#near death

[whump-galaxy]

“They’ll come to rescue me, I know they will.”

“What’s left of you of course. If they can even escape themselves.”

[where-is-my-whump]

Hudson and Rex 6x07

[vertigoartgore]

1989's Uncanny X-Men Vol.1 #251 cover by penciller Marc Silvestri and inker Dan Green. Black & White version provided by Raymond Low.

[jasmines-library]

Can you do a Winchester brothers (mostly Dean) x sister reader where she is captured but they tie her to an anchor and drown her and the boys have to save her and bring her back to life

Sounds of Someday

WHUMPTOBER DAY 24: Prompt: “I thought they were with you?”

Fandom: Supernatural.

Summary: the request pretty much says it all. When you and your brothers split up during an unusual hunt, you get caught and become part of a witch’s ritual, which ends with your life slipping away and your brothers struggling to reach you as you are dragged away.

Warnings: Drowning, blood, capturing, character death.

Word count: 2.3k

Note: thank you so much for requesting anon! This was really fun to write. I hope you don’t mind that I included it in my whumptober series, I thought it fit interestingly with todays prompt!

MAST ERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You and your brothers weren’t sure what you were hunting. There was no pattern- nothing set in stone to follow and every time you thought you had latched onto something in the lore, it would change unpredictably to something that contradicted what you’d just believed. At first, you thought it was a vampire. It had appeared out of nowhere, slinking in from the darkness. But then people started to go missing and the bodies were being discovered in strange ways: with nasty scratches, dark bruises or completely torn to shreds. Then, Sam led you on to believe it a spirit, looking to extract some sort of revenge. But you weren’t sure. Nothing was linear and it was making your head spin just thinking about it.

The town you were hunting in was quaint residence in the centre of Minnesota. It was surrounded by woodland and was fairly isolated from the rest of the world around it, making it the perfect stomping ground. It honestly surprised you that this place hadn’t cropped up before.

Your feet had begun to ache as you trudged slowly through the pine needles behind your brothers. You had a backpack slung over your shoulder which rattled as you hauled it higher up on your back. You had been walking for ages, training behind your older brothers who, given the fact they were much taller than you had managed to move at a much faster pace, having to take less steps due to their long strides. Sam had insisted that you stake out the woods in chance of finding something hidden nearby, but the area was vast and the three of you were yet to find anything in the hours of walking behind you. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon too, making it increasingly hard to gage your surroundings and keep your bearings.

“We should split up.” Sam said suddenly as you came to a fork in the path. It broke the silence that had gradually settled over you once you had run out of things to talk about.

Dean furrowed his brow. “What? Are you stupid, Sam?”

The tallest Winchester sighed deeply and slowed his pace to a stop. “We’re not going to find anything if we all huddle together. It’s getting dark and our best shot at finding something is if we split up.”

“That’s exactly my point, Sam. It’s getting dark and we don’t know what’s out there. Besides, there’s no way y/n is going out there on her own-“

“Y/n is old enough to go back to the motel alone-“

You scoffed, cutting him off with a stern look. “Do I get a say in this?”

“Y/n-“

“Dean.”

“You know we don’t like it when you go off alone-“

“I’m not a child, Dean. I can take care of myself.”

Your eldest brother let out a relenting sigh after shared an unspoken glance with Sam. The two of them had a habit of doing that. “Fine. But if you’re not back here within the hour then you’re in deep shit.”

You grinned, turning to head down the middle path.

“And y/n-“ Dean called out to you. You glanced back at him over your shoulder. “Keep your phone on.”

You nodded and made your way down the trail. Dean didn’t move for a while. Something nagged at him, so he stood as you wandered off into the trees, watching you with careful eyes. Little did he know that he wasn’t the only one watching you.

~

You had been walking for sometime. Too long. The woods had thickened and the darkness made it impossibly hard to tell the path ahead from the path you’d just taken. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were lost. And to make matters worse you hadn’t even found anything useful. You had considered messaging Dean for help; but that would involve admitting that you were wrong and you knew that if you did that you wouldn’t hear the end of it. You were reluctant, but when you reached into your pocket to pull out the device, you found that it was missing. You then considered turning back, you knew something was wrong and it was nearing an hour since you had left and were due to rendezvous with your brothers, so you would be able to reach them without worrying them…but that was when it caught your eye.

Dangling limply from a brunch, a piece of blood-splattered cloth hung. It was fresh, still dripping blood onto the muddy ground below it. It looked as though it had snagged on a branch. You reached out to collect it in between your fingers, turning it over slowly as your examined it. When you went to pocket it, there was a loud snap of a branch to your left.

Almost mechanically you had dropped the cloth and replaced it with the cool hilt of your pistol. You were on high alert, searching for the source of the sound. Then came other to your right. And then behind you.

You were surrounded.

You didn’t know where to direct your attention, whipping around to find your best course of action. But whoever or whatever was tailing you was smart and clearly outnumbered you.

Someone tackled you from the side, forcing you to the ground with a sickening thud. You screamed, startled. Delivering an upwards kick, you tried to throw the woman off of you, but her grip was firm as she rolled on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head and straddling your waist. There was another pair of hands working a rope around your feet and other around your hands. You tried to squirm, kick and scream, but a harsh slap left you disorientated as a gag was forced around your mouth.

~

Sam came to a halt at the rendezvous point. He was a few minutes late and was met with an antsy looking Dean, who was pacing and constantly glancing at the time displayed on his phone screen. Sam could see the gun he had loosely planted in his jean pocket.

Dean turned at the sound of footsteps approaching, but he was in no way revived. In fact the sight made his chest constrict. Sam was alone.

“Where is she?” Dean demanded, crossing the space between him and his younger brother in two large strides.

Sam furrowed his brow. “I thought she was with you?”

“No.” Dean fumbled in his pocket to bring up your contact number. “She texted me. She said she had found you and that she was gonna…”

Dean trailed off when Sam flashed up his screen to reveal an identical message. They had been played.

“Son of a bitch.”

“You think she did this?” Sam asked. It wasn’t something entirely out of character for you. You would often trick your brothers into getting what you wanted, or simply just for some peace and quiet.

“I-“

All ideas were cut short at the sound of a shrill scream, that caused both brother’s hearts to falter. Your scream. They would recognise your voice in a crowd of a thousand. Neither of them wasted any time as they darted towards the sound.

~

You had managed to make out three of them as they began to drag you through the woods over bumps. The pine needles gathered in your hair and clung to your clothes to poke at your skin. You knew that your brothers would realise quickly that something was wrong. It was hardwired into them. But one of them was doing something with your phone which you could only assume she had managed to snatch from your pocket somewhere along your trek.

You could only watch as they dragged you into a clearing. You were grateful when the upturned roots morphed into grass. The lake glistened under the moonlight and the start sky. It was the type of serene scene that you and your brothers would pull up at and sit on the roof of the Impala just to revel in the quiet. The thought only made the situation seem even sicker. When the women hauled you onto a dock, you sensed two more people lingering nearby. One of them held a weighted book and the other a set of chains fastened to what looked like some sort of anchor.

Your eyes flew open when the realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. They were witches. And you were part of their spell. You tried to dig the heels of your boots into the wooden slats and scrabble away, but one of them landed a kick to your stomach and dragged you closer again, hauling you up onto your feet and holding you tightly in their grasp.

One raised your hand, biting into it with a silver dagger and then squeezing it into a chalice. You’re screamed and bit into the gag. Then they began to chant. Old, foreign words that rang throughout your ears. But nothing stayed. Your mind was too hazy as your blood dribbled out of the wound. After the final word had been spoken, one of the male witches snatched you away and pushed you towards the edge of the dock. The water was dark and endless below you and you tried to teeter away from the edge but you were in a vulnerable position and with one wicked smirk and another chorus of chanting, you were sent tumbling over the edge and into the water. But not before you hear the faintest whisper of your name carried across in the wind.

~

There’s something irresistably poetic about drowning. You weren’t sure if it was the way that time slows to nothing the moment your body it’s the icy water, or the way that it was so quiet under the surface, but there was something about it.

Well, that was until you watched the bubbles escape from your mouth and your nose, rising up to the surface and the dissipating. You tried to kick the binds way, flailing to gain some traction on the water and pull yourself up the the surface so that you could take a desperate gasp of air, but the binds rendered you powerless as the anchor dragged you down down down into inky nothingness. Your lungs burned as you struggled to retain what precious air you had left in your lungs, jerking and twisting to try and get free, but the struggling left you tired and soon the last of the air rose from your mouth. The water assaulted your eyes too, blurring your vision even through there wasn’t much to see besides the white light of the moon above.

Somewhere above your there was a loud splash as Dean delved deep into the water, scrambling after you. He had watched in horror as your body pummelled off the side. He didn’t think he could urge is legs to go any faster as he ran next to Sam who helped him make quick work of taking down the witches. Once the odds had been evened Dean took the plunge after you.

His body nearly went into shock against the stabbing of the cold, but he paid no mind to it as he watched your body sink at an alarming rate. Your hair drifted around you like a halo as he urged his body forwards to catch up with you.

Somehow he managed to wrap a calloused hand around yours. He pulled you to his chest, palling at your stillness, and fumbled to release you from the anchor. Once the heavy weight was gone, he gave one hard kick after pushing your body so that it could drift to the surface, following closely behind and ignoring the burn in his chest.

When his head broke the surface the took a huge, spluttering gulp of air, sucking it in greedily. But you didn’t move. You didn’t squirm to keep yourself afloat, your chest rise and fall, you didn’t even blink.

Dean was then paddling his way over you you, lifting your body so that Sam, who was clinging to the edge of the dock with an outstretched hand could pull you into land.

“Come on!” He urged, gripping you under the armpits and pulling you back onto try land. Dean was inches behind, silently praying that you would be okay. But your heart had stopped.

“No. No no no.” Dean cried at your stillness. “Come on y/n. You don’t get to do this to us.”

He hovered over you, locking his hands in place to begin CPR.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He pleaded, breathing into your mouth. He could feel the resistance in your lungs. His chest tightened further.

“Dean-“ Sam’s voice wavered as he laid a hand on his shoulders.

“No. Shut up Sammy.” He shook his head and blinked away the tears and he pressed harder against your chest, winching at the sound of them splintering beneath the force of his compressions. “She’s fine. She’s fine.”

“Dean…”

You sat up abruptly, heaving a wet cough as you keeled over expelled the water from your lungs. Dean patted your back to help. Everything hurt, your head, your joints, your lungs.

“That’s it, kid. Let it all out.”

“They… they-“ you tried to speak, but your voice was horse and scared so it came out more like a whimper. You took in deep breaths.

Dean cradled you to his chest, rocking you back and fourth in his arms as you sobbed, shivering from the cold and the shock.

“You’re okay, kid.” Sam tried to reassure you.

“We’re here y/n. We will always protect you, no matter what. And as long as you are here, we will always keep you safe. I promise.”

<- DAY 23 ⛤ DAY 25 ->

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Taglist:

@deans-spinster-witch

@senjoritanana

@amaryllis23

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whump Prompt 129

Write something inspired by this concept:

Imagine a whumpee, strapped down and immobilized on a table, lying helpless in a darkened room. Weak and trembling, they can only manage a whimper of fear.

Imagine tubes connected to the veins in their arms, draining their blood away for some unknown purpose.

Imagine whumpee's blood collecting in vials that masked figures gather and remove without saying a single word.

And imagine whumpee's realization that, unless someone rescues them and soon, the extreme blood loss will surely kill them.

[voidwhump]

Inspired by this

Ingredients: Injury, implied infection, heat stroke, falling off of a horse, near death. ~600 words

Back. 

Forth.

Back.

Forth.

Horses weren’t all that fast when they didn’t feel like they had to be. They were at the mercy of the rhythm of the horse’s walk, using all their strength to stay upright. The sun baked their neck and scalp. Every motion refreshed the pain of their tired muscles. 

Aggravated the throbbing ache behind their eyes.

Stoked the smoldering fire radiating from the hole in their side.

The horse could tell they weren’t all there, stopping occasionally, unconvinced her rider knew where they were going. So, energy they didn’t have went into kicking the horse back into a walk. And the cycle repeated. 

And repeated. 

And repeated. 

As the horse slowed to a stop, again, they took a moment to drag their head up to where they could look forward instead of down. Their body protested as it was pulled out of its forward slump, every muscle supporting the motion threatening to fail. They closed their eyes against it. Breathed. Felt the breeze against their sweat covered face and neck.

When they opened their eyes, they could just barely make out the silhouette of a village ahead, sitting low to the ground against the horizon. They weren’t going to make it, they could tell. But maybe they could make it to somewhere someone would see them. Even if it was only their dead body. So, with every part of their body displaying a ticking clock, ten minutes to failure, five minutes to failure, they continued. 

Three minutes.

Two minutes.

One minute.

They felt the exact moment when their core gave up. Strained muscles abruptly went slack without their authority behind it. It was their uninjured side finally betraying them, overworked from hours of holding double its usual load. That was the side they fell towards, their opposite foot briefly catching on the stirrup, iron on leather, giving them one more instant in the saddle as the horse stopped again, for the last time that day. They had the brief presence of mind to free their other foot from its stirrup as well. 

After that, the fall was over with quickly. They hit the ground shoulder first, the joint audibly crunching as it impacted. The pain immediately blended with all of their other hurts. They lay there, breathing. It was better, being on the ground. A lot of them didn’t hurt so much anymore now that they weren’t trying to do anything. The dust blowing off the dirt road stuck to their exposed skin. Their sweat washed some of it away, dripping to the ground in their peripheral vision. 

The wind blew again.

They lay there, sweating.

The wind blew again.

Eventually, they weren’t sweating anymore. What was left on them dried quickly, and they missed the cooling feeling. The sun was setting now, so at least they wouldn’t be so hot soon. They hoped the horse had found some water. 

They could use some water.

The sun set. It seemed faster than normal. They might not be the most conscious at the moment.

Or they were mistaken. Light flickered across the ground ahead of them, in and out of their field of view. 

In and out. 

Getting closer. 

In and out.

In their eyes. That was annoying. 

Something pushed them on to their back. Their body screamed. They didn’t say much.

They were lifted, which felt almost as bad, but at least they were back in their slightly curled position. Whatever picked them up had a much smoother walk than the horse, too. They faded out again soon enough.

[whumperofworlds]

Whumptober 2024 Day 1: Search

Now on AO3!

Tags: @gala1981 @whumptober-archive @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @rebelxwriter @expressionless-fr

@fourwingedsnake (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed!)

CWS: injury, missing person, near death, blood, rescue, male whumpee, male caretaker, whumpee x caretaker

Fandom: Final Fantasy: Record Keeper

A/N: Heya everyone!!! I know, it's been a while since I wrote anything. But I decided to do Whumptober!!! Anyway, I won't waste time. Here we go!

I only own Drusus, Keme, Veles, and Taika. Everything else belongs to Square Enix.

ENJOY!!!

_____

Search party / panic attack / "if only we could hold on."

"Drusus is not going to like this." Veles sighed as he and the team sans Keme retreated from the ninth realm.

And he was right.

When he learned that his husband was missing, Drusus immediately volunteered to search for him. While the Ice Cavern wasn't a hard dungeon, the freezing air, along with the monsters roaming inside, could potentially mean death to the missing thief if he stayed long enough. So Veles, Taika, Tyro, and Aerith tagged along in the search party just in case things get dicey.

Drusus and the others called out for Keme as they searched, their voices echoing deep in the cavern. Monsters had tried to attack them, but they managed to defeat them with ease. For hours, the team searched. And searched.

Yet, Keme was nowhere to be found.

Drusus grew desperate at this point. He began to bark orders to the others, despite Tyro's protests, telling the others to split up and look. Using his authority as a mercenary leader of his group back home, Drusus was able to guide the team well. He knew that Tyro was a Record Keeper, hence he should lead, but so far his plans didn't come to fruition.

"Veles, Taika, left cavern. Tyro, Aerith, right cavern. I got the middle. Come back here in an hour."

Tyro knew not to argue with someone who was desperate, so he went with Aerith to the cavern Drusus ordered him to go to. Veles and Taika did the same, and Drusus rushed into the middle cavern, searching for the love of his life. His eyes darted back and forth, his ears opened as he searched for anything that could point Keme's whereabouts.

"Keme!" Drusus called, cupping his mouth as he did so. His voice echoed, but he didn't hear a response.

Drusus cursed under his breath, as he continued searching. Last time he was seen, according to Tyro, Keme was with the team down this cavern. They were then ambushed by monsters, and Keme ended up getting separated from them. The team was injured, however, and they had no choice but to flee the scene.

"KEME!" Drusus called again, louder this time. No response still.

"Baby! Please tell me you're okay! If you can hear me, scr—"

He stopped when he stepped on something wet. The smell of iron hit his nose, as he froze for a few seconds. His eyes widened, recognizing the smell. He had known that smell for many years; being a mercenary stopping and even killing criminals and monsters had its cons.

He glanced down, and his eyes grew wider when he saw what he was standing in.

A puddle of blood. Ahead of Drusus were bloodied footprints on the ice, near two large icicles that protruded from the ground.

"Dammit," Drusus gritted his teeth, now knowing that it was Keme's blood. Keme was nearby, he just knew it.

He rushed forward, following the footprints that led him between the icicles. There. Crumbled on the icy ground. There was a figure curled up and covered in blood.

Upon seeing the green clothing, Drusus' breathing hitched as his heart nearly stopped. His eyes grew so wide his eyelids disappeared.

"KEME!" He screamed.

He squeezed himself through the icicles, shivering as the ice touched his skin. He then ran towards his beloved, his heart racing. He gathered his husband in his arms, picking him up. The thief's face was pale, and his skin cold to the touch. Large bloody gashes adorned his chest and abdomen, the gashes so deep, Drusus could see a large amount of blood pouring down.

Drusus' face paled, his breathing hitched as he gently shook Keme's unmoving body. Keme didn't stir.

"Keme?" Drusus whispered. "Keme, wake up. It's me, Drusus."

No response.

"Keme. Keme!" Drusus' whispering turned to shouting, as he shook Keme again.

Keme remained silent and still.

Tears began to fall down the monk's cheeks, as he sobbed. He buried his face in Keme's chest, not caring that his beloved's—his beloved's—blood smeared on his face. He cried, his heart breaking into tiny pieces at the realization.

Keme. His husband. The one he swore to protect. Was dead—

"D-Drussy…?"

Drusus stopped his pathetic crying, as he glanced down at Keme. Keme began to stir, whispering Drusus' pet name over and over. Keme's body shook—whether from the blood loss or the cold, Drusus wasn't sure—as he opened his eyes.

Drusus' eyes widened as he let out a gasp. More tears fell, but this time, they were happy tears.

Keme was alive. Keme was alive! Oh thank Cosmos.

"Keme!" Drusus whispered, hugging his beloved tightly, as if he was afraid of losing Keme if he let go. "Oh thank Cosmos, I-I thought you were…"

"I… knew you'd come," Keme whispered, returning the hug. Although, his hug was weak due to his waning strength.

"Of course I would, love," Drusus sniffled. "I-I was so scared when I found you. Please, don't scare me like that again."

"Hey," Keme chuckled, "I'm okay. I was just chilling while waiting for you."

Drusus couldn't help but snort. Despite nearly dying, Keme kept his goofy personality, much to Drusus' relief.

Kissing Keme on the forehead, Drusus then said, "Come on, let's get you fixed up."

Keme merely nodded, his arms around Drusus' neck as Drusus left the cavern to meet the others. Taika and Aerith immediately began to heal Keme, as Veles and Tyro used Fire spells to warm the thief up. Keme couldn't help but smile at the care he was given. He was so lucky to have a husband and good friends like them.

[shepherds-of-haven]

Me: omg I love the SoH ROs so much all I wanna do is daydream about them

Me, daydreaming about them: what if they almost died... What if they're bleeding out... What if the MC is bleeding out...

Unfortunately they're all blorbos now, which means I want them to suffer (affectionate)

Which brings the question, in a near death situation, which one of the ROs goes for a dramatic one liner and which one tries to actually say something meaningful?

Blade: he isn't one for drama so I feel like he just wouldn't really think, "i'm dying so this may be my last chance to say something," and would just be like "you... need to get out of here..." (always thinking of the other person), but if he did think he was dying, he'd try to say something meaningful!

Trouble: I don't think Trouble thinks he can be killed for real so he'd probably not even notice the severity of his own wounds, like "I'm fine, stop fussing over me and help [someone else wounded] or get after the enemy or etc.!!!" Not necessarily being nobly selfless like Blade, just sort of not aware how close he is to death and so isn't thinking about it/taking it seriously

Tallys: if she actually thinks she has a real shot of dying, she's staying calm and composed for the other person's sake and is going to fade away with quiet dignity, but she's definitely going to exchange some of the most heartfelt, gut-wrenching, meaningful words anyone's ever heard in their life on her hypothetical deathbed

Shery: I think she'd be sort of panicking and hysterical and trying to think of something meaningful to say, but it'd probably come off as menial, like "Make sure to look after Caine, and... please look after my plants..." Like frantically trying to go down a checklist and sort of being confused and panicky rather than having the wherewithal to actually say what she'd want to say in that kind of situation!

Riel: he'd be extremely calm and would be dishing out instructions on how it's going to go down and what's going to happen next. Basically getting his affairs in order in an efficient and tidy way as he's like literally bleeding out lol, by his composure alone you wouldn't think he was wounded! Basically the exact opposite of Shery, and it would only be in the final few moments of consciousness that he could stop being totally "logical" and he'd get quiet and be like, oh. this could actually be the end. In which case he'd try to sneak in something heartfelt and striking and poignant, but he'd probably have expended all his energy on the first part and would lose consciousness halfway through, so no one would know what he was going to say, and he "wouldn't remember" when he woke up lol

Chase: I think it really depends on the situation... he's been in so many near-death scenarios that he's gotten out of perfectly fine that it's a bit hum-drum for him now, so if it's a simple matter of "oh no i've been shot and i'm bleeding out" he'd probably go for the quip or the dramatic one-liner purely to put the people around him at ease or get them to crack a smile, but if it's like a "oh I'm already dead and there's no way anyone's going to save me except by literal intervention of the gods", maybe he'd say something more meaningful?? It really depends on who's with him and how lucid he is, though!

Red: he'd try to be bracing and good-hearted about it so as to not worry anyone or sabotage himself while he's down (he's of the mindset that if you embrace/accept death too preemptively, you're more likely to die, whereas if you act like it's going to be fine, there's a higher chance that, like, placebo effect will somehow help you pull through), so he'd be like, "Don't worry, haha, I've had worse..." *is bleeding out from a gut shot* "YOU HAVE??" "Well, no, but it hardly hurts..." I think if he genuinely thought it was too late for him, he'd say something meaningful, but it would take a lot for him to get to that point lol

Ayla: I feel like she'd just be pissed and not accepting the gravity of the situation, like, "Why are you all looking at me like that, I'm fine??? Blood replaces itself, you are being dramatic" So she probably wouldn't "waste time" on being sentimental when she can just WILL herself to get better, but if it got to the point where she thinks it's genuinely over, she'd abruptly get scared, emotional, tearful, and she'd probably choke out something vulnerable, like "I don't want to go like this..."

Briony: I think she'd be in shock and would behave similarly to Shery where she would just be saying whatever was racing through her mind, so it could possibly be meaningful and vulnerable, like "I always wanted to... [x]" or it could be somewhat nonsensical or brushing the whole thing off, like "It's just a scratch, I just need to rest, make sure that so-and-so is seen to because I saw that they were limping..." (thinking she's just going to pass out now)

Lavinet: I think she'd be very noble and dignified and graceful in near-death, like she'd arrange herself very beautifully and would be lying there in some infirmary bed with her hair spread out across the pillow as so-and-so clutches her hand and weeps and she murmurs to them to not to worry and tells them "her last words" in a delivery and meaningfulness straight from a dramatic novel

Halek: I think the first time he'd say something so flippant and stupid, like "Holy shit, getting shot is such a pain" -> 😵 (passes out) and if he had the luck of waking up again he'd be like "oh my god those could have been my last words" and he'd take it more seriously the next time and try to think of something more meaningful beforehand lol

[steviewashere]

hello!! steddie and 38 for the kiss prompt?? 💕

Hey, hey! <3 As a heads up, you might hate me for this. Everybody might hate me for this, lol. But here we go <3

Number 38: "Because they're running out of time."

CW: Eddie Munson Nearly Dies Here Tags: Season 4, Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends Steddie, Friends to Strangers to Friends?, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Love Confession, Near Death

🕰️—————🕰️ When they structured the plan to go back into the Upside Down, Nancy had suggested that Eddie and Dustin team up for the demobats. Now, Steve loves Nancy—not in that way—but he thought that that was one of the dumbest things he’d ever heard come from her mouth. And she’s incredibly intelligent, like mad scientist level intelligent, surpassing everybody on this earth kind of intelligent.

“Dustin should go with Lucas and Max,” he argued, “and I’ll stay with Eddie.”

The room had fallen silent. Until, Robin piped up, “But we’re going to need your pitching arm, Steve. That—We need somebody to throw the molotov cocktails.”

He scoffed. “No, you don’t. Robs, you used to play softball before getting on the soccer team. You two will be perfectly fine without me. And, besides, if things go haywire—Abort. Walkie on your channel, and we’ll fucking take our losses and replan all this bullshit.”

While the room had erupted into an intense argumentative cadence, Steve held his ground. Looked to Eddie. To his panicked eyes that had not once calmed since they met—again.

Steve knew what he was getting into when they found Eddie. They hadn’t been friendly and sweet on each other since middle school. Since being little kids, but that didn’t mean Steve wouldn’t at least try again. That he wouldn’t put up a fight and demand to be put in Eddie’s corner. So he held onto this, held out on this change in plans, because Eddie looked back on the sofa. He looked to Steve with something like…longing. Like he wanted to reach out and take Steve’s hand. And if the room hadn’t been full of people that just wouldn’t understand, Steve would’ve taken the plunge. He would’ve indulged.

He should’ve indulged, now that he’s kneeled on the ground in a pile of limp demobat bodies. Eddie is in his arms, blood soaked and babbling. And Steve wishes they could start again.

“Keep looking at me, Eds,” he pleads, “look at me and…and tell me one of your stories. You’re good at that. Can you do that?”

For a moment, Eddie’s breath catches. And in those grave seconds, Steve thinks it's over. He brings his hand, which was laying over Eddie’s waist, and places it on his chest. On Eddie’s slow beating heart and his rattling lungs. And he presses. As if, by his touch alone, Eddie would continue to live.

Steve wants him to live. Wants to get him out of here. Get him to safety and hold him and clean his hair and go swimming in Lover’s Lake like they did as kids over the summer. Take Eddie by the hand and go hiking through the woods, turn over every rotting branch to look at worms, and be gifted with rocks Eddie deems cool enough. Ride their bikes until their legs ache and their stomachs are sick and they’re craving lemonade and cookies. Wants to love on him forever because he was a fool; gave it all up for…what…popularity?

Eddie gasps wetly. Coughs up blood from the back of his throat, it drips sluggishly down his chin. Instinctively, Steve cradles his jaw and wipes it all away. Until it’s tacky and red on his own skin. Then, Eddie’s eyes sweep over to him. He blinks. Cries silently. And states, quiet enough for only mice to hear, “’86 is going to be my year, Stevie.”

“Yeah?” Steve prods, breathless and on the verge of crying himself. He thumbs at Eddie’s tears. “Tell me, Eds. Tell me how it’s gonna be your year.”

Another rattling, wet breath. “Graduate,” Eddie mutters, “and…and play with the band. I was—G’nna go to y’r house. Give…Give you a sunflower. You…My S’v’ie likes flowers.” He stares up at Steve, but Steve doesn’t feel very looked at. Like maybe Eddie’s seeing something beyond him, above him. He bites his lip and cradles Eddie’s jaw again.

“I do,” Steve whispers, “I loved when you gave me flowers, Eds.”

He sniffs and tries not to think about the dried petals of flowers he kept over the years. Ones that he stashed away in old books given to him by Wayne. That reside in his dresser drawers and in a cardboard box in his closet. Tries not to think about taking Eddie home with him, after all this is over, and showing him all the things he kept.

How, in moments where Steve felt lost, he pulled out the rocks and books and other trinkets, and wondered. Where Eddie was. What he was doing. Why he forced himself away from the only friend, sans Robin, that felt real.

“S’eve?” Eddie weakly calls.

He only hums, pressing his thumb deep into the going cold skin of Eddie’s right cheek.

Eddie reaches a clumsy hand up to Steve’s face, but doesn’t quite reach. So Steve ducks closer. Lets Eddie pull him in towards his face. Wipe away his own tears. Caress the few moles by his ear.

“I love you,” Eddie breathes. Inhales with a gurgle and Steve sobs in turn. “Love you, S’eve. Wanted…Been wantin’ you for forever.”

“Eds…”

In one fell swoop, Eddie pulls Steve in all the way. Noses along Steve’s. Then, with the strength of a newborn deer, he presses his lips to Steve’s. They’re slick with blood and drying tears. Chapped, split at the corners. He moves slowly while Steve tries not to devour. Eddie’s hand drapes over the back of Steve’s neck, neither grasping nor safe anymore. But he kisses. Like…

Like it’s the last time he’ll ever do it.

Maybe it is, Steve realizes in those few seconds. Because Eddie’s breath grows shallower, raspier between them. He gurgles blood into Steve’s mouth. And that’s tasted on Steve’s tongue, metallic and sweet and harmful. Maybe it doesn’t need to be.

Steve forces them apart. Lets Eddie try and drag him back, but doesn’t go back to that kiss. “Save…Save it, Eds,” Steve begs, “Save it for when we’re home and—I can show you how much I love you, too, okay? Can you—“

“Can’t,” Eddie slurs, “I…S’v’ie.”

He presses another soft kiss, this time to Steve’s thumb, where it’s still close to the split corner of his mouth. But he doesn’t look back.

“S’v’ie, love you.”

“I love you, too, Eds,” Steve murmurs meekly. “I’ll take you home, okay? I can—“ He takes a sharp gasp, sobbing through an exhale. “—Kiss me tonight. You stay with me and kiss me,” his voice wavers, “kiss me like we were never apart.”

“‘M’kay.”

“Okay, Eds,” Steve sighs, crying softly, “okay.”

Though it pulls on all his injuries, Steve hefts them up off the ground. Grimaces at Eddie’s pained yelp. And moves one foot after the other. They can’t be running out of time, Steve tries to digest.

Because he just got his boy back. They can’t be. I can’t be, Steve believes, hefting Eddie’s nearly limp body through the portal. I won’t.

🕰️—————🕰️ Kiss Ask Game <3

[by-nina]

Shallow Grave

AO3 | FFN Royai Week 2024 | Day 2 – Appreciate Rating: T (implied injury and violence) Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance Word Count: 1,065

It’s Roy who has come to her, not the Colonel, because the Colonel would not hold her closely like this, his body warm and protective over hers. The Colonel would not plead with her to stay with him, would not gasp for breath like he was dying with her, would not whisper “Lieutenant!” over and over with the tenderness of calling her by her first name. It’s Roy who is making her feel safe. It’s Roy who is making her realize, despite the haze and the numbness, that the longing she kept hidden and worked hard to forget has resurfaced.

———

There is a tense silence where Riza hears nothing but her own heartbeat. Thump… thump… thump. It is slow and forceful, and it punctuates the seconds that trickle by as her Colonel glares at the mysterious man who calls himself a doctor. It is her only reminder that she is still here with him, putting up one last fight alongside him, even though he is vulnerable and disarmed and she is unable to protect him.

The doctor says that they are running out of time, and something cuts through the air. Something bursts into a brilliant red. Something violently pulls Riza down, and her body drops heavily onto the cold stone floor. Everything around her swiftly turns cold. The sound of her heartbeat is gone—or it pauses for far too long before the next labored thump—and the screams that follow are too blurry and distorted to immediately make out.

The Colonel is screaming for her.

“Lieutenant…! LIEUTENANT…!”

All that Riza knows now is that one moment someone is dragging her across the floor, the next her own blood is quickly pooling around her, and that this must be what dying feels like. She is numb and confused and slipping away and yet inexplicably calm. Perhaps there isn’t enough blood in her anymore for her to feel anything else, but somehow she is able to find her hand and press it feebly against the cut in her throat.

She isn’t going to die, she gasps as her voice breaks. “I’m under… strict orders… not to die.”

And Riza is still fighting even though she can only move her eyes now. She can barely see the Colonel in the dark, his limbs strained from struggling to break free from his captors, his face shining with sweat and contorted in rage and desperation and terror. Maybe he can still see what she is trying to tell him. She knows that something good has come, hidden in a shadowy passage somewhere in the ceiling, but her mind cannot make the connection between what she’s glimpsed and what she does with the last of her strength.

Riza fades to black.

She is no longer in the tunnels that run through the heart of Central, no longer with the strange doctor or his puppet-like men with brute strength. She is in the Fifth Laboratory with the Colonel, collapsed on the ground with his uniform ripped open to reveal the wound that nearly killed him. The memory plays out as clear as day. Riza was the one who had screamed and flown into a blind rage thinking that her Colonel was dead, and the Colonel was weak and critically injured like she is now. She remembers her hopelessness, her fleeting but all-consuming wish to die right then and there, then the euphoric rush of hope when she heard his voice and realized that he had fought his way back to her.

But Riza also remembers something else. The spark of a feeling, a strange impulse that broke through her anxious relief over realizing that he was still alive but knowing she could still lose him if he wasn’t treated right away. Riza nearly said it then. The words hung from her lips while they waited for help to come, but she swallowed them back quickly once the medics arrived to carry him away, tearing his hand away from her trembling fingers. She buried the warm, yearning feeling away once she was certain that the Colonel was going to be all right, and she persuaded herself then that she would never find room or feel any need to consider it again.

Then, as quickly as she lost consciousness, Riza finds herself back in the tunnels, her body unresponsive and the ground slick with her blood. Her head spins with uncertainty, but she finds that she can hear a little more of what’s happening around her now than she did when she began bleeding out—fist to flesh, frantic footsteps, fingers snapping, a familiar voice yelling. She is in somebody’s arms now.

It’s Roy who has come to her, not the Colonel, because the Colonel would not hold her closely like this, his body warm and protective over hers. The Colonel would not plead with her to stay with him, would not gasp for breath like he was dying with her, would not whisper “Lieutenant!” over and over with the tenderness of calling her by her first name. It’s Roy who is making her feel safe. It’s Roy who is making her realize, despite the haze and the numbness, that the longing she kept hidden and worked hard to forget has resurfaced.

This time, it feels stronger. It’s as if it were something precious that has become more valuable for its rarity and its long absence. Riza has underestimated it, because now the words are coming back to her not with an impulse to be said, but a need. And if this is where she dies, then she is grateful that he is here now, that despite the severity of her wounds she is able to cling to dear life for one last chance to say the words:

“…”

Riza slowly opens her eyes, and Roy’s face is the first thing she sees. Everything else remains a blur; she isn’t sure she knows who saved her or how her bleeding stopped. But Riza cannot help but smile. In the flurry of emotions that wash over her, the words feel thick in her throat and heavy in her chest all at once, and all she manages to say as she looks at him is, “Colonel… I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t speak. Just rest now.”

The words have slipped away from Riza again, further and further away as more of her surroundings and the present situation come back to her. But she knows him well enough to know that he must have heard the words in her voice, felt what she truly wanted to say without her having to tell him. Perhaps Riza isn’t imagining that she feels it in the way he looks at her now, holds her as if he is afraid he will lose her if he lets go.

But Riza is certain of exactly one thing as her dazed mind turns clear: she has loved Roy long before she admitted it to herself.

She has only loved him more every day since then.

[whump-galaxy]

The villain wraps their cloak around the hero’s sidekick. Severely injured, delirious, and too weak to hold their own head up, the sidekick grips the villain’s arm. Their eyes are glazed over, but their tone is steady.

“Please, don’t let me die here. I don’t want to be a hero anymore.”

[where-is-my-whump]

Hudson and Rex 6x05

[tsubaki94]

21 Blod loss/ Near Death Experience

Ai-less whumptober

[jasmines-library]

Hidden On The Inside

WHUMPTOBER DAY 21. Prompt: “Near death experience” Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: During a hunt, you take a nasty hit which at first seems fine, but it's what's hidden deep under the surface that creates a problem. (I get it, i suck and writing summaries.)

Warnings: Internal bleeding, hospitals, surgery.

Word count: 1.5k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You were a force to be reckoned with when it came to a fight. You were a strong and fierce opponent with an even stronger will. You had always been a fighter. Like Dean’s, your temper would flare up quickly in the face of any kind of challenge or injustice, and you typically responded with physical aggression.

You had been a hunter for many years, having grown up in the life much to your dads disapproval. When you were finally old enough, and after a lot of convincing, you were finally allowed to join your Dad on small hunts in the area. A ghost here, a vampire there. It was always the same routine—they'd enter a town, slip up, you and your dad would hunt them down before returning to the motel for some take out. But, one day when you were in your mid-twenties, your dad never made it home. It was that night that you met the Winchesters. They had given you a shoulder to cry on that night. It was a strange, yet kind gesture; to give a grieving stranger somewhere to feel safe. The three of you were thick and thieves after that night. You lived and hunted together and soon you began to feel as though a missing part of you had been filled. 

The three of you were hunting a pack of wolves. Child's play. But these wolves were abnormally strong, and it took almost all of your strength to push them back and kill them, but they were wearing thin too, and soon there was only a small handful of them left. One charged, baring its teeth at you. They two of you scuffled; quickly locked in a fight. As the fight dragged on with neither of you making much progress, the two of you tired quickly. But then in a flurry of moves, your opponent landed a series of punches and finally managed to fling you into the wall in a fit of rage. You hit the wall hard but didn’t make a sound. You just gritted your teeth and shrugged it off; you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of you. As the fight went on, the blows came harder and faster, with neither of you giving an inch. Until finally, he slipped up and you managed to jab him with your silver blade. 

“Are you okay?” Sam questioned as he sauntered back over to you after tossing the match onto the bodies. “I saw you hit the wall pretty hard.”

You rubbed the back of your neck dubietly. “Yeah. I’m fine. It was just a little unexpected.”

“Are you sure?” He drew in his eyebrows, creating little wrinkles on his forehead.

“Positive.”

~

When you told Sam that you felt fine, it wasn't completely a lie. At the time, you did feel ok, a little sore, but ok. Though as time went on and the world sped around the Impala, you began to feel off.  You ignored it, of course. You hadn't been injured that bad, you assured yourself. Nothing could be wrong. You had endured much worse and been fine, yet the uneasiness continued and a dull ache began to grow throughout your body as your skin paled.

“You okay back there sweetheart?” Dean asked, glancing back at you in the rear-view mirror when he noticed your absence in the conversation. Your silence was loud. 

“Peachy.” You hummed, avoiding his gaze. You knew you looked into his eyes he would know exactly what was up. It was like a 6th sense of his. 

“I’m only asking ‘cause you look a little pale.” He added. 

“I skipped breakfast this morning. It’s probably just that.” You shrugged “Quit worrying, Dean.”

He was right to worry though, because the moment you stepped out of the car, a wave of nausea hit you and you lost your footing slightly. Sam picked up on your stumble. 

“Woah. Careful Y/N. Are you sure you're okay?”

“I’m fine, Sam.”

He eyed you slyly. You weren’t one to be clumsy. Sam followed you closely as you hauled yourself down the steps of the bunker, much slower than usual as you fought the unease that contaminated your body. By the time you reached the bottom, a sheen of sweat had broken across your forehead, and you were short of breath, panting against the pain in your abdomen. 

You had barely made it halfway across the room when the lightheadedness kicked in and you had to grab the table to keep you from doubling over with your vision. Taking a step forwards and letting go of the table, your body swayed, causing bile to rise in your throat. You had just about stumbled to your room by clinging onto the walls when another wave rolled over you causing your legs to buckle and your body careen to the side and hit the ground with a groan of pain. You clutched at your stomach. 

Your vision swam as you lay there in a dazed state, fading in and out of your pain laced world. You weren’t sure how long it was before your heard footsteps escaping down the hall.

Sam knocked on the door. He hadn’t heard from you since the three of you arrived home over an hour ago and he had begun to grow worried. You didn’t look well at all when you forced yourself out of the impala. Your skin was paler than usual and clammy and alongside that your footsteps were all out of beat. When there was no reply, sam asked for you but his words went through one ear and out of the other, not even stopping in your mind.

He pushed the door open and froze at the sight of your body sprawled out across the cold floor. Your chest barely rose and fell.

“Shit.” Sam dived forwards, dropping his bags on floor. “Y/N?” He patted your face lightly, but all you did was groan. 

Gingerly, Sam eased your arms away from your stomach and rolled up the hem of your shirt. What he saw made him gasp. From your chest all the way down your abdomen, were deep purple bruises. 

“Dean!”

His older brother raced into the room at his brother's cry of distress, staggering to a stop when he saw the state of your body. 

“Get the keys.” Sam ordered, before scooping you up into his arms. 

The two of them made it to the car in record time. Sam manoeuvred himself into the back with you, as Dean made his way to the drivers side and started the engine. In typical Dean fashion, the car was going too fast, but neither of them cared. Sam held you close to remind you that everything was going to be alright even if you weren’t completely coherent. Dean focused on the road, cursing every red light they hit. At some point, he gave up stopping. 

When the Impala peeled into the parking lot Sam rushed inside carrying you still, Dean followed close behind. The two were frantic as they called for help which didn’t seem to come quick enough. It was a blur as the hospital staff took your fading body and rushed you into surgery. 

~

Dean’s leg bounced as he waited for the nurse to return from your hospital room. The pair of them hadn’t moved in hours, waiting anxiously for.. well anything. 

When the moment finally came and called out your name, they didn’t waste any time in going to meet her. And then came the news.

“Miss Y/n has suffered severe internal bleeding. The doctors have managed to stabilise her with surgery, but she will need to stay in observation for a while.”

Dean let out a sigh of relief. 

“You’ll be happy to know that she is awake and asking for the two of you.”

The nurse didn’t have time to say anything else because the two brothers had already left and flung the door open. 

“Oh Y/n/n…” Sam breathed when he saw you, hooked up to a multitude of machines. Despite your tired eyes, there was still a soft grin on your face. 

“Hiya Sammy.”

He took your hand. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sore. Whatever drugs they have me on are working miracles.” You let out a small chuckle. “I keep telling them I’m fine, but they won’t let me leave.”

“You’re not fine. Y/N.” Dean said sternly. “You’ve just come out of emergency surgery. You need to rest.”

You were silent. 

“I hate hospitals.” You murmured. They reminded you too much of your failures. 

“I know. It’s just a few more days and then I’ll take you home.” 

“Okay.” you sniffled. 

Sam ran his hands through his hair. “God, Y/N you had us so worried.”

“I’m sorry. I thought it was nothing, I really did.”

“It’s okay.” Dean reassured. “You’ll be alright. That’s what matters the most.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 20 ⛤ DAY 22 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

[paininseries]

Open Range | 2003 (-1- / -2- / -3-)

Soo many good tropes here;

- ambushed unbeknownst to caretakers

- left for dead

- worried fatherfigure

- fading in and out of consciousness

- bridal carry

Found this movie through @whumpywhumpas 🌟

More gif sets for this movie coming!!!

[citrine-elephant]

sudden unhinged idea

leon gets his own set of cement shoes. :3c

instead of a bullet to the head, leon's assassins decide to give him a cruel death. and leon... does not have a plan.

taken out to the fucking ocean, he's tossed overboard.

and he sinks.

and sinks.

if he didn't have his hands tied behind his back, then he might have a fighting chance, a slim as fuck one, but...

and as his lungs give up, as they fill with saltwater and as they fight for survival. as this strange sense of peace settles in once it hits...

he's conscious? he's conscious, and he isn't in pain. his lungs feel weird. they're... working, but. it's weird.

tl;dr -> leon is rescued by a fucking axolotl licker. some nonsense where it was going to eat him and ended up just. mouth-to-mouth. gross as fuck, but he's alive... ? how he resurfaces is your guess. lmfao