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hitlikehammers · 4 months ago

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Steddie Post S4: If All That's Left of Steve in the Final Battle is Ashes—

...are they REALLY JUST ashes? 🔥

The final battle—like the last part of the very final battle—ends with shattering, and with dust.

It starts, the first bad dream and the first bloody nose and the first Code Red on the radios: well, that’s three months into something, for the first time in Eddie’s sorry-ass-but-honestly-actually-since-almost-not-having-any-life-at-all-any-more-and-miraculously-making-it-through-a-night-then-a-week-then-a-month-then-rehab-then-chronic-pain-then-more-friends-than-he’d-ever-had-before-and-frankly-in-the-beginning-more-than-he-could-count-plus-three-new-mother-figures-and-two-maybe-three-extra-maybe-father-figures-plus-one-friend-of-Dorothy-who’s-the-platonic-soulmate-of-maybe-the-love-of-Eddie’s-not-actually-still-sorry-ass-life: he’s about three months into something wild and reeling in his chest, brushing hands and lingering looks and flushed cheeks and little secret smiles ducked in toward shoulders or behind stray curls, or falling asleep pressed arm-to-arm only to wake up in one lap or another, and the whole of it’s shameless and intentional and giddy somewhere low in Eddie’s belly because it’s not uncertain, it’s honestly just fucking bashful, it’s shy and it’s the both of them wordlessly leaning into it, careful but sure, and almost all the more buoyant for it.

It’s three months in, and when they step up to that last battle—that final turn, do-or-die—maybe Steve pulls him behind a truck Eddie doesn’t even know the owner of, where it came from or why it’s there; but maybe Steve pulls him behind and draws him close without a word and kisses him relentless, drags his teeth and draws a little blood for the force and leaves them both raw, and panting, and desperate: it couldn’t really go any other way, like this—here.

Now.

“Live through this,” Steve had breathed against his angry red lips, hard enough that it stung; “so we can pick up where we left off.”

“I will if you will,” Eddie had shot back, defiant; still begging.

And Steve had kissed him again, and Eddie’d watched as Steve walked away with the lightest smear of Eddie’s blood on his lower lip as he’d spoken:

“I’ll hold you to it.”

And they’d parted, to do their fucking jobs, to play their fucking roles. They’re come back together, ready to take the final boss down as a unit, and Eddie remembers that he’d felt hopeful, he’d felt so fucking relieved because this was it. They were gonna nail it, all for one, and—

So it might be near the end, actually—they may have almost done it, finished the job and killed every last bit of this hellscape, every beast big and small, crushed what’s left of the husk of Vecna orchestrating it all: it might happen near the end. Or maybe just shy of the beginning. Somewhere in the middle.

All Eddie knows is that it happens. There’s light, and people floating in the air and then more light, dragged back down by the same lightning-spark power, and it’s back and it’s forth and when it hits anyone, Supergirl pulls them back to the ground and fights back harder, her face blood red dripping to her neck, her teeth bared all wrath and fury, and then—

Then there’s something that shoots different, hits Steve and he doesn’t float. It looks different, so it probably is different, and he doesn’t float when it hits him.

And so: Eddie holds to the bargain.

But Steve.

Steve…Steve Harrington, with the bitchiest glare and the brightest smile and the goofiest laugh and the biggest fucking heart, the bravest of all of them and the best part of Eddie’s whole soul—

Steve gets hit, and disappears from the world in nothing but a cloud of dust.

No one tries to shush Eddie, when he screams, when he wails and sobs; drops to his knees and fucking howls.

No one tries to stop him when he crawls to the space that held his whole heart, and now lies empty, save a dusting of something almost shiny, coarse to the touch but fine to the naked eye, hard to distinguish from the dirt on sight alone—is that him? Is that his Sweetheart, all that’s left of him—

Eddie thinks maybe they try to stop him halfway through the way he starts frantically sweeping, scooping up the ash and filling every pocket he has with as much as he can. He vaguely feels a hand on his shoulder, maybe the sound of his name, but it’s all white noise because Eddie’s picking up the pieces of his heart, here, Eddie’s trying like hell to hold on to something of the man he loves and anyone who doesn’t like it, or thinks he’s crazy, or wants to rush him, ask him to leave any little pouch in any layer of his clothes unfilled, less than overflowing with all that remains?

Fuck them. Fuck them all. Because Eddie kept his side of the deal.

Live through this.

I will if you will.

And now he has to live with the way his Stevie…didn’t.

——

The rest of the Party sticks together after it’s done. Dustin is inconsolable, Erica and Max scowl in each other’s direction but not really…at each other. Mike’s having a weird…frenzy response, denying Steve’s dead at all and demanding Lucas help him get El to look for him, he has to be somewhere, he has be saveable like Max, like Eddie. Robin’s fucking catatonic—the real adults take most of the burden, trying to figure out who to call, because Steve’s their only casualty, the beating heart at the center of all this and it’s gone, no wonder they’re breaking—

The Party stays together. Eddie falls back on what he knows.

He runs.

Specifically: he runs home, carefully though, he can’t jostle his pockets, and he knows exactly where he’s looking when he gets to his room, crawls to the farthest corner of his closet in this still-weird-to-be-so-big bedroom after the trailer: and he finds it.

His mom’s old little hope chest.

There are a million little fake velvet pouches inside, a couple pieces of actual jewelry kept in an empty film canister, and then a smaller jewelry box type thing meant for a dresser or something: Eddie doesn’t think he can fill the hope chest.

But the rest…

He starts with the jewelry box, since it’s already empty, carefully cups his palms to fill it with the precious dust until the lid doesn’t close.

Then he sorts the pouches, puts aside the ones that don’t pull tight enough shut for his liking. The rest…those will be temporary. He’ll find a better home for the ashes soon, but for now they’re safe, and all that’s left is…

The film canister is special.

It’s stupid and plastic and like every other fucking black-and grey tube thingy that smells like vinegar on the inside of you hold it up too close. But this one—

He’s always gotten a little teary-eyed to think that this was the one his mother kept.

Because he’d poked a hole through the rough little peak in the top of the lid with a fork, took a piece of thread from the junk drawer and made himself a necklace to match the one she had and she’d smiled at him so bright, poked another hole next to his, and threaded his string-chain through the back of the lid so it’d close up tight, to keep all your most secret prized possessions, my sugarbean and he had. For years.

Now it held what was left of her jewels, mostly cheap stuff with sentimental worth he couldn’t calculate—but now he has to take the faulty pouches and give the jewelry a new home.

Now he’s never had something more prized and precious to keep.

He finds fishing line in Wayne’s stuff, stronger than the thread worn and aged over a decade and a half, swaps it out with the string. Covers the inside with electrical tape to make sure nothing can sneak out of the holes, even so.

And then he fills it. Last of the ashes, and it all only just fits but the lid pops on perfect.

Then he pulls it over his head, and lies down on his bed.

And fucking sobs when the canister falls to settle right over his heart.

——

Some of the kids try to coax him out, argue grief is better shared or whatever, but Eddie’s deaf to the knocking, the way they try to yell at his window—not even cracked open, he won’t risk a rogue bird or a stray breeze disturbing all he has left of his, his—

The kids go away, eventually.

Wayne finds out through the grapevine what’s happened—he comes into Eddie’s room and holds him even if Eddie doesn’t want it, doesn’t ask. He’s grateful, though, even if he doesn’t say it, and Wayne sheds more than one tear; he’d been warming quick to Steve, called him son.

That wasn’t something Wayne did lightly. Not that anything Wayne did was done lightly.

However many days pass, Eddie doesn’t keep track. He wakes and runs to the little box on his dresser, just to make sure it’s safe, clutching the film tube around his neck while he does, weighing it desperately until he can be sure the bulk of the ashes are undisturbed. The rest of his time is spent lying in his bed and rolling the little canister across his fingers, taking off all his rings so he can just…touch it. Be close to whatever lifeless pieces of Steve—and likewise, then: pieces of Eddie—remain anywhere at all. He passes the hours like that, largely. Sometimes he thinks he’s hungry, like his stomach aches in that pang kind of way, but thinking of eating in a world where Steve doesn’t breathe makes him sick every time, so he doesn’t follow through. Wayne pesters him to at least drink something, so he sometimes shuffles to the bathroom, or the kitchen, drinks from the sink because glasses are for people who make plans for the future, who intend to drink things over the course of a lifetime, a life maybe with a purpose, a purpose that—

Eddie throws himself back into bed again, every time. Presses his film-canister-talisman tight to his sternum until the hurt of the pressure blurs with bigger hurts, and ultimately blurs into black.

Until one day, he opens his eyes. And after he’s done with the subtle disappointment that he had to, that morning came at all; when he gets up and checks the box?

The lid’s flipped off.

And there’s a tiny pile of dusty ash, glittering next to it, when there’s no light in the room to even catch it.

Eddie’s heart drops, then seizes in his chest.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

No one comes in but Wayne, and he just pokes his head in. Nothing can get in, either, unless…but they closed all the gates, there is no Upside Down anymore—

Eddie’s hands are shaking as he tries to brush the little pile into his hands, pulse tripping when the thinks of what it is, inside his hands, and he carefully lets it sift back into the jewelry box, tries to judge if any’s been lost, closes the top when he starts breathing too heavy, when his anxiety threatens to make the situation worse as he tries to bend down and see the furniture at surface level, find any precious speck of—

Not a speck. Not a…mote.

The escaped ashes were on top of something, though. Something Eddie’s never seen before. About the size of a notecard but, kinda like…ancient, weathered; that yellowed look you can never fake just right, traced alone with…some kind of calligraphy out of fucking Camelot or some shit, metallic gold in script:

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.

The…fuck?

Eddie tries to squint, because the text is weirdly positioned; it does look like something’s worn off, and some of what’s actually there is brighter, bolder than the rest, and then there’s a whole other style, almost backward, like a mirror-image of handwriting, and Eddie lifts the card up to the mirror instinctively, only to see…

There’s writing on the other side.

Eddie’s breath catches when he recognizes the handwriting. Small, and more words than should be able to fit but…it fits. It’s dried blood in color, and Eddie’s not convinced it’s just a color for how it’s a little raised and flaky, but it doesn’t come off when Eddie touches it, traces it because the cramped little letters, tall and short all mixed and mismatched, so familiar, so tight in Eddie’s chest—

It’s…Eddie…

Eddie’s eyes skim the first few lines in Steve’s handwriting, and he cannot fucking breathe—

Hey, wow, that’s some crazy shit there on the other side of this piece of paper, my gran says it’s a warning even if I don’t personally get it, but I’m pretty sure it’s enchanted? The paper, I mean. The warning’s probably about being too close to…this, without being prepared. But that’s, whatever. Point is, I don’t think I can make new enchanted paper, so here’s the deal: First, thanks for grabbing the ashes? I didn’t actually expect anyone to do that. I hope it was intentional, like that you weren’t sweeping or the ash got stuck in your shoes or something, because intentional will make the rest of this way easier (hopefully, or like, maybe), and if you’re a part of the bigger Hawkins fuckery it’ll be way easier to believe at the least so, fingers crossed I guess but: I’m kind of a phoenix? Firebird? Thing? It’s a bloodline “curse” but especially since the, umm, incidents with the Lab I’ve been thinking maybe it’s actually kinda cool? Like insurance. But the extra fucked up thing is that someone has to grab the ashes without being, like, told to. Free will or some bullshit. And apparently we’re not a very spontaneously likable bunch of dungeons-and-dipshit-type creatures, because not many of us even get to re-birth ourselves. Because of the ash…thing. But you! You did that! And now I can do the rebirth thing! Which I hope is okay. There are a lot of, like, bond-type things that go along with the person who ‘cares selflessly to gather ash unbidden’—I think that’s what makes someone more than a ‘mere human’ consumed by the Fire and they won’t get burned, they’ll be…well, if they wanted. Bond-stuff. Not important. I’m not gonna hold you to any of that shit, like, nothing you don’t want to happen will happen because of this, I 100% promise. Except maybe I’ll do some over the top gestures of gratitude—and on the off chance you already know me, at all? Over-the-top is kinda how I do most feelings, so. Should not be a surprise. Only thing I will ask, and if it’s too much no worries, the whole resurrection shebang was a gamble from the get-go but, if you can just keep this pile of ashes safe for a little bit? It takes longer to heal based on how old you are when you, y’know. Kick it. So…yeah. I never learned how to come back as a baby because that sounded weird. Quicker, but weird. I only learned the slower way so I can just…come back how I left, like no time passed. But if you can keep the ashes safe until then that’d be totally cool. Anyway, thanks, whoever you are. Kinda owe you my life, here. I’ll show you the appreciation you deserve when I’m, you know. Not-ashes. Once I have opposable thumbs again and stuff. But really. Thank you. See you soon, hopefully (if that’s cool, I mean, I can get out of your hair ASAP too if you’d rather, just say so soon as I pop up)— ~SH

Eddie…falls to the floor at some point, nearly ripping the note, no: no, actually, he should have decimated it, macerated it the with the way his hands clench and his tears have fallen and made not a single mark: enchanted paper.

Ashes that…maybe are Steve?

That maybe mean Steve could come…will come back?

Eddie really can’t breathe, now, and when the black swallows everything, he’s still on the fucking floor.

——

When next he comes-to, Eddie splashes water on his face after he checks on the jewelry box, reads the letter again, clutches the ash-filled pendant in his hand as he drinks, considers eating—no.

No, not yet. His stomach’s still unsteady. His chest is swollen, pressed with something like hope for the impossible because what the fuck, first and foremost, but then, then…

There was a horrorscape under his feet for years before it came for him personally, before he almost died at its hands once, and then again by proxy when, when it took his…

His maybe-love-of-his-life-and-also-possibly-something-like-a-phoenix-who-might-be-coming-back-to-Eddie-which-would-mean-Eddie-could-keep-breathing-and-his-heart-would-be-returned-to-his-chest-by-the-hands-of-the-man-he-loves-because-he-thinks-it-died-with-Steve-but-if-Steve-isn’t-dead—

He basically almost died again when…maybe his Steve—who Eddie fully acknowledges at this point he’s absolutely fucking gone on with his whole heart and soul, because there’s no other real explanation for his total and complete shutdown as a human for the sake of Steve’s loss—when his Stevie died, but maybe didn’t.

But then now, now maybe…

Maybe the impossible could be something that saved them, saved him, instead of something that only sought to ruin.

Eddie doesn’t think he can believe he’s that lucky.

But it’s easier to entertain the possibility, than to continue just…knowing Steve died before Eddie could acknowledge with his everything that he—certified cynic and self-deceiving dumbass Edward Elliot Munson—was ass-over-ankles in love; and more than that: before he could tell Steve as much, because of anyone Eddie’s ever met, Steve Harrington deserves to know how impossible it is not to; how ineffably much he is loved.

“Hey,” Eddie ultimately finds himself curled up back in his bed again, clutching his film canister to his chest, tight enough to leave an impression on his skin.

He wants it to. Right over the way his heart slams against his ribs. He wants a bruise. He wants a scar. He wants inviolable proof.

“Umm, so I don’t know if this is real,” Eddie’s eyes flicker to the jewelry box of ashes, the strange potentially-enchanted note on his dresser; “or if it is, how this works?”

This apparently being talking to the cobbled together film-pendant around his neck, he…he’s so fucked, isn’t he, this is insane—

But it’s not like that’s ever stopped him before.

And before never had love in the mix. So.

“If you can hear me,” Eddie runs his thumb around the circumference of the cap, over and over; “I pretty fucking sure I’m in love with you,” and it’s maybe fucked up, how it feels as nervewracking to say it to a plastic canister of ashes as he imagines it’d feel looking into those stupidly-wide amber eyes, but yep: said plastic ash-pendant’d be fucking bouncing with his heartbeat if he wasn’t holding it so tight to the furious drumming of his pulse.

“I know it’s fast? But,” and Eddie swallows, shakes his head for reasons that are maybe about dispelling the idea that anything’s too fast or too much in the life they’ve led, one where more might be possible, where a future might still exist beyond all possibilities, all hope except for the fragile frail thing in Eddie’s chest written in blood red, in Steve’s hand on Eddie’s fucking bones:

“I don’t think losing someone hurts like this if your heart’s not in it all the way,” and that’s, that is…

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it. His heart is the heart of it.

“Sorry, about that, if you,” Eddie swallows, sour around the idea that maybe, even if the impossible’s possible, this part, where he feels like this, is just…maybe not too far but in the wrong direction.

But he wants to believe. He wants to think Steve saw something pointing in this direction when he told him to survive, so they could have, so they could finish, so they—them, together—could…

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s voice is hoarse enough to hurt, now, so he lifts his little film canister to his lips and presses them hard, sure: it’s weirdly warm against his mouth, held too close to his chest for too long.

Not long enough. Not close enough.

“Be careful about taking care of yourself, about, coming back and,” Eddie grips his pendant of ashes back tight to the center of his sternum;

“I’ll watch over it, watch over you,” he promises; “long as you need.”

And he breathes, holding the canister close before he brings it back to his mouth again and whispers to it like it matters, or…just in case it matters:

“Come back to me,” his words come out in a shudder, all trembling; “I’m just a mere human, maybe less than,” and that’s true, that is so fucking true but:

“But you already consume me,” Eddie speaks it honest, and kisses the rim of the cap— if there’s any chance of getting in, it’s there:

“So burn me up, as much as you need to,” and Eddie means it, he fucking means it with everything he is; “just,” and his voice cracks, and he shoves the canister back tight to his shaking heart when the first tear falls on it, covers it with both hands and cups it safe and damn-near painful as he whispers to whatever might listen:

“If any of this is real,” he barely fucking breathes: “please come back.”

He loses the battle for consciousness to his tears, but awake or asleep: he doesn’t once let go of the pendant pressed to his heart.

——

Eddie’s warm. Like, fell asleep in the sunlight, swaddled in a blanket, embraced and held and wrapped up in pure comfort warm.

“You’re more than a mere human,” a voice exhales right behind his ear: also warm, also comfort, also fucking impossible and he turns, frantic and even more so when he feels the lack of his film canister against his chest, and he tries to scramble for it but he’s…he’s held the whole time in strong arms that he knows, same as he knew that voice, same as it’s clear that he’s warm because he’s wrapped up in a body, tangled from the legs up with, with—

“How,” Eddie barely speaks, more mouths as that chest lifts, those lungs fill, that mouth curls warm and sweet and his Steve is watching him, those eyes so alive and then those strong hands are reaching for him, cupping Eddie’s cheeks and marveling like Eddie’s the wonder, here, like Steve isn’t lying in his arms like a full-on fucking miracle.

“You offered burning, and pledged your heart unasked,” Steve says it in this…this way that is exactly that simple, and exponentially more profound.

“That is some lore shit,” Eddie breathes out almost on instinct because…that’s some lore shit.

And Steve—Steve, his Stevie, wrapped around him and moving and breathing and being and definitely one-hundred-percent naked but that is totally irrelevant right this moment because Steve—

Steve laughs at him, soft and fond and god, god but Eddie thought he’d lost it. He was so sure, and his heart was so broken but now Steve’s heart is strong against his skin and Eddie can, he can…

Eddie can fucking breathe.

“I don’t think anyone expects our kind to be…cared about, like that,” Steve shrugs a little, and Eddie wants to protest because Steve Harrington isn’t only cared about, he is adored, and fuck anyone who says different, who so much as thinks otherwise—he wants to push the point, but Steve’s eyes are so intent, so saturated with feeling.

And fuck, but Eddie missed those eyes.

“Speeds the whole re-personing thing up, apparently,” Steve’s smile is a little wider before he shakes his head with a cute little toss of that hair.

“Old magic things,” he dismisses; “for later,” and then he draws Eddie back down close to his chest and snuggles him in so, so close.

“Tired,” Steve sighs a little into Eddie’s mess of curls; “and you need taking care of.”

And it’s…out of everything, the protective certainty in those last words are maybe the most unshakable proof that settles in Eddie’s chest and reminds the still-reluctant, still-too-scared parts of Eddie’s heart to commit and start back to beating because: only Steve Harrington is protective…quite like this.

“You’re really here?” Eddie whispers, wondering and hesitant all at the same time.

“Thanks to you,” Steve kisses Eddie soft, sure: taste strangely of smoke and cinnamon but underneath—all Steve.

His Steve.

He folds into Steve’s chest and just, fucking, clings.

“So fast,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s skin, because the heartbeat under his lips is almost indecipherable, one beat to the next. “And you’re so warm, are you,” Eddie props his chin up and looks up at Steve, anxious and flooding with worry before he sees Steve’s smile, still sweet and steady.

“Bird,” Steve drums his fingers against Eddie’s forearm, lightning quick; “fire bird, so,” and the heat makes sense then, too, as Steve wraps him up again tighter and sighs, satisfied as he envelopes Eddie’s frame.

“Also extra energy, I think,” Eddie listens to Steve’s words around his heartbeat through his chest; “like, I couldn’t make it past your kitchen but, I don’t know how I know it, but I know I can give some of it to you while it’s settling.”

Magic. Steve. Can share his phoenix magic. To take care of Eddie. Immediately after coming back from the fucking grave.

On brand, Eddie guesses. Jesus fuck.

“I am pretty damn positive I’m in love you with you, too, by the way,” Steve shakes Eddie back to his body, to the moment, to the soft sure way he breathes those words and kisses Eddie’s temple like Eddie’s pulse doesn’t trip around the sentence, the sentiment.

“Also thank you, for,” Steve adds, and drops another kiss while Eddie reels, floats in the moment of hearing the words, of knowing for sure, of feeling it: “for loving me, somehow, enough to,” and Eddie can imagine where that’s headed, the way Steve says somehow like an unthinkable thing.

And there will be none of that, so he stops it and kisses hard, wet, open-mouthed at the center of Steve’s chest, over his bird-flutter heartbeat.

“It broke me,” Eddie breathes there, cracked open and still raw; “I already mostly figured but,” and his voice breaks, and Steve pulls him closer, so warm, and the bird-heart-flutter feels more like full broad wings, majestic, almost embracing and ensuring Eddie of all things is safe, and kept.

And warm.

Fuck if Eddie doesn’t fall into the feeling, full body; whole heart and soul.

“If there was any question whether I already loved you with everything, the way I fell apart,” and Eddie just moans a little because there aren’t…he doesn’t have words for it at all, he—

“Let me put you back together?” Steve murmurs low in a way that’s so soft and gentle but trembles the marrow inside Eddie’s bones.

Timeless. Endless.

Eddie kisses Steve’s chest again and hopes Steve knows that means yes, and please, and forever.

Unequivocally.

“Could we maybe talk about that, um, bond stuff, that the letter…” Eddie eventually speaks muffled into the hair on Steve’s pecs, after soaking in the heat and pulse and realness of him.

“I meant it,” Steve murmurs straight into Eddie’s skin; “I’m not holding you to—”

“I want you to.”

Eddie did not for a second think or feel otherwise, from the moment he saw the words, before he even started to believe at all: his mind was filled with possibilities by those words. His chest was…

“You…” Steve nudges Eddie’s head up from his chest and studies his face, reads something in his eyes before his breath catches, this time; before his bird-pulse skips, something light and giddy against Eddie’s weight and Steve huffs, disbelieving but…maybe happy for it.

Maybe…maybe overjoyed, even.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and leans to kiss Eddie full on the lips again, consuming: familiar for it.

“Yeah we can talk about that. But later.”

And then he settles Eddie back against him and wraps him in his bare skin, the still-radiant warmth.

“Now you sleep, and when you wake up, I feed you, you shower, you put on new clothes,” Eddie wrinkles his nose, doesn’t even know how many days it’s been since he cared for those things; abandons any shame for it when Steve feels him recoil and presses him closer, chuckles once and nuzzles his hair;

“Then I feed you again, and then,” Steve kisses his head once, and then twice, and then three times and Eddie feels it tingle through his goddamn veins like a vow, filled up with promise when Steve whispers, so alive:

“Then, we can talk.”

For @klausinamarink, who requested '"I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and also for @steddie-week for the Day Seven prompt 'Free Space'

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @mensch-anthropos-human @micheledawn1975 @lumoschildextra @dotdot-wierdlife @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @grtwdsmwhr @eddie-munson-addict

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #post s4 #established steddie #angst with a happy ending #emotional hurt/comfort #true love #presumed dead #except SOMEONE was secretly a mythical creature the whole time #mythical creature steve harrington #phoenix steve harrington #eddie munson is a mess #(because he is in MOURNING)#(given he ALSO DOES NOT KNOW YET THAT HE WAS DATING A MYTHICAL CREATURE)#protective eddie munson #(he gathers Steve’s ashes a little obsessively in all honesty)#little does he know: THAT was the best possible thing to do!#inherited firebird powers #resurrection #(or something like that don’t think too hard on it—steve sure as hell doesn’t)#happy ending #established relationship #stranger things #gift fic #klausinamarink #hitlikehammers' hobbit-birthday prompt fest #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes #steddieweek2024

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 11 months ago

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Whump Prompt #1316

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

Whumpee being presumed dead and (thinks) no one is looking for them… until they make it out on their own years later to find the team as happy as ever.

However, the whumpee doesn't know about the tears, guilt, nightmares, flashbacks and the changes their “death” caused, all they can see is the team seemingly not caring and it breaks whumpee.

Whether whumpee breaks down and is eventually found by the team, attacks the team or even goes back to whumper each has its own special flavour of angst.

#I AGREE #SO MUCH #WITH THIS #whump #writing #prompts #angst #presumed dead #misunderstandings #team dynamics #guilt #trauma #worry #panic #nightmares #healing

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whumperofworlds · 1 year ago

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A Caretaker self sacrifices for Whumpee once again, and Whumpee is furious over it.

An argument ensues. As the argument heats up, Whumpee screams out:

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO LOSE YOU AGAIN!"

That stun Caretaker. In the past, Whumpee and Caretaker had been separated for months, and they had finally reunited when Caretaker was presumed dead. Caretaker didn't even realize that it had affected Whumpee this much.

Comfort and apologies ensues, and Caretaker promises not to self sacrifice for Whumpee. They'll still protect Whumpee, but they'll learn self preservation from now on. They don't want to leave Whumpee behind again.

#based on my ffi/ffrk fic idea #whump #whump prompt #argument #self sacrifice #whumpee #caretaker #presumed dead #hurt/comfort

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aceofwhump · 4 months ago

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So like a loved one thinking whumpee is dead then their relief when later on they find out that they are actually alive is peak, amirite? Especially if they think they were the reason the whumpee died.....

Oh god YES! Peak whump for sure!! That reunion is always so so good. And omg if they think they're the reason they died?? SO GOOD! That angst! The guilt! The relief! Ahhhhh yes so good!

#tropes #prompts #emotional whump #presumed dead #ask #anon #mod replies

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federaliszt · 1 month ago

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Presumed Dead

Situation where Character A has been missing for days that turn into weeks that turn into months. Far too long to maintain hope.

Their friends have searched everywhere, followed every possible lead, tried tracking every possible location where they could be.

No one has looked harder or longer than Character B, who feels responsible for A. They can't eat, can't sleep for worry about what happened to A, and where they could have disappeared to. People in their life are getting concerned for B's health, trying and failing to get B to rest for a couple of hours at a time before going back to the search for A.

"It's been almost two months since A disappeared," they remind B. "It's not looking good. You need to prepare for the worst..."

Caretaker friend character refuses to give up on the search. They run themselves ragged trying to find them.

One day, they respond to a request for a meetup with a long-time enemy of theirs. When they arrive at the prearranged place for the meeting, the first thing their eyes fall upon is the crumpled form of their missing friend A, who is chained to a support pillar across the room.

It's like time stops. The breath in B's lungs freezes.

Heart in their throat, B shouts A's name across the room, uncaring of the crowd of enemies that surround them.

And when A slowly raises their head and the thin light catches on their bruised and bloodied face, B sees red.

#whump #whump prompts #presumed dead #I already have a post with the same title but oh well #whump writing #whump scenarios #angst

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necrotic-nephilim · 1 month ago

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Hey, I'm so glad you enjoyed! Your comment was so thoughtful too 😭 I loved the dissection. I'm not really someone who bases my works off their Canon dynamic a lot, so I'm glad you ended up enjoying it when I tried! All your prompts were amazing. I actually really liked another one of yours too (the time travel one), but I couldn't figure out a way to write it the way you requested. Would you mind if I took that prompt anyway? I can credit you for it, I just loved it a lot and want to take a crack at it. - @rottenapricots

hi! i *loved* your fic so dearly, the comment was the *least* i could say. i kept thinking of all the things i wanted to mention and then forgetting them so my thoughts were all of the place but i truly loved your fic so much <3 you did *such* a good job with their canon characters while still melding them beautifully to the AU!

please go ahead!!! you can take any of the prompts you want and change them if you need to, or keep them the same, honestly go wild! i'd *love* to see what you come up with for the time travel idea.

#necrotic answerings #jaytim #for those curious the three prompts i gave were basically #jason doesn't die and stays robin and faces down apprentice of ra's!tim who was presumed dead #(that's the one the fic used and it was *so* beautifully written oh my god seriously i won't shut up about it.)#the time travel one was a pwp where jason ends up in a future where tim is savior/gun batman and they hatefuck #and then a talon!tim one where tim ends up working with red hood!jason to take down the court during utrh #and i'm so serious i'd love to see you write the other prompts if you want!#it's a win-win for me bc more good food.#that's a blanket permission thing too #like for any posts of mine on this blog if it sparks inspiration for anyone #pls pls feel free to use it for your own creations!#all i ask is to be tagged bc i'd love to see it too!!

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whumperer-86 · 1 year ago

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Today is the first day of EID Al Adha and my present of Whump is here in the new drama Miraculous Brothers whump first scene

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serickswrites · 9 months ago

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I Care

Warnings: captivity, physical violence, restraints, drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, yandere, suicide, faked suicide, fake blood, presumed dead

Whumpee came to slowly. Their head was pounding and their mouth was dry as cotton. What happened? Where am I? Whumper! The thought had Whumpee starting awake.

"My love, you are awake," Whumper whispered into their ear, lips gently brushing the shell of their ear. "I am so glad."

"Wha," Whumpee had to clear their throat to get the words out, "what didjou do?" Where did you take me? Where is Caretaker? What have you done?

"What needed to be done," Whumper said coolly. "Really, I thought you would be happy, we're together, just like I promised we'd be. I always keep my promises."

What needed to be done? Oh God. Caretaker! "Caretaker?" Whumpee said as they realized they were restrained in a bed. Memories of the moments leading up to Whumper taking them flooded Whumpee. They had opened the door, expecting Caretaker, but found Whumper. They opened their mouth to scream, but Whumper came at them, punching their mouth, boxing their ears, and then grabbing them and......a sharp prick and then nothing.

"Oh they're alive, Whumpee. Don't worry. I wouldn't kill them. Though that would have made my life much easier," they said in afterthought.

Whumpee sighed. Caretaker's alive. They'll find me. They always find me. "They'll.....hunt....you." Their mouth was still dry, the words stuck like glue to their tongue.

Whumper giggled. "They're not going to come looking for you. I made sure they wouldn't."

Whumpee's heart pounded in their chest. They tried to free their hands, but the silken ropes bound them so tightly. "What didjou do?"

"I faked your death. At your own hand of course. That way Caretaker will never suspect me. And you and I can have all our time together. Just like I've always dreamed."

Faked my death? Suicide? I would never! Images of Caretaker's grief filled them, the pain so palpable. They think I'm dead. They think I'm dead. I'm not dead. They think I hurt myself. I would never. I could never hurt them that way. "Why?" Was all Whumpee managed to croak.

"I'm doing this because I care about you, Whumpee. More than anyone else." They cupped Whumpee's cheek and stared into Whumpee's eyes, a maniacal gleam filling their own eyes. "I care so much about you, Whumpee, that I will do anything to take care of you. Even if it means making sure no one will know you. No one will come for you. It's only you and me."

Whumpee spat in Whumper's face. It was the only thing they could do, they were bound to the bed so tightly. "Fuck you," they hissed.

Whumper winced as they wiped the spit off their face. They reached into their pocket and pulled out another needle. "I think you just need some time to think about how great our time will be with no one to interfere."

Whumpee tried to roll away. Tried to free their hands. Tried to do anything to avoid the prick of the needle. But it was in vein. As Whumper stabbed their neck with the needle and depressed the plunger, flooding their body with a potent sedative, Whumpee realized that until Whumper trusted them, until Whumper believed they wouldn't try to escape, they would remain tied to the bed.

I will get out of here. I will get back to you, Caretaker. Whumpee made their silent vow as they began to slip into the deep sea of unconsciousness. I will get back to you. Caretaker. I love you. Please, don't give up on me.

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isabel3710 · 2 years ago

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Bad things happen bingo request, Missing and Presumed Dead.

In less than 24 hours you and one other person requested this. Not that I'm surprised! The other user decided to remain anonymous so I'm going with your message.

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Fandom: Gravity Falls

Prompt: Missing and Presumed Dead

Masterlist

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Initially, Dipper's absence went unnoticed. It was not unusual for Dipper to forget to call them since he was always pretty preoccupied with classes. Mabel was the only one who regularly talked with him, but due to her upcoming art project, she didn't have the time.

As soon as Mabel was done with her project she called him.

Dipper didn’t pick up.

This was strange, but not alarming. Mabel assumed that Dipper had forgotten to charge his phone and would call her back once he saw the missed call.

He didn’t.

After a couple of days Mabel tried calling her brother again. And just like before she didn’t get an answer. So she decided to reach out to her Grunkles and see when they last heard from her brother.

“So let me get this straight,” Mabel said, on the phone with Stan and Ford. “Neither of you have heard from Dipper in almost two weeks?”

“No,” Stan said, “we thought he got busy with his fancy college courses.”

“I did too,” Mabel amidted, “but I’ve been calling him non-stop for the past few days and he hasn’t picked up.”

“I am sure there is nothing to worry about” Ford said “like Stan said, he’s probably busy and doesn’t have time to talk.”

“But if that was the case then he would text me and tell me he’s busy” Mabel said “just like he always does.”

“Well my dear” Ford said “why don’t you call the police and request a wellness check?”

“That's a good idea” Mabel said “thanks Grunkle Ford.”

“Anytime.”

—------

Mabel paced back and forth in her tiny dorm room, anxiously waiting for a response after calling in the wellness check. Although she knew the police were probably busy and hadn't had the chance to investigate yet, but that did nothing to calm her nerves.

Her phone ran and Mabel rushed to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hello” a male voice said “may I speak with Mabel Pines?”

“This is her.”

“Hi, I’m Officer Green and I’m calling to follow up on the wellness check you requested.”

“Yes?”

Officer Green seemed to hesitate for a moment “ma’am, Mason Pines is your brother. Correct?”

“Um yeah” Mabel said “though my family and I call him Dipper.”

“Right” Officer Green said “well ma’am-”

“Mabel.”

“Sorry, Mabel” the officer said “it seems like your brother wasn’t home and his roommate hadn’t seen him in almost two weeks.”

“That was the last time I heard from him,” Mabel said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Now normally” Officer Green said “we think that the person in question decided to leave, especially people his age.”

"Dipper isn't like that," Mabel protested. "He wouldn't drop out of school, especially without telling us."

“I believe you” he assured “we found no evidence of him leaving, at least under his own free will.”

“So you think he was kidnapped?” Mabel’s voice was starting to shake.

“We aren’t sure” Officer Green said “but I am going to do what I can to find out.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Mabel asked.

“Yes” the officer said “if you could come down sometime in the next couple of days we would like to interview you.”

"Okay," Mabel agreed, her mind racing. "I just need to clear it with my professors."

“If I can get their emails I can have a letter sent to excuse you from classes,” Officer Green offered kindly.

“Okay,” Mabel agreed.

After they hung up, she sat in silence for a long while, worried and fearful for her brother's safety.

—-----

As promised by Officer Green, Mabel received an excused absence for all her classes. Although she was unaware of the contents of the emails, it didn't matter to her at the time. She hastily packed a bag and caught the first flight she could find.

Stan and Ford also flew in as soon as they heard about the wellness check results. Mabel knew that their friends in Gravity Falls would have come too if she hadn't talked them out of it. She didn't want to inconvenience anyone for something that might turn out to be nothing. And Mabel was doing her best to hope and manifest it to be nothing.

So Mabel went to the police station and met with Officer Green and talked with him for a few hours. The man wanted to know everything about Dipper and she complied. Anything to find her brother.

There were, of course, a few things Mabel didn’t tell the officer. Things that would make her and Dipper look like crazy people but since he never asked she didn’t feel too bad about it.

After the interview the Grunkles took Mabel out to lunch. “I’m sure he’s fine, '' Stan said for the hundredth time. “Dipper’s a strong and resilient kid.”

Mabel just nodded, picking at her food. She knew Grunkle Stan was just as worried as the rest of them but was trying to stay strong for their benefit.

—-----

Days passed and during that time the three of them worked with the police to try and find any word on DIpper’s location. Then they get a call down and are asked to come down to the station.

Officer Green leads them to a private room and had them sit down. The man doesn’t say anything as he sets the object on the table. It was a clear plastic evidence bag.

Inside is Dipper’s pine tree hat.

The hat had a few extra rips and stains from when Mabel last saw it but the things that caught her attention were the blood splatters. She was vaguely aware of Stan letting out a curse but couldn’t take her eyes off the hat.

“I assume this was Mason’s?” Officer Green asked.

“Yes” Ford said, “he’s had it since he was twelve and never takes it off. Where did you find it?”

“I see,” Officer Green nodded, “we found it in a wooded area not too far from here. But this wasn’t all we found. I can show you everything we’ve found, if you’d like.”

“Yes,” Ford said, “we would like that.”

Officer Green led them to a room where there was a long table with plastic evidence bags were all lined up. They were full of Dipper’s things.

There were pieces of one of his shirts, ripped to shreds and covered in blood. There was his wallet and keys. There was a single shoe, chunks of his brown hair, and fragments of his other shoe. And so much more.

Officer Green let them take in the scene and gave them a sympathetic look, “we believe it was an animal attack but we’ll do some more investigating to be sure. We’ll need to do a DNA check as well.”

Mabel was frozen in place, unable to remove her eyes from the table. She felt Stan wrap and arm around her shoulders as Ford questioned the officer.

“Have you found a body?” He asked “or any type of human remains?”

Mabel choked and felt tears in her eyes.

“No” the officer said “all of his belongings were scattered across the area and we have people looking for more. All of this was found over the course of a couple of days.”

“He’s dead?” Mabel’s voice was on the verge of a sob.

“Until we find a body we can’t proclaim him to be…” Officer Green said “But we assume that yes… Mason is dead. I’m so sorry.”

Mabel felt her knees buckle and someone caught her as she began to sob.

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Author's Note:

Not much to say about this one...

NLGQDSSHG

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Tag List:

@badthingshappenbingo

#bad things happen bingo #gravity falls dipper #gravity falls #gravity falls mabel #gravity falls stanley #gravity falls stanford #whump prompt #prompt missing and presumed dead #dipper pines #fanfiction #fanfic #gravity falls fanfiction #mabel pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #whump #angst

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ghost-bxrd · 6 months ago

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Prompt:

The first mission the Court send their newly minted Talon on is an assassination attempt on the ward of one Bruce Wayne… Dick Grayson.

Calvin— can’t kill Dick. He can’t.

He didn’t know it would be the boy he grew up in the circus with they want him to murder in cold blood. He didn’t know— didn’t recognize him until the knife was already at his throat.

But he remembers now. And he won’t do it. Never. Never.

He’ll run. Disappear. Dick doesn’t know who he is, it’s better that way, and if he’s lucky the Court will be too busy hunting him to care about the failed assassination.

Unfortunately for Calvin, Dick does remember; Recognizes the Talon.

And he’s not inclined to let his childhood best friend slip through his fingers again after years of believing him dead.

#IT’S CANON THEY KNEW EACH OTHER #if only because they were in the same circus at the same time #but still it COUNTS! 😭😭😭#there’s only a handful of fics tangentially featuring Calvin and so help me I will RECTIFY THAT #Calvin Rose #my sweet summer child #expect more prompts featuring him guys #and fics #also Dick totally throws the Talon at Bruce and Bruce’s adoption instincts kick in point blank #like sorry but that’s a traumatized teen and apparently his earliest childhood memory is being kept locked up in a cage like a dog #sorry Bruce you have another kid now #but at least he’s totally on board with your no kill rule! so there’s that #calvin not knowing his friend and new guardian are vigilantes is stressing him tf out #he’s sure he’s their last line of defense against the court #when in reality—- they’re very much keeping HIM safe #they’re hell bent on allowing him a normal life #prompts #dick grayson #batdad #bruce wayne #Batman #robin #Nightwing #talon #court of owls #batfam #I know this is a niche prompt but more people need to hear about Calvin rose #he’s such a sweetheart for real #presumed dead

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tildeathiwillwrite · 7 months ago

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Cinderheart

Whumpril Day 17 (Hallucination), Day 23 (Presumed Dead)

Whumpril Prompts List

part 2

TW: darkness, monster, blood, dark magic, presumed dead, death, corpses, fighting, anger, self-deprecation, shame, running away

Context: Jin is one of my Dragon Prince ocs. She's a Katolis Crownguard under King Harrow. Her husband Zane (also a Crownguard) was killed defending Harrow, and she sided with Viren on a quest for revenge. Her story starts in the aftermath of the Season 3 finale, where she was transformed by dark magic alongside his entire army. (More information to come when I have the time)

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Jin was surrounded by darkness, no longer the angry, invincible, uncontrollable monster but herself before the painful transformation. Breathing raggedly, she touched her face, her arms, her breastplate. All seemed to be normal. As it should be. The darkness pressed in, threatening to choke her.

"Jin."

She whirled around, fists raised. Behind her, the darkness opened to reveal something in the distance. A pile of some sort? Jin approached hesitantly, preferring the mysterious light over the suffocating darkness. Her breath caught in her throat when she got close. It was a pile of hundreds of battle axes, all spattered and stained with blood.

"Why are you fighting, Jin?" someone—or something—hissed in her ear.

Jin flinched away and punched in the direction of the voice. But her fists only found air. "Who are you?" She demanded, glancing around wildly.

"Why do you resist?" The voice was accompanied by swirling smoke that formed into one of the monsters, the ones who were once human like her, changed by dark magic. Jin backed away.

"You only weaken yourself by fighting your true nature." The monster hissed in a familiar voice. Jin's voice, like when it echoed in the throne room. "Stop resisting!"

The last word came as a roar. Monster-Jin lunged, swiping with her claws. Jin ducked away, dodging around the heap of weaponry. She grabbed the nearest ax and hefted its weight. The handle fit her hand perfectly like it was her ax.

Jin charged the monster, using her own momentum to bring the ax over her head and down in a killing stroke. It would have cleaved the monster in two. But it caught the ax in its claws with ease.

"Please, Jin, you're embarrassing yourself," Monster-Jin snarled. Jin tugged at the ax, but the monster held on with terrible strength. The metal turned red hot and began to melt. Jin dropped the weapon and tried to flee, but it lunged and snatched her collar. Its knuckles brushed against her throat, and she gasped at the intense heat radiating from its skin.

"You really think you can hold your own against me? You're weak! Give in, and gain strength never seen before!"

Jin swayed, overcome by dizziness, and suddenly she was the monster. "No!" She cried out, staring at her hands, tipped with talons carved from molten stone, "I didn't want this! I never wanted this..."

"What did you want, then?" Jin started and turned as Zane's voice reached her ears. He stood several feet away, facing her, clutching his sword. "You brought this upon yourself.”

Jin fell to her knees, staring at her hands. The hands of a killer, the hands of a monster. "I was angry!" She shouted, the darkness swallowing the sound. "I was angry at the elves, for killing my king, for killing you! I'm a monster, Zane! I never deserved your love."

Zane sheathed his sword and stepped forward. "You think your anger makes you a beast? I disagree." He took another step, and he was in front of her. "I think anger is what makes you human."

Even kneeling, she towered over him. "Do you even see me, Zane? I chose to follow Viren, and he made me...this!"

He looked up at her. Oh, how she missed the way he looked at her. "Anger is an emotion, one of many emotions we have. And it's a struggle. I know you always struggled with it."

Jin closed her eyes. "Except now it has changed me, irrevocably. How can you look at me and say I'm still human?"

"It's a part of our nature as humans to struggle with our emotions,” he said softly, “So what if you have a little bit more trouble with yours? Perhaps it should be an incentive to watch yourself, keep yourself from doing something foolish."

A lump formed in Jin's throat. She opened her eyes and discovered that she was no longer the monster but regular human Jin. Zane knelt in front of her and held out his hand. Jin hesitated before reaching out, but it dissolved into smoke. "No!" She protested, reaching out for him as he vanished.

The darkness rushed in his wake and swallowed her whole. The air swirled around her violently, whipping at her hair and face. Jin whimpered and curled up in the fetal position in a weak attempt to ward it off. "Please..." She murmured, "let me out... Please..."

Voices echoed through the rushing gale.

“Not breathing. No heartbeat.”

“...She’s not wearing a broken link badge.”

“So?”

“So why isn’t she one of… them? And look at the dead around her….”

“Fair point. I’ll mention it to the king. But our concern right now is the dying.”

Silence.

Jin opened her eyes to find the sky above the battlefields streaked with brilliant reds, yellows, and violets, the stars beginning to show themselves at the edge of the night. She was cold.

So very cold.

And alone, save for the dead.

She found her battle ax lying on the ground nearby, covered with so much blood it was nearly unrecognizable. She tried to ignore the bodies around her as she picked it up and slid the weapon onto her back.

Most of the living were gathered across the battlefield, a sprawl of tents dotting the landscape at the base of the Storm Spire. Jin was at the southern edge of the carnage, about as far as one could get from the mountain. She gazed at the camp in silence.

If she went there, she would no doubt be arrested as a traitor to the crown and live out the rest of her days in prison. She glanced down at her hands and on a whim, carefully pulled off one of her gloves.

Her breath caught in her throat. The veins under her skin glowed like hot, flowing magma. The transformation had changed her, irrevocably so. She might appear human now, but the monster was still there.

Jin knew what would happen over that little detail. She didn’t want to know.

Perhaps it would have been better if she had died in the battle. They already thought she had.

Face burning with shame—or perhaps the fire in her blood—Jin turned away from the Storm Spire and faced south. She steeled herself, considering this route. Was it truly better than the alternative?

It had to be.

It must be.

Jin didn’t allow herself to dwell upon it before she fled into the night.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @whumpril

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