#past character death cw

[fletcherwilbury]

@febuwhump Day 24: "I'm doing this because I care about you."

Warning for Overworking, exhaustion, injury, illness, fainting, hypoglycemia, medical procedures, blood, past character death, funeral mentions

[quartergremlin]

Hi same anon that just sent an ask about Mikey's baby jesus egg... cause I just realized... ONLY CASEY WENT TO THE FUTURE

SO SO MIKEYS EGG IS GONNA DIE??? IM SOBBING I CAN SEE NO PATH IN WHICH THIS WORKS OUT THEY LOVE IT SO MUCH ALREADY IM CRYING

HE WAS SO HAPPY FOR THE EGG

Short answer? naw they'll be fine

Long answer? under the cut.

CW for miscarriage, character death, and mourning.

The power was out for weeks.

[anonymousboxcar]

Troublesome Truck Headcanons: Music

I’m very intrigued by the glimpses that we get at the troublesome trucks on Sodor. Here are some of my silly thoughts on their musical habits!

-> They have a rotating roster of songs. New ones emerge after embarrassing incidents, and older ones phase out of the roster once they no longer bother the engine in question (or make the other engines laugh).

-> With all the singing they do, I like to think they practice. In sidings, yards, and sheds across Sodor, one or two trucks lead their groups in a kind of evening choir rehearsal.

-> If you ask any of them about musical notation, rhythm, etc., you’ll get a baffled stare nine times out of ten. But if you watch and listen to them, you’ll see they have a basic understanding of these concepts and use them. They don’t have the technical vocabulary of music, but they have decades of experience and practice.

-> A group rehearsing in a siding has only passing night trains as an audience, who can’t stick around long enough to get annoyed. A group rehearsing in a yard or shed often earns someone roaring at them to shut up, for the love of [insert applicable deity or figurehead here].

-> Such requests receive the appropriate response: an even louder encore.

-> The only exceptions to this rule are

engines who got in their good books,

a manager with the authority to slate them to haul sewage, or

Bill and Ben, who say they amaze the trucks into speechlessness with their “auditions for the band.”

-> There are no rehearsals near sheds known to accommodate Douglas nor Oliver anymore.

-> Composing the songs is a collaborative effort among those appointed “the writers.” The railway shuffles them around too much for them to work with the same writers as before, but word of mouth makes it easy to pass on any recent developments.

-> They have enough years of musical tradition among themselves to provide inspiration for new songs. If a writer feels bolder than usual, though, they might listen in to the working songs of the railway crews.

-> Each song has a testing period. If all the trucks sing along with their leaders over the course of a day, the song gets locked into the roster.

-> Every truck has to sing along for it to count. They all agreed on unanimous votes awhile back; nobody wants to listen to a song they hate for hours on end. That breeds resentment and subsequent malice they’d like to reserve for the engines, thank you very much.

-> As much as they practice, the trucks reassure each other that it doesn’t matter if they sing very well. All that matters is that they make music with their companions.

-> If you can’t form words, you can hum. If you can’t hum, you can sway along to the beat or mouth the words. You can lean on your fellow singers, telling them you’re there, feeling and sharing the vibrations. They all know music goes deeper than the rails beneath them. They all know there’s more than one way to sing.

-> A new truck becomes part of the community when they join in a sing-along for the first time. “Singing with us makes you one of us,” one of them explained to a brake van once. “Simple as that.”

-> Some wish the engines would join their sing-alongs, would become one of them. (Well, engines that aren’t Bill or Ben. That would be too powerful of an alliance, the leaders agree with a shiver. Best to leave Sodor in one piece.)

[sentient-stove]

“What do you mean by Morse Code? Is that that tapping thing from really bad spy movies? What does that have to do with this at all?”

“Whenever he was around you, the pattern was the same.” She demonstrated, and yep, there it is. The same tapping staccato that Leo would press against Nico’s skin or whatever surface his hand would rest on. In a way, it’s familiar as his own heart beating, and an ache to see again.

“I don’t—”

“It’s Morse Code, I’m absolutely sure of it. A loop; I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Annabeth is too kind to him really.

“Nico, he loved you so much.”

Some days, his grief feels almost gone. Like Nico’s finally accepted it all and can breathe easy, move on and grow as himself.

.

.

Other days, it’s all he can feel.

(This is one of those days.)

…

Did you like this? Consider reading the first three chapters here!

[borealwrites]

Here for @flashfictionfridayofficial’s prompt

Warnings: Mentioned (non human) child death, referenced physical assault. There’s a lot of nebulous stuff about death, okay?

Word Count: 394

Yes the title and the four-line poem is from “The Hollow Men” by T.S. Eliot. But just assume the bit is all that was written in this world.

But a Whimper

When Tyrone first read the poem, he didn’t understand it.

“This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.”

What did that mean? He had known death, had watched it creep up on him and his hatchmates, had seen it in shattered eggs and torn wings. Death was loud and snarling and covered in scales and blood. And wasn’t death the end of the world?

When he’d mentioned it to Miltiades, his teacher had just smiled fondly and ruffled his hair.

When he’d brought it up to Professor Tirian, the man had looked so incredibly sad for a long moment. When he smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes, and told Tyrone he’d understand when he was older.

It was only when he brought it up to Lorelei that someone answered him. He was still unsure about the healer-in-training, but at the very least she didn’t brush him off.

“It’s a metaphor or somethin’. Most ends, whether they’re death or its like, are not some grandiose thing. They’re small, quiet things. Pitiful, unnoticeable. Easily missed by anyone who wasn’t right there. And that’s…” she had paused there, leaning back on her hands, staring up at the sky from where they sat by the Stream. Her eyes looked just as sad as Professor Tirian’s had been, and Tyrone was reminded that she worked in the Keep’s clinic as she trained. Despite having the best healers around, not everyone who ended up there survived.

“…that’s life. Tiny ends that nobody notices. So t’me the poem is saying that’s how everything is.”

It was only after everything that Tyrone thought he understood. As he rested in the clinic, trying to chase away the memories of once-trusted hands causing him so much pain, Tyrone found himself tracing the words of the poem across his bedspread.

“This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.”

And wasn’t that appropriate? His world was ending, and all he could do was whimper. Biting his lip, Tyrone pulled the blanket over his head and curled into a ball. This is the way his world is ending. Not with any bangs, but only a silent whimper.

[coulsonlives]

For self-proclaimed leftists, some of y'all seem weirdly comfortable with telling people to kill themselves

[atherix]

Chapters: 16/? Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP, 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: mumscarian, Scott/Jimmy Characters: Grian, Mumbo Jumbo, Scar (hermitcraft), Jimmy Solidarity - Character, scott smajor Additional Tags: Vampire Mumbo, Elf Scar, Watcher Grian, watcher jimmy, switch between perspectives fic, Flashback fic, at least half of it is flashback anyway Series: Part 24 of Midnight Summary:

Scar and Mumbo are off to the Twilight Wood to get enchanted oak for Scar's new staff. Meanwhile, Grian goes looking for answers.

[windydrawallday]

One of my other favorite things about shipping fictional characters and making stories with them is telling experiences that go beyond the usual perfect "these two meet and become OTP in the instant" and/or are planned to be OTP at the end of the road. I mean, I'm the crazy shipper that can pair even a bunch of characters that barely mention each other meeting off-camera in canon x'D

But I find fascinating these types of scenarios that are "less perfect" and full of bumps on the road: those of beings that find themselves in need of rebuilding again a bridge of feelings that was severed by death (and even separation, a little "dead" still alive but not with you anymore in their lives).

In contrast to the usual "encounters destined to end together" here experiences are already tainted with grief and a sense of resignation… but at the same time, questioning if it will be possible for these experiences to serve any other purpose after these events. "The Love after the Love" (a spanish song I had on repeat all this week) it's what I like to call it.

And I think it can become one of the most hopeful scenarios to play around with because it is very real and something that could happen even to OTPs "Happy Ever After"'s…

[TW/CW for mentioning a real person's death and grieving]

I need to put in parallel a personal family experience about this same theme: I always remember dearly one of my uncles from my mother's side of the family who had a partner, and they looked SO PERFECT together. Good, sweet, hardworking people. Never saw sadness in their faces, always sharing trips and plans together… I almost fell envious of their sons and daughters for having such perfect parents haha

Until my aunt died during bad electricity management in her laundromat shop. I never saw a man as sad and emotionally destroyed as my uncle. It was plain painful to see him, like a ghost haunting his own home. We tried to support him during that first year of grieving until we saw he was ready to go on his own.

Then, after another year, he confessed to us (I was always happy he confided in my side of the family) that he was seeing a new partner but that he wasn't sure if keep doing it. We asked why to him, and the answer, to this day I think, is one of those that I have carved deeply on my memory: because he felt he was unrespecting his past partner.

This memory feels a bit fuzzy for me right now (this was… idk 12 years ago now?!) but I can remember clearly my mother telling him that he needed to stop feeling guilty for something that was out of his control (the death of his partner) and to think in his own happiness too. That for sure aunt would have approved of him living on because she knew he is a very lovely man full of love who deserves to not let that love die with her memory.

That it will be harder to start over, that's a given. But if he felt the need to build that bridge again but in a different direction, why hold it back?

And that experience became one more brick in my life that cemented for me that love doesn't die… once. Or it can't be killed on that first try. You will build many bridges, burn half of them, seeing part of them fall from catastrophes out of your control. But I can assure you you will always find a way to build a bridge again.

Not just because of a partner, or a new partner, or a partner after that one. Because we all hold a love so great it's unfair to let death be the end of it.

Before death definitely arrives to snatch your heart, keep loving. For the sake of love. Love is worth the effort, the pain, and the lessons.

Because loving is living. And living is a daring thing to do, to spit against death and say "My heart still beats, still exists, still feels".

That's the reason why I like putting these scenarios in fiction to. Again, I'm a sucker for angst too, and seeing a pairing endure death and separation but this? Letting my beloveds find a way out of the past, accepting that they are still living and worthy of finding someone that loves them even when carrying these broken parts, to share their most dear experiences with them? That's my jam, so much!

And if that's not the most hopeful message you can leave to this world, I will buy a hat and eat it.

PS One more additional note: with this, I want to validate too that a "Love after Love" never EVER loses its value after the first time: love just gets STRONGER!

[whump-in-the-closet]

Merry Whump of May

@themerrywhumpofmay

May 9th- “We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.”

[collar | lost | roof]

***

(tw: lady whump, mention of past torture, minor character deaths, mention of dead bodies, gunshot, bad coping mechanisms— smoking addiction is implied)

Mal ran like she had never run before. The blood on her sleeves was not her own.

It was supposed to have been a simple con. They had promised the noblewoman nothing but the finest blades. The money would be paid upfront and then they would vanish, the expected delivery never arriving.

It was so simple, she had been allowed to accompany the crew on it.

But now she was running into the night, lungs burning for lack of air and eyes burning with unshed tears.

You messed up.

You messed this all up.

God, Xiang would kill her. Her leg twitched at the thought of what Xiang would do. There was a jaggedly circular scar in her calf, courtesy of Xiang.

Xiang had ordered an arrow to be shot through her fucking leg.

Mal didn’t know if she was more terrified of the dead body she had left behind or of what Xiang would do to her for leaving without the money.

The dead body with empty eyes.

Gold in her hair and blood on her lips.

The noblewoman was a corpse now.

And it was Mal’s fault. It was all her fault.

Mal stumbled to a stop, her hands clammy and stomach churning. The tell-tale signs that she was about to be sick. Which she was. Violently.

Light from an overhead lamp fell gently over her, its touch bronze and smelling of smoke.

The smoke didn’t come from the lamp– crouched just out of the circle of light, a man sat in the shadows of a building’s steps. He smoked a cigarette comfortably, the tip glowing with a dull light. He stared up into the sickly-coloured night sky and paid no mind to the person that had just thrown up all over the base of the lamp.

Mal ran her tongue over cracked lips. She looked behind her. There were shouts in the distance but she decided they were still too far away to be very concerned.

She walked over to the man. “Do you have an extra one?”

The man glanced at her, exhaling a puff of smoke. When he spoke, his voice sounded like it had been shredded. “Do you have money?”

“...No.”

The man smiled, closing his eyes as he inhaled the cigarette. “Too bad.” He didn’t seem to notice the blood covering Mal. Or he merely didn’t care.

“C'mon. I need one.” She needed the steadiness a cigarette would bring. She needed to keep her head together– to keep the image of a dead noblewoman in the back of her mind-- and for that, she needed a cigarette.

He didn’t open his eyes, but reached into his tattered jacket and pulled out one cigarette. He flicked it at Mal, who caught it with numb fingers. “Don’t expect a light from me.”

The shouting grew louder and Mal fled.

She turned a sharp corner, retreating into comfortable shadows.

A cat hissed at her from the sewers as she kicked up at water, splashing the small creature.

Mal winced an apology. She found a lighter in her jacket– thank the gods she never went anywhere without one– and shoved the cigarette into her mouth. Lighting as she was running was a bit hard, but not impossible.

She stopped only for the first welcome inhale of the cigarette. And for the exhale.

The alleyways branched into a dozen different directions, all lined with refuse and filth. A few were flooded. She turned to go back the way she had gone and was greeted with more shadows.

Lost.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to find her if she was lost. Well. There was really only one thing to do.

Mal sat down by the sewers and waited until the shaking in her hands had stopped.

The only light came from the glowing end of her cigarette, bright against the shadows.

Maybe if she had a cigarette during the con, it wouldn't have all gone to shit.

She had been on the roof. Watching for any sign of officers or guards or anything slightly off. Like Xiang had said. She had done everything Xiang had said.

Well, not everything.

Waiting on the roof. Waiting on the roof, bored out of her fucking mind. The noblewoman had been talking. Just been talking and talking and talking, and how was she supposed to know that a noblewoman was that good with a pistol and sword?

There had been a gunshot. And Dar was on the ground, bleeding, twisting in on himself. Yan had been run through with the noblewoman’s sword.

Mal exhaled smoke, staring out into the shadows.

She had left three corpses behind. Not just the noblewoman’s.

A dripping wet cat made its way down the cobbled street. Its ears were pressed back into its skull as it stalked past Mal.

Mal inhaled the cigarette and breathed it out her nose. “Rough night, huh?”

The cat ignored her.

“Yeah, me too.”

The cigarette was nothing but a stub and Mal put it out on the bricks. “I need to find more.”

I need to get out of town. Before Xiang finds me.

Mal flicked on her lighter and watched the flame. She turned it off and the flame vanished. Clicked it on. The flame appeared, impossibly bright.

On and off.

On and off.

“I guess we can burn that bridge when we get there.”

[goodfish-bowl]

Too Dead for This

Ectoberhaunt Day 24: Past

AO3 Link | Next Chapter

Summary: Things go sharply south after the "Disater-oid" incident. With the entire world being familiar with his face, and the GIW after him, Danny has been on the run for years. But after seven years, Danny stops running, and fights back. He dies for the second time that night. Danny Fenton wakes up in the body of his 14-year-old self, the day after the Accident.

Warnings: Violence in Self Defense, Phantom Planet compliant, Major Character Death

Words: 4381

Notes: Based on this au by @wheatsheep on expect I play more hurt the Danno for now. Perhaps. I've seen to have dug myself into a long-fic hole, so it's not going to be hurt the boy the entire time.

@ectoberhaunt

Danny knew he had awful luck; it was a proven fact. After the whole “Disater-oid” incident, keeping with the media trend of terrible names, he thought he might finally catch a break. Sure, his identity was out to the entire planet, and his face plastered all over every news outlet internationally, but they’d give him a break, right? Vlad wasn’t… around anymore, and the ghosts were actually leaving him alone to recuperate in their own way. He’d managed to save an entire planet, he needed to rest after pulling that off. He felt he deserved that much, at least. It’s not like they were building statues in his honor or anything. Sure, his parents were avoiding him (Jazz said they needed time to adjust), and no one on the news seemed to know how to react to the fact that ghosts were real, one had saved the earth, and said ghost was also a 15-year-old boy from Illinois.

But then there were news reporters seconds away from breaking into his house, and Danny actually had to stop one from trying to climb through his window. Sometimes he’d let one ask him a question from his window, or floating above them as Phantom, just to offer a few crumbs before they started making stuff up about him just to get something out there. He didn’t want another Inviso-Bill situation, especially internationally, and he had at least learned it was better to have a hand in the narrative than let it run wild without him. So no, he wasn’t getting much rest.

Sam and Tucker were also in their own form of social lockdown, which both of them took far more advantage of than he did. Tucker used it to score brownie points, and also got to talk to some big names in tech. Sam used the publicity to push her various causes and had developed an internet cult following overnight. Valerie took to it worse than he did, especially since she had developed a tendency to growl at the reporters if they tried to bother her at work, and nearly broke some tech-guy’s hand when he pushed too hard about her suit, leaving him little time to talk with them himself. The Nasty Burger was doing surprisingly well the past few days at least.

His parents decided to approach him sometime on day three. In short, it was awkward and uncomfortable, and Danny was infinitely thankful for Jazz’s ability to play interference. Danny had ended up spending most of that night trying to explain to his very confused parents that he really wasn’t possessed, hadn’t taken place of their son, did not have any evil influence affecting his every waking moment due to being a ghost, he had actually wanted to do the things he did (mostly), and clearing up any other miscellaneous misconceptions that came up. Jazz was probably the only reason it didn’t devolve into shouting or Danny getting jumped by his own parents and dragged into the lab. He just hoped some of it stuck with them, so he wouldn’t have to explain it again. The hardest part was when his parents asked if he had really died. That of course wasn’t something he really wanted to go over, but he told them all he could about the day in the lab. It seemed to pain them as much as it did him to go over it.

By day four, Danny was sure he could actually start to catch a break. His parents were talking to him (mostly ghost questions), and the news reporters had all miraculously disappeared sometimes late the night before. But he also hadn’t heard much from any of his friends either, just a partially concerned call from Mr. Lancer who wanted to talk to him about accommodations and making up schoolwork over the summer, tacked on to a ‘thank you for saving the world’ and an offer to talk whenever he needed it. Which was nice, but Danny wasn’t so sure Mr. Lancer was equipped to handle even half of his problems, even if he did appreciate the gesture.

Then, that afternoon, it all went to shit. The GIW rolled up to his house and demanded his parents hand him over to their custody. They cited the Anti-Ecto Acts and everything, and suddenly the lack of reporters made sense. The news reported had been chased off by the government. They didn’t want the public to know that they were going after his head. His parents confronted them, while Danny watched from the window. The answer was a resounding ‘no,’ and the GIW didn’t take it well.

Danny, Tucker, Sam, and Jazz had planned if things ever went south, but most of that plan depended on all of them being available. None of them except Jazz now were, but he had to make do. So, he took off, without the money from Sam or way to get in contact from Tucker. Jazz provided the cover and distraction for him to sneak through the perimeter the GIW had set up around his house. It was a close thing, and Danny had to stay human to keep him from pinging on their equipment, along with limited power use. It didn’t help that he was still exhausted, but he had no choice. He had to leave.

And so, Danny fled, and kept running. The entire world knew his face, so he couldn’t find any reprieve either. The GIW’s newest slander campaign was doing its damnest to make him a villain, and while that wasn’t very successful, everyone knew he was on the run. The news fought back, and there had been a reporter near his house anyways and had managed to catch part of the confrontation. He became more intensely nocturnal to avoid people, sleeping in empty hotel rooms during the day, and sneaking around at night. He stole food he needed during the night as well, but only from places he knew wouldn’t miss it. He could get into libraries and cafés to send out an email to Sam, Tucker and Jazz, but those messages were few and far between, and he was never able to get a message back.

The GIW were always on his tail, in some sort of twisted game of cat and mouse. They followed him all across the country, from the big cities to the boonies. Anytime he transformed, he knew he set off their alarms, and his only hope was leave faster than they could get to him. He couldn’t not transform either, he was still recognizable, and someone ended up tipping them off after a time anyway. He didn’t dare return to Amity or anywhere near there. It was too dangerous to both him and those he cared about. It was better to be constantly on the move.

Danny did get his few moments of rest. There was a nice couple in New York who hid him for a while, though he only suspected they did it due to their lost nephew. He also found his way to Aunt Alicia in Spittoon and had managed to hole up there for a good couple month. The people there were protective of their own, and when the GIW came knocking, they fought tooth and nail to buy him time to escape. There were less GIW agents after that. Another small town in Oregon had the GIW chasing their own tail more often not, until some of the locals decided he was too suspicious and chased him out themselves.

Danny fled to Canada for a while, and honestly should’ve stayed there. But it was harder to survive on the move since he didn’t know how to get food in the middle of the Canadian wilderness, even if it was the best hiding spot he found. He would have to venture into a settlement of some kind eventually. He had considered going more abroad to hide, where the US government couldn’t both him, but he didn’t think he could make it over the ocean on his own and didn’t feel like hiding in a place so close to people such as a plane or a boat for an extended period of time longer than an hour. It was too risky.

As for the ghosts, Danny would find one every now and again. He didn’t fight them, and they didn’t try to start anything with him. These encounters were brief, mostly to exchange news since the ghosts didn’t want to associate with him either. Danny never really did check the news himself anyway. His mental state was fragile enough without hearing the GIW blasting ads about what an awful being he was.

It was… lonely, especially once Danny found the rhythm to moving around and his days shifted from intensely stressful to more monotonous. He was too recognizable to be anonymous, and with the GIW chasing after him, no one wanted to get caught in the cross-fire, no matter who he was and what he had done. It had been years since he had seen his friends, only sending the occasional email when he could, and even then, those had become less detail oriented, more like personal journal entries. He wondered if there was anyone other than the GIW still looking for him. It had started to feel like his only hope was to just keep moving until the GIW eventually gave up.

But by year five, it didn’t seem likely, and the GIW were getting closer to catching him every time Danny took a chance or didn’t get out soon enough. They’re weapons were getting better, while they agents themselves got more skilled. But Danny had gotten a lot stronger himself, now that he was an adult. His powers were off the charts, at least he thought so. He hadn’t checked in so long, he no longer had a full bearing on what he was capable of. But he did get really good at hiding and using his powers while in human form. Danny was pretty sure he could completely hide his ectosignature if he needed to at this point.

Danny had just turned twenty-two when it all went further downhill. The slander campaign reached a peak, and now normal humans were gunning for his head, with the media finally backing off of his defense for some reason. He had been camping out in the woods for the day, sleeping far too high in a tree. Someone had spotted him, and the GIW swarmed that small town like nothing else he had even seen. They had new weapons. Ones that looked distinctly FentonWorks in design. They hurt, in more ways than one. Two agents found his tree and shot at him before he could fully wake up.

“Where did you get those?” Danny spat.

The agent snarled, “what? You didn’t think your parents would sell you out, freak? I was honestly surprised it took this long for them to crack, those failures of ectoscientists.”

“What did you do?” Danny hissed, his unused powers boiling under his skin, begging to bet let out.

The other agent laughed at him. “Got rid of those fools years ago! It only took us so long to get our hands on their tech because they tried damn hard to hide their more interesting inventions from us. They tried to protect you, even in death. How pathetic.”

Danny stopped running at that point. After seven years of it, he was tired, and decided in that moment, he had given up on waiting it out. No. His parents were gone, and he had no idea if his sister and friends were okay either. He halted in his tracks and snapped around, switching his tune completely. He was tired of being hunted; it was time to try to opposite to see if that worked instead. Those two agents never left the forest that day.

Cat and mouse became a different game. Danny would wage guerrilla warfare on the GIW, while they, in-turn, hunted him endlessly. Neither of them would relent, and neither would leave that small town as long as the other was there. So that small town in North Dakota became a battle ground. He should’ve felt bad about hurting the GIW, they were just human after all, but after all those years living in fear, Danny didn’t hesitate to strike down an agent. It was a ‘them or him’ situation. And they had killed his parents. It was a clear-cut decision from his perspective.

After so long without being on the offensive, Danny felt like the ectoblasts were burning through his hand, along with whatever he had managed to hit. They were much stronger than he remembered, and his ice came out more freely than it ever had before, but was that much more difficult to reign in. Between his lack of control and the GIW general indifference to collateral damage. That small town somewhere in North Dakota was nearly leveled in the process. He did feel bad about displacing the people that had lived there and hoped somewhere in the back of his head that they had all managed to get out safely.

But Danny could only keep up so long. There was one of him, and hundreds of them. They had managed to get more than a few lucky shots. Danny was littered with holes that burned, and it sapped his strength. But he ground his teeth and pushed through it. Then, it was no longer about survival; he wasn’t going to last much longer either way. He wasn’t going to get to finish growing up, or any of that. He knew what lied ahead of him. Danny was going to take those bastards with him on his way to hell.

Danny stood in the middle of the carnage, right out in the open. He let them fire first, but then unleashed carnage. His wail ripped from his throat, decimating what little infrastructure was left, full of grief and rage. He fired blasts after blast and encased the entire town in an early winter. He fought tooth and nail, hitting with as much strength as he could muster, tanking more hits than he blocked or dodged. He could almost see how Dan had taken comfort in the absolutely violence he wrought. But this was difference than mindless slaughter, he was more of a cornered animal than predator. He only stopped when the agents did, deep into the night. They didn’t come back with reinforcements in another wave, if they even had any left in this this horrible, small town in the middle of nowhere.

Danny collapsed, felt himself switch back, and bleed out in the middle of it all. At least he could see the stars, even if he would never reach.

   Danny awoke with a choked gasp, clutching the sheets and whipping his head around wildly, confusion fogging up his mind. His entire body ached and burned, and his grip on his powers was slippery at best.

Danny awoke in a bed, a familiar one, and that was the first thing he noticed that was wrong. He was in a room, his room, that he hadn’t seen in years. All of his models and posters perfectly in place, just as he remembered, even the ones that had suffered since he had gotten his powers. But his room didn’t have the small stains that at had built up on the carpet from when he would sit on the ground to patch himself up. His sheets were untouched by small burns from ectoblasts set off by nightmares. It was like nothing bad had ever happened, but Danny could feel his powers, dancing in an uncertain flux under his skin. They hadn’t been this unstable since he had first gotten them.

As Danny shook the sleep from his head, the scenery didn’t change, and neither did his memories of the past seven years. It was distinctively not a dream, but here he was, in his own room, after what he knew had been his second meeting with death. Danny climbed out of his bed, and immediately wobbled on his feet. He should be taller than this, and the sudden height change threw him for a loop. He stumbled and wavered on his now too-short legs out of his room, across the hall, and practically crashed into the door of the bathroom when his intangibility refused to cooperate.

The face staring back at him was his own, but not the one Danny had come to know. This one was still padded by baby fat, eyes wide, flesh unscarred by anything other than the bright red Lichtenburg shooting up from the collar or his pajamas. It was seven years too young to be the face he had come to know as his own. Danny swayed and crashed to the bathroom floor. There was a shout from someone else in house. He was fourteen again, just after the accident that had taken his life from him. The past seven years were gone. Danny shuffled himself over the toilet and hurled.

The door opened and he was embraced. Danny stiffened and looked over his shoulder to see bright red hair and teal eyes he hadn’t seen since he had left. Jazz gave him a worried look.

“Danny? Are you okay? You don’t have to go to school if you don’t feel up to it. I’m sure we can convince mom and dad to call you in sick, especially after what happened yesterday. You need the rest, even if it is your first day of high school.”

“Jazz,” Danny whined, his eyes filling with tears. He sunk further into her embrace.

“Oh, Danny…” Jazz said gently, embracing him tightly.

Danny let himself cry and be led back into his room and back into his bed, taking any comfort he could get. Jazz planted a small kiss on his brow before giving him another soft, worried smile.

“I’ll talk to mom and dad. You just focus on getting better, okay?”

Danny nodded, tears blurring his vision as he watched Jazz walk away and out of his room, shutting the door gently behind him. As soon as the lock clicked, he broke down, choking on his own sobs so that no one would hear. He hadn’t cried in years, there had been no time, but now his jumbled mind couldn’t think of anything else to do. His eyes flares with his surge in emotions and he screwed them shut. He was all they way back at the beginning of everything, but a day too late to stop it all. He was already dead, but still too weak and unsteady to be of any use. Was this even a second chance? He could be hallucinating it all, or it could be some sort of twisted joke.

Danny took a deep breath to prevent himself from hyperventilating and grounded himself by focusing on the near-silent hum of his core. It was hard to pick out, which helped him focus in its own way. Last time, he hadn’t noticed until he was already on the run, but now he could feel his core steadily forming and solidifying in his chest after being used to a fully-developed one for so long. This one was still too fresh and fragile, smaller than he was used to. Danny curled up on himself and made a keening noise his throat wasn’t yet equipped to make.

Danny let the exhaustion sink deeper into his bones, which ached, and he fell into an unsteady sleep.

    Danny awoke to the unfamiliar sound of a cell phone. It had been ringing for the past several minutes, forcefully dragging him from his slumber. It took his mind a couple second to catch up to his current situation. It had been hours since he had fallen asleep, apparently, now early afternoon instead of morning. He grabbed the distantly familiar device and struggled to remember his passcode, before figuring it out after a minute of trial and error.

His cell was full of messages from both Sam and Tucker throughout the day, asking him where he was. Danny noticed the messages seemed to get more worried as the day went on. It made sense that they’d be concerned. He had died yesterday, after all. He responded simply and truthfully, with the fact that he’d been allowed to stay home and had been asleep. Their responses were immediate, asking if he was okay and if they could come over.

At the thought of seeing Sam and Tucker, Danny froze. Jazz hadn’t picked up anything different with him, and Danny hadn’t really been acting his (mental) age, but it was possible that either of them could pick up the sudden change. Sam had always been an extremely critical person, and Tucker had known his for so long he new every last one of Danny’s quirks, which had drastically changed over the past seven years. He could be spotted immediately.

Danny could always just tell them. It would be better than lying and pretending, but he wasn’t sure if they’d believe him. They weren’t the same Sam and Tucker he knew, not really. These ones didn’t have the experiences his did. No ghost fights, no possessions, no time travel. They had yet to go through the rough experiences that would follow in the next two years. He wasn’t even sure if he should drag them into all of this ghost business again, but he knew them better than that. They already knew he was a ghost; he wouldn’t be able to stop them from at least helping out.

Danny sent a text back out to the two that he was still really tired and wanted to continue resting. He was fine. It was a lie, but it would be a small one. It was a lie to buy time. Danny went and dragged himself out of bed, and stretched out his hands, trying to get used to them again. The dissonance was still there, but nearly as bad as it had been that morning. It was worse when he overshadowed someone.

Danny’s desk wasn’t the absolute mess it always became during the school season, so it was pretty easy to find a composition book that had been bought for the upcoming term. It gave it a nondescript title, ‘Future Plans.’ It took him hours, and his hand cramped up more often than not, probably from the nerve damage his ghost half had yet to fully repair, and not from no writing anything in years like his mind suppled, even if holding a pen felt foreign to him.

Danny wrote it all down, messily scribbled down in Esperanto. He jotted down everything he could remember, starting from his accident and continuing on over the years, but mostly just until he left. He wrote down what he felt were the causes of certain things in retrospect, and some events he hadn’t known about until long after they happened. He didn’t want to forget anything, or struggle to recall anything in the heat of the moment. If he could stop the worst of it all from happening, then he would consider it a resounding victory.

Danny’s pen stopped in the middle of a phrase. He knew better than to meddle, didn’t he? He had messed with the past before and he knew exactly where they would get him. He wanted things to change, all of the stuff from this point forward, other than certain things he needed to happen, he wanted to alter, but should he?

Danny set the pen down and tried to rub the pain out of his hand, only cramping it further. He let out a low groan. If his parents weren’t in the lab, he could’ve tried to get to Clockwork. He had to know about what was going on and could even be the reason Danny had ‘Returned to Go’ in the first place. But with the portal being newly opened, his parents would be holed up in there for the next week, just like last time.

That brought it into question on if he could even handle the Ghost Zone at this point. He had no control over his own powers, and his core was underdeveloped. It would probably help him stabilize to be in such an ectoplasm-saturated environment, but people would notice is he was gone, especially if he didn’t have anyone to cover for him. No, he couldn’t go to the Long Now yet, but that didn’t write off going into the Ghost Zone in general.

Danny went back to writing, finishing up what had to be the story of what had been the first two years of his life as a ghost in messy, Esperanto-shorthand. It was completely indecipherable to anyone else. Perfect. Danny flipped the book to the back, then upside down, and began again. This time, constantly referencing what he had already written in the first three-quarters of the notebook, Danny started making plans to counter the big bad events and possibly turn things in his favor, sorting events into preventable, unpreventable, and need-to-happen. This time, he had the advantage of information and experience, something he sorely lacked the first time around. He needed to make sure he put them both to good use, both to make some of his battles easier, and to possibly prevent them altogether. He had about a month before the first thing he wanted to change occurred, so that was what he dedicated most of his time to, ironing out all the details he could. It would be great if he could pull this off without getting slammed through a few walls.

Danny had about a month before the larger ghosts started coming through, and about two weeks before the smaller ones learned of the portal’s existence. He had a few good weeks to get his powers under control, now that he knew what he should be capable of. Danny wondered if he could change the time frame and get stronger faster. He would need to be stronger, and more cautious than before.

Danny had a month before Sam inevitably decided to change the school’s menu, and the Lunch Lady appeared in retaliation. He just hoped he would be ready in time.

[fletcherwilbury]

@comfortember Day 8: Grief/Mourning

Warning for Illness, exhaustion, past major character death, flashback, repressed trauma

[aeligsido]

[Clonetober 2022] Day 8 - time travel au.

Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CC-1010 | Fox, CC-3636 | Wolffe, CC-5052 | Bly, CC-6454 | Ponds, CT-7567 | Rex. Additional Tags: time travel, future fix-it, they're cadets in here, waking up in the past after your death, mention of Blyla, mention of the canon timeline, hurt/comfort. Content Warnings: mention of death, mention of past character death.

-

Cody wakes up.

It’s a surprise. He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be dead.

He rolls on the bed, looks around; he knows those bunks with a sinking familiarity, and even more the kids – kids? – sleeping on it.

Right in front of him, Wolffe is waking up, too. Cody rolls on his back, breathing short, because–

Because it shouldn’t be possible.

But Cody had served under Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, and Ahsoka Tano. He can recognize Force bullshit anywhere.

(He had served under Emperor Palpatine and Dath Vader, too, but he doesn’t want to think about that.)

Bly wakes up with a cry – his General’s name (his wife’s name). Ponds takes his head into his hands (and oh, his brother, his ori’vod is here, they lost him so early in the war–). Fox falls from his bunk, clutching his neck in a panic. Wolffe looks around him, meets his gaze, and then starts swearing. Rex is still asleep but he’s waking up, too, and Cody really doesn’t know what to do or how to act–

They time-traveled. They’re back in the past, when they were cadets. And–

And they could change so many things.

(Cody smirks to himself. Seems like he has a kid to ground, too, because no way he’ll let Anakin become a Sith once again.)

[thedeafprophet]

Truly, Fires would probably 'deal with' Alex's father, if he hadn't already beaten it to it lmao

[kiwibirdlafayette]

im bored at work and feel like rambling about some mianite verse c!Tom headcanons. so backstory headcanon time

cw for zombie related things and (temporary) character death. under a cut just to be safe

I like to imagine because its implied that the Minecraft Project precedes Mianite S1 (NOT Isles that shit chronologically takes place after S2 when him and Jordan travel back in time to that era i refuse to believe anything else), that Tom starts in that realm/universe. We''ll dub it for the time being Astrakheins (iykyk) as a human. Unzombified.

I don't really know much about TMP in terms if theres a canon storyline but in this HC at least the Syndicate family has a long history of running the industry in this era and in time, the mantle falls to Thomas and his sister Alice. Under their command, the world flourishes into a prosperous empire of farming, mining and resources. In addition, a strong bond is formed with a goddess by the name of Ianite and her the Voidwalkers of the End and the mysterious beings of the nether.

However, as things go. Things go.

Within a couple years of being in charge, Tom falls ill with a mysterious infection that starts to... turn him. While he maintains a healthy physical state, he notices the skin on his hands rotting at the seams of former injuries, his hair changing from its usual brown blonde to a sickly cerulean. Alice and the others come to him with concerns, but the zombification is nothing to him. He goes on as normal, and is quite productive to say the least.

However, it isn't until after the ender dragon fight where something changes, where the illness begins to take over him in a way that renders him bedridden for weeks. Ianite herself has no idea where it could have come from, instead citing a possible origin from the Nether, which in the absence of any god has been slowly deteriorating. And to her knowledge, there is no way of fighting it. He tries to move, but eventually becomes completely immobile despite multiple limb surgeries.

And one day, his eyes closed and would not open again.

Heartbroken, Alice had no choice but to bury him, and continue on. The empire could not fall this easily. Little did she know, as she laid her brother to rest in the ground, something, not of this world watched on. Sitting. Waiting.

And finally it struck.

In the middle of a business meeting with redstone engineers from the End, a multiversal rift tears a gaping chasm through the sky, the edges burning with a blaze unlike anything the citizens had ever seen before. From it jumped a demon, a dragon, a god with furiously glowing golden eyes and a cloak covered in hot ash, his gaze set on one thing only.

The grave of Tom Syndicate.

Using the power he must have possessed he raises a wall of obsidian, magma and blackstone so high that no one can get to him, regardless of how powerful- including Alice. She frantically reaches into her pockets and calls to Ianite.

No answer.

Within he chants a language not ever having been spoken in Astrakheins before, breaking the ground at his feet to rise pools of lava lifting the body of the zombified man before him, opening his fully black eyes and red pupils to face the god.

Tom himself didn't quite know where he was, in all honesty.

He recognizes some things, some builds, some faces. His memory is foggy. He retains some names, the skills in which it would take to survive, but he hadn't come back right. He hadn't come back the same.

None of what he does remember is alluring enough to insist on staying when the god before him, introducing himself as Dianite, offers to take Tom to this realm of anarchy to serve as his champion.

Champion. How could he resist such a title? Especially after this guy seems to have brought him back from a limbo he was stuck in.

The conversation is not heard by others. But it must have been rather promising to have a deal struck in such a short time.

The walls around him and his god crumble to the ground. The earth closes up and the lava returns to its underground tomb. Dianite raises his blade to the sky in victory, and flies up, Tom trailing closely after. He goes almost without second thought back through the rift, sealing it shut behind him almost as quickly as it had opened.

And that's the last Alice and Astrakheins ever sees of Tom "SynHD" Syndicate.

For now.

[whumpering-heights]

Guard Dog AU Chapter 1: Sarah and Lloyd's first meeting

MASTERLIST

CW: past stalking, death mention (no major characters), brief drugs mention, depression, PTSD

[A/N: This is an AU fic for the Shaperaverse. It's fully written, but since i dont wish to link my AO3 account on this blog, I'll publish the chapters individually. I'll post them every other day) I'll put extra CONTEXT at the bottom of the posts, if needed.

----------------------

Sarah was sorely disappointed.  

She’d come to this dimension, a gloomy edwardian place, following some reports about a mad death cult that didn’t sound very bright. If she’d been able to get them under her control, it would have lended her some much-needed protection. Her powers had a bad habit of flaking when she needed them most: like it could tell when it’d be most dramatic to fail. She’d pull through eventually, but she strongly disliked being reliant on narrative tension this way.  So, she’d need an additional power, some kind of backup. A group that was both stupid and dangerous would have been perfect for that.  But the cult had proven a literal dead end. When she finally found their rather gruesome base, it looked abandoned. Food was left out: they’d expected to be back soon, but never did. 

Sarah sulked as she stood at the entrance of the foul-smelling lair. Drugs, rotten food, and various ritual objects were strewn about the floor. She glanced at one of the mad scribblings laying on the table, expecting some crazed, nonsensical rant.   What she found instead, made her do a double take.  

It seemed to be a schedule, detailing the weekly routine of this guy called Lloyd Allen. It covered what time he went to work, his address, and even his usual bedtime.   There was a photo clipped to the paper, showing a dapper man with glasses. The blurry picture seemed to be taken from around the corner of a building, the man seemingly unaware of his photographer.  

Sarah did not envy the guy. She had no clue why this cult would take such an interest in him, but it couldn't have ended well for him.   Out of morbid curiosity, she ventured deeper into the dirty den, half-expecting to find his severed head on an altar. Instead, she found even more info.  It seemed he had more bite than they’d expected.  

There were quite a few makeshift shrines, seeming like memorials for deceased members.  Warnings were scribbled on walls, like demented post-it notes. “Remember to attack before he sees you”, “he has knifs in bed: not safe!” “RIP Jerry: we’ll get him eventualy!!”  

Sarah hummed appreciatively. If she was reading this correctly, this Lloyd fellow fought back well. He might even be the reason this place was abandoned.   She looked at the paper she was still holding, and read the address again.  Maybe this trip wouldn’t end up a waste, anyway. 

------------------------------------------------------- 

Lloyd would have to get groceries soon.  

He really didn’t want to, though.  

For one, it would mean getting out of bed. That was getting harder every day.   He was being disgusting, he knew that. His bedding had be replaced, it stank. Every bit that touched his skin made him want to scrub himself with steel wool. And yet, he stayed, gripping his cold blade until it was as warm as he: as though his blood pumped through it, too.  

He knew he’d have to eat, eventually. But everything just tasted like ash. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to afford anything. He hadn’t gone to work since dealing with the cult, he must be fired by now. He had some savings, but not that much.   Lord knew he’d rather starve than ask his father for any aid, though. Ha, like he’d even grant it.   Then again, wasting away in his bed would be a rather pathetic way to go, after all he’d been through.  

He shuddered, nauseous. He just couldn’t bear to go outside right now. The fear that one of them had survived was just too great. Every pair of eyes on him made him feel like a prey animal in an open field.   He didn’t want to get up. What was the point?   Just as then, his ears perked up.  

Someone was walking down the hall outside his door. It didn’t sound like one of neighbors: he knew their footsteps well at this point. A guest for them, maybe?   The steps were slow, like they weren’t sure where to go. Possibly counting the apartment numbers.  

Lloyd’s worst-case scenario came true, when the steps stopped in front of his door. He felt his skin prickle with worry, which peaked as the first knock came on the door. He gripped his blade tighter.  

After a moment of silence, where he felt his heartbeat in his throat, the knock returned, more insistent.  

Something shifted back into place within Lloyd.  

He’d been holding his breath for weeks, waiting for a missed threat to find him. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. This must be it. Be attacked, neutralize the treat: it was a familiar pattern. The adrenaline, wariness and anger felt like coming home.  

He got up, somewhat woozy, and peered through the peephole.  

In the hallway stood an impatient looking young woman, about his age.  

He was surprised. She didn’t look like a cult member. Her eyes were clear and sober, for one. Her attire was unusual, unlike any fashion he’d seen. Had he been retreated from social life long enough for silhouettes to change again? At least it wasn’t a dark robe. If she wasn’t a cult member, what could she possibly want with him?  She was squinting at the peephole, and must have seen the way it went dark as Lloyd looked through it. She visibly perked up.  

“Ah, I knew it! Lloyd Allen, is it?”  

Lloyd didn’t know what to say, so stayed silent. She knew his name, as well as address. Bad signs, even if she wasn’t a cultist.   Still, Lloyd was struck by her friendly, open expression. When was the last time someone had smiled at him? When was the last time he’d spoken to someone, in general? He didn’t really track his days in here, it all blurred together.   The girl wasn’t deterred by his silence, and spoke sympathetically.  “My name is Sarah McKiggan. I understand you had a rather nasty experience recently. I’m very sorry you had to go through that. I would like to offer my help, if you need any.” 

Lloyd blinked. He hadn’t expected that.  

“I..” He cleared his throat to get rid of some of the rusty hoarseness and tried again. It was only marginally better.  “I-I don’t need help. Who are you, how do you know about me?”  

His thumb rubbed the edge of the handle. Sarah didn’t seem unnerved by his wary tone.  

“Oh, I’m not from here. But I heard about the cult, and they seemed like such nasty people. I came all the way here, hoping to find a way to get rid of them, but it seems you’ve beat me to the punch. Very nicely done, by the way! That must not have been easy. I don’t know how you did it, but it’s really impressive.” 

Lloyd hadn’t really considered what he’d done to be worthy of praise: he’d acted desperately, erratically. Only vengeange had pushed him to be proactive. Still, the strange girl’s appreciation soothed a childish part of his ego. It had been difficult, and he’d executed his plan, and the cultists, perfectly. 

“I, well. Thank you?” he answered, somewhat flustered.  If she was speaking the truth, and really disliked the cult as much as he did, perhaps she wasn’t a threat? It felt strange to even consider.  There was something odd about her, though. Mostly, her odd dress and hairstyle.   “Where are you from, exactly?”   She smilled, like it was a silly question.   “That’s kinda a long story. Do you want me to tell you my whole deal in this hallway, or may I come in and sit?” 

“Uh.”   Lloyd looked back at his apartment. Even if he did feel comfortable letting someone in, which he wasn’t sure he was, he couldn’t bear to let anyone see this mess. After surviving this whole ordeal, he’d still die: of shame.   Redfaced, he turned back, and the words stumbled from his mouth before he could stop them.   “Actually, uhm, I’d prefer not. If you’d allow me a short while to wash up, I can go outside, instead?” 

He regretted the words as soon as they were spoken, but the idea of a possible ally was too tempting. He missed company sorely, and it was just one person: if she did turn out to be a threat, he was confident he could manage.  

“Sure,” Sarah said brightly. “I’ll be down in the lobby.”  

--------- 

Sarah bounced her foot, annoyed. The guy must have a very different definition of “a short while”. At long last, he appeared down the central staircase.  

He looked a lot more haggard than in his picture. His hair was overgrown and dull, and there were big bags under his eyes. His sunken cheeks had the pallor of someone who hasn’t seen the sun in recent memory. His clothes, though fashionable for this time period, weren’t ironed.   She could see some old wounds, peeking from under the neck of his shirt, and on his left hand. Defensive wounds. They were mostly healed, but would scar.  

The most noteworthy part of his appearance, though, was the sword he kept on his belt. It looked to be a saber.   Sarah raised a brow. This place was vaguely Edwardian, she hadn’t seen anyone else carry a weapon like this.   “I thought we could speak somewhere while we eat,” she nodded at the blade. “but I doubt they’ll let you in with that?” 

Lloyd looked down, as though he was only noticing it himself. “Oh, that. Uh. I’ve never had issues with it before, when I went outside.”   He looked Sarah over quickly. “Besides, you’re hardly dressed appropriately for daywear, yourself. I’m very curious where your fashion is from.” 

Sarah blinked in surprise.   “Wait. You can tell I look strange?” 

Lloyd hesitated. “...I didn’t mean to offend, but yes? It’s rather obvious.” 

Now that was a development.   Sarah’s powers allowed her to use all sorts of abilities, not all of them consciously. One odd perk she’d found, was that she wasn’t noticed by natives of any narrative, if she didn’t wish to be. They didn’t note her modern dress and hairstyle, no matter where, or when, she went. As long as she didn’t think too hard about it, it worked.  

She eyed Lloyd’s blade, gears turning. Could it be she wasn’t the only one with this ability? Come to think of it, she could pick up something on him: a slight frequency, one that matched up with her own.  

Interesting.   Very interesting, indeed.  

She smiled sharply. 

“Well, you’re familiar here: why don’t you place we can go to eat in privacy. I think we have a lot to talk about.” 

---------------------

CONTEXT: the "powers" will get explained in the next chapter. A "narrative" is another world, like a dimension. (there's an uncountable number of those). There is very little info on the "death cult" in canon. They had a "reason" to attack Lloyd, but that is a very long story. They also attacked his boyfriend Matt, who Lloyd wasn't able to save.

[sp1resong]

a bunch of characters based on one of my clangen saves

now i'm gonna write the upcoming plot however i want and pay no mind to what the generator says lmao

this was partly inspired by kirikerise and pigeocore's clangen streams!!

TUNDRACLAN

Moonjay

Cis female, she/her

Pretty much the Clan’s therapist; great at cheering people up.

Helped Deepfall and Driftfern through their past fights.

Formerly mates with Sneezebeam

Deepfall

Trans female, she/they

Mates with Driftfern; mother of Shadekit

TundraClan’s deputy.

Finstar

Cis male, he/they

Leader of TundraClan

Good fighter but prefers to solve conflict peacefully.

Wise and has a lot of advice to offer; sometimes joins Moonjay as the Clan’s therapist.

Mates with Berryspots

Driftfern

Trans male, he/him

Mates with Deepfall, father of Shadekit.

A bit sneaky; was briefly a suspect in Nettle’s murder.

He and Deepfall fought a lot in the past, but they’re cool now (:

Skybreeze

Cis male, he/him

Clever, but can be a bit distant at times.

Has a tendency to get lost in thought.

Healer.

Berryspots

Demigirl, she/they

Healer of TundraClan.

Mates with Finstar (the no kits rule doesn’t exist here).

Extremely faithful to StarClan, perhaps a bit too faithful.

Recently received a prophecy.

Fernspots

Trans male, he/him

Formerly mates with Flickerleap.

Extremely smart.

Tends to daydream quite a bit.

Currently mourning his mate.

Fennelfeather

Trans male, he/him

Formerly mates with Nettle.

Former loner, doesn’t talk about his past much (possibly from an abusive background?).

Everyone else thinks he killed Nettle (he’s innocent).

Would probably be the main character if this story had that kind of thing.

Father of Fernfrost and Spottedaster.

Kind of the center to all the bad things that have been happening.

Spottedaster

Cis female, she/her

Too curious for her own good.

Technically a former loner, but is too young to remember life before she, Fernfrost, and Fennelfeather joined TundraClan.

Light

Cis female, she/they

Comes from the same place as Fennelfeather; they knew each other before she joined the Clan and he’s sort of a father figure to her.

For what it’s worth, she doesn’t think he killed Nettle.

Mates with Pearclaw.

Shadepaw

Trans female, she/her

That one weird kid. Would eat sand on purpose.

Blizzardblaze

Cis male, he/him

Former loner.

Prone to anxiety.

Former mate of Fernfrost.

Pearclaw

Cis male, he/they

Former loner.

Rather strange and distant, but quite nice once you get to know them.

Formerly lived in the same Twolegplace as Blizzardpaw.

Mates with Light.

Hazelkit

Cis male, he/him

Fernpaw found him abandoned under a bush and the Clan took him in.

Foster brother of Shadekit.

Darktail

Trans male, he/him

Former kittypet.

STARCLAN

Sneezebeam

Transfem, they/she.

Died of a contagious disease.

Was mates with Moonjay in life.

Frustrated that they couldn’t live longer; was the one to deliver the prophecy to Berryspots.

Minnowfeather

Cis male, he/him

Died of the same disease as Sneezebeam.

Mate of Cindernut.

Not particularly important to anything; mostly he’s just waiting for his mate.

Nettle

Trans male, he/they

Got murdered!!! You may have seen mention of that lmao

Formerly a loner.

Spends a lot of his time just watching the living cats; he feels bad that he can’t help them but watching them and doing his best to warn them is better than nothing.

Was mates with Fennelfeather in life.

Flickerleap

Demiboy, he/they

Former kittypet.

Former mate of Fernspots.

Fast learner and good teacher.

Got killed by a dog while out on patrol.

Fernfrost

Cis female, she/her

Rather reckless.

Technically a former loner, but is too young to remember life before she, Spottedaster, and Fennelfeather joined TundraClan.

Former mate of Blizzardblaze.

Died of a disease.

Yewtail

Cis female, she/her

Died of a disease.

Formerly a loner.

Cindernut

NB, he/they

Died of old age.

Formerly a kittypet, joined the Clan when it first formed.

Mates with Minnowfeather.