#sacrificing prompts

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Can you do some for charters sacrificing themselves?

Sacrificing Prompts

Sacrificing themselves to give their friends a chance to make it out alive.

Sacrificing themselves to keep something a secret, that could destroy everything.

Sacrificing themselves and taking the enemy down with them.

Sacrificing themselves, not knowing that they have been betrayed by the ones they are trying to save.

Sacrificing themselves, shocking everyone, because they never showed this kind of bravery before.

Sacrificing themselves, only for their teammates to realize later that it was in vain.

Sacrificing themselves to save the lives of strangers

Sacrificing themselves, being the former villain, to save the hero, seeking redemption.

Sacrificing themselves, leaving a heartfelt last message to their loved ones.

More: Sacrificing Dialogue

[sanguinesmi1e]

Everyone knows Jason likes Jane Austen and reads romance. Everyone assumes the romance he reads is historical. And some of it is, they're not wrong, but most of what he reads is reverse harem monster fucker smut.

When Red Hood gets sacrificed by a cult during a summoning ritual and the ghost king shows up in all his eldritch glory, Jason has never before been more grateful for his full face mask. He has never blushed so hard in his life. He's the same color as his mask right now, actually. He is way too into the tentacles. Like, way more than he ever thought he'd be. It’s honestly impressive that any blood is managing to leave his body with the way it’s all rushing to his cheeks. He's also about to swoon like one of the heroines in his favorite old bodice rippers. 

That last part probably is the blood loss, though. 

[youcalledsworld]

What would Ares do?

Ghost King Danny but instead of mistaking him as a thousand years old ghost everyone knows he's a teenage boy. So everyone assumes he won't be able to keep it in his pants when beautiful women are offered as sacrifices.

Danny hates this and tries to help the best he can by either getting them home, finding new homes or giving them money to get home by themselves because they understandably don't trust him.

But there are some who latch onto him because he is the only one who showed them kindness and promised safety. And he can't just leave them all alone. So with the help of Pandora they create a safe haven for them. He visits them every now and again and Pandora decided to stay with them.

[luxaofhesperides]

Accidental Bride Sacrifice ; requested by @starlightcat04!

Danny has long since gotten used to the feel of summonings. They don’t happen often, but sometimes the right components are put together to force him into answering, and he’d have to go as the new Ghost King.

Which no one told him was a thing! He hadn’t protested too much about the whole Ghost King deal when they finally told him about it after he graduated high school. It gave him a good excuse to ditch life in the living realm and not worry about college or a career, and let him really embrace his ghost side. 

The summonings are a problem, though. They always feel staticky and bad, like a dumpster that just got struck by lightning. The taste of iron on his tongue, a clear sign of blood being spilled, lets him know that it would be one of end the world for us summonings, because some people can’t put in the effort to do it themselves, apparently. 

But this time, the summoning feels different.

Danny pauses, eyes going unfocused in the middle of his conversation with Jazz. He had been looking forward to spending the week with her, now that she’s on winter break, but his luck is as bad as always.

“I’m being summoned,” he tells her, cutting off her rant about a transphobic professor she had. 

“Oh, no. Do you need me to do anything? Should I go with you to beat up whoever it is that’s summoning you?”

Danny tilts his head to the side, considering. The taste of blood is noticeably absent. In fact, this summoning pull doesn’t make him feel sick at all. It makes him feel warm, as if he’s just been wrapped in a hug.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m good. This one feels different.”

“A good different?” Jazz asks, worry clear in her voice.

“Yeah. A good different. I’ll come back soon, okay?”

“Alright. Be careful, Danny.” Jazz pulls him into a quick hug, then steps back to watch as Danny stops fighting the pull of the summoning and disappears into a swirling white rings that flashes into existence behind him, blinding her for a moment, and is gone when she manages to blink the spots out of her vision. 

For a minute, Danny drifts in a void of stillness, traveling through the realms as the summoning draws him closer to the correct realm. And then he’s rising out of the ground in a dark building made of concrete, candles of green flame scattered all over the place.

“Great One!” someone in a hooded cloak cries, raising his arms in jubilation. “Our calls have been answered!”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” a mechanical voice yells from farther back. When Danny looks past the cultists’ heads, he spots a man in a red hood and leather jacket chained to a pole, along with a bunch of other people in strange costumes tied up, desperately trying to free themselves. 

“Silence!” The leader of the cult, or who Danny assumes is the leader, snaps at the hooded man and gestures to the people off to his left. They force another costumed person forward, this one in yellow armor. He can see the blood running down their face from beneath their helmet and from their nose, dark lines of blood cutting through their brown skin. 

The cultists throw the armored person forward, forcing them to kneel. Then they bow to Danny and step back.

“Great One,” the leader says, voice unpleasantly reverent and grating, “Welcome to the mortal realms. We offer you this sacrifice to feed your strength. He will make a fine general for your undead army in your crusade to rid this world of its filth.”

The people in the back begin shouting all together, panicked voices overlapping, and Danny is left staring down at the cultists in shock.

The summoning had felt so nice. What the hell was this? He did not sign up for another ‘end of days’ insane cult. He just wanted to be hugged. 

His silence makes the cultists nervous. They begin to shift uneasily, whispering to each other, and the leader clears his throat, then pulls a large crystal dagger out of his cloak. “We shall prove our devotion to you through an offering of a hero’s blood!”

And then he moves towards the sacrifice and Danny snaps out of his shock to yell, “Wait!”

The entire room freezes. Even the costumed people in the back go still. 

Danny winces, then tries to smother his power, make himself more palatable to the humans of this dimension. “Wait,” he says again, and he sounds closer to human now. If he could, he would drop his ghost form entirely, but he knows better than to endanger himself like that. “What, exactly, did you summon me here for?”

The cult leader stares at him for a moment. “To… To rid the world of filth and allow your loyal followers to spread word of your power. You will be worshiped again, Great One, and serve as a reminder to man that Death shall always prevail.”

“Okay, I get that, but I was talking more along the lines of the summoning. What ritual did you use? What specifically were the summoning requirements?”

Normally, he’d be able to figure it out himself, but these cultists didn’t use a summoning circle. So they did something else, something less visible and therefore harder to figure out, in order to bring him here.

A woman standing off to the side speaks up, stepping forward hesitantly. “I had pieced together a few summoning spells from this book to bring you here. You had to accept our chosen sacrifice to your side in order for the summoning to work.”

“Hold up that book for me, please?”

She does, and Danny flies down to grab it from her hands. “Point out which lines you used,” he says, already reading a few of the words written down. It’s definitely ghostspeak written down, which should be near impossible for living humans to translate without being skilled in magic.

“Ah, these ones.” She points to each line, reading them out for him, and Danny starts understand what, exactly, went wrong.

“Is there a problem, Great One?”

Danny returns the book then floats over to the sacrifice and picks him up. The costumed people make alarmed noises, but quietly quiet down again when all Danny does is move him away from the cultists.

“Okay,” he says, “So. The lines you used to summon me were not translated properly. What you interpreted as ‘accepted to stay by the king’s side in loyalty and strength’ is not meant to be, like, him being part of my undead army or whatever. It’s a royal marriage vow.”

“They married us?” the sacrifice shouts, disbelieving. The cult leader buries his face in his hands and sighs.

“My deepest apologies, Great One. We meant no offense. We simply wanted to aid in your destruction of this depraved world.”

Danny scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna fly with me. I do not do the biding of random people, especially those who are ready to murder innocent people for no reason. Frighty, if you would.” He snaps his fingers, calling up Fright Knight who always enjoys getting to torment the people who summon Danny for murderous reasons.

Fright Knight appears in a swirl of darkness and screams. Shadows swallow the room, and when they recede, no cultists remain.

“Thanks, Frighty. Have fun with them. I need to figure out all… this.”

Fright Knight bows to him, then disappears. Danny lets out a breath, then floats down lower to be eye level with the sacrifice. “Hey,” he says gently, with a smile, “I’m so sorry they did this to you. I’m Danny. What’s your name?”

“Du— Uh, Signal,” the sacrifice says, sounding rather dazed. 

“Signal,” Danny repeats. “Like… a traffic signal?”

“No. I mean, maybe? But it is Signal. That’s my hero name, not my real name.”

“Oh, you’re a hero!” His getup makes more sense now. Danny checks him over for any signs of injuries. So far, only his head and nose seem to be injured, but his wrists are tightly bound behind his back. Carefully, Danny calls upon his ice and shapes it into a sharp knife, then cuts through the zipties.

He helps Signal up to his feet, floating by his shoulder. “All good?”

“Yeah, man, all good. Let me just get the others free.”

“Oh, I can do it!” Danny flies over to the other costumed people, who must also be heroes. All it takes is one link in the chain being frozen and broken for the entire thing to go lax, allowing them to free themselves. Hooded guy spares Danny a single glance, then hurries over to Signal to check on him. The other three, a man with a blue bird across his chest, a blond girl with a yellow bat outline on her chest, and a guy with bandoliers and a golden bird emblem, all watch him warily as he floats back towards the center of the room.

“So,” the blue bird man says, “If they summoned you with a marriage vow, and you accepted, does that mean you’re planning to steal Signal away from us?” He’s smiling, but it’s not a nice smile.

“No! I had no idea they did this! I am so sorry you all got caught up in this. You most of all, Signal.”

Signal shrugs, nudging hood guy away from him. “Nah, man, it’s all good. This is definitely the better outcome.”

“I don’t know, being married off isn’t really a good thing.”

“Hey, at least they married me off to a decent guy.”

“You don’t know that,” Danny says, “What if I’m secretly evil?”

“If you were secretly evil, you’d be destroying the world right now. I think you’re fine.”

The blond girl waves at him, demanding his attention. “Quick question! They were calling you ‘Great One’. Are you a god or something?”

“Not really? I’m the Ghost King. So I’m a ghost who rules over other ghosts and also a majority of the Infinite Realms.”

She nods as if this is all totally normal for her, then shoots Signal a grin. “Congrats on bagging a king! Not the worst way to spend a night, right?”

“Can you break the marriage?” blue bird man asks, the lines of his shoulders tense.

Danny awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, not looking any of them in the eye. “I honestly don’t know. I can look for a way! But I genuinely have no clue. This was unexpected.”

“But you accepted.”

“I didn’t know what I expected! It just felt like a hug, and I wanted a hug! I thought I was being summoned for something nice for once!” Danny curls up, bringing his knees up to his chest, and hides his pout behind his hands. He knows he’s being childish, but he can’t help but be upset that he couldn’t have this one good experience from being Ghost King. 

It’s always responsibilities and death cult summonings and fighting ghosts who don’t think he should be king. Sure there have been some good things, but they’re comparatively few when looking at all the other stress and pain that comes with the crown. Sue him for wanting to have a nice night for once. Hell, at this point, he’d take being summoned to help with some kid’s homework, because at least then he could have a quiet night helping someone.

“Hey, man, can you come down here?” Signal asks. 

He wants to stay out of reach, hiding himself away for a bit longer, but Signal is his new, surprise, accidental husband, so Danny lowers himself to the ground and peeks through his fingers to look at him.

He tenses when Signal hugs him, soft and warm and comforting. It takes a moment for him to realize what’s going on, and then he’s melting into Signal’s embrace, dropping his hands to wrap them around Signal’s back.

Distantly, he can hear the other heroes talking quietly amongst themselves. He blocks out the sound as much as he can, determined to enjoy this hug while it lasts.

Which is… fairly long. Signal makes no moves to end the hug, so Danny closes his eyes to really savor the moment. 

“So,” Signal murmurs into his ear, “As newlyweds, how about we get to know each other a bit better before we start working on fixing all this?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Let’s ditch these guys and take some time to ourselves.”

“I promise I’ll get this fixed,” he says, just to make sure Signal knows. “Genuinely, I am so sorry to have married you through an old Realms vow when you had no say in it.”

“Hey, if it lands me a very nice, very attractive king, then I don’t mind at all. I could have done without the murderous cultists, though.”

Danny huffs out a small laugh. “Oh, for sure. Thanks for being so cool about this. Want me to fly us out of here?”

“Yes please,” Signal says. Danny smiles and tightens his grip on Signal, then lifts them both up. “I’ll see y’all later! Have fun with the rest of your patrols!” he calls out to the other heroes, who start shouting at him.

Danny flies them right out the roof before the other heroes figure out a way to kick his ass. The city they’re in is smoggy and dark, tall buildings rising up into the cloudy sky, and police sirens ring through the air. There’s no where that looks like a particularly nice spot to land for a conversation, so he asks Signal where he’d like to go and follows his directions from there.

They end up phasing through a building, then into the floor, which leaves them in what Signal calls The Hatch. 

Danny takes a quick moment to freak out over being in a hero’s secret hide out, the composes himself and finally pulls away from Signal.

“So,” he starts, looking around The Hatch and taking in the giant computer, the workstation, the motorcycle farther down the way, “What did you—Woah!” Danny spins around, slamming a hand over his eyes the instant he realizes that Signal is taking off his helmet, leaving his face bare.

It’s not like he’d know who Signal is anyways, being from a different dimension, but it’s the principle of the matter.

Signal laughs when he sees Danny’s attempt to keep from looking at him. A warm hand wraps around his wrist and gently pulls it away. “It’s okay, Danny, you can look,” he says. “It would be pretty weird if my own husband didn’t know my face.”

Slowly, giving Signal to change his mind, Danny opens his eyes. He moves his gaze up, going from Signal’s armor to his face, his very cute face and his warm brown eyes, and Danny stares for a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Signal says, fondness coloring his voice. “My name’s Duke. Are all Ghost Kings as cute as you?”

“Duke,” Danny repeats. “Hi. Um, no. The last one really sucked, actually, which is why I fought him. He was so bad the Infinite Realms didn’t want him anymore, so though I technically didn’t beat him in single combat, it was enough for the Infinite Realms to kick him out and get me on the throne.”

“Man, I can not wait to hear more of your stories. Think we got time for that while we search for a way to undo that marriage vow?”

Taking his chance, Danny says, “Sure! It’s a date.”

He’s awarded by Duke’s bright smile and idly wonders how long he can keep them married. Hopefully long enough for them to get into a real relationship where he can propose properly. And then he can get Jazz’s blessing too—

“Oh shit,” Danny realizes. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell my sister or she’s going to actually kill me.”

Duke winces. “And I should probably tell the others before Spoiler makes a mess of things… B is not going to be happy with me.”

They share a despairing look, already dreading the amount of scoldings they’re both going to get. He’s not looking forward to it.

“...Put it off until tomorrow?”

Duke nods. “Yeah. That’s a tomorrow problem. For now, how about a late dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 117

Bruce does not enjoy magic. In fact he’s absolutely horrible at it, to the point it’s better that he avoids it in general. Getting thrown into some sort of summoning circle bullshit was not helping him feel any better about it either. 

At least he isn’t dead… probably. He might be surrounded by green and there might be a massive entity sitting on a throne, but he isn’t dead yet. Even if the cult had been rambling about sacrificing ‘the dark knight to the dark king’. 

… His kids are definitely going to kill him, but there are small children peeking out at him from within the being’s cape. Who seem happy enough, while the… king looks exhausted in a familiar way. Well. Maybe it’s his own parental exhaustion talking, but they can’t be too bad if their kids are happy to be there. 

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 17

A supervillian had captured a supernatural creature in some kind of device, the entity in question looked like a white haired teen from what they could see of him in the glass sphere he was enclosed in.

The villian was monologing about how they would use the creatures sacred powers to resurrect some evil gods or whatever when the heros intervened knocking him away and accidentally started the machine.

The teen screamed as electricity flowed through his body. Tim ran to him searching for a way to turn off the machine when his hand touched the outside of the sphere.

Unbeknownst to the heros, the machine required a piece of whoever was dead to revive them, it could be hair, blood, bone or even...a memory

That was how Tim, as Robin (or Red Robin whoever you prefer) found himself holding not his mom or dad or anyone you might have expected.

No.

He was holding someone he never thought he'd see again. Someone who didn't even think she was real. Someone who was marveling at her new body made of flesh and blood

Annie.

[formerlycookierunauprompts]

AU Prompts #12 - ✦💓

<Reader is fem here btw>

CONTENT WARNING : There is a cult, human sacrifices, a bit of drowning and depictions of multiple eyes.

.

Admittedly, staying in a cult probably wasn't your best idea after finding out that you were living in a cult for most of your life. But alas, you were stupid. Upon the day of your village's Eclipse Festival, you were called into the Mayor's office. You'd only gone because you didn't really want them to catch onto the fact that you knew about the cult... Unfortunately it turns out that the Mayor called you in because they wanted you as sacrifice... Yippee. So, here you are in your fancy multiple layer dress of thin fabrics(or well, pastry if you wanna get into cookie terms), your body feels numb as you stand off the edge of the cliff at the rushing seas that had turned pitch black. Your mind feels less numb than your body, yet you can barely tell what's going on. You're pretty sure that the Mayor hypnotized you as well. The Beast of the Shadows... You're pretty sure that that's the thing they worship. You can only hope that it doesn't exist, and that you'd die a hopefully peaceful death of drowning. Or maybe a quick one of getting impaled on one of the rocks below. You don't know. And then, you're falling through the air. It feels for a moment like your sailing through space, you couldn't really tell up from down despite knowing what each were earlier. You felt a bit strange from your sudden spinning worldview. Time slowed as you began to think, everything you loved, dreamed, feared, and everything else that seemed so terrifying... You were leaving it behind right now. You hit the water with a loud splash, leaving a trail of bubbles in your wake as your slowly sunk down into the shadows of the sea. Well, at least you didn't get impaled on any of the rocks. In fact, all you could see around you was darkness. Darkness... darkness... Damn, that's a lot of darkness. Oh, there's something new.... Eyes? There's lots of them, big ones as well. Each one bares its gaze into your soul as you sink deeper and deeper. The first coherent though you have? ' Fuck, the beast might be real then.' You feel your back land upon something large, all the while a particularly bright pair of eyes stare at you. And then, there was just darkness.

----

You didn't expect to wake up, mind now unblurred as you can properly think again. First things first, where the hell are you? Looking around... It seemed to be some kind of palace? Everything was decorated in almost gloomy hues of blue and black, reminding you of the abyss you saw before you passed out. " Where... am I?" You mumble out, not expecting any response to come. " This is the Palace of Shadows." A voice begins, startling you as you let a shriek slip out of your mouth. You turn to see another cookie but... it looks like there's something fundamentally wrong with them. Almost like they'd been hollowed out. " The domain of the Beast of Shadows, or as he is known by here, Shadow Milk Cookie." " Okaaayyyy...." You said in confusion. " And who are you?" The cookie before you giggles, " Me? I have many different names and faces." They say almost gleefully. " But I am just an actor in Shadow Milk's plays, I have no real name or identity." Ah, that... probably explains the hollow feeling you get from them. " But you have a very very special role to play! One that will likely never change!" The cookie said enthusiastically, taking your hands and pulling you up off of the floor. " Yes, a very important role to play indeed!" You stared at them, cracking up a confused eyebrow. " Do I have to play sacrifice again? Because I'm not keen on doing that." You partially joke, and it seems like it was funny enough to send the cookie into a fit of laughter. " No, silly! You get to play the role of our Grand Director's Bride!" ... " what."

[hannah-heartstrings]

It's What I'm Saying Now

For the @tes-summer-fest prompt: Companion

Dragonborn, Anthony, sharing some burdens with his faithful companion, Lydia.

@druidx @babyblueetbaemonster @inkysqueed

---------

            Smoke trailed up into the cold air. The campfire crackled, its orange light wavering over the Imperial’s unsure face.

            “I’m a soldier, I’ve only ever followed orders, but now that I’m this…” Anthony looked confused, unsure himself what the word fully meant, “dragonborn, they look to me to lead, and I don’t know if I can.”

            Lydia sat beside him on the fallen log, watching him.

            His head sunk with a sigh. “I’m sorry to burden you with all of this.”

            “I told you, I don’t mind carrying your burdens.”

            He looked up to her through narrowed eyes. “That’s not exactly what you said.”

            “Well…” she glanced away, something shy in her stoic face, “it’s what I’m saying now.”

            His head lifted, surprised.

            “Maybe I was mad at first,” an edge in her voice began sharpening as it went, “that the gods would choose not a Nord on not the Nord’s side to be the Nordic hero, but…” exhaling, the edge softened, “then you risked your life to save Stormcloak farmers.”

            “Well, of course,” he looked confused, “they were people who needed help, wouldn’t anyone have-?”

            “No,” she turned to him, expression sad but warm, “and that’s why the gods chose well.”

            He stopped, surprised.

            “And you’re doing a good job leading us,” she smiled.

            Touched, he slowly smiled back.

            “Well, except for when you get us ambushed by bandits.”

            The smile dropped into a quick gape. “I knew it probably was an ambush.”

            “Uh huh,” she looked unconvinced.

            “But what if he really needed help? You can’t just walk past someone who might need help!”

            “Even when it’s probably an ambush?”

            “Like I said, it might not have been.” Catching that the fire was dwindling, he faced forward to stoke it. “And if we didn’t fall into the trap then someone else would’ve, and they might not have had weapons or an idea that it was probably an ambush. It’s our duty to protect those who can’t protect themselves, so we have to fall into traps…”

            Lydia smiled fondly as he rambled on.

[lassofics]

Sacrifice

Word count: 4k

Timeline: Season 1

Warnings: Career-ending injury

Summary: Roy plays his last ever match, sacrificing his career in an attempt to keep Richmond from facing relegation.

Note: This fic was created and is being published as a part of #Whumpuary2025 !!

There’s been a lot of fucking talk about Roy Kent recently. News articles, predicting his future, projecting potential retirement dates — as if they fucking know him better than Roy Kent himself. He tries not to read that rubbish, but it sticks with him like a fucking cold sore that just won’t go away.

The worst part is how fucking self-aware he is. Roy wishes he could be more like fucking Ted Lasso, who doesn’t seem to realize that “wanker” isn’t a fucking compliment. But instead, he’s forced to look in the mirror every morning, see those gray hairs trying to peek through and those fucking wrinkles people always told him he’d get if he frowned too much. And maybe they were just from that almost-permanent scowl he always seemed to wear, but aging seemed more likely. Plus, his body keeps reminding him of shit he doesn’t want to think about. The stiffness in his legs, the way his back groans every time he bends down to lace his boots — it’s all just noise he’s gotten too good at ignoring.

The point is, the constant fucking pressure seemed to have aged him another decade, and no doubt that most of those gray hairs were from having to deal with Jamie fucking Tartt, who, fortunately, had gone back to Man City, so Roy didn’t have to see his stupid fucking prick face anymore.

UNfortunately, he still had to see his stupid fucking prick face at the match today.

But today’s not about Jamie fucking Tartt. It’s not even about Roy. No, today’s about Richmond staying in the fucking Premier League. And even if Roy isn’t on the field, he sure as hell isn’t gonna sit by and shut up.

One more season, he tells himself as he enters the locker room, his jaw clenched. Just one more fucking season.

He knows he’s sitting out. Lasso had fucking benched him. He’d been fucking pissed at first, but now, it was more of a quiet disappointment, the kind that feels like a knot in your chest or a lump in your throat.

His captain armband, now worn by Isaac, was in good hands. Isaac was a good captain. Roy knew that. Hell, he was a great fucking captain. But every time he saw the armband on someone else’s arm, it felt like a punch in the gut. Like the game had already moved on without him.

The team, however, was not in good hands. Lasso being a good fucking person didn’t negate his lack of knowledge for the fucking sport. It was still a fucking mystery to Roy why Ms. Welton had even hired him in the first place. It was a decision that would almost certainly bite her in the ass. Even if they avoided relegation, Richmond would still be at the bottom of the fucking barrel.

Relegation. It’s not just a word; it’s a fucking death sentence. For the team, for the fans, for the whole fucking town. Richmond isn’t a big club, but it’s their club. And Roy sure as hell isn’t about to let that slip away without a fight.

The gaffer’s Southern drawl snaps Roy out of his train of thoughts. Lasso’s voice cuts through the locker room chatter, all optimism and metaphors that make Roy’s eyes roll. The lads are eating it up, though, nodding along like they’re being handed a fucking gospel.

“Come on, then,” Ted announces, clapping his hands like he’s trying to start a fucking stampede. The lads all grab their boots and head for the tunnel, but Roy stays back for a second, jaw clenched, as Isaac jogs past him wearing the captain’s armband like it’s fucking nothing. He gets it, though. Lasso made the right call, even if Roy hates to admit it. Doesn’t mean he likes sitting on the bench, though. Doesn’t mean he feels any less like a wolf locked in a cage, watching the pack head out without him.

The noise hits him first. It always does — that fucking roar from the crowd echoing off the walls of Nelson Road. It’s deafening, relentless, and just loud enough to drown out that fucking voice in his head telling him he shouldn’t even be here.

Roy steps out of the locker room, boots clicking against the tunnel floor, and for a moment, he lets the sound wash over him. Nelson Road feels especially alive tonight, buzzing with the kind of electricity you only get during a relegation battle. Maybe this is why he’s still doing it. Maybe this is what makes the aches and the fucking gray hairs worth it.

Roy settles onto the bench, gritting his teeth, watching as the starting Greyhounds storm onto the pitch. The cheers amplify. His fists clench.

The Man City players come out next, and a cacophony of boos follow. No one is fazed. Especially not number 51 — formerly number 9, currently the prince prick of all pricks, Jamie fucking Tartt.

They make eye contact from across the pitch, and Roy watches as Jamie, wearing that cocky smirk that drives him mad, blows him a fucking kiss and winks. Roy clenches his fists so tightly it fucking hurts.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though. The whistle blows, and the match begins.

It doesn’t look good. Richmond’s midfield is scrappy but uncoordinated, and Man City is all fucking precision — sharp passes and effortless control that make the Greyhounds look like they’re running through molasses. City’s press is relentless, and Richmond can barely hold the ball for more than a few seconds before someone in blue snatches it away. Roy grits his teeth as Zoreaux makes a fingertip save in the first five minutes, diving like his life depends on it. Thank fucking God for Zoreaux.

But then, Jamie Tartt gets the ball on the left wing, and Roy’s blood runs cold. He already knows. The crowd’s boos swell like a fucking hurricane as Jamie, with that same cocky fucking swagger, cuts inside, dribbling past Colin like he’s not even there. Roy’s fists clench as Jamie picks up speed, carving through the midfield like a knife through butter.

“Fucking hell,” Roy mutters — half under his breath, half to Beard, who doesn’t even flinch.

The ball soars through the air and into the back of the net, causing Roy to slam his fist down with a loud “FUCK!” The boos from the stands reach a new volume, but Jamie just stands there with that cocky smirk and his fucking tongue out as if he’s posing for a fucking picture or some shit. Knowing the prick, he probably is. Probably hired some fucking personal photographer to capture the moment when he scores the fucking winning goal.

But the worst part isn’t even Jamie’s smug expression. It’s the fact that Roy can’t do shit to help the team. It’s the fact that he knows what they should be doing, but they’re not fucking doing it. It’s the fact that no one, not even Isaac, has the experience that Roy has — the kind of experience that comes with the ability to spot weaknesses. Like City’s central midfielders falling back just enough to make passing more difficult.

Then again, City doesn’t need to pass if Jamie fucking Tartt has the ball.

“I fucking told them,” Roy growls, this time fully to Beard, who just stands there as if nothing fucking fazes him. “Don’t let that fucking prick anywhere near the ball. Stick to him like fucking glue. Where the FUCK is our defense?”

Bears just shrugs, his eyes glued to the match. His lack of a response only fuels Roy’s fire.

The team, apparently, hadn’t taken Roy’s words to heart — because whenever City possessed the ball, it was always passed to Jamie. And whenever Jamie had the ball, he made a shot.

But — and this was probably the thousandth time Roy had thought this today — thank fucking God for Zoreaux and his fucking crazy saves.

At only four minutes until halftime, Richmond finally catches a glimpse of hope. The ball bounces loose in midfield, and Colin surges forward. He wins the challenge with a crunching tackle, sending the ball rolling to Bumbercatch, who flicks it swiftly to Sam. And without any hesitation, Sam curves the ball around the opposing defender, burying it in the back of the net.

The roar of the crowd is deafening. If Roy could scream any fucking louder, he would.

His throat feels raw by halftime, and the team trudges back into the locker room. 1-1.

They can survive with a tie. Just don’t fucking lose.

Roy can’t stay quiet anymore.

“OI!” he shouts, immediately capturing the attention of the lads. The chatter in the room suddenly comes to a stop, and all eyes turn to Roy.

“If our defense keeps doing whatever the fuck you were doing out there, we’re gonna get fucking relegated!”

A few glances are exchanged, and a couple stray murmurs can be heard, but other than that, the players stay silent, listening to their (former) captain speak.

“Don’t let them fucking score,” he growls, his voice gruff but full of passion. “And don’t let Tartt anywhere near the fucking ball. He’s too fucking fast. He won’t fucking pass it.”

Roy lets that sink in for a moment, then turns to the goalkeeper. “Zoreaux. You’re a fucking legend. Keep it up.”

Zoreaux, looking surprised by the rare compliment coming from Roy fucking Kent, takes a second to process this. Then, he smiles, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and giving Roy a nod of acknowledgement.

Ted, standing at the doorway, watches this all go down, his expression a mix of pride and sympathy. And then, just like that, he claps his hands again.

“Good fightin’ out there, lads,” he announces with a soft smile. “Y’all are really makin’ me proud.”

And then, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, he turns to Roy. “Roy, I’m subbin’ you in for the second half. Go get warmed up, bud.”

Roy’s gaze snaps up, as if he’s been struck by fucking lightning. The gaffer had fucking benched him; why the hell was he going back on his word? Better yet, as much as he fucking hates to admit it, Roy isn’t exactly the fastest guy on the team, and City’s speed is Richmond’s weakness.

A sudden wave of bitterness washes over Roy as he stands up, getting ready to warm up for the match. If Lasso was planning on putting him in, why the fuck wouldn’t he put him in from the start?

Before Roy knows it, Isaac’s handing back the captain armband, grasping Roy’s hand just long enough for Roy to know it was intentional. “Kill it, bruv,” he says with a proud nod, clapping Roy on the back. Roy, normally so touch-averse, doesn’t even flinch.

The stadium’s roars don’t feel deafening anymore; if anything, it’s just background noise. Roy’s learned to drown it out by now. But as he jogs out of the tunnel this time, something feels… different. There’s some kind of energy in the air that Roy can’t quite place a finger on. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re on the brink of relegation. Or maybe it’s the fact that, if Roy’s body fails him, this could very well be his last season.

No. Don’t fucking think about it.

“You used to run like you were angry at the grass,” Nate had said. “You’d kick the ball like you’d caught it fucking your wife.”

Roy grits his teeth, channeling his frustration.

“The anger makes you who you are,” Nate had added. Roy’s fists clench.

Tartt gives him a cocky smirk from across the pitch. Roy scowls — not even at him for once.

The whistle blows, and the match resumes.

This time, Roy’s words seem to have resonated. City’s putting pressure on Richmond, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Richmond’s defense stands strong — passes intercepted, legal tackles made, and most of all, keeping the ball away from Tartt.

During a momentary break in play after Zoreaux made yet another fucking outstanding save, Roy exchanges glances with Isaac, silently pleading with his eyes: keep it up. Isaac gives him a subtle nod of acknowledgment, and Roy just nods back.

When the clock shows only twenty minutes left, it’s like they’re at a fucking stalemate. Neither team has been able to score. But then, to Roy’s horror, a City player directs a pass — right towards Tartt.

Roy doesn’t need to watch the pass to know Tartt’s going to collect it. Instead, he whips his gaze over to Zoreaux, who, to Roy’s distress, is off his line.

You would think Tartt’s being chased by a fucking lion or some shit with how fast he takes off, dribbling with precision. It’s like a fucking stampede, the way every single Richmond player takes off after him — but he’s just too goddamn fast. A wave of dread washes over Roy at the sight.

And then, suddenly, something in Roy Kent’s mind fucking snaps, and he sprints after the prick, running faster than he’s ever run before.

His legs are burning, every muscle straining as he channels every last ounce of rage he has. But it’s not about the pain anymore. It’s not about the fact that his lungs feel like they’re fucking collapsing. It’s about Richmond. About the badge on his chest. About proving, just for one more moment, that Roy fucking Kent is still Roy fucking Kent.

Before he knows it, he’s in front of the rest of his team. Before he knows it, he’s a mere two meters behind Tartt.

The background noise gets louder.

Roy gets closer.

Tartt prepares to shoot.

“Your anger is your superpower,” Nate had said. And Roy fucking Kent was about to prove him right.

Before Tartt can take the shot, Roy throws himself onto the grass, his foot sliding in just enough to knock the ball out of the striker’s possession.

Jamie goes down. But Roy goes down harder.

For a moment, it feels numb, just like any other fair tackle he’s made this season. The stadium lights glare down harshly at him as he lays there, trying to catch his breath from the fastest fucking sprint of his life.

After a few seconds, he puts his palms on the ground, pushing himself up. He doesn’t move more than a few inches before a wave of excruciating pain shoots through him, radiating from his left knee. Involuntarily, he groans, clenching his fists as if that’ll mitigate the pain.

Just fucking get up, he tells himself. He tries again, but he can’t move his leg without almost crying out in agony.

He bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood. Because it’s over. He knows it’s over.

He’ll never step foot on this pitch again. He’ll never make another tackle. He’ll never wear that fucking captain’s armband again. Up until this moment, he never realized how tight it was — so tight it feels like a fucking boa constrictor wrapped around his arm. And yet, the last thing he ever wants to do is take it off.

Roy grits his teeth as another wave of sharp, pulsing pain hits him. He wants to scream. Instead, he just throws his hands over his face, as if that’ll fucking do anything.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice shaking more than he’d ever care to admit. No one hears him. The noise of the crowd, which he’d been able to block out before, suddenly feels louder than ever. Like a fucking funeral or some shit.

From the corner of his eye, Roy spots the physios, walking across the pitch towards him. The tightness in his chest suddenly threatens to drown out the pain in his knee.

“Roy!”

Roy’s gaze snaps back up. Through his blurry vision, he sees his teammates jogging over to him, led by Sam. His chest tightens even more upon seeing that look on Sam’s face.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, his youthful eyes filled with worry.

If it were anyone else, Roy probably would’ve snapped: Do I look fucking okay?

But because it’s Sam, Roy just groans out, “I fucked my knee.”

He finally manages to lift his head just enough to see his teammates. Sam’s standing there with a look of worry on his face. Dani’s got a hand clamped over his mouth, as if he can’t believe what’s happening. Isaac’s just staring down at him, his eyes silently communicating more than words ever could.

“You want me to call for the stretcher, Roy?” Colin asks hesitantly.

The stretcher. The thought of it makes his blood run cold. He shakes his head immediately. If this is it, he’s not leaving on a fucking stretcher.

“No,” he all but growls through gritted teeth. “Just help me up.”

Sam reaches down, offering Roy a hand. Roy takes it, letting out a loud groan as he starts to sit up — but suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Sam grabs his shoulder and pushes him back down.

Roy’s too tired to resist, but not too tired to snap, “the fuck are you doing?”

Sam, still holding Roy’s shoulder gently, just smiles (a smile that sharply contrasts the agony Roy feels). “Listen.”

Roy, still filled with a sense of dread, just wants to get up and walk out. Go back to the locker room and be alone. But Sam’s hand on his shoulder is preventing that, and he’s too tired to argue, so he just does as he’s told: he listens. He listens to the cheer that’s rippling through the crowd like wildfire.

“Roy Kent! Roy Kent! He’s here, he’s there, he’s every-fucking-where!”

He’s heard it probably a hundred times over. But this time, it hits him like a ton of bricks — the people he’s inspired, the impact he’s made.

Suddenly, he wants to cry.

Instead, he stubbornly blinks back the tears — he can cry alone in the locker room, not at this fucking stadium in front of everyone — and grabs Sam’s hand. Sam pulls him up, and the throbbing pain in Roy’s knee is practically nullified by the indescribable feeling in his chest.

With a deep breath, Roy reaches for his captain’s armband, trying not to think too hard about it as he rips it off, handing it wordlessly over to Isaac. Roy doesn’t look at him this time, but if he did, he’d see a small nod of respect — and pride.

Roy looks up, seeing the crowd, seeing all their faces. One last time, he raises his hands and claps for them. One last time, he limps towards the tunnel.

One last time, as he walks through the tunnel, he cherishes that moment.

The locker room is dark and cold and empty. The roars the crowd had been deafening, but now, Roy misses them more than anything. The silence in here is suffocating.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but the tears come anyway. And he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He lets them fall, because there’s no one else here to dare it, and he deserves to fucking cry for once.

He stares at his locker — for the last time. He looks at himself in the mirror, and an old, sad, wrinkled face stares back at him.

He reaches for the bottom of his jersey, then slowly pulls it over his head. The air suddenly feels cold, blowing over the sweat and tears that drip down. The weight of the realization seems to hit him again and again, pummeling him like he’s a fucking punching bag or some shit, and each blow feels more painful than the last.

Roy crumples his jersey in his hands, then throws it to the floor, resisting the urge to smack his hand against the lockers. It won’t do any good now. Nothing can fix this. It’s fucking over.

Taking a deep breath, Roy finally sits down on the bench in front of his locker and buries his face in his hands.

__________________

He only stays like this for a few moments before the locker room door creaks open. Roy’s gaze shoots up. The game can’t have ended that quickly, right?

Keeley stands there, wearing his name on her back, staring silently at him. Roy cannot fully see her expression through his tears, but he’s pretty sure she looks like a mix between sympathetic, concerned, and heartbroken.

“You’re not allowed back here during a game.” The words come out a little harsher than Roy intended for them to — just another thing for him to be upset about. But Keeley doesn’t even flinch. Her face doesn’t change. She just slowly closes the door behind her.

A wave of anxiety hits Roy like a truck. Not wanting her to see him like this, he snaps. “I told you to get out.”

She doesn’t. In fact, she comes closer, her steps slow and deliberate, never taking her kind, beautiful eyes off him. Even through his tears, she looks like the most beautiful person in this awful fucking world.

“I mean it,” Roy says, much less forcefully this time — because how can he be forceful with her? His voice cracks and breaks as he lowers his gaze to his boots — which he will never wear again, by the way. “S-stay the fuck away from me.”

Keeley pauses, just for a moment, just long enough to study Roy’s expression to determine whether or not he really wants her to go. He doesn’t; they both know he doesn’t, so she moves again, sitting down beside him on the bench.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. Roy wipes his eyes furiously, hating that he’s crying in front of someone else.

But if he has to break down next to someone, he doesn’t want it to be anyone other than Keeley.

Keeley reaches up, putting an arm around Roy’s shoulders, gently caressing one side of his face. Roy just sits there, motionless but full of pent-up emotions that he’s been feeling ever since his fucking body started failing him.

She gives his head a gentle tug, and Roy doesn’t have to be told twice. Wordlessly, he buries his face in Keeley’s shoulder, nuzzling his head into his neck, seeking out that comfort that only she can provide.

Her free hand intertwines with his, and she moves closer, rubbing his head soothingly. And for the first time in almost a decade, Roy allows himself to sob.

__________________

In the end, it didn’t even fucking matter. Richmond had lost to City, and now, the Greyhounds were relegated. Relegation — not just a word, but a fucking death sentence.

Roy had left it all out there on the pitch, given it everything he had. He’d sacrificed his fucking career to keep this team in the Premier League, and now, it was over. He hadn’t fucking done enough.

If he had just stayed out on that pitch and kept fucking playing, maybe there could’ve been a different outcome.

Roy, still in Keeley’s arms but now surrounded by the rest of his teammates, just leans his head on her shoulder again. He’s not crying anymore; he’s already shed more tears today than he has in the past ten years, but that doesn’t make the pain any less real.

“It didn’t matter,” he murmurs to Keeley, his tone fainted with resigned sadness. “None of it fucking mattered. We’re still fucking relegated.”

Keeley, gently rubbing his arm, whispers back to him, making sure no one else can hear. “You did everything you could.”

Roy just sits there for another moment, inhaling softly through his nose, exhaling gently through his mouth, contemplating the statement. Then, after a moment, he swallows thickly, holding back the emotion in his voice as he speaks.

“It wasn’t enough.”

[mentalityofacoolduck]

Prompt #4

Hero is constantly belittled and made fun of by their team. They are as good of a fighter as any; yet they're seen as inferior and a drag on the team. One day, the villains manage to wipe out the hero team, and present them with an offer: if they give Hero to them, they'll spare the heroes lives. Hero's team immediately takes them up on this offer, and give Hero up without a second thought. Hero is sure that they'll be killed, but unbeknownst to them, the Villains have taken a liking to Hero's skills, and want Hero to fight alongside them.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Sacrificing Dialogue

Characters sacrificing themselves for... the plot.

"I won't be able to buy you that ring, but I can buy you enough time to get out of there."

"You can't hold them off alone!" "Not forever. But for now."

"Is there any plan in your brilliant head that doesn't involve one of us as a sacrifice?"

"We can't kill them! You will also die with them!" "Dying a hero would suit me well, I think."

"It's ok. I will be fine. You need to go now."

"Everyone or no one! None of us will just be left behind."

"I don't want to hear another word from you. You will not sacrifice yourself for this!"

"It's me or you. And in this case, we need you more than me."

"Don't even think about it!" "I need to do this!"

"We won't make it both. We got to choose."

"I guess one of us has to die a heroic death." "Don't be so dramatic."

"So this is probably the end for me. One kiss for a selfless man?"

"No sacrificing bullshit! It's you and I together, remember?"

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[loveinhawkins]

Most vague prompt ever: very near death experience HURT/comfort with anger (at the perpetrator or the victim/circumstance)?

Eddie’s POV of some moments in this fic prompt guidelines

When Robin had yelled at the doctors in desperation, said that she shared the same blood type as Steve—babbling something about tests they’d had to go through last year—she had been very quickly shepherded away. Even then, she moved almost one step ahead of the nurse guiding her onwards, looking like she was seconds away from grabbing the equipment and doing the whole damn thing herself.

By silent agreement, Nancy had followed, and Eddie stayed in Steve’s room—Steve stable enough, for now, to be left unobserved by the limited staff who actually knew what in God’s name was in the bat venom.

But now… it’s all just a waiting game. Eddie fucking hates those.

Then Nancy comes in.

And Eddie’s gotten used to seeing the typical blaze in her eyes, like she’ll never run out of determination. But now he looks at her, and there’s something different in her eyes—a dullness. Something so… profoundly sad.

It terrifies him.

“Eddie,” is all she says.

“What? Is Buckley okay? Wheeler.”

“Yeah, she’s—she’s fine. It’s—they said—”

But Eddie’s mind he already leapt ahead to what will surely come next, and he shudders out an, “Oh God.”

“—it might not work.”

He feels some kind of strangled cry tear out of him, unbidden; he storms outside because before Dustin’s fever had broken, before he’d been discharged, he kept rambling to Eddie, “Steve, he can hear you, I know he can—Eddie, don’t you dare give up on him, please, please.”

And he doesn’t want Steve to hear this.

“This is bullshit,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against the corridor wall. He wants to rage, to find something to destroy, but there’s nothing. “This is so fucking—what did they. What. What did they actually say?”

“There might be too much venom from the bats inside him,” Nancy says, somewhere close—in his peripheral vision, Eddie can see her standing against the wall, too, leaning towards him. Her voice is steady, numb. Like she’s reciting from a textbook. “And that—when Robin’s blood is—his body might. Reject it. And he’ll—he’ll go into… like a kind of shock. And then he…” She inhales, short and shallow. “He’ll die.”

“God,” Eddie repeats, and his hand is drawing back without a conscious thought, before Nancy’s hand is closing around his wrist.

“Eddie, don’t,” she says. “It won’t help.”

He turns to look at her, and that’s when he sees that her knuckles are already bloody; and he’s suddenly sure he’ll find an impression somewhere along the wall, from where she first struck.

“We’ve not lost him yet,” she whispers, and she sways, getting closer still. Drops Eddie’s wrist to move underneath his arm, like she’s trying to hide in between him and the wall. “We’ve not—we’re going to keep fighting. Eddie, I can’t—can’t to do it alone.”

It’s only then that he realises she’s crying.

The anger cools instantly.

Eddie hugs her, makes his body a shield from passers-by. Whispers into her hair, “I’m sorry. Christ, Wheeler, I’m sorry.”

-

Nancy’s gone to get Robin some food when Eddie hears a gut-wrenching scream echo down the corridor.

He runs.

Doctors swarming around Steve’s bed. His heart leaping for just a moment, thinking that what he’s seeing is Steve sitting up, Steve awake—

But then Steve screams again, and his eyes are shut, his body drenched in sweat.

One doctor turns, jerks his head at Eddie. “Get him out.”

Eddie almost laughs, because no. Fuck no.

They’d been assured that they’d be told when Steve’s transfusion was going ahead. That’s why Nancy had even felt comfortable leaving the room in the first place.

Another doctor is shaking her head, beckoning Eddie forwards. “No, you can—you can help us, we don’t want to restrain him, so—”

“Stop,” Steve groans. The muscles in his neck are taut with stress.

Eddie goes to him, places a hand on his forehead—nearly hisses at the heat radiating off him.

“Steve, Steve, just try and—hey, it’s just me, you’re okay, you’ve just gotta—” Steve writhes against Eddie’s touch, makes an awful, plaintive sound. “Oh Christ, please, Steve, just lie back. I know it’s hard, I know, I know.”

“Don’t,” Steve keeps repeating. “Don’t. Please.”

A nurse slips a needle into the crook of his arm.

It’s wrong, Eddie thinks, to label the noise that Steve makes then as just a scream. It’s more than that, somehow. It sounds like he’s being tortured.

“Stop, stop!” Eddie pleads, but the staff pay him little notice. “You’re hurting him, don’t you get it, you’re—”

“Mr Munson, listen to me,” a doctor says. “We’ve done all we can. The rest is up to him.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Eddie seethes.

-

It’s unbearable.

Eddie is left alone with him—as Steve’s fever began to climb even more, he was told again with clinical succinctness that having someone watching over him would make no difference, that it was now just a question of which would win: Robin’s blood or The Upside Down.

Steve is restless, but weak. Sometimes his eyes open, but they’re glazed and unfocused, and Eddie knows that whatever he’s seeing, it’s not this hospital room.

“Dustin, Dustin—”

“He’s all right,” Eddie keeps saying. “Please, Steve, just lie down.”

“Wanna go home,” Steve mumbles at some point, which is the most sense he’s made so far.

“Okay,” Eddie says, voice breaking. “Yeah, you can—tell me about home, Steve, come on.”

But then Steve lapses back into half-nonsensical muttering. After a while, Eddie realises that some of what Steve’s saying refers to past events all out of order, him hearing Dustin’s voice in The Upside Down.

And suddenly Steve shoots up, breathing so fast that Eddie worries he’ll hyperventilate.

“Don’ g’in th’Lake,” he slurs, eyes wide. “Not safe. I c’n… swim. Has t’be me.”

“Steve,” Eddie whispers.

“Don’t drown,” Steve gets out quite clearly, and Eddie notices tears mixing with the sweat running down his face. “Don’t drown, Eddie.”

“I’m not drowning,” Eddie promises, fighting to keep his composure.

You are.

-

Eventually, Steve quiets. Settles.

Eddie pushes back hair that’s left damp from his forehead, and then…

He hardly dares to believe it, when it feels like the fever’s broken. When Steve’s fingers twitch in his hand.

“Oh, holy shit,” he whispers, his laughter breathless. Reverent. “That’s it, Steve, that’s it. Break my fucking fingers, dude, I dare you.”

-

‘Nothing to be done,’ be damned, Eddie still yells for someone when Steve starts to shiver.

One of the nurses looks him over. Watches him breathe for a few minutes. Catches Eddie’s eye and gives a firm nod.

When she leaves, Eddie kisses Steve on the temple, then gently dries his face.

“You did it. You fucking did it, Steve, you’re amazing, you’re—”

Steve takes a deep breath. His lips part.

He’s so quiet that Eddie has to lean in to hear him.

“I… I swam.”

Eddie laughs through a sob. “That’s right, you—yeah. That’s it, sweetheart, just breathe. Rest now. I’ve got you. Shh, I’ve got you.”

-

The nurse returns to give Steve more meds. Insists that he won’t wake up for hours yet.

Eddie leaves in a daze. He doesn’t know how he finds them, feels like he’s blinked from one room into the next.

“Eddie?”

Nancy and Robin are sat together, a table strewn with packets of cookies between them.

For a moment, Eddie can’t speak, but Nancy must be able to read him, because she exhales shakily, and it sounds like she says, “Oh, thank God.”

Robin stands without saying anything. Her eyes flicker across Eddie’s face, searching for something, like she’s so scared to believe it. There’s a thick band aid on the crook of her elbow. Eddie runs to her, sweeps her up. Says, voice thick with tears, “You’re a fucking angel, Buckley.”

[whumpinthepot]

Whumpee(r) who relies on caretaker so much that it takes up all of caretakers time and wears them down slowly until they can’t handle it anymore.

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

Soap is probably the most self-sacrificing person in the 141 but he will also lose his absolute mind if any of the others try and do it.

Like there was a mission where he had to send the rest of his squad on ahead and when one of them asked what he was going to do there was nothing but confusion from him.

He had merely frowned at them, shrugged and went, “Well you keep going.”

And that was the end of it. Soap never has a single thought for his own well-being, couldn’t give two shits if he made it out alive or not. But if any of the others try it he will drag them out by the scruff of their necks and curse them to hell and back for ever trying to do such a stupid thing.

Soap had done it once when on mission with Ghost. He had mindlessly gone into the thick of a gun fight, no regards for his own safety or anything, just to get the hard drive they were after.

Ghost had gone absolutely ballistic when things had calmed down. He didn’t wait for them to get back to base, didn’t even care that their comms were still on. All he saw was Johnny, a man he had come to stupidly love and was terrified of losing, running into the middle of gunfire without a single care for his well-being.

And when Soap just gets angry in return and doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal? Ghost could’ve sworn he was about to choke the living daylights out of the man. Or whoever the fuck had taught him that his life meant so little. Because there wasn’t a chance in hell that Soap hadn’t been taught to disregard his life like that. Not when Simon himself didn’t even disregard his own life like that.

[antaresr]

So, I was rambling when my head remembered the prompt that @liberationwasboundtohappen proposed and my brain decided to do it.

So a post-canon where everyone is friends, with game nights and stuff like that, however Ryou every night has nightmares about the shadow realm, things chasing him, the hunger he went through, the hiding places he had to find.

Until he sees him, Zorc, Hunting him, chasing him, cursing him, he hides and finds some water that he drinks, and his reflection is not his pale face with soft eyes, it is a sharp face with terrified eyes, a scar running down his right cheek, large and calloused hands, Ryou is not dreaming of his memories, Ryou does not have nightmares.

Ryou is watching TKB being hunted by things and by Zorc.

He wakes up with a scream when Zorc finds TKB, and it just so happens that it had been a game night, his friends wake up because of his scream and ask him what the hell is going on.

"The spirit of the ring, the thief, he, oh god, I think he's dead."

"Well old man, it's old news, it's been years since that" Jounouchi tells him patting his shoulder, thinking Ryou is just having a breakdown from a bad dream.

"No, I just saw him, Zorc is there, with him."

"Like the giant thing with a dragon thing?" Honda shudders, remembering the past encounter with the dark god.

"I need to call Marik, I need to save him" Ryou hurriedly gets up from his bed, turns on his computer and calls Marik, when Marik answers Ryou doesn't even let him say hello. "I need to enter the shadow realm."

Everyone yells at Ryou for the stupid thing he just said, Marik who doesn't have all the information asks him if he had a screw loose.

"The spirit is in danger, Bakura is in danger."

Marik considers the information "Give me a few hours, I know what scrolls we need and I can find a quick flight there."

Marik hangs up, Ryou trembles in and drops into his desk chair, everyone looks at him like he's crazy for wanting to save the spirit that made his life miserable.

After almost 24 hours Marik arrives in Japan, he doesn't take a break, he goes straight to Ryou's house, everyone is still there, Marik takes out from his suitcase THE BOOK that started all this mess, he opens it directly to the necessary page and Ryou and Marik study the text.

And they realize that there is a problem.

For the spell they need someone who can speak ancient Egyptian and is a magic user, and only Marik can speak ancient Egyptian and only Ryou is a magic user, neither can enter the portal that will come out of the spell because they will have to stay outside to keep it open and stabilized as there are two people and not one.

They need a third one to enter.

They explain what is going on to the others, they all look at each other because why the hell would they sacrifice their life for the guy who was willing to kill them in the dark RPG? Jou and Honda refuse, Anzu apologizes but says she won't do it.

"You guys couldn't anyway, the shadow realm would kill you quickly, you weren't carriers of the sennen Items."

"I'll do it" Yugi straightens up, more serious than anyone would expect.

"You can't be serious" Jou grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him off.

"Yugi is too dangerous, you heard Ryou about the stuff in there" Anzu tries to talk some sense into him, she won't lose her best friend, she'd rather do it herself than let him go alone.

"It's just me left, I don't speak Egyptian, and I don't know how to do magic, but I used the puzzle, I'll survive."

"I won't ask you to do that, I'll find another way and bring it..."

Yugi doesn't let Ryou finish "No, I'll do it, I owe it to him".

No one understands why the heck Yugi says that, but he doesn't have to explain to them the times that The spirit of the ring, Bakura, kept him safe, Yugi will pay his debt, he will save Bakura, he will bring him back.

And if he can't save him, then at least he won't let him die alone.

[compacflt]

wip wednesday: going thru my corny arc