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#not to get angsty on main

singsweetmelodies · 11 months

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AKA: angst, miscommunication and a/b/o, feat. brief/mentioned maxierre with piarles endgame (+ implied maxiel.) happy birthday @boxboxbrioche my love

"Hello, Charles," Max smiles when Charles runs into him (literally) in the Budapest paddock on Thursday. He's wearing the same Red Bull team shirt and jeans as ever, naturally, but something about him looks unusually relaxed and content. Sated, even.

Probably because he's been winning practically every race this season, Charles thinks. That's enough reason for anyone to be looking relaxed and content.

Still, when he steps in a little closer to fist-bump Max's proffered hand, he can't help but notice it. Max's scent is... more than just content. He smells like he's only just come out of heat, and whoever was taking care of him did a very good job of it. He doesn't smell like sex, precisely, but he smells like what Charles would imagine afterglow would, if it had a scent. Golden and lazy and sated.

Oh, he's got blockers on, of course, but Charles has always been blessed (or cursed, depending how you look at it) with a very good nose. So. He knows immediately.

Some too-perceptive instinct is telling him that the timing of this heat has something to do with Daniel's return to racing this weekend. Almost like Max... wanted to get his heat over with before he saw Daniel again?

...That's a big stretch, of course, and Charles would never dare say it out loud. (Except to Pierre, maybe, because Pierre loves theorising about the latest paddock gossip just as much as Charles does.)

So he just smiles politely at Max, and says "Hello" back, and wishes for Pierre to appear out of some corner of the paddock somewhere. It isn't that Charles hates Max, or whatever the media likes to spin, but it's also true that Max isn't Charles' most favourite person in the paddock. (Obviously, that honour goes to Pierre.)

No, Charles' and Max's relationship is simply that of colleagues - good enough, if a little bland.

Which is why Charles is not expecting it at all when Max leans a little closer with something that looks almost like a conspiratorial grin. Charles has no idea what Max might want to be conspiratorial about with him - it's not as though he's leaving Ferrari anytime soon, despite what everyone likes to speculate.

Surprisingly, what Max says to him is not racing or incident-related at all. "Do you know where Pierre is?" he asks, as though Charles is the most reliable source of the Alpine driver's whereabouts. (Charles shouldn't be, but he's very flattered.) "I still need to thank him."

"Thank him?" Charles echoes, a little puzzled. "For what?"

And then Max says the one thing that blows apart Charles' world and turns his day upside-down immediately. "For agreeing to spend my heat with me so last-minute."

He says it so casually, too, and Charles...

Well. Charles knows that many of the other unbonded omegas on the grid like to spend their heats with other drivers. This might seem contradictory at first, but the thing is - while they might not necessarily trust each other on track, you can always rely on the fact that another driver, at least, won't reveal details of that hook-up to the press anymore than you will. Most of the alpha drivers on the current grid are decent enough people off-track that you can trust you'd be taken good care of, too.

It's something that Charles has done himself, too, once or twice - mostly with Alex, who is always incredibly kind about it, and makes sure Charles is comfortable and well-hydrated afterwards.

But mostly, Charles spends his heats alone. He schedules them carefully so they won't interfere with races, and then he bears them on his own, teeth gritted as he works himself open over and over again and clings to whatever article of Pierre's clothing he can find nearby.

It's never good enough, never, but Charles has never really wanted another alpha. He only goes to Alex if his body genuinely cannot go without it anymore, and then it's purely a case of friend helping out a friend.

So, really, Charles has no reason to be this shocked that Max apparently spent his most recent heat with Pierre. The two of them are friends, aren't they? Much better than Charles and Max have ever pretended to be. There's no reason why they wouldn't spend a heat together, really.

Except...

Charles grits his teeth, and it's only years of media training that enables him to still pass it off as a smile. "He did?" he asks, tightly.

Max laughs, still happily unaware that he's taken Charles' day and shattered it like a glass breaking into unrecognisable shards. "Yes," he confirms, and then he bumps Charles' shoulder, almost unbearably conspiratorial again. "You, of course, would know why I now need to thank him."

No amount of media training in the world could have helped Charles keep up his smile in response to that. Max notices - how could he not - and his own smile falls. "You two have not...?" His voice rises up in the end, like he almost can't believe he even has to ask the question.

Charles tastes something sour in his mouth, and by the way Max flinches back, he's sure it must be all over his scent as well, blockers be damned. "No," is all Charles says, brusquely.

Max opens and closes his mouth for a moment, and then he reaches for Charles' shoulder. He hesitates, though, hand hovering awkwardly in the space between them. "I'm sorry," he says, and it sounds sincere. "For assuming. The two of you are so..." He makes a face. "You are good friends, so I thought if he would do it for me, he would of course do it for you too."

"No," Charles says again, and the word tastes acrid in his mouth. "We have never."

Not for lack of trying, Charles thinks bitterly, and then he forces himself to think of something else. Some excuse that Max will accept.

Fortunately, a little gaggle of people in bright Ferrari red are passing by, and Charles latches onto them with almost too much relief. "Ah, my team," he says, pointing. "I need to go."

It's stupidly obvious, as excuses go, but Max has the grace not to mention it. He just watches Charles go, biting his lip.

Charles wants to hate him. He wants to hate him more than anything else - for having a race-winning car, and a team that supports him properly, and championships, but more importantly than any of that, Charles wants to hate him for having Pierre.

It's not that Charles thinks Max is actually in love with Pierre, or even that they're courting. No, it was clearly just a case of friend-helping-out-friend. But even that is...

Unbearable. It is unbearable, because Charles hasn't had even that much.

Charles had only asked once, and only because he'd been stupid with pre-heat already and not thinking straight. Pierre's long, long silence before he'd said, very gently, "Charles... I don't think that's a good idea" had told him all he'd needed to know, anyway.

After that heat, though, Pierre had called Charles and made sure he was okay, and that he knew it wasn't personal, Pierre just didn't think it was a good idea to get that involved with another driver. Especially one who's also a friend.

Charles had accepted it at the time, and he's never had any reason to think that Pierre has changed his mind in any way.

Except now here Pierre is, apparently spending heats with Max fucking Verstappen, of all people. And, really. Out of everyone on the grid - every goddamn omega - it had to be Max, didn't it?

A part of Charles wants to fall to the floor in devastation, wants to tear at his hair and shake and cry to anyone who will listen, why doesn't he want me, why doesn't he want me?

But Charles remains standing, because even more than he's heartbroken, he's furious.

Pierre did not help Max through his heat because they're in love, or because they're courting. So, he must have done it as a favour to a friend.

Then why the hell would he not do the same for Charles?

Charles also asked him as a favour to a friend (and yes, maybe Charles wanted more, but he wasn't stupid enough to ask for that. He'd just asked for a favour, the way every unbonded omega on the goddamned grid asks their alpha friends for favours every once in a while.)

Pierre had said no, and that he doesn't do that. But he'd forgotten to mention the part where he apparently does do that.

If he were here, Charles might slap him clean through the face. It's not an urge he's often had when it comes to Pierre (or ever, really) but today...

Today. It's just. What the hell does Max have that he doesn't? Max and Pierre are friends? Charles and Pierre are better friends. Max is an omega? So is Charles, and he's better at that, too.

It's obviously not even about looks! Because Charles doesn't want to be rude, but he is definitely better-looking than Max. It's just a fact, as true as "the grass is green" or "Charles is Monégasque" or "Charles is in love with Pierre."

No. Fuck that. None of this makes sense.

If Pierre is willing to spend a heat with Max, then there's no reason why he can't help Charles through one, too. It's not like Charles is asking Pierre to love him back - no, he's long since made his peace with the fact that that, at least, is impossible.

Charles has always wanted too much, though, and if he sees even the faintest chance of getting what he wants, even if it is just in the form of a favour to a friend -- well. He will never not go for the gap.

So Charles waits, increasingly impatient, for his media and team obligations to be done for the day. As soon as they are, he heads for Alpine, because there is no way Pierre will have left already - he is far too dedicated to them, staying behind extra hours to learn as many names as he can and give as much feedback as possible and help with everything that needs helping.

Right, because isn't Pierre just so incredibly helpful. Normally, this would make Charles smile, fond - but today, it makes him want to snarl.

Helpful, yes. Except to him, apparently.

No. Charles will not accept that.

Various team members glance up when Charles storms into the Alpine hospitality, freezing with coffees half-way to their lips and tracking him like the spectators to a tennis match as he storms across their building and towards the driver's rooms. One particularly brave soul ventures an "Er..." but Charles is already across the room before he's even finished saying it.

Charles knows the way to Pierre's driver's room as easily as he knows the way to his own (incidentally, it's on the same side of the building) and it's mere seconds later that he's bursting through the door of Pierre's driver's room.

Pierre freezes when the door slams open, mouth caught in a comically surprised expression, but it relaxes quickly into a fond (if still somewhat surprised) smile. "Charlito!" he says, standing up and reaching a hand in Charles' general direction. "This is a nice surprise."

But Charles is not in any mood for pleasantries. "Did you spend a heat with Max," he asks, but it's not really a question as much as it is an accusation, pointed and sharp.

Pierre freezes again, the smile slowly dropping off his face. His scent goes bitter with unpleasant surprise. "I -"

"If you lie to me, I am going to slap you," Charles says, injecting the words with just enough of a snarl that Pierre will know he's not messing around.

Pierre's expression goes from shocked to hurt to angry almost faster than Charles can process. "I wasn't going to lie to you, Charlo. I would never. Not with you."

He sounds sincere enough about it that Charles almost feels guilty, but then Pierre adds, "He's just a friend who needed a favour" and Charles is right back to furious.

"I was a friend, and I needed a favour," Charles says bitingly. He doesn't have to say anything more, because he knows Pierre will understand exactly what he means.

Pierre's face shutters, closing off completely. Even his scent goes blank, like Pierre is deliberately shutting off every part of himself. "That's different."

"How?" Charles hisses at him, and Pierre obviously wasn't expecting the vehemence of it, because he stumbles a step back. "How the hell is it different, huh?"

Pierre's expression does something complicated, and he makes a rough noise, low in the back of his throat. "It just is," he says, and refuses to elaborate.

Charles is livid. "It just is?!" he explodes. "Tell me how it just is, Pierrot, because I sure as fuck don't get it. I am your friend - non, I am your best friend - but when I ask for this favour, you say no. Then when it is Max, you say yes?"

"It's different," Pierre says again, sharply, as though sharpness alone will make Charles drop the subject.

He really doesn't know Charles if he thinks that will work. "It is not different. Not at all. What, unless you are trying to say that you don't want me?"

"Of course I-" Pierre starts, then cuts himself off with a groan, dragging a hand down his face. "I don't want to do this with you, Charles."

"Well, I want to do this with you," Charles retorts, unfazed and as fuming as ever. "What is it, huh, Pierre? You prefer Max over me?"

"Of course not," Pierre says, and he has the audacity to sound almost offended.

"But you must, if you fucked him and not me," Charles snaps. He's not entirely sure what he's trying to accomplish here, but he knows - he knows that he's furious, and Pierre is being a fucking asshole, and he needs Pierre to admit that much. At least.

Pierre, however, seems determined to continue being a stubborn asshole. "It wasn't like that," he insists, and Charles sees red.

"It's exactly like that! I asked you to fuck me, to help me through my heat, and you said no because you do not want me."

And that, somehow, is the last straw.

"Shut up, Charles," Pierre growls - actually growls - at him. "Just, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I don't?" Charles snaps right back, goading. "Why don't you tell me, then?"

Pierre snarls again, guttural and furious, and Charles knows that he should be terrified. But right now, he's far too furious to care.

"Tell me," Charles goads again, because he knows that nothing will ever compel Pierre as much as a challenge will.

Pierre is breathing hard, his fists clenched, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly. "You think you know what happened with Max, huh?" he asks, and Charles has never heard him sound like that. Despite himself, it sends a thrill through Charles' whole body. "You think you know what I want and don't want?"

Charles lets his belligerent silence do the talking for him, and Pierre's eyes flash. "Well, do you know that none of it is true? Do you know that none of the rumours of me with all those omegas are true?"

"What do you--" Charles begins, but Pierre cuts him off with a single hand held up, raised as sharply as a slap.

"Do you know, Charlito," he says, almost viciously, "that I've never been able to date any other omega for longer than a few months because I was always comparing them to you?"

Charles jolts where he stands, all the breath wrenched from him. "What--"

But Pierre doesn't give him a moment to process that. "Do you know that I only agreed to spend this heat with Max because he was desperate and out of options?"

"Do you know," Pierre continues, dangerously soft, "that I had to think of you just to be able to come at all?" He stalks a single step closer to Charles. "Do you know that I had to pretend it was you all the time just so that my knot wouldn't go down?" Another step, and Charles is shaking all over, but he can't move. Pierre has him pinned down, completely rooted to the spot with his scorching gaze and world-ending words.

"Do you know," Pierre concludes, softest of all, "why I really said I wouldn't spend a heat with you?"

Charles isn't sure how he even manages to form the word. "Why?"

Pierre's eyes are so, so dark as he stops just in front of Charles, raising one hand to ghost just millimetres above Charles' collarbone. "Because," he says, and his voice is rough. "I knew that if I did, Charles, if I fucked you even just once, I wouldn't be able to hold back. I would bite you, then and there, and I would make you mine."

All the while that he's been speaking, Pierre has been tracing his fingers upwards, a slow, slow torturous slide mere centimetres above Charles' skin. Charles can almost feel the heat of his touch, almost but not quite, and when Pierre stops just below Charles' mating gland - Charles whines and shudders forward, the combination of Pierre's hand there and that word mine too much for him to resist.

Pierre's fingers touch the overheated skin of Charles' mating gland, and the world explodes.

Charles' knees buckle, and his head spins, and he has to press his thighs together in a desperate effort to ease the sudden and burning need there. He's wet, he can feel it, leaking slick all over the place just from that one touch.

Pierre jerks his hand back, of course, but even that split-second of contact was enough to destroy Charles perfectly.

Pierre is panting, and he looks about as wrecked as Charles feels. "So do not stand there and tell me that I don't want you, Charles," he says, and his voice shakes - anger or desperation, Charles can't tell. "Not when I have done nothing but want you for as long as I have known how to want."

Charles shudders, the full weight of Pierre's words sinking in on him all at once. As Charles stands there, processing, he watches as the world rearranges itself entirely.

Charles breathes in, and then he breathes out. "Fuck you, Pear," he says, only a little shakily. "No, seriously, fuck you. How obvious do you need me to be? I literally asked you to spend my heat with me!"

For a moment, Pierre looks so indignant that he forgets to be angry. "You asked it as a favour to a friend!" he protests. "I just said, I can't do that! Not if it's you."

"Yeah, well," Charles says waspishly, "I only asked it like that because I thought you would say no otherwise."

And all at once, Pierre's expression transforms as he comes to the same sudden and brilliant realisation Charles just had.

"Charles," he says, shell-shocked. "If you're saying what I think you're saying..."

He glances down at his hands, clenches them tightly into fists again, then looks back up at Charles, his gaze burning. "You have to know, you can't take it back. I'm not going to let you take it back. Not if you mean it."

"God, Pierre, you are so fucking stupid," Charles says, and alright, maybe he is still a little angry about the whole situation, after all. (He thinks he has the right to be, though.) "Why do you think I was so angry that you went for Max?"

When Pierre doesn't say anything immediately, Charles snaps off a sharp step into Pierre's space, flicking his fingers against Pierre's forehead. "Yeah, it's because I wanted you to choose me. Only me."

Pierre's hand comes up, grabbing Charles' wrist in a bruise-tight hold. He draws Charles' hand away from his face, but then he doesn't let go, just keeps holding on, fingers circling Charles' wrist like they're meant to fit there. "Only you?" he echoes, and it sounds like a question.

Charles nods, because there was never any other answer, and he's about to say it, too, but then Pierre kisses the words right off his mouth.

If Charles' world hadn't already exploded so thoroughly earlier, then it would now.

It's a good kiss. No, it's better than a good kiss - it's a fucking incredible kiss; Pierre's one hand still wrapped around Charles' wrist while the other finds its way to his waist, like it belongs there. Pierre kisses him like he's still a little angry, but also like he's never meant anything more, pouring every part of his soul into it. Pierre kisses him like he's already imagining the night they're going to spend together after this, and he kisses Charles like how he's planning to fuck him later.

Charles has no objections to that. None at all.

Well. Except the one.

He pulls away from the kiss, pressing his palm hard to the side of Pierre's face. "You're going to spend my next heat with me," he says, orders more like, and it's far too possessive, but he can't bring himself to care. Not one goddamned bit.

Pierre growls, low in his throat, and pulls Charles even closer to him. "No, chéri," he says, too-softly. "I'm going to spend every single heat with you from now on. Forever."

"Forever," Charles breathes, and then he kisses Pierre again, hard, making it a promise. "Forever."

#posted this at 01:16 which is not QUITE 1016 but as close as i could get on this fine evening #HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRIONYYYY #myfic #piarles fic #10 x 16 #maxierre #(technically)#(they're really only there as a plot device to get us to piarles endgame)#in other news WHOA MY GOD THIS GOT LONG #(who's surprised....)#but i SWEAR the intention was just to write you something short and sweet for your birthday today since #since we'll only be releasing the main fic later #(well; i say short and sweet; but i don't think SWEETNESS was ever the intention. i wanted to write possessiveness)#(and also miscommunication and misunderstanding and all them GLORIOUS angsty tropes)#and since i have absolutely no self-control to speak of... here we are #BRIONY. my love. i love you so much #please accept this humble offering of my first ever publicly posted a/b/o on the occasion of your birthday #sorry for making the boys angry at each other but i unfortunately think it's very hot to make them scream confessions at each other #hot angry confessions... CHEF'S KISS #and i really hope you like this too!! and go as insane as i did over certain lines #because by God... i fear that you have created a monster #now that i have discovered a/b/o i am NEVER LOOKING BACK #this was so fucking fun to write oh my god. JEEZ #but anyways!! getting distracted here #HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN MY LOVE #and before you say this is too much.... NO. we can never celebrate your birthday too much #this is just more proof to that end #LOVE YOU ENDLESSLY ❤️❤️❤️#briony's birthday bonanza 😘

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chushanye · 15 days

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writing a fic about something you legit dislike but see potential in is so trippy because I FORGET some things aren't cannon and it makes me so upset

you have a necromancer who is a medic. extremely well versed in human anatomy -> and you have implications that he's scared of death because his necromancy always gave him false hope that you can take death away. he can never truly bring something to life and it haunts him. AND YOU DON'T EXPLOOOOORE THAT CONCEPT?!?!?!?!? he's one of your main characters and you just dgaf??? he DOESN'T have a character arc like...at fucking all. and add onto that that the enitre series hes treated like an asshole and insensitive for telling it like it is like NO WHY ARE YOU BOOING HIM HES RIGHT

#every time i remember the canon for this it makes me so upset like you set up such an interesting concept but throw it all away in favor #of your angsty teen white boy protg being OP and correct and unchallenged the entire time #your protagonist never has to question his way of thinking because the one person that calls out his bullshit #is portrayed like an asshole #and the OTHER person that is like 'hey maybe the mc's plan is bad and we could all die actually' is treated like an idot coward #even though he's also completely correct #and dont get me started on how the female characters are portrayed- i don't think i can name 3 traits for one of the main side characters #pissing me off fr

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tboy-boone · 27 days

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1.19 Deus Ex Machina | 1.20 Do No Harm | 1.23 Exodus, Part 1 | The Archer (Taylor Swift)

#heyyyyyy sorry for getting angsty on main but #take this album away from me now #booney tag #indy's stuff

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squarebracketsmileyface · 7 months

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I'm writing Sorry, It's Locked again (but like, an Alex pov oneshot set right after chapter 2 in the main fic) and I fucking hate myself /lh

Like oh my god why am I doing this to them??? Alex's pov just makes the whole thing worse, so much worse. He's so fucked in the head (he's just like me fr lmao) because of the operator and I'm gonna scream, he's trying to make things better in his own way, but Jay's not helping so Alex's plan's getting derailed and he's making everything worse rather than better.

And he's kinda blaming Jay for it lmao.

He's not okay.

Alex is not okay. My poor baby

#I fucking hate them and I hate me for writing them like this oh my god I'm gonna CRY #I got so stuck on writing the main fic. so I decided to start writing an angsty ass side fic to get myself back into the swing of writing #these characters. since I've been hyperfixated on a couple other fandoms recently. and damn I'm gonna die writing Alex and Jay again #marble hornets #jay merrick #alex kralie #jaylex #marble hornets fanfic #MH sorry its locked

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luminique · 3 days

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last boothill thought before we get anything canon !!

he’s clearly a rough guy (interpret that how you will) but he is the softest man alive when it comes to you. he lives a fast pace life, thrill seeking, action packed, he’s exactly what you expect out of someone like him. but oh, how his tone of voice shifts completely when he’s talking to you. he searches for you once everything is done in penacony, ensuring that you’re awake and unharmed out of the dream before seeing aventurine.

the only time he wished his synesthesia beacon could help him widen his vocabulary in terms of pet names / affectionate words were only when he was talking to you. would you even notice that he’s interested if he always uses those same words on other people but not in the same affectionate manner?

“this forkin’ synesthesia beacon….” he’d mumble after eating another bullet. it really is his downfall, huh?

#luminotes ˚✧₊⁎☆#honkai star rail #boothill hsr #boothill #LETS GOO BOOTHILL LIKERS AND FELLOW BOOTHILL MAINS #im sorry for how bad this is #i am running on like 4 hours of sleep and an exam soon #idk if i’ll pass BUT AT LEAST I CAN PASS AWAY KNWOING I’LL GET BOOTHILL #i have a longer one in the drafts that i keep mentioning #i swear im not teasing im just bad at writing #no more boothill non-canon we will move into boothill canon soon #i already have angsty sad thoughts about canon so

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veradragonjedi · 10 months

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Hi there!

My names are Vee/Aloe/Vera, and I go by all pronouns.

~ ♡ Masterlist ♡ ~

VeraDragonJedi — Ao3

Main work:

Blood, Blindfolds and Butterflies — Din Djarin/Vampire!Luke Skywalker, GFFA (Canon Universe), Teen And Upward / No Archive Warnings Apply, 25/? Chapters -> 128k words

Multi-Chaptered Fics:

Ink On My Faultless Frame — Trans!Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, General Audiences / No Archice Warnings Apply, 5+1, 2/6 chapters written and posted (uncompleted) 12.4k words

~ DinLuke, one-shots

Relax, Take It Easy — G, 5.4k words, Fluff (Sickfic/Hurtfic) No Archive Warnings

A Small Galaxy — G, 2.5k Words, Pre-ANH meetup, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

The Day I Fell For You — G, 1.5k words, pun is in the name, No Archive Warnings

Skin To Skin — G, 600 words, Non-Verbal!Din Djarin, No Archive Warnings

#might reblog this with a taglist #star wars #dinluke #masterlist #if youre looking for something long angsty and plot-filled with lots of worldbuilding #....#feel free to check out my main fic #im trying to put myself out there but BBB gets a lot less attention so 👉👈#anyway #:D #vee speaks

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comixandco · 9 months

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there’s an alternate universe out there where when you reach the sanctum in totk when “zelda” does her little cutscene she ends it by throwing a dagger at you and it whistles just past link’s head as he reacts in shock before readying himself for battle and then you regain control of him as a boss bar appears at the top of the screen that reads “Puppet Zelda, Twisted Memory”

and Link is forced to fight the one he swore he would protect and has been chasing after the entire game, and instead of a sage offering him warnings or encouragement the Zelda belittles him and accuses him of abandoning her and failing her and leaving her to die

and her attacks at the beginning of the fight are those bursts of bright light and the daggers but as you whittle down her health and begin stage two the facade begins to slip and the light bursts are replaced with darkness and she oozes gloom wherever she moves and her movements become more stiff and skeletal and broken

and then once you’ve defeated her she rises into the air all broken and limp but still looking at you and says that it doesn’t matter that she wasn’t zelda because zelda is still gone, trapped in the past with no way to come home she could be burried anywhere in hyrule, and she summons a dark bow of light and draws it back as a red-purple bulging mass begins to form at the arrow tip

and that’s when the sages turn up, sidon unleashing a wave that pushes the bow aside, tulin firing an arrow that riju uses to cast down lightning, and yunobo at link’s side, and they all have their own line of dialogue that boils down to ‘don’t worry link, there’s no way that’s zelda, she would never say those horrible things, and we know she’s still out there because you heard her true voice, so don’t lose hope!’

and then zelda dissolves into gloom with a fit of that uncanny laughter and that’s when that megamind-style ganondorf head appears and makes his whole speech about how they have no idea who he is or was and you get his memory and that he has waited all his imprisonment to battle against link and prove that he is the strongest in hyrule, ‘and then you will fall, link, as rauru and zelda did, knowing that hyrule falls with you. Come to the Depths beneath this wretched castle, and meet your fate, o destined hero.’

and then the zelda-gloom melts away into a heart, and the sages have that post-battle talk about re-grouping at lookout landing, and tell link not to do anything rash because they will find the real zelda together

#totk spoilers #totk #i just. we were robbed of a puppet zelda fight imo #don’t spend all that time building up a creepy ganon-controlled zelda and then get me right where she wants me then give me some phantoms #i can fight phantom ganons whenever i want they’re in set locations with gloom hands!!! Give me a unique boss battle that sets up ganon’s #final plans and properly wraps up the first arc of the game where ganon is leading you as zelda to collect the spiritual stones #so that he can take them from everybody’s corpses when he defeats you and gain even more power #at least. that’s what i want his plan to be bc it makes the most sense i haven’t exactly gone to fight him yet >-<#and like. this doesn’t solve the problem of act two being nothing if you’ve done actions out of order or that the tears spell out the entir #mystery of where zelda is which ruins the main quests of the game because everybody’s like ‘where’s zelda????’ and you’re just like 🙄👆🐉#but you aren’t given that dialogue option ever BUT it would have been much more forgivable if the obvious not-zelda #had culminated in a super fun angsty puppet fight like in tp or st

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megamindsecretlair · 7 months

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What started out as a cute and fun story, morphed into a really long outline for Vampire Tyrone. Send halp 🥲

#megaminds musing #and its angsty #like as fuck #lordt send halp #i dont even know how long this is gonna be #but i cant even write my main series that will get published #why am i like this

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clochanamarc · 5 months

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u get another teaser drabble for what's to come in 2024 for aisling and the squad, but before i dive into it: this year is a whole JOURNEY, yk? a real saga of so many parts for aisling and the family and ur muses too (if u want!! bc i very much want ye to feel like u can be involved!) but this is like. i've been so excited abt this for so long, and that's all i wanna say atm, but i will be making a post to outline stuff if y'all wanna plot smth involved w this year's overall arc!

she's never driven as fast as this in her life. rubber burning, tires defying every natural law of physics as they power through puddles and thin air and loose gravel to bring her to the blooming flower of smoke that protrudes from the familiar block. the police have already set up the tape, not for a crime scene but rather to keep the others safe, when she skids to a halt next to them, abandoning the keys in the ignition, door open, knowing nobody would be stupid enough to steal it tonight.

" will! " she's racing forward, and the officer instinctively lifts a hand. " where are they?! "

" aisling-- "

" where?! " she's about to move past him, but he plants a hand on her shoulder with admittedly lacking wisdom. adrenaline and terror and trauma collide. she catches his wrist, twists it down and away from her arm, and uses a swirl of energy to pin him down against the bonnet of a police car.

" wait! dammit, wait, wait, wait! " he's yelling, his free hand waving out frantically, and it takes a second for her to grasp that he isn't speaking to her, but to the alarmed back-up who take positions and size her up, a hair away from a chaotic choice. " she's alright! she's fine, ais, you're okay, i'm sorry, let me explain-- "

" where the hell are they?! " she's releasing him, brushing past the others like flies, when she sees a familiar face emerging from the rubble of the diner. " woo-- "

" alright, let's all just take a second... jones, we found seven of the kids. they're fine, they're unharmed. well... eli dislocated an arm, but-- "

" i have eight children. "

" ... you still do, yes. but aisling, we... we need to talk about that-- "

" what... " she's not sure which way is up anymore. jimmy has an arm outstretched, but her gaze is fixed on the destruction around them. blackened bricks. scorched rubble. veins of darkness that spiral across the tarmac. metal lampposts twisted and contorted. her fingertips catch on a piece of lightly melted tinsel, flames reflecting against the cheap gleam of the plastic. " who's missing? " nobody answers her. nobody wants to say it. her hands curl into tight fists, and she turns, eyes filled with tears of heartbreak and rage and disbelief. " who did he take, woo? "

" well... that's just it, jones. aisling... mister kelly was not responsible for this. they did. they fled shortly after, and... there's something else you should know. "

" you're not making any sense; you mean one of my kids did this? one of my kids melted concrete and levelled a four storey building? "

" please. aisling-- "

" aisling. " the voice alone drives her stomach into the ground. he's standing in the hazy smoke, soot and dust staining the holy collar, black shirt crumpled from the madness. oisín. the boy who forgot. the man who remembers. the lost-and-found brother who opens out his arms, and places her in a gentle, feather-light embrace. " i need you to listen now... "

" no. " her voice betrays the full measure of fear and devastation that besieges her heart. but he won't let her pull away; he holds her tighter, and places a gentle hand on the back of her head, voice thick with tears.

" he's gone, ais. i'm sorry-- "

" shut up, shut up, don't you-- oisín, please, please-- "

" he's dead. "

she's crying, and her legs give out beneath her, but he holds her upright, forcing her to bear it all. " don't do this- "

but he has to.

and so he does.

" stanley's dead. "

#drabble.#death tw #death mention tw #( i'll say this tho: it's not what it seems )#( that's all u get )#( also like )#( it's not an event that happens NOW )#( this actually happens in april but i want to set it up for u <3 )#( just to show the stakes and the themes )#( plus it's so important to me that aisling isn't the only main character )#( the moving pieces and parts and players in this are all so vital )#( and also i got angsty while listening to hoz.ier so this is the drabble )

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littledreamling · 2 years

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A Funeral for a Living Ghost

An excerpt from my upcoming ficlet about religion and mourning and the process of letting go

Hob Gadling had a bad habit of attending his own funerals.

It had started in the early 1500's. He had taken something of an extended vacation, traveling to the Holy City of Rome, finally restored to its former glory after languishing for years while the Papacy resided in France. When he had returned to London after twenty or so years, his beard grown in and his hair significantly lighter from the southern sun, he had been welcomed back by his neighbors as his own son. He had been forced to, on the spot, spin a tall tale about his dear father, who had met his demise under the hooves of a draft horse. The entire town, good Catholic Christians that they had been, had insisted on a funeral. Last rites and all, they had said, and Hob had been too touched to refuse. The majority of the attendees hadn't even known him; they had simply known of him, had heard stories from their parents about their old friend, Robert Gadling.

There hadn't been a body to bury, for obvious reasons, but he assured his neighbors, to the best of his ability, that the body of his father had been laid to rest in Rome. Not home soil, but holy soil nonetheless. Still, his neighbors insisted that there be, if not a funeral, a service. A commemoration of his life, of everything Robert Gadling had done for his community and once again, Hob was too touched to refuse.

The church had been quiet; the kind of quiet you could feel in your soul. It was the quiet of respect, of mourning, of a great and terrible sorrow. In that quiet, Hob Gadling found himself thinking of his own father, the father he truly had lost, and found that the stinging tears prickling at his eyes were as real as any he'd ever shed.

For the first time, he had allowed himself to mourn his friends; those he had known, the parents and grandparents of those who filled the pews of the church, those he had seen be born, those he had seen take their first steps and babble their first words, those he had attended weddings and funerals for. He had allowed himself to mourn that version of Hob Gadling, the name he would never wear again, the person he could never be again, the life he lived until he could live it no longer. He had mourned, and then he had left.

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