#Major Injury Tw

[yabusunny]

morpho butterfly

[wheresthewarriorcats]

snowtuft

i had no idea who he was growing up but the AMVs about him back then popped so hot

[thesoulesscollection]

Soul, I must have missed it, but what happened to Choc's mouth?

Ooh, I don't think I've ever explained this in posts about him so here it is. Also, I realized that Choc has a lot of mouth trauma. Though I'm still working out his entire design, it may not be the most accurate representation. 

If anyone else wants to know more about him I don't mind sharing some ‘lore’ of Choc. 

There've been a lot of unreliable stories that float around the clan about how he got them, how he got all his scars in general but those around his face are the one that drew in the most attention for people. Now it's relatively unknown which is the true story in the midst of the fabrication as Choc himself tends to play along. He's a good storyteller and can do so with a straight, poker face. 

Sometime in his late thirties it'd appeared to have happened during his long stint away from the clan. He offhandedly detailed it as  needing too serious other than having to help his sister and that stuff went down. But in his return came the fresh gnarly scars traveling up his face up his cheekbone like a mockery of a smile. It wasn't the only thing though as his teeth have been replaced with a gold set,  then both his tongue and gums were stained a permanent black color. Overall people find his smile creepily uncanny and grossly weird while others simply got used to it, finding him to be the same goofy old man.

Though over time, people did smarten up, to realize it's likely to be an illness that went to affect him. An ailment that affected his taste and overall hunger when he suddenly lost a hugely unhealthy amount of weight and muscle. 

Weird and gross fact; he can actually open up his mouth a lot like a snake unhinging its jaw with his tongue being abnormally longer than normal. 

[doctordonovan]

[ 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 ] : sender carries injured receiver to safety.

somewhere between death  &&  life,  between injury and healing,  between humanity and nothingness.   ( she should have mentioned it earlier  -  when things first went wrong on own end  -  when realisation came that everything was beyond out of control.  )    yet she knows her captain  &&   carol,  deep down,  knows how her first officer is,   it's why they've always worked so well.  both reckless with their care for others...  both the first to take full blast of whatever is coming their way to ensure ship flies at it must. 

there is too much good to be done,  too much to be learnt  -  they're just puzzle pieces in a much bigger picture.

green blood seems to stain them both.   half dried,  half fresh,  constant still even if now it only trickles like dying stream.  she should have told @danversiism back when first impact came and yet blonde would have been in impossible position,  a choice no captain should never have to make.   a choice no friend should have to make.  there's no need for romulan's touch empathy to know the worry flooding through other,  to know how once she's put down the contact moving hair stuck to face is desperately checking to ensure air still finds its way through lungs.

she's fine,  scientist wants to promise,  pointless muscle memory when consciousness and sleep all taste the same.  she's fine,  she'll be fine,   it's just a scratch.  but reassurances need a voice to be heard  &&   it requires far more than she has left within herself.

[wvsteria]

@withinthem

"I've given you a thousand reasons to abandon me, but you haven't yet. So, thank you. For my sake, and for our daughter's. Perhaps it's time to start living, not by my decisions, not by yours, but by what we together decide. Partners. For Hope."

KLAYLEY - THE ORIGINALS

[chronal-anomaly]

@quick-drawn asked:

"Damnit, Lena..." It was barked through gritted teeth in an attempt to hold back a barrage of other...not-so-nice words. He's peeling off layers from her much smaller frame before hands began to scramble for something, anything to help stop the bleeding. "What the HELL were you thinkin'?!" || Unprompted ( always accepting! )

Sound echoed down the distant tunnel that stretched between Lena and the crumpled heap of Cassidy looking up at her from the rubble. Delayed senses attempted to pull together the full picture - the distant tingling of her fingers, the encroaching darkness crowding her vision, and the burning sensation somewhere just below her lung culminating into something sickening and familiar. Usually sampled in brief flashes of agony before being erased again and again, her body recognized the distant pain.

Gunshot, her mind shoved unhelpfully through the fuzzy blur that had begun to overtake her struggling consciousness.

Gravel sliced through her running leggings, shredding through the scarred skin beneath it, as Lena fell clumsily to her knees, then to her side. Body curled instinctively, protecting the grisly wound that punctured the front of her body, as her limbs fell akimbo around her. Lena could feel the tingling crawl up her fingers as the heat gathered in her chest and pooled out onto the rubbled Earth around them.

Cassidy's frame, now level with her own fallen form, sharpened into fading vision. Pieces grinded against one another before slipping into place.

Sniper.

He couldn't hear her calls.

The accelerator.

The accelerator.

Already, the usual milliseconds had lapsed into seconds, ticking quickly into minutes. The failsafe should have activated by now, reverting her back to things as normal. Where was the accelerator? Thoughts raced through her head as she battled the haze that had, by now, taken all but a sliver of her consciousness. There was something important, something on the very edge of her periphery that seemed so critical in that moment, but so far away.

Dark eyes met Cassidy's. The relentless blaze that scorched her very iris had flicker and faded, just as the light on the accelerator had. Blood crusted her nose and lips as the pool of crimson grew every steadier around, staining the dust with a reminder.

Lena Oxton was here.

Lena Oxton existed.

She wasn't exactly sure when Cassidy moved from the ground to over her body, time slipping by like molasses dripping from the bottle. Is this what it felt like to belong? To exist in the correct timeline? To lose track of the seconds until they're measured in laughter and arguments and cups of coffee?

Lena decided it felt nice.

Twitching fingers gripped his wrist with the remaining that pulsed from her figure with each fading heartbeat.

"'nip'r." She slurred, blood pooling in her mouth as she spoke.

Lena coughed, and tried again. "Th'need thei' cap'a'. th'need you. S'no' safe." The last word was punctuated with a wet slap to his wrist, ushering him to some kind of cover from the very sniper Lena pushed him away from.

"Go."

[untoldsoup]

Worked on this all day to make sure I could get this update out earlier than planned lol. Thanks for all your patience over the past 1.5 months waiting for this update!! Anyway big things coming in part two! Please read the tags for this before reading as some content can bother some people. Comments appreciated i worked so hard on this.

previous: chapter 1 and 2

next: here

This is a sequel! First comic can be found here.

[doctordonovan]

❝ can you walk? ❞  | harley

of course he's worried:   last time he saw ago,  only twenty minutes past at most,  she'd seemed close to death.  the red that stains her clothing is entirely her own  -  darker where torn clothing marks where wounds had been,  skin still more than a little too pale to be considered healthy.  she'd looked only minutes from being entirely gone...  and in truth,  that assumption wasn't wrong.

❝ I'm fine. I can walk. ❞   these days she comes back quicker than she used to.   weight is still a tiny bit unsteady on feet,  but it will only improve the more time passes  &&   the more awake she feels again.  ❝ breathe,  @goldshadows.  you're looking at me like I might shatter.  I told you,   I'm tougher than I look.   did you find what you needed? ❞

[loulou-land]

Can’t stop thinking about a dying Tommy. He’s in Buck’s arms. Barely hanging on to consciousness. Confused about why the other man is crying and begging him to stay with him, when he knows Evan doesn’t have any feelings for him.

[nowimjustastranger]

just a fun little angsty idea: STMCO Ford trying to intervene for a Stanley whose Stanford got there too late to stop a critical injury but soon enough to hold his wounded brother while he fades, who won't let Ford near if he can help it - clinging to his bleeding twin and wary of the stranger approaching them

You can't give me a scenario like that and expect me not to take off running with it, lol.

“Put it down.” Ford barked, throwing his quantum destabilizer aside.

The gun landed in some nearby brush with a rustle, barrel still smoking from its recent use. The mutilated body of an unnaturally large grizzly bear laid still a few feet away, its neck nothing but a bloodied stump. There was red everywhere, splattered on the surrounding vegetation and collecting into puddles on the ground.

“Stay away from him.” Stanford snarled, adjusting his grip on his unconscious brother –who was half sprawled across Stanford’s lap– the triangular gun in his other hand unwavering in its aim even as the rest of him trembled. Shock was setting in, understandable considering that his brother had just been mauled by a mutated bear during what was supposed to be a routine creature hunt. Luckily, Stan seemed more or less intact, no chunks or limbs torn off.

Ford hadn’t made it in time to do more than damage control, squeezing the trigger before he could even process what he was seeing. His ears still rang with Stan’s shouting, demanding that his brother run even as the bear sunk its teeth into Stan’s arm, the bite force fracturing the bone. The cry that escaped through Stan’s grit teeth had Ford firing three more shots with precision into the neck of the beast, his counterpart shooting in tandem.

“He’s going to die! Just please–” Ford bit out, slowly sinking to his knees. The barrel of the gun followed his movement even as the man holding it could hardly tear his gaze away from the prone figure in his arms for longer than a second. Ford risked inching closer, pausing when those wild eyes darted to him every so often before snapping back to Stan.

Ford made a grave mistake when he stepped on a small twig, which snapped under his weight and drew his counterpart's attention back to him. Stanford’s glazed eyes struggle to comprehend that the distance between them has closed for several moments, but when it inevitably clicks and his finger tightens on the trigger, Ford presses himself closer to the ground to make himself look as harmless as possible.

“Not another step!” Stanford shouted, panic making his voice two octaves higher than usual. Ford obeyed for the moment, staying perfectly still.

“I can save him.” Ford insisted, all but begging. His helmet scanned Stan obsessively, the hud blaring red as Stan’s vitals nosedived into critical condition. Ford had to do something now or Stan would die. So, his hands left the ground to unclip the strap under his jaw, pulling his helmet off and setting it aside. He hoped that a familiar face would be enough for his counterpart to let him close. It had to be enough.

“What–” Stanford spluttered, the gun finally wavering. Ford took advantage of his counterpart’s confusion and edged closer, fingers twitching with the urge to get his hands on Stan now that he no longer had the security that the helmet gave him with the constant scans of Stan’s person. 

“Shoot me if you want, but I’m not letting him die.” Ford grunted, ultimately deciding that getting shot paled in comparison to Stan dying while Ford uselessly watched from the sidelines. Ford wasn’t going to let Stanford’s paranoia and trust issues stop him from saving Stan, he’d sooner take the gun from Stanford’s hands and shoot himself in the head.

“You– you’re me? How is this possible?” Stanford demanded, the cogs in his head turning as he watched Ford with a perplexed stare that seemed a little muted due to the shock. Stanford’s arm was still extended, gun pointed at nothing but trees. Meanwhile, Ford carefully tugged Stan away from Stanford’s lap to gently lay him on the ground before setting to work on his wounds. “The portal. You’re from another dimension.”

“Yes, definitely what you should be focusing on right now.” Ford said dryly, stitching the jagged gashes on Stan’s chest closed with sutures that would dissolve on their own in two weeks. The healing itself was sped up with the penlight, its output cranked as high as it could go so the bleeding would stop as the damaged skin rapidly repaired itself.

As the last gash sealed into a fresh scar, Ford realized that Stan was no longer breathing.

Ford glanced at Stanford and immediately wished he hadn’t; witnessing the exact moment that Stanford noticed his brother’s state, his eyes welling with tears as his expression crumpled with overwhelming grief and self-loathing. Ford’s heart ached with pained sympathy at the sight. Stanford’s grip tightened on Stan before he dragged his brother closer, head bowing as his back heaved with sobs.

“No… no Stanley please. Please wake up.” Stanford choked out, pathetically nudging Stan’s pale and slack face with his nose. “I’m sorry. We never should’ve left the boat. I should've listened to you when you said you had a bad feeling about this island. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Stanley–”

Stanford was cut off with an alarmed yelp when Ford seized a fistful of his bloody turtleneck sweater to practically throw him away from Stan. Ford didn’t have time to coddle his counterpart and explain what he was doing. Stanford needed to be out of the way so Ford could rectify this horrible tragedy, so manhandling was the best option.

Stanford made an entirely animal sound of pure rage when he landed on the ground with a meaty thud, scrambling to all fours with his teeth bared. Ford ignored him, injecting Stan with a serum of his own design before retrieving two rectangular metal plates from a pouch. He rubbed the plates together before pressing them to Stan’s chest, making sure they were in position.

The paddles glowed blue when Ford hit the button on each handle, crackling with a surge of electricity that made Stan’s body lock up. The buttons popped back up and glow dulled, Stan going limp. Ford checked his pulse, forcing down the immediate swell of panic when he found nothing. He simply put the plates back and administered another controlled shock, begging the universe to let this work.

By the third round, Ford found a pulse.

He felt like he could suddenly breathe again, watching Stan’s chest rise and fall with shallow breaths as he set Stan’s arm. But he was breathing, he was alive. Ford startled when a body slammed into his back, tensing on instinct. The fight drained out of him just as quickly as it had surfaced when he realized that he wasn’t being attacked, but hugged.

“Thank you! Thank you! He’s alive, you saved him, thank you!” Stanford sobbed, clinging to Ford as he buried his face between Ford’s shoulder blades. Ford awkwardly patted Stanford’s hands, which were gripping the front of his trench coat, before he went about stabilizing Stan. Ford would have to walk Stan back to the boat, unwilling to risk putting Stan’s body under duress by using teleportation.

“We need to bring him to your boat so he can rest. He’ll be unconscious for a few days.” Ford relayed to his counterpart, turning his head to look over his shoulder. All he saw was fluffy hair, Stanford still hiding his face against Ford’s back. Ford heard a loud sniffle before the man slowly leaned back, releasing Ford’s trench coat to scrub a hand over his face.

Stanford simply nodded, climbing to his unsteady feet to lead the way back to the Stan o’ War II as Ford scooped Stan up. Ford trailed after his counterpart, who kept looking back at them every three or so steps, clearly worried about his brother. Ford did his best to look calm and reassuring even though his heart had yet to slow down and he felt shaky, the adrenaline lingering.

After Stan woke up and was given a clean bill of health, Ford would go home to Lee and try to cope with his near failure. Granted, seeing Lee safe and happily keeping himself busy with some task or another would help him calm down, his body and mind finally releasing him from his hypervigilant state as Lee’s presence imbued him with a sense of safety and comfort.

But first, he had a mission to complete.

[radio-writes]

It's about time for your blood to spill + you should sleep + we were soulmates

(Congrats on the 300 followers btw!)

Now, The Echoes Interlace

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Blood, physical injuries to reader, ambiguous major character death(s), angst

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

"You always have looked so pretty in red, Al." You hummed as your combed your fingers through his soft hair. You pressed your fingers against his scalp, lightly massaging against his antlers.

The light static that varied in volume crackled. "Fuck you." Alastor managed to say as his head laid on your lap.

His smile was strained—present, of course, as it always was, but strained. The trail of blood from his mouth dripped from his chin, joining the warm pool under both your bodies.

"Rude." You scolded him. Your breath coming out in a hiss as Alastor dug his claws into an open wound on your leg. 

"Must you continue to hurt me? You're already dying." You glared down at him as you would at a misbehaving pet.

You leaned forward, easily removing his hand from your body without much of a struggle. He only had so much strength left after all. 

"Fuck you." Alastor repeated, static morphing his voice this time around.

"Yes, well, I get that you're mad, Al." You continued your casual tone. "But it was about time for your blood to spill, don't you think?"

You grunted as you leaned your back against the cold wall again, sighing as the tension on the wound across your stomach was lessened.

"F—"

"Fuck me, yes yes." You cut him off. "Save your strength or you'll die out faster."

Alastor didn't mean to listen to you, but he just felt far too tired to argue otherwise.

Your hand returned to his head, damp with sweat and blood, and yet somehow still so adorably fluffy. Leave it to this guy to still look so presentable even when dying a second time around.

Your fingers scratched at one of his tufts of hair, causing it to give a slight, involuntary twitch.

"So they are ears." Your voice was soft. "I always assumed but was never really sure, you know?"

Alastor didn't respond. His red eyes continued to glare at you.

He adjusted his hands to lay over his chest. A weak attempt to slow his loss of blood. He didn't even have enough energy to press on it anymore.

"Hey, Al." You wheezed, breath slightly knocked from you. You had adjusted the way you sat so the demon could lay more comfortably on your lap. "Do you remember how we first met?"

"You told me that cheesy pick up line. How'd it go again?" Your hand paused as you tried to remember. 

A rather dashing demon slid up to you at the bar; charming, sharp smile, on full display. You've seen all sorts of sinners by now, but none so happy while rotting in hell.

You expected him to sell you drugs, or quite bluntly tell you to sleep with him. What you got instead was a very corny: 

"You must be buried treasure, because I am absolutely digging you." You let out a tired laugh, hand continuing to pet Alastor once more.

The sound of static crackling again was the only response you got. You think it meant fuck you. 

"Well you must be treasure as well, Al. Because it seems I'll be burying you tonight." You met Alastor's harsh glare with a soft smile.

"What? That absolutely was funny, you can't deny it." You defended yourself.

Alastor didn't think him dying was funny at all, actually, but he didn't exactly have any energy left to say that.

His smile was a tight, close lipped one, but you see his lips try to curl just a tiny bit in what you assumed would have been a snarl. 

"You always thought I was hilarious." Your own hand moving over the gash on your neck as if it was a mild inconvenience. You titled your head as you looked down at the demon on your lap. "What changed?"

Alastor merely glared at you.

Your eyes traveled down his body, staying on the deep wound oozing across his chest.

"That's not fair, Al." You laughed tiredly, eyes staying on his bloodied torso. "I always thought you were incredibly handsome—sinfully so really. But your attempts at killing me never changed that."

"Fuck you." The static over his voice was gone now. His tone was as spiteful, angry, and condescending as always, but much, much weaker.

Your eyes drifted back to his face. His smile was still present, but his lovely red eyes seemed more unfocused than they were a second ago.

Your hand in his hair stopped their movements. For a moment, the world was still as you wondered if your company had already left.

But it was merely for a heart beat, as a ragged breath from his lips snapped time back into motion.

You pealed your fingers from his hair, bringing them down to softly rub your knuckles down his cheek. He doesn't so much as flinch, but, you knew he would have had he been able to.

"Hey, old pal." You cooed softly. "You should sleep, you look so very tired."

His fingers on his chest twitched once, but you didn't get much of a reply anymore after that.

You sighed heavily. Your hands rested on his face as you leaned your head against the wall behind you, face craned upwards to the red sky that covered all of Hell.

Your own eyes closed, realizing just how tired and weary you yourself were.

Still, you were never one to be silent around a friend—or foe. It had always been unclear to you when it came to Alastor.

"We were soulmates, wouldn't you say so, Al?" You continued softly. "But in a funnier way, I think, where we were always meant to destroy the other."

Alastor's skin felt as it always did beneath your fingers. The stench of blood heavy as it always was around him. You felt his familiar eerie presence by you, as you always did.

And yet, you were unsure if he actually was still there. You were quite conflicted about how you were supposed to feel about that, truth be told.

"Fuck you, old friend." You sighed, eyes remaining closed, smile tiredly stretching across your own lips.

[mcrcki]

kriff, kriff, kriff-- she felt like she couldn't breathe as her hands stayed hovering over her niece's body, trying to figure out what she was meant to do. and then they were speaking and sella nodded, knowing she'd have to call sheev after all of this, once she was certain samara was safe. there was no way she was calling him before samara was stable. he was going to kill her as is, she didn't need to add to it. "i'll call, i promise." she said, still speaking to the paramedics on the phone, knowing samara wouldn't wake up again until they were in the hospital.

samara felt the temperature of their body rising by the second as their body attempted to fight against the damage done. they breathed through the pain. the blaster heat had cauterized the wound, but the damage inside was already done. sweat coating their face as they attempted to grab onto something to lift themselves up. "call my father." they said as they felt themselves slipping into unconsciousness.

[doctordonovan]

❝ you’re gonna be okay, just hold on. ❞ | kiwi

world comes and goes like a blur.   fading and swirling into nothing but colours  &&   too bright lights,  the pressure from his hands on wound trembling yet never fading.  ( she's strong in so many ways  -   yet still she's a slender thing,  not built to be able to walk off a bullet,  especially one that has already torn its way through blouse and flesh with similar ease. )    @goldshadows' voice has always been most reassuring thing in world:  yet it is too painted with panic and desperation for her to be able to see it as further evidence of how red splatter stains him too.

if she dies,  tired brain reminds her,  bethany is too little to remember anything about her.

so she manages tiny noise in back of throat,  a weak attempt to answer in any way,  fingers simply gently tightening around his wrist.  ( she's doing her best,   after all,  what more can she do than that? )

[aainiouu]

Just…

———

Buck gets reckless again, with his own life, and he gets hurt.

He gets hurt rescuing Tommy.

And when Tommy gets to Buck, him being little banged up but otherwise ok and Buck knocking on death’s door.

Buck grins and coughs out and he’s clinging to conciousness.

”I bet you didn’t see this coming, that actually, you would be my last.”

Tommy screams ”Evan! EVAN!?”

But Buck can no longer hear him.

———

Sorry?

[clangenrising]

Month 19 - Leaffall

Content Warning: This piece includes content that may be triggering to some viewers. See this post for details.

Prev | First | Next

Lakepaw was trying to sleep, her head aching and her skin clammy, when the night was split by sudden caterwauling. She jolted out of her nest, head swimming, as a cacophony of screaming voices flooded into the den from outside. 

“What’s going on?” Sagetooth groaned weakly, trying to sit up.

“I dunno,” Lakepaw whispered. Steadying herself, she crept quickly and quietly to the mouth of the den, staying low and light on her paws. Out in the clearing, a horde of cats was engaged in combat, hissing and clawing at each other with bloody muzzles and fur between their claws. Lakepaw’s eyes widened in fear. 

“It’s rogues!” she whispered back to Sagetooth. “There’s rogues in camp!” 

“Fox-dung!” Sagetooth spat under her breath.

Lakepaw tried to pick familiar faces out of the storm of fur and teeth. There, Yarrowshade dodged blows from two separate kittypets. There, Pantherhaze tumbled with a black and white cat twice his size. There, Ospreymask grabbed a kittypet by the ear and tore him off of Slatepaw’s struggling form only for another cat to lunge for the apprentice’s tail as soon as she was on her feet. The warriors were outnumbered and fighting tooth and nail to keep their heads above the metaphorical water. 

“Get off me!” Lakepaw heard Yellowkit screaming and her gaze whipped to the nursery where a scarred smoky tabby was struggling to lift the kit by the scruff while another kittypet pursued Bluekit deeper into the den. 

“I have to go help them!” Lakepaw said, looking back at Sagetooth. The old healer had heaved herself from her nest and tossed the moss from her forehead, stumbling back to the herb stores with a wobbly step. She didn’t seem to register what Lakepaw had said and suddenly she wasn’t so sure if she should leave Sagetooth alone. 

“This way,” she heard a stranger’s voice close by and instinctively pressed herself against the wall of the den and out of sight. “Their herbs are stored in one of these dens.” 

“Not this one,” another voice said from somewhere to the side -- Goldenstar’s den, most likely.

Lakepaw backed away from the entrance, tail bristling and tried to make herself as big as she could. If the rogues got to the herbs, cats would surely die of injuries. She couldn’t let that happen. Besides, Sagetooth was back there, heat-stricken and vulnerable. Lakepaw took a slow deep breath and tried to remember everything Floodstrike had taught her, deeply grateful she had been putting in extra battle training hours lately. 

Two kittypets pushed their way into the den, the first of them a smallish brown tabby with a dark mask and a silver collar. He narrowed his eyes as he saw her, back arching slightly. The other, standing a step behind him, was a white, snub-nosed tom who raised his brows and cocked his head, an amused smile on his face.

“Aww, she’s trying to be intimidating,” the white cat purred mockingly. “Should we take her with us too?” 

“If you want to deal with her, be my guest,” the tabby scowled. “I’m going to do what we came here for.” He took a step forward and Lakepaw hissed loudly, rearing up on her toes. 

“Stay back!” she spat, “You’re not allowed in here!” 

“Oh no,” the tabby said sarcastically, “I guess we’ll have to turn around.” Then he glanced over his shoulder and said, “Casper?”  

The white cat shouldered his way past the tabby and prowled towards her, grinning. Lakepaw knew she had to move. She bunched her legs underneath her and lunged at his face, swatting at him with a series of quick claw strikes. He hissed and reared back before headbutting her squarely in the nose. She cried out and thumped gracelessly onto the ground. Her pre-existing headache throbbed nauseatingly and she nearly gagged when a heavy paw pressed down on her abdomen. She vaguely registered the tabby picking his way past her with careful pawsteps. 

He opened his mouth to scent the air as he ventured deeper, saying to himself, “Alright, now where are those-” 

He cried out suddenly as Sagetooth’s familiar hiss sounded over the noise of a solid thwap. Lakepaw tilted her head to watch the kittypet recoiling, blood pooling over the bridge of his nose. Sagetooth had apparently been waiting around the corner and now she struck out again, scraping her claws against his cheek. 

“Get out, you faithless, snake-hearted kittypets!” the old healer snarled, swaying on her feet. “Begone! And may StarClan curse you for all your days!” 

“You backwards old hag!” the tabby spat back and struck Sagetooth on the side of the head so hard that her face collided with the wall of the den. With a loud thunk, she slid to the ground, groaning weakly. 

Lakepaw twisted and bit the paw pinning her down as hard as she could. Casper yanked it back with a hiss of pain and she scrambled to her feet then charged the smaller tom. With a leap, she sank her claws into his back and the two of them toppled under her momentum. The tom cried out, flailing his legs in her direction, but she clung tightly with her forepaws and rabbit-kicked as hard as she could with claws unsheathed. His flesh tore under her blows and another wave of nausea overtook her just long enough for the tom to wrench himself free from her grasp. 

“Insufferable little-!” the tabby puffed up as he got to his feet, looking like he’d just suffered a terrible indignity. 

“Lakepaw, run,” Sagetooth managed to say, shifting her weight as she tried to stand. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” the tom said as if correcting a naughty kitten and smacked Sagetooth sharply on the forehead again. She crumpled to the ground but that didn’t stop him. He kept raining blows on her head one after the other after the other. Lakepaw screamed and lunged for him but Casper intercepted her with a hook of his claws, pulling her tight to his chest. She thrashed, vision blurring through tears, but couldn’t seem to free herself. 

“That’s what you get!” the tabby shrieked with one final strike. “How dare you lay your paws on me?!” Lakepaw held her breath and strained her ears but Sagetooth didn’t even moan. A tense silence filled the den, contrasted by the sounds of battle still raging outside. Lakepaw desperately blinked the tears from her eyes and nearly burst into tears again when she saw the blood dripping out of Sagetooth’s nose, the healer’s eyelids moving sluggishly over her fully dilated pupils. 

“Sagetooth!” she wailed, paws shaking. 

The tabby took a deep, slow breath and let it out shakily then ran his tongue over his paw like he had dirtied it by touching her. When he straightened back up, he was wearing a placid smile as if nothing had happened. 

“Right,” he said to himself, glancing over at the cat holding Lakepaw captive. “Are you really going to bother with that thing?” He frowned at her in distaste. 

“Maybe,” Casper shrugged. “We’re here for their kits, aren’t we?” Lakepaw trembled against his chest, too afraid to move. 

“We’re here for the exalted kits,” the tabby scoffed. “This one’s a savage through and through. Look, she’s already bitten you. Just be done with her and help me with the actually important work.” 

“Fine,” Casper sighed and suddenly teeth were in Lakepaw’s throat. She gasped sharply, clawed at his face and kicked at the paws holding her still but they didn’t budge. With a tug of his head, he ripped something in her neck and then dropped her to the floor, stepping over her with a few quick strides. She fumbled to stand but collapsed again, slipping in her own blood as it soaked her fur all the way down her right foreleg and pattered into the dirt. 

“Everything gets destroyed,” the tabby said. “I don’t want a single usable leaf left.” 

“Whatever you say, Sardine,” said Casper. 

Lakepaw crawled across the floor, feeling dizzy. It took all of her strength to drag herself over to Sagetooth and gently rest their foreheads against each other. 

“It’s… gonna be okay, Sagetooth,” she murmured, closing her eyes so she could focus on the words. “We just have to hang on… It’s gonna be… okay…” Sagetooth didn’t respond. Lakepaw sniffled and tried to purr, hoping that maybe -- just maybe -- that would be enough to keep Sagetooth awake until someone came to help them.

UPDATES: - Sagetooth and Lakepaw are killed by rogues.

[typicalopposite]

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚃𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝚘 𝙵𝚕𝚢 (𝙸 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕)

BuckTommy Fic | M | 41,371 Words

Link to AO3 | Original Tumblr Post

Summary: They tried to tell him. They tried to warn him. He let his own inner voices be louder than the ones who were pleading with him to look at the damage he was causing. Then when he finally decides to listen… It's too late.

There is blood on his hands…

Tommy’s blood is on his hands…

Hello beautiful people! I decided to just make my normal Fic Post for this last one, so if you're just finding this fic, the ao3 link will take you to chapter one. If you're all caught up, the epilogue is posted to ao3 now I just want to thank you all for going along this ride with me! I really never expected it to become what it did, it was just a sad little idea I had... but I'm really glad I wrote it! <3

Tagging the OG's and then some that showed interest from the beginning. Hope you all enjoy it <3

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