i will follow you into the dark;
It's the end of the line for you. No matter how long you've been here on this planet, in this universe, that time is over now. Pain wracks your body, or perhaps it doesn't as you drift away from this life. All that remains is that ever fading light -
And the face of the one you care for the most.
For they are joining you on this last journey, as difficult or as easy as it can be. This could have been planned - you wanted to die together - or you both happened to be in the same place at the same time. Your world could be crashing down around you in a final armageddon; you could not be missed, the world turning without you two in it. One of you brought this onto you both; you tried to save your companion. You killed them yourself. It was all an accident...this wasn't supposed to happen...
How you've come to this doesn't matter so much in hindsight, though your sight is dimming as it as. What does matter is how you spend these last few moments with the person who means so much to you. If you're lucky, the two of you have lived a long, happy life together. Those who find themselves faced with a more tragic ending will have just realized their feelings for each other.
You don't have long, only a few moments. Make of them what you can. Reveal your secrets, touch their hand one last time, give them an embrace or a kiss. Apologize, if you see fit. Do what you did in life, but make it count and hope that you will see them again somehow.
- Comment with your character and preferences. If you have any ideas or anything you do not want to touch, be sure to include those, too.
- You can play this as serious and as dark as you'd like.
- Reply to others on the meme. Discuss scenarios, AUs, and crossovers.
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bakerstreet2023-10-06 03:50 pm
Goro Akechi | Persona 5 franchise | p5 protagonist
Maedhros | the silmarillion | ota
aedan trevelyan | dragon age inquisition | ota
no subject
In any conflict, any battle, facing any enemy, regardless of how overwhelming their strength or number, Cassandra had never once been felled. Her guard was pristine, she was never been taken by surprise, she has been knocked back, thrown around, but she has always risen afterward. She was the right hand of the Divine for a reason and she carried that devotion, that stalwart refusal to fail into battle with the Inquisitor.
Trevelyan was not built to take a punch--he was quick, wily, and had accuracy that outstripped nearly every archer she had ever met. He could kill with far more efficiency than she could ever achieve, but he was not built to withstand. He could not contend with brutal, full-frontal combat. So she did it for him.
She did it gladly, she was suited for it, and there were precious few times where the rest of the party could not slay their foe before Cassandra broke a sweat. That is, there had been few times.
Perhaps she had grown complacent in the intervening years after they'd destroyed Corypheus. Maybe she had rested too long on her laurels. She was slow now, or seemed it against the Qunari forces. Each fight became more and more grueling as they traversed the veil-thinned library. Their enemy had been trained well, had learned their weaknesses, fought hard and with a zealotry that was hard to contend with. Cassandra didn't fall even as the fights became longer, when they dragged on, nor when they were flanked by demon and Qunari alike.
But then their flight through the Eluvians neared its end--the Sarebaas was a fight unlike anything Cassandra had ever engaged in. They were not prepared for the sheer force of it's magic, tired and battered as they were, and they could not permit Solas to escape.
Go, she had told him, she would remain.
She had taken stance, had drawn the creature's ire from their allies, spent and wounded on the field. It had been a decade since she had last used her abilities to quell mages, there was so little call for it when templars were never farther than a short distance, but she used them here. Perhaps that is why she failed--Lord Seeker Lucius had warned her they were a crutch, that the value of the Seekers was in their dedication, their devotion to order.
Perhaps she was not devoted enough.
The Sarebaas crashed down on her, its great arms slamming against her shield, the weight of Qunari strength bolstered by a veilstrike. She rebuffed it, dispelled its shield and lunged, her sword cutting deep into its side. It threw her back as her paltry dispel wore through and she was staggered. Another great blow came down on her and she barely managed to hoist her shield in time to stop it. Pain lanced down her arm, her side, but her blade struck true. It bit into flesh again and the creature backed off, stepping away through the fade to gain distance.
Her shield arm was numb.
She was certain the last blow had shattered it but it was locked in place, her shield caught on the warped ornament adoring her her breastplate. It had been foolish to wear fine armor into battle.
The creature raised its arms even as it bled steadily from its side. It was conjuring some terrible art and both her companions were too injured to move if it aimed their way. She was the last man standing, so Cassandra did what she always had and charged. The beast took aim at her and fired a volley of ice. It mostly shattered against her shield, her armor, but the shrapnel was not as ineffective. It pocked her side, caught in the spaces between the plates of her armor, and a shard like a dagger caught her in the neck and lodged there.
Her momentum was enough to carry her, even as her legs faltered and her balance drifted. She drove her sword through the creature's throat in one perfect, fiersome thrust and it went still and then collapsed. Then she did.
no subject
They both shared a certain stubbornness that either lent itself well to a situation or made it topple in upon itself. And when she'd told him to go, he'd hesitated. That was his failing. If he'd have just been faster, hadn't spent those precious few moments wrestling within himself the desire to remain at her side, and the ever pressing need to ensure that Solas did not escape... perhaps everything would have been different.
But that hardly mattered now. Battered, bleeding, and gravely wounded from the battle he'd barely escaped, Aedan staggered back through the Eluvians, desperate to reach his companions once more - he needed to tell them of Solas, even if it was with his last remaining breath. His left arm was gone, the mark having spread too deeply; a final parting 'gift' from Solas as he'd severed it.
It wasn't what caused the most pain, strangely. It was the wound steadily seeping blood just beneath his ribcage that continued to throb and cause him to pitch forward; falling to the ground in a heap as he passes through the final Eluvian.
With his right hand he forces his aching body up off the ground, catches sight of Cassandra and immediately cries out - a pained sound that echoes throughout the space; anguish, fury, and denial.
"No!" He shouts bitterly, anger coursing through his body enough to give him strength to stagger to where she'd fallen. Crumpling to his knees beside her, his eyes scan her face and her body - frantic, desperate, tears welling up and blurring his vision as he sees the shard of ice lodged in her neck. His hand hovers in the air a moment, useless, as a sob rises deep from his chest. "Please, no. Cassandra..." He cups her face gently, hand stained with blood, both hers as well as his. "Cassandra, look at me." He didn't know how much time he had left, and he didn't know how much she had either.
"Please," he begs once more.
For all their hard won victories, all the struggles they'd endured... it was to end here, and there was nothing either could do about it. He could accept that. But he wasn't letting her go, and he needed to see her eyes, needed to tell her things he'd been too stupid and too preoccupied to vocalize before now. He curses under his breath, a wheeze following that turns to a ragged sounding cough.
makima || chainsaw man || ota
luyssious temen - an oc
no subject
If you'd like I have a couple possibilities involving my old lady! One's the big dark cw for suicide one where "Lashan" becomes "Need" by dying on her sword. The other's several thousand years later where she sacrifices herself to prevent the end of the world.
lmk if you're interested!!]
no subject
cw: an impending suicide
There are two free survivors: the apprentice mage-smith Vena, who had hid in a tree, and her master, old Lashan, who had been away and returned on her weary horse to find the smouldering ruins of home. She knows who is responsible for the attack and that he can find some terrible use for the captured girls. He can't be allowed to get away with it. Someone who's able-bodied and both mage and fighter can stop him, but Lashan is too old, Vena is not a fighter, and there isn't time to go find help.
She does know one thing she can do, something that she's seen once, in her teens. Some elders of her people become lykeblades, spirits bound in steel, able to use all their magic, and apply all their physical skills through the bodies of their living bearers. That long-ago woman had had a gathering of clans to support her and there had been a great deal of ritual, but they don't seem necessary.
Lashan sent Vena away so she wouldn't have to see, or argue. Her smithy is relatively intact and a fire burns in her forge, heating one of Lashan's blessed swords to brilliant white. Leaning on her walking stick, Lashan prays as she sets up the spell.]
no subject
right now, he's wishing to see more of the living among these lingering souls.
heavy plate footfalls crunch along the impromptu battleground as the dark shape walks among the dead. his longsword glitters each time he moves it over the bodies, gently severing their links to the corporeal, ruminating on the life reflected in them before they are collected into the blade. his massive wolf mount lingers on the perimeter, eyes glinting in the dark, fixing on the forge where she hears and smells movement.]
big cw
They've all just been left to decay slowly in the autumn chill, intermingled with the women and children who had lived here.
There are three living beings larger than a mouse left in the area. Lashan's aged gray gelding Thistle was tethered in what was pasture for the horses; he paws the ground and pulls at the line, made uneasy by his home being empty and smelling of fire and rot. Tracks in ash show where two humans had both gone into the forge. Vena's smaller, lighter footprints indicate her leaving again, heading out to the spring to gather herbs and inscribed stones.
Inside, Lashan uses tongs and clamps to afix the glowing sword to her workbench at the right angle. It had been a completed sword and the fire has burned away the wood and leather of the grip, leaving the blade and the hilt bare, but that's all right, the metal's what matters. She unpins the top of her leather apron and lines up, knowing she won't be able to get up the force to pierce bone, and completes the preparation as best she can -
-and rushes forwards, spearing herself between the ribs. The sword comes unclamped and falls with her body as it arches and struggles, briefly, out of her conscious control. It's quick and ugly. She can't manage a scream. The sound of hot metal in flesh is louder than any noise she makes besides that thump of hitting the floor. Pain eclipses all thought and becomes something else entirely.]
sry for late, Bad IRL Vibes blocked my rp chakras for this, but im good now c:
it never feels good to find the freshly dead, because while ends are not themselves the true evil, it's all about the story and leadup. there are good deaths and bad ones, and he's standing in a throng of many bad ones; he has yet to grow numb to the way it feels, and perhaps never will.
while the smell of fresh blood strikes to stagger, Luyssious moves to kneel before the fading figure. while the rest of the world may blot out fast, becoming untethered from the corporeal only makes his presence that much more tangible - makes it easier to perceive something beyond pain.]
...You didn't have to. [do that. hurt herself.
his voice is peculiar, in that the words spoken don't seem to match the movements of his mouth - like a slightly delayed dub.]
now I am the one who is late
Enough is caught that she will be a person still, with mainly the same priorities and memory and personality. She'll even still be recognizable, in some lights. But Lashan as she was is dying.
She looks up with an intent, fretful frown. Everything else has gone... 'dark', maybe. 'Absent'. Is this the Shadow-Lover, the form of Death who brings peace and relief from the burdens of living? She has just committed to carrying them on indefinitely. There isn't someone who can take them from her.]
...With respect, yes. I did. This is something I had to do.
[She could almost be saying this with humor, if the old loss wasn't so keenly felt:]
I was hoping you'd come with one of my brothers, or one of my parents. It's been more than fifty years, so... I'm sure they're reborn by now and wouldn't remember, anyway. If that's what happened.
[A lot has been said by different faiths about different afterlives, she realizes now, but she doesn't know how applicable any of them are. Followers of the Twins, those who don't set themselves aside to be tools and weapon in Their hands, are said to be held for a time by the two pairs of Twin Gods who love humanity, until they shed all memories and reincarnate.]
no subject
...Maybe. Some do. [he hesitates, reconsidering.] ...Most do. Just...different speeds.
It's weird like that.
no subject
Yes. Well. That was my first family.
[and it does hurt to think no, there won't be a final meeting. If she meets them after they've reincarnated, she probably won't know.]
This, here, they were my last. Were you here for them?
no subject
in any case, he offers a hand up. "up," in a sense - she won't be sitting up corporeally, but minds tend to lean into the memory of such things, even when untethered from them.]
Yes. I have them. They won't be left here.
no subject
[She looks - 'looks'? - at the offered hand, but doesn't move. By now she's kneeling, a position that would have been a bit troublesome to get out of recently thanks to arthritis and general stiffness, and holding the blade of the sword across herself. It's got the crescent-shaped quillions that were welded to it and still radiates heat, though it's cooled enough to stop glowing.]
But I can't go with you. Do you understand what I just did?
no subject
[well, not immediately. gotta do one of those arcana checks.
he'll look around with his magic sense to consider that and bracket text will graciously tell me what i've missed]
no subject
Mostly they stay on the Plains, though there are legends of lich-blades elsewhere as well. Usually they wane and pass on properly after several decades - it's a difficult existence - and usually, they guide, teach, and advise bearers and the living in general rather than taking charge themselves. There definitely are tales of a talking sword who started to choose and counsel the best leader of - a mercenary band? a polity? a kingdom? - only to move on to destroying their chosen's minds and possessing them full time. Hard to say how much truth there is to it, talking swords are in a lot of tales.
It's not quite what's going on with Emily but you can see it from there. You're not really supposed to do it alone and without years of preparation and consideration, and normally there's a long period of adjustment afterwards. You're not supposed to do it so your apprentice Vena can take up your sword and, with her youth and strength combined with your experience and skills, go after the people who razed the enclave and kidnapped the young mages.
Here and now, the old woman is turning from Lashan into Need, though it'll take some decades to fully settle into being Need. Need is a kind of angel, by her canon's reckoning - a strong and stable personality who was a mix of heroic, loving, resourceful, and wise, who tried to improve the world in life and wants to continue in death. It's just that in most cases, angels are humans chosen by gods instead of converting themselves. Need, later, has strong associations with a god known for creating angels but is fairly independent from Her.]
no subject
[Luyssious frowns contemplatively.]
Carving you out of the sword would be tricky. And...you don't want that, do you.
Drifter - Destiny - OTA
maura franklin | 1899 | ota
Sister Imperator, Prime Mover (1969) | Ghost
ruggie bucchi | twisted wonderland
nilou ( genshin impact )