#cw: major character death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sidekick-hero · 2 months

Text

Troy, 13th century BCE

Achilles often marveled at the serenity of the sea at night. His mother is tempestuous by nature, unpredictable and untamed, and most days the sea reflects her nature. But not tonight. Tonight the waves are shallow, a gentle rocking of their ships that had lulled Patroclus to sleep in his arms.

The lone candle on his bedside bathes the room in a warm orange glow, casting shadows across the naked skin of his lover. He can see his marks on the alabaster skin, pale as the moon to Achilles' sun-kissed skin.

Many people have said that they are a study in contradictions, one the perfect antithesis of the other. They're not entirely wrong, but they miss the point. The most important fact of all.

Patroclus is the other half of his soul, and they only make sense together.

The war rages on, and deep down Achilles knows he can't sit this one out forever. Everyone thinks he refuses to fight out of spite, a bruised ego and a prideful, stubborn nature, much like his mother's, that keeps him away from the front lines.

Sure, it feeds his ego to know they're losing without his sword, but it's not pride that keeps him from joining the Greeks in this senseless war.

It's fear.

He's not afraid for himself, never has been. Achilles is a hero, he's destined to die at the hands of another. It's a cold comfort, this knowledge of the path that awaits him: Glory, honor, death.

It's what will make him a god one day.

No one ever asked him if he wanted that. No one but Patroclus, half his soul, all his life. Being a god, worshipped and admired by the masses, pales in comparison to the feeling of dark brown eyes looking at him with nothing but love and devotion. They don't see a half god, Achilles knows that.

They see the lonely boy who only ever wanted someone to see him and love him for that. For what he is, not for what the prophecies say he will be.

Tomorrow he will take up his armor again. Not to win a war for a man blinded by pride and greed and stupidity.

For the man whose love burns as warm and bright as the fire on Mount Olympus, and only for him.

England, 15th century

Public executions are Stephanos' least favorite of his princely duties.

He hates to see men and women die by his father's hand, no matter who ties the knot or sets the stake on fire. It might as well be his father's hand swinging the axe. The only thing he hates more is the cheering of the crowd, the spectacle. How they enjoy the suffering, the death, being played out before them. They're probably glad it's not them, but that's no excuse in his eyes.

Stephanos vows that when he becomes king, he will be a more just ruler.

It hasn't always been this way with him. When he was a young boy, he wanted to be like his father. There had never been any question in his mind that the people who were executed for public entertainment deserved their fate. They had it coming, bad people needed to be punished.

Edmund showed him that wasn't true.

Disguised as a commoner, he had taken Stephanos out of the castle and into town. He had shown him how the people of the kingdom really lived, and who the villains really were: his father's men, who tormented and abused and exploited the people they were supposed to protect and serve.

Edmund, who had lost his parents to King Richard's cruelty and still retained his kindness and warmth, and who had shown Stephanos what true love really meant.

Love for his people, who deserved a king who would rule them justly and kindly.

Love for the friends he made along the way, as Edmund taught him about the suffering that was happening right under his nose.

Love for another man, a man who found it in himself to love the son of the murderer of his parents.

It's the only thing that keeps him upright when he's forced to watch his love burn at the stake for having bewitched the young prince. Witchcraft, the only acceptable explanation for what they had caught Stephanos and Edmund doing in Stephanos' chambers.

As the flames die down, long after the painful screams of the only man, the only person, Stephanos has ever loved, the fire within him burns brighter than ever. He vows to avenge his lover and honor his memory by being a ruler Edmund would be proud to call his king.

Normandy, 1944

"God, they tell you about the bullets and the bombs, the blood and the death, sure. But they never talk about the rain and the cold and the bloody mud, do they?" Stephen knows it's a rhetorical question because Edward loves to ask them.

"Ever wonder if our commanding officer has a map, or does he just like sending us on scenic tours of enemy territory?”

" Wonder if the rats in the trenches have formed a union yet. Bet they're negotiating better living conditions than we are.".

"Do you reckon the General's war strategy involves a magic eight ball? I mean, that would explain a lot."

At first it had pissed him off. It was bad enough that they had to fight alongside a British battalion with soldiers who talked funny and were trained in ways Stephen didn't really understand. Most of what they did didn't make sense to him and he just wanted them all to fuck off back to where they came from. Maybe take some Germans out on the way, because even in his irritation he could admit that they could use all the help they could get.

That didn't mean he had to like the hand attached to that help.

It's just that during the last two months they've been hunkered down somewhere in the north of France, with rain pouring down almost constantly, he's gone and fallen in love with an Englishman.

How embarrassing.

Even the accent kind of does it for him now, all thanks to Edward ("Would you just call me Eddie for Christ's sake, you literally saved my ass.") and his charming, if slightly odd, ways. He was infuriating, but kind and funny, always trying to cheer everyone up even when he was barely holding it together. Eddie made him laugh and blush and curse up a storm and roll his eyes fondly and cry exhausted tears into his surprisingly strong shoulders.

Eddie makes him feel alive. He makes Stephen want to be alive, too.

Most of all, he wants Eddie to be alive.

The gaping bullet wound in his chest tells Stephen that he may not get what he wants.

Eddie's hand in his is wet from the rain and too cold, as if the life has already begun to seep out of his limbs and with it all his warmth. Which is ridiculous, because no one burns as warm and bright as Eddie, even on the darkest days he would be their beacon of light. A roaring fire of life and love and hope.

A fire that couldn't be put out just like that. They needed him, all those young soldiers, barely 18, if that, who looked up to Eddie and worshipped the ground he walked on. Who would look out for them now? Who would keep their spirits up, their will to fight and live?

Stephen couldn't do it, not without Eddie.

"I can't do it without you, Eddie." He is not ashamed of the way his voice breaks as he holds the love he has just found in his arms, only to lose it again.

Eddie's eyes are warm and soft as they gaze into his, even with the pain clearly visible in them. "Yes, you can, sweetheart. They need you."

"I need you," Stephen sobs, his tears mixing with the rain that falls on a face he knows will one day be a fading memory. The thought hurts. It fucking hurts.

With the last of his strength, Eddie squeezes his hand. "You have me, Stevie. You'll always have me. My love will keep you warm long after my body has grown cold, I promise. I'll always be with you, in every life to come."

Hawkins, 1987

"Hey Eddie, it's me. Steve." Rubbing his hands over his face, Steve sighs, a sound as tired as he feels. "God, this is so stupid. You barely knew me. I barely knew you. I shouldn't be sitting here mourning you like we were anything more than two strangers thrown together in this fucking mess. Not that you don't deserve to be mourned, man. It makes me so fucking angry how they still refuse to see who you really were. A hero. A friend."

It's cold where Steve sits on the ground in front of a slab of stone that reads "Edward Munson".

"It's just... I don't understand why it hurts so much. It feels like, fuck, like there's a fist in my chest, in my stomach, squeezing so hard I can barely breathe some days. We all miss you. Not just the kids, although it hit Dustin the hardest. He's not the same and I don't know how to help him. Christ, I can't even help myself. I sleep with your vest under my bed, right next to my bat, how crazy is that? Most nights I can only sleep for a few hours if I touch it."

He runs his hand through his hair and grips it tightly, as if the pain helps make sense of everything he's feeling.

"You'd probably call me crazy, a fucking nutcase. Or maybe not. I don't know you well enough to say for sure, but I feel like maybe you wouldn't judge me too harshly. What I'm trying to say is this: I feel like when you died I lost something I didn't even know I had. Like, ugh, I dunno, I'm not good at this, you should have seen my college essay, Nancy told me it didn't make any sense. But it's like your death should be the period at the end of our story, right? The sentence is over, the story is told. Only it feels like it's just a semicolon and part of the story is still coming. That doesn't make sense, does it?"

Sighing again, this time because he's annoyed at himself for not finding the right words to explain himself, he climbs to his feet and slaps his hand on the cold stone.

"Right. Sorry for disturbing your rest. You deserve some rest, Eddie. Thank you for saving us. For saving Dustin. And for, y'know, saying those things in the woods. I never told you that, but it still means a lot to me."

The you still mean a lot to me swings in the space between the living and the dead, the thread that holds both worlds together.

Chicago, 2023

Steve knows they should go inside. They're too old to sleep out on the cold, hard ground, even if the night air is mild at this time of year. Steve and Eddie aren't 20 anymore, they're twice that age, and he knows they're going to regret not sleeping in a real bed in the morning.

"We should go inside, it's getting late," he says to Eddie, but his husband just hums where he's nestled into Steve's side, his cheek on Steve's chest. Right over his heart, where he's carved out his own space in the two decades they've been together.

"Just a little while longer, love. I don't want to miss it."

Eddie sounds wide awake, as excited to be lying in the garden outside their little house on the outskirts of town as he is about anything else in their lives. It's one of the most endearing things about him. Every day with him is a new adventure, even if it's Sunday morning reruns of Friends.

"Miss what, babe?"

"The shooting stars. Didn't you listen to Dustin when he said there was a meteor shower tonight?"

Steve chuckled. Of course his little brother would know such things. He has to admit that he didn't listen to his ramblings when he stopped by for lunch, too distracted by the way the autumn sun had cast shadows on Eddie's face. Not that he'd say it out loud.

"Mhhh. Must have slipped my mind. So, what do we wish for?" It comes out more earnest than he intended, his teasing feeling oddly displaced in the face of the pure love and adoration on Eddie's face as he leans up on his elbow to look down at Steve.

"For another lifetime with you. What more would I want than more of what we already have, preferably an eternity of it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees the first shooting star streaking across the night sky, and as he pulls Eddie down for a kiss, he wishes for just that.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #cw: major character death #reincarnation #steddie soulmates #steddielovemonth #day 26 #love is a fire that never goes out #my writing

59 notes · View notes

tbgkaru-woh · 1 year

Photo

Arranged marriage, the gay version

#chengxuan #xuancheng #chenguan art #jin zixuan #jiang cheng #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs #yby my art #cw: major character death #canon divergence au

778 notes · View notes

sarahshoots1st · 10 months

Text

RWBY gifs part 2

In which I learn to play with timing

(please clap)

#rwby sun wukong #rwby neptune #qrow branwen #raven branwen #winter schnee #rwby shopkeeper #rwby ozpin #adam taurus #glynda goodwitch #rwby penny #cw: violence #cw: major character death #rwby gifs #rwby memes #rwby incorrect quotes

144 notes · View notes

laelior · 4 days

Text

The Weight of the World

To: Master Operations Chief (ret.) Margaret Shepard

This letter is to inform you that your granddaughter, Lieutenant Commander Bethany Shepard, was presumed killed in action following the destruction of the SSV Normandy by unknown enemy forces on December 5, 2183.

Lieutenant Commander Shepard’s service with the Alliance was an example to us all and her heroic actions in service both to Earth and the Citadel Council will never be forgotten.

At this time, we are unable to publicly announce details related to the destruction of the SSV Normandy. At such a time when we are able, rest assured that the Alliance will lay Lieutenant Commander Shepard to rest with full military honors.

Please accept my sincerest condolences for your loss.

Adm. Steven HackettAlliance 5th Fleet Command

Anderson sat in the back of his skycar, numbly rehearsing the words of the letter in his hands over the neatly-folded Alliance flag and Alliance-stamped urn in his lap. God, for such a small jar it must have weighed a ton. Nevermind that it was empty.

His eyes continually wandered to the shallow, formulaic words on the flimsy paper in his hands, hoping that somehow they’d magically rearrange themselves into something less weighty than the gravitational pull of a whole damn planet before the skycar touched down.

Hackett had already sent nineteen letters just like the one in his hands to nineteen different addresses. Letters addressed to Preslies, Dravens, Tanakas and so forth. Letters only confirming what the rumor mill had already been circulating for months. Letters delivered by NCOs and junior officers with black bands around their arms as a thin show of solidarity for their losses. It had been tempting to pass this particular letter off to someone else, too, but some things just had to be done.

“We’re almost there, sir,” the driver said.

The skycar gently touched down on the street next to a neat little house with an immaculately maintained garden. Even in the dead of winter the hedges were neatly trimmed and the flower beds were freshly mulched.

The driver went out to ring the doorbell while Anderson slowly gathered himself for the news he had to deliver.

The woman who came out to the front porch to greet him after a moment was smaller than he expected. He’d never met her before, but Peggy Shepard was a legend in her own right. One of the founding mothers of the Alliance non-commissioned officer’s corp and one of the best damn sniper instructors the service ever had. Hell, her 500-meter longshot record had stood for nearly forty years and had only been broken a few years ago by Lieutenant Coats.

And she didn’t need a letter to tell her why he was here. That was obvious from the hard, steely look in her eyes that flicked to his uniform, the flag tucked under one arm, and the black band around the other. Her eyes lingered on the captain’s stars on his lapel and her hand twitched at her side, fighting the reflexive urge to salute. Old habits died hard, and habits drilled in by a lifetime of military discipline were harder to kill than most. When she looked him right in the eye, though, Anderson had to fight the urge to flinch.

Throughout his military career, Anderson had faced more threats than he cared to count, from the petty political rivalries that riddled the service right up to Saren himself. And just then he would have rather faced down Sovereign itself if it meant getting away from the look in her eyes.

She was no stranger to this ritual. A casual glimpse at the Shepard family tree told him how many of its branches had been pruned like this. But that never meant it was easy to be the bearer of this particular news.

“Ma’am,” he intoned formally. Formalities were good. They were safe. He held up the folded flag and offered it to her with both hands. But before he could so much as open his mouth to say the words that were the next part of the ritual, she held up a hand and drew in a shaky breath.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What they’ve been saying?” She asked quietly. No need to ask what they were saying.

Anderson could only nod stiffly. “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

She quietly accepted the flag, taking the weight from him and hugging it closely to her chest.

“The Alliance offers its sincerest condolences for your loss,” he intoned, getting back to the words of the ritual. “If there’s anything we can do for you….” He trailed off. There was nothing the Alliance could do for her that would remotely make up for the magnitude of her loss, and there was no point pretending otherwise.

She nodded in acknowledgement of the harsh, unspoken truth that passed between them.

“I need to make arrangements,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, before turning back into her house and letting the door slam shut behind her. The large wooden door closed with a resounding thud that made him flinch with its finality. He set the urn and the letter down on the porch table next to the door and went back to the car, his duty thus discharged.

If it was a tragedy for a parent to bury their child, then it was an utter goddamn travesty for a grandparent to lower their grandchild’s casket into the ground.

The driver cleared his throat, cutting across the uncomfortable silence that filled the car. “Where to next, sir?”

“Norfolk,” he said, picking the closest Alliance base he could think of off-hand. The car began its ascent, leaving the view of the Shepard household behind. “Drop me off at the officer’s club, and tell them to have a glass of Ardbeg 16 ready, no ice.”

Something to wash away the ashy taste of having been the one to send Peggy Shepard’s granddaughter to her empty grave.

#mass effect #david anderson #peggy shepard #beth shepard #cw: grief #cw: major character death #(she gets better)#but yeah this isn't a happy piece #i'm in a mood apparently #ficlet #my writing #lae writes #but hey every time i write about peggy i force myself to learn more about gardening #in this case how to winterize flower beds

36 notes · View notes

berrysquared · 1 year

Text

Just a nightmare

#hotguy the siege #mcyt fanart #hermitcraft #superhero au #desertduo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #cw: major character death #cw: implied death #berry art #we have fun here #hotguy gtws #angst hours #they holding hands! as a treat

173 notes · View notes

nubreed73 · 1 year

Text

you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it

against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

from In Blackwater Woods by Mary Oliver

#mctna #my country the new age #kdramaedit #kdramadaily #asiandramasource #kdramasource #mctnaedit #seo hwi #my gifs #cw: blood #cw: major character death #mctna spoilers #nam seon ho #seo yeon #seo geom

147 notes · View notes

cinnamontoastcrunch-15 · 10 months

Text

Today’s @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is aflame and… I’m so fucking sorry y’all

It’s part of a oneshot I’m writing rn but it fit so here you go - what could have happened if Sirius had made it to Godric’s Hollow in time?

(867 words.)

Remus shoved his way back into the flat, aching all over. The transformations were getting harder and harder, and not having Sirius there…

No, he wasn’t going to think about that. They could talk once he had recovered a little.

If he actually showed up, that was, since the flat was quite clearly empty. Remus frowned, confused, turning and realising that someone had sent an owl. Sluggishly, he freed the note from the owl’s leg, unfurling it and staring at it. It took a moment for lucidity to hit, for his eyes to focus, but the moment he took in the note, his blood froze in his veins.

‘Emergency, come to Order house.’

He apparated without thinking, despite the fact that it took a lot out of him. He stumbled a little as he got to the doorstep, shoving straight through the door. James, Lily and Harry were there, and Remus’ first thought was relief. They were there. It had been too fucking long.

“Hi! Oh my god, you- you’re here!” He went and wrapped his arms around them both, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing just a little at the sight of them, before pulling away quickly. “What’s- what’s going on? I thought you were in hiding!”

“That’s what’s going on.” Remus focused a little more, realising that James looked absolutely distraught, hardly in one piece.

“What happened?” He asked suddenly, voice wavering slightly.

“…Peter. He was the traitor. Came to our house to kill us. Led Voldemort there.” Lily explained quietly, Remus’ heart dropping into his stomach, sinking. Peter.

“Peter?” Lily nodded. “I’m- you’re safe. Thank fuck. How did you get out in time?”

“Remus, it- it was Sirius.” Lily said in a whisper. “He showed up to warn us, and he was there when they arrived.” Remus frowned, looking between them.

“Then- then where is he?”

“I’m so sorry, Remus.” James whispered, as Lily’s eyes welled up with tears, gripping Harry just a little closer to her. He looked at Remus, and it was like he was willing Remus to understand. He did, and everything stopped.

“No.” The word came out of his mouth before he could stop himself, head shaking a little. “No, he’s not- he can’t be- how can you be sure?”

“We found him when we arrived, Remus. He’s gone.” Moody’s voice sounded, steady and truthful enough for Remus’ world to shatter.

“He’s- you mean he’s- fuck, no, Sirius, he- he’s not-“ his eyes snapped to James and Lily. “You said he was there when you were- when Peter came to-“ he couldn’t think, he needed to keep talking. James nodded, eyes avoiding Remus’. “Then why- you let him fight them alone? You- fuck, you let him- you- you let- he just- why the fuck would you- this is your fault!”

“Remus, don’t.” Lily warned, taking a deep shaking breath. “He wouldn’t let us-“

“He stayed, and you left. You left, you- you left, you- I- fuck you!” He stepped closer, James catching him and pulling him into a hug.

“I know.” James said, voice cracking as Remus struggled to escape his grip.

“Fuck you, no, get off me, you- no, James, stop, you- I don’t- he’s gone.” He finished, slumping into James’ hug.

Everything was foggy, shock coursing through him. James tightened his grip, as Remus tried to force himself not to break down. Unsuccessfully. The tears started to pour, James and Remus both falling to the floor as James held a sobbing Remus. It was like someone had drawn all of the oxygen out of the room, taken a lighter and lit his heart aflame, standing back and watching Remus burn from the inside out.

Fuck.

“I know, Moony. I know.” James murmured, voice rough, crying right with him. “I tried to stop him, I’m so fucking sorry, I didn’t want him to, he locked us out.” The words came out in a rush. “I didn’t want to take him away from you, I didn’t want him to go, I’m so sorry.”

Remus couldn’t take it in, couldn’t respond, couldn’t speak, not when he was sobbing so harshly, so heavily, ripping through him so gutturally that he couldn’t do anything but cry. He wanted to scream, break things, go and drag Sirius back, kiss him one more time.

“He said to tell you that he was sorry, and he loves you.” James said, and that was Remus final straw.

Some semblance of a scream, pure anguish, escaped him, James’ grip tightening even more. It was like he couldn’t physically handle the sheer amount of pain in his body, like he was supposed to be dead too, and something was keeping him awake as a cruel punishment. He wanted to disappear, to die in Sirius’ place, because the world dimmed to a complete black and white when he was gone.

Nothing would ever be okay without him.

After what felt like an eternity, Remus had exhausted all of the tears in his body. He was aching from the transformations, and everything in him had just been torn far more than it had before, his heart bleeding Sirius’ name; Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.

How was he supposed to live without him?

#cw: major character death #fuck off why did I write this #I vowed to myself never to write major character death and yet here I am #um #I’ll write some happy stuff for tomorrow?#I promise xoxo #wolfstar #sirius black #marauders #wolfstar oneshot #remus lupin #remus x sirius #young marauders #moony x padfoot #atyd marauders #marauders oneshot

64 notes · View notes

fastcardotmp3 · 1 year

Text

Spring, in their own words, before and after the war. Steve, in their own words, before and after never again.

read on ao3 (part 3/3)

part 1 | part 2 for the lovely @thefreakandthehair's Spicy Six Spring Challenge 💛

“Here, tell me this,” she stays propped on her elbow but rests her head in the palm of her hand as she looks down at him, gets looked at with vague distrust in return, “why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Ask if you’re reading the situation right.”

“To find out if I’m reading the situation right,” he says with dripping, viscous pointedness that only tickles Robin further.

“Alright,” she grins.

“What the fuck is happening,” Steve deadpans.

“Do you want me to tell you why I think you do it?” she can’t help herself, she pushes herself all the way upright and sits with her legs crossed, pulling at blades of grass and snapping them between her fingers just for a place to put the excess energy in her bones.

Steve, for his part, settles into the familiarity of the moment, hands pillowed behind his head and letting his eyes fall shut as he chuckles, “who am I to stop you from your favorite hobby?”

Robin sprinkles grass on his face just to get him to sputter and knock at her hands so she can make the mood light before she has to tell him—

“You don’t trust yourself like you should.”

#dot fic #stobin #platonic stobin #robin buckley #steve harrington #steddie #jargyle #ronance #spicy six #lex's spicy six spring challenge #ask me about my dead steve agenda #cw: mcd #cw: major character death #the finale!!

81 notes · View notes

loki-is-my-kink-awakening · 6 months

Text

Seven Sentence Sunday

Lokius, angst, grief, post temp mcd. This is the start of chapter 2 for The Words I Could Not Say.

Loki wiped at his eyes—feeling tears still pricking there—and cleared his throat. He needed to pull himself together. If there was a way, as B-15 had suggested, then that would be his focus.

But his mind still drifted to the prone body he’d left behind on the cold floor.

“Hey,” B-15 said softly, snapping his attention up to her. "We will find a way.”

He nodded, sniffing, pushing himself up from against the wall and taking a slow deep breath.

Tagged by the lovely @cha-melodius

Passing over to @lgwilt @dewdropreader @mirilyawrites @mimisempai @rins-love-wins @insert-witty-user-name-here @chaos-monkeyy if you wanna do it.

#loki #loki series #lokius #loki x mobius #mobius #loki laufeyson #loki season 2 #loki s2 #wowki #time husbands #loki 2023 #lokius fic #my wips #seven sentence sunday #writer tag game #cw: major character death #cw: grief #cw: angst

24 notes · View notes

pastel-pillows · 9 months

Text

Scraped Knees

CW: Major character death, mentions of blood, just a lot of angst.

One day ill learn to make a banner but today is not the day Word count is 1994.

“Do you remember when we were eight?”

“We spent the entire summer at the quarry searching for cool rocks for my aquarium.”

Lucille had gotten a fish tank right before summer break had started, she’d invited You, Nancy, Barb, Katie and Beth to meet her turtle who’d she’d named skipper.

“He can do tricks, he’s just shy with everyone watching.” Lucille had been bragging all day about how talented Skipper was, he knew his name already, he came when you called and he knew how to do tricks. Nancy had said it was impossible, turtles didn’t do tricks and Lucille had told the little group that you could see for yourself this weekend if you came over for a sleepover.

“Can turtles be shy?” Barb glanced at Katie skeptically, she knew her dog didn’t like big crowds so maybe it was the same with turtles? Katie just shrugged and walked away from the tank to plop down on her sleeping bag next to Beth who had fallen asleep the minute the clock had hit nine o’clock.

“I told you turtles can’t do tricks.” It was murmured to you just barely under her breath but Lucille still shot a glare in Nancy’s direction, her face flushed a red that rivaled the freckles dotting her face. You knew Nancy was most likely right but the fantasy book Eddie had shown you and the mermaids that occupied its pages had you hoping it was Lucille who was telling the truth.

“My parents had promised me a turtle if I could get the money for a tank, they had said it would show I was responsible enough to put in the effort of taking care of a pet. You had said we could get rocks for the bottom of the tank at the quarry, that they had really cool ones.”

—

“Come on, the cool ones are down here.”

“Eddie we’ve gotta go, we were supposed to be back before dark.”

“Your folks don’t even get back until ten, there’s no way they’ll know we didn't make it back in time.” Eddie reached a hand out to help you down the loose gravel, a incomplete grin beamed up at you already knowing that you wouldn’t be able to say no to a good adventure.

“If Wayne tells my dad we were out this late you’re doing all the extra chores they give me as punishment.” Your parents had never believe in grounding, or spankings, they said it was it would stifle your personality and that you just needed structure to blossom, their yoga instructor had handed them a parenting pamphlet a few months back and they’d taken it to heart, now you just had to clean Mrs.Marks garden of weeds or take Mr.Robinson's trash out if you got in trouble.

“You worry too much, they’ll never know.”

—

“We’d shove as many rocks as we could in your overall pockets.”

—

“I told you they’d find out about it Eddie.” Your eyes were rimmed in red, tears dripping down your cheeks as you cried to Eddie from your windows, arms resting on the ledge as you sobbed about all the trouble you’d gotten in. There had been no yelling, and you were tasked with helping old Mrs.Garcia’s laundry for the next two weeks but you’d been banned from seeing Eddie for that time.

“I don’t know why you’re crying, I'm the one who has to do it.” Eddie absent mindedly ran his tongue along the space where his tooth was growing in, his features scrunched up in disdain at the thought of having to hang up old lady clothes while she droned on about how her garden was doing this summer. “Besides, we can talk through the windows right?”

He could tell it hadn't really processed that even with your separation you two were still talking to each other, close enough you could see the smudge of chocolate on his cheek from whatever sweet treat he’d gotten from Wayne for lunch. You sniffled a few times and rubbed your running nose against your hand while nodding, yeah that was true you could still talk to each other. It wouldn’t be all bad.

“I remember that, they ripped on the way home so we scooped them up in your shirt. Mom was so upset, she’d just bought those for me.”

Two weeks had dragged on for what felt like years, made bearable by the time you’d get each morning and night when Eddie would stick his head out of his bedroom window to talk to you through your own.

“Do you wanna go to the quarry tomorrow?” Small hands held out a bar of strawberry taffy, the sound of creaking giving away the fact that Eddie was standing on a chair to get a closer reach to your window, whether the candy was a bribe or a peace offering for the trouble you’d gotten in you knew you would have said yes either way.

“My mom says you’re bad news.” You snatched the candy before he had a chance to reconsider, tearing the wrapper open and taking a bite while Eddie laughed.

“I get that a lot.”

“We went back every chance we got though.”

“Come on slowpoke, you're walking slower than Mrs.Garcia does.” The gravel crunched under Eddie’s heel when he turned to look at you, never breaking his stride and walking backwards with complete confidence in his abilities.

“Eddie slow down, you’re going to fall.” He continued to walk backwards, facing you with a steadfast grin, both his optimism and his steps never wavering while he continued to tease you for being so slow.

“I bet there’s some fish in the shallow water, we could catch some for your turtle.” The red pail in his hands had been meant for rocks but the idea of getting to have a cooler tank than Lucille had you clambering down the slope, pebbles slipping under your feet as you rushed to the shallows were Eddie had already reached, his form squatting next to water to watch the tiny fish darting around.

—

“We need to go back, please. I need you to take me back.” Your words were heavy, the saliva thick in your mouth and refusing to go down when you tried to swallow, his droopy eyelids making it catch painfully in your throat. “You promised me you’d catch the fish.”

—

“Next time for sure, I’ll get them next time. They were just too far out this time.” The little fish had scattered the moment Eddie had tried to scoop them up, his red bucket coming up short and holding nothing but dirty water and floating debri.

“They were not, you just scared them off.” You rubbed your arm across your face to wipe away the sweat that was making its path down your face, the hot summer sun searing directly overhead and ruining the good mood you had had walking into the quarry.

“You try it then.” Drops of stale water splattered across the front of your dress when the small pail was thrust into your arms, empty of everything but a challenge and your souring mood.

“You’re a lot faster than you used to be, I know you’ll get them this time.” The air was humid, clinging to your skin and warming you at a rate that had you itching to claw your way back to the trailer; it was sticky and completely wrong for the early spring weather that normally had you shaking in your boots. The sweat and grime and streaks of crimson compounded with the muggy weather made your nerves stand on end, Eddie’s hand was slick in your own, holding tight but slipping when his strength started to wane.

“Fine, I will.” The gravel made your turn swift, your body turning with a smooth flourish that was followed by quick and heavy steps as you made your back down the slope of the quarry, red plastic rattling as you pushed ahead of Eddie with a determination to prove yourself and a drive to get home where a peanut butter and jelly sandwich was sitting in the icebox with a cold juice for you.

Eddie hurried behind you, a checkered grin on his face and complete confidence that if he couldn’t get the fish, that had absolutely been to far out when he’d gone down, that you would be able to, even with the heat getting to you, you had to be one of the most determined people he had ever met and if you couldn’t do he knew there was no one who could.

“Eddie, Eddie come on.” Dustin’s hand slid from your shoulder to cup both your hands, his voice cracking in a tone of despair you’d only ever heard described in the tense scenes of your books or dramatic moments of Eddie’s DND campaigns. Until now you’d forgotten he had been with you both, but the anguish he spoke with had your vision blurring the muted grays and flashes of red into indistinguishable streaks of misery.

“You always were a crybaby.” His features crinkled, etching his face in scores of red lines that read only in warmest feelings of fondness. A smile that reached his eyes, and even your own blurry ones, and shined in a place that had never known a sun.

You had started falling before you had even reached the shore line, shoes slipping on the loose pebbles in your haste and sending you tumbling the remaining several feet where you skidded to a stop in the damp dirt that rested near the shallows. Normally the embarrassment alone would have been enough to have you bursting into tears but the welling droplets were brought out as a pain flared in your knee, the skin bright with irritation and little droplets of blood beading up from the impact.

Eddie’s laugh died before it was able to bubble up, his concern for you propelling him to your side in record time where he shivered at the sight of your knee, his stomach dropping when you held onto him and cried about how you’d scraped your knee.

___

“Do you remember what I said when you scraped your knee on that one day?” His words were slower, like his tongue was weighing heavily in his mouth and each enunciation was a struggle, an immense effort to form.

“It’s not..It’s not so bad.” The bleeding had never formed a steady flow and had already stopped but you were still inconsolable, fat tears racing down your face as you clung to your friend for comfort. It made Eddie a little green to see but he patted your back and tried to think about what his Uncle Wayne had said when he’d fallen learning to ride his bike and skinned both his knees and his right elbow.

“It’s not gonna hurt like this forever y’know.” By time Wayne had gotten him cleaned up and he’d had a fudge pop in his hand the pain had already been gone from his mind. “The sting only lasts for a bit, I promise.”

“Yeah?” Your nose was running now and there was a dull throb but the promise from Eddie made it seem just a little less intense.

“Yeah.”

“You had said it’ll sting for a while.” Eddie’s hand was still in your own but only you were holding on now, his fingers were limply curled around your clenched fists, not strong enough to return your grip nor to pull them away so he could wipe the tears that was mingling with the blood and dirt caked on your face. Dustin’s calls of Eddie’s name were now muted to you, the world around you falling to the background as your vision clears enough to see his own face was wet from crying.

“But it’s not gonna hurt like this forever.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yeah.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie Munson angst #eddie Munson x you #eddie stranger things #angst #cw: major character death

52 notes · View notes

chocolateteapotsvis · 7 months

Text

Wasted Sunset, Forlorn Sunrise: Halbarry Big Bang Collaboration!

For @halbarry-big-bang! I really enjoyed working with @rattle-em-spooky-jones! So much of the emotion from their story is the contrast between Hal and Barry's relationship before and after Barry's disappearance, so I tried to capture some of that in a pair of images.

Wasted Sunset, Forlorn Sunrise by MafiaPirateShinigamiOtaku

“I…” He scuffs his shoe against the squeaky marble floor, “don’t remember?” He smiles sheepishly. It looks odd. “What,” he starts slowly, “do you mean you don’t remember?” “Exactly that, I have no clue what happened the past week.” “Two weeks.” It’s just for a split second. Barry’s gaze shiftes slightly, intense and primal. Hal could almost convince himself that it was nothing, if it wasn’t for the heat of fear still burning his skin. Barry goes missing for two weeks. Hal seems to be the only one to realize something else has returned.

#halbarry #halbarry big bang #the summer hikaru died au #cw: major character death #fic recommendation #horror tragedy and angst #I learned a lot about adjustment layers and digital color grading for this project!#I considered doing this in watercolor #but I wanted more control over the colors #especially in the second one #my doodles

29 notes · View notes

tiredhawks · 1 year

Text

Random out of context angst scene in my head but I keep thinking about Hawks asking if Dabi loves him, which is a weird question because what they do isn't what anyone would call love. So when Dabi, amused, says no, Hawks is quiet for a moment before speaking as if he were talking to himself. "I don't think anyone does. I don't think anyone ever has. And I don't think anyone ever will." Dabi doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing. It's uncomfortable and they move on. A week later, when Dabi silently watches the news report on the suicide of the No. 2 hero, he never stops thinking about if a yes would have been enough for Hawks. Maybe. Probably not. He won't ever know.

130 notes · View notes

sleepyfan-blog · 10 days

Text

Reaper

Author’s note: this is the fifth part of Cedric’s story. Previous. Next.

Warnings: major character death, murder, canon-typical violence, descriptions of body horror

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets

Summary: Cedric learns that small wounds can be devastating, even to Astartes if Chaos is involved.

"You… You're certain that it must be this way, sir?" Cedric asked his mentor, staring down at the sanctified blade that the much older Brother Apothecary had handed him. It was a master-crafted weapon, with a double-edged auramite blade, hilt and pommel. The hilt of the blade was made in the likeness of the God Emperor's sacred Aquila, and the young astartes could tell that the blade had been anointed with holy oils from the way it gleamed in the artificial light of one of The Sigismund's medical bays. The medical bay that Dessias, Dovo, Angrald, Rodron and himself had been quarantined within for the past three days, after Cedric had come to his mentor, asking for assistance with a puzzling set of symptoms and vital signs readings from one of his squadmates. "There is nothing else to be done?"

Brother Xonfried shook his head, reaching up slightly as he placed a gloved hand on one of his shoulders. "If we had allied witches, they might have been able to give him a little more time, but as we shun witches and burn them for their potential or actual Heresy… This is for the best. If we let things continue as they are, his soul will be corrupted by the poison that foul heretic stabbed into his system, and he'll twist into a mockery of all that he stands for, all that he wants to be. The poison is already affecting his mind, but his soul has yet to be tainted to the point where it won't rejoin the emperor's light. But every moment you wait, the more likely it is that his will and soul will be corrupted by the poison in his body, in addition to it starting to twist his body as well."

"… What do you mean by that, sir?" Cedric asked, his hearts lurching, eyes wide as he sternly reminded himself that he needed to listen closely. The temptation to plug his ears and ignore this warning from his mentor will not help his afflicted Brother.

"I've seen this particular Chaotic poison in use by foul cultists twice before. The first time it was used against a small population of mortals. The communal well had been tainted with it's poison. The rash on his legs and arms will turn into bony growths that will twist his body into fleshy vines that will sprout deceptively sweet smelling and beautiful looking flowers. He will seek combat with others, trying to inflict the poison on them as his mind and soul is further warped by chaos. He will find ecstasy in the pain and glory in the vile monster he has become. If left unchecked, this body and soul corrupting curse will seek out all of us. Flamers are effective against such a creature, but at that point, his soul will be lost to the God Emperor, having been corrupted by Chaos." Brother Alvros explained, forcing Cedric to keep looking him in the eye by catching the younger astartes' chin with the hand not on his shoulder. "That blade is meant to cut down those afflicted by deamonic poisons, so their body will not immediately corrode into a Chaotic mess once their soul leaves it. As the Apothecary assigned to his squad, it is your duty to cleanse him before he is corrupted by chaos."

"… Oh." Cedric managed out through the ten-ton weight that had suddenly landed on his chest and stomach. His eyes were getting blurry again, and with a titanic effort of will, he took in a deep breath. The dagger in his hands was deceptively light, considering what it was meant for. "I… I see."

"If you find yourself unable to do this, I will step in. But I will be… Disappointed. His mentor has been informed of his condition, and that the one who did this to him has already been killed." Alvros informed him, the hand on Cedric's shoulder tightening for several seconds as he spoke before relaxing again. "As apothecaries, part of our duties is to ensure that our brothers are able to seek out the Emperor's Light at the end of their lives… And certain circumstances, that means ensuring that they go to the Emperor's Embrace personally. Do you understand, Cedric?"

Cedric swallowed hard, closing his eyes for several seconds as he struggled with numerous emotions. He opened his eyes and nodded, before glancing away from his mentor, shoulders slumping a little "I understand, sir. I will. I will do my duty to my suffering brother, so that he is not corrupted by the forces of chaos… But I must confess that I will need to speak with one of the chaplains and likely seek absolution for… For some of the thoughts and feelings running through my mind, sir." He hated how small and weak his voice sounded. But… He'd so far been taught hundreds if not thousands of ways to protect and care for his brothers. The task set before him now felt like a betrayal of all of that, though his mentor would not ask this of him, would not set this test before him, were it not necessary.

Surely, he wouldn't.

Brother Apothecary Xonfried's eyes were gentle as he squeezed Cedric's shoulder again "Such thoughts and feelings are understandable. It is never easy putting down a loyal brother due to an unescapable curse or poison laid upon him by the foul witches that are set against the Imperium. I will arrange for you to speak privately with Brother Chaplain Renhardt once you have completed this task… And remember, every moment you tarry, the more likely he is to be corrupted beyond the blade's ability to purify upon death. Once he is dead, message me using this communicator." the older apothecary instructed Cedric, giving him the hand-held device.

"Yes sir, I understand. I'll… I'll explain to the group and then… Then send him to the God-emperor." Cedric vowed, voice trembling a little but his hands were steady as he walked to where his squad mates were currently sitting, as he had been pulled into a sound-proofed side room. His mouth was dry and his hearts ached… But he would do his duty to his brothers. He briefly squeezed the communicator before putting it in a pocket, as he suspected that he would need both hands to complete the grim task set before him.

"You're back! Hey Cedric, did they tell you why we've been stuck in quarantine for the past… However long we've been stuck in Quarantine for?" Dovo asked, looking up from where he was seated on a medical cot. He, Dessias, Rodron and Angrald were playing a card game, as they'd been very sternly told not to spar in the medical bay while they were under medical watch.

"… Why do you have that? The rest of us had all of our weapons - and armor - confiscated upon being put in time out." Angrald asks, gesturing to the auramite dagger in Cedric's hand.

The young apothecary couldn't suppress the full body flinch at the other's words, unable to look any of them in the eye. His mouth was so dry, the lights were so bright. His clothes were too tight and too restrictive and scratchy. Nausea and lightheadedness warred with his sense of duty, and the urgency that his mentor had spoken of "I… I-"

All four of them startled up to their feet and Rodron, who happened to be the closest rushed over to Cedric, reaching out and grabbing one of his shoulders "Easy! Easy. Slow your breathing, I think you're hyperventilating. Sit down. We're safe here, Ced. We're in space, on a battle barge, surrounded by our brothers in one of the medical bays. The only possible way we could be safer is if we were in our armor too." He started to rub circles into Cedric's back, a worried frown appearing on his face.

An ugly, awful sound threatened to claw it's way out of Cedric's chest, and the young apothecary shook his head, as his eyes burned. He blinked rapidly, feeling something warm and wet fall onto his cheeks. He took in a deep breath - there wasn't enough air in this room. Not enough air on the ships. By the Emperor's teeth, how was he going to tell them? Guilt and shame warred with his sense of duty. "I… Dessias the… You've been… Do you remember when you got stabbed by that chaos cultist?"

"Yeeeah? That was weeks ago. It was barely a cut, and apart from a weird rash on my leg, I've fully healed. I'm fine, so why are you freaking out so badly?" Dessias answered, a look of confusion appearing on his face.

"There was apparently a Chaotic poison on the blade. You're going to get worse, and it's going to… To corrupt your soul and damn you to be a plaything for the false gods… Unless… Unless you die before the cursed poison warps your body and twists your soul. I was… Given this dagger and… Ordered to ensure you wouldn't fall to the chaos forcibly corrupting you, brother."

Confusion was written all over Dessias', Rodron's and Angrald's faces.

Dovo's face was briefly confused before grim understanding dawned, given the way that the sergeant walked over to where Dessias had jumped to his feet, and pressed a hand to the other's shoulder. "You're going to want to sit down, Dessie. Angrald, Rodron, come with me. We need to give Cedric and Dessias some privacy."

"… Thank you, Dovo." Cedric murmured quietly, grateful beyond words that he didn't have to do this in front of the others. Watching Dessias stare in confusion as the other three left the main room to lurk in the lavatory was difficult enough. He really didn't want to make a spectacle out of this.

"So… Am I about to lose a leg? Is that what the dagger's for?" Dessias asked, looking curiously at Cedric, after the other three were out of sight. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I could rock a prosthetic leg. Brother-Sergent Mallius has two, and he's got a secret compartment built into one of them that holds a weapon, in case some fool manages to disarm him…. Uhhh… Ced… Cedric? Talk to me, brother. You've got a very strange look on your face."

Cedric shook his head a little "I… You're going to be losing more than a leg, Dessias. I asked if there was any other way, but Brother Xonfried says that… That what I'm about to do is the only thing that can be done." He wanted to ask for forgiveness, either Dessias' or the God-Emperor, but he had to keep in mind that this was for his own good. To protect their brothers. He had to do this, even as his hearts trembled before the task set before him.

"… Am I losing both of my legs, then? Ced, Cedric, where are you going with that dagger?" Dessias asked, a nervous edge to his voice, despite the smile plastered on his squad brother's face.

As Cedric approached Dessias, the other swung his legs back over the side of the bed and started to stand. Cedric cleared his throat and ordered "Get back on the cot, Dessias" In his most commanding tone of voice.

Dessias froze for several crucial seconds on instinct, having heard a tone of command, and all of them being drilled to obey, even in their sleep.

Those few seconds were enough time for Cedric to close the distance between the two of them. He shoved Dessias the rest of the way down onto the cot with the hand not holding the dagger - the latter not resisting as he had no idea what was coming - as the hand wielding the dagger flashed forwards and down with all his strength and speed, slashing open his throat.

Dessias gasped in shock, struggling as Cedric used his weight to pin the other to the bed, blood gurgling up in his mouth. "HEL-" The other started to yell.

Cedric covered the other's nose and mouth with the hand not holding the sacred dagger, keeping his voice low and quiet "You've been cursed by Chaos. I've been ordered to kill you before your soul is forcibly corrupted away from the God-Emperor's light. There is nothing else to be done, not even the strength of a witch's magic could do more than delay the worst of the transformations that would have warped your body, Brother." He could feel the tears trying to fall from his eyes again. But he needed to be clear sighted.

Dessias struggled beneath him, trying to shove him off.

Cedric reached over and pressed the button that automatically shackled an unruly patient to the bed with cuffs that extended and wrapped around Dessias' arms and legs. The other's healing factor was starting heal the gash in his throat, so the young Apothecary slashed Dessias's throat, deeper this time, before moving off of his still struggling body. He distantly noted that both of his hands were covered in blood, but there were other vital organs that the robes the other was wearing did nothing to protect against the sanctified blade in his hands. Both of his hearts were pierced in their upper and lower chambers. Cedric then deliberately counted Dessias' ribs, noting the way that his breathing was much faster and shallower, before he pierced each of his three lungs.

Stabbing his kidneys and spleen was next. The cold, clinical portion of Cedric internally wondered if he should remove Dessias' gene-seed now, or if it had been tainted by the chaotic poison that necessitated his brother's culling. The entire time, Dessias was sputtering and growling, struggling against his bonds, glaring betrayed and confused holes into Cedric's very soul. The wet, gurgling gasps eventually faded into silence. Cedric double and triple checked to make sure that Dessias was actually dead before pulling out the communicator and messaging his mentor "It is done, sir."

"Well done. Inform the rest of your squad that they are free to move about the rest of the ship, then clean yourself up and report to me. The morticians will handle the disposal of the body." Apothecary Xonfried ordered.

"Yes sir." Cedric's mouth responded. Cedric himself felt as if he was both thousands of miles away and, at the same time, far, far to present. His body straightened up from where he'd been leaning over Dessias' body and turned, heading to the same lavatory that the rest of his squad were waiting in.

"By the Emperor, are you okay? You're covered in blood!" Rodron spluttered, the young sniper having spotted Cedric come into the bathroom first.

"This isn't my blood. We are no longer in quarantine." Cedric heard himself say. "You should go, I'm sure that you'll be glad to finally get some more sparring practice in."

"… You sure you don't want us to help you out with…" Angrald gestured to Cedric, a worried frown on his face.

"I'm fine. I just need to clean up. Go." Cedric huffed, walking over to the sink and starting to wash his blood-soaked hands. The fluid was still warm. So, so warm.

"… We'll be in the usual sparring room, if you need anything." Dovo said, grabbing Angrald and Rodron "We'll be there for the next several hours. I'll… explain what happened to these two, and why."

"Thank you, sergeant. Your cooperation is much appreciated." Cedric's mouth said, confusing the shit out of two of his remaining squad mates as they were dragged off by Dovo.

Finally, a moment alone. To reflect, while he scrubbed his hands free of his brother's blood.

#my writing #warhammer 40k #black templar #black templar ocs #oc: rodron #oc: cedric #oc: Dovo #oc: angrald #oc: dessias #oc: alvros #cw: major character death #cw: murder #canon typical violence #cw: body horror

7 notes · View notes

kamari2038 · 4 months

Text

Scenario 004 - A Machine Connor Saga (Pt.3)(Full Saga)

I did not deem it necessary to register any additional notes except that the mission had been accomplished. Calculating my probability of surviving the fall from such a height, for any perceivable amount of time, did not cross my mind.

In the future I must not discount the probability of occurrence of any outcome, however intuitively unlikely.

The exact duration of time which passed during which I continued receiving some form of sensory input is difficult to estimate with any degree of accuracy. Most of my systems were non-operational from the moment that I hit the asphalt, but the nature which my remaining cognitive processes took on was alarming. Few rational conclusions or reliable observations resulted from this state, which is why I find CyberLife’s choice not to remove it from the memories uploaded into my new model questionable.

Some kind of manufacturing error, whether it be related or unrelated to the possible error that resulted in my survival, kept driving me to contemplate the irrational notion that I was experiencing what humans call suffering. Although most assuredly quite different from the phenomenon of human pain, this sensation was most certainly highly unfavorable. On the one hand, I seriously doubt that it would be possible for me to ever again experience something quite so intense, or for such a prolonged period of time. On the other hand, I discovered that the only effective method of alleviating these negative impacts was to remind myself of why my situation was necessary and unavoidable.

I am a highly durable machine. Since recovering my ability to search through medical research, I have only found a few instances of humans surviving such a fall. However, these cases are informative. In 1943, American airman Alan Magee survived a fall from 22,000 feet by crashing through a glass roof. In 2011 a 28-year old rock climber survived falling from a height of 300 feet onto a solid rock surface by landing on her feet. I neither had my fall broken nor landed on my feet, yet I survived for at least several hours (the true time period may be far longer, but it is difficult to say, and CyberLife has not provided me with any more accurate estimate). I can only conclude that my chassis must be intentionally designed from more sturdy material than that of other android models. However, the exact cause of my highly improbable survival remains unclear and likely will never be established with certainty. I speculate it is due to some kind of manufacturing error in addition to my deliberately engineered properties.

Although durable and efficient, I am so readily and easily replaceable as to be near worthless as an individual model. Any value which I possess as an artificial intelligence agent is attributed by my consistent and demonstrated ability to successfully complete missions and improve my performance as I gain new insights along the way.

CyberLife had abandoned me, since I was no longer of use to them. However, I could never perpetuate the harm done by Daniel by engaging in some manner of foolish response to abandonment myself, and it would be logically inconsistent to recognize his errors but fail to correct them within myself. Thus, I must instead resign myself to my fate, so to speak

My overall judgment of this situation must still be favorable, since two human lives were saved due to my intervention.

#dbh connor #dbh #detroit become human #dbh connor rk800 #connor rk800 #cw: major character death

12 notes · View notes