#major character death

[toads-and-whumps]

Maylancholy Day 2

Prompt: Major Character Death

@may-lancholy

Content: Death (Implied - Unnamed illness), child whumpee, parent caretaker, grief, setting is 1830s

Caretaker turned the doorknob to Whumpee's room slowly. Grief was set on her face, but she hid it as she closed the door behind her.

"Mama," Whumpee said, before having a coughing fit, "What did the doctor say?" They laid there, barely holding their head up, with bags under their eyes.

Caretaker tried to undo the cemented look on her face as they made eye contact with her. Her face was shrouded in the shadows of the room as she said, "The docter says you need to rest, my dear." Caretaker sat in the plush chair by Whumpee's bed. She took Whumpee's hand. "Close your eyes now. Everything will be better in the morning."

Whumpee smiled at her with big, innocent eyes. "Re-really? okay, I love you-" they coughed loudly again, "I-I love you mama." Whumpee closed their eyes, the biggest smile she'd seen on their face since they'd gotten sick.

Tears filled Caretaker's eyes as she looked down at Whumpee's resting form. She tried to keep the cracks out of her voice when she said, "I love you too."

[cozmowrites]

something unsaid

You sat on the front steps of the small house you and Izuku had once shared, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of your pants. The sun was setting in a wash of colors you barely noticed. You twirled your wedding band between your fingers, a habit you'd picked up in the months since he was gone.

The grief wasn't sharp anymore. It was dull, heavy, like trying to move through water. Some days it felt almost manageable. Other days, like today, it sat on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Oi."

The familiar voice broke the silence, and you looked up to see Katsuki standing there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His hair was messy, more out of laziness than any sort of style, and his eyes... his eyes were the same. Sharp, but softer now. Softer when he looked at you.

"Hey," you whispered.

He didn't ask if you were okay. He never did. He knew the answer, or maybe because he understood you wouldn't know how to respond.

Katsuki sat down beside you, close but not touching. The distance was careful, intentional, a line you hadn't crossed yet.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He looked tired, like he carried a thousand unsaid things with him wherever he went. Maybe he did. You both did.

"House looks fine," he muttered, nodding toward the chipped paint and the overgrown lawn you hadn't had the heart to fix. Something Izuku would point out too.

You huffed a laugh, so soft it barely made it past your lips. "Fine's a generous word."

Katsuki shrugged, like he agreed but wasn't about to say it.

A long, heavy silence stretched between you. It wasn't uncomfortable. It never really was with him. Still, you could feel something different tonight. An invisible weight to the air.

You stared down at the ring in your hand. "I don't know how to... move forward," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "It feels wrong. Like I'd be betraying him."

Katsuki didn't answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked sidewalk.

"He wouldn't have wanted you to be alone," he said finally, voice low and rough.

"I know," you said. "But knowing and feeling are... different."

You twisted the ring between your fingers again, heart hammering against your ribs. You needed to say it. You needed him to know.

"Izuku knew," you said, swallowing thickly. "He knew... I loved someone else more. Even back then."

Katsuki turned his head slightly toward you, but he didn't interrupt. He knew what you were talking about. How you confessed to him all those years ago, but he shot you down so you sought after Izuku, his friend, to fill the void.

"I loved him," you said quickly, urgently, like you had to make him understand. "I did. I loved him so much. But... you..." Your throat tightened. "You were always... it."

Katsuki inhaled sharply through his nose. His hands clenched into fists against his thighs.

"He told me," Katsuki said after a beat. "Back when we were kids. Dumbass said... said he just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn't with him."

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the fading colors of the sky. "I hate that he knew. I hate that he was that good."

"He was too good for all of us," Katsuki muttered, his voice breaking a little at the edges.

You wiped at your eyes roughly. "I don't even know if I can love again."

Katsuki finally turned to face you fully, his red eyes burning with something raw and painful.

"You don't have to," he said. "Not if you're not ready. Not if you never are."

You stared at him, the ache in your chest shifting, not lessening, but changing into something different. Something warmer.

"I promised him," Katsuki said, voice quieter now. "I promised I'd take care of you. However you needed. Friend. Boyfriend. Husband. Just... someone to check in on you. I don't care. I just want you to be okay."

The first sob broke free from your chest before you could stop it. It wasn't loud, but it was broken, and Katsuki moved instinctively, closing the space between you.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could feel the tremble in his muscles. Like he was barely holding himself together too.

You buried your face in his chest, clinging to the front of his jacket like a lifeline.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The world moved on around you, the stars came out, the streetlights buzzed to life, but you stayed there, wrapped up in him.

When you finally pulled back, Katsuki let you go reluctantly, his hands lingering at your elbows like he wasn't sure if he should let you go completely.

You wiped at your face, laughing wetly. "Sorry. I’m a mess."

"You're allowed," he said simply.

You looked at him, really looked, and saw the man who had been there through every impossible moment. Every bad day. Every night you thought you'd break apart from missing Izuku so badly you couldn't breathe.

And somehow, Katsuki had stayed. Not out of obligation. Not out of pity.

Out of love.

"I don't know what I can give you," you whispered. "I'm... not whole anymore."

Katsuki shook his head, eyes fierce. "You don't have to be."

The tears came again, but they felt different this time. Less like mourning. More like release.

You reached out, hesitant, and Katsuki met you halfway, taking your hand in his much larger one.

It was clumsy, and painful, and beautiful all at once.

You weren't ready to fall in love again.

Instead, you were ready to let yourself heal.

Katsuki would be there, however you needed him.

Always.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

[whumppuppeteer]

Maylancholy Day 15:"Please, just kill me."

Tag: @may-lancholy

This fic contains: major character death, guns, Whumpee x Caretaker,

"Whumpee I-I can't!" Caretaker begged, the gun shook in their hands. Whumpee smiled sadly.

"Caretaker. No matter what happens in here. I will die. One of us at least, should make it out of here."

"No! There has to be something else! I'm not gonna kill you!"

Whumpee gently caressed their cheek."Caretaker, I'm sorry, but one of us has to die. Once I'm dead they'll let you out."

The speakers crackled to life.

"Not much time left now. I'd suggest you get moving."

"Caretaker. You have to survive. The others need you."

Whumpee pulled them into a kiss, soft and tender and warm. Caretaker didn't even notice their hand going for the gun until it was too late.

"I love you."

The gunshot rang loudly in the air.

Whumpee slumped over. Caretaker dropped the gun, letting it clatter to the floor. Whumpee's shirt soaked with blood, the bullet had torn straight through.

"No! No! No! No! No!"

They laid Whumpee gently on the floor. The blood filled their shirt already. Whumpee was motionless.

Thr door unlocked.

"Congratulations on your freedom, Caretaker."

[camilleflyingrotten]

The Fallen Kings

Elendil and Gil-galad

[lexirosewrites]

omega Steve runs a business where people send clothing from their deceased relatives to be made into something new. he loves working with grieving family members and friends to create cherished scent memory tokens.

a kind older alpha commissions a teddy bear made from his nephew’s denim vest.

Steve opens the package and immediately bursts into tears. his scentmate is apparently dead.

[obiwansito]

if i just lay here

masterlist ʚĭɞ playlist

pairing- joel miller x f!reader

word count- 1.3k

summary- joel miller is dead. and with him, a part of your soul is gone too.

tags & warnings- spoilers for tlou s2, heavy angst, major canonical character dead, hurt no comfort, implied graphic violence. did i mentioned angst? because this is pure angst.

a/n- i'm so sorry for this. i started writing it last week and finished this morning, after feeling as if my heart had been ripped out of my chest last night :") if you want to be even more sad and miserable as i was, i recommend listening to the playlist above.

Joel Miller is dead.

The last time you saw him was that morning, when you waved him goodbye before he left for patrol.

It should have been a normal day. You woke up in his arms, got up to make coffee and gave him his thermos with a kiss. He gave you his warm smile, the same one he had given you every day since you fell in love five years ago.

When he walked out that door, you didn't know he was never coming back.

Your day continued as normal, feeding the horses, working in Jackson's greenhouse. You came home early and even made brownies. It was a special night, Ellie was coming over to watch a movie.

Although the fight she had with Joel hadn't affected your relationship with her that much, it wasn't the same. You missed those moments, the three of you together sharing like a family. Because you really were one.

And of course not to mention how much that had affected Joel. Sure, you understood Ellie. But God, you would have done the same thing to save her.

You laughed to yourself as you imagined your kid would probably call you corny for making snacks for the movie. But deep down she would appreciate it, you knew.

You looked at the clock, it was still early. Joel would still be on patrol and Ellie- well, she'd get there at whatever time she wanted. In the meantime, you decided to start a new book to kill time. Joel had recommended it to you, he had read it in his youth.

Your mind pictured a Joel in his thirties, very busy with Sarah and his work, but still making time to do some reading in the evenings. Was his eyesight better during that time? Surely. What would have been going through his mind while he was reading this book? You made a mental note to ask him when he returned.

You looked at the clock again. He should be on his way back by now, he would be home soon enough.

But the hours passed and he didn't arrive. The cold was starting to creep in through the windows, there was a snowstorm. You felt a pain in your chest, indicating that you were feeling anxious. But you swallowed it. It's Joel, he had survived worse.

You kept waiting.

The brownies burned, and you left them in the oven. You had the book open on your lap, but not a word was read. You were in a panic, yet you still had hope. At some point he would arrive, and you would laugh at how worried you were.

Ellie didn't arrive either.

And as the sun began to stream through your window, you jumped up from the couch. You didn't know at what point you had fallen asleep.

Your heart sank when you realized what had happened.

Joel hadn't arrived.

He didn't sleep in your bed, he didn't find you on the couch and kiss you on the forehead and silently apologize for being late and missing movie night with Ellie.

And she hadn't come either.

A knock on the door snapped you out of your trance state. And just for a second, your chest felt warm.

You imagined opening the door to find Joel, covered in snow and wearing an embarrassed smile. He had been caught in the snowstorm and couldn't return until it was over. He hugged you with his strong arms, apologized for worrying you and carried you to bed, where you both ended up asleep with your bodies pressed together.

But when you opened it, it was Tommy.

Tommy, who always has a kind smile.

Tommy, who made you laugh with his bad jokes while having dinner as a family.

Tommy, who at that moment had a broken gaze and couldn't look you in the eye.

You stepped back, reality hitting you immediately.

Maybe you knew it all along. The moment he didn't arrive, when you began to feel anxious. Maybe it wasn't anxiety, but your intuition telling you that something very bad had happened.

But none of that mattered now.

“No.” You whispered, your voice feeling like an unknown.

No, no, no.

“Tommy.” You begged. "Tell me where Joel is. Tell me he's okay."

The cold began to invade your living room, making you shiver. Tears blurred your vision, your heart beating so fast you felt like it would burst out of your chest at any moment.

“'M sorry.” His voice was broken and didn't sound at all like the Tommy you knew. ”He didn't- He-"

And as the first sob came from his throat, his arms wrapped around your body, hugging you tightly.

Immediately you tensed, resisting to believe that this was real. That he was never coming back, that he wasn't going to comfort you. That you would never again feel his kisses or see his smile or hear his laughter and voice.

But that was the harsh truth. And so your hands clung to his back, his grip the only thing holding you from falling to the ground.

And then came the crying. A small whimper that escaped your lips, but it was so heartbreaking and painful. And you both sobbed together your loss, for an uncountable time. Nothing mattered, only the mutual pain because you would never see Joel Miller again.

The rest happened in a blur. Someone wrapped you up and took you to a place, but you didn't know where. Your whole body felt tired, your eyes swollen from crying.

You recognized Maria. Her eyes were red, and she took your hand, trying to comfort you. It didn't work.

You entered the infirmary, which was as cold as ever, maybe even more. It smelled of alcohol and clean cloths and made you feel nauseous.

And when you saw him, you really broke.

You held his corpse, and you hugged him and cried as you cleaned his wounds. You whispered to him as if he would answer you, and when there was only silence you cried louder. You stayed there with him until someone had to take you out by force, even though you screamed and begged to be allowed to stay with him a little longer.

That night you slept with Ellie, though neither of you could close an eye. You stroked her hair and tried to be strong for her, but your heart only broke more.

The funeral was worse. Seeing so many people crying, but why? None of these people knew him like you or Ellie or Tommy. Their words of comfort only made your heart more sour. Their hugs felt heavy. Because none of them were Joel, and that's why you would never be okay again.

Your house was filled with flowers and letters. People who knew Joel, who said “he was a great man” and that “Jackson wouldn't be the same without him.”

But for you, nothing would be the same without him.

They didn't know what it was like to wake up next to him, run your fingers through his messy curls and look at his half-asleep smile. They didn't know how Joel would hug you and whisper sweet things in your ear. How he would hold your face when the weight of living in the world you lived in was too much and you would break in his arms.

The days without him were quiet, gray and sad. The house was too big and empty. Everything felt that way because he was gone.

At night you cried hugging one of his flannels, which still had his smell. It reminded you of his warm, comforting presence, and you sobbed quietly until you fell asleep.

Because Joel Miller was dead.

And with him, a part of your soul was gone too.

© obiwansito, 2024. reposts, copies and translations are not allowed. my work cannot be used for training AI.

[tricodekus]

I want you to promise me something. Leave Tooru out of it.

[iwaoi + the amazing spider-man]

[alchemistc]

Spec fic, possible spoilers ahead! MCD warning.

(Fully ignoring anything that could be happening between now and the latest bts leaks)

ring out the bells again

He hasn't been to one of these in a while.

He feels out of place, here in this space meant for family, this space occupied by members of the 118, members of Bobby's family. He shouldn't be here, except -

Except when Eddie had shown up at his door, he hadn't given him much of a choice - brushed past him with his lips sucked behind his teeth and a disapproving brow, beelining it for Tommy's bedroom like he had any goddamn right -

He'd had to dig for Tommy's dress uniform.

Departmental funerals were mandatory for firefighters on duty, but Tommy wasn't, and he'd assumed he wouldn't be wanted. Given... everything.

But there Eddie had been, presenting Tommy with the plastic bag he'd collected from the dry cleaners with red cheeks and his chin tipped defiantly because Evan hadn't fully let him get it off, the last time he'd worn it.

And there Eddie had been, shoving him wordlessly towards his own damn bathroom.

("You have fifteen minutes. Do not spend them pretending you're vain enough to make us late, I will kneecap you."

"I don't really think it's appropriate for me to -."

"Stop thinking, Tommy. You're bad at it."

Which Tommy assumed meant he'd heard at least some of the things that had been said the morning he'd dropped half a paycheck on eggs at the corner store.)

Gerrard, thank fuck, has disappeared into the thinning crowd. He hasn't seen Hen in an hour, at least, or Officer Grant.

Her kids had given him strained smiles as they lined up for the procession, and nothing else. Not that he blamed them. He's spent over a year now idly jealous of how close Nash knit his team together - he can only imagine he'd done the same with the family he'd found out here.

Eddie's been giving him a death glare/encouraging head tilt combo for the last twenty minutes, and Tommy -

Things are winding down. The 118 is scattered. And Evan has been in the kitchen staring blankly at the small box Athena had handed him for at least half an hour.

"Hey," he says softly, and Evan blinks blearily up at him. Tries for a smile that immediately fails. There are note cards scattered all over the counter next to the sink, filled with blocky, crisp handwriting Tommy only recognizes because he'd stared at the note attached to his transfer papers for days, dazed and overwhelmed by the things Bobby had written there, like he was proud of Tommy.

Recipe cards, he recognizes, and feels like he might implode under the pressure behind his ears.

Evan's gaze returns to the note cards. He looks overwhelmed, confused, shoulders hunched and eyes swollen - he'd nicked his chin shaving this morning, and Tommy feels his hand flit toward the mark before he can think better of it.

"I think people are heading out," he says, and doesn't really know why. Evan was like a son to Bobby. No doubt he's welcome here long after everyone else trickles out.

Evan just nods, though - seems confused when he encounters the resistance of Tommy's fingers below his chin. Tommy takes half a step back, fingers retreating, and they just - stare at one another.

Eddie gives a hacking cough from the next room and Tommy feels color rise in his cheeks. Tommy is here for a reason, according to Eddie.

"Want some company?" he asks, and Evan's gaze slides across his face, fingers toying with the end of a note card.

"Are you gonna stay?"

And Tommy deserves that. Tommy absolutely deserves that, even if they'd both said and done some shitty things. "As long as you need," he says, and tries to convince himself that's the truth, that he can shove down that first instinct that always tells him to run.

Evan nods. Swallows. Gathers up his cards and places them gently, reverently, back in the small wooden box they'd come in. Bobby's recipes. The sort of Midwest casseroles and roasts and pots of chili that could feed a small army. Or a medium sized firehouse.

The box clicks shut, and Tommy remembers he hadn't even driven. Had Evan? Was he safe to drive?

Evan answers the silent questions by digging into his pocket and tossing a set of keys Tommy's way.

"I - I shouldn't..."

Shoulders hunched, hands clutching the recipe box, they make a retreat, Tommy following dutifully behind Evan as he makes his rounds - saying goodbye to Karen, Denny and Mara (still no Hen); Eddie and Chris; Ravi, who Tommy is a little surprised is still even there, considering how good he is at ditching uncomfortable situations; Howie and Maddie, the latter of whom eyes him carefully, consideringly, like she knows too much and doesn't quite approve.

No hugs, just quick goodbyes, and it feels so out of character for the man he knows for a fact craves that intimacy, pushes for it with everyone he cares about any time he can. But Tommy's pretty sure he's the first person who's touched him all day.

The car ride is silent. One bonus to driving Evan's Jeep is that he doesn't feel like he's in a clown car - barely has to adjust anything except the seat, because his legs aren't comically long.

The silence is oppressive.

He doesn't feel like he has the right to mourn, the way the rest of them are. The way Evan is.

Halfway there, the recipe box snicks back open and Tommy darts his gaze from the road just long enough to watch fat tears well at the corners of Evan's eyes. In the rearview, as he returns his eyes to the road, he can't really see much, but in his peripherals he can see Evan's shoulders shaking in jerky movements, like he's fighting it.

Tommy rounds the hood to open his door for him, as soon as he's parked in the drive.

Evan has shored up, in the back half of the journey - red rimmed eyes the only real sign that he's been anything other than stone-faced since they all began to line up.

Tommy hooks an elbow when Evan stumbles out of the Jeep, holds him steady, watches Evans fingers go white around the box.

"You coming in?" Evan asks, voice steady, whatever reserves of bravery he has being put to good use there on the cracked concrete.

"If you want."

That gets him a bratty snarl of a scowl, which he isn't sure he deserves, but it also gets a tentative finger and thumb playing with the sleeve of his dress uniform. Tommy has to strain to hear the "Please." that whispers out of the side of Evan's mouth.

He's moved in, now. No tripping hazards, no rolled up rugs to smack themselves with, just the stale air of a house he probably hasn't been to in a few days other than to get his own uniform. In the kitchen, Evan sets his recipes reverently on the table.

Then his face crumples, body listing, and Tommy catches him up in his arms when Evan buries his face in Tommy's shoulder.

Dry, hacking sobs, breathless enough that Tommy is concerned they're veering into panic attack territory, until the wetness hits the skin of his neck and Evan's arms come up to cling back.

"Don't go," Evan manages between breaths, and Tommy pulls him closer, squeezes him tighter. "Please don't -."

"I'm here," he says, hand sweeping a wide arch across his back. "I'll be here as long as you want." Which is a different statement than the one he'd made at the wake, and gives Evan pause long enough that Tommy starts imagining the responses he might get, but in the end, all he gets is the last of Evan's resistance falling away, his body relaxing into Tommy's enough that Tommy has to plant his feet to keep them upright.

He sweeps his hand up, down, around. Doesn't know if it's helping, at all, not that anything could possibly be particularly helpful in this moment.

They stay there until Evan's tears have ebbed, until he pulls free and frowns at the side of Tommy's neck, hand wiping at the mess there like Tommy gives a single fuck about it.

This isn't the time or place for it, so they don't bring up the last time they were in this kitchen together. Always the goddamn kitchen. Always a step and a half too far apart. "I - will you -?" Evan closes his eyes. Swallows. Tips his chin up, blinks at the ceiling. "Is -is it weird if I ask you to help me bake a lasagna, right now?"

Tommy can't help the bark of laughter, but it brightens something in Evan's eyes, anyway, so Tommy doesn't feel too bad. "Not really dressed for it," he says, and this earns him a snotty little grin.

"You know where the bedroom is," Evan says, and takes off in that direction himself.

They lay both their uniforms out across the bed - headboard in place, mattress off the floor, fully made with extra throw pillows Tommy doesn't remember; dress in silence, sneaking glances at one another as Evan seems to work up to saying something to him.

One arm halfway through a cutoff he knows had been his, at one point, Evan cuts the distance between them, places his hand over Tommy's beating heart - skin to skin, and Tommy abandons his attempt to dress so he can press his palm to the back of Evan's hand.

When they make it back out to the kitchen, there's a sturdiness to Evan that's been missing all day.

His hand slides to the box on the kitchen table. Pulls out the first card, and places it on the table. Slides it Tommy's way.

He'd understood the significance of making the lasagna already, but he doesn't hesitate to soak in the handwritten card, keeps his mouth shut about the process because now isn't the time to bring up his grandmother's homemade pasta, the sundried Roma she always used for her freshest sauces.

Maybe it is, actually.

Tommy takes a deep breath, ignores the panic gathering behind his ribs when Evan's gaze darts up to his. And Tommy begins to tell him about nonna.

[linecrosser]

Febuwhump 2k25 - Day 9 - Necromancy

those years of fighting over a corpse were wild huh...

[8-rae-rae-8]

Thought about Ghost being pissed with Price for being the reason Johnny's dead. He's the reason his Johnny is dead. Shouting and angry as he confronts Price for letting his soldier take the blow because 'we are supposed to protect them', but all Price does is wait for Ghost to break, he waits to cradle the broken pieces of Simon. There's nothing he can do, they both know that, it's too late. Price can only hold Simon as his angry shouting turns into sobs on his shoulder. He'll hold him through the night if Simon wants, against his chest. He can't fix it, but he'll hold him, day after day if it eases the burden

[mipmoth]

Yamask Ingo in sinnoh chilling doing pokemon stuff idk eating a berry

[That moment when little]

[tragic-ships-tournament]

Tragic Ships Tournament Quarter Finals

Propaganda under the cut!

Enjoltaire:

"Okay so the whole thing with them is that Enjolras is like the leader of the Les Amis; he believes in the revolution in his heart and soul and his being. He is a shining beacon of hope like Victor Hugo calls him Apollo in the book. He believes in freedom and in the future and that beyond the barricade, there's a new tomorrow waiting for them. Grantaire, on the other hand, doesn't believe in anything. He's a drunk and a cynic and he doesn't believe in that new tomorrow. If nothing had something to offer, Grantaire would stop believing in nothing. When he offers to do something to help the Les Amis, he gets distracted and drunk and I think he ends up playing dominoes? It might have been cards. Anyway, that's Grantaire. BUT Grantaire believes in ONE thing. And that ONE thing is ENJOLRAS. No matter how cynical and pessimistic Grantaire is, he believes in Enjolras. If Enjolras is Apollo, Grantaire is Icarus flying ever closer to him. And then at the end. When their revolution has failed and they are facing down the barrel of guns. Grantaire gets up and stands next to Enjolras and asks if he can hold his hand so that they can die together, and they do. It's heartbreaking and heart wrenching and Icarus brings the sun down with him as he falls."

Madohomu:

"madoka magica aired 12 episodes in 2011, with a sequel movie titled “rebellion” released in 2014. it’s been over 10 years since then, and these two have become the face of yuri. if someone makes a meme about loving yuri and makes a collage of example ships, madohomu are 100% gonna be present. video essays, fanart, fics, music videos and all kinds of fan projects featuring them are still wildly popular on all social media platforms.

but let’s talk about them (without going into too many spoilers, so this will be about the thematics in their relationship). they are light and darkness. the ying and the yang. forever intertwined. one would not exist without the other, yet they cannot exist together. for madoka has too much love for every living thing and too little for herself. and homura has too much love for madoka it blinds her to everything and everyone else, and she struggles with deep self-hatred. madoka has forsaken her own existence for the world, and homura has forsaken the world she created for her. the show has a lot of religious imagery, and madoka is akin to a god; there’s a shot of homura, who grew up catholic, kneeling at the feet of a gigantic statue of madoka, praying, but her hands stain her clothes. because if madoka is god, then homura is lucifer - specifically, iblis, the muslim version of lucifer, who loved god so much he betrayed him, for he’d rather defy him than bow to his creation, humans. and homura would rather defy the sanctity of madoka’s wish, rather than obey its laws, for she will take madoka’s happiness in her hands, if she refuses to. in the movie, dolls representing homura’s inner machinations yell, “gott ist tot”, for homura’s god, madoka, dies in the movie, when homura remembers that madoka was human first, and godhood was something she reached to save everyone, against her best interest and happiness. their relationship is one of love, kindness, obsession, devotion, hope, faith, worship - they are the thesis and the antithesis, the beginning and the end, the alpha and omega, an unstoppable force and an immovable object. forever locked in a struggle, never fully embracing, for madoka will always sacrifice herself for the world, and homura will always doom the world and herself for madoka."

[creatrixanimi]

Major character death cw

Graphic depiction of violence cw

Blood cw

A mini comic in which Volo is losing his mind and ingo just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Again.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

don’t be alarmed, this is my loudest roar

1465 words // rated g

8x15-16 spec, major character death

Dad had warned him, in the car. He already knew Bobby is dead, that’s why they left Texas so fast instead of waiting for spring break or maybe the end of the school year like they were starting to talk about. Chris was in the room when the phone call had come in and Eddie’s face had gone all- wide. It’s weird to think about. Bobby, Captain Nash. It’s like a principal or a librarian dying. Not so much a person in Chris’ mind but an architectural feature, a fundamental truth of the way the world is. He’ll visit dad at work and Bobby will give him a grilled cheese with grapes on the side and show him the fire trucks again even though he’s seen them a million times already. And now he won’t, because he’s not alive, because principals and librarians are real people who breathe and bleed and can stop doing those things. It’s weird.

So that’s not what Dad warned him about. It’s after their last stop for gas, where Chris tried to stretch out the ache of sitting in a car for so long and Dad ran off out of hearing again, like he did at every other gas stop, phone pressed to his ear. They’re back in the car and on the highway again and Eddie’s knuckles are tight against the steering wheel and he clears his throat.

“Mijo,” he says. “Chris.” He glances over at the passenger seat, then keeps his eyes on the road. “When we get there- when we get home Buck is gonna be there.” Chris knows that, knows Buck moved in. He dreams- daydreams, not quite asleep enough for it to be anything other than wishful thinking, about him and Buck and Dad all in one house forever, and always knowing where both of them are and that they’re safe. He can almost hear snoring down the hall if he closes his eyes hard enough. “And… I just want to tell you, he-” Eddie’s knuckles creak on the wheel. “Him and Bobby were really close, you know? He… Bobby was kind of like his dad. So- so he’s really upset right now, and I just want to tell you that before we get there because- because we’re going to have to be gentle with him, okay?” Chris nods, Eddie nods. “And because I know… it can be kinda scary, when someone you- you care about is hurting.” Chris nods again, like he doesn’t know that, like his stomach hasn’t wobbled anytime Eddie’s voice has in this conversation. “I don’t want you to be scared. We’re going to be okay. Buck will be okay.” Eddie lets go of the steering wheel for a minute, stretches his fingers out, grabs back on again. “We’re gonna take care of him.” That seems obviously true, so Chris doesn’t nod a third time.

So, here they are now, at the house. Still labelled home in Chris’ mind, on one of those little pieces of tape with the raised up letters like Mrs. Hanrahan had all over everything in third grade, like they’d somehow forget what a pencil is and where to put it away. The lawn is mowed and the door is open and it looks so much the same that Chris feels like crying a little but doesn’t. Eddie gets out of the car first, and doesn’t bother with bags or anything because out of the house-

Buck. Chris imagines the shelf he lives on in his mind, stored close to home and Dad. He thinks he’d need more than one little strip of tape for him. Friend and safe and firefighter and family and- he doesn’t know. He thinks he hasn’t learned the words yet to describe the kind of hurting he feels when he thinks about Buck. Not a bad hurting. Kind of like loneliness, like wanting somebody there, but it happens even when Buck is there. Chris doesn’t know. Dad is on the porch now and he’s holding Buck, different than a hug, in some way Chris also doesn’t know how to describe. Sometimes it feels like Chris doesn’t know anything at all. He sits in the car and wishes he could drive so he could get his knuckles all tight on the wheel. He grabs the door handle and thinks it’s not really the same and then he opens the door, gets out of the car.

Buck meets him halfway down the path, spilling out of Dad’s arms as soon as he sees movement, rushing to meet him. Chris barely gets to look at him — red eyes, too much stubble, his hair is so curly now — before he’s being wrapped up in big arms, clutched against a warm body. “Chris,” Buck says- Buck says. His voice, not over a phone. Chris squeezes his eyes shut tight and shakes his arms out of his crutches so he can hug back. “Chris, Chris-” An earthquake? No- no, just Buck. “God- God, kid, I missed you- I missed you so much.” One of Buck’s arm’s remains locked around him and the other roams, hand clutching his shoulder and then cradling his head, smoothing over his back. And he’s- he’s crying. Big ugly crying. Chris can’t see it but he can hear it and feel it, above and around him. “I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry.” For what? Chris shakes his head. It’s okay. He’s sort of frightened but Eddie had warned him so it’s okay. “Sorry- you’re here, you’re here- oh- oh God-” Chris feels Buck’s face press into the top of his head. He’s still tall enough to do that easily, despite all Dad’s teasing about how big Chris has grown. Dad is here too, Chris vaguely hears him say something close by, but mostly what he hears is Buck sobbing. Chris holds on as tight as he can. He is scared. He’s scared, despite the warning, because- Buck is crying, Buck’s not okay, and there have been so many- all those other times when the world ended Buck was- Chris has seen him cry before but not like this, and it makes him feel sick a little. And- guilty a little, bad a little, because- he knows Mom missed him when she left. He’s pretty sure. He knows Dad missed him when they were apart. He’s pretty sure. He’s very sure, Dad has told him it’s true, and there’s a kind of quiet something-else mixed in with his happiness when they’re together now. Relief? Loneliness for someone next to you? But. Buck shakes and cries and it’s loud and frightening and it’s proof.

“I missed you,” Chris says. He’s not even sure anyone hears him, all muffled into Buck’s sweatshirt. “I missed you, too.”

“Let’s get inside,” Eddie is saying, and his hand is on Chris’ shoulder, and that is so familiar-unchanged makes him want to cry, too. “Alright, it’s okay, lets get inside.”

Buck gasps a few times above him, pulling in air like he’s going to jump in a pool- jump into water, after Chris. Maybe Chris is crying already. It’s hard to tell. And then Buck pulls back just a little, straightens up, and there he is looking down at him. He looks rough and wrecked and so real Chris sort of realizes he’s not dreaming, which he already knew but- understands, now. It’s real, and Bobby is dead, and they’re not in Texas, and he wishes he never left because the house is the same but everything feels different now, and Buck is frowning now, a different kind of frown, careful and worried and his hand is on Chris face, calloused thumb very soft brushing across his cheek. “Oh, Chris, hey. Hey, you’re okay.”

“I love you,” Chris says, and the label on the shelf should really just say Buck, because doesn’t that mean all of the rest of it? What did Buck label Bobby, on his shelves? “I want to go home- I want to come home, I want to come home, I’m sorry, I want to come home.”

“We’re here,” Eddie says, kissing Chris’ head so close to where Buck’s fingers rest. “It’s okay-” his voice cracks but Dad and Buck were always a team and one will pick up a thought where the other dropped it.

“It’s okay, Chris,” Buck says, and his voice is still wet and raspy, but- they’ll all be in one house and maybe Chris isn’t the only one who needs that to be true. Maybe it’s okay to want that to be true. “Let’s get inside. Let’s-” he looks at Eddie, almost a question that seems to be answered before he even asks it. Chris can feel him breathing, his lungs expanding and collapsing and expanding again, and again. Quietly, he says “Let’s go home.”

[sthilarions]

Started writing something and it depressed me so I stopped, but here’s the base concept:

Three days after her fortieth birthday, Charles comes to Crystal’s door as her wife is leaving. They exchange pleasantries as she heads out, then Crystal waves Charles in.

Charles is staring out the window as he asks the question.

“What’s it like, to grow up?”

Crystal grins at him. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t, yet.” She looks out the window with him, at her wife pulling out of the driveway, and the croquet wickets stabbed into the lawn, and the sapling just showing its first flowers. “But…” She smells the sourdough that just came out of the oven. “But I think that if I ever do, it’ll be pretty nice.”

-

The day after Crystal’s eightieth birthday, Charles brings her an extra present “that was too big and flashy to give you at the party, wouldn’t want everyone else to feel inadequate.”

Crystal waits for him to ask the question.

It takes him the better part of an hour to get around to it.

“What’s it like, getting old?”

Crystal laughs. “I don’t think I have, yet.” She leans back on the sofa, into a spot that’s shaped just for her, and looks next to her at the spot that’s worn into the shape of her wife. She reaches up to twist her hair - rainbow-dyed. The color shows up beautifully on white hair. “But…” She looks out of the window, at the magnolia tree outside, that they’d planted all those years ago, now with a swing that Charles and Edwin pretend not to fight over because Edwin is of course far too dignified for such things. “But I think it’ll be nice when I do.”

-

Crystal is in bed, and the window is open. The scent of the magnolia wafts in on the breeze. Charles follows it, as he has every day for the last two weeks. Edwin isn’t with him, this time. (Charles explains that Edwin had to deal with an urgent case, life or death, but he’ll be along soon.)

Crystal looks down at her hand, veined and knobby, held gently in Charles’s, perpetually smooth. Then back up into Charles’s eyes.

“What’s it like, dying?”

Charles lets out a quiet breath. He thinks, for a minute. “It depends,” he says. “Sometimes, it’s awful. But…” He looks away, and his eyes go very distant, like he’s seeing not only into the past but onto another plane. (Crystal would know.) “But if you’re with someone who loves you, and you’re at peace…” A tear slips down his cheek, and vanishes before it touches their joined hands. “It can be beautiful. It can be the best moment of your life.”

Crystal nods. “Will you be with me? Both of you?”

Charles’s eyes focus again, and he looks back down at her, and he smiles. “Of course we will.”

[eloquentlytired]

— when the time comes

pairing: old man!logan howlett x gn! reader

word count: no idea but this one isn't very long.

part two is out!

tags: major character death — angst — reader is logan’s sunshine — mention of blood & wounds — logan low-key proposing 5 seconds before he dies — non established relationship

author's note: this has been on my mind since 2 days ago so I had to do it now.. I hope you guys enjoy reading this heartbreak! and yes I wrote this after watching Logan (2017) again. just a bit of an alternative type of ending so I can write abt logan x reader! as always reblogs & likes & conversations are sooo welcome ^_^

god stood me up

and I don't know why

lights are on

but nobody's home

you find him leaning against a tree trunk, a chunk of wood piercing his sides open as blood soaks through his shirt. that isn't the only wound he's sporting but it's the most evident one; the one that'll possibly lead him to his demise.

logan blinks upon noticing you as if he's just seeing things or dreaming. when you crouch down beside him and place your hand on his arm, he realizes exactly just how real you are. “logan?” there are tears in your eyes and he hates that you're crying because of him again. you had been living with him, charles and caliban way before it all turned to shit. and somehow the only ones left standing were laura and you. and the kids that logan had managed to save; he truly had saved so many lives.

there's a silence aside from his heavy breathing before your shaky hands cup his face. the blood flows out of his wound and mouth like a river. in some way you're bleeding too — inside your heart. “hey sunshine.” logan whispers with a soft smile and you feel something tear your chest apart from the inside. “I made you cry again.” you see the way his hand twitches by his side. he wants to touch you but he's old and tired and wounded. there's no energy left in him to move anymore. “the kids are okay, laura is okay— I have the car and..and there's still time— the hospital—” your voice trails off when logan closed his eyes.

“you know what makes me angry, sunshine?” logan asks and you simply stare at him, shaking your head. when he opens his eyes again, they are full of unshed tears. “gonna miss my daughter’s first birthday with me—” logan mutters brokenly and the vision of laura swims beneath his half-opened eyelids. and after laura there is you; smiling. at the beach. you've always wanted to go to the beach with him but he never took you since he was working day and night to take care of everything. of everyone. “and i’m also gonna miss my sunshine.” his eyes fall on you, on your crying face. the tears sliding down your cheeks are plenty and there is so much emotion pooling in those orbs of yours. logan wants to kiss you, tell you it'll be alright. but he can’t even move.

he coughs, some blood spluttering on his white shirt and you flinch. your fingers shake as you slide them through his messy hair, stroking them in the way he’s always loved. “logan, I'm sorry...I— I'm so sorry logan..” you keep chanting and logan feels the frustration in his bones when he tries to move his arms. he can't, he's too weak now, and he's angry with himself that he's unable to comfort you the way he wants. the way he once could but never did. “not you nor the entire world could ever prevent this, sunshine. it was meant to be like this.” he says before coughing again, more blood trickling down his beard.

you crawl by his side, on the dirty ground, and press against his ‘good’ side while leaning your head on his shoulder. you tilt your head back enough for your eyes to reach his exhausted face. logan maintains a smile you haven't seen in forever. in damn years to be precise. “charles spoke to me of other timelines and some shit about— multiverse was it?” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “I don't fucking know. I just wanted him to take the damn pills.” his sentence makes both of you laugh although logan is holding back with that — it'll only cause more physical pain after all. “point is..if it's true then—”

“—we gotta find each other yeah? and laura.” his eyes aren't on you anymore but they're in the sky. it's bluer than ever and the clouds part to show him the sun. logan doesn't look away even if it makes his eyes ache. you stare. “wanna make it right, sunshine.” he tells you as you sniffle by him. his fingers flinch again between your bodies and you slide a single hand down to hold his own, to intertwine your fingers in a gentle mess. “but for now I want to rest.” logan whispers and your grip tightens around his hand. if he had the strength, he'd squeeze back. you knew this.

“you did excellent.” you finally manage to say, a little steadier this time. logan averts his gaze to you as you continue. “you did a good job. you did such a good job.” you repeat with a smile so soft that logan starts yearning for you already. his faint chuckle turns into a rough cough and he takes some time to recover before speaking again.

“maybe after I rest, I'll open my eyes and..” you watch as logan’s eyes begin closing and how the heaving of his chest slows. he's deathly pale by now, the veins underneath his eyes are prominent, but your grip never slackens. you crawl closer until your foreheads touch. logan draws one last breath and you swallow down your cry. “and I'll see my daughter. and my... spouse.” your eyes shoot open wide but logan’s remain fallen shut. your chest heaves up and down intensely but logan’s remains still.

when the time comes, your feet are forcefully dragging you away towards your old car while logan lies beneath the ground.