Death Cw - Blog Posts

(I am going to make two random people interact and this is what happened!)

Komeda: Oh…hey…How did he get here? Taka: Komaedaaaa, what did you do?! Komenda: Me? Uh, I didn't do this! Taka: Explain what happened, Komeda! Komeda: I've never seen him before in my life! Taka: Why did you kill this person, Komeda? Komeda: I do not kill people. That is…that is my least favorite thing to do. Taka: Tell me, Komeda, exactly what you were doing before I came home. Komeda: Alright, well…I was upstairs… Taka: Okay… Komeda: I was uh…I was sitting in my room… Taka: Yes? Komeda: reading a book… Taka: Go on…

Komeda: And, uh, well this guy walked in… Taka: Okay… Komeda: So, I went up to him… Taka: Yes… Komeda: And I…I stabbed him 37 times in the chest. (Silence.) Taka: Komedaaaaa, that KILLS people! Komeda: Oh! Well, I didn't know that!! Taka: How could you not know that?! Komeda: Yeah, I'm in the wrong here. I SUCK. (silence) Taka: Why is Hope written with a knife wounds on his chest? Komeda: What's that? Taka: His chest Komeda. Why—why is Hope written into that? Komeda: Well, I kind of umm…love hope. And despair so,,,. (silence) Taka: Komedaaaaaa!! Komeda: Well, I—I am a rement of despair! And well, you know, when you crave murder and hope… Taka: Why on earth would you do that?! Komeda: I was hungry for death! Gimme a break! Taka: Komedaaaa! Komeda: My stomach was making the rumblies. Taka: Komedaaaa! Komeda: That only death would satisfy! Taka: What is wrong with you, Komeda?! Komeda: Well, I kill people and I'm not mentally stables\! That's—that's two things!

Sometimes I get possessed and write really dark short stories?!

Anyways here's that

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45221314

i am on the verge of fuckung tears ACTUALLY

“Thank you for taking care of me, Max.“  “Sam, don’t…” “No, really. I wasn’t me anymore. And I never would have wanted to force you to–"  “Oh, shut up about that. Nobody forced me to do anything. I’d lug you around for centuries if I had to. We’re partners, right?”

fanart or… i guess a fan comic of my favorite sam and max fic “Together Forever” ive wanted to make something for it for over a month, and i could never decide what scenes to portray so it spiraled into me spending three days on this! if you havent read it before, please check it out!!

Friend: *kills hinself*

My fucking, shit-brain: death? You like death?? You want some dreams of death??? Have some nightmares of people being mauled or run over! Have nightmares of your past friends and old teachers chasing you while tying to kill you!! Have a nightmare of your mom planing to kill you!!!

You LOVE death right?

Me: I'd rather die from exhaustion then sleep.

Brain: not good enough? Wanna imagine your nephew being murdering by someone gouging his eyes out?? Wanna imagine him falling down some stairs and smashing his head open??? I can do that! I'll even make you think about him being kidnapped!! Or maybe even just him suffocating in his sleep!!!

DONT YOU JUST L O V E DEATH???

One of our girl bunnies gave birth to at least 10 babies saturday before last, 2 were already dead when we found them.

4 were gray and tan and the other 4 were completely black.

Only 4 survived until tuesday of the following week. The 4 black ones. One died one sunday, and three on monday.

Tuesday -the day I got punished for drawing a picture- there were still alive.

Two more died -one a day- before I took the remaining two away from their mother.

She had been letting them die and them eating them.

I took care of those last two since then.

One of them was sick and died this monday.

The last one died this morning.

I had been keeping it (I kept both of them in it) in a small box -made nest with a giant sweater and a heated sock full of rice.

Last night/this morning it somehow got out and got into the dog cage.

We have three, small, very old, blind, and mostly deaf dogs.

One of which fucking loves puppies/anything reassembling puppies.

The last baby was loved to death. And with the description my mom, who found it, gave me... It's a horrible way to die.

I don't know why I'm not upset.

I don't know why I'm posting this.

Humans are unstoppable...Until they aren’t.

I’m not the most eloquent writer, but I’ve had this idea kicking around for a while and figured I’d put it out into the universe.

A lot of the basis for the “humans are space orcs” stuff is the idea that we’re pretty durable compared to many species, yeah? When it comes to physical trauma, we can bounce back from most things that don’t kill us outright, especially given the benefit of hypothetical space-age technology, and adrenaline is one heck of a drug when it comes to functioning under stress. 

But that doesn’t make us unkillable, and even though we can survive debilitating injuries and not die from shock, it doesn’t mean it’s fun. Dying of shock sucks, but at least it’s probably quick.

So - Imagine a ship, adrift in space, slowly being drawn into a star or something. In order to save the ship, someone has to repair the hyper-quantum-relay-majig on the hull or in the engine or whatever. Bit of a problem though- there’s a ton of deadly, deadly radiation (Wrath of Khan style) or poisonous fumes or, I dunno, electrical current, between the crew and the repair. Like, enough to kill most species instantly, so the crew is just like, ‘welp, guess we’ll die then’. But then.

BUT THEN

They ask the human. Because everyone’s heard the stories - you’re basically unkillable, right? Could you survive long enough in there to fix it? And their human goes real quiet for a second, but still says ‘Yeah, I could fix it’. And the rest of the crew is like, ‘Whaaaaaa, it won’t kill you?’ and the human repeats “I can fix it” (which isn’t an answer, but no one catches that, not yet at least), so they send ‘em in. And the human fixes it, they come back, the ship flies to safety, and the crew is thrilled to survive. If the human is a little quiet, well, they’re entitled after pulling off a miracle. Everyone else is just excited to get to the nearest station’s bar to tell their very own human story, cuz, ‘those crazy humans, amiright?’.

The good mood keeps up until the human is late for their next shift. At first it’s just faint unease, but- but they earned a bit of a lie-in, right? No reason to begrudge them some extra rest, even if it is a little weird for them to oversleep. They’ll be fine. Humans are always fine. 

(Right?)

(…Wrong.)

- What is… help. Help!-

- ake up! You have t-

- been days. You need sleep, you-

- nother transfusion. We could-

- out of sedatives!-

A week later, the crew finally reaches the station. They stumble into the bar, haggard and haunted. And over the next months and years a new rumor about humans starts to make its way through space. A rumor unlike any before.

‘Be careful with your humans’ it whispers. ‘Their strength is not always a blessing. Be sure they don’t do something they can’t come back from, because when a human dies… they die slowly.’

guess who decided to animate and color 2 minutes and 50some seconds of MAG 200? that’s right baby. I’m going to be working on this one for a while, but I finished the animatic, so enjoy the wip.

Commission me 💛 ko-fi 💛 inprnt

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙍 𝙀𝘿𝘿𝙄𝙀 𝙈𝙐𝙉𝙎𝙊𝙉                              ( hellmartyr​ )

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 with no intention of coming back. that’s how it felt listening to the violet-grey sadness that slowly flooded his insides with a dreaded sense of déjà vu. like listening to an old recording of his thoughts, spoken out loud in a crunchy, distorted voice. ideas eddie would’ve drowned in if wayne never took him in.

      calloused fingers curled into a loose fist. he had to, to keep from reaching over the barrier to hold her back from going any further. it wouldn’t be the first time they searched for each other in the dark, someone’s fingers feeling for a brush with skin that bore similar scars from the same place. eddie wanted nothing more than to be that reassurance again, but he hesitated. scared that if he moved too fast, whatever ledge chrissy was hanging onto would crumble.

      and who could blame her? not like eddie read her autobiography, but her life wasn’t hard to see when she wasn’t surrounded by faces with herculean expectations. chrissy cunningham’s picture perfect life was the exact reason vecna targeted her. a like a picture, it was a two dimensional facade that didn’t hold up to scrutiny. eddie first noticed tiny holes in his own assumptions when the unorthodox pair sat across from each other at a rickety picnic table. then the road trip when they were both supposed to be healthy … -er. yet sitting next to her for hours on end, chattering away, his dark eyes reflectively slipping from the road to her under an array of lightning. living in a drifter’s version of domesticity as the van hauled them ever closer to california. it was during those hours, destined to be carefree, that eddie learned laura cunningham had no right to be called a mom.

      ed didn’t want to answer. terrified of pushing her any further in a foreboding direction. seeing her eyes like the bottom of a well, unable to tell if it was the light or tears that made them shine. his mouth went cotton dry. ❝ a s-southpaw? ❞

      chris. the plea never cleared eddie’s throat, stuck like a rock in a hard place behind his tongue’s treacherous reply. it took several silent tries to dislodge it. when it did, her name scraped his throat like it grew claws. eddie felt like he was floating, even as the polyester sheets grazed his skin. he’d wanted the quiet to last longer, preferring it to hang over them like distended as he tried to figure out chrissy’s destination to prepare himself to deny their arrival.

      instead eddie cornered himself to think on the fly. panicking in the seconds between his and her respond with race to dredge up every synonym and tidbit he knew about lefties. he knew some people had a religious hang-ups. and it wasn’t too long ago teachers were still allowed to crack a leftie’s hand with a ruler, encouraging them to switch. that’s what wayne said happened to his brother, and that al went home everyday with a teacher’s brand till the bastard finally dropped out of high school.

      thinking of his old man sharing any similarity with chrissy made eddie’s stomach flip. if she was a mess, how fucked was  he ?

truth be told, chrissy had asked the question with no real expectation of an answer. the query was as rhetorical as it was sincerely curious. there was no way of knowing if eddie would catch her drift, especially not with sleep dancing just out of reach in the corners of her bedroom. but, not unlike the first day the two had made real conversation, looking at each other less like classmates and more like friends, eddie munson had so valiantly offered up anything he hoped might be a solution for what ailed her. a habit that became a consistent phenomenon from the previous march, through the last gasps of their school year, over the summer, all the way to the first anniversary of their deaths. or if it wasn’t death, no life had ever felt like swimming through the humidity-choked air of hawkins’ moldy, parasitic mirror, every step seemingly futile. even if the upside down and death couldn’t accomplish the same goal, they left the same scars.

the cheerleader had been all alone in that purgatory, left to suffer the consequences of mere happenstance  —  a not so miraculous resurrection. until eddie munson appeared. at school she’d felt forgotten among the aftermath, the real her with her real twisted limbs and real blank eyes left behind in the rubble. until she saw eddie in the hallway. since then, they’d left each other alone only by necessity. 

of course that’s where eddie’s head was. to assume he’d do anything else but pull her back home with oaths of understanding was honestly stupid. she should have that part of him memorized now, just like everything else he let her see. it’s why she knew the twitching in the valley beyond the pillow mountain was a contained urge to reach for the hand she’d dangled too closely in reach. 

evidently, he wasn’t holding it against her much if the next thing she felt herself do was snort at what might have been a joke.

all the stacks of emotion building a dam in her throat abated in brief as her body shook with silent laughter, no sobs or sniffles in sight. chrissy considered herself the kind of girl who cried regularly, although she never began her night hoping to curl into a ball and gasp her way to the middle of the mattress only to woozily drop off and wake up sore and salty. so, maybe this was a good replacement. even after her worst day in a long while, and that was saying something considering the spring break depression.

her lingering left hand flapped at the wrist just slightly over their all-but-pillow-fort. beyond it somewhere was his, and she aimed to fish it out again in a burst of watery grin-fueled nerve. 

                  ❝ no. i mean - yeah, that is one name for it. but not the one i’m talking about ❞  a deep sigh whistled through chrissy’s nose before her thoughts lined themselves up again in a neat, sensible row. only this way could she make him understand her debt to him and her fear for him. 

finally, softly,  ❝ sinister. ❞  the shape of the word hung in the air like the ghost of a tattered highway billboard, no context left but a single word. yellowed lights and all. if they looked out her tiny bedroom window, they might even see one.  ❝ lefties are sinister. because being left handed means you’re unlucky. or that you’re weak. sometimes both. most of the time, actually. and, that.... ❞  two hard swallows did nothing to help her breath and the harsh sound of chrissy helplessly clearing her throat seemed to shatter what remained of their cocoon.  ❝ that there’s darkness inside. ❞  

it was so easy to imagine when it shouldn’t have been: every lethal critique her mother levied against her, the thousand faults chrissy bore like ill-fitting clothes along with disgusted or jealous glances that cut truer than shattered glass on bare feet, all streaming from eddie’s face, eddie’s eyes, eddie’s mouth. an imagined nightmare questing to outpace the memory of vecna showing her why death was altogether better than the agony of living. 

                   ❝ i just don’t want to be the next person that hurts you, eddie. that’s what i’m scared of. ❞  all the tears she’d been pushing back finally crested the surface of grey ocean eyes, drizzling down her cheeks to splash mutely on an over-squished pillow. between burning droplets she could only offer a pitiful whisper in addendum,  ❝ i don’t want you to hate me. ❞