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I’ve decided I don’t give a fuck anymore. I’m going to be as cringe as I want on this app and it’s everyone else’s problem.

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missmeinyourbones · 2 years

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L in honor of folklore's anniversary, what are your top 3 on the album? (Except my tears ricochet, ofc 😂)

ooooooof this is a hard question >:( i think that excluding MTR, my top three would be:

peace, mirrorball, and cardigan

#BUT I ALSO LOVE THIS IS ME TRYING #can you tell im mentally ill

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inkskinned · 7 months

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hey btw if you're in the USA at 2:20 p.m. ET on Wednesday, Oct. 4, they're testing the emergency broadcast system. your phone is probably going to make a really loud noise, even if it's on silent. there's a backup date on the 11th if they need to postpone it.

if you're not in a safe situation and have an extra phone, you should turn that phone completely off beforehand.

additionally, if you're like me, and are easily startled; i recommend treating it like a party. have a countdown or something. be surrounded by your loved ones. take the actions you personally need to take to make yourself safe.

i have already seen mockery towards any person who feels nervous about this. for the record, it completely, completely valid to have "emergency broadcast sounds" be an anxiety trigger. do not let other people make fun of you for that. emergency sounds are legitimately engineered to make us take action; those of us with high levels of anxiety and/or neurodivergence are already pre-disposed to have a Bad Time. sometimes it is best to acknowledge that the situation will be triggering for some, and to prepare for that; rather than just saying "well that's stupid, it's just a test."

"loud scary sound time" isn't like, my favorite thing, but we can at least try to prevent some additional anxiety by preparing for it. maybe get yourself a cake? noise cancelling headphones? the new hozier album? whatever helps. love u, hope you're okay. we are gonna ride it out together.

#watching ppl go from being like ''support neurodivergent ppl~~!"#to being like ''if this is going to give u a panic attack ur fuckken stupid''#like..... gets me #yeah man. i know im going to be triggered by it . in the old fashioned term. it is GOING to give me a panic attack. it's pretty much certai #and i shouldn't have to tell u about what i have survived for you to be okay with that.#you can just trust that i ALSO don't want me to react to it. i'm not gonna be having a FUN time.#dismissing that bc you think it's stupid.... like is the whole problem.#these sounds are workshopped by entire teams of people to get you to pay attention and move quickly.#they arent meant to be fun and exciting.#OBVIOUSLY it's gonna set ppl off.#but yeah there's something so fuckken demeaning about ppl being like. well that trigger isn't valid bc u haven't undergone X #dude i have ptsd bc i was abused as a child. like plain and simple. the fact im 30 and afraid of the dark tells you how bad it was.#i shouldn't have to ask u for permission to be mentally ill.#the reason it's a fucking disorder and not a fucking choice is that I DO NOT CONTROL IT.#like how is it any different from when ppl are like ''oh public speaking isn't that scary'' like FOR YOU #for YOU this isn't scary. now if i could fucking eat my own amygdala...

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