#heavy angst prompt
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Prompt #1,178
"Scream,"
"What?"
"Scream, shout, yell, cry, howl, wail,"
"I don't-"
"Trust me, it'll make you feel better,"
#writing#writing prompt#writing prompts#prompt#prompts#story prompt#story prompts#dialogue#dialogue prompt#dialogue prompts#angst#angst prompt#angst prompts#heavy angst#heavy angst prompt#heavy angst prompts#hurt/comfort#hurt/comfort prompt#hurt/comfort prompts#bittersweet#bittersweet prompt#bittersweet prompts
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Whump Prompt #1340
@skiny406 asked:
Would you do a prompt where caretaker and whumpee have a huge fight, and then whumpee is hurt (stabbed, poisoned, whatever you want) and tries to call caretaker but they just don’t answer (either is busy or just mad) and later they got to hear the VOICEMAILS.
I thought of a string of voicemails. Feel free to change them to suit your injury/situation!
“Hey it’s me, I know you don’t want to talk to me but I- fuck I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and If I can do anything, I will. I’ll uh- I’ll maybe talk to you later?”
“Hi [character], I hope you’re alright. Um. I know you don’t want to talk to me, and I do understand but- but I really need you to call me back.”
“I’m sorry. That’s selfish of me, you don’t need to call me back… it would just be good to hear your voice. I’m um, I’m sorry for everything. I hope you’re okay. Probably better than me right now, ha, but don’t worry, I’ll uh. I’ll be alright.”
“Fuck, ouch, alright. Hey [character], ah, would you- could- maybe call me back? It’s um. Shit I’m sorry, it’s not important, I’ll try [another character] again.”
*starts with the whumpee gasping for breath* “H- hi, it’s me, please, I know you’re mad, and you don’t want to talk to me again but I- I really need you to call me back.”
“Alright. Message received. You’re pissed at me- you’re fucking pissed and I’m sorry, alright? Just- pick up the phone. Please. I-I’m in trouble again.”
*there’s a pause with just some breathing. There are voices in the background.*
“Heeeyyy [character], sorry about the last one. Pocket dial hahah! Must have done it when I sat down.” *they stop to cough, it’s hacking and wheezy.* “I’m sorry. I really am- I shouldn’t have shouted at you, you didn’t deserve that. I’m in a bit of trouble… it’s’all a bit blurry, but- but I managed to get here on my own. Call me back… please?”
“It’s um. It’s not looking good. I- I just want to say I’m sorry, again, I truly am.” They’re gasping now, perhaps crying. “I’m sorry….”
“This is [nurses name] calling from [the hospital], [whumpee] has you listed as their emergency contact. Please call this number as soon as you’re available.”
*there’s another message. Just voices and the whirring of machines. Maybe some crying. There’s a muffled curse before it cuts off again.*
“… I miss you.”
“Do you miss me? I- I understand if you don’t. Just tell me you’re okay, please?”
“I can go home tomorrow. I’ve been given the all clear, I’m sorry for scaring you. I’ll um. I’ll leave you alone. I um. I understand, I’m a mess. You were right. Just - no - don’t call me back.”
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mentally gone... (miguel o'hara x gender neutral! reader)
in which y/n suffers a brain injury, in a coma, and miguel loses his one and only.
WARNING: angst, suffering, trauma, near death experience (?)
part 2, part 1
miguel felt something break inside of him. he heard something shatter. maybe it was the sound of his heart breaking into millions of pieces he just didn’t know what to do. he just lost someone so important to him again. this can’t be. no not this again…
“no, no, NO!” he yelled out, “this can’t be…you mean to tell me they lost their memories?!” he didn’t know what to do but just stare at the doctor. he did not want to believe anything he just heard from the doctor saying you had amnesia. he did know you hit your head hard onto the ground but he just did not want to consider that possibility at all. he wanted all of this to be a wicked nightmare. oh god, he just wanted it to just be a nightmare. ‘please be a nightmare’ miguel begged to his brain…but he had to face the reality of it all. it was indeed not a nightmare.
miguel began to cry as he walked by your side. you looked at him as you furrowed your brows as you were so confused at the fact a stranger was crying over you. you didn’t know what to do but wince at the headache that you had as you held your head in your hands feeling the fabric of the bandages that were wrapped around you head. you looked up at him again and started to feel somewhat bad for him. he was distraught and a mess. miguel came closer to you as he fell down onto his knees besides your hospital bed and became to apologize profusely in between sobs.
“i—i’m so so s-orry, this is all my fault,” he held his face in his hands still on the edge of you bed. you were stunned to say the least and felt various emotions clash with one another in your heart. this was all too much for you, and you didn’t even recognize the poor man who was crying over you. you wanted to say something anything to get this man to stop crying.
you cautiously reached out to him as you put your hand on his shoulder. he immediately looked up to you as he shakily wiped his tears as his chest rose up and down viciously. you could tell he was shaking so badly. you felt bad. “i’m trying my hardest to remember but i can’t it hurts to try to recall any of my memories.” that’s all you’ve managed to say and his face fell to one of the horrors you would see in a horror movie. he was mortified towards the fact that you may never ever recognize him ever again or even if you did you probably wouldn’t feel the same way you once did for him ever again.
“please, it’s okay y/n…i’ll do my best for you to remember me again.” miguel said his voice quaking as he pleaded. he was looking for any signs that may indicate that you might remember quite literally anything but none were evident. a few more tears began to cascade down his chiseled face as he sniffled. he had dried tear stains on his face from his previous tears but all of that was washed clean with new ones. he reached out to grab a hand from you but you slightly flinched from his touch so he gently retrieved it back.
you stood there silent. you were confused and conflicted with a man who was promising you to make you remember. a man who was devoted to make you somewhat bring back your memories that have been blocked for who knows how long. how are you supposed to trust a man who you don’t even know? do you just take his word for it or deny him? “i just don’t know.” you muttered under your breath.
miguel was clinging on the last threads of hope. his stomach churned at your words and god did they stab him deep in the heart. he wanted to just hold you so tightly but he didn’t because he did not want to overstep your boundaries because after all you weren’t the same person he once fell in love with. you were a whole new person. miguel knew he needed to respect that as much as he did not want to accept it.
he took shallow deep breaths as he stood up on his own feet. most of the air he breathed did not fill his lungs properly. he would clench and unclench his fists as a way to sooth his internal aching. “i understand how you feel but please i’ll make you remember us. we had it all…god i’m such a fucking fool for never telling you that i loved you…”
“you loved me?”
“yes. yes i did and i still do. i’ll do anything i can to make you fall back in love with me.”
“i—i don’t know.” you knew he had to give it up now but you did not know that miguel was the type of person to never give up. he knew this time he had to try his very best to bring back the person he once loved. he did not care if it would take him years to make you fall for him. he just didn’t care because what he was not going to do was give up. at the very least you were alive but you weren’t the person miguel knew. you seemed unbothered and confused and in a way lifeless even though your soul was still intact. in a sense a part of you did die when you were knocked unconscious and fell off a building.
miguel left your room and gave you one last glance through the window of your hospital room and disappeared. you felt a twinge of sadness in your heart as you felt alone in your hospital room that was filled by beeps of the machines and the sound of the IV dropping from the bag. you didn’t understand why you felt that way but you did, but you brushed off that feeling as you looked up at the ceiling trying to remember. nothing came to mind.
miguel was consumed by his loneliness and that loneliness turned into angry outbursts. everyone noticed the slight change in miguel’s mannerisms and random emotional outbursts. he was a broken man just trying to make sense of it all while the responsibility of the multiverse were at his shoulders. jess and peter, even gwen and hobie tried to stir clear of his wrath. everyone was quite afraid to make him angry but you did not know that. you did not know anything that was going on. you were kept in the dark even though people would visit you.
this was a battle that you and miguel were facing alone. who will overcome their battles and who will lose?
…
a/n: let me know if you want me to continue this <3
@omartheuwu @arianyo
#spiderman atsv#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x y/n#miguel spiderman#spider man: across the spider verse#spider person#atsv x reader#spidersona#ao3 works#angst prompt#heavy angst#🌱 lin writes
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Bitter
I'm putting the tags here because of the content warning.
Thank you for the prompt @calaisreno
Tagging @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @jrow @thetimemoves @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely and anyone else who wants to play.
Content warning: This ficlet contains something that could reasonably be interpreted as a suicide attempt. This gets dark, though it has a hopeful ending. Please proceed with caution.
John is drunk.
John is so far past drunk.
There’s not a word in his vocabulary for how far past drunk he is. And if it was, he certainly wouldn’t know it now.
He’s sitting in the dark on the floor in 221B, leaning against his chair. All around him, shards of glass litter the room. First he threw the whisky glass when it slipped out of his fingers. Then he threw the bottle when it was empty. Then he threw the vases with flowers left over from Sherlock’s funeral.
There’s a shard of glass cutting into his calf. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t feel much anymore, which is a blessing, really, because everything hurts. His chest burns with the alcohol and the tears that just won’t fall. The bitterness burns down his throat all the way down to his stomach, which is rebelling from too much alcohol and too little food.
He doesn’t remember when he last ate. Or drank something other than whisky. He’s been back at 221B for hours, and he’s lost any sense of time.
He just wants to pass out in this ruined flat, his ruined life. Maybe he’ll choke on his own vomit during the night.
What a fitting end for the most useless person on the planet.
Why can he never save anyone he cares about? His father, dead at forty, unable or unwilling to stop drinking and smoking and driving while drunk, which was what got him in the end. His mother, ovarian cancer, dead at fifty. All the hospital visits and experimental treatments and doctors he dragged her to and then she died when he was on his second tour. Heart attack. From the chemo, they said. The chemo he talked her into. She hadn’t wanted another round. He’d convinced her. And then she died, and he wasn’t there. Harry never forgave him. He lost her to the bottle not long after.
And now Sherlock. Died before his very eyes, and John, useless, worthless John Watson, was unable to stop him.
“Fuck,” he mutters, and takes another swig from the almost empty whisky bottle.
Maybe he should stop drinking.
But he can still feel it. The pain. It permeates every cell of his body, right down to the very marrow of his bones. It never stops, not when he’s awake, at least. It’s like a scream that’s trapped in his body, cutting him up from the inside. The sound he couldn’t make when Sherlock jumped.
He takes another sip. “And fuck you very much, too,” he whispers, then throws the bottle directly at Sherlock’s chair.
The anger is almost as bad as the pain. It burns up and down his throat, bitter and hot and destructive. How could you do this to me? How could you leave me? How could you make me watch, make me complicit in your death?
It doesn’t matter. There’s no answer. There will never be an answer.
He puts a palm to the floor, tries to stand up. The glass cuts into his skin. It feels good, this actual physical pain. He slips and falls down as he tries to get up, too dizzy to move.
He’s dimly aware that this is bad. It’s really bad. He can’t get up, he can’t see straight. He can’t really speak anymore.
He takes out his mobile with shaky fingers, hits speed dial 3, drops the phone onto the floor.
It rings, rings, rings.
Someone picks up.
“John?”
He tries to answer and can’t.
The last thing he’s aware of is the door opening and Mrs Hudson’s scream.
*-*
Hands on him. Emergency lights. Someone is yelling his name. He thinks it’s Lestrade.
He vomits all over the ambulance.
A quiet voice asks someone whether there was a note.
Fuck, John thinks, and passes out again.
*-*
They wake him several times over the next few hours. He remembers almost nothing, just anonymous faces asking his name, what year it is, and who’s Prime Minister. They prod him and shine lights into his eyes.
He falls asleep again, dimly aware that he fucked up, but too exhausted to care.
*-*
The next time he wakes up, he must have been asleep for some time, because the clock on the wall and the light coming in from outside say it’s early evening.
He’s in a small, white hospital room. It’s very quiet.
Sherlock Holmes is sitting next to his bed. His clothes are dishevelled, he hasn’t shaved or bathed in several days, his face is pale as death and his eyes are red from crying.
John swallows and winces. His parched throat hurts infernally, he has a monster headache, his hands are bandaged and he feels like a car ran him over, then backed up and took another pass.
So he’s clearly alive.
But he must have lost his mind, somehow. Happens. Psychotic break. He’s heard of it.
Sherlock looks terrible. Not only physically, but for the first time since John has known him, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do next. He looks lost.
“Funny,” he rasps, his voice shot to shit from alcohol and vomiting. “I thought I’d imagine you like you were, you know, all put together. Maybe you look like shit because I feel like shit.”
Sherlock looks up and stares at him, wordlessly. He looks devastated. He blinks a few times, and John realises he’s crying.
“Why are you crying, exactly?” John asks, the slight slur to his words reminding him that the alcohol is still making its way out of his system. “I’m the one who’s gone round the bend, after all.”
Sherlock gently stands up and takes a plastic cup with a straw from the nightstand. “The doctor said you need to hydrate,” he says, and his voice sounds no better than John’s, rough and unsteady.
He holds the straw to John’s mouth and John drinks greedily, grateful for the stale water that runs down his parched throat like the sweetest nectar. “For an illusion, you’re surprisingly helpful,” John says after he’s emptied the cup.
Sherlock puts the cup down on the nightstand and hovers on the side of John’s bed. He hesitates briefly, then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to John’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, breath hitching with a muffled sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mutters again and again, hands coming to rest on John’s shoulders.
John blinks as slowly, very slowly, realisation dawns.
Oh god.
“You-” he chokes out, throat closing up with an unnameable tangle of emotions, griefangerjoyragerelief all mingled together. “You-”
“I know, I’m sorry, there’s so much I need to tell you, I’m just so glad you’re alive,” Sherlock babbles, his lips still pressed to John’s forehead.
Anger rears its head out of the tangle and flows bitterly up John’s throat. “Get. Out,” he grates out between clenched teeth. “Get. The fuck. Out.”
Sherlock moves back. Removes his hands from John’s shoulders. He takes a step back from the bed, and he looks so - human, so - fuck, alive -
“Wait,” John chokes out, feeling the tears finally come, finally release out of his chest, that ugly ball of angerguiltgriefpain starting to soften, “Wait -”
Sherlock’s back in an instant, and John doesn’t know exactly how it’s happening, but he’s got his arms around Sherlock and Sherlock is sobbing into his shoulder and he’s sobbing into Sherlock’s chest, and they’re a mess of limbs and snot and muttered, broken words that make no sense. Sherlock climbs into bed with him, shoes and all. He’s filthy and he stinks and he’s a sniffling mess, but John wraps his arms around him and breathes in the rank smell of his hair. Slowly, his breathing calms. Sherlock rearranges them so John’s head is resting on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock carefully pulls John’s arm over his chest so as to not disturb the IV line.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” John mutters into Sherlock’s chest, exhausted and still half-drunk and nearly delirious with relief.
“I know,” Sherlock mutters into John’s hair. “I have a lot of making up to do.”
“That too,” John slurs, already half asleep again.
Sherlock’s fingers card through his hair, soothing and gentle. “Go to sleep, John. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Promise?”
“Swear.”
John nods against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock’s heart is beating right beneath his ear. He can feel his ribcage move as he breathes in and out. Alive, alive, alive.
John falls asleep to that sound, knowing that things won’t be fine right away, but they will be eventually.
Sherlock Holmes lives. Now John Watson can as well.
Sorry this got so dark, you guys. I promise a fluff bomb tomorrow.
#cw: suicide#alcohol abuse#sherlock#ficlet#johnlock#heavy angst with a hopeful ending#be warned#please heed the warnings here people#may prompts#bitter#cw: Self harm
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For @the-ghost-sin : They had an angst prompt for Meliodas and I decided to give it a try!
‼️TW‼️ self inflicted harm
i tasted blood (and knew it was yours)
After the first death, Meliodas knew he couldn’t bear to see her again. Let alone breathe her air or walk the ground she used to walk. How could he live in the world without her?
After grave number seven, Meliodas began to doubt that he was alive. He pinched himself and wrung his hands together. Paranoia clung to him like a leech draining his blood–how would the next reincarnation greet him?
By grave fifteen his eyes had sunken into their sockets, his hands coated in her blood. He’d been walking for centuries searching for a way to escape the hell he’d been trapped in. That was when he came across a lake crested with giant hogweed. Initially the flower reminded him of her, but when he smelt the poison lingering in the sappy petals an idea formed in his mind.
Meliodas coated his fingers in the sap. Thousands of thoughts tore through his brain in an instant, but one lingered far longer than the others. This is hell. I can’t bear to see her again. Not again, not again, not again.
He brought his fingers to his eyes and rubbed the sap into his eyelids. His screams echoed through the forest in waves, his head aching.
Meliodas couldn’t see the sixteenth, but he could sense her. She was a breath of fresh air, a woman kind enough to help the struggling blind man find his way from her family's lake. Day in and day out, he would feel her hands guide him room to room. His fingertips would trace the features of her face that he had memorized. Meliodas felt like he was living.
Until he wasn’t.
Until Elizabeth awoke screaming in agony.
He inhaled the warm, sticky smell of her blood. He was trapped in hell again.
Meliodas held the kitchen knife to his ear. Hesitance was his only enemy in this moment—he could not bear hearing it. Elizabeth’s screams were joined with another as the knife drove deep into his ear. He could hear the pop of his eardrums and then…
Silence.
By the forty-fifth Meliodas was no longer human. He was a shell of a man, missing his sight and hearing. He was the town outcast—but not to Elizabeth. Elizabeth taught him how to live as he was. She was a librarian this time, and books caught fire much faster than cheese and wine.
The roaring fire blazed before him��he could feel the waves of warmth break across his skin—and a sheen of sweat covered his face. Meliodas was unable to breathe without her. How could he?
He stepped toward the fire and his body grew hotter and hotter until his clothes were set ablaze and his skin seared with pain.
Seventy-six came to his rescue. Every doctor had given up on his recovery. All but her.
He couldn’t see, or hear, or feel her. But he just knew she was there at his side. She held his hand even though he couldn’t provide her any comfort. All he could do was sit and sense when she was and when she wasn’t with him.
Then the room was empty.
And that smell drafted through the hospital.
That sticky, heavy smell of metal.
And when he parted his lips, he tasted blood on his tongue knowing it was hers.
#meliodas#meliodas needs a hug#elizabeth liones#angst#heavy angst#nnt fanfic#writing prompt#7ds#fanfic#no happy ending
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May I request Villain rescuing Hero from Supervillain, who’s been drugging, harming, and using Hero for their (and their friends’) personal enjoyment please (you can include a “the previous night” scene if you’re into writing the spice)? Villain taking them home, giving them large clothes and blankets to cover all their skin and to hide away in, reteaching them boundaries and reassuring them they won’t ever let anyone hurt them that way again—bonus points if they have to undress Hero to clean their wounds and Hero is terrified :D All the fluff and angst you’d like, feel free to make it as long as you want, I’m not afraid to read >:) No pressure ofc!
tw: mention of sa
“Do you want more soup?” the villain asked. They knew they had to be patient with the hero. It hadn’t even been 24 hours and the hero was still shaking.
They hadn’t spoken much.
Communication only worked with nodding or shaking their head which also answered the villain’s question in this moment.
“No soup, okay. Got it,” the villain said. Though their homemade chicken soup wasn’t the best, it was a great improvement regarding their poor cooking skills. Which was why they’d thought the hero would like it. “I think it’s time to clean your wounds though.”
Usually, the villain used pet names. A lot. But ever since they’d saved the hero yesterday, they’d bitten their tongue when it came to that.
The hero stared at the ground, not really registering what the conversation was about. They looked helpless, hurt, devastated. The once happy and kind hero was an empty shell. All the villain wanted was to restore their sunshine hero. Hell, even if it took decades, they’d do it.
“I think a bath is best for you, what do you think?”
“I thought I had them,” the hero said quietly and the villain couldn’t stop their head from snapping up. They looked at their tired hero. They’d heard rumours about what happened at the supervillain’s lair. Those rumours had led them to the hero in the first place. What exactly had happened was still something they wanted to figure out.
But that could wait. The hero’s health was more important right now.
“I thought I had power, I thought I was controlling the situation. I was undercover but they…” The hero was silent again, blinking tears out of their eyes.
“Hey, easy,” the villain tried. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“They touched me. I laughed it off at first because it could’ve been a mistake. They were touching my thigh and they didn’t stop and I was so scared, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to blow my cover but then—”
“You’re spiralling. We don’t have to talk about it.” The villain wanted to touch their cheek reassuringly. But they couldn’t. The hero must’ve been traumatised. So the villain didn’t want to trigger anything.
“They used me. They used me like a toy you can throw away,” the hero whispered. By now, tears were streaming down their face. This was enough. The villain couldn’t take this any longer.
“This is hurting you. Let’s focus on something else for a while, alright?”
“I thought it couldn’t get any worse when they touched me. But then, others joined in and they were praising me and encouraging me but I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be touched. I didn’t want to do it.” The hero’s bottom lip trembled. Their voice was breaking. “They drugged me. Made me be compliant and nice. I remember the feeling of waking up and hating myself for it.”
The villain took in a deep breath.
“It’s not your fault,” they said.
“But if I had—”
“No,” the villain answered calmly. “It’s not your fault.”
They glanced over the hero’s body, making sure they were as comfortable as one could be in such conditions.
“I thought breaking the supervillain’s kneecaps was enough of a punishment. But it’s not. I’ll take care of that matter,” the villain said after assessing the situation. “For now, I need to clean your wounds. Can you help me with that? Can you lift your shirt?”
“Yeah,” the hero answered. They were breathing heavily, clearly not comfortable.
“I won’t hurt you. We’re enemies but no one does this to my hero. No one. You’re safe, okay?” The villain was furious. So fucking furious they could’ve screamed. Using someone in such a way…they’d never thought this could happen to the hero.
The hero whispered another “okay” and lifted their shirt.
And the villain got to work.
#I usually don’t use tws but this is some heavy stuff#writing snippet#heroxvillain prompt#heroxvillain snippet#heroes and villains#hero#villain#hero x villain#heroxvillain#an answer for an ask#request#angst#h/c#whump#tw:sexual assault
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“You know, I’m not really worried about who’s screwing who in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. Kinda seems irrelevant in retrospect.” Steve says as they both watch the sun rise over the quarry.
“Kinda sucks that it would take fighting in an apocalypse together for you to be okay with me being gay, Harrington.” Eddie pushes some rocks over the edge, not making eye contact.
“Jesus, no. That’s not what I'm saying. It's just like— I see all these people I care about going through the world's most awful shit, and I can’t help but think if they could just find a little bit of happiness in all of this, then it shouldn’t matter where it comes from. As long as we aren’t hurting anybody, who cares? I don’t think—No. I know that even if the world weren’t ending, I would always end up here.” Steve leans his head on his knee and gazes at Eddie’s face. Although Steve had only gotten to really know him over the past six months, it seemed like Eddie had aged years.
It isn’t that Eddie looked old or wrinkly. It is just that Eddie provides this atmosphere of knowing too much for too long. He seemed tired. Strange because Steve doesn’t think he’s seen anyone more beautiful.
“What? Always end up in a fenced-off Hawkins waiting for your inevitable doom next the town freak?”
Steve resists correcting Eddie’s dig at himself; he knows after all this time it won’t do any good. “No, not that. We all know out of all of us, Dustin would have seen this coming.”
Eddie laughs, “You got that right.”
Steve picks at his worn combat boots, the leather mixing with the dirt. “I think that something would have to lead me to understand that. It was inevitable for me to learn. That happiness, no matter how it comes to us, shouldn’t be taken for granted. There is so much pain in this world, and it’s so easy to do that, to cause pain. To hurt. To hate. It's hard to love, even harder to find happiness in that. I think people don’t choose who they love, but they might choose who they hate. I'm not sure I'm making a whole lot of sense. Robin tells me I just say what I think, and that I don't think before I say.”
Eddie hums, “Yea, but I like it. It's honest. Doesn't have to make sense, to be honest.”
Steve smiles, “I guess what I’m saying is. I always needed this. In every version of every universe, in order to be happy.”
Eddie finally turns his head towards Steve. It isn’t a snap of the neck like he expects. No, it’s a slow, careful turn, as if Eddie is wading through water. Is so sure and practiced in a place he wouldn’t normally be. “To be happy? You mean—you mean you couldn’t be happy unless you understood your friends? Like me?”
“Sure, maybe that too.”
“Too?” Eddie swallows, eyes never leaving Steve’s.
“Think I wouldn’t ever been happy, not understanding these parts of myself. Never would have known anything other than hate. Because it was just easier.”
Eddie scoots closer and dares to ask, “Never learned to love?”
Steve slides himself across the damp morning dew on the grass. He breaks eye contact first but brushes Eddie’s pinky. “Yea, never would have learned to love.”
Eddie looks forwards but claps their hands together, closing the remaining distance between them. The orange glow of dawn seeps into baby blue; Eddie rests his head on Steve's shoulders and sighs contently.
Steve gently kisses the top of Eddie’s head. “The end of the world doesn’t seem too bad when you have someone to share it with.”
#steddie#stranger things#zombie apocalypse#its the end of the world and all I want is you#steve harrington#zombie apocolypse au#alternate universe#eddie munson#steve harrington needs a hug#dialogue snippet#dialogue heavy#my writing#writing prompt#angst#hurt comfort#ao3#ficlet
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A villains anguish
Summary: Where the villain watches the love of their life get killed by the hero, This is how I interpreted the pain that the villain would feel. When they saw their Beloved fall to the ground with a knife buried into their chest, piercing their precious skin.
As the villain watches the love of their life fall victim to the hero's blade, a searing anguish engulfs their soul. The knife's cold steel pierces not only their beloved's heart but also their own, carving a wound that will never heal.
The memories of their time together, once vivid and warm, now haunt them like fading echoes in the dark. The pain they feel is akin to falling into a bottomless abyss, an abyss of despair and grief, where the weight of loss pulls them deeper and deeper.
With each heartbeat, the agony intensifies, as if they, too, are slowly bleeding out, their life ebbing away in tandem with their beloved. The world around them blurs into a haze of desolation, and the air they breathe feels like shards of glass cutting into their lungs.
The very essence of their being burns, consumed by the searing pain of that moment, as if they are both burning alive in the crucible of tragedy. In that fateful night, both hero and villain lost more than just lives; they lost the chance for happiness, and in its place, they found only the unrelenting torment of their shattered dreams.
In that moment, a harsh reminder pierced my shattered heart, echoing through the depths of my despair. It was a cruel revelation, one that had plagued my existence as a villain – the bitter truth that happiness, love, and the girl of my dreams were elusive mirages meant for others.
As the echoes of the past and the pain of the present converged, I realized that my path, my choices, had led me to this desolate juncture where dreams withered and crumbled. In the narrative of heroes and villains, I was destined to remain on the shadowed side, forever denied the tender embrace of love and the warmth of happiness. The hero might have the glory, but I, will get my revenge.
I promised my beloved that if anything were to happen to them that I would burn the world down. And now that the hero's knife pierced their beautiful skin, I am to burn this world down with the hero and everything they love.
#writing prompt#heavy angst#kylo ren angst#kylo ren headcanons#kylo ren imagine#kylo ren fanfiction#kylo ren imagines#dark kylo ren x reader
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@clonefandomevents
This is our fill for "reunion". :)
In which the wyrm didn't show up, and Hunter and Crosshair got to finish their... "talk."
#star wars#star wars fanfiction#fanfiction#prompt: reunion#the bad batch#bad batch#badbatchbingo#bad batch bingo#crosshair#hunter#pov hunter#angst#heavy angst#tbb season 3#hurt no comfort#sibling drama
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@badthingshappenbingo
This is our fill for "Kidnapping". ^-^
On Bracca, Crosshair corners Hunter and Omega before they can get aboard the Marauder and retrieve the others. Reasoning doesn't work, not with the chip in and Hunter already injured. After shooting Hunter and leaving him to die, Crosshair takes Omega to Kamino, to lure the rest of the Batch into a trap.
#star wars#star wars fanfiction#fanfiction#prompt: injuries/sickness#the bad batch#bad batch#bad batch bingo#badbatchbingo#hunter#tech#wrecker#crosshair#echo#omega#wings#wing au#bracca#everyone needs a hug#angst#heavy angst#hurt hunter#hurt/comfort#friendship#family#hopeful ending#fandom: star wars#fandom: the bad batch#prompt: Kidnapping
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Prompt #1,206
"I don't know my name. I don't know my favorite color. I don't even know what I had for breakfast this morning, but I do know that at some point, I was somebody,"
#writing#writing prompt#writing prompts#prompt#prompts#story prompt#story prompts#dialogue#dialogue prompt#dialogue prompts#angst#angst prompt#angst prompts#heavy angst#heavy angst prompt#heavy angst prompts#hurt/comfort#hurt/comfort prompt#hurt/comfort prompts#forgotten#forgotten prompt#forgotten prompts
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Whump Prompt #1265
Anon asked:
TW: Sports injuries
Maybe prompts for whump related to sports?? Could be an injury on the field/court, or even as far as the star athlete being poisoned or sabotaged by the other team.
I can give it a go!
You could start off with the 'aftermath' of the injury. Perhaps when the whumpee is in the hospital or at home. Maybe they've gone back to the place of the incident to work out what happened (maybe they're struggling with fever, and take it upon themselves to go back.)
The day started out normally, they had their usual breakfast and went about their warm ups. There was nothing that could have gone wrong...
But it did. It so unequivocally did, and now they're nursing injuries they may not recover from.
Maybe there's still bloodstains where it happened.
Maybe their whole life revolved around being the best, and now they're so setback they start to doubt their future - they have to learn to be something/someone else. (Or so they think)
I could imagine the whumpee to be quite emotional too - either just generally depressed or very angry at themselves.
Maybe it was an accident, maybe it was deliberate, but above all the whumpee blames themselves.
#whump#writing#prompts#sports injury#angst#injuries#fever#severe injury#sports injury tw#tw just in case#injury recovery#recovery#heavy angst#emotional whump
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slipping through his fingers
warning!! gore(not that descriptive but still) death! blood, trauma, angst </3
“fuck, no!” miguel’s heart sank to the pits of hell. how could this have happened? why? just why does he lose everyone around him. just why? he reacted quickly not losing any more seconds as he dove right off the building trying to catch you. you were knocked unconscious by some random villain you both were fighting against. for gods sake you were a spider person yet you still couldn’t avoided getting knocked out but some villain who had no use. it all happened way to fast, even the best would probably fall victim to it in the intensity of the moment.
you were slipping through his fingers. no matter how hard he tried to “speed” up the drag of the air was pushing up against him. miguel dove for you not thinking twice all he cared about was to get you safe in his grasp. hands were itching to grab onto your body to prevent you from your ultimate demise. all he could hear was the sound of the wind bellowing against his body. his thoughts were going a hundred miles per hour. he cannot lose the love of his life. his heart was hammering against his chest. my god did he want to scream and cry but he held those emotions in. miguel was praying to whatever may be in control of his destiny to help him save you.
but alas, even the greatest heroes can’t always save everyone. he saw the way your body went limp. bones pinched the muscles. and your awaited death came. he heard the thud of your body smack the floor at full velocity. the view was horrid…he wanted to look away but he couldn’t. a sickening feeling embraced miguel. he quickly took off his mask and hurled at the side. the smell of death was there. but sook miguel sobs broke out. he couldn’t contain himself as he fell onto his knees in front of you. you were gone. how could he have lost someone again? even if he were to try to use a web of his, your back would’ve snapped because of the velocity your body was going at. he wanted to think he could save you but that wasn’t how the rules of his reality worked. he was so stupid and he felt guilty for not protecting you. he should’ve killed the villain right there and then but they had long gone escaped. he quickly embraced your body as blood pooled all over his suit and arms. “y/n…i’m so sorry.”
he screamed in agony, and he started to heave. he couldn’t breathe properly and his whole body shook violently. the smell of your blood was prominent and it was nauseating for him. god he wanted to die on the spot, but help came. jessica and peter b, saw you lying on the floor lifeless and rushed over to console miguel. the atmosphere was thick, and death lingered near by. soon it started to rain. of course it would rain. it would always rain when someone would pass away…as if the sky was mourning over your death. it was a cold cold night. the night miguel had lost the love of his life.
…
a/n: you ain’t gonna gwen stacy me
#spiderman atsv#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x reader#spider man: across the spider verse#miguel spiderman#spider person#atsv x reader#miguel o’hara x y/n#spidersona#ao3 works#heavy angst#angst prompt#miguel angst#love and death#atsv imagines#🌱 lin writes
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Lifespan Angst Prompt List
Dialogue
“It’s not til death do us part for us, is it? It’s until death takes you from me.”
“I’m not supposed to have to live without you.”
“I’ll never forget you.”
“I wish we could do this together.”
“I’ve known about this from the start, but it doesn’t make it easier.”
“How could you still love an old (man/woman/person) like me?”
“I wish this could be forever.”
“You’re just as beautiful as the day I met you.”
“I’m so thankful for the time we got.”
“Is that all we are in the end? A tragedy?”
“I know it’s stupid, but I still don’t want you to leave me.”
“It’s not fair. None of this is fair.”
“The joy of loving you is worth the pain of leaving/losing you.”
“What we built together is yours, now.”
“You’ll still be here to tell them about us, even decades after I leave.”
“That’s the worst part. There will be a me after you.”
“Why would you ever agree to such a tragedy as falling in love with me?”
“I’m not ready.”
“I know I’ll lose you someday but please, not yet.”
“I hate watching you cry for me.”
“I’m not worried for me. I just hate the thought of leaving you all alone.”
“I’ll never let them forget you.”
“What if I wake up one morning and don’t remember your laugh?”
“A life with you is a life well lived.”
“You are the one great love of my life, but it’s okay if I am one of many loves in yours.”
“I’ll miss this. All of this.”
Situations
The first time they truly realize they’re destined to outlive their partner.
The first time they realize their partner will live a large part of their life without them.
A conversation early in the relationship, in which they face the reality that one will live far longer than the other.
Someone confronting the couple about the lifespan difference, and though one shuts down, the other quickly and violently assures them that this relationship is worth the later heartbreak.
A near death experience involving the partner meant to live longer, shaking the faith of the shorter lived partner.
A major life development/change suddenly reminding them of their difference in lifespan.
The short lived partner giving their partner a gift “for after.”
The long lived partner helping their partner through a painful/unpleasant early sign of aging.
Taking notes on the smaller details of their partner, desperate not to forget in the years they’ll live after them.
Revisiting the early moments of their relationship as one partner ages.
Someone making a disparaging comment about how the short lived partner aged, and the long lived partner showering them in compliments.
An unspoken “last” between the two.
The moment when the long lived partner knows the short lived partner doesn’t have long.
A tradition the longer lived partner upholds for decades after the shorter lived partner passes.
A moment when the prospect of potentially loving again enters the longer lived partner’s life, even if they refuse it.
#lifespan angst#heavy angst#cw major character death#cw character death#prompt list#prompt meme#I think lifespan angst is underrated tbh#hence the list
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prompt 36 janine x gregory
This was for the soft prompts meme, “giggling during sex.” I don’t tend to write smut, so this is not smut. It’s very vague and short lol. This is the end of the road for the soft prompts for me, I think, though I’d gotten two others, but tbf they were Janine/Gregory for pajamas and bed hair and it looks like we’re getting that in the finale anyway!
+++
Gregory doesn’t know why he’s surprised by the laughter. He doesn’t even know if he’s actually surprised by the laughter, or just delighted. That’s how it is with Janine sometimes. Most of the time.
Janine giggles when Gregory trails his lips down her neck and chest, laughs even between her gasps. The laughter is nervous at first, which makes him nervous, but it loosens up quickly. It’s not constant after a couple of minutes, just occasional, comforting, comfortable.
He even ends up giggling too when she nearly elbows him in the face halfway through their first time together. It doesn’t feel embarrassing or off-putting, it feels right, like there’s nothing wrong with their moments of awkwardness as they’re just starting to get to know each other’s bodies as deeply as they’ve wanted to for so long.
Gregory knows he’s a serious person, knows he can get lost in his head even in these moments, but being with Janine brings him back.
#abbott elementary#abbott elementary fic#fic prompt meme#hopefully this is something tho#janinegregory#janine teagues#gregory eddie#abbott elementary spoilers#not in the fic but bc i mentioned the finale#rn i’m in my usual mood which is wanting to write h/c or heavy angst probably gen
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