#Rest Time [OOC] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avastyetwats · 10 months

Text

Can we talk about this scene for a moment? It's everything to me for several reasons. First of all, Lucius. He deals with so much when it comes to Stede, but no matter how annoyed and exhausted he is, he's always one of the first to stand up for Stede. Especially when it came to Ed. He saw how hard Stede was falling for Ed, how he was trying to impress him, and he was always there to point that out to Ed, especially when they went on their 'adventure' and then we have this scene where Lucius is the first to stand up and say something on his behalf. He saved Stede's life right there as much as Edward did. He's dealt with a lot when it comes to Stede and is antics and pirating, and we see how irritated and annoyed he can get, but when it comes down to it, Lucius won't hesitate to defend his Captain and friend. He won't hesitate to protect him and it's so beautiful. Then the whole crew follows along. In episode 1 they were ready to mutiny, but they've come to love and accept Stede as their Captain. Not to mention he's basically the dad of the group because of how much he loves and cares for them and they see that now more than ever. They all stand up for him and show their love and loyalty, all coming together as one crew, as one family, because that's what they are. And Stede's smile? Oh, it's everything. The way they all stand up for him? No one has ever done that. All his life he's been made fun of, bullied, and laughed at and here is his crew standing up for him and praising him as a pirate. Which is all Stede has ever wanted, to be a pirate and he's finally seen as one, even if it may just be to save his life, but still, you can see the man is about to cry because he's so overcome with emotion. There's also pride and unbridled joy in that smile of his and in his eyes when he looks at them, especially when they finish his 'talk it through' phase. They don't say it with disdain or dread, but with smiles this time - with pride of their own. They've come to understand what that truly means and how much it's actually has helped them and how it was one of Stede's ways of showing that they matter, that their mental health matters. And who has the biggest smile when saying it? Lucius. This is one of my favorite moments of the show for these reasons. Stede may not be the greatest pirate or pirate Captain, but he cares. He loves and he doesn't hesitate in showing it and that's what sets him apart. And now the crew shows Stede that he, too, is loved and cared for. That they care for him, that they love him in return. This was THE family moment for me.

#ofmd #stede bonnet #our flag means death #this got super long but I was rewatching and I just had to talk about it <3 #it makes me happy every time #i don't know if i made complete sense and I had more to say but couldn't quite find the right words #and I rambled enough but yeah #my heart is so full for stede bonnet #for this family #resting at the inn (ooc)#stede bonnet meta

146 notes · View notes

misericorsalvator · 24 days

Text

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

#{ooc}#{warning: long read}#{drabble}#{Hey all-- it's been a blast but with life getting busier and busier I don't know how much RPing I've got left in me; at least for now.#So I wanted to give Henry a proper ending; a 'to be continued' if inspiration hits-- but also an epilogue in case it doesn't.#As RPing goes I may very well suddenly get struck with inspo in a couple days and veto this whole thing;#but it's also the first thing I've written in a long while and I'm pretty proud of how it turned out :)#The creature in the end is another character I've been brainstorming for a while but didn't have the time/energy to write;#I may play around with them a bit either on here or discord but I reckon we all know by now how life can get in the way :/#That said #It's been incredible roleplaying with all of you over the years;#in a way it's thanks to you lot that I kept writing even when I thought I had no stories left in me.#You are -all of you- an inspiration and I hope I'll get to write with you all properly again once life permits :)#For now; I wish you a good timezone and a wonderful rest of your day. Take care and stay safe!#-Crow}

20 notes · View notes

fairysteve · 2 years

Text

steve doesn't let people see him cry, especially not when he can't explain why he's crying.

he's invited everyone over for dinner, and they don't know it's to celebrate a birthday that he doesn't remember the date of. he knows they don't care that the dessert didn't turn out, probably didn't expect anything but snacks, and he has muffins to replace it. but steve didn't fall asleep until after 4am, too worked up about the dessert he has decided to not tell anyone about. and sleeping didn't make the feelings go away. and everyone got so loud, and he felt excluded from their conversations, and he had to leave the table to hide in the bathroom.

and steve had cried, tried not to breathe too loud, washed his face, and gone back to join them, a smile forced on his lips.

he didn't get to sit down before someone had asked for a refill, so steve had turned around to go to the kitchen, let the room stay dark since it was supposed to be a quick trip. but as he turned to open the fridge, eddie was suddenly there, next to him.

steve freezes like a deer in headlights.

"you okay? i called your name." eddie doesn't look concerned but steve's eyes stay wide, blinking, and suddenly new tears fall and eddie's expression turns to a confused frown.

"steve?" his gaze softens and he takes steve's hand in an offer of comfort. "let's sit down, yeah?"

"i had just managed to stop crying," steve complains. "and then you come out of nowhere and scare me and i don't fucking know why i'm crying to begin with."

he still lets eddie lead him to sit behind the kitchen island, hidden from view in case anyone comes looking.

"hey, everyone needs a good cry sometimes. and you look tired."

"mm. couldn't sleep until, like, 4." steve looks into the darkness of the kitchen, unable to face eddie while clinging to his hand.

"that's not good, sweetheart." eddie doesn't ask why, but probably assumes nightmares and not the anxiety that steve thought he had gotten better at managing.

he had been doing so good. and now he's crying, for a second time, and in front of eddie. when he doesn't let people see him cry.

but eddie just waits for him to be ready to talk, continues to hold his hand, doesn't judge him or make any jokes. steve thinks he might love him.

it's not a new thought.

"it's my birthday. or was. or will be. i don't know the date."

"that's fucking sad, steve." eddie moves to sit closer, not letting go of his hand. "you should have told us. henderson would have gotten you a gift."

steve manages something akin to a laugh. "and you wouldn't?"

"i am the gift," eddie jokes. "i'll give you the munson special."

"yeah? and what's that?"

"got you to smile, didn't i? greatest gift there is." eddie's words are soft, spoken only for the two of them. he reaches out with his free hand to wipe steve's tears away.

"happy maybe birthday, big boy."

steve doesn't kiss him, but he leans his head on eddie's shoulder, interweave their fingers.

"thanks for the gift."

eddie just smiles, and bends down to kiss his forehead.

maybe letting someone see him cry isn't the end-all steve thought it would be.

#steddie #my fiction library #i love processing through writing lol #i do not care if this makes sense or is ooc i just didn't want to cry a third fucking time for no real reason #i am staying happy the rest of the day. channeling that energy

976 notes · View notes