#major character death but not really

[goldenavenger02]

forever winter

Lloyd’s plans were always made around the bigger picture, but the five of them had always looked to Kai to make split second decisions.

‘And now he’s gone.’

When they finally arrived back at the monastery, all Nya could feel was numbness.

Back in Cloud Kingdom, she hadn't been able to hold back her tears as she cried on Wyldfyre's shoulder, but now she just felt nothing; in the back of her mind, she couldn't help but wonder if this was how Kai had felt when she merged with the ocean.

When she finally brought her vision away from the intricate stonework of the courtyard, she found herself swimming in a sea of somber faces but none of their questioning glances were fixated on her.

All of their eyes were silently pleading with Lloyd for answers, but he never turned around to rattle off some semblance of a plan as he silently opened the sliding door to his room and shut it behind him.

Lloyd's plans were always made around the bigger picture, but the five of them had always looked to Kai to make split second decisions.

'And now he's gone.'

"I'm gonna…" Cole's voice broke through the deafening silence, even if he was only speaking just above a whisper to keep his own tears from breaking free, "gonna go find Geo and tell him about Bonzle."

"I will accompany you." Nya watched as Zane reassuringly squeezed Cole's hand before the two of them made their way inside, leaving her alone with the others and their sadness filled glances making their way to her.

"Nya?"

"We were up all night," she finally forced her tongue to move and hoped that her voice didn't sound strangled before she focused in on Arin as she remembered how she and Lloyd had found him flat on his back after the Bounty crashed, "is anyone hurt?"

When they all shook their heads "no", she knew that there would be more extensive prodding later from both her as well as Zane, but for now, since no one was actively bleeding or showing concussion symptoms, she dropped it.

"Okay, then we all need to get some sleep. It has been a very long week," Nya explained even though she was fully aware that the likelihood of them actually going to sleep was non-existent even if they did go to their bedrooms.

"Hey, Nya?" Arin asked quietly after Sora, WyldFyre and Riyu disappeared inside the walls of the monastery.

"Yes?"

"I…I'm really sorry, about Kai. If I had just kept Bonzle safe-"

"Don't even start," she cut him off, resting her palms on his shoulders, "this was not your fault, or Lloyd's fault, or Riyu's fault, or Cole's fault. The only person to blame for this is Ras."

"But…" He turned away from her with a sniffle, her eyes stayed completely dry no matter how much she wanted to cry.

"Here, come sit," she insisted, letting go of his shoulders and leading him to the stone steps before sitting down and looking up at the clouds slowly rolling across the sky, "you know that Kai was the one who raised me?"

"No…" another sniffled as he rubbed his orange sleeve over his face, "the only ninja whose family is common knowledge is Lloyd."

"Well, you know about the elemental masters fighting in the serpentine wars, right?" She was met with a nod, "shortly after, they were betrayed by the elemental masters of time, so Master Wu came to our parents, who were members of the elemental alliance, to make four blades out of Chronosteel. It can absorb elemental powers."

"Kreel had some of that stuff a while back in her junkyard, Sora used it to make hers, Cole's and Kai's mechs."

"But when Master Wu and Garmadon threw the blades into a temporal vortex, the elemental masters of time went after them. One of them, Acronix, was lost for forty years and the other one, Krux, he captured our parents and forced them to equip their army of vermillion warriors. Kai and I were just kids, little kids. I couldn't have been older than four."

"But you two didn't join Master Wu until you were teenagers."

"There were some people in our village, who looked out for us at first, either by buying us food or buying the stock of weapons that our dad had in the back, but as soon as Kai was tall enough to start learning how to run the forge, he refused any financial help, dropped out of school and ran the shop. He refused to let me do the same no matter how much I begged, stuff about "mom and dad would want me to keep you safe"," Nya swallowed back a sob at the memories flooding her mind and looked back up at the sky, "he was such an idiot, but he always kept me safe. It's why, for the longest time, I viewed myself as invincible. That no one could lay a hand on me because Kai would stop them before they could even think about it."

She was caught a little off guard by the sudden pressure of tight arms around her, but she didn't push away and pulled Arin closer instead, her eyes starting to fill with salty tears that absorbed into his shirt.

Despite the tears, it never devolved into sobs; Jay had always been the one who was more open with his emotions, the one who begged her not to leave him as the call of the sea grew louder and louder in her ears.

Nya knew that the sobs would come as soon as she was alone; they would come after she called her parents to let them know what had happened and she made her way in his bedroom filled with warmth, reds and the scent of smoke lingering in the air.

Her chest would heave and the tears would spill onto his red bed sheets as she curled up in a ball with Jay's tattered stuffed zebra in her arms all while she tried so desperately not to feel like that terrified little girl who crawled into her big brother's bed at every minor inconvenience.

It was not the first time she had fallen into this routine; it had happened after Cole's fall, it had happened after Zane was transported into the Never Realm and it had happened that first night she had returned to the monastery after years of being separated from the others only to find out that Lloyd and Kai had also been unsuccessful in finding Jay.

It was as if her body refused to let her fully break until she was completely safe, far away from prying eyes and rhetorical questions.

When Arin finally pulled away and sat back down beside her, he brought his arm up and rested it on her shoulder blade, "I know Lloyd, and Master Wu, would tell you that "ninja never quit", but ninja are allowed to take a break."

"Well, you are the ninja expert," Nya chuckled as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, waiting until he finished yawning to continue, "a ninja expert who really needs to try and get some sleep."

"I get the hint," Arin nodded, making his way towards the door as Nya turned away and pulled in another deep breath, "Nya?"

"Yes?" She turned to see him nervously tapping a finger on his left hand as he lingered by the sliding door.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I don't…I don't know."

"Do you want me to stay?"

And no matter how nice his offer was, she shook her head "no".

She couldn't accept it because no matter how much she had grown to care for Arin and the rest of Lloyd's students, he wasn't Kai; and Kai was the only person that could make any of this feel somewhat okay.

"I guess I'll see you later, then." Arin spoke before the sliding door opened and closed with a soft 'thunk' against the wood, leaving Nya by herself in the courtyard as the clouds rolled across the sky lazily.

She wasn't sure how long she watched the bright blue and bright sun rays be broken up by clouds, but the warmth soaking through her clothes and coating her skin felt so wrong; if the sky understood what had taken place and just how much her brother had sacrificed for it, rain would be dampening her hair and drenching her clothes.

But instead, she was covered in sunlight while wondering, 'how can there be any warmth if Kai isn't here?'

"Hey."

Nya turned her head quickly at the noise, only to relax when she saw Lloyd with a mug clutched tightly in his right hand.

"Figured you would need something to drink, it's really hot out here."

"Thanks," Nya muttered softly, taking the mug from him and sipping at the cool water inside before taking in his disheveled appearance of messy hair and red-rimmed eyes, "I take it sleeping still isn't going well?" he shook his head, allowing her to prod more, "is it more visions?"

"I came out here to help you feel better," his chuckle was hollow in a way that made Nya feel sick as she came to the realization as to why he had sought her out, "but no, it's not visions…I just miss him."

"Yeah, me too."

"Kai's the one I always go to when this leader stuff gets really hard and I don't…I don't know what I'm going to do, how I'm going to do this, without him."

"Well, it may not be the same," she didn't expect it to be even close, "but you can always talk to me about it, okay?"

"Okay," Lloyd agreed after a beat of silence, catching her off guard for a brief moment by resting his head against her shoulder before asking, "Is this okay?"

"Yeah, it's okay," she insisted, pulling him closer to try and remind herself that she still had one of her brothers while the sun started to dip behind the monastery wall, "it's more than okay, Lloyd."

[fox-guardian]

today i am thinking about tim's freeze response.

in ep 104, in his statement about danny, he beats himself up over the fact that he couldn't bring himself to move when he saw "danny" up on the stage in the covent garden theatre

[ID: A transcript screenshot reading "I always tell myself there was some force there. Something that held me in place and meant that all I could do was watch. But sometimes when I think back, I remember how my legs shook, and maybe I could move. Maybe I’m just a coward." end ID] ~~~~

and then in ep 39 sasha had to Tackle Him to get him out of prentiss' way after his whole joe spooky bit because he just Didn't Move apparently

[ID: A transcript screenshot reading:

SASHA: Behind you! Run! TIM: Oh… PRENTISS: [Slowly intoning over worm sound] Do you hear their song? SASHA: TIM! [IMPACT, WORMS AND SCUFFLING]

end ID] ~~~~

worm sounds and a full sentence after going "oh" and sasha STILL needed to tackle him.

i don't really have anywhere i'm going with this i'm just thinking about it really hard

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[heymacy]

IAN GALLAGHER + his journey with bipolar disorder

╰┈➤ “At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you’re living with this illness and functioning at all, it’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of." - Carrie Fisher

[achenetype]

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.

[electrozeistyking]

Ghost Drone is an AU where the events of Murder Drones have been spread out some odd years and changed around (except for Episode 1, which remains the same as it does in the show). Alternate takes on Episodes 2, 3 and 5 have already occurred.

The first comic isn't canon to the AU anymore, but since it's the initial concept, I figured I'd include it. This entire post is basically my way of saying "Hey, this AU has been stewing in my brain since the 16th of November in 2023."

[radio-writes]

It's about time for your blood to spill + you should sleep + we were soulmates

(Congrats on the 300 followers btw!)

Now, The Echoes Interlace

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Blood, physical injuries to reader, ambiguous major character death(s), angst

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

"You always have looked so pretty in red, Al." You hummed as your combed your fingers through his soft hair. You pressed your fingers against his scalp, lightly massaging against his antlers.

The light static that varied in volume crackled. "Fuck you." Alastor managed to say as his head laid on your lap.

His smile was strained—present, of course, as it always was, but strained. The trail of blood from his mouth dripped from his chin, joining the warm pool under both your bodies.

"Rude." You scolded him. Your breath coming out in a hiss as Alastor dug his claws into an open wound on your leg. 

"Must you continue to hurt me? You're already dying." You glared down at him as you would at a misbehaving pet.

You leaned forward, easily removing his hand from your body without much of a struggle. He only had so much strength left after all. 

"Fuck you." Alastor repeated, static morphing his voice this time around.

"Yes, well, I get that you're mad, Al." You continued your casual tone. "But it was about time for your blood to spill, don't you think?"

You grunted as you leaned your back against the cold wall again, sighing as the tension on the wound across your stomach was lessened.

"F—"

"Fuck me, yes yes." You cut him off. "Save your strength or you'll die out faster."

Alastor didn't mean to listen to you, but he just felt far too tired to argue otherwise.

Your hand returned to his head, damp with sweat and blood, and yet somehow still so adorably fluffy. Leave it to this guy to still look so presentable even when dying a second time around.

Your fingers scratched at one of his tufts of hair, causing it to give a slight, involuntary twitch.

"So they are ears." Your voice was soft. "I always assumed but was never really sure, you know?"

Alastor didn't respond. His red eyes continued to glare at you.

He adjusted his hands to lay over his chest. A weak attempt to slow his loss of blood. He didn't even have enough energy to press on it anymore.

"Hey, Al." You wheezed, breath slightly knocked from you. You had adjusted the way you sat so the demon could lay more comfortably on your lap. "Do you remember how we first met?"

"You told me that cheesy pick up line. How'd it go again?" Your hand paused as you tried to remember. 

A rather dashing demon slid up to you at the bar; charming, sharp smile, on full display. You've seen all sorts of sinners by now, but none so happy while rotting in hell.

You expected him to sell you drugs, or quite bluntly tell you to sleep with him. What you got instead was a very corny: 

"You must be buried treasure, because I am absolutely digging you." You let out a tired laugh, hand continuing to pet Alastor once more.

The sound of static crackling again was the only response you got. You think it meant fuck you. 

"Well you must be treasure as well, Al. Because it seems I'll be burying you tonight." You met Alastor's harsh glare with a soft smile.

"What? That absolutely was funny, you can't deny it." You defended yourself.

Alastor didn't think him dying was funny at all, actually, but he didn't exactly have any energy left to say that.

His smile was a tight, close lipped one, but you see his lips try to curl just a tiny bit in what you assumed would have been a snarl. 

"You always thought I was hilarious." Your own hand moving over the gash on your neck as if it was a mild inconvenience. You titled your head as you looked down at the demon on your lap. "What changed?"

Alastor merely glared at you.

Your eyes traveled down his body, staying on the deep wound oozing across his chest.

"That's not fair, Al." You laughed tiredly, eyes staying on his bloodied torso. "I always thought you were incredibly handsome—sinfully so really. But your attempts at killing me never changed that."

"Fuck you." The static over his voice was gone now. His tone was as spiteful, angry, and condescending as always, but much, much weaker.

Your eyes drifted back to his face. His smile was still present, but his lovely red eyes seemed more unfocused than they were a second ago.

Your hand in his hair stopped their movements. For a moment, the world was still as you wondered if your company had already left.

But it was merely for a heart beat, as a ragged breath from his lips snapped time back into motion.

You pealed your fingers from his hair, bringing them down to softly rub your knuckles down his cheek. He doesn't so much as flinch, but, you knew he would have had he been able to.

"Hey, old pal." You cooed softly. "You should sleep, you look so very tired."

His fingers on his chest twitched once, but you didn't get much of a reply anymore after that.

You sighed heavily. Your hands rested on his face as you leaned your head against the wall behind you, face craned upwards to the red sky that covered all of Hell.

Your own eyes closed, realizing just how tired and weary you yourself were.

Still, you were never one to be silent around a friend—or foe. It had always been unclear to you when it came to Alastor.

"We were soulmates, wouldn't you say so, Al?" You continued softly. "But in a funnier way, I think, where we were always meant to destroy the other."

Alastor's skin felt as it always did beneath your fingers. The stench of blood heavy as it always was around him. You felt his familiar eerie presence by you, as you always did.

And yet, you were unsure if he actually was still there. You were quite conflicted about how you were supposed to feel about that, truth be told.

"Fuck you, old friend." You sighed, eyes remaining closed, smile tiredly stretching across your own lips.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[reluctantbylerblog]

call me crazy and controversial but I don't think nancy did anything wrong, nor is she fundamentally a bad person for what happened to barb in s1, and I absolutely do not think she needs to be redeemed. the end of her character arc should always be about reaching a point of self-compassion and forgiveness—specifically by healing enough to allow herself to move past her guilt and belief that she caused barbs death by letting herself become close to others and form intimate friendships. especially with robin (who imo she was cagey with in s4 because of her trauma around barb)

[oh-katsuki]

your cup of espresso sits untouched and cooling on the dinner table. you have it after dinner every night, one sugar cube evenly dissolved through the mixture, giving it an almost syrupy flavor that is lovely to sip. it's bitter, but the right kind of bitter, and somehow so impossibly sweet. a perfect finish to the day.

the black screen of your phone sits unobtrusively beside your wrist. you pick it up idly, illuminating it with a quick tap of your finger. a few new notifications, instagram, snapchat, texts, twitter notifications you don't care about. nothing really all too pressing.

you tap to open up your contacts, scrolling and coming to a stop at his name. gojo satoru with a little red heart beside it.

at first, you only tap on it to look. it's not really like you had any plan to text or ring him. you just wanted to look at his contact card, maybe stare for a few minutes at the smiling, half ugly photo of him set as his contact picture. you're in the background of it, grabbing his upper arm to get his attention. it's a photo from a work meetup and nanami took it. somehow, it's come to mean a lot more to you than just a contact photo. you sigh, contemplating the phone call and then, without much fanfare, you click the button.

it rings in your ear as you put it up to the side of your head. your heart pounds in your chest, waiting for the ringing to come to a stop, maybe to hear his voice. it's been a long while since he's answered your calls though and you let out a humorless laugh as his voicemail plays.

"hey, you've reached gojo satoru. sorry i missed your call, i'm just soooo busy—" someone interrupts him, "hey can't you see im recording my voicemail message?" there's a small noise and then he's back, closer now. "—anyway, leave a message at the beep and maybe i'll call you back."

he'd set it in high school and his voice is a familiar and delightful higher pitch. you'd always told him that he needed to change it to something more mature, but he'd always blink at you and give you the same answer.

"who the hell would be calling me?" he'd say. "think i'm applying for another job or something?"

and you could never really argue with it. sure, you could've told him that it was immature, but at the end of the day he was right. it's not like he'd ever planned to change professions and professional conduct meant fuck-all when he was the strongest sorcerer of the modern age.

"hey," you start, clearing your throat, "it's me again. i don't know why i thought you'd actually answer my call this time, just sort of felt like you would. it was nice to hear your voice though, even if it was your voicemail message."

you run your finger along the grain in the wood of your table, tracing its intricate pattern with a light touch.

"i made that strawberry shortcake thing today." you're not really sure why you're telling him that. "you know, the one with the cream instead of frosting. it was good, kinda hard to make the actual cake though. the house smells good now. but yeah, i had a day off for once so i just sort of... hung around." you can feel your bottom lip growing raw with the way you chew on it between sentences. there's not really a reason that you called him. nothing particularly interesting has happened to you, let alone anything he'd care about, but you just felt like talking. still do, even if it's to his voicemail box, and you continue speaking into it about your day.

you like to think he couldn't be bothered to answer the phone. lazy, in some way, to answer your needy call. you like to think that maybe he'd seen the call, his phone ringing on the counter, from where he was in the shower. he'll listen to your voicemail and call you when he's out and dry to ask about trying the cake, maybe.

"would have been nice to see you. it's been like... two months since we've met up. i know you're probably busy though. doing whatever it is you do on the weekend, not that i really know anymore."

the kitchen light suddenly seems too bright, casting its artificial yellow glow down on the center of your table. you reach up to rub your temples. there's a dull throb beginning behind your eyes and in the bridge of your nose. it's almost like you're about to cry and as you sniffle quietly into the receiver, you can feel the swell of emotions as it rises in you.

"i really miss you, satoru," you say with a defeated sigh. "i know i probably sound like a broken record and that your phone storage must really be taking a hit, but i do. you probably get a kick out of knowing that though," the laugh that comes from you is muddled as your nose begins to run, and you reach quickly to wipe it. "wish you'd call me back. or come home, maybe. it's funny, i keep thinking that you'll come in the door any minute and the feeling never really... stops."

you clear your throat again, putting your tongue in your cheek and steeling your nerves a little.

"well, i'll let you go now," you swallow, laughing a little like the statement is silly. he's not really on the phone. it doesn't matter all that much how long the voicemail is. "stop before the voicemail lady cuts me off. but yeah, i just wanted to call. i keep hoping that you'll pick up. who knows, right?"

there's a short pause and then you inhale, straightening your back.

"i love you," you say. "always have. i'll call you tomorrow too, so... yeah. i love you, satoru. bye."

you pull your phone away from the side of your face, clicking the end call button a little too quickly before putting it face down on the table. it's comforting to call him, but it hurts too. there's always the hope that he'll answer. that by some miraculous turn of events, the ringing will stop short and he'll draw out a hello in a pleasant tenor hum. of course, he'd know exactly who's calling. satoru always did.

maybe you'll pay him a visit tomorrow, say all of this directly to him, though you haven't had the courage yet to visit that little stone plaque. it's a little too hard, for now. it's easier to think that he's ignoring your calls than incapable of answering them all together.

someday, his voicemail will fill up and you'll have to confront the truth. it will fill up, you'll be greeted by the voice mailbox full message, and there will be no one on the other end to clear it.

[quality-on-a-patch-of-awesome]

So I might have an idea

Price is immortal. The other guys reincarnate. So Price has been alive for thousands of years and lived countless lifetimes (he started counting at first, but gave up after a hundred times of moving countries when people started noticing that he wasn't aging). And then the rest of the boys (I literally only know Ghost and Soap and Gaz so im sticking with them), he's met them so many times before. Sometimes, it's all three of them at once. Sometimes, just one or two of them, the other(s) having already died by the time they manage to find their way to each other. There's probably even been times when he lives an entire lifetime without meeting any of them. He probably gets the biggest headache when it's just Soap and Gaz.

And Soap and Ghost?

Price has watched them fall in love in so many lifetimes, in so many countries, in so many ways, but every time they first meet and they jump straight to antagonistic, he refuses to tell them what's coming. Because it happens every time. They fall in love every time. And then they die. They always die. He watches them lose each other and how it breaks them, even if he learns after a while that they're always going to come back. Maybe he'd give them more time together if they knew or maybe it'd make things worse. It won't matter either way because they'll love and they'll hurt and they'll die and do the whole damn thing over again in another 30 years or however long it is this time.

Maybe Price told them all what was happening one time. And they still died anyway. And the next time they all found their way to each other, no one else remembered and he didn't want to do that again.

And then Gaz.

Gaz, who Price has been in love with for centuries, maybe even millennia. Gaz, who he's seen die a thousand deaths. Who he's held as he died more times than he cares for. Who he's seen not recognise him in too many lifetimes. Who he's lost and gotten back and lost again. He knew, seeing Gaz die for the first time, that he couldn't love him and lose him and be able to stand having Gaz not recognise him the next time they see each other. So he keeps as much distance as he can.

Until their last lifetime.

Price couldn't stand not being with Gaz for a second longer. They had a few good years together. They were happy. Until it ended the same way it always does. Gaz died all over again. Bloodier than it had been in a long time- war will do that to you- and wrapped in Price's arms and trying desperately to hold on, for all the good it did.

And then Gaz was gone.

Again.

Until now.

Gaz wanders into the 141 and Price has no idea how he's supposed to cope.

[metanarrates]

its interesting to me that the common sentiment appears to be that han sooyoung intended for jang hayoung to be trans. I think there's room for multiple interpretations, but I view being trans in orv as being inherently tied to the themes of self-actualization, as well as the idea that a narrative is unable to be fully defined by either author or reader. put more simply, jang hayoung is trans regardless of either kim dokja OR han sooyoung's intentions in creating her, or in how they each interpreted her. maybe the version of her in the novel was meant to be something else, but in the reality of this world, she is a trans girl. han sooyoung's intentions kind of don't matter there because the text has moved beyond its author

[st3ddie-starchas3r]

I hate when I hurt my own feelings while writing a fic. Like how dare I? It’s supposed to be soul crushing for the readers not me.

[secretnameu9]

Illusion

“Hi, Tails! It’s just me Amy again! If you get this could give me a call back!”

“Tails, hi It’s me Amy again…uhm could you give me a call back when you can? I’m starting to get a bit worried. Thanks!”

…

“I haven’t heard from either of them in quite a while, I’m worried. Have you heard from either one?”

“No I have not.”

“Sometimes…Sonic can be a bit harder to get a hold of, but Tails? I…I…”

=========

“Smile!”

Click

A photo revealing two individuals standing close to each-other, trying their best to pose appears on an electronic screen. Miles “Tails” Prower and Sonic the Hedgehog were the ones who inhabited that photo. The background easily revealing that this photo was taken in Tails’ workshop.

After being sure the device had captured the photo the two broke away from each-other giving each a bit of distance between the other.

Tails stared at the screen for a moment, his face neutral and observant before that said face started to rapidly turn into a very pleased smile. Seemingly very happy with his handywork.

“Sooo? How’d it turn out?” Sonic questions, allowing his face to break out into a grin upon seeing his little bro’s face break out into a smile.

“Awesome! I just upgraded the Miles Electric’s camera the other day and this…is great!” Tails starts, his iconic two tails wagging behind him as he observes the photograph his device just captured. “I’m going get this one printed out and framed later. I like how it turned out” the fox continues seemingly very pleased with the outcome of it all. Tails turns the screen off for the device before laying it off to the side in order to focus on Sonic for the time being.

Sonic had been out and about, adventuring for the past several days, so the two haven’t seen each other in a decent amount of time. So when Sonic so happened to show up and not too long after Tails upgraded several aspects of the Miles Electric, he figured why not get a photo? It’s been a long time since he got a picture of himself and Sonic anyways.

“Well, I’m glad you like it so much, little buddy” Sonic starts shooting the kit a little thumbs up in approval. Just simply glad that his little bro is glad. “So now, that we went through the photoshoot and all, we still doing chilidogs? I’m starvvving” Sonic whines, as if he had not ate all day.

A chuckle emanates from Tails as he can’t help but roll his eyes a bit from Sonic’s slightly overdramatic show of how hungry he was. The fox kit knowing full well Sonic ate earlier that day in particular. So he wasn’t THAT hungry. Yet, it was around lunch-time and honestly chili-dogs didn’t so too bad at all. Actually chilidogs sounded great, they’re always better when Sonic’s around.

“Yep, we’re having ourselves some chilidogs! I specifically stocked up…had a feeling you’d be coming by soon.” Tails comments as he begins to walk through the house, making his way to the kitchen.

Upon reaching the said kitchen Tails goes ahead begins to get everything ready, pot, pan, cooking oil, turn on the stove, can of chili, and a package of Sonic Approved franks. A process the young fox is at this point in his incredibly short life very used to. The sheer number of repeats of this procedure likely being in the hundreds.

“So, whatcha been up to while I’ve been going around?” Sonic asks. Already knowing the answer of the general question. He knows full well Tails had been tinkering about in his workshop. Working on one of his 2bajillion projects he has going on at any given moment. But the hedgehog hoped to maybe here about some of the things the Fox had been working on.

“Lately I’ve been tinkering around with the Miles Electric and the Tornado recently. I upgraded the specs of the Miles Electric, so now it has significantly more memory space and processing power. I also enhanced the camera. I got the tornado’s booster enhanced as well! According to my calculations it should give at least a 20% speed boost!” tails comments. Seemingly very happy to talk about his projects with his best friend. Tails didn’t always get to talk about all the things he works on, so when he gets the chance it’s always a pleasure to speak about them.

“I almost forgot how compact everything in the Miles electric was! It was a fun little challenge to get everything to fit just right” Tails adds. The small fox comments on a couple of other things he worked on as well, like optimizing the houses refrigerator, it now only needing 75% of the power it originally needed to run. Briefly mentioning how he managed to hack into Eggman’s network, but not getting super into the details of what he was snooping around there for. Just lots of things the fox found fun to do.

“Well- sounds like you’ve been busy! I’m happy to hear my little buddy is able to keep doing the things he enjoys” Sonic chirps in. Very content and happy his little bro is able to keep doing his passion. “You’ve been getting the proper amount of sleep though, right?” Sonic questions. Hoping that his little bro might have had a change of heart and started to prioritize his sleep a bit more. That kid…he got so into his projects sometimes he’d just forget to sleep entirely.

Sonic didn’t get all that much of a response out of the kit. Tails simply humming to himself seemingly ignoring the question. Sonic knew full well Tails heard him. He was just dodging the question.

“Tails…” Sonic shakes his head at the youngers response or lack their of. When they were younger, Sonic would always try and help get Tails to sleep. He was rather successful in that endeavor, but as Tails grew older and started to pick up new things and the two of them branched out to do their own things, Tails sleeping issues have grown worse over the years. That’ll have to be a topic he talks to his best friend about at a later time.

Not too long after the cooking was completed, Tails bringing a plate of chilidogs to the dinner table. One plate for himself to boot. At this point Tails had figured out on average how many chilidogs each of the brother’s ate. His success rate at getting the perfect amount for each at this point was around 95%, but he always made one extra for himself…just in-case. It was usually too much for himself, but if Sonic wanted an extra he could have it and if he couldn’t eat it, Sonic would happily take it. It all worked out in the end.

The two indulged in the delicious meal. They both are quiet while they ate, focusing more on eating than talking. They didn’t want their food to go cold after all! Plus, honestly they were both a bit hungrier than they both actually thought they were. It was nice to have company to eat with, however. Always made for a good mood.

The seconds on the clock kept moving forward until the two finished their meal together, Sonic picking up and doing the dishes, lighting quick of course! Figuring it was the least he could do since Tails was kind enough to cook him up something warm to eat.

The two took some time to hang out, they played some video games together, watched one of the their movies, and just in general took the time to enjoy each others presence. Being sure to make the most of the time they spent together. At the end of the day, both Sonic and Tails truly cared for each other. So it was quite obvious that the two just liked to do things together.

In due time the ever present star that gave light and life to Mobius began to make it’s descent to the other side of the world. Things were starting to die down. The two had their dinner and more than likely were going to call it a night, but something had been on Tails’ mind for a while. It was not something he couldn’t just simply let fly, it was important.

Tails made his way downstairs, from his workshop a bit relieved seeing that Sonic was still awake, sprawled out on the couch. Seeming to be reading a book of some form. The hedgehog’s ear flicking upon hearing the fox making his way down the stairs. Sonic’s attention mainly remained on the book, until he was certain Tails’ was wanting his attention specifically. Which that became evident rather quickly when the fox came over to the couch, Sonic quick to pick a spot in his book that he could remember to pick up on later on down the line.

“What’s up, little bro?” Sonic questions. Now giving his full attention to the little fox that now stood in-front of him. The small foxes luxurious tails swaying behind him from side to side as he awaited to get his older brother’s attention.

“Can I talk to you about something?” Tails asks. His face remaining rather neutral his voice a bit unsure, he didn’t want to bother Sonic, but this was something that needed to be talked about. “I’ll make it quick, so you can get back to reading.” He adds quickly.  

Sonic removes his legs from the couch, patting right next to himself. A signal to his best friend that he’s more than welcome to take a seat. “Sure thing. What’s on that cunning fox brain of yours?”

Tails takes a seat right next to Sonic, looking forward staring at the television straight ahead not making eye contact with Sonic just yet, trying to figure out the best way to go about communicating this. It wasn’t that it was hard, but it was Tails trying to make sure Sonic takes this 100% seriously.

“Do you remember earlier, when I said I hacked into Eggman’s network?” Tails references back to a small passing statement he made earlier when both Sonic and himself were catching up. At the time Tails didn’t bring it up as it just wasn’t the right moment, but now, now was the right time.

“I think I do remember you mentioning it earlier. Why? What’s up?” Sonic questions, cocking an eye brow. Wondering what Tails managed to dig up.

“Uhm…well…” Tails starts, trying to figure out the best way to talk about this, before sighing and figuring it was time to just drop it and let spill it. “Looks like Eggman has the Phantom Ruby again. Somehow.”

There was a light pause between the two, before Tails continued “I checked the dates of the documentation, to make sure I wasn’t getting into old details. All of it is new, he’s doing testing in a new base…I think it’s something we’re going to have to look into. Quickly.”

“Quickly? Do you know who you’re talking to? We’ll have that whole situation sorted out before Eggman even knows what hit him!” Sonic says, his voice oozing with confidence. No matter what scheme Eggface comes up with, Sonic always stops him. This time it won’t be any different.

A smile was quick to break on Tails’ face. At the end of the day, he knew things were going to be fine. He knows he and Sonic take care of Eggman on a regular basis, this isn’t going to be any different. But the phantom ruby…”Yeah…you’re right. I just-you know how much trouble it caused last time around, it’s dangerous you know that. We need to be careful.” Tails mentions as he turns to Sonic, crossing his legs so he can fully sit on the couch.

“It’s okay, we got this. How about this, we go tomorrow, we’ll go to Eggman’s base wreck his little scheme before it gets going, and we’ll be back by evening and we’ll have ourselves a second serving of chilidogs? Deal?” Sonic says. Not seeming too worried all things considered. This won’t be the first time he’s had a tough battle with egghead after all.

“I’m serious Sonic, we got to be careful. We don’t-“ Tails cuts himself off as a absolutely massive, yet incredibly adorable yawn escapes. His lack of sleep finally seeming to catch-up to his body.

“Somebodies tired, now aren’t they?” Sonic grins. “Looks like somebody has to finally get to bed at a reasonable hour.” Sonic looks at his wrist at his fake watch that he’s not wearing. “Go ahead, get yourself some rest kiddo, wanna make sure that brain is well rested for the butt kicking we’re gonna give eggface tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah. All right. Fine.” Tails gets up, wiping away a tear, his very aggressive yawn causing his eyes to water a bit. “I already have the coordinates to the base. So we’ll get that figured out tomorrow. Goodnight, Sonic.” Tails leaves off as he begins to make his way to his bed room. Another yawn escaping  on his way back. “Goodnight, Tails!” Sonic wishes to his little brother. Now having the whole room himself.

“The phantom ruby…?” Sonic murmurs to himself. “But how?”

=========

This was a bad idea, this was a really bad idea. Tails internally thinks to himself, trying to get through corridor after corridor. He knew they needed prep time, he knew they should have called for back-up. This was just all bad. Nearly every worst case scenario has arrived.

As promised both Tails and Sonic did make their way to Eggman’s new base. Tails had brought some extra fire power, bringing his newly upgraded arm blaster. In the back of his mind he hoped that maybe this wouldn’t be so hard, since they were striking so early, but hope…is not a very scientific word. Hope doesn’t account for things going wrong and hope doesn’t rewrite history.

The operation itself didn’t go too bad at first. If anything, by all accounts it seemed this would just be a quick, enter base, wreck the plans, go home, and not have to worry about it after a while. But, this was the Phantom Ruby being talked about here.

Practically upon a false sense of security setting in, Sonic and Tails were both separated. It began to become more difficult to determine what was real and what was fake. So it wasn’t much surprise that, that were to have happened. Luckily Tails accounted for this and had himself and Sonic bring their communication devices. Unluckily there seemed to be a rather large amount of interference when attempting to communicate. So long distance communication was not much of an option.

“We’ll have to wait to regroup.” Tails murmurs to himself as he keeps going forward. He knew the layout of this base, it wasn’t very convoluted compared to some of Eggman’s previous designs, but something was off. He couldn’t figure out where point a was or point b. Which was strange because he did specifically take the time to remember the layout.

Tails made sure to put his arm blaster to good use. There was badniks loitered through the building as he went on. They didn’t really stand much of a chance against the upgraded weapon, he thanked his past self for doing those upgrades. There numbers weren’t impressive at first, but over time they seemed to begin growing. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was getting closer to important details of the base or…was this all in his mind?

Then suddenly there were only occasional amounts of the robots. Just one. Or maybe two at most. Just scattered about. Strange. None of this was making any logical sense. The young fox turned around to see the path behind him. It seemed like the way he just came, nothing out of the ordinary.

Forward. Keep going forward and don’t look back. You’ll run into Sonic that way, right?

So Tails kept going forward, he took care of whatever robots that remained in his path.

Tails was getting into a rhythm, see robot shoot. See robot shoot. See robot shoot. See robo-

Wait…wait why did that robot just scream out in pain? Why is that robot screaming out in agony? Why does that voice sound so familiar…oh no…

“No…no, no” Tails closed his eyes and shook his head violently. Trying to make these illusions stop for just a moment. He should have known better he was just seeing things this whole time. But when he opened his eyes, his heart dropped. The fox dropped his weapon to the floor as he stepped forward.

“Sonic…SONIC!” Tails ran forward kneeling down before his brother, the hedgehog clutching the wound know inhabiting his chest. “Sonic, oh my- chaos…I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-“ Tails was panicking. He just shot his own brother, he just blasted his own family.

“Gotta say…you’re a killer shot, little bro, heh…” Sonic manages. His body doing it’s best to focus mostly on surviving and less on talking.

“Sonic, I’m gonna get you out of here, please just hold on, let me…I just need to find a way to…I just-“ Tails looks around trying to find anything to help in this situation. Something to temporarily, yet useless dress the wound. Something to use as a support to help carry his injured best friend out of this cursed base. Anything. But in his state of panic, he didn’t notice that Sonic had reached out to him. He did notice when a hand gently cuffed around the side of his head.

Tails turned to look at Sonic. And Sonic looked at Tails, staring into his sky blue eyes…eyes that were now stained with tears, worry, and panic.

Sonic took his hand and moved it to where Tails ear was and cupped his hand, rubbing behind the kit’s ears. Tails wasn’t sure if Sonic was just so out of it right now that he didn’t know what he was doing or if the hedgehog was just trying to show his affection at such a dangerous moment. No…Sonic didn’t think he was dying, right? Sonic’s not going to die…he can’t die.

“Come-on Sonic, help-help me apply pressure to your wound, please…I just need to buy sometime so I can figure-figure…figure-“ Tails hiccups trying his best to finish his statement.

“Tails buddy…” Sonic reaches and gingerly holds one of Tails’ arms with one of his free hands. Using his other to help Tails apply pressure to the wound. Despite how futile it seemed. Both of their hands covered in red. “Tails look at me.”

Tails looks at Sonic, directly into his eyes. Staring into those ever green emerald eyes, that he always looked up to. Those eyes that always brought hope and light to any situation they were in. Those some eyes that the universe seemed so headstrong to take away from him.

“Tails…”

“Tails, I love you, little bro. More than you’d ever know…” Sonic coughs a bit, his voice growing weaker, his body feeling lighter by the minute.

“Can you promise me something?” Sonic asks. Tails quickly nods. “Anything, Sonic. What is it?”

“Promise to take care of yourself…live your best life, be free. I know it’s going to be hard for you bud, but-“ cough “but, do it for me will you?”

Tails swallows a lump that had been in his throat since the moment this went down. He only now noticed how little he himself was breathing. The fox shook his head a bit “Don’t, don’t be saying stuff like that. You’re going to be here. This…” Tails inhales deeply “But I promise, just please…hang in there just a little longer.”

“Thanks, little bro. I knew…I could…count on you. I lov u” Sonic smiles. His breaths growing shorter and shorter. Time was running out. Quickly.

“I love you, too Sonic.” Tails says quickly. The small fox looking around again to see anything that would help them out, but there was nothing. Just empty corridor. Why…just why.

When Tails turned around, he could feel whatever spirit was left in his soul vanish. Sonic’s eyes were open still, yet they were so empty. Like there was nothing there.

“Sonic?” Tails questions panic in his voice. “Sonic?!” Tails releases his hands from the wound they were covering. The small fox shaking his big brother, lightly at first praying it would get some form of response. He quickly moved his hands to the hedgehogs wrist. Pulse? No…was he…breathing? Tails looked to see just any form of movement. Was Sonic breathing? No…he was not.

The fox moved his hands back to Sonic’s shoulders “SONIC?! PLEASE! WAKE UP!” he shook Sonic violently. Maybe just maybe it would be enough to get Sonic’s body to cooperate…yet nothing.

The young fox lies down next Sonic, cuddling up next to his best friend, his brother, his…family. Lies next to him and sobs. This was all his own fault. He should have done a better job at emphasizing how dangerous this place was, he should have had a better plan, he should have called for back-up, he should have…Tails looked at his discard arm blaster. He then slowly and scarily looked at his own red foiled gloves.

“It was me…” Tails chokes. “I killed Sonic.”

He laid there in silence, snuggling close to his brother. The tears never stopped, not until everything went dark. =================

@nixoon-again @tornado1992 @myyla-x @tornado1992 @000marie198 Am I cool yet? I did the thing. II want y'all to know y'all single handedly got me back into writing. With your stories. Hope you know that. This is inspired by y'alls work <3

[shitpostingkats]

Ah, the age old experience of looking back on a beloved childhood series and realizing Oh Wow These Books Were Super Messed Up, Actually

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: love letter

A sheet of paper, folded into thirds, dotted in places with what must be water and grass stains. The handwriting is legible in some places, and shaky in others. In the margins are small doodles of birds, clouds, trees, and other miscellaneous, abstract shapes, as if the writer’s mind kept wandering. 

TO: Nico di Angelo 

FROM: Jason Grace 

Hey, Nico. If you’re reading this, something probably happened to me. Maybe I hit my head again and lost my memories, or something, and you went through my stuff to try and find things to remind me of who I was. Maybe this fell out while we were hanging out, one day, and you saw it was addressed to you and you picked it up. Maybe I died—

However you found this, I guess, surprise! :) 

First thing’s first: I’m sorry for leaving. I know I begged you to stay, and then turned around and left, and I really hope you understand - I didn’t leave because of you. I needed to find Leo, and leaving with Piper was the easiest way to do that. I had to try and get him back. 

I wanted you to come with, but you were still healing and things were going really well with you and Will. I hope things still are, in fact. Wherever I am, I’m so proud of you for how far you’ve come, and how much I’m sure you continued to grow even after I left. 

I really love you, man. I never got to tell you that, but you’re one of my best, closest friends. You mean so much to me. You showed me a side of the world that I never would’ve seen otherwise, and gave me a space to be myself, and I will never, ever know how I deserved that. How I deserve you. 

Is that out of left field? Haha it definitely is. Sorry. 

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nico. I didn’t want to leave. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I had to go and I’m sorry it had to be me, but it couldn’t be her, Nico, it can’t be her, it can’t be. It has to be me. 

It has to be. 

Here, some of the words are smeared from the water marks. Lines cross through some words that have then been re-written, as if in after-thought the author realized they were too important to delete. 

If you really are reading this, after the worst case scenario, I understand if you’re angry. I understand if you never want to think about me again, after what I’ve done. I’ll understand if you storm to your father’s palace and demand I be placed in the worst of the worst punishments for being so stupid. 

Gods. Gods, Nico, I’m never going to get to tell you how I really feel. About all of this, about everything I’m going through, I’m never going to be able to tell you and that hurts. It hurts more than knowing I’m going to die, it hurts more than getting stabbed and poisoned. I’m going to die loving you and you won’t even know until it’s too late. 

Maybe this is a stupid bad idea. Maybe I should let it die with me. Is it cruel, to tell you how I feel if I’m gone? Does this make me an awful person? 

Shit. I think I’m an awful person, Nico. I’m awful and I’m selfish and I can never choose things for myself, it always has to be for the greater good, so this is it. This is as selfish as I can be. This is all I can be for you. 

I want to see you on the other side. I want you to punch me for getting myself killed and hate me for being a hero and I want you to know that I didn’t want this but it needed to be me. It has to be me. 

I’m still wrapping my head around it, but it has to be me, okay? So if I’m really gone when you’re reading this, okay, you have to let me stay gone. Please. If you get hurt, if you die, and it’s my fault, I could never— 

Here, the letter abruptly stops. Then, it continues: 

That’s all I wanted to say, anyway. That I love you. I love you in any way I can, and even if I’ve done it silently, and stupidly, from a distance, just know that it was there, the whole time. It’s still there, wherever I am. Dead, or lost, or whatever. I love you, Nico. I’m sorry.

-- Jason Grace :)

[honorthysalad]

quick prediction but I think at some point Yoshiki’s parents’ marriage is gonna fall apart and his mom is gonna move back to Tokyo with Kaoru and Yoshiki will have to decide between leaving the village or staying with ‘Hikaru’.

because his mom being from Tokyo has to amount to something, and Yoshiki has been wanting to leave the village and go to the city for so long. It’d present him the option to literally run away from all his problems.

but he swore he’d stick by ‘Hikaru’ and he’s been learning so much about the village, unraveling centuries of history, that he’s kind of past the point of no return, so he decides to stay in the village except now ‘Hikaru’ is his only attachment. Nothing to hold him back, nothing to keep him from going too far.

[seraphic-elysian]

@foolondahill17 have my attempt at the prompt you put about Dean sprinting to Cas. It's not perfect and I ended it without a resolution as I wanna write this as a whole ass fic but I really wanted to share this with you since your idea inspired the hell out of me. ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ It happens in a moment. A heartbeat trapped between the milliseconds of time. Dean turns in the loose grip of his brother’s hands, green eyes trained on the golden crack of light that splits their world open to another, waiting for the sign of his angel. His heart is racing within his chest, adrenaline keeping him sharp and steady, as he waits with bated breath for his angel to emerge through the light. The image of Castiel stalking toward Lucifer as Sam pulls him to the portal is burned into his eyelids. He knows that it is almost a sickening parallel of the way that he had pulled Sam from his burning apartment all of those years ago but he can only pray that Castiel will not be killed. That he will not have to suffer the same agonizing heartbreak that Sam did when Jessica died.  He refuses to entertain the thought of something happening to the angel, of him dying or being hurt while in the other world. That will not happen. 

It cannot. 

Dean steps close enough to the portal that he can hear the rushing of the wind and smell the heavy scent of gunpowder on the breeze. It pulls at his clothing in a tantalizing lure, a promise of taking him to where his angel is, but he refuses. He will not step back through the portal and waste the safety that Castiel had given him. 

Sam’s voice is nothing but a gurgle of noises behind him but he does not need to hear him to understand what he is saying. Dean knows that he is too close to the portal for his brother to feel confident that he will not go through it to find Castiel. He knows that he becomes irrational and impulsive when his angel is in danger. That he has, in the past, openly let others be hurt and killed if it meant that those he cares about will be safe. Dean also knows that he has a history of suicidal tendencies, of throwing himself in front of others to take a hit or killing himself to trade someone else's life for his own, and that Sam has been witness to him doing that several times. And while he is aware that he would not hesitate to end his life if it meant that the angel would return safe and alive, he does not feel the need to do so. Not right now. 

“Don’t be stupid, Dean! Cas is capable!” Sam nearly screams the words to him, voice only barely heard over the rushing noise in Dean’s ears. 

And of course he is. Dean knows better than anyone what Castiel is capable of and how strong and intelligent the angel is. But even having the knowledge of that will not stop him from worrying about him. It will not stop him from desperately trying to keep the angel by his side where Dean is able to keep him safe. 

After all, how can anyone act normal and as though the world is not on the verge of ending when the living personification of their heart is facing off against an archangel?

The portal flares a brilliant gold that burns his eyes and Dean’s breath leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale as Castiel appears in front of him. There is blood stained along his trench coat, his black curls are covered in dust, and his face is streaked with dirt but Dean has never seen anything more beautiful. Exhausted blue eyes meet his own and something that Castiel sees on his face makes the angel’s brows furrow and him to step closer to Dean. They are close enough that he can feel heat radiating off of the angel and the exhalation of his breath ghosting across his face and, for the first time, Dean does not step back or snap at the angel. No, he only sways forward as he is captured by Castiel’s orbit. He surrenders to the feelings that he has in his chest, this desire to put himself out there and show the other how he feels. 

“D-” 

Castiel cuts himself off as an angel blade pierces through the bottom of his chest with a sickening squelch. The shining metal is clean as it slides through the angel’s body without resistance before it is yanked out violently. Crimson stains his white dress shirt and Castiel’s grace flares brightly through the gaping wound. Dean is moving before he can think, arms gathering the angel against his chest as he sags, and pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his back. He does not see where Lucifer goes as the angel saunters off but he knows that Sam will watch his back. Something heavy and soft curls over his arms and back, engulfing him in the scent of honeysuckles and wildflowers, but when he looks there is nothing there. The smell of Castiel’s grace slowly begins to turn acrid as his grace begins to burn and Dean collapses to his knees. 

“Get away,” Castiel whines, weak hands pushing against Dean’s chest, “I can’t hold it back anymore. Get away!” 

Dean shakes his head and tightens his grip on the angel, “No!” 

A whine escapes Castiel’s throat as the light flares up brighter and hotter, escaping from his mouth and eyes. The invisible objects that he feels against him heat up rapidly, searing his skin even through his clothing, and the heat and light reaches its apex in a wave of agony before it shatters. A pained howl leaves his lips as fire scorches him, consuming him in a decimating blaze that he cannot escape. His eyes burn even through his closed lids and he turns his face away from the sharp explosion of light. It seems as though it takes forever before it clears, taking the scorching heat with it, and Dean weakly lays Castiel’s body down. He presses his forehead down against the soft cotton of his dress shirt as he processes the hell that he just went through. 

Castiel is dead. There is no denying that, not after what he just experienced. The angel is gone in a shattering of holy light and the smell of scorched feathers. His shaking fingers come up and tangle in the rough wool of the trench coat as he raises his face, desperate to see confirmation that Lucifer has murdered Castiel. He needs to memorize the pattern of his beautiful wings that will be burned into the dirt of this little home. Sliding his eyes open slowly, he sees…nothing. An unending wall of bright white light fills his vision and does not leave no matter how much he blinks or shakes his head. He panics, sucking in a startled breath, body freezing in fear at the implications of what this means. 

Turning his head toward where he remembers his brother standing, he asks, “Sam?” 

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean!” Sam’s voice is rough with anger as he stomps up to where Dean is kneeling, “You know what happens when an angel dies. You’ve fucking seen that happen so many times! So, what the hell were you thinking being right at the center of that? Didn’t you think for a second about what that would do to you?” 

“It’s Cas, Sammy,” his excuse sounds broken as it falls through his lips. He is in agony, arms and back still burning from the blaze that had licked across his skin, “I couldn’t just-” 

“How many times has he died before and you’ve stayed back from it? How many times has he been killed like this and you’ve not put yourself at the center of his grace exploding?” Sam is yelling now, anger making him sound almost terrifyingly like John, and Dean feels far too vulnerable here on the ground, “I don’t even know how we’re going to heal that. Or if we even can. Fuck, Dean, we didn’t need this on top of everything else!”

He takes Sam’s anger without question or complaint. He knows that he messed up and that he injured himself right when they are about to be dealing with Lucifer. He knows that his vision being gone, however temporary this is, will make him a vulnerability and a liability. It is now completely up to Sam to be able to defend not only himself but Dean as well. 

“I should be able to see again in a few days,” he responds once Sam pauses to take a breath, “We just have to lay low inside of the Bunker until then. I know I messed up, Sammy, okay?”

“You can’t see?” Sam is suddenly in his space, calloused hand gripping his chin tightly, and Dean stifles a flinch. His head is tilted back and forth and he feels his brother messing with his eyelids. It is incredibly uncomfortable to not be able to see what Sam is doing but he knows that he is in safe hands, “Is it just blurry or is it fully gone?” 

“I can’t see anything,” he admits as Sam wipes something off of his cheek, “it’s nothing but white.” 

Sam sucks in a startled breath, hands stilling against his face, before he moves and cleans off his other cheek. “Okay, I…I didn’t realize that you were blind.” 

“Then what were you talking about?” 

Sam does not answer right away and Dean huffs in frustration. He hates not being able to see his brother’s face and be able to read him. He has always relied on the fact that Sam is an open book to him, that he rarely hides what he is thinking and feeling, and now having that taken away from him makes him feel as though he is lost at sea without a life raft. 

The trench coat is warm within the grasp of his fingers but he forces himself to release it, to smooth it back into place despite the shake in his hands. His palm presses against the flat expanse of Castiel’s chest and something inside of him burns at the fact that he cannot feel his heart beating or the rise and fall of his chest. That he can feel the heat dissipating from his body, leaving it cold and empty. There is something within the cavern of his chest that feels just as hollow as the body in front of him, something along his soul that screams at the idea of Castiel being gone, but he can do nothing about that. There is no cure or bandage that can heal a broken heart. 

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches away from it violently, “What the fuck, Sam?” 

“You know how angel wings are burned into the ground when they die?” Sam asks gently, continuing when Dean nods in confusion, “Dean…Cas’s wings aren’t…they…they’re burned into your skin, dude. From the back of your hands, up your arms, and across your back to either side of your spine.”

“But I’m wearing clothes,” Dean argues weakly, “How could they have burned through that?” 

His brother exhales shakily, “Couldn’t his wings phase through things like that?” 

The fingers of his right hand skirt over to his left, drifting across the back of it, and a pained noise leaves his lips as his skin flares up in red hot pain at the touch. He shakes his head, refusing to accept what Sam is telling him. There is no way that he is carrying the shadow-burn of his angel’s wings on his body. He is not holy enough, not good enough, to carry the image of that burned onto his skin.

Castiel deserves to have something more than Dean Winchester acting as a living tombstone.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Sam's hands grip his elbows and pulls him to his feet, "Once we do that, we can get Cas and Kelly ready to be put to rest."

Dean grabs onto his brother tightly, resisting the guiding hand that is pulling him toward the house. He does not want to leave Castiel lying here, alone, on the dirt. There will need to be a pyre and Castiel's body will need to be prepped for that but he does not think he has the strength to leave him. Not anymore.

"I can't," His voice catches in his throat, "Sam, I can't leave him."

He can see the furrow of Sam's brow in his mind as his brother responds, "Why not?"

"I love him," it falls from his lips like water, easy and free-flowing, "I love him so much I don't know how the hell I'm able to breathe. I can't just..."

"Okay, yeah, I get it," Sam answers, "How long have you...?"

Dean tries to smile but it pulls at his face wrong, lips twisting into more of a grimace. He turns his face toward the ground and welcomes the white void that consumes his vision. It is much easier to be able to be this open with his brother when he is unable to see his facial expressions.

"Years," he exhales heavily, the word nothing more than a whisper on the breeze.

Sam does not answer him but he does help Dean back onto the ground by his angel's body. His hands are warm as they squeeze his elbows once before removing them.

"Let me go get the stuff to prepare his body, okay? You can do it here and I'll handle Kelly."

"What about Jack?"

Sam huffs, "I have no idea what we're going to do."

"We raise him. We give him the childhood we didn't have. He chose Cas as his father and I'm not going to abandon his child just because his sperm donor is Satan himself." Dean tells him, "We educate him, we tell him about the spooky shit and about the stuff that lurks in the dark. We make sure that he's able to handle himself if he ever winds up on a hunt."

"And we tell him about Cas."

He nods, hand reaching out until it lands on Castiel's arm, "Yeah, we tell him about Cas."

Sam leaves him then, footsteps trailing off toward the house. Dean is left in the dirt, surrounded by the sound of waves lapping at the shore of the lake and insects buzzing around him. It feels wrong, to experience this peaceful moment while he kneels at the side of his fallen person. Castiel should be here. He should be the one that teaches Jack about humanity and the world around them. He should be the one to choose what, if any, of the hunting world that Jack learns. He should teach him about bees and flowers and the names of the constellations in the sky.

He should be here, raising the child that he loves, instead of it falling to Dean.

But he is not. He is dead, killed because he ensured that everyone got to safety. And now it is up to Dean to raise Jack.

He spends the next hour gently cleaning Castiel's body with the warm water and cloths that Sam brought him. The dirt and blood is washed from his skin as best that Dean can while his vision is gone before Sam helps him wrap and secure his body in a soft fabric.

Together, they lift his body between them and Sam guides him to the pyre, leaving him to lay Castiel down inside of it alone. The angel is heavy in his arms and makes his wounds radiate agony as they are agitated but he does not care. There will be time for him to heal, for his wounds to be cleaned and bandaged. But not right now. Not when he is resting the love of his life inside of a tomb made of wood, waiting for him to be set ablaze.

The fire is hot on his face as he stares unseeingly in the direction of it. Jack and Sam are on the other side of the pyre, talking quietly to each other, and Dean wishes that he had the strength to go join them. To find comfort in knowing that they are mourning for the angel together. He could go to them, he knows that, but if he moves from this spot he is not sure that he will be able to keep himself from shattering. The reality of Castiel being gone has not fully hit yet and he knows that the moment the fire burns down, the moment that the only thing left of Castiel is the feathers burned into Dean's skin and the ashes on the wind, that he will he consumed by grief. That the only thing he will be able to feel is the hollow void in his chest that signifies that his angel is gone.

"Can I stay here with you?"

Dean flinches at the soft voice that speaks, turning his head in Jack's direction. He does not respond to him, too afraid that he will say something he does not mean or begin to cry if he does, so he nods his agreement. The kid steps closer to him and his hand slips into Dean's. He takes in a deep breath and squeezes that hand gently, leaving them clasped at his side.

"He loved you," Dean tells him hours later when the fire has died down to almost nothing. Sam had stepped away to handle something some time ago so it is only the two of them left by the angel's side, "You should have your parents here to raise you. You shouldn't have to grow up without them."

Jack is silent for a moment before he speaks, "I have you."

"Yeah, kid, you do."

"He loved you, too," Jack tells him, as though those words do not sends spiderweb cracks along the wall holding his emotions back.

He stays quiet, unable to respond even if he desired to, and they stand there together until Jack tells him that the fire is gone.

Today he will kneel in the ashes of his lover's pyre, gathering the remains of him with clumsy hands, as their child holds the glass jar steady for him to put the ashes in. He will seal up that jar and cling to it for the several hour long drive it will take for them to reach the Bunker.

And, when he is led to his room by his brother, letting him sit the jar down upon his nightstand, Dean will finally allow himself to break.