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achenetype · 2 months

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Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment.

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod.

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out.

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold.

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off.

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says.

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly.

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?”

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil.

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded.

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed.

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.”

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said.

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.”

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this.

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs.

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday.

You think you’re going to die.

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it.

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all.

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—”

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets.

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.

#— ash's writing #pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #reader insert #y/n #pjo imagine #ok now we get into the warning tags #graphic depictions of injury #major character death #major character injury #reader death #alcohol mention #doomed by the narrative #genuinely im so sorry i really ran wild with this one good god #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #— ash’s answering!

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shepherdfeathers · 2 months

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Knock, Knock!

Page 5

First • Previous • Next

My fucking hand hurts, but it’s worth it for that sweet, sweet, deer angst

Comic based on @prince-liest’s fanfiction Knock, Knock! It's Your Worst Fucking Nightmare!

Story by Princeliest on Ao3

#y’all this comic is doing wonders for art improvement #I’ve never been more productive than I am working on this thing #I hope y’all are liking it I’m putting a shit ton of soul into em #Alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #Alastor comic #Alastor whump #Alastor injured #Alastor hurt #hurt/comfort #major character injury #whumpblr #whump

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myymi · 2 months

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lost world angst, anyone?

Sonic wasn't sure what he expected to happen to Tails after he got stuck in that trap and taken away before he could save him.

But his money certainly wasn't on the kit being half-roboticized.

He wanted to puke at the sight of his brother. (Which is an idea he wasn't too entirely fond of at the moment. Amy had made him a really nice breakfast this morning and it sits better in his stomach than on his shoes.)

He wanted to say he didn't even recognize the kid, but that'd be a lie. He'd always know when he was looking into his little brother's eyes, no matter if they're drained of life or artificial.

He could imagine the screams the fox probably let out as his body was torn into, flesh and blood being forcibly replaced by steel and oil.

Eggman had gloated about the process once years ago and it still haunted the hedgehog. To think Tails, his kid, fell victim to it..

He was going to rip those stupid zetis into shreds.

“What did you do to him.” Sonic demanded, even though he knew the answer. He just needed them to say it.

He needed them to admit they tortured a barely seven year old child.

“Calm down.” Zavok waved off the obvious anger radiating from the hedgehog, not at all worried about his opponent. “We simply gave him a few upgrades. Isn't he so much better?”

Better?

Better?!

How could anyone think that was better?

Sonic's face fell into a harsh glare, his royal blue quills shifting a few shades darker as he stared right into Zavok’s stupid, purple eyes.

“I'm going to fucking kill you.” He growled, angrily baring his fangs. He wasn't the biggest fan of swearing, especially not around Tails, but he'd let it slide this time.

“You'll have to deal with your little tagalong first.” The zeti stayed nonchalant as he gestured to the half-robot fox and, oh Chaos, his eye was so dull. There was no life in him.

Sonic didn't say anything in response to that, so Zavok decided to begin the fight with a simple command, “Tails, kill that worthless creature.”

The fox-robot listened to the command, lifting up its arm that now had a cannon attached to the end of it. The reality of the situation only fully kicked in when it started charging, a small purple energy or quickly growing in size.

“Oh, buddy.” Sonic knew he could fight Tails. Even if it wasn't him anymore, he couldn't hurt his brother. He promised him, “I'm so sorry, kid. I should've been faster.” He apologized, raising his paws in surrender to show the other he wouldn't fight.

Even if the fox was about to kill him, he was going to accept it. He deserved it after failing to keep the kid out of the zetis’ hands.

He braced himself for the inevitable impact of the orb once it looked like it was finished growing. It wouldn't be long before it shot, and Sonic would've left Mobius as a failure of big brother.

But then the light in Tails’ eye resparked.

With a wink, the kit quickly pivoted on his heel and dropped to crouch on his knee. He did his best to prop up the cannon as he aimed it right at Zavok’s head, “Never!” He shouted, pulling the trigger.

The blast ended up striking Zavok right in the center of his chest, the force sending him flying a few feet backwards.

Sonic could do nothing but stand and gape at his little brother. He didn't understand what happened, it all went by too fast—isn't that the craziest thing? Too fast for Sonic to keep up.

“Hold it, fuzzball.” Zeena said, stepping up as she pointed a remote at the fox and pressed a button. “You're still ours. Now do as you're told so we can end this. I need to fix my nail polish and you're delaying it with your wanna-be hero stunt.”

Tails yelped and grabbed his head with the paw that hadn't been turned into a weapon. His organic eye closed tightly in obvious pain as the other flashed between blue and red.

Sonic knew he should do something, but it felt like his feet were glued in place. No matter how much he begged, his body wouldn't move.

“No!” Tails cried out, shaking his head before just barely opening his eye. The first thing he saw was the arm cannon, which reminded him of a program he added in last minute as a backup plan.

Sonic was going to be so mad at him for this.

He didn't give his brain a chance to bail on the plan in fear of upsetting his big brother. He spun his tails as quickly as he could, doing his best to ignore how one of them felt like pure metal and flew straight into the center of the zetis.

He didn't stop flying until he landed on top of Zomom, looping his legs around the orange zeti’s neck as much as could as he pressed a hidden button on the cannon.

As the three second timer kicked off, the fox looked up to find his brother. He sent him a smile, quickly mouthing ‘I'm sorry.’ before his vision was full of white, then almost immediately fading to black.

“Tails!” Sonic screamed right before the explosion hit, knowing that silent apology couldn't have been a good sign.

The force of the bomb knocked him back a bit, but he was back on his feet in a second and running to where he last saw his brother.

One of the zetis, the depressed one, was entirely missing from the group. But, other than that, the rest of them were all knocked unconscious.

“Tails?” Sonic's voice choked on tears as he slid beside the kit’s body. The bomb had destroyed some of the metal, revealing that most of it was just show.

Tails hadn't been roboticized.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he gently cradled his baby brother, shoving away the haunting bits of metal.

He knew this entire encounter was going to haunt his dreams for a while.

He didn't dwell on that matter though. Tails was far more important. He needed to get him away from these monsters.

So he ran.

He wasn't sure where he was running to exactly, but anywhere away from the zetis was a good place to be.

By chance or maybe an unknowingly conscious effort, Sonic had made it to where they had parked the Tornado. She hadn't moved a muscle, her red paint still glistening in the sun as she soaked in the heat.

Feeling calmer from just the plane's presence, the hedgehog carefully climbed into the cockpit and settled into the seat.

Tails was still cradled to his chest, his grip on the fox tightening as he found a comfortable enough spot.

He didn't know what to do. They didn't really have the supplies to treat whatever happened to the kid.

He was just gonna have to wait it out. Figure out how Tails was feeling when he woke up and then go from there.

The hedgehog curled around the younger boy as much as he could when he felt his eyelids growing heavy. He nuzzled the fox's fur, making sure to lay extra attention to the sections that had been covered by metal. He planted a small kiss above the eye that had been seemingly replaced by an artificial one.

They would be fine if he took a quick nap. He'd wake up if something attacked them, and the Tornado’s keys were already in the ignition. It'd be okay.

Chaos, he prayed Tails would also be okay when he woke up.

He didn't like his slow heartbeat or his weak pulse.

#tails may or may not be okay #idk i haven't decided #really badly written cause i rushed it sorry #i got excited :/#miles tails prower #sonic the hedgehog #sth #tails the fox #sonic #unbreakable bond #dynamic duo #sonic lost world #zavok the zeti #zeena the zeti #zeti #major character injury

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wangxianficrecs · 5 months

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💙 The River Brought You Here by ChilianXianzi

💙 The River Brought You Here

by ChilianXianzi

Not rated, 11k, Wangxian

Summary: When she found the boy by the side of the river, Zhou Jia knew that anyone who'd come for him is not to be trusted. Not with the dark purple fingerprints around his throat, the veritable map of lashes old and new upon his back. It's almost a blessing, she thinks, that the boy remembers none of the life that had treated him so cruelly. That he's free to just be A-Ying, in this small harbour town that he embraces so readily as his home. The day someone does come for him, she had not expected it to be the war hero Hanguang-Jun - Saying A-Ying name with such fervent hope before it turns into anguish as A-Ying fails to recognize him. Kay's comments: Permanent injury side-effects, my beloved. But for real, I am so weak for when injuries actually come with consequences, even though I know that the genre invites playing off injuries and offering magic cures. Anyways, this story! One of my all-time favourites that I re-read again and again. In which, after Wei Wuxian got strangled by Jiang Cheng after the Fall of Lotus Pier, it leads to permanent side-effect, meaning Wei Wuxian suffers from amnesia and seizures. So, he doesn't find his way back to Lotus Pier and instead gets invited by a village and gets to live the cottagecore life he doesn't remember having dreamt off. Of course, eventually, Lan Wangji also makes an appearance. Excerpt: The boy's name is Wei Ying. It's the only thing he remembers once he wakes up, his grasp of the world and how it turns intact yet with no memory of his own marks upon it. The first time he tries hard enough to remember, Wei Ying collapses into the wooden floors of Meixue's clinic, eyes rolled back in his head and muscles jumping wildly beneath Zhou Jia's frantic hands before Meixue's needles stills his limbs and turns him pliant. They don't try to make Wei Ying remember anymore, after that. Simply ply him with food and reprimands as he goes through his recovery with a stubborness that reminds her of herself when she was younger. "He's definitely as terrible a patient as you are," Meixue points out as she yet again apprehends Wei Ying wandering off from his bed - Trying to help Meixue's apprentice and the youths that frequents the clinic with one chore or another.

pov outsider, canon divergence, post-fall of lotus pier, amnesia, memory loss, past abuse, strangulation, major character injury, seizures, families of choice, lan wangji/wei wuxian get a happy ending, rogue cultivator wei wuxian, genius wei wuxian, recovery, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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mika-writes-fanfics · 1 year

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As It Was

Dabi x Reader Angst

Warnings/tags: angst, hurt/no comfort, brief mentions of burns, major character death, pre-established relationship, reader cares for flowers

Synopsis: Dabi returns to you after completing his life's mission, his body now badly burned and damaged. He wonders, will you accept him with open arms? Will you take what is left of him?

Author's note: I've been on a Hozier binge. "As It Was" from Wasteland, Baby! was giving me major Dabi vibes. This is kind of different from the content I usually like to write and read, but I felt so inspired I just had to write it. Word count: 1.1K

He’s now thankful your home is on the outer reaches of the city, tucked in a secluded pocket between the border of the forest and the concrete hell of the city. After what he’s done, there’s not a person in Japan that wouldn’t recognize his face. Had you not lived in the middle of nowhere, he’d already be arrested by some weak police officer or jumped by some rookie hero.

It’s ironic, the thinks, that his opinion has changed. He hated it, at one point. You lived so far away from his shitty apartment at the time, meaning that every time he wanted to see you, he had to take the agonizingly long train rides. It was like you lived in a fucking retirement community since all the elderly would take the same train, giving him judgemental stares all the while. It pissed him off to no end. And if that wasn’t enough, being in the forest always reminded him of Sekoto.

But still, he bore it all for you, back before he let his rage consume him.

Before he devoted himself entirely to revenge.

Before he started burning himself all over again.

Before he fucked it all up.

Despite the way he left you, he hopes you’ll be kind enough to him to accept his return, to not instantly slam the door in his face.

If he even makes it to your doorstep, that is.

Each step he takes feels like a battle between life and death. These heavy and labored movements exhaust him, made worse by the state your driveway is in. Of all the days for it to rain, it just had to be today. The torrential downpours make the path harder to traverse. Mud clings to his boots with every trudging step he takes, threatening to suck him into the earth, burying him at his final resting place.

The puddles of water settling in the tire tracks of your car show him grim reminders of his appearance, showing him glimpses of just how ghastly he’s become.

He’s a burnt husk of what he once was.

Nothing is left of him now that he's achieved his life’s purpose.

The only thing that remains of him is this homing instinct to return to you.

To go back to the start.

To give you what’s left of him.

To feel his final sensation of comfort.

To feel loved again.

He’s faced with the reality of how long it’s been when he finally catches sight of your home. In the year he was by your side, he never saw those Foxgloves bloom once, as he met you in the late summer. But now, judging by the towering violet, bell-shaped flowers framing the sides of your window, it’s been three years.

It’s in this moment that his mind replays the memory of the following summer, the one in which he noticed you agonizing over the flowerless plant beds. He remembers it, with surprising clarity amongst the mental fog.

“Why do you bother taking care of those stupid flowers if they never fucking bloom?” He asked you, critically.

“They’re foxgloves,” you answered.

“So?”

“So, they do bloom, just biennially, and their flowering season just passed. You’ll see why I keep ‘em around in another year,” you explained.

The fact you even implied he’d still be in your life a year from then filled him with a sense of security. Whether you meant it or not, he took it as a promise, and kept it tucked in the darker reaches of his heart.

Three long years have passed since he left you, since he abandoned you without a word. But he has known you have a patient side to you, he’s seen it in the way you always gave him space in his darkest days, how you allowed him the time to come back to you when he was ready, how you never took his frustrating habit of pushing you away to heart, weathering his toxicity with love and carefulness. Maybe, since you’re so patient, you have been waiting for him. If you welcomed those flowers despite their long absence, maybe you’d accept him, too.

Normally, he’d sneer at the thought of you turning him into such a hopeless romantic, a weaker version of himself, but considering how there’s nothing left of him anyways, he’s fine with the idea. Maybe the positivity you give him would turn him into something beautiful again.

He finally climbs up to your doorstep and stumbles against the door. When his shaky and weak hands turn the knob, expecting to be met with a locked door, it turns easily without resistance. Your door is unlocked, which in his state of hopeful delusion, he interprets as you waiting for him.

Maybe you knew he would come back.

You had made it easy for him to crawl back into your life.

Or maybe you just forgot to lock it.

He swings open the door as he leans against the door frame. Any other time, the sound of the groaning hinges would grate at his ears, but right now, the sound feels familiar and comforting. It feels like nothing has changed, everything is as it once was.

He trudges deeper into your home, shambling past your living room and tracking mud all over your floors. There’s a pit of anxiety forming in his stomach the longer he walks through your home without seeing a glimpse of you. But it’s when he approaches the kitchen that he hears you humming, the sound calming his mind.

His boots thud on your tiled floor, loud, and uneven. He sways as he walks, bumping into one of your dining chairs, the movement scraping the chair against the floor. Your humming abruptly cuts off at the sound and you turn to the source, on high alert, only to see him propping himself up against the walls.

A sharp gasp escapes your lungs.

All he can see is you as the edges of his vision grey out. Against your better judgment, you rush over to him as his legs start buckling underneath him.

He starts to collapse on the spot. You close the distance and open your arms around him, catching his fall and attempting to bear the brunt of his weight.

Despite what he’s done, despite how he left you so suddenly, he can still feel your love for him.

It’s in the way you try to make sure he doesn’t fall, despite tripping being the least concern to him given his injuries.

It’s how your voice sounds frantic as you ask him if he’s okay if he can hear you, if he’s still in there.

It’s how you start to sob at seeing the state he’s in.

You’re so worried about getting him to lie on the ground safely and checking his pulse that you fail to see him softly smiling at how you fuss over him, what’s left of his burnt face forcing out a peaceful expression.

The last thing he hears, the last thing he feels, the last thing he thinks about, is you.

#dabi angst #dabi fanfic #dabi x reader #dabi x reader angst #major character death #Major character injury #tw: mentions of burns #tw: death #hozier inspired fic #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi #reader insert #gender neutral reader #no pronouns mentioned for reader #dabi x gender neutral reader

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igotbloodonmyhands · 2 months

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Alive / Part I

Word count: 244 Simon firmly believed that regret was one of the most painful things someone could experience. It set his body ablaze, burned through his skin and into his bones.

The few seconds it took to run over Soaps limp, unconscious body, all of the things he wanted to say flung through his head like shrapnel from a bomb, boring their sharp edges into his mind.

He knelt down next to him, shaking hands desperately trying to find a pulse. There was none.

„I‘m sorry, Johnny. I‘m so sorry.“, his voice strained with shock and despair. „I love you. I need you. Please don‘t die, please.“ The black fabric of his mask was wet with tears.

Through the painful ringing in his ears, he could hear Price order a medevac over comms.

He held him in his arms until evac arrived. Softly cradling his head, silently praying for those storm blue eyes to open again.

His fingers rested on his pulse the entire time, trying to conjure up a faint rhythm, even though he knew that it would not come.

His forehead rested against Soap‘s, nobody daring to pull him away. Suddenly, there was something. A weak, light throb under his gloved fingertip. His head jerked up, eyes wide with a mixture between hope and despair.

Hastily, he pulled the glove off his hand, pressing his finger into Soap‘s neck. There it was again. A pulse. Weak and unsteady, but it was there.

Johnny was alive.

#call of duty #soapghost #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #hurt/comfort #major character injury #ghoap #ghost x soap

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linkedspirit-fanartfunart · 3 months

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Warning: This page contains semi-realistic graphic injuries & discussions of character death

[Image Description: A 8 panel colored Legend of Zelda AU comic “Linked Spirit”. Panel 1: Princess looks at a book, Hope hugging her from behind, looking over her shoulder. "Spirit, look over here," Princess says. Hero points their thumb at their self, "What? Me?" Hope looks at them flatly, "Yeah you Ghosty. Princess found a book about you." Panel 2: "This book has some details about how different spirits are created. Some are separated from their bodies by magic," Princess explains, gesturing at Hope. Hope stands next to her, eyes wide exclaiming "Don't tell them that-" Princess ignores him, "I've seen that before with Link." Panel 3: A dark purple ooze climbs into a purplish armor shoe. Princess continues "Others are lingering spirit s of the dead." Panel 4: A purplish Iorn Knuckle stands in the background, posed like a statue in the background by a window. Hope, in the foreground, is turned away from Princess, arms crossed, pouting. Princess holds the book up for Hero to see, "Unlike ghini you don't seem to be fueled by dark energy, rather... you seem more like these... strong, magically charged spirits who have a lingering role in the world..." Hero lifts a hand to their mouth, brows furrowed. Panel 5: "...I'm not dead..." Hero says, appearance changing to look like Rinku after Link's Awakening, "No. No. I'm- Im the first one. I-" Panel 6: Hope says "Look, my spirit experience was a magic accident. You’ve kinda got a knife in your back. Pretty sure you’re KERK” she gestures a slice along the neck with one hand, leaning against the table. Princess frowns, fist at her sides "LINK Don't say it like that?!" Hero looks on, one hand on their chest, eyes wide. Panel 7: Hero's appearance changes to look like pre-ressurection Breath of the Wild Link, heavily injured, hair cropped short in the back. They gesture at theirself with both hands, shouting, "This isn't what being dead feels like!" Panel 8: Hero's appearance shifts between LA Rinku, BotW and their usual look, looking down, eyes wide and startled, holding their hands loosely together against their chest "...How do I know that?" End ID]

masterpost

First- Previous (27) - 28^ - Next (29)

#loz au #linked spirit #legend of zelda #linked spirit au #loz #ls hope #ls hero's spirit #linked spirit comic #ls princess #injury tw #tw major character injury #major character death #major character injury #tw blood

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ele-sme · 9 months

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In another life

let's thank @tuberculosis-chic for reminding me to finish this.

Spider sat alone by the water's edge; his feet submerged in the cool, calming waves. Tiny fish darted around, a world so small and insignificant compared to the vastness around him. He couldn't help but feel like a little human lost in a massive, overwhelming Na'vi world. The water felt warm against his skin, a stark contrast to the pain that pulsed from the deep cut on his chest. Norm had urged him to return to the high camp for treatment, but Jake, despite his desperate pleas, couldn't sway Norm and Max's decision to let Spider stay with them.

"I just lost my son, don't take this boy away too," Jake had said, but the scientists remained resolute.

Kiri, his closest friend among the siblings, couldn't stop crying after Norm's announcement. The pain in Spider's chest was matched only by the pain in his heart. He needed peace, away from it all.

…

In the distance, footsteps approached. Familiar, yet impossible. It couldn't be who he thought it was, could it? She would never search for him, not in a million years. But yet there she was, sitting beside him, her tail gently resting on the ground.

"Jake told me you're leaving in an hour or two, is it true?" Neytiri asked softly, her tone filled with sorrow and grief.

Spider turned to look at her, feeling the anger and hurt welling up inside him. "You don't even trust your mate?" he retorted; his words laced with bitterness.

"Sorry i shouldn't have said it," Spider said getting his face down again

"No is okay" Her broken English always amused him, maybe because he was raised fluent in both Na'vi and English and found interesting how the accent was

Or maybe because he heard her speaking English only five or six times in his lifetime.

"I am sorry," Neytiri said, her tone was so sad it could make someone cry. Not Spider, not this time, not after the green infected cut on his chest.

"About what? Almost killing me? Which time should I forgive you for?" he snapped, instantly regretting his sharp words but unable to stop himself.

Her hand moved to her face, wiping away a tear. Despite the hurt he felt, he couldn't stop her when she moved closer to him. Their bodies were now close, and their feet touched in the warm water. A paradoxical moment of comfort from the one who had caused him so much pain.

"For all of it, if I could go back in time I-"

"You can't go back in time, trust me if someone could it would be me going back and not letting N-Neteyam and Lo'ak come to my rescue" the name hurted to say and hear.

But something said and done couldn't be canceled.

"Ma Spider" He turned his face to see her, she never called him by name, she only ever used despicable names to refer to him "I am sorry, I'm truly am. If I could go back, I would take you in, like I did for Kiri" she continued "I see you Spider"

Neytiri's words struck a chord deep within him. He had yearned for acceptance, a place to belong, but it was too late for that now. The pain in his chest intensified, and he whimpered.

Neytiri gently placed her hand on his arm and eased him onto her lap, offering an unexpected comfort. His abuser was now the one trying to console him, and the irony of it all wasn't lost on him.

They sat in silence for a while, the sound of the sea the only company they needed. Spider finally gathered the courage to ask, "What would have happened if you had taken me in?"

Neytiri paused, lost in thoughts of an alternate reality. "I probably would have taken you in when I took Kiri. I remember seeing you watching us with those big brown eyes. My instinct was telling me to bring you home, but grief told me to leave you behind" she replied, gently running her fingers through his hair.

A sense of longing enveloped him, imagining the life he could have had. "Then? What would have come next?" he asked, eager to hear the world he could never live.

"I would have made you feel welcome in the clan, just like Kiri. You would have had your special ceremony day," she continued, a smile appearing on both their faces.

"And then?" he prodded further.

"I would have changed your name to something more Na'vi, made you a songchord, and ensured you were part of every important step," she replied, her words like a soothing lullaby to his wounded heart.

A tear trickled down Spider's cheek as he listened, finally hearing the love and care he had craved for so long. "Then?" he whispered, lost in the bittersweet dream.

"I would have been fiercely protective of you. I would have kissed your bruises and helped you rise every time you fell," Neytiri said, her voice carrying the weight of regret.

The pain in his chest persisted, but this time, it wasn't just physical. He had ached for this love, this care, but it was now only an unattainable "if."

"Can you ever forgive me?" Neytiri asked, her sincerity evident.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside him like the relentless waves.

"Can we start over again?"

"Is to late for that"

Norm's arrival broke the moment, and Spider reluctantly pulled away, leaving Neytiri behind. Inside the helicopter, Spider hoped for a peaceful end. He longed for comfort, a final rest from a life marked by loneliness and betrayal. The rhythmic hum of the helicopter's engine lulled him into a drowsy state.

Comfortable.

Passing away should always be this comfortable.

#avatar #avatar 2 #avatar spider #miles spider socorro #neytiri #jake sully #neteyam #kiri #angst?#angst #one shot #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #major character death #major character injury #plot twist at the end

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sommerflue-22 · 1 year

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Carrying You After Battle — Kamaboko Trio

You got injured during a mission and couldn't really move. You could wait for the Kakushi brigade to help you out, or you could send your Kasugai crow to ask for an aid. Your partner doesn't think it's a good idea. The best thing to do is to carry you as fast as they could to the nearest Wisteria House.

Featuring: Tanjiro Kamado, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Inosuke Hashibira

Warning: Demon Slayer!Reader, major character injury, broken bones, blood, near death experience

Word Count: 1,6k

Author Note

This is not beta read and it's my first KNY headcanon here. I've attached the link of images to help you visualize how they did the carry. As always, feel free to interpret these actions as platonic and/or romantic. Feel free to request something if you'd like, just leave it in my ask box! Hope you enjoy this :)

Tanjiro - Pack-strap Carry (Image)

You tried to regulate your breath as you chased the demon. It was running away from you and Tanjiro. At that point, you were sure the demon realized how it was no match for the both of you. You were a few inches away from slashing the demon's head when you lost your footing and fell on your knees. A part of your pants near your right knee was torn by a protruding tree root on the ground..

You weren't sure if it was just your imagination, but you swore you could hear your bone cracked. You let out a scream as you lay face down on the forest ground.

"Stay still, (Y/N)!" Tanjiro yelled as he continued chasing down the demon.

You bit your fist, trying to hold back your tears. It was so painful to the point where it made you feel dizzy.

Tanjiro came back only a few moments later, panting. It seemed that he succeeded in slaying the demon.

"Oh dear, (Y/N)!" Tanjiro kneeled next to you. "(Y/N), what... do you think you can stand up?"

"N-no." You choked up, finally letting yourself go. Guess it was the Tanjiro Effect. His presence let you loosen up your tough façade. Tanjiro was one of the few people who had seen you cry.

"Alright, alright, it's okay. I'll carry you, okay?" Tanjiro caressed your cheek, wiping off the tears. "I'm sorry, this might hurt a bit."

Tanjiro gently flipped you to your back. You winced in pain as he helped you up, maneuvering until your chest was against his back and he was holding your arms close to his chest.

"I got you, (Y/N). It's okay. We'll meet up with Zenitsu and Inosuke. I've sent Matsuemon to get help. It's okay, I got you."

Tanjiro kept trying to calm you down a little bit as he made his way to the rest of the squad member. He could feel every inch of his body screamed in agony, but he pushed through. There was no way he would let you on your own feet when your leg started to get swollen.

You met up with the rest of the squad. As usual, Zenitsu started to panic and cried seeing your injured leg. Inosuke cursed at you for not being careful enough. Tanjiro shushed them as he carried you, while also leading the squad, out of the forest.

The Kakushi brigade finally came. They examined your leg and thought it might be fractured. A member offered Tanjiro to carry you on their back so he could rest for a little. Tanjiro refused.

"It's fine. The Butterfly Mansion isn't that far, is it?" Tanjiro turned them down with a genuine smile.

All of you made your way back to the mansion.

"You don't have to carry me, you know?" You said, resting your chin on Tanjiro's shoulder.

"I know, but I want to." Tanjiro replied. "It's okay to cry, (Y/N). I know it hurts. You don't have to pretend to be strong all the time. Just wait for a little longer, yeah."

You muttered a protest but couldn't help yourself. You cried. It really hurt like hell.

Zenitsu - Bridal Style (Image)

You heard a familiar voice calling out your name, a few meters away from where you sat. You realized it was Zenitsu. You wanted to call out to him, to tell him that you're nearby. However, you couldn't bring yourself to say anything. Your hand was clutching the right side of your stomach where the demon had attacked you, resulting in a deep wound across your lower abdomen. You could only coughed in pain, yet it was enough for Zenitsu to locate you.

"(Y/N)?" Zenitsu crouched in front of you, panic written all over his face when he saw blood on your uniform. "(Y/N), what happened?"

"I got... slashed..." You panted.

"(Y/N), you're losing a lot of blood."

"I know..." If you were in a better state, those words would come out way more sarcastic. You were quite literally dying, either you and Zenitsu could tell.

"Oh, (Y/N), I'm so sorry!" Zenitsu whined as he easily scooped you up into his arms. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know you were hurt!"

"...It's fine, Zenitsu..."

"No, it's not fine!"

You could tell by the way his voice trembled, Zenitsu was in the verge of crying. You leaned your head on his chest and looked up. You were right, tears were pooling in his eyes.

"Zenitsu," you reached out to touch his cheek, "It's alright..."

Zenitsu didn't say anything in return. He kept running, trying to bring you to the nearest Wisteria House before it was too late, while starting to sob. You were both sent to finish off a demon that had been haunting a small village. You managed to chase it to the forest nearby, but as you slashed its head off, the demon delivered its final move. It cut your abdomen quite deep.

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything. You just looked up to the sky, watching your crow led the way. Ah... How wonderful the sky was... The sun was about to set, and it turned into a lovely orange color. So bright and warm, like the color of your partner's hair.

Zenitsu cried even harder when you closed your eyes. He knew you weren't dead, but he still felt guilty for not coming with you to the forest faster. If only he was braver...

With lots of effort and tears, you both finally reached the house. As if they could sense your arrival, a young female staff quickly opened the gate and ushered both of you in. Zenitsu let you go, wouldn't budge from where he stood until you were out of his sight.

After being treated by a doctor and cleaned up by the staff, you were put inside a room. It took you a whole day to regain consciousness and the first person you saw was Zenitsu. His face was red and his eyes were puffy. He saw you opened your eyes and immediately cried (again).

"(Y/N)-CHAN! I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE!"

You winced in pain. "Oh, shush Zenitsu... You know nobody can get rid of me easily..."

You wouldn't tell your other friends, but you let Zenitsu craddle you for a whole day after that.

Inosuke - Firefighter Carry (Image)

Normally, being sent on a mission with Inosuke is not a problem. You both are good fighters and was able to work together to exterminate any demon. However, that one time you both got sent to a mountain. The terrain was really steep. Inosuke might be used to it, but that wasn't the case with you.

You kind of struggled during the fight, but you didn't want to worry Inosuke. You tried your best to hold on for your dear life. It's okay, you reminded yourself over and over again, it won't be long, now.

Even though it was way more difficult than your usual fight, you managed to defeat the demon. It approached you in a fast speed, but the blade of your sword was faster. You took a step back, bearing your whole body weight in one of your legs, and slashed the demon's head off with all the power you had.

As the demon's head rolled to the ground, you let out a scream. You were just so relieved. You couldn't wait to go back and take a shower.

"(Y/N)!" You heard Inosuke called out your name. No, he wasn't laughing maniacally, he wasn't boasting like usual...

Inosuke's call sounded more like a warning.

Before you could asked him what was wrong, you felt the ground underneath your feet crumbled. You couldn't think of anything as you fell. While fighting the demon, you didn't watch where you were going and stood on a hillside. The ground wasn't really solid as it has been raining the day before. As you stepped on it, it broke down and the land slipped.

Thankfully, it wasn't a fatal landslip. You only fell nine feet from where you first stood. Yes, it was bad, but it could be worse. You could only lay down on the ground. It felt like your whole body was smashed and you were dizzy. The last thing you saw before you passed out was Inosuke jumping off to save you.

"Wake up, underling!" Inosuke shook your shoulder. "Oi! (Y/N)!"

It was no use, you fainted. You hit your head pretty hard, resulting in a concussion. Inosuke stayed silent, his eyes widen and mouth agape underneath the boar mask. He couldn't believe it, you—someone whom he considered a strong person—fell down from a landslip.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Inosuke yelled in frustration. "Damn that demon!"

He picked you up rather gently and slung your unconscious body over his shoulder. Inosuke knew it would be awhile until the Kakushi arrived to clean up and help you. So, he took matters into his own hands and started sprinting. He ordered your crow to lead him to the nearest Wisteria Mansion, spitting profanities and curses as he ran.

Once you both arrived, he made sure the people there "fix" you almost immediately. He swatted anyone who was about to clean his own wound, yelling "You mind my underling first!" He hated to admit it, but he was scared you'd die.

You regained consciousness the next morning, just before the break of the dawn. Your body felt like it could break anytime soon, but you forced yourself to sit up from the futon. You didn't notice at first, but Inosuke was lying down, resting his head near where your thighs were. He even took off his boar mask. He wouldn't like anyone to see him like that, so you remained quiet. Though, you couldn't help but touch his hair, thanking him for saving your life.

Let me know if you enjoyed this! I really did read a few sources to write this headcanon so T^T

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny headcanons #demon slayer headcanons #kamaboko squad #kamado tanjiro #zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke hashibira #tanjiro x you #zenitsu x you #inosuke x you #reader insert #kny x reader #major character injury #new blog #new writers on tumblr

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wanderpastme · 1 year

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Welcome Home <3

Chapter 2

Creepy Pompadour my beloved

Basically a Wally Darling x Reader fic

I am a smut writer, but the creator has stated they are uncomfortable with that kind of content, so this will be strictly non-smut fic… I didn’t say it was going to be SFW though.

Of course, this is a horror arg after all :)

TW: BLOOD, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, STALKING, STARING (👁), MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, THREATS, GORE, BODY HORROR

GN READER (That is subject to change, but prolly not)

BTW this chapter is a lot of setup, lots of filler

Chapter 1: Apple Of M̵̻̟̥̯̮̰̩̱͕̩̙̟̦̓̉͜ͅͅY̷̺̜̓́͠ Eye

Darkness surrounded you, simultaneously pulling you in and out like the waves of the tide, pulling at your skin with its awful gaze.

Its gaze burned into you like a fire that would never be extinguished.

You wanted to go home, to hide and never be seen again, but something inside you told you that would never be the case again.

I̴̟̲̋ ̸̭̪̕s̸̱̯̋e̸̗̾̐e̸̻̜̓ ̶̟̇̕ỳ̷̠̻o̴̳̣̊u̸̥̔.̵͝ͅ ̵̪́I̵͕͐ ̸̧̗̓s̸̺͐͆e̸͛̃͜e̷̤̕ ̸̨͚̇́y̴̦̺͒͝ő̸̧̺̓ǘ̵̺.̴̥͘ ̷̫̈́͗͜I̶͕̱͌͝ ̵̜̥͒̐s̶̠̮̀͘e̵̪͔͐̍e̵͔̐̾ ̵̢́y̵͈̿o̶̠̾u̴̲͝.̷̧̿́ ̴̩̪̌̕I̸͉̽ ̶̡̥́̃s̵̹͑̈́ë̴̦͍́͝ę̸̞͗ ̶̹͇͑̅y̵̻̓ͅö̷̲͈u̸͈͑.̶̡͖̉ ̸̮̽I̴̟̍̂ ̶̢̻͊̈́s̵͙̤̊e̵͕̊ȅ̴͖̞ ̷͈̪͌͑ỳ̸̥̈́ó̴͇u̶͎͝.̸̢͔̽ ̷͐͠ͅI̴̪̅ ̸̪́s̵̛̤̀ȇ̸̲è̴̮ ̷̘̋͑y̴̻̎o̶̢̎u̶̢̩̿͂.̵̖͚͋ ̶͈̟̇̈́Í̵̩ ̵̟͕̃͠s̶͔̯͊͠e̵̖͇͝e̷̫͎͌ ̶̩͈͝y̶̦̋o̶̰͉͘͝u̸̬̿͝.̸̛̫̈ ̶̤͐̕I̶͇͑ ̴̤͐̈s̴͎̈e̸̮̬͂e̷̺͒ ̵̧͆y̷͖̠̽o̶̟̻̓u̵̯̔̽.̸̱̔ ̵͙̗͑̚I̶͖̿̐ ̶͖̻̈s̶̪̓e̵̬͝e̵̟͎̓̽ ̷̨̀y̷͉͊͘ö̸̪͖́ų̴̚.̶̠̣̅̋ ̷̙̻̄̈́I̸̯͕̓ ̶̨̛͝s̴͇͇͛ė̴̟͆è̶̞̑ ̵̥̜̍y̸̟̒o̷̙͗̊û̶̪.̶͉͋ ̸̥̹̆Į̸̘̊͝ ̴̺͊͘ş̷̃e̷̗̘̍̕é̶̮ ̶̰̤͊̀y̷̯̏o̸͚̤̾ũ̷̟̒.̶͉̑̔ͅ ̸̙̂I̵̮̓ ̵̳̗̍̿s̷̹͍̔͗ḙ̵̺͝ê̵̠̿ ̶̛̅ͅy̴̢͊͜o̴̖̎u̸̹͝.̸͚͍̒͋ ̷̼̉̕I̸̹͑ ̶͕̮̍̆s̸̖̟̀̅ë̵͍̥e̵̗̎̀ ̷̘͈̓y̴͙͛͘ȯ̸̢̝ǔ̷͉̻.̶͔̓͝ ̶̞͚̇I̷͉̳͝ ̶̺̝͝s̸̳͈̒e̶̤̿̑ë̵̫͙̍ ̸͖͗̇y̴̰͌ǭ̸̒ȗ̵͔̥̒.̶̺̌̐ ̵̖̘͌́I̸̞͆ ̸̗̤̔̎ṡ̷̛͙e̷͇̎e̵͉̥̓̋ ̸̗̈́y̸̞͈̍ơ̴͓̻ṳ̸̎.̴͈̙͊͑ ̷̤̽͗I̴̧̊͋ ̶͇̻̀ș̶̞̍e̵͙͖͌̍ȩ̵̣̂͝ ̵͚̱͆̄y̶̬͍̍̊o̷̭̔͘ǔ̷̺̺.̶̯͗ ̶̜͎̈́Ḯ̸̮ ̵̳̅s̷͈̀͜ë̸̡̦́͑ẹ̵̺͌ ̶̗̊͝ẙ̵̲ǒ̷̳̹̓ű̸̹̬.̷̖̚ ̷̠͍̈́͠Ḭ̴̻͋̉ ̵̼̳̀͗s̵͙͝ė̶̜é̶̡ ̴̖̝̓̌y̸̹͐̾o̵̜̫̍̌u̸̜͂̾.̸͎̎͜ ̷͍̑I̸̬̍̓ ̴͖͌ṣ̸͉͋è̵͔̏e̴̦͚͐ ̷̩̹̌̌y̶̘͂̀o̶͇̅u̵̧͌.̴͖̖̔͝ ̵̘͎̽̽I̵̽ͅ ̸͇̼́͘s̵̪͕͑ē̵̩̈e̵͙͙͠ ̶̮́ͅỹ̵̮o̷̹̞̎̀u̴̝͔͂̄.̸̨͘ ̶̮͆́I̴̗̻͗̓ ̴͙̑ś̵̼ḝ̶̓ë̸̼͝ ̵̼̝͂͒y̷̗̌o̶̯̾͝u̶͇̣̐̚.̶̲͋͝ ̶̛̲ͅĮ̴̻̊ ̶͎͝͝s̸͔͂e̶̫̅e̴͈̺̒-̶̱̍ (I see you x21.5)

Your eyes shot open staring straight ahead at… nothing.

There was only the darkness of your living room, your plain ceiling the only thing staring back at you.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed your tangled covers off your body, cool air hitting your sweat-covered body.

It was only a nightmare.

The sound of faint static filled your ears as you regained your senses.

It looked like you had fallen asleep watching TV again, it had been a long week.

With how many hours you were working, and how hard your boss seemed to be pushing you, it was only a matter of time before you gave in to the fatigue. You needed a break.

Suddenly the once-dark room flushed with color, the static on the screen honing into a signal finally.

Glancing lazily at the screen your face filled with confusion.

“A kids show? This late?”

“Why hello Neighbor!”

A cheery puppet character filled the screen, sitting lazily in a chair. This must be the main character of the show.

Curiosity got the better of you as you sat staring at the world being built right before your eyes, colors, and shapes grabbing your attention like you were a small child.

“How cute” you mused, a soft smile on your lips.

“Oh, how I love to see you smile.”

Your face immediately dropped from your face as you stared in shock. Could they see you? No, no, it was just a scripted program, you probably just missed a cue or something.

The yellow puppet stared right back at you unblinking, his half-lidded eyes giving him a look of being tired, but his irises refused to stop staring directly at you.

Kind of creepy for a kid’s show.

Ok- that’s enough-

Looking around for the remote, you could feel the puppets gaze burning holes into your skull almost daring you to try.

“Í̶̞ ̸̛̭͇̒ẘ̵̙͙ǒ̵̗̹ù̵̖̓l̷̥̻̓̄d̸̺̣̂͘n̷͓̑'̴̪̿̃t̴̳͈̐ ̵̜̣̈́͘d̶͔̙̓̚ờ̵̧̞ ̶̮̌t̸̟̟͛̀h̶͔͝͝á̵̰͑t̵͈̦̏ ̴̨̘̾͐ņ̸̑͘é̴͍̼̓i̵͎̱̍̈́g̵͖̣̐h̸̰̹̐̍b̴̈́̈́ͅó̴̰͕r̴̲̰̓” (I wouldn’t do that, neighbor)

Your blood ran cold in your veins, pinning you down to the spot, your hand hovering midair, reaching for the remote.

“Oh good~”

Your eyes darted back up to the screen, further hightening your fear.

The puppet had come impossibly close to the screen, yellow, felt, hands pressing desperately against the glass, his face nothing more than a shadow with eyes.

Familiar static filled the room with an almost deafening roar, making your head pound against your skull.

Wincing you stood on shaky legs, gripping the sides of your head in pain.

“Oh don’t be like that- soon you will be H̵̨̠̀O̴͔̜͗M̸̖̀͝E̶̢̖̕” (HOME)

Tears pricked the edges of your eyes, blurring your vision as you collapsed to your knees, holding your head in agony.

“P-please stop-” you whimpered.

“Oh don’t be like that~ you’ll be here~ with me~ f̵̧̎o̶͙̐͊r̵̫̮͑͗e̷̛͛ͅv̷̥̽̋ͅè̴͚̓r̷̻͈̈́͘~” (forever)

Darkness soon filled the edges of your vision, and the rest of the world faded into a soft hue of colors. Soft carpet pressed harshly into the side of your cheek, but not for long.

You felt your body being lifted up into the air, two strong arms holding you gently to a plush chest.

“Shhh, neighbor… just rest”

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astraeusasta · 4 months

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The Loveless Soldier

Pairing: Levi Ackermann x Dying!Reader TW: Death, Mentions of Death, Mentions of infection and disease, Mentions of doctors, Slight gore. CW: Major Character Death, un-reciprocated feelings.

You are a thirty three year old soldier within the Scout Regiment. You're one of the captains and have your own squad. However, on a mission you were to team up with Levi's squad. But in the midst of battle you were injured and are now on the brink of death.

The speed of the wind hitting your face as you raced through the air. Swinging your blades around to make the strike onto the Titans nape. Spinning just as you had watched him do. Using up your gas like you could simply gather more of it immediately. But before you could reach the nape of the Titan, you were grabbed. You were grabbed. You didn’t have time to process your current situation before pain coursed through you. You shrieked as your legs were ground between the teeth of the Titan. This was the end. You told yourself as your vision became hazy and faded out. As you faded, you heard a familiar voice. A husky monotonic voice that was filled with worry and concern. ��Levi?” You spoke out, your brain fuzzy as you attempted to speak. Slowly, your consciousness left you and your vision faded to black. Your body felt cold, but your mind still seemed to race as memories began to flash back to you. You were dying, you knew that much. Fading in and out of consciousness as your body lumped up and down on the carriage. You began to remember the happiest memories of your life. The thirty three years you had lived, all the happiest times. It made you smile. Even though the pain you were feeling was intense. You couldn’t help it.

You could still hear his voice. The faint sounds of him and a few others. Telling you not to leave. The faint sound of crying. Levi was someone special to you. He never seemed to notice when people took interest in him, or maybe he just never cared for that sort of thing. Despite his stoic and distant exterior, he wasn’t like that at all. Well he was. But his words carried meaning and care. He was honest, not mean. He was strict because he cared. He didn’t want people to die or to leave. Even though he said he wanted to keep things professional, he’d try to make you laugh in the dark times when you grieved over loss. His sweet words of comfort during those nights when you couldn’t sleep. You often had nightmares about the visions of those who had died. He understood the guilt of the survivor, he seemed to carry that weight too. He would never let a comrade shoulder the weight on their own, even if it seemed like he wanted them too.

Slowly, your consciousness began to return. Though still hazy. You felt the pain subsiding, as if it was fading into the background. You wanted to live, truly. Though not for yourself, or your family. For the idea that he might care for you in the same way - that he might want to be with you. It was a foolish thought with how little he seemed to care for those around him. You fought the urge to slip back into your somber sleep, for him. You noticed him beside you, it seemed he’d injured himself also. You chuckled as best you could, though you began coughing. “Don’t laugh. You’ll only injure yourself more. We’re going to get you back and see a doctor. You don’t have your legs but your family will be pleased to see you’ve lived.” He spoke calmly, though from his expression you knew he was far from. You’d lost a lot of blood, you could tell from the weakness in your body. Your voice was hoarse and practically gone from the screaming you had endured. You smiled at him warmly. “Did you take them? My legs?” You tried to joke, though it didn’t seem to make any sense. You noticed he grimaced at you. “Bad timing?” You continued. Levi sighed at you. “As always..”. You laughed a little, coughing once again. “I said don’t laugh.” He was more stern this time. You nodded.

You were struggling to stay conscious as you were rushed into your room by Levi. He had carried you the whole way there and contacted a doctor. He was denying how close you truly were to your death. “Levi…” You spoke out as he tried to leave. He turned back to you, a questioning look on his face. “Is something the matter?” He asked, looking for anything wrong physically. “No. There isn’t.” You replied. Your words sputter. He grimaced again, cringing at the bit of blood that came out of your mouth as you sputtered. “Then what?” He spoke again. Looking at you with concern. “Could you stay for a bit? I’d appreciate the company.” Shock cleansed his expression before he relaxed and his stoic front softened around its edges. He sat down on the chair next to your bed. Crossing one of his legs over the other as he usually did. Looking at you with an expression that you hadn’t seen before.

“You know, Levi. I’m not going to live through this.” Your words took him aback, did you want to die? He looked at you but his eyes seemed to jitter as he looked at you. His brows furrowing, his body becoming stiff and defensive. “Why would you say that? Do you want to die?” Panic hinted in his tone, though mostly anger. You couldn’t help but smile at his words. Though he looked even more frustrated when you smiled. “I don’t want to die..truly. But I’ve lost too much blood. Even if I were to live. I’d have to live my life cautiously. I couldn’t do that. Don’t you think I deserve to live my life to the fullest? I think I’ve achieved my purpose. No?” He was shocked, you were always so positive. So cheerful. To see you in such a state must have been a hit with reality. Have you always thought this way? Why didn’t you tell him? He was a close friend to you, right? His own thoughts seemed to race through his brain as he tried to wrack the appropriate response to your answer.

“I think you’ve still got a lot to live for. Your family, your comrades. You’re an asset to humanity.” He spoke, you looked down at where your legs should be and then back towards him. “Oh Levi…” The soft spoken warm words fell from your mouth like nectar. You sighed lovingly, looking at him with sparks in your eyes. Reaching out a weak arm towards him, holding out your hand. You shook your head. He was confused. He couldn’t understand why you would want people to suffer the pain of your loss, for people to experience sadness when you could live. “Even if I were to live. I wouldn’t be happy.” That's when it hit him, he looked at where your legs should be too. You were amputated at the top of the thigh. You basically had nothing left. You’d be bed bound for the rest of your life. “I understand.” He took your hand now. Firmly gripping it. Not tight enough to hurt. You were weak as of.

Hours passed and you both sat in a lul of silence. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t comfortable either. It was just silence. Slowly, the pain began to resurface. Your face scrunching. A low groan escaping your mouth as it began to intensify - the adrenaline wearing off. “The pain has returned, I see?” You nodded in response to him. “You can squeeze my hand if you need.” If only you could. This was the closest you had ever been physically to the man that held your heart. You knew he probably didn’t feel the same. You thought you’d tell him, but in this moment the pain was too much to speak.

More hours passed. The doctors had arrived and gave the diagnosis. You were not to survive longer than a few more hours, maybe a few days if you were lucky. Your legs were infected and there was no way to cure it or get rid of it in time with the equipment they had brought with them. People came in to say their final goodbyes to you. You didn’t cry. You knew this was your fate. Everyone has to die at some point. He stayed with you the entire time. Levi. He was kind enough to anyway. You had told him you wanted company and he didn’t fail to provide it.

Once the final person had said their goodbye, you’d realized how weak your body had gotten. You could feel the heaviness of your eyes in their sockets, the dryness of your skin. He approached the chair and sat down. Sighing as he looked at you. “You were an excellent soldier. You put your life at risk to save others when you didn’t have to. You always cared more for how others felt than your own feelings. You sat with me during nights, even if you had to lie about having nightmares just to keep me company. Your comedic timing is horrible, though I can’t say much. It’s odd to see you in such a vulnerable position without that bright smile on your face. It made me feel sick how cheerful you could be even when you were grieving. It was creepy, you know that?” You chuckled even though it hurt to do so. The sepsis is beginning to kick in. “Even so, you were an asset to humanity. You helped. So even if you don’t feel it yourself. Please remember you were not a burden on us. We’ll remember you forever.” It wasn’t like Levi to cry, you felt you could see a small tear drip down the man's face. Though that might have been the hazy fog that clouded your own vision as tears finally began to stream down your voice.

“Thank you. Levi. It’s only polite for me to say my feelings about you now.” He nodded in understanding, listening contently. His attention is appointed towards you and you only. “Captain Levi. The strongest soldier humanity could ever hope for. Though you act cold and distant towards everyone - rarely ever sharing information about yourself. You spoke the truth and nothing but, putting your life in jeopardy to save others just like I. Selfless is the best word I could use to describe you. With everything we’ve been through, you’ve stuck by me. Regardless of how many shitty jokes I make.” You laughed again, this time coughing as you sputtered up more blood. Concern laced his expression but you continued. “In a way, I admired you. Though not in the way I believe you hope.” Slowly you began to feel nausea take over, dizzy and lightheaded. A black haze began to fog your vision. Your voice wavering and faltering as your breathing became rapid and hoarse. You could hear each breath and the way it scraped across your throat.

“Levi..I love you.” But those would be the final words you ever said. The man who sat by your side now shocked with nothing more than reliving a past experience. You loved him? Maybe this was meant platonic-ally? He thought but given your previous statement of it not being how he’d hoped. This was obviously not the case. Even if you knew your time had come, in your final moments you choose to confess your true feelings to someone. Even if they didn’t feel the same. You were cruel. Levi thought to himself. He didn’t feel that way about you, but now he wished he had as in your final moments he’d be able to say he reciprocated, if the myths are true and your mind is still conscious for a bit after you die. You’d be able to hear him.

“I am sorry, but..I do not reciprocate those feelings.”

#major character death #major character injury #attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #tw death #tw depressing stuff #levi ackerman #levi aot #aot levi #shingeki no kyojin #levi heichou

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shepherdfeathers · 2 months

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Knock, Knock!

Page 4

First • Previous • Next

Ah ah ah, no powers for you!

Comic based on @prince-liest’s fanfiction Knock, Knock! It's Your Worst Fucking Nightmare!

Story by Princeliest on Ao3

#y’all idk how to draw blood pls forgive #we are about to get to one of my favorite parts tho #I’m fucking pumped #Hazbin hotel #Alastor #Alastor comic #Hazbin Alastor #Hazbin Adam #Alastor whump #Alastor injured #Alastor hurt #hurt/comfort #major character injury #whumblr #whump

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seraphic-elysian · 3 months

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@foolondahill17 have my attempt at the prompt you put about Dean sprinting to Cas. It's not perfect and I ended it without a resolution as I wanna write this as a whole ass fic but I really wanted to share this with you since your idea inspired the hell out of me. ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ It happens in a moment. A heartbeat trapped between the milliseconds of time. Dean turns in the loose grip of his brother’s hands, green eyes trained on the golden crack of light that splits their world open to another, waiting for the sign of his angel. His heart is racing within his chest, adrenaline keeping him sharp and steady, as he waits with bated breath for his angel to emerge through the light. The image of Castiel stalking toward Lucifer as Sam pulls him to the portal is burned into his eyelids. He knows that it is almost a sickening parallel of the way that he had pulled Sam from his burning apartment all of those years ago but he can only pray that Castiel will not be killed. That he will not have to suffer the same agonizing heartbreak that Sam did when Jessica died. He refuses to entertain the thought of something happening to the angel, of him dying or being hurt while in the other world. That will not happen.

It cannot.

Dean steps close enough to the portal that he can hear the rushing of the wind and smell the heavy scent of gunpowder on the breeze. It pulls at his clothing in a tantalizing lure, a promise of taking him to where his angel is, but he refuses. He will not step back through the portal and waste the safety that Castiel had given him.

Sam’s voice is nothing but a gurgle of noises behind him but he does not need to hear him to understand what he is saying. Dean knows that he is too close to the portal for his brother to feel confident that he will not go through it to find Castiel. He knows that he becomes irrational and impulsive when his angel is in danger. That he has, in the past, openly let others be hurt and killed if it meant that those he cares about will be safe. Dean also knows that he has a history of suicidal tendencies, of throwing himself in front of others to take a hit or killing himself to trade someone else's life for his own, and that Sam has been witness to him doing that several times. And while he is aware that he would not hesitate to end his life if it meant that the angel would return safe and alive, he does not feel the need to do so. Not right now.

“Don’t be stupid, Dean! Cas is capable!” Sam nearly screams the words to him, voice only barely heard over the rushing noise in Dean’s ears.

And of course he is. Dean knows better than anyone what Castiel is capable of and how strong and intelligent the angel is. But even having the knowledge of that will not stop him from worrying about him. It will not stop him from desperately trying to keep the angel by his side where Dean is able to keep him safe.

After all, how can anyone act normal and as though the world is not on the verge of ending when the living personification of their heart is facing off against an archangel?

The portal flares a brilliant gold that burns his eyes and Dean’s breath leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale as Castiel appears in front of him. There is blood stained along his trench coat, his black curls are covered in dust, and his face is streaked with dirt but Dean has never seen anything more beautiful. Exhausted blue eyes meet his own and something that Castiel sees on his face makes the angel’s brows furrow and him to step closer to Dean. They are close enough that he can feel heat radiating off of the angel and the exhalation of his breath ghosting across his face and, for the first time, Dean does not step back or snap at the angel. No, he only sways forward as he is captured by Castiel’s orbit. He surrenders to the feelings that he has in his chest, this desire to put himself out there and show the other how he feels.

“D-”

Castiel cuts himself off as an angel blade pierces through the bottom of his chest with a sickening squelch. The shining metal is clean as it slides through the angel’s body without resistance before it is yanked out violently. Crimson stains his white dress shirt and Castiel’s grace flares brightly through the gaping wound. Dean is moving before he can think, arms gathering the angel against his chest as he sags, and pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his back. He does not see where Lucifer goes as the angel saunters off but he knows that Sam will watch his back. Something heavy and soft curls over his arms and back, engulfing him in the scent of honeysuckles and wildflowers, but when he looks there is nothing there. The smell of Castiel’s grace slowly begins to turn acrid as his grace begins to burn and Dean collapses to his knees.

“Get away,” Castiel whines, weak hands pushing against Dean’s chest, “I can’t hold it back anymore. Get away!”

Dean shakes his head and tightens his grip on the angel, “No!”

A whine escapes Castiel’s throat as the light flares up brighter and hotter, escaping from his mouth and eyes. The invisible objects that he feels against him heat up rapidly, searing his skin even through his clothing, and the heat and light reaches its apex in a wave of agony before it shatters. A pained howl leaves his lips as fire scorches him, consuming him in a decimating blaze that he cannot escape. His eyes burn even through his closed lids and he turns his face away from the sharp explosion of light. It seems as though it takes forever before it clears, taking the scorching heat with it, and Dean weakly lays Castiel’s body down. He presses his forehead down against the soft cotton of his dress shirt as he processes the hell that he just went through.

Castiel is dead. There is no denying that, not after what he just experienced. The angel is gone in a shattering of holy light and the smell of scorched feathers. His shaking fingers come up and tangle in the rough wool of the trench coat as he raises his face, desperate to see confirmation that Lucifer has murdered Castiel. He needs to memorize the pattern of his beautiful wings that will be burned into the dirt of this little home. Sliding his eyes open slowly, he sees…nothing. An unending wall of bright white light fills his vision and does not leave no matter how much he blinks or shakes his head. He panics, sucking in a startled breath, body freezing in fear at the implications of what this means.

Turning his head toward where he remembers his brother standing, he asks, “Sam?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean!” Sam’s voice is rough with anger as he stomps up to where Dean is kneeling, “You know what happens when an angel dies. You’ve fucking seen that happen so many times! So, what the hell were you thinking being right at the center of that? Didn’t you think for a second about what that would do to you?”

“It’s Cas, Sammy,” his excuse sounds broken as it falls through his lips. He is in agony, arms and back still burning from the blaze that had licked across his skin, “I couldn’t just-”

“How many times has he died before and you’ve stayed back from it? How many times has he been killed like this and you’ve not put yourself at the center of his grace exploding?” Sam is yelling now, anger making him sound almost terrifyingly like John, and Dean feels far too vulnerable here on the ground, “I don’t even know how we’re going to heal that. Or if we even can. Fuck, Dean, we didn’t need this on top of everything else!”

He takes Sam’s anger without question or complaint. He knows that he messed up and that he injured himself right when they are about to be dealing with Lucifer. He knows that his vision being gone, however temporary this is, will make him a vulnerability and a liability. It is now completely up to Sam to be able to defend not only himself but Dean as well.

“I should be able to see again in a few days,” he responds once Sam pauses to take a breath, “We just have to lay low inside of the Bunker until then. I know I messed up, Sammy, okay?”

“You can’t see?” Sam is suddenly in his space, calloused hand gripping his chin tightly, and Dean stifles a flinch. His head is tilted back and forth and he feels his brother messing with his eyelids. It is incredibly uncomfortable to not be able to see what Sam is doing but he knows that he is in safe hands, “Is it just blurry or is it fully gone?”

“I can’t see anything,” he admits as Sam wipes something off of his cheek, “it’s nothing but white.”

Sam sucks in a startled breath, hands stilling against his face, before he moves and cleans off his other cheek. “Okay, I…I didn’t realize that you were blind.”

“Then what were you talking about?”

Sam does not answer right away and Dean huffs in frustration. He hates not being able to see his brother’s face and be able to read him. He has always relied on the fact that Sam is an open book to him, that he rarely hides what he is thinking and feeling, and now having that taken away from him makes him feel as though he is lost at sea without a life raft.

The trench coat is warm within the grasp of his fingers but he forces himself to release it, to smooth it back into place despite the shake in his hands. His palm presses against the flat expanse of Castiel’s chest and something inside of him burns at the fact that he cannot feel his heart beating or the rise and fall of his chest. That he can feel the heat dissipating from his body, leaving it cold and empty. There is something within the cavern of his chest that feels just as hollow as the body in front of him, something along his soul that screams at the idea of Castiel being gone, but he can do nothing about that. There is no cure or bandage that can heal a broken heart.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches away from it violently, “What the fuck, Sam?”

“You know how angel wings are burned into the ground when they die?” Sam asks gently, continuing when Dean nods in confusion, “Dean…Cas’s wings aren’t…they…they’re burned into your skin, dude. From the back of your hands, up your arms, and across your back to either side of your spine.”

“But I’m wearing clothes,” Dean argues weakly, “How could they have burned through that?”

His brother exhales shakily, “Couldn’t his wings phase through things like that?”

The fingers of his right hand skirt over to his left, drifting across the back of it, and a pained noise leaves his lips as his skin flares up in red hot pain at the touch. He shakes his head, refusing to accept what Sam is telling him. There is no way that he is carrying the shadow-burn of his angel’s wings on his body. He is not holy enough, not good enough, to carry the image of that burned onto his skin.

Castiel deserves to have something more than Dean Winchester acting as a living tombstone.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Sam's hands grip his elbows and pulls him to his feet, "Once we do that, we can get Cas and Kelly ready to be put to rest."

Dean grabs onto his brother tightly, resisting the guiding hand that is pulling him toward the house. He does not want to leave Castiel lying here, alone, on the dirt. There will need to be a pyre and Castiel's body will need to be prepped for that but he does not think he has the strength to leave him. Not anymore.

"I can't," His voice catches in his throat, "Sam, I can't leave him."

He can see the furrow of Sam's brow in his mind as his brother responds, "Why not?"

"I love him," it falls from his lips like water, easy and free-flowing, "I love him so much I don't know how the hell I'm able to breathe. I can't just..."

"Okay, yeah, I get it," Sam answers, "How long have you...?"

Dean tries to smile but it pulls at his face wrong, lips twisting into more of a grimace. He turns his face toward the ground and welcomes the white void that consumes his vision. It is much easier to be able to be this open with his brother when he is unable to see his facial expressions.

"Years," he exhales heavily, the word nothing more than a whisper on the breeze.

Sam does not answer him but he does help Dean back onto the ground by his angel's body. His hands are warm as they squeeze his elbows once before removing them.

"Let me go get the stuff to prepare his body, okay? You can do it here and I'll handle Kelly."

"What about Jack?"

Sam huffs, "I have no idea what we're going to do."

"We raise him. We give him the childhood we didn't have. He chose Cas as his father and I'm not going to abandon his child just because his sperm donor is Satan himself." Dean tells him, "We educate him, we tell him about the spooky shit and about the stuff that lurks in the dark. We make sure that he's able to handle himself if he ever winds up on a hunt."

"And we tell him about Cas."

He nods, hand reaching out until it lands on Castiel's arm, "Yeah, we tell him about Cas."

Sam leaves him then, footsteps trailing off toward the house. Dean is left in the dirt, surrounded by the sound of waves lapping at the shore of the lake and insects buzzing around him. It feels wrong, to experience this peaceful moment while he kneels at the side of his fallen person. Castiel should be here. He should be the one that teaches Jack about humanity and the world around them. He should be the one to choose what, if any, of the hunting world that Jack learns. He should teach him about bees and flowers and the names of the constellations in the sky.

He should be here, raising the child that he loves, instead of it falling to Dean.

But he is not. He is dead, killed because he ensured that everyone got to safety. And now it is up to Dean to raise Jack.

He spends the next hour gently cleaning Castiel's body with the warm water and cloths that Sam brought him. The dirt and blood is washed from his skin as best that Dean can while his vision is gone before Sam helps him wrap and secure his body in a soft fabric.

Together, they lift his body between them and Sam guides him to the pyre, leaving him to lay Castiel down inside of it alone. The angel is heavy in his arms and makes his wounds radiate agony as they are agitated but he does not care. There will be time for him to heal, for his wounds to be cleaned and bandaged. But not right now. Not when he is resting the love of his life inside of a tomb made of wood, waiting for him to be set ablaze.

The fire is hot on his face as he stares unseeingly in the direction of it. Jack and Sam are on the other side of the pyre, talking quietly to each other, and Dean wishes that he had the strength to go join them. To find comfort in knowing that they are mourning for the angel together. He could go to them, he knows that, but if he moves from this spot he is not sure that he will be able to keep himself from shattering. The reality of Castiel being gone has not fully hit yet and he knows that the moment the fire burns down, the moment that the only thing left of Castiel is the feathers burned into Dean's skin and the ashes on the wind, that he will he consumed by grief. That the only thing he will be able to feel is the hollow void in his chest that signifies that his angel is gone.

"Can I stay here with you?"

Dean flinches at the soft voice that speaks, turning his head in Jack's direction. He does not respond to him, too afraid that he will say something he does not mean or begin to cry if he does, so he nods his agreement. The kid steps closer to him and his hand slips into Dean's. He takes in a deep breath and squeezes that hand gently, leaving them clasped at his side.

"He loved you," Dean tells him hours later when the fire has died down to almost nothing. Sam had stepped away to handle something some time ago so it is only the two of them left by the angel's side, "You should have your parents here to raise you. You shouldn't have to grow up without them."

Jack is silent for a moment before he speaks, "I have you."

"Yeah, kid, you do."

"He loved you, too," Jack tells him, as though those words do not sends spiderweb cracks along the wall holding his emotions back.

He stays quiet, unable to respond even if he desired to, and they stand there together until Jack tells him that the fire is gone.

Today he will kneel in the ashes of his lover's pyre, gathering the remains of him with clumsy hands, as their child holds the glass jar steady for him to put the ashes in. He will seal up that jar and cling to it for the several hour long drive it will take for them to reach the Bunker.

And, when he is led to his room by his brother, letting him sit the jar down upon his nightstand, Dean will finally allow himself to break.

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #fanfic #spn #ficlet #sam winchester #jack kline #angst #major character death #major character injury #tw blood #Castiel's Wings #shitty writing #I really need more than three hours of sleep #I wrote this after having an urge to go fist fight god #though I'm ready to fist fight tumblr too since it keeps messing with my posts

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grosslyoversimplifiedpolitics · 5 months

Text

[ID: Screenshot of an Ao3 tag that reads, "Minor Injuries, except for one, Major Character Injury" /End ID]

#Minor Injuries #except for one #Major Character Injury #ao3 #ao3 tags #injury mention

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tildeathiwillwrite · 4 months

Text

Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 28: Scars

Week 4 of this bullshit. Only 3 more days left to go! Enjoy.

This is a direct continuation of Day 6: No Where to Go.

TW: painkillers, anesthesia mention, death mention, surgery, burn scars, mentioned abuse

Hero awoke slowly, their thoughts moving sluggishly through their tired mind. Their eyelids were heavier than bricks, but they forced them open, unease and uncertainty roiling in their stomach. The harsh lights overhead hurt their eyes, and they squinted, trying to filter out the brightness and make out their surroundings.

“Oh, you’re awake now.”

Hero turned their head, finding Villain leaning over them. They realized they were sprawled on a flat, uncomfortable surface. Villain’s head was bowed, their concentration intent upon Hero’s side. Hero tried to see what they were looking at, but they couldn’t raise their head.

“Sorry, I guess I didn’t sedate you enough,” Villain mumbled, reaching for something out of sight. “You were already unconscious, so I had to estimate. I think I gave you enough analgesics though. Does it hurt?”

Hero realized with a sudden jolt of fear that they couldn’t move anything but their eyes and head. Were their arms tied down? They couldn’t feel any restraints… “N… no…” they whispered through numb lips.

Villain nodded, distracted. Their hand returned, now clutching a pair of tweezers with gloved hands. The gloves were splattered with blood. “That’s good. Let me know if that changes. It’s not gonna be fun once they wear off.”

Hero swallowed, eyes darting about the room. The walls were exposed brick, and the only lighting appeared to be the one directly overhead, illuminating Villain’s work. Whatever that work was. Was the blood on their hands Hero’s? The only exit appeared to be a door to Hero’s right, behind Villain.

Metal clicked on metal, and Hero’s eyes darted back as Villain exhaled in relief. “Got the bullet out. Now I just gotta stitch you up and give you some more analgesics and maybe some anesthesia.”

Their words sounded almost foreign to Hero. The only thing they understood through the hazy fog was that Villain… seemed to be helping them? “O… okay….”

Villain worked in silence for a few minutes. Hero still couldn’t see what they were doing, so they gazed at Villain instead. Sometime between when Hero had passed out in that dark alley and when they’d woken up in this room, Villain had removed their mask. Their hair had been hastily pulled back, and Hero could clearly see their profile.

They looked normal enough at first, but as Hero’s eyes adjusted to the harsh lighting, they noticed the long, dark scar snaking down Villain’s face. It was old, blending in with their skin tone, but unmistakably a burn scar.

As if in response, the skin on Hero’s upper back tingled, where one of their allies had grazed them during a training session. They’d been drilling reflexes by launching small fireballs at Hero nonstop until they got hit. Once they did, the ally chastised Hero and ordered them to go to the medical bay. They didn’t even help Hero to their feet.

The incident had been almost a month and a half ago, and the burn still wasn’t fully healed. The affected skin itched constantly, especially when Hero tried to sleep. But Hero’s team leader refused to give them anything besides a small amount of aloe on the grounds of ‘building pain tolerance.'

It was all bullshit, as Hero later learned when they broached the idea of taking a break from the team for a little while. None of their ‘allies’ had responded well.

Hero closed their eyes. They didn’t know how long they were trapped in the team headquarters before escaping and fleeing to Villain’s section of the city. They barely remembered most of it, and they didn’t want to. But thinking of it brought images of Whumper, of them beating and belittling Hero for their weakness.

But Whumper was dead now.

Villain had shot them.

Villain had saved Hero.

As if in response to Hero’s thoughts, Villain spoke. “Alright,” they said softly, “I’m done.”

Hero opened their eyes. Villain massaged the sides of their temples, bloody gloves removed. “You’re one stubborn person, Hero,” they said, mouth cracking into an exhausted grin.

“Uh… tha… thank you….”

A look of concern crossed Villain’s face. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, both from the gunshot and…” they gestured to the various cuts and bruises all over Hero’s body. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you woke up at all. I patched up the worst of it, but you’re gonna be recovering for a while.”

Hero blinked, the memory of their team leader fresh in their mind. “Are… are we… safe… here…?”

Villain glanced over their shoulder to the door. A beat of silence passed before they answered. “Yeah, pretty sure. We’re in one of my safe houses right now, no one saw us come in. And the only one who saw you come to me is now dead in an alley which—” they grimaced— “isn’t going to bode well for me whether or not your former team connects the dots.”

“...I’m… I’m sorry I…”

Villain held up their hands, scowling. “Do not apologize. You needed help, you still need help, and I promise you: I’m not gonna let those assholes lay a finger on you. Understand?”

Hero nodded to the best of their ability. Their movement was still limited, but they had begun to regain sensation in their fingers and toes. They wiggled them experimentally. It was like moving someone else’s hand.

The motion caught Villain’s eye, and they smacked the side of their head. “Right. Analgesics. I’ll be right back, you do not want the painkillers to wear off anytime soon.”

Hero watched them leave. They slowly exhaled, trying to calm their racing nerves.

They were safe.

Villain had promised.

Everything would be okay.

Part 1 | Part 3

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factorialsotherfandoms · 4 months

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Canon-adjacent (implied no respawns, or at least heavily impaired respawns, but otherwise canon-ish setting) platonic husbands philza and missa with philza getting himself into a good deal of bother.

TW: needles, blood, major character injury, implied temporary major character death, panic attacks

The mob was new. Of all the things that could do such harm to Philza... there's a lot of them, if he's insufficiently careful, but this one was new. New, and unpredictable, and now very dead.

Very dead, but having left a giant gash from Philza's ribs on one side, to his opposing hip. It's bleeding - heavily - but nothing a potion can't fix.

Philza puts pressure on the wound with one hand, and searches his bag with the other. He grabs a couple of potions - it's a nasty looking wound, and he's already feeling weak - drinking them or pouring them on it as the bottles dictate.

He gives them a second, then another, and the wound doesn't close.

Before he's even had the chance to think /shit/, or /poison/, or /what the fuck was on that mob's stupid scythe/, he has both hands on the injury. His first hand - the hand with his communicator on - is looking pretty gorey already. He puts pressure, realises it's barely helping, then slips his hands around.

He grabs the edges of his skin, pinches them together, and he thinks /okay, fuck, what do I do now?/

For once, Philza does not have an answer. He's a good distance from spawn, his communicator is soaked in blood to the point he isn't sure it'll work and he's very sure he can't see the screen, and if he moves he'll bleed faster. There's also the niggling knowledge in the back of his mind that his thinking is impaired, that he's poisoned and it's likely to have more effects than just preventing his wound closing, that right now if he acts on anything he comes up with then he'll do something extremely dumb.

There's no winning, not when he's having thoughts like that.

Staying put is a shit plan, it's a completely shit plan, and he's pretty sure all versions of him would agree. No matter how he holds the wound he's still bleeding, blood bubbling out between his fingers. If he stays here, in a random glade, a couple of hundred blocks north of the closest build, he's going to die.

If he gets up, if he tries to walk those few hundred blocks... With where the wound is, every single step is going to shift it. He won't be able to pinch the wound closed as he is now, and with every step any healing that's miraculously happened will be undone. He might even tear the damn thing more. He's a couple of hundred blocks north of the Hide and Seek Arena, and nobody's even going to be there at this time of day; if he tries to walk, he's going to die.

What else? What else? He tries to bash his communicator to life, just in case. He keeps the HOLD switch on when he doesn't need it, usually. With his ring finger he manages to reach said switch, and try to flick it. The blood has gotten into the mechanism, disabling it. And with HOLD on... Even if the other buttons escaped the worst, they'll be disabled to. If he gets out of this, he's begging Tubbo or Aypierre or Pac or /someone/ to redesign the damn things, make them blood proof. He's not going to get out of this, though.

He's going to die, and it's going to fucking suck.

Those are, as far as he can tell, his options. None of them are survivable, but at least if he's walking he's /trying/ to live. It'll kill him faster than waiting for help, sure, but Philza's never been much good at standing still.

He pushes up from the tree, and gets eight steps before his knees buckle beneath him.

His hands fly from the wound to catch himself, then back to it to close it back up.

Philza might not be thinking straight, and he might not be good at sitting still, but he's nothing if not stubborn. He grits his teeth, and pinches the wound closed, and drags himself to his feet.

He makes it ten steps, then fifteen, then a whole thirty before he can only make it four. With every attempt his vision grows a little darker, his heart a little faster, his teeth set a little harder into their grimace.

He still gets back up, and gets back up, and gets back up until -

Until he can't any more.

In a hazy blur Philza tries his comms again - still not working - before letting go with one hand. He bleeds even faster without it, yes, but like this? He's too exposed, too exposed, and he can hear the wolves coming. Wolves who might be fine, but might also be looking for an easy meal.

Even dying his instincts kick in; Philza drags himself into a more defensible position, and clamps his fingers around the wound once more.

His body already sprawled on the floor, it's impossible to fall further when his eyes slip shut. Vaguely, vaguely, he's aware of his fingers falling limp, away from the wound and /ah/ he thinks /well, we had a good run, didn't we universe?/.

The universe doesn't answer, or if it does Philza's too far gone to hear it. Maybe the acceptance should scare him, but as he lays beneath a tree, it feels warm, it feels gentle - it feels like coming home.

There's something on the tip of his tongue, some memory just out of reach, some deep-set knowledge he really must know.

He doesn't chase it, he simply leans into the warmth and tries to let go.

"Phil!"

... Missa?

He might be too weak to hear the universe, but not the terrified scream of his husband.

It drives Philza, that flicker of a scream. He manages to get one arm under himself, push up, and-

And he doesn't even get to see the terrified man sprinting towards him, as his vision stays black and his body collapses back to the floor.

---

Philza doesn't expect to wake, not to silence and certainly not to soft Spanish sung by a hoarse voice. Whatever pillows his head is oddly shaped but warm, though everywhere else is freezing despite the weight of blankets. An arm is draped over him, and fingers brush through his hair.

He's also in a fucktonne of pain.

The singing hitches like a sob and - yeah no, that's not an angel, Philza's somehow fucking alive.

He'll take it, but it fucking sucks.

Memories are difficult, fragmented. He's...

He's supposed to be holding shut the wound in his side and /fuck/!

Limbs like lead, Philza tries to move, tries to pinch his bleeding flesh shut once again. It's hard, it should be impossible, but he's Philza Fucking Minecraft and he refuses to die!

He refuses, but one of those arms shifts, tries to stop him. Someone kisses the top of his head, shifts to hold his hands, whispers "you're alright, you're okay" in a gentle tone.

The singer, the singer whose name sits beneath his tongue and Philza can't quite grasp it, but he knows they are /wonderful/, /amazing/, his entire fucking /world/.

Well, maybe not all of it, but a massive fuck-off chunk of it at least.

And it is alright, he is okay, until something catches against his wound.

White hot agony, trailing up and down his entire spine.

Philza... Philza doesn't tense, doesn't scream, doesn't fight - his instincts are strong and his instincts have saved him before and he's just an injured, mutilated bird in the hands of a predator and for a moment all he knows is fucking pain and PLAY DEAD.

He doesn't tense at the pain, he goes limp. He can't even choose how his breathing catches - stopped in his throat, wings slack, body slack, unmoving and unresponsive as can be.

Someone calls his name, but blind pain and blind terror are winning, as in the certainty that he must survive. His name comes again, more frantic, then as a scream-

A scream.

A familiar scream that isn't his own and-

Oh, /fuck/, humans don't play dead in the same way, do they?

Through the pain and the fear and the hands on him it's hard, it's so hard - harder still when he hears running feet from else where and everything he is screams /predator, predator, predator/ - but he does it.

Philza takes a deep, loud, gasping, purposeful breath, forces his body to lock again, forces himself to stop playing, to breathe.

The wonderful voice above him stops screaming and starts sobbing, fingers tracing his jawline as he sobs over and over again.

The running feet stop, and there's a discussion in quick, panicked Spanish - too quick for any Philza, but especially for an injured one - before other hands are touching him, pressing him, assessing him.

His instincts are desperate but Philza remembers the screams before. The fight is exhausting, harder than it should be, but he forces himself to keep breathing, keep breathing, keep breathing. Just for the voice, just for the wonderful person who owns the voice and he knows means the world to him.

He tries to stay awake, he really does, but there's only so much he can do. He's tired, and breathing is /exhausting/, and the lovely voice belonging to a stupid but brilliant man isn't singing to him any more, and the longer he's here the more he realises he must actually, legitimately, be safe.

Safe, what a funny idea. But a nice one.

Philza gives in to temptation, and lets himself fade.

If he's safe, he can let consciousness be someone else's problem.

---

Philza wakes next to a warm pillow, and frozen blankets, and the distinct smell of honey tea. There's no singing this time, but familiar fingers trace his cheek and Philza feels them and thinks /Missa/.

There's a steady bip bip, and a sting, and his existence is cloudy with painkillers.

All of those sensations - every single one - adds up to /probably/ a good thing.

This time, awake, Philza manages to open his eyes. His vision is blurry, but the light is dim, and he's able to drink in the image of his husband above him sipping on a steaming mug.

Missa's eyes gaze vacantly into the distance. Philza does not chase them down. Instead he reaches up a shaking hand, just about managing to make it high enough to stroke Missa's cheek.

He sees Missa blink, and look down, and whisper "Phil?"

Philza can only gather so much strength, but he smiles his soft smile and mouths back "Missa".

---

A few hours and a nap later, Philza is sat against Missa's chest, and curled in his arms. They're both in an exhausted daze, Philza never having really quite left one, and Missa having been running on fear for too long. It strains the stitches a little, but not so much it bleeds, and Philza will live.

He's had the summary of what happened - Missa found him in the woods, bought him back, called for help healing him even as he cleaned and stitched the wound himself. There's talk of the poison, about it being new, and the struggle to synthesise an antidote before they ran out of blood they could give him.

From the haunted look in everyone's eyes, it was a fucking close run thing.

He'll have to thank Pac and Mike later, for that. He's already asked Fit to pass the message on, along with dropping his communicator off for cleaning, upgrade, and repairs, but, fuck, he knows the sort of toll the two are willing to put themselves through for people, and he knows he owes them.

He hopes Mike stopped Pac poisoning himself this time - Jesus Fucking Christ that man will be the death of Fit one of these days - and given the turn around might even be correct about it.

Silver lining - there's now an antidote for the next time someone runs into one of those fucks, and Aypierre is already working on a way to mass produce it.

And then there's Roier to thank, who might still give Missa side eye at times - and what even happened there - but who knows his way around the hospital /and/ seems to have kept his husband something approximating calm, and then Tubbo let slip they'd had to round up blood donations from everyone compatible to keep him alive and make up for the blood loss and, fuck, at this point he should probably get Chayanne to help him batch cook a /lot/ of shortbread to box up and hand around.

And then there's Missa, his Missa...

He's not sure /why/ Missa sang until his throat could barely function, especially when Philza was too unconscious to appreciate it, but...

But it was also Missa who found him, who saved him.

Philza presses a kiss to his fingers, then presses those fingers against Missa's throat.

"Hm?" Missa asks. "Phil?"

"Thank you," Philza shifts his hand, keeping the backs of his fingers against Missa's throat as he strokes along his chin with his thumb.

"I didn't do much," Missa whispers, his voice still suffering.

"You found me," Philza says. "You saved me."

"The... wolves?" his voice lilts slightly on the word - with Philza's communicator gone and head missing a significant proportion of blood assigned to it, they're stuck in English. "They found you."

"They would have eaten me, not saved me."

"No!" Missa's eyes widen, and arms tighten around him. "No, they are good- good boys!"

"I'm teasing," Philza promises, and maybe he is now but it had been a very genuine fear at the time. "I'm teasing, it's okay, I'm okay..."

He's not, he feels like death, and the painkillers he's been given will wear off soon. But, he's breathing, he's alive, and it doesn't look like that's changing any time soon.

Missa curls around him, hugging him close, protecting him from all sides. It's a position Philza is intimately familiar with, having done it so many times for his children.

"I was scared," Missa's voice breaks. "I was scared - you scared me."

"I'm sorry," and Philza /is/, he never - he's never wanted to be the cause of such worry, such fear. "Missa, I- I'm so sorry."

"You were dead," Missa says, the sobs free and almost drowning his struggling voice. "You were dead, in my arms. I held you dead in my arms."

A mistranslation? Philza wouldn't be here, if he were dead, he knows that much for sure.

"I'm right here," Philza promises, rather than call out his confusion; English is hard, and it's no time for a grammar lesson. "You got my dumb ass out of there, and got help. We're okay, I'm okay."

"Don't leave me," Missa answers. "You're- you're- banned! No leaving me, never leaving me."

Philza doesn't think his words are reaching through the tears; he pools his strength, and reaches up, and holds his husband close. Missa's arms wrap around his chest - not tight, moving as he breathes and clinging to that pace.

"We're okay," Philza whispers - despite the exhaustion, despite the pain, despite the catheter still in his arm just in case the bleeding restarts and he needs another transfusion, despite how controlling his body is like piloting sludge. "We're okay."

And maybe, this time, they will be.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp philza #qsmp missa #hurt/comfort #blood #major character injury #so uuuum I do know what happens here #but I didn't write Missa's PoV so....#i'll let you fill in the blanks #let's just say missa's english isn't that bad...#^-^#I waaaas going to have more scene where they talked after but... idk I liked this #also fun fact - missa has skeleton hands and so can't take someone's pulse #has no surface-level touch in his hands #he can feel pain if his bones break or you scratch them or make weird vibrations but that's nerves inside the bone #has none on the outside and bone too hard to shift with a pulse so...#cannot detect one

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