#The end?

[boredth]

Peace

[radioactivespacebug]

(Mood music)

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes Part 7

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

He’s looking up at the most beautiful face in the world, all hard-planed jaw beautiful moles sensual mouth. There are bloody fingerprints on the strong chin and agony warps those sharp features. Eddie loves this face more than anything, so if this is the last thing he sees before he dies, he can’t be mad. Except, he doesn’t understand why Steve is so unhappy. He tries to open his mouth, to ask what’s wrong, what happened, but he’s engulfed in a pain so acute, so mind contorting, that everything goes black.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

He sees two men holding each other. Crying? His ears are thick, stuffed with cotton, no sound penetrating. One of them moves, his face now visible, and Eddie’s heart contracts. Uncle Wayne. 

Sound rushes in at the shock of seeing his uncle. His uncle crying. He can hear them now, Wayne’s partially stifled sobs, and a cracked, rough, wavering voice saying through tears, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I tried to keep him safe. I tried—"

“Shhh, my boy, you did your best. I know you did. You brought him back, Steve.”

“But he might—The doctors say—it’s all my fault, Wayne. I did this. I didn’t keep him safe.”

Eddie wants to yell, to get their attention. Can’t stand to see the two men he loves most in the world crying when he’s right here. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

Wayne, asleep with his arms crossed over his chest, in a plastic chair. And Steve—Steve still here, still with him, still waiting for him to wake up. Steve’s left hand twines with one of Eddie’s and he’s propped up just so that he can write and hold a notebook steady at the same time. That’s briefly confusing before he recognizes that it’s a black Composition Book, one of Eddie’s own with a dragon inked in red on the front. 

He allows himself to watch Steve, admire the curve of his cheek, the sharpness of his jaw, the lovely moles and freckles across his skin (the nights Eddie spent thinking about kissing each and every one of those marks). His hair is deflated, falling limply over his forehead, but he’s still so beautiful, Eddie almost can’t take it. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

This time is different. He senses it immediately, his head less fuzzy, his fingers able to twitch. He’s like awake awake. There’s a tube in his throat, which fucking sucks, sort of hurts. He wants to claw it out, but that seems extreme. 

He doesn’t see Wayne, but he’s not alone, his fingers twisted into someone’s hair, the silken fine strands soft against his palm. Eddie’s eyes drift down to find Steve, head cradled on his arms against the edge of the hospital bed, snoring gently. Eddie can’t stop himself from pressing the flat of his hand into the chestnut locks.

Eddie’s touch has Steve blinking sleepy hazel right before he springs to his feet, “Eddie??” he yelps. Eddie, for his part, opens his mouth to respond, remembers the tube down his throat, and settles for waving. 

“Holy shit,” Steve says. He slams the “call” button, then says, “Fuck this, be right back,” and flees into the hall. 

Later, when the doctors all leave, Eddie can’t stop the tears that slip free, but Steve is there, holding his hands, crawling into the narrow bed with him to hold him close until they fall asleep, Eddie’s head on Steve’s chest.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

A week later, Eddie wakes up in an empty room. He hasn’t been alone, even once, since regaining consciousness and he has a second of panic before he hears the soft murmur of Steve’s voice from just outside the door. It’s relaxing, and Eddie’s gaze falls to the shockingly blue sky out his window. 

He's lucky, he knows. He lived, the murder charges were dropped, he found a group of people to call family. 

And Steve. Even if they’re just friends. It’s okay. He’s okay with that. Steve saved his life, stayed by his side, gave Eddie the most love he’s ever had. And that’s good.

He’s so locked into his thoughts he doesn’t realize that Steve’s come back into the room until there’s a Hawkins General branded notepad and pen thumping into his lap.   

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

��You okay?”

“Just thinking.”

“Good stuff?”

Eddie smiles as he writes. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Just that I’m lucky to have you as a friend.”

Steve’s face flushes a pretty pink and maybe Eddie takes it back, being okay with just friends. 

“Best friends forever, right?”

It’s Eddie’s turn to blush. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever then.”

He looks at Steve, then, at the flush of his face and the brightness of his eyes and wishes.

“Eds.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re staring.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I like it.”

“Steve,” he whispers. His heart’s going a mile a minute and Steve is looking at him, gazing at him, his whole fucking heart in those hazel eyes. 

“I have something for you,” Steve says. It’s careful, like he’s afraid Eddie will spook. He pulls a crumpled sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, smoothing it out, handing it over.

Eddie looks at the note. 

“You ever been in love?” it says.

“No, but I think I’m falling,” is the answer

“I love you, Eddie,” is the follow-up. It’s accompanied by an atrocious sketch of a sailor boy and a rockstar holding hands, little asymmetrical valentine’s hearts between them.

Eddie can’t help it, he laughs even as tears fill his eyes. His heart is all twisted up, his mind reeling. This can’t be real. How can this be real.

“Eds?” Steve asks. He’s nervous now, breathy, and oh, he really meant it. 

Steve Harrington is in love with Eddie Munson. 

Jesus Christ. 

“Stevie?” Eddie can’t quite get air into his lungs; he’s so overwhelmed with fondness. “Baby, I love you so much.” 

Steve’s crying now. “I’m sorry it took me so long,” he writes.

 “You took as much time as you needed, considering I thought you were straight.”

“Me too. Until you.”

“Come here?” Eddie shifts as far over in the hospital bed as he can. He has to have Steve close, has to touch him, has to make sure this is actually happening. 

Steve climbs up, gentle in a way that only Steve Harrington can be, and Eddie curls into him, holding the man he loves as tight as he can. 

“Can I say that I’m sorry?” Steve asks, mouth against Eddie’s ear. 

“Again? I don’t think you have anything else to apologize for.”

“Kissing you that night.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow and Steve seems to catch the misstep, quickly says. “Oh, shit. No, I’m not sorry for the kiss, but for when it happened. You were upset and I thought it might help?”

Eddie giggles, can’t stop it, but cups a hand around the contours of Steve’s cheek. 

“It did help. But mayyybe the circumstances weren’t the best.” 

“That’s why I’m sorry.” His eyes flick to Eddie’s mouth. “You think I can make up for it now?” 

“Please,” Eddie answers, can hardly get the words out, too shocked at how this is his life; that the boy he loves, loves him back.

One of Steve’s hands winds into the hair at the back of Eddie’s skull, and then they’re kissing, soft and slow, and he can’t think of anything aside from Steve Harrington’s gentle chapped lips and the stubble on his jaw and the way his mouth feels around Eddie’s tongue.  

They pull apart after a couple of minutes, Eddie already feeling the strain on his battered body. Their foreheads rest against each other, still sharing air.  

“I love you,” Eddie whispers. 

“Love you more than anything, Eds,” Steve answers, his hold on Eddie tightening, like he'll never, ever let go.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

On a napkin from the Hideout, imprinted with the ring of a glass and half-formed song lyrics:

“What if we owned this place, Stevie? I’ve got ideas.”

“You want to?”

“Been thinking about it. As much as I’m shocked to admit it, we could have a life here. A good one, I think.”

“Whatever you want, babylove. Whatever makes you happy. You know I’ll go wherever you are.” 

“Even if we stay in shitty old Hawkins?”

“Even then. Best friends forever, yeah?”

“God, you’re a dork, Harrington”

“The dork you’ve been in love with for three years.”

“I’m having second thoughts.”

“Like hell you are. You’re obsessed with me.”

It ends with a cheeky little sketch of a devil.

On a Hawkins Middle paystub for guidance counselor Steve Harrington:

“Wanna do the one-shot with us when the kids are home for Christmas?”

“Sure”

--

“What?”

“Sure. Sure says Steve Harrington like it’s nothing, like I haven’t asked you to play almost every week for YEARS.”

“Calm down, Munson. Let’s just say you wore me down.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“Paladin, do you think?”

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Hmm, what race, though? I want to be something cool.”

“Steve.”

“Huh?”

“Take your fucking clothes off right fucking now”

On a wedding invitation addressed to Steve and Eddie (return address Max Mayfield and Lucas Sinclair):

“Why didn’t you get more milk???”

“Oops, sorry, Stevie. Forgot”

“Well???’

“Oh, you want me to go now. Okay. Back soon.”

“Love you, Eds”

“Love you more, Stevie.”

On scattered bits of paper and detritus across the Munson household:

“Love you, baby”

“Love you more”

“Love you most”

“You’re everything, Munson.”

“Kiss me”

“Always”

“You’re beautiful, Steve Harrington. Can’t believe I get to have this.”

“Love you”

“Love you more”

(BONUS PART)

This is the end of the Steddie Notes saga (though there may be a Steddie Notes-verse surprise coming soon 😈) This part took longer than usual because I wanted to make it perfect. I hope you love it as much as I do!!! I'll be posting this on ao3 soon, if you want to check it out there too (I'll be adding back pieces I cut for length). Thank you all so much for sticking with me! It's been such a pleasure to write and share with you all! 💜💜💜

@gaysonthefloor @little-gae-shit @ineffablecolors @mojowitchcraft @hiscrimsonangel @thegingerrapunzel @adelicioustragedy @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @im-sam-fucking-winchester @rainydays35 @gobbledy-gluk-gluk @gay-stranger-things @sherilitchi @gezell-igg @leather-and-freckles @bornonthesavage @ramyayaya @awkwardgravity1 @chaoticvictorianspirit @thosemessyvibes @beeing-stuupid @silentiumdelirium @freyaforestafay @thatbitchgayasf @sapphirecobalt-1 @sahh-dude @adorkfromnewyork @ollie-in-gray @extralegobrick @snapshotmaestro

@fandomgenderz @nuttychaosface @thatcottagewitch @idoquitelikebread @shinekocreator @savveth @mackfrfr0 @yourebuckingkiddingme @steddieassheg0es @gamerdano @thebig-smoke @questionablequeeries @zerokrox-blog @thegingervulcan @charlies-candid-corner@perpetual-trashcan @sleepy-rainedrop @marvelous-musicals @hoffmannwrites @fromapayphone @courtjestermunson@juicinmyjams @daydreaming-mood @aceflavouredyougurt @emly03 @pille1983 @darcyshandflex @anteaterballs @adankrivervalleynearyou @didntwant2come @kittsu-makes-glass @alienace

@somewhereatdawn @5pac3g1r7 @thequeervibes @paperbackribs @bitchysunflower @knitsforthetrail @wrenisflying @plasticcrotches @demoniccorvid @em9515 @savory-babby @loverliner @aceacebaby42

@trainchomp @anaibis

[evilhorse]

Are you ready to end this?

(Batman #143)

[chrismcleanswife]

Hello Author!

If it’s not too much trouble can I please request a follow up to the ‘Duncan hurts Chris’s 13 y/o niece’, where Duncan tries to make up for what he did to the reader?? Maybe this scenario could happen after Duncan is brought back again in TDWT?

𝐎𝐮𝐜𝐡! (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑)

A/N -> Omg! Of course you can have a part three dear anon! I already had some ideas floating 'round my mind to write it, and your kind request was the final impulse I needed to write it, Hope you enjoy it! <3

♥🩹 -> Since you almost fell of the plane everything went uproad.

♥🩹 -> With Alejandro near you, the fear of being hurt wasn't as overwhelming as before.

♥🩹 -> You felt safe everytime he picked you in his arms or took your hand.

♥🩹 -> And your heart was slowly healing thanks to the Spanish boy, who kept acting as a brother and protector figure to your young self.

♥🩹 -> Your smile was now genuine and was almost always displaying itself on your face.

♥🩹 -> Now you were able to let people touch you with slow movement.

♥🩹 -> And everyone liked how they could now hug you, so it was a win-win for everyone.

♥🩹 -> Or at least it was until Courtney and Gwen brought back the wrong delinquent.

♥🩹 -> Instead of Jack the Ripper, they bought Duncan.

♥🩹 -> As soon as the punk eyes laid on you your breath got stuck into your throat, your hands slightly trembled as you tried to take Alejandro's hand without breaking the eye contact, fearing what would happen if you did so.

♥🩹 -> The fear that your little form held didn't let you see past Duncan's ice blue eyes, they showed nothing but concern and guilt, but those emotions quickly turned into jelausy and slight rage when he saw how Alejandro held your hand and took you close to his latin body.

♥🩹 -> Everyone except your scared you could see the change and almost hear the loud srieking nose that Duncan's teeth did from closing his jaw so tight.

♥🩹 -> Everyone could also see how Duncan tried everything on his power to make you at least trust him enough to let him talk to you, but that didn't happen for a huge number of days, in which you kept leaving the room and/or hiding as soon as you saw his green hair in the space you were currently in.

♥🩹 -> After a week or so, you exited your bedroom in the middle of the night to go for a glass of water, and guess who you encountered in the middle of the hallway.

♥🩹 -> Yes.Duncan.

♥🩹 -> You stopped breathing and didn't move an inch even though his eyes had already landed on you, following the stupid rule of "If I don't move, he can't see me"

♥🩹 -> However, your plan obviously failed, and you watched in horror as Duncan opened his mouth to said something you thought would be unpleasant, bringing the wrist he hurted years ago close to your chest as a fear reflex while you firmly closed your eyes.

♥🩹 -> ❝I'm sorry kid❞ he seemed genuine when he said that, he still had his usual resting bitch-face but his voice seemed so true.

♥🩹 -> Those three words made your eyes open wildly as you looked at him with surprise.

♥🩹 -> ❝Wha...What...?❞ you managed to say with a shaky voice, your years ago hurt hand now falling to your side slowly.

♥🩹 -> ❝What I did back then was really messed up, and I didn't even apologise to you after that, god, sometimes I really suck❞ he explained, a morbid laughter escaping his lips once he said the last part of his phrase.

♥🩹 -> Your eyes blinked while you tried to process his last words, your body slowly and slightly relaxing.

♥🩹 -> He moved a step closer to you, and you were quick to take 3 back, looking at him with scared eyes again.

♥🩹 -> Duncan, rubbed his temple while he sighed in defeat, he then looked at you again with a more soft expresion, holding his hand out to you, revealing a sweet treat on his palm.

♥🩹 -> You looked at him uncertainly, opening your mouth to talk but no sound coming out so you closed it again.

♥🩹 -> He somehow managed to realise your puzzled and hesitant body language and he spoke again, his raspy voice sounding a little more sweeter than last time.

♥🩹 -> ❝Look Chris mini copy, I know I hurted you that day, and gosh I really wish I didn't do such a stupid thing❞ he let out in a huff, still a bit angry at himself for letting his anger take over him that afternoon ❝I don't expect you to come to my side running only because I said sorry, okay? I just want to let you know that I want to regain your trust, start from 0 again, and maybe, one day you will be by my side again, you know, like we used to say back then "being my little delinquent buddy" alright? don't feel forced❞

♥🩹 -> Those words felt mature, felt real, felt... felt true...

♥🩹 -> So you hesitantly noded, holding your hand out slowly and taking the pink wrapped candy in his palm, retracting your hand as slowly and carefully ripping the plastic envoltory appart to pour the sugary treat in your mouth.

♥🩹 -> Duncan felt content with your reaction and let out a little "heh" before turning his back at you and trying to walk away to the place he was sleeping.

♥🩹 -> But one of his eyebrows raised itself when he heard quick and soft footsteps behind him and he suddenly felt a not so tiny hand on his arm.

♥🩹 -> He knew it was you the one who stopped him, but he still looked surprised and genuinely intrigued when he saw you there, holding his arm so he stopped walking away.

♥🩹 -> He was just opening his mouth to question your actions when you suddenly spoke to him with a soft and still shaky voice.

♥🩹 -> ❝I- I maybe not have the strength to forgive you right now Duncan, bu-but I assure to you I'll try If you try to get better too... I will wait for you if you wait for me... ¿o-okay...?❞ you said in something slightly above of a whispers voice volume.

♥🩹 -> Duncan felt a soft smile creep into his lips, and so he nodded, slowly freeing himself from your grip and waving you off before disappearing.

♥🩹 -> Those words felt too mature on your tongue, but they also felt so right, that you almost teared up in the middle of that hallway.

♥🩹 -> You knew this was what you both needed, you couldn't deny the fact that you wanted to jump right back into his arms and become his little buddy again, but it wouldn't be a wise choice, both of you needed your time to recover and improve slightly, and you both were also willing to take your time so you could be comfortable around each other again.

♥🩹 -> Until then, you still had Alejandro's side to curl up too and your other friend's arms to be inbetween in case you felt down.

♥🩹 -> And, with a little of luck and an even more little of time Duncan and you could maybe laugh at his jokes again...

[saritagiovanna]

My love for Good Omens, especially the soundtrack, led me to doing this tonight. Sorry for any audio quality...I recorded it straight from my ipad!

[happy-lemon]

"Well," he said. "Considering I sidestepped giving birth to you—and I have no idea how that even works—I guess the least I can do is make sure that you...that we have a good life."

The little girl only giggled and stuck her finger in her nose.

"And you're a human being, not a robot," Dylan said. "So your name can't be N4R4."

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, considering. Until he felt a tiny finger in his nose. But more than that, he felt a connection. A thread that ran back ten generations to the very beginning.

Dylan opened his eyes and smiled at the girl. His daughter. "But your name can be Nara."

[aizhits]

ItCantEndLikeThisITCantEndLikeThisItCantEndLikeThi-

Catastrophic

@my-ceiling-is-tilted Used catastrophe prompt from your prompt list :) good inspiration fr

[mafaldaknows]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Vulture (@vulture)

He’s only just begun.

✨🔥🤘🔥✨

[karatekels]

Disorderly Conduct - Chapter 6

I sadly bring you the end to this fic. There's an important author's note at the bottom that I would encourage you all to read after this!

Previous Parts:

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

TW: Violence, gun violence, police brutality, police corruption, character death

---

Chapter 6 - Reinforcements:

---

Cash's POV:

“I’m sorry, Cash; I can’t. You’re going to have to kill me.”

The finality with which you say those words has him reeling.

“Do you think I’m fucking around, Y/N?!” he yells, his voice hoarse and throat dry. You shake your head, looking over at him with a sad smile.

“No, but we both know you’re not going to let yourself be arrested, and I’m not the one with the gun. Even if I was, I… I can’t kill you,” you confess, gripping the steering wheel tightly as though to steady yourself.

Did you have a death wish or something? You’d been relatively calm about your own death this whole time, and he couldn’t figure it out. Surely someone so fundamentally good had to have a sense of self-preservation, right? Especially when it was between themselves and a monster.

“Just drive the car,” he pleads with you in a whisper, his voice breaking.

“They’ll find us eventually, Cash. We don’t have time. Consider it repaying you for saving my ass that day; I’m sorry it messed everything up for you.”

“Stop it!” he snarls at you. “Shut the fuck up and drive the damn car.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment, and he’s starting to get very angry now.

“If I’m gone, there’s no evidence that you did anything. It’s all my word against yours.”

“Why are you talking like this?” he demands, not even pointing the gun at you at this point. “Why don’t you care?”

“I don’t think I can see the world in black and white anymore now, either. And I don’t think I can live with myself, now that I know that your life fell apart because of me.”

You take his free hand in your own, calm as can be, and give it a squeeze.

“Let me give you this second chance at life; you’ll have a better shot of it than I will if you die. It’s the least I can do.”

“The least you can do is drive the truck!”

“You should know better than to try to win out against my stubbornness, Officer Cash,” you tease, and that does it.

“Fine, then get out of here.”

“I told you, I’m not driving.”

“Leave the car. Do what you’re told for once and walk away.”

He looks down at the gun in his hand. One shot, and it would be over, like he had wanted it to be from the moment he knew he couldn’t be with you, a year ago.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fine,” he says curtly, throwing the passenger door open and storming off, trying to put as much space between himself and the car as possible. He didn’t want you to see this.

“CASH!” you yell, and the panic in your voice tells him that you have realized his intentions. “Don’t!”

He puts the barrel of the gun under his chin, taking a breath. Perhaps this act of atonement would be enough for salvation. He hopes the afterlife can be a replica of last night, with you, for eternity.

His arm is yanked down as he pulls the trigger, the shot missing its intended target and hitting him right in the foot, sending him to the ground with a howl.

“Fuck, Cash!” you cry out, still with the presence of mind to snatch the gun away from him before he could finish the job. The shot wasn’t lethal, and the bullet had largely blocked the bleeding. Still, he presses down on it with a grimace.

“I’ll be fine,” he hisses through gritted teeth, though he hopes he isn’t. “What the fuck were you thinking?!” You could have been hurt, or killed.

“I’m thinking that just because you don’t want to be taken in alive doesn’t mean that you can’t be. Cash Ewing, you’re under arrest for possession of a Class B substance with intent to distribute.” You’re grinning at him fiercely, turning the safety of the gun on with a click.

“What?”

“Maximum sentence for a first-time offender is ten years; and that’s only if it can be proven. And between you and me, I don’t have very much evidence.”

“Are you insane, Y/N?!”

“You’re getting your second chance, Officer Cash, whether you like it or not!” you inform him cheerily, your hands in the air.

He can hear sirens again in the distance; they must be triangulating where the shot had come from and were closing in. He’d have to talk fast to convince you to shoot to kill before they arrived.

“You think this is going to get me a happily ever after, Y/N?” he snarls at you, fighting against the pain. “Keep dreaming, sweetheart. Glen and Ray will have me silenced in a heartbeat, and then they’ll come after you. And even if by some miracle they have a change of heart and don’t have us taken out, it’s not like you can keep your job as a cop if you want to be with a convicted criminal.” The thought of a hypothetical future together still gives him butterflies, even as he knows it’s an impossibility. Maybe in the next life…

Your smile falters as you consider his words.

“You’d be better off killing me, Y/N; then at least one of us can live a normal life.”

He forces himself to his feet through sheer adrenaline, keeping his weight on his good leg. The pain has him dizzy, but he fights through it. He has to.

“Cash, will you sit down?! You’re going to hurt yourself mo–”

“I’m going to get that gun from you, princess, and finish what you started.”

“Cash, get on the ground before I give you a matching hole in your other foot.” You point the gun at his good leg. Both of you are completely focused on the other, the rest of the world melting away. It had always been that way with the two of you; nothing else mattered.

“Do it,” he coaxes, utterly unbothered. For almost two years now his life had been about keeping you alive, first as your partner and then from a distance; he wasn’t going to stop now. “Do it, and I’ll drag myself to you on my hands and knees, again and again, until I bleed out. This is ending my way, whether you like it or –”

A shot rings out, and his world ends.

--- One Month Later ---

He was able to retrieve the burner phone from the evidence locker a month or so later, the data copied over onto one of the system’s databases. The internal investigation had been completed, and Cash had gotten away scot-free, not even a note on his personnel file.

The story that had been put forward was this: You, Y/N L/N, had stalked Officer Cash Ewing, holding him hostage and taking a shot at him before being ultimately gunned down by an officer before you could kill him.

Your title as Officer had been posthumously taken away. All traces of you had been removed from the department. You would be crushed if you knew.

If he had kept a better eye on you that night, kept you from freeing yourself and calling for backup, you would still be alive right now. The thought keeps him up at night.

The last two outgoing text messages from his phone were to 911: the first a police code, the second the address to the abandoned house. No return message had ever been sent, but there were a couple of missed calls from 911 that had gone unanswered. He supposes that you had been worried about waking him with a phone call. He wishes you had risked it.

Your message had been “11-99,” the police code for an officer in need of help. It would have sent the department into a frenzy.

Unfortunately, someone in the precinct had done a check on the number the text had come from to try to validate it, and it had come back as being registered to one Cash Ewing.

They never suspected that he was the perpetrator. They assumed he was the victim.

So when they had come upon the scene that day, following the sound of the gunshot, all they had seen had been him, wounded and on the ground, with you standing with a gun pointed right at him.

The first officer on the scene didn’t hesitate, taking the clear shot. You were dead within a minute.

Glen had done a lot of smooth-talking then, arriving at the scene shortly afterward. How Cash had been suspicious of you for months, how you had kept hounding him for information about the events leading to his suspension, how you had become unhinged. Cash hadn’t trusted himself to speak at the time, and Glen had helped convince everyone it was from the shock. That was definitely part of it.

At the same time, Cardoza had been taking advantage of the mostly empty precinct to slip incriminating papers into your desk for other officers to find later. Cash wondered if they’d been preparing for this from the moment he had informed them that you’d shown up at the house, getting ready to cover their tracks. He never asked; he didn’t want the answer.

Initially, he had wanted to end it all. Why bother staying alive when you were gone? But fucking Glen, determined to keep his plans on track, had insisted that he needed to be monitored, and had kept him from following after you.

“Don’t let her death be for nothing,” Glen had said, and Cash had nearly knocked him out, slamming him into the wall, seeing red, seeing nothing at all.

“She wouldn’t want you to die,” he had choked out, pinned against the wall.

It had been the only thing that had made him stop. No, he supposed you wouldn’t.

Glen had kept an eye on him ever since, stoking Cash’s resentment for the precinct – the real people responsible for taking you away from him, he argued – until it had burned even brighter than before. He was determined to keep going until something stopped him, his moral compass now non-existent; it had died with you that day.

Somehow, every illegal act felt like a strange, backwards tribute to you, giving him a sense of giddiness the more reckless he became. He knows you wouldn’t approve, and that’s what he relishes in: every bad decision giving him the sensation that you were watching him. It was the closest he could come to feeling that connection with you. It had become an addiction of sorts.

Cash leaves the precinct, on his way to meet Glen and Ray about some cars in the impound lot that they wanted to sell or strip for parts. He starts his truck, popping a piece of gum in his mouth while waiting for the engine to warm up; a habit he had picked since your death. It kept him from grinding his teeth down to dust as he forced himself through another day without you.

He hits the road, heading to the rendezvous point that overlooked the impound lot. As always, the last words you ever spoke to him echo through his mind, though he tries not to think about how you had looked, clutching your chest as you curled up on the ground across from him, staring right into his soul with those gorgeous eyes.

“Be good. For me.”

He had never and would never even try to live up to this last wish of yours. But if it was any consolation, as fate would have it, the path he was on would lead him to join you sooner rather than later in the afterlife.

---

… I have an alternate ending mapped out for this; I had to have them together if only in my head. But her dying was the only way for Cash to become the person he is in the movie, I think. If anyone wants me to upload the happy ending let me know, and maybe I’ll do it after the month is over. Until then, I’m sorry for this.

[noturpies]

emotional damage been released

[dessertbird]

The end?

The beginning and the end. Surely not. Dean still has something to say. 😳❤️😭💔

[ngeruma]

"The end ?" | Perpetual Testing | Portal 2 Community Maps & Mods

By Ma-x Laboratories

Could it really be? The end ? …I honestly hope not!

Full Video

More Test Chambers

[ask-summer-epos]

[Vantas] "Summer... Look at you, living a 'normal' life despite your failures. Tsk, tsk. How shameful that you get to sit around like this without any consequence; however you did run away didn't you? I guess not getting caught does help keep you away~"

Summer?: I- I need to go back home.. no-one saw that right

[asta-daily]

Trip to Mushroom Land 16

After a well deserved rest in the charming village of Boletus Pulverulantli, we decided to pursue our voyage… in a fun way. As the name of the village suggest, the bolets growing here produce a surabondance of spores. So much in fac you can glide all the way down!

Voila, we've reached the end of my tale. Did you enjoyed it ? Tell me, and I'll will make more. For now, let's explore new territories!

/* Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook - Porte-mine sur carnet A6 */ This is a part of the Travel log of Fungi Haven

Après un repos bien mérité au charmant village de Boletus Pulverulanti, nous avons décidé de poursuivre notre route de manière… inhabituelle. Comme le nom du village le suggère, les bolets qui poussent ici produisent une quantité de spores phénoménale. Tellement qu'il est possible de glisser dessus jusqu'en bas de la strate !

Voilà, nous arrivons à la fin de ce petit récit de voyage. Ca vous a plu ? Si oui, dites-le moi, et si le coeur m'en dit, je le continuerait. En attendant, en route vers de nouvelles aventures !

[edie-n-al]

[SHIVERING IN ME TIMBERS]

[The door is heard splintering and breaking, aswell as Edyth screaming]

"Edyth?!- E-Edyth, are you okay?!-"

[She doesn't reply, she just.. screams]

"G-GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU- GHH!!-"

[She lets out a pained yelp as the knife clatters to the floor]

"LET HER GO!!- EDYTH!!-"

"AL-!!"

[She lets out a muffled cry, and her terrified sounds get further away, as if she's being pulled somewhere]

"E-EDYTH?!-"

[A second set of footsteps is heard now, and then.. the radio goes dead silent.]

[It has been turned off.]