#heroes never die

[judacris]

hey.

hey, guys...

Chilli Healer

[sonicexelle-junkary]

Hands are still to shakey to draw rn, so have a bunch of semi-old things that are unfinished or are just concepts

[natewantstobattle-lyrics-daily]

"hey diddle-diddle, won't you meet me in the middle? / let the music make you fly / don't need to show no mercy, cause heroes never die."

- heroes never die

[anamelessfool]

Copia dying?

Tear the bitch apart ✨ aesthetically✨

Make it camp make it big make it iconic

Out of control off the wall off the cliff explosion CAMP

Some of us need the closure (me)

[kiokychan]

Heroes never die!! -Mercy

[min3nc]

live FNDM reaction (x)

[the-herdier]

If the Healers played Overwatch:

Artemy- Zarya or Doomfist.

Daniil- MERCY. And he's that kind of Mercy main, too.

Clara- Moira, and sometimes Zenyatta. Sombra or Hammond/Wrecking Ball if she's feeling particularly cheeky.

[arianakozlova]

Alexey Navalny💔

[boghermit]

[brian-wellson]

“This… this ain’t—” Wellson spat. “This ain’t it.”

This scenario continues to be different, he thought.

“‘Ain’t’ wot, Mister Wellson?” asked the younger Dark Iron, exchanging a long, pensive look with his partner.

“Donnae gots ta entertain this ‘un, do ya,” said the lead investigator. “He’s jus’ spenn’in’ woteva ‘is life is now in ‘is own version of th’ Netha.” He clicked his tongue. “Wot this loon ‘ain’t’ is worth our time, ‘specially durin’ pub time.”

Wellson grimaced. He always hated this part, the blood. He bit his inner cheek. Burnt pennies… huh… He flinched. Brilliant crimson speckles dropped to the table. Oh… that’s different…

The Dark Irons recoiled —according to the file, this fucker wasn’t actually supposed to actually bleed, let alone bleed red.

“Little help,” Wellson said, voice quiet.

The junior investigator glanced toward the senior. He didn’t know what to do: Lt was out of the office.

Good.

After a moment —

“Oi, ya fookin’ wanker,” shouted the senior, banging on the interrogation table. The door opened. The senior and junior pushed away to confer with the newly appeared human guard, eyeing the bloody droplets expanding across the tabletop.

Remarkably different than before…

Wellson watched the chaos around him as a ballet in slow motion. He’d seen it countless times before: two Dark Irons unable to communicate, the guard unwilling to touch the sullied table, and the immutable one-way mirror from behind which he could only assume one person could have been watching —

“Dusky,” called Wellson. He looked between the two Dark Irons and the human guard, the lattermost of which looked away. The senior Dark Iron walked over to the one-way mirror. Without a word or even moving his eyes off the man on custody, the dwarf knocked on it. Seconds passed. A minute. Two terse knocks on the interrogation room door. The human guard opened it:

The fifth player — a short, elderly Kul’Tiran man entered the room.

“Doctor Wellson,” said the coroner. “I conducted your autopsy.”

“Mister Wellson,” corrected the very confused, disturbingly nonplussed assassin. He went to unbutton his shirt, stopped by the Light-infused belly shackles binding him to the desk. “…nice job,” he said, just as he always had, gesturing toward the Y-incision.

“How to execute one who has died?” asked Dusky.

Wellson winced. Ugh: just like every other iteration. “You were the scholar of the team … I expected better than retribution.”

Dusky’s eyes blazed. “Shall I offer you a vengeance quote?”

“Is the writing that bad?”

The agèd coroner scoffed. “Interesting choice of words — ‘the writing’.”

A variation! Wellson seized on it: “You’ve Alanna’s instin—”

Dusky’s backhand’s sharp bite pierced the ambient silence.

“And you,” countered the 70+ year old man, “will never speak her name again.”

Wellson demurred, staring at the table. Quite different. The room fell silent. The Dark Irons said nothing … they had never seen the Director lose his shit before — but they’d heard about the Unit, the legends who had doggèdly searched for the arrogant motherfucker shackled before them for years.

“Yessir,” said Wellson.

Dusky smoothed his tweed vest. “Now, Doctor Wellson, you have interrupted my perfectly fine day. I’ve a pint waiting.” He turned away from Wellson and toward the human guard: “Johnson. Most secure cell. Protocol Echo-Zulu-”

“-Bravo-Charlie,” mouthed Wellson, locking eyes with the senior Dark Iron, continuing: “Triple shifts through Monday.”

“-Bravo-Roger,” said Dusky. “Triple shifts until Monday.”

The senior Dark Iron, who had been watching the entire exchange, made a note of Wellson’s verbal predictions — both accurate and errant.

Wellson, too, had made a mental note of the error:

…this has never yet happened. The aberration?

Dusky hesitated at the doorframe. “Why now?” he asked without turning.

“It’s the first time we got this right,” said Wellson.

Silence once again blanketed the interrogation room. Wellson slumped back in his chair. Johnson, the guard, left his hand on his side arm. Dusky snapped his fingers before leaving the room without turning around. The senior Dark Iron followed him out the door. Johnson closed it.

“Ya ruint me fookin’ weeken’ ya righ’ bastard!” growled the junior under his breath. “Had me a time booked wit’ these two bonnies I don met on OnlyElves, an’ I swear ta th’ Light if’fn I donnae get me gold back, it be commin’ from yer coffers, ya prig.”

Wellson chuckled. “This … this definitely … this ain’t it.”

— — • — —

((Obligatory OoC things:

(( Yes. Mister Brian Wellson has returned.

(( Covid did not kill the writer. Abuse did not kill the writer. Assault did not kill the writer. A loft block from 60 feet did not the writer. Poverty and homelessness has not yet killed the writer.

(( … and the writer will be damned if their character dies like a fucking dog. Deadass: Wellson always deserved better than some horrid Victorian ending.

(( Moreover, the people with whom the writer co-created this character and world deserved a better — and consensual — ending. For reasons the writer will disclose at a future date, apologies have always been due, but were unable to be extended. The writer understands a great deal of goodwill has been squandered over the past 3.5 years of dead time … and also states there is no presupposition toward collaboration of any kind.

(( AGAIN: no presupposition toward collaboration of any kind.

(( This is simply a project the writer needs to finish for the sake of finishing.

(( If, after all that … & 3.5 years of real-life hell, you’re still here‽ … welcome back. ))

[lloline]

MERCY from Overwatch

Finally i can show you my drawing of Mercy that i'm actually really proud of! I'm a Mercy main by myself, so i made a fanart for my sweet angel hero, yay!

[starsintheskyart]

Question… do heroes never die? :3

Tbh idk, but i do know my heart belongs to mercy especially her dr Ziegler skin bc OHHHMMMYYYGGOOOODDDD I love her I have not stopped maining her since the games’ release

Kinda was lazy on these doodles honestly so I do apologize but I wanted an excuse to draw her

Thank you for viewing!!

[hndcomic]

Heroes Never Die

Chapter 1: The Road Taken - Page 98

Hey young lady, you put that letter into that postbox now! Don't you dare hang on to it!

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