#Character Death Mentioned

[kybercrystals94]

Blame to Share

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Whumptober 2024 - Day 20 - Prompts: Emotional Angst // Giving Permission to Die // "It's not your fault."

Rated: G | Words: 594

It’s been one year today; although nobody says it. 

They silently speak it in their postures, their eyes, their subduedness. 

Their silence on the subject screams, an agonized wail in a yawning chasm that is loss, mourning, and regret. 

Crosshair hears it. Because it’s his fault, isn’t it? That Tech is gone? Of course it is, and he won’t listen to their kark about it being Tech’s choice, that he did what he did because he loved all of them. That Tech did what he did to save them, and they will honor his sacrifice. 

Crosshair doesn’t want to be soothed, doesn’t want to be absolved. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he tells his siblings at midday meal.

He has to leave, because he doesn’t know what he’d do if he stayed. 

“Where are you going?” Wrecker asks. 

Crosshair won’t meet any of their eyes, their gazes make his skin burn. “I need some time.” 

“We understand,” Hunter says. 

Crosshair believes they will try, and hopes they never do. 

He finds a quiet beach, gathers wood for a fire, and puts out his bedroll. He goes fishing for his late meal, standing in the surf, waves lapping around his knees. He roasts his catch over the fire, the crackling of burning wood integrating with the song of swelling nighttime. The stars appear, constellations Crosshair doesn’t know the names or patterns of forming before his eyes. 

Tech would know. 

Tech knew almost everything. 

And he shouldn’t be dead. 

“Who gave you permission to die?” Crosshair demands of the void where his lost brother should be. 

“Tech rarely asked permission for anything,” Hunter replies. 

Crosshair scowls into the flames as Hunter steps into the circle of firelight, a pack over his shoulder. 

“I said I’d be back tomorrow,” Crosshair tells him. 

Hunter tosses his bag next to Crosshair’s. “Told Wrecker and Omega the same thing.” 

“I said I need some time.” 

“And you got some.” Hunter sits down in the sand across from him, the fire between them. “I know what you’re doing.” 

“You don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re blaming yourself for what happened to Tech.” 

“And you don’t?” Crosshair spits. 

“I blame a lot of people,” Hunter says. “I blame the Empire, I blame Hemlock, I blame Saw Gerrera…I could go on and on, but I don’t blame you.” 

“But did you?” Crosshair asks. “Before?” 

Hunter sighs, clasps and unclasps his hands. “I blamed you for a lot of things, before. Doesn’t mean all those things were justified.” 

“If I hadn’t sent that message, you would never have been on Eriadu.” 

Hunter huffs. “Message or not, Crosshair, we would have come for you. The moment Tech found your CT number on the prisoner manifest–”

“Why?” Crosshair interrupts angrily. “I earned that prison cell, Hunter. You should have left me there!” 

Hunter frowns at him. “By the Empire’s standards, Crosshair, we all earned that cell, even Omega.”

Crosshair thinks bringing their sister into it is a low blow. “It’s not the same.” 

“Here’s the thing, Crosshair,” Hunter says. “You weren’t with us, and I made a call.”

“Stop it,” Crosshair whispers. 

Hunter doesn’t stop, shadows flickering across his face, the gleam of tear tracks catching in the light. “So, if any of us are to blame, for any of this…it’s me, Cross. Got it? Every single call I’ve made our whole lives, the good and the bad, I’ll have to live with.” 

Crosshair swallows. “Sounds like we’ve both got our share of the blame then.” 

Hunter doesn’t answer. 

Maybe there’s nothing else to say. 

END

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[blackseafoam]

Healed Wrong

part 3 previous - next WC: 320 Synopsis: Clone Trooper Ash reflects while being shipped off. Drabble. Emotional whump, character death mentioned.

whumptober 2024. 11. seeing double l convenience store l loneliness l “leave no trace behind, like you don’t even exist”

Ash sat at his bunk in the Venator’s barracks, sorting some of his new gear. He hadn’t received his assignment yet, apparently it was a military secret until he got to his final destination. The anticipation was gnawing at him.

Yet this frustration was a welcome distraction to what laid beneath these surface level emotions.

It had taken all of the young clone’s willpower to not break down during the shuttle ride here.

Now he stared down at the floor between his feet, gear strewn across his bunk beside him.

Why? Flinch? Why didn’t you say goodbye? What did I do wrong?

He felt as if the borders of his psyche were splitting apart with an eruption. He held it in by biting down hard on his knuckle, leaning forward and shaking his leg, other hand balled into a fist, and his eyes still locked on the gray floors.

Loneliness. He knew it as a concept, until this moment. His chest cavity felt like it had been violently depressurized, like a garbage airlock. He closed his eyes, behind his eyelids he still saw his twin brothers, standing in the sunlight of that force forsaken swamp planet. Their matching smiles as they relentlessly teased each other. Ash always being the big brother mediator. The whole army technically had matching… everything, but Sway and Flinch had this way of smiling that was all their own.

Three days.

How had it been only three days since Sway bled out on that tarmac? Ash let out a slow and tense sigh, trying to center himself again as he lowered his sore finger, teeth marks dimpling the skin.

Still looking down, he listened to the movement of the other soldiers around him. How would he ever be able to act normal again? How would he even be able to hold a conversation as this storm threatened to break out of every weakness in his armor?

[coffeeangelinabox]

Whumpril #27: Please Don't Go

She is the outsider amongst the crew. Not because she is the newest, nor the youngest, though that does exclude her from the years of in-jokes and history they share, not to mention the fact that even the worst of the spacer’s bars on the most questionable of asteroids raise an eyebrow at her, isolating her from the recreation the other crew share.

It’s not any of that. 

It’s not even - exactly - that they are family and she is…not. They are stand-offish, brusque, untrusting; as are the many other rebels she has met during her scant fifteen years. They would welcome her, she could be one of them: a place bought for her with her family name and the fact that Darrow, at least, had a history with uncle Romulus. It’s that she has a family and, alone as she may be now, she is not looking to replace them. 

Academically, she knows they are dead, knows they bought her life with theirs. She has nightmares of them in cells, gaunt and bleeding and grey with exhaustion and pain, memories long buried from her barely-more-than-infancy of her mother, slashed open throat to groin by a stazer whip, hot iron blood pouring over Rosie, the shock that had locked horrified screams behind baby teeth and kept her wide eyed and blankly staring. The last protection her mother had given her. Her mother’s face and blood and howl of agony replaced by uncle Romulus’ and uncle Cyrus’ and her dad’s in turn until she barely sleeps at all, wanders the ship like the restless ghost she imagines them to be.

She knows those visions are likely true. Or, more likely, not true. Her mother’s death was too quick, too painless for what they will do to her dad.

But her heart does not believe it and, though she recognises the brittle loneliness in Nico and Casey, the willingness to welcome and accept her in David and Gene, the cautious and flattering trust extended by Darrow, she can’t make herself take the final step and accept them. She has a family who died for her, and to accept others into her heart seems the worst way to replay them. She, of everyone aboard the Valjean, except perhaps Lee, has never wanted for love or acceptance. She has never known the fear that those closest to her could turn on her at any moment. Rosie has always known deep in her guts and bones and soul that everyone she loves would give themselves up to any fate to protect her from so much as a bruise. She doesn’t know how to love without that assurance, with the caution that Jemma and Jay learned in slave camps and delta grade work parties and Darrow learned from his military superiors and David from his own children who’d reported him to the inquisition. 

Then she falls ill. It’s inevitable. She is barely sleeping, rarely eating and a lifetime dirt-side has left her immune system ill prepared for the recycled air and water shipboard.  

She lies in her cabin, shaking with chills and burning with fever and knowing that she’s going to live through it and still still still won’t get to see her family, her real family, again. Ever again. 

David tends her, reassures her it’s spacer’s flu and they’ve all had it, coaxes her to eat and drugs her to rest and she hates him for not being the retired veterinarian who was the only medical professional her dad had trusted with her. She resents Jemma for stroking her hair and mopping her brow and helping her to change and stripping her sheets. She’s heard enough whispers by now to know that Jemma would love a child but fears to bring one into the world she inhabits. She’s no one's daughter. Not anymore. 

Nico and Casey sit with her, keep her company and she hates herself for how uncomfortable they make her, but she’d grown up in a secluded parochial community. She’s never seen a non-human before. She doesn’t know which of their many eyes to look at, nor how to ask without sounding like a fool and a dirt rat. She pretends to sleep because she can keep her eyes shut. 

Gene coddles the environmental systems in her room so she can change the temperature by the tiniest of increments by voice control. She can alter the gravity, relieving her sore muscles of her weight. And it’s not fair that he can do such a thing when uncle Cyrus would have faithfully promised he was going to and then broken something crucial trying because he was a shit engineer. 

She can barely look at either Darrow or Lee because they still have each other and it’s not fair. Because if she can’t have her dad, even when she’s ill and alone and the pain in her heart is worse than the pounding behind her eyes, then why does Lee still get to have his? She had long since grown out of believing that her dad hung the moon.

My daddy can do anything, she had once told a teacher and never been allowed to forget it.

But at a push, if necessary, he would have caught her if she’d fallen off the edge of the world. So where is he? She knows that answer and it’s her fault, just as her mother’s death had been. Weapon in hand, but unable to bring it to bare with a squirming three year old in her arms, she hadn’t even died on her feet, on her knees hunched over Rosie, making a shield of blood and flesh and bone and she’d let uncle Cyrus and uncle Romulus and dad do the same. As though she’s worth four lives. 

And as though the crew of the Valjean can ever be that to her.

Which is when Jay comes to see her. He looks careworn at the corners of his eyes. She has a vague idea he’d been off ship, searching out information from someone and about something, but her tired, aching head can’t grasp the details. 

“Spacer’s flu, huh?”

She wants to scream. Another person to be kind and sympathetic and treat her like a child and do it wrong. She would sell her very soul to be called Rosie-Posie by uncle Romulus and offered a cup of lime icy that he always forgets is dad’s favourite, not hers. 

Jay settles in the chair by her bed and regards her. 

“You gunna tell me everyone gets it?” she rasps out and is proud of how steady her voice is. 

A smile tugs the corner of his mouth. “Nah. You know that. I’m the last in and Gene loves to state the obvious.”

That almost makes her smile. “You gunna read to me?”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “You want me to?”

No one has asked. They’ve all just treated her like their child and she isn’t. “Uncle Cyrus used to read to me if I was sick.” It both is and isn’t an answer. 

Jay nods and doesn’t reach for his tablet. “You miss them.”

She has to swallow twice to answer like a crew member, not like a little girl. “Gene’s not the only one who states the obvious.”

Once again the near smile tugs at his mouth. “Stupid thing to say.” There’s a silence, long and considering and eventually Jay offers, “I still miss mine.”

“You’re not going to tell me it gets easier?”

This answer comes quick and certain. “It doesn’t.”

Rosie forces herself to sputter a laugh instead of tears. “You are not a comforting man.”

“It gets familiar if that helps. But my-” and to Rosie’s surprise there are tears glimmering at the corner of his eyes. For the first time, such easy trust offered to her doesn’t enrage her. Jay gives her this because their loss is the same, not because he’s claiming her in a way only her family have a right to. “My parents were killed for hiding me.”

“Hiding you?”

“I was born on Adroit. There are strict population controls. I was my parents' fourth child. They hid me until I was almost 6, then my older brother told his best friend and her parents reported mine. My whole family was put to death. I was allowed to live.” Another silence. “I’ve never been sure if that was their punishment or mine.”

Voice tight, Rosie offers, “We were hidden, by the time our proximity alarms went off we were surrounded. Uncle Romulus sent out a message to his contacts, Darrow was the only one near enough to answer. They…they…pushed me into our only capsule, then they made a production of surrendering. The famous Porter family,” her voice turns bitter. “Every ship in the whole quadrant was focused on them humiliating themselves. No one picked up a single capsule.”

Jay nods. Rosie’s not wrong. He was on the bridge. Darrow had been foaming at the mouth, desperate to charge in and help, unable to peel himself away from the vid-screen. It had been Nico and Casey who picked up the weak, encoded transponder, Lee and Jay who reeled the capsule aboard. Darrow had been watching the Porters, looking for a moment to drop a charge on them. If death in fire and explosion was the last mercy he could have given Romulus he would have done it. 

Rosie realises she’s crying. It’s the first time she’s wept in front of any of them. 

Jay does not reach out in an overly familiar way. Does not wipe her tears away with the blade of his thumb as he dad had done; does not sling an arm around her shoulders and pull her into the warmth and shelter of his body as uncle Cyrus used to; does not hold her hand and tease her hair and call her infantile nicknames like uncle Romulus.

He doesn’t touch her at all. 

He offers her a scrap of mostly clean fabric and busies himself looking away from her face by refilling her water glass.

“Do you want me to go?” No one else aboard would have thought to ask that, would have seen a crying child that they should comfort and help and protect. 

“No.” Rosie surprises herself by answering. “No…don’t…please don’t go.”

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Black Ice

whumptober2023 day 22- vehicular accident fandom- Danny phantom TW- character death summary- The Fentons had always been bad drivers

ao3 masterlist

The Fentons had always been bad drivers. They’d driven on sidewalks, hit more mailboxes then the police could keep track of. Pretty much everyone had given up on giving them speeding tickets. Even the weather report included if the Fentons were likely to be driving that day.

But no one had been hurt.

Sure there had been property damage and people running out of the way. But no one had gotten hurt. No one had died.

But winter that year had been more snowy than usual. The roads were slick and obscured by a layer of snow. Everyone knew to be careful when they drove. Knew how easy it was for a car to lose traction.

But the Fentons… The Fentons were just as reckless.

And it cost them.

The Fenton family had been driving to the school for parent teacher conference night.

They’d swerved into the parking lot. But then they hit a curb and the car had tipped and started rolling. It crashed into the side of the building and wall partially collapsed taking a piece of the roof with it.

Paramedics and firefighters rushed to the scene.

They managed to pull the Fentons to out of the car and rush them to the hospital. Only after the ambulance had left, did they realize that there had been people on the other side of the wall.

Out of the rubble they dug out two students and a teacher. It was too late for them.

On the way to the hospital the Fenton adults died.

Doctors rushed to treat the Fenton children, but despite their best efforts the girl died.

The only one to survive was the boy.

He grieved when they told him his family was dead, when they told him his friends and teacher were dead.

When he was finally released from the hospital, he was put into the care of his godfather.

When he was finally able to leave the hospital

The Fentons had always been reckless drivers. But no one had gotten hurt. No one had died. 

Until they had.

And that changed everything.

[elisabethrosewrites]

Flashbacks

A Dance of Stars and Curses Snippet

Content warnings: painful flashbacks, character death (temporary)

It had been something so simple. Something that under ordinary circumstances wouldn’t have been a big deal. Leo had been sketching, something he did to keep his mind occupied when he was in a bad place. He had likely just fallen asleep but it was the position he was in. His head at a horrible angle, one that would definitely give a human a neck ache. But it dredged up an even worse image.

A basement cellar, cold and dark. The sharp scent of both his mates blood on the air. The fear of the unknown that he was walking into, the agony pulsing through the bond from two sources. They were both hurt and Oliver had no idea how badly. He’d pushed into that room and found the worst possible thing. Angel with his hands bound above him, his feet just barely grazing the floor, covered in so much blood. Leo held back by Viktor, a hand over his mouth and nose. And Merrick standing behind Angel. He remembered Merrick demanding he give up their bond. Demanding that Oliver return to him and resume his place on the throne. “I have everything worked out with your uncle, he is willing to convince the court to forget all of it. All you have to do is break this fool mating bond.” But he didn’t. He wouldn’t give up the happiness he’d found. He’d hoped, incorrectly that Merrick would concede. It had been a fool's thought. In one swift motion, Viktor snapped Leo’s neck.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, stuck in the memory. But his awareness came back to him slowly and he became conscious of a set of cool hands on either side of his face. The fingers were wiping away the tears, humming something soft and low. When had he fallen to his knees? His vision came back into focus and Leo was kneel in front of him, his face drawn in worry. A relieved smile crossed his lips when Oliver refocused on him. Oliver was moving before he’d fully regained feeling in his arms. He threw his arms around Leo, drawing him close to his chest. Leo allowed it, curling in close, his arms wrapping around Oliver’s waist. Oliver’s hands soothed down Leo’s back, tucking Leo’s head under his chin letting his breathing ease with the scent of Leo around him. Jasmine and white tea, floral and delicately sweet. It was comforting. A scent that had been with him for so long.

“What happened?” Leo’s soft voice was gentle in the quiet.

“Just a bad memory,” Oliver whispered in reply.

“Of?”

Oliver squeezed Leo, breathing in deeper. “You dying,”

“Ah, that,” Leo tried to maintain a causal tone. He nuzzled Oliver’s throat, pressing a kiss to the hallow there. “I’m right here Ollie.” Oliver nodded once and ran his hand along Leo’s back again, keeping his fingers light. He drew back just enough that he was able to crook a finger under Leo’s chin drawing him up into a gentle kiss. Leo sighed into it, melting against him and it helped to assure him Leo was there. He hated that he needed those assurances. It had been far too long since Leo’s death for it to still affect him that way.

[blackat-t7t]

Horrible thought: a clone who names himself Compost

He loves gardening. His general was part of the Agricorp before joining the war effort, and she introduces him to hydroponic gardening on the ship and the temple gardens on Coruscant

He also makes many, many dark/gallows humor jokes about his body decaying into fetilizer after he dies

[prokopetz]

I love that Supergiant's answer to "how can we possibly follow up on the first game's rebellious failson protagonist" is to make the sequel's protagonist an earnestly dorky honour-student-with-impostor-syndrome type whose college major is murder.

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[stellewriites]

very much inspired by a post i’ll link at the bottom to avoid spoilers

i love putting john price in situations

simon had known price for over a decade, had served under him as his lieutenant for a good portion of it, so he was pretty confident in answering yes when asked if he thought he knew the captain well.

he could acknowledge he wasn’t as close as say laswell may have been, but he knew that price’s wife was not common knowledge around the base either.

he’d pieced it together over the years on missions; catching the odd comment shared over coms; the glint of a ring around his neck; the odd teased mention of her when they sat in the rec room after barely scraping through a tough spot, when price needed the company as well as the silence ghost offered before returning to the real world.

it was how simon knew the sergeants were staying when price let slip about her one day. because he doesn’t let anything slip, wouldn’t, especially about her.

“got anyone at home waiting for you, sir?” gaz asked as he sighed impatiently over the coms, hour three of silently waiting and watching had finally gotten to him.

“i do,” price said simply, not offering any further information. ghost could imagine the amusement tugging at his daft facial hair as price refused to continue without prompting and simon smiled under his mask when he heard johnny scoff next to him before chiming in.

“c’mon sir, give us a wee bit more’n that,” he weedled. “when’d ya meet? is she nice?”

john hummed, the sound low and crackly over the radio in their ears. “met when i moved.”

“oh, a real meet-cute type thing, eh?” gaz teased.

john ignored him. “wouldn’t say she’s nice, soap. she’s more than that. ‘nice’ is your aunt’s new wallpaper; you have permission to shoot me point blank if i start calling her nice.”

“what is she then?” ghost piped up. this was the chattiest john had ever been on the subject and he was going to take advantage.

john went silent for long enough that the three men thought that was it, the end to their sharing session and knowing more about their captain outside of work. simon chewed the inside of his cheek.

“she’s devoted,” john whispered finally before his voice firmed. “heads up, team, movement 2 o’clock. anyone got eyes on the target?”

—

it was months later when she was brought up again, the team thinking. nothing of it until price’s phone pinged in his pocket enough times to pique johnny’s interest as they prepped to leave.

“that the wife, sir?” he asked.

john huffed, didn’t bother checking his phone as he turned and shook his head. “she’s clingy, but she doesn’t bother me when i’m at work.”

“how’d you know?” gaz asked. “could be an emergency.”

“‘n��� how’d you get her to agree tae tha’?” soap followed up quickly, having had issues with his own flings petering out when he was distant and slow to reply.

“been with her long enough now it’s routine,” john said simply. he checked his weapons before heading for the exit. “helo in 5, be air ready.”

—

the mission had gone to shit, and they were stuck hidden in a building that looked like it was 10 seconds away from collapsing under a brisk wind when ghost finally felt his patience snap.

it was no one’s fault, but being stuck in another country with no back up and a target on their backs for an extra three weeks wasn’t ideal and johnny’s insistence on playing cards at every opportunity to keep his idle hands and mind busy combined with gaz’s tinny whistling had made for the perfect scenario to grate on simon’s patience quicker than anything else ever had.

“tell us about her. ya wife,” simon asked, his gaze slipping across to john, watching him pick at his nails. his cuticles were red and raw from four days of agitated fidgeting since they’d ran out of cigars and cigarettes. every so often simon caught him pat his empty pocket before he’d remember and huff heavily through his nose like a bull.

john closed his eyes at the mention of his wife and sighed. he started his description without protest or hesitance. “shes soft spoken. christ, you’d hardly know she was there half the time, she’s so quiet. but she’s firm. stands her ground no matter what,” he chuckled. “don’t think i’ve ever won an argument against her.”

kyle laughed and ghost closed his own eyes, trying to picture what he thought the captain’s wife might look like. pretty certainly, but was she tall, plump, did she have an endearing gap between her front teeth, did she keep her hair short or long?

“she’s a bit of a homebody,” john admitted bashfully, unaware of simon’s drifting thoughts. “but i can’t say i mind it.”

“not wanting to leave the bedroom much when yer back?” johnny joked, hissing when ghost punched his thigh.

john just smiled placidly, eyes still closed. his eyebrows pulled down as he gushed, “god she’s gorgeous in red. wears it every time i come home.”

“lucky bastard,” gaz huffed.

“yeah.” john nodded and finally opened his eyes. “yeah, lucky.”

“you’ll be back with her soon, cap,” gaz reassured him when he saw price swallow thickly.

“thanks, gaz. now who’s taking first watch tonight? soap?”

—

john was quiet on the plane ride home, not unusually so, but ghost noticed the difference all the same.

he was pensive perhaps, worried what his wife would say when he finally got home a month later than scheduled, uncontactable the entire time. ghost could understand to a certain degree that john would have more important things on his mind than what his three subordinates were going to do as soon as they stepped foot on home soil, so he didn’t push when john ignored the few threads of conversation thrown his way by their younger sergeants. instead he nodded when john said a quick goodbye as they all parted ways in the airport.

simon could only assume john was the same all the way home in the cab that dropped him outside of his little three bed house.

he didn’t see however how john hesitated at the door to his home that evening. how he gripped the front door keys tightly in his fist, shook as he stared down at his feet instead of letting his eyes drift and catch on the windows, and felt as though he could crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

he finally opened the door when he thought the neighbours might begin to get worried and stepped inside, flicking on the lights as he went.

it wasn’t until he got to the kitchen that he found her.

stood bare foot, silent, eyes wide and pleading, blood seeping - always seeping. would it ever stop? would the blood ever end? - through her white pyjama top, his top that she’d borrowed for the night, and trickling down her bare legs.

her mouth opened and she visibly struggled for breath, but no sound escaped even as her tongue wagged on the floor of her mouth, lapping at the backs of her teeth as all words escaped her.

he swallowed back bile.

“hello, sweetheart,” he choked out. “sorry i’m late.”

the blood pooled at her feet, the panties she wore were seeped a dark purple from the viscus liquid dying the dark blue material and the shirt stuck to her front. john had remembered loving seeing her like this in a morning, had always thought she looked best in as little clothing as possible.

“i know you hate it when work keeps me busy, but it was unexpected. we were caught—“ a high screech, not dissimilar to that of a whistle that only a dog could hear, pierced through his ears and cut his words short. he curled in and covered his ears, but he knew it would do no good, he should’ve known better than to talk about work around her.

not after what had happened last time he got back late after overtime.

tears prickle at his eyes and the sound abruptly stopped. he’d never questioned why it seemed to be only him that could hear her protests, why his neighbours never mentioned a shrill cry every so often from his home. he had always said she was made for him and that had apparently translated literally into the afterlife.

he looked up at her again - it was best not to ignore her he found. it only made her angry.

“it won’t happen again,” he promised wetly. “i did my best to get back as soon as i could, i promise, sweetheart—“ he choked on his words, biting back a sob. she watched unblinkingly, silent except for the wet squelch of her feet on the laminate.

they both knew he wasn’t apologising for being late this time. he got like this sometimes, when her agonised face and mangled body was too much to bear after a long mission and the guilt bore down like a physical presence.

he couldn’t help but think if he’d gotten home even just an hour earlier he might’ve been able to save her, to have kept her company instead of leaving her on the floor alone and cold, maybe he could have caught the bastards that had hurt her while he was still travelling back from deployment after agreeing to hang back and finish his paperwork there and then instead of emailing it across.

he reached a shaking hand forward and blew out a ragged breath when his hand met nothing but frigid air. but when he brought his hand up to his face he could smell the copper tang of his dead wife’s blood on his skin. the stench unwashable, cloying, but if he concentrated hard enough it ever so faintly smelt like the vanilla perfume she used to wear.

“was telling the lads about you, love,” he forced an empty chuckle as he walked around her to the kettle and went through their usual routine. “think they might’ve fallen a little in love, not that i could blame them.”

he ran a hand over his face and gave himself a moment to let the tears fall as his palm hid his eyes. her silence was the worst part of it all, but he could see the glaring red of her in his peripheral when he dropped his hand to the counter.

it wasn’t pretending his wife was still alive if she was right there at his shoulder, was it?

“looks like i’ll need to grab you some more pg tips, sweetheart,” he said and poured the boiling water into two cups, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his wife. “we’re almost out.”

post link

[anime-villian-irl]

"id let the world burn for you"

"I'd kill for you"

"id die for you"

"I'd sacrifice the world for you"

BORING!

Yawn snore snore. Honk shoo honk shoo.

I got twelve other guys ready to that for me. You already do that. You already destroy the world I would just happen to be there while you did.

The real question is.

Would you save the world for me?

Would you put aside your hatred for humanity and put my love for it Infront? Would you save the world because I love the world? Would you stop killing because I hate killing? Would you find a way to live because I want you alive?

Death and destruction are easy as hell. Do you know how fucking easy it is to kill someone? To blow up a building? Shure security is in the way but if it wasn't there it would be easy as hell.

You'd do the basics Shure. But would you do the hard thing and save the world because I asked you to?

Would you push aside your hatred of everyone but me because I asked you to nicely?

Would you?

[kathaynesart]

TMNT AU COMPETITION - CONTEXT COMICS: COMIC 1 - COMIC 2 - COMIC 3 - COMIC 4 - COMIC 5

Don't mind, Omega. He's just being dramatic. Thank you so much @abbeyofcyn and @thegunnsara for pulling me into this hilarious mashup as well as @kittynomore @tapakah0 @hylwicks and @isaacz for letting their characters be a part of it! Figured I would use this opportunity to do my Replica introduction as well!

The @tmntaucompetition has barely even started and I am already overwhelmed by the amount of asks and support I've received! Thank you everyone! There are so many things I want to respond to, but I just don't have the time!

However I am so excited to get to interact with some of you! I'll be sure to respond to a few more that reference Omega directly when I can (looking at you @intotheelliwoods and @karonkar )!

Also, please don't destroy my asks trying to offer chew toys to Donnie... it's too late. His fate has been sealed. He's in autistic robot hell now. Goodnight sweet prince.

Also also, uh... THAT one image? Don't think about it too hard. :)

[kybercrystals94]

Haunting Failures

By KyberCrystals

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023|Day 23|Alternative Prompt: Aftermath of Failure

Rating: T

Words: 745

Summary: Hunter has a nightmare.

CW: Some disturbing images…nothing too graphic, but I just thought I’d mention it.

Hunter is running, boots pounding into packed, dry earth. Ashes drift like snowflakes against a blood red sky, the sun blotted by dense smoke. Hunter is alone, weaving through a battlefield devoid of life, but reeking of death. Bodies, machine and flesh, litter the expanse of land. Hunter tries to ignore them, tries to focus on the one sound that matters, the one thing that matters.

The one person that matters.

“Hunter! Help me!” Crosshair’s voice. Frantic, desperate. “Please!”

Hunter runs harder. He scales another obstacle, nearly loses his footing.

“I’m falling! Hunter!”

“I’m coming!” Hunter calls out, “Hold on, Cross. Just hold on!”

He sees his brother, panicked movements, hands clawing at the ground, searching for a hold on the barren terrain. The sniper is being dragged over the edge of a ravine; his body tangled in the wires of something pulling him over.

“Crosshair!” Hunter dives for him, catching his wrist just as his brother falls. “I’ve got you.”

“You’re going to let me go,” Crosshair gasps.

Hunter shakes his head. “No, I won’t, vod. Just hold on, I’m going to cut the wires away and pull you up.” Hunter reaches for his blade.

Crosshair stares up at him, eyes wide. “You gave up on me. You didn’t even try.”

“I’m trying right now, Cross, just hold on.”

“It’s too late, Hunter. You let me go.”

“That’s not true,” Hunter grits out, the blade of his knife finding the thin edges of the wires wrapped around Crosshair’s armored body. “Just hold on.”

“I thought we don’t leave our own behind,” Crosshair says, but his voice has changed. His expression has changed. He looks enraged, a fiery glint to his eyes. “I trusted you!”

And suddenly, Crosshair falls.

Hunter blinks, horror clouding his mind. “Crosshair!” he screams into the abyss.

“You let him go.”

Hunter turns and Tech is standing there, holding Crosshair’s helmet. The helmet has a crack near the right temple. Hunter scrambles shakily to his feet. “No. No, I didn’t. I tried…”

“Not hard enough, obviously,” Tech tells him. “Because now he’s gone.”

Tech drops the helmet, and it rolls toward Hunter, stopping at his feet. He stares at it, at the crack, at the familiar visor. He looks back up at Tech. Tech’s goggles are shattered on his face, his armor broken. He is barely standing, swaying.

“I couldn’t save him, Hunter,” Tech says. A thin trickle of blood escapes the corner of Tech’s mouth, and his eyes roll back. He starts to fall backwards.

“No!” Hunter lunges forward, catching Tech’s forearm.

But Tech is gone, and Omega is struggling in his grip, trying to pull away from him. “Let me go! We have to save them!” she shrieks.

“Omega!” Hunter cries, “Listen to me, it’s too late. They’re gone.”

“They’re not gone! You are giving up on them! You’re going to leave them behind!”

Hunter pulls her close to him, kneeling to look her in the eye. “Omega, please…”

“You failed them! You failed all of us!”

“Omega…”

“No! Let me go!” Omega thrashes against him, fists pounding against his chest. “You failed us! You failed us!”

“No, please,” Hunter begs.

Omega snarls. “You never cared about Crosshair. That’s why you left him, isn’t it? You let Tech fall. You let Hemlock take me.”

“No, no, no…” Hunter shakes his head, closing his eyes so he doesn’t see the fury in his sister’s face.

“Hunter!”

Hunter wakes with a panicked sob, sitting upright so fast his head collides with the bunk above him; however, the pain of the impact feels like nothing compared to the turmoil of emotions making his heart pound and eyes sting with unshed tears.

“Easy, easy,” Echo’s voice soothes. “You were having a nightmare.”

Hunter turns to look at the clone sitting beside him. “It felt real…” he pants out, his breaths shuddering in his lungs. “I lost them all, Echo…it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t let Crosshair go…”

“No, you can’t think like that,” Echo says firmly. He takes Hunter’s hand, squeezing it so tight it hurts.

“And Tech,” Hunter continues, “he wouldn’t have died if we had gotten to Crosshair sooner…we should have made him come with us at Kamino. We should never have left him behind.”

Echo shakes his head. “Hunter…”

“And Omega…I promised to protect her.” Hunter begins to cry, the voices of his nightmare whispering in his memories. He failed them. He failed all of them.

END

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[zephyrchama]

MC and Thirteen who doesn't want to do her job as a reaper, so when MC's time comes around they start travelling the world instead.

Another reaper finds them sipping drinks out of coconuts on the beach and asks what they're doing. "We just got a bit lost," Thirteen claims. "My legs hurt so we're taking a break. Relax, I'll properly collect their soul in a little bit."

Ok. Fifty years later the same reaper comes across MC and Thirteen taking selfies in a shopping mall.

Thirteen sticks up for MC once more. "We got lost again. No, don't worry about it. I don't tell you how to do your job, so scram and just let me do mine."

Another hundred years ago by. The same reaper shakes their head and tries to ignore the two familiar faces playing hide and seek around the seating area of a major music festival.

[piratefishmama]

Just ONE chance

Stephanie Harrington never intended to be a whole presence online.

She hadn’t even really understood the whole thing at first, it didn’t exist when she was a kid! An if it did it sure as hell wasn’t in every nook and cranny of the globe like it now seemed to be. Kids with iPads, hands glued to phones, six year olds who simply had to have the latest Apple thing.

It was all Dustin’s idea. King of the Gadget. Overseer of all things technology. Gargantuan nerd. Stevie’s little brother.

Not biologically, Claudia, Dustin’s mother had basically adopted Stevie when her own parents had tragically lost control of the wheel during a storm and wrapped their car around a tree back when Stevie was still a teenager. Back when Stevie was still Dustin’s regular babysitter and very suddenly found herself alone having been babysitting when the news reached her.

They’d been coming back from a business trip that she hadn’t been able to go with them on because of school. They’d been so close to home. She’d heard the sirens. They’d been that close.

It was fine though, in one fell swoop, yes she lost her parents, but she gained Claudia, and Dustin, and that was enough, because she sure as hell didn’t get anything else from them. It was all swallowed up, snatched away by her parents business partners because people are sharks and she just… wasn’t prepared to fight them on any of it, especially not when her parents had stupidly left her without a will.

Apparently they believed they’d live forever! The money vanished, the house was sold, she was left with nothing.

With growing up in the Henderson house, came choices, some great, some really stupid, and some that’d led to the very happy accident of Rosie.

To be fair to herself, she’d been in quite a long term relationship at that point! It was a happy one too! She’d thought he’d be it. Sure he’d been a lot rough around the edges, at the start, it’d been a shame cycle at the beginning since he was in fact, a colossal prick, but he was also the hottest guy she’d ever seen. Like, unfairly attractive considering his personality, and he knew exactly how to touch her to melt her icy resolve into a watery mess.

But once he’d gotten away from his dipshit of a father, his step mother dragging him with her when she escaped the man too, once Stevie had laid down the law of how little of the bullshit he’d learned from said father she’d personally tolerate before he’d get a boot out the door, he’d come around.

The racism had stopped immediately. The attitude had ebbed bit by bit as feelings set in, and he’d become a regular ol handsome teddy bear, he’d allowed himself to soften after he’d escaped the only reason he’d had to protect himself.

He’d even started getting along with his step sister, one of Dustin’s friends.

Then stupidity happened when they ran out of condoms, her cycles stopped, and three months in, two drunk idiots in a pickup ran a stoplight while he was getting her some ice cream. Doctors said he probably hadn’t felt a thing.

Rosie came along, a beautiful little thing, had her dad’s soft cheeks, his stormy eyes, thick dark lashes and soft curls, but she took after Stevie in everything else.

Stevie didn’t date after that. A personal choice really. She’d lost her parents, lost her love, and now she had a little girl to focus on, she was done. She felt herself complete! So what if she was still in her mid-twenties. Life had dealt her a hand, she was going to run with it.

Rosie would always come first, and she didn’t like explaining where Rosies father was, she didn’t like the look of pity on people’s faces, the apologies, the rinse and repeat cycle, and so she just. Didn’t bother!

It was easier! She had Rosie, she had her adoptive mother, she had Dustin, she had Billy’s sister Max and her other half Lucas, she had Susan, she had Robin, her co-worker and platonic soulmate from that dumb job at the mall she’d picked up to help Claudia with the bills, she had a whole support network, and she was fine.

Soon Rosie was in preschool, and then middle school, and the internet became a household thing, houses had computers, kids had phones, then smartphones, laptops, tablets, and suddenly the internet was everywhere and everyone had to be on it.

So there she was now. Mid-thirties, with a little girl, and a house paid for by her little brother.

Dustin had struck gold with a job at NASA, he’d put the downpayment on a little two bed house with a cute picket fence lined garden for her when Rosie was born without consulting her, just did it and “SURPRISE STEVIE, now get the hell out of mom’s basement, Jesus Christ.” Kept paying until it was all hers, and that was that… until he came round with computers and gadgets and then she had the internet because Rosie would need it for school because while libraries were awesome he’d had to suffer the five books at a time, Dustin rule one too many times and the internet had UNLIMITED books.

And now Stevie had a smart phone, and apps, and Instagram was fun! Doomscrolling the FYP took up chunks of her days off work while Rosie was at school! She never intended to be a name on there. She’d heard that people could become known for stuff, go viral or whatever.

She never intended to do that. She was a mother. Not even a hot young mom either. She was in her thirties! She remembered when the world didn’t have internet, she was there.

She posted work out videos, never having lost the competitive streak she’d always had as a teenager, sports were her thing back in high school, Gymnastics specifically, which led into cheering. She’d done some competition once with the team but nothing huge, she was fit, healthy, and the subject of many a thirst comment that she pointedly ignored.

She’d posted the occasional rant about Sally the PTA bitch with the self-proclaimed “best potato salad in the State” while doing her morning makeup, still never paying much mind to the comments section, the little rapidly climbing number that signalled followers, or the occasional DM from brands wanting to ‘collab’.

She didn’t care for that, she just wanted to post her little videos in peace. In retrospect, if peace was what she wanted, the lunch trend… probably wasn’t the best one to pick up. It was just a trend though! She’d seen a few moms doing it! Just posting little harmless videos online of what they’d pack their kids for lunch every day!

Harmless, fun! She loved making Rosies lunches, she saw no harm in sharing the fun!

They were always affordable, packed with healthy options, and creative too! She tried her hand at sushi, Rosie hated it, Robin loved it, so Robin got the sushi rolls in her lunches instead, picked up every morning when she grabbed Rosie on the way into work, they were both going to the same place after all, Robin taking on the music teacher role at the Middle school Rosie attended.

She tried noodle jars, cool wraps, made shapes and fun little animals out of fruit, she got creative, but they were all very cookie cutter videos, they all had the same vibe, similar content, it was something to fill her free time that she enjoyed so never in a million years would she have ever predicted that ONE of them, would cause so much chaos.

It started with the beeping.

The incessant pings sometime in the early hours of the morning. Notifications on her phone going off one after the other until she was forced to sit up, bleary eyed, and stare with squinted eyes at the far too bright screen of her phone, then she silenced it and went back to sleep.

With the chaos of the morning routines, getting Rosie up, washed, dressed, packed up for school, and out the door, she didn’t think about the incessant little beeping she’d silenced. It was a distant memory buried under the fog of a heavy sleep and continued to be a distant memory right up until Dustin appeared at her doorstep at around one in the afternoon midway through her afternoon workout, ruffled, stressed, flustered, and frankly just a little too sweaty.

He bypassed all niceties, as usual, bulldozing straight to the point, he pinpointed her phone, which sat comfortably on the countertop, seemingly oh so innocent, grabbed it, brandished it up as if to highlight its very existence and just “Woman, do you LOOK, AT YOUR PHONE?!”

Now, Stevie was not in the business of accepting a tone like that, especially not from her little brother. No matter how much he’d shelled out for the house, the attitude had to go. “Tone problem you little shit, fix it now or get the fuck out of this house and try again later.”

To his credit, he took a breath, and fixed it “Sorry, I’m sorry, but—look! Look at it, please, for the love of Christ, the internet is freaking out.”

“What?”

“Your video yesterday! The one with the like… teddy bear thing you did? With the rice an the—”

“Rosies lunch?”

“Yeah! Have you seen the comments on it?” Stevie rolled her eyes and went about picking up her things, workout sufficiently disrupted, she wouldn’t be able to pick that pace back up now. “Stevie?”

“You know I don’t look at those, people get weird on the internet, it’s like it gives weirdos the perfect place to be their weirdest selves and not in a good way.” She’d looked at them once, curiosity had gotten the better of her once upon a time and wound up having to ask Max what ‘OF?’ meant. She’d taken the win, let it momentarily boost her self-confidence, and decided to never look again. She was done with all that.

“Stevie, this time… one of those weirdos, is famous.” Since it was the age of the internet, Stevie regarded him with a look of disinterest, ‘famous’ could be anything, it could be some dweeb behind a computer screaming obscenities at a mic hooked up to some ridiculously overpriced gaming PC for likes. It could be a podcast bro with half a brain cell kicking its long since dead other half, it could be—“rockstar famous.” Dustin clarified. “One of the guys from that band I like? Corroded Coffin, they just—” he swiped the phone, letting out a soft scoff as the screen just flicked to life, no security pin to be seen of course, no matter, he’d probably berate later, he had a video to find and—“Ah-hah! Look!” and a phone to once again shove into his big sister’s face.

“That’s not even my video!”

“I know! They took the comment down already, but it’s EVERYWHERE, look!” Someone had screenshots. It wasn’t just one video covering it, Dustin scrolled, another popped up soon after, someone getting a little too excited about what was probably the most unfortunate of accidents.

“Don’t they have like… I dunno, people running their accounts? A person? Maybe their internet person just forgot to log out of that account?”

“No! Eddie runs it! The guitarist? Eddie Munson, he usually runs it all himself so everyone thinks it’s him, AND—AND LOOK!” Dustin clicked on the Corroded Coffin’s account, then tapped on the most recent post. Just a big black square, with the word ‘Whoops’ in big bold white lettering, captioned ‘I regret nothing. Just ONE chance, sweetheart, just one.’ With a little prayer hands emoji. “He’s ASKING you out!”

“He’s being a freak on the internet” hands found her hips, the classic mom pose. Immovable, stubborn.

“He’s always a freak! But he’s really cool! He does like, Make A Wish stuff, and—and visits children’s hospitals dressed up like fantasy characters, and he runs DnD things on the account every few months an he’s just REALLY cool, I mean they’re all really cool but Eddie is really cool maybe—maybe you could—”

“Upend my life, Rosie’s life, for a guy I don’t know, who has a job that takes him all over the world, who probably has his pick of whoever the hell he wants so what exactly could I bring to the table to keep him around? I’m done with all that shit, Dusty… I had my time, I have Rosie, I have everything I need. What makes you think I’d even like him?”

“You liked Billy.”

“Get out.”

“No, wait, not like that, I mean, they’re the same! Well, okay, not the same, Eddie didn’t start out a giant prick an he’s never been racist, but they’re sorta similar, similar music tastes, shit fathers, he’s rough round the edges, lil scary looking sometimes but he’s just a big softie when you get past the whole, scary dog thing. Eddie’s like… if Billy never had a shit dad. I just think that maybe… if you looked him up, maybe you’d… I dunno, you’d like him… maybe he’d be your kind of guy… maybe you could finally find someone who appreciates you… you’re not supposed to be on your own, Stevie.”

“Yeah well, I’m not. I have Rosie, and Robin, an you guys… an y’know. Bob.”

“Bob?” One of her patented looks told him all he needed to know, he jerked back in revulsion “ew! God! Fine, could you just! I dunno, look him up or something? Just think about it, I swear he’s really cool an I’d—”

“You’d love free tickets to their next concert.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Alright then, nice to see you Dustin. Always a pleasure to have you round, please get the hell out of my house.” 

“UggGGGGGHHHHH, STEVIIIIEEE!!!”

“Uggghh, DUSTIIIIN! You interrupted my work out for internet pervert nonsense.” She began shooing him toward the door “Shoo, shoo. I have a family sized bar of chocolate to work off my hips before it gets stuck there.”

“He’d love your hips! With the addition of chocolate bars or not!”

“Weird! Out!” Out the door he went, it closed behind him.

That of course didn’t stop him from yelling through the door, “Just look him up!! I promise you won’t regret it!” But she mostly ignored him, until he went away.

Mostly because… Dustin never spoke up in favour of men before. He’d even gone through a period of hinting at maybe just switching sides and dating Robin when he found out Robin was a lesbian, but both women had promptly shut that down every single time he tried bringing it up.

He wasn’t a huge fan of men.

He’d been raised by a strong independent woman, he’d had a strong female role model in Stevie who’d pushed through every trauma life had thrown at her, he had Robin, he had Max, Jane, Erica, he had Nancy his friend Mike’s older sister, one of his friends had also been raised by a strong independent woman, he’d been surrounded by strong women his entire life with only one real solid male figure.

And that was his middle school science teacher, Scott Clarke. Which was kind of sad when you thought about it.

For him to really vouch for a man, it meant something! It wasn’t something to ignore, even if every instinct Stevie had told her to just. Leave it. What kind of man could a rockstar lifestyle have created. What kind of red flags could Eddie Munson be hiding that Dustin couldn’t (or didn’t want to) see.

Did he really even mean it?

Was it actually Eddie, and not someone else from the band? Would she be seen as foolish for even entertaining the thought? It wasn’t like she’d ever paid attention to the bands Dustin liked, so surely nobody would see her as a weird fan for thinking about it, right? She didn’t even approach him!

He approached her!

Shit like that didn’t just happen though. Or did it? Could it? Was she stupid to even entertain the thought?

Before she knew it, it was time to pick Rosie up, and she hadn’t even finished her work out. it was fine, her hips could handle a chocolate bar. For now. Its days were numbered.

[moliathh]

Better the devil you know than the angel you don't

[lilybug-02]

Weird Route...

Spoilers for CT Weird Route below.

Please check tags for anything triggering ❤️

Afterlife...

........

This is not cannon, as the weird route is finished and it will not be added upon. But.......I often find myself wanting to draw for it. So here you are...

The weird route ends abruptly and without art for a reason. I wanted to make it painfully obvious that as YOU continue the route/story YOU stop getting anything out of it. You're only hurting the characters, and by the end, there's nothing left to do except start over.

I had thought of Asriel discovering Chara...well, dead. But I think that would have been too much for the scene. I didn't want to get any more depressing than it already was.

tbh I only hope that I can make an ending even half as good as this one. I still think about it often and I'm proud of the amount of work I put into it.