#heavy injuries

[quinncupine]

Clinical

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Word count: 4,850

Warnings: guns, violence, blood and injury, medical setting

Summary: After closing up the clinic for the night, you're ready to have dinner with your favorite hero, but a rather dangerous new patient just checked in and won't take no for an answer.

Quinn’s Masterlist

The strong smell of disinfectant wafted through the examination room as you finished wiping the counters down. It was the last room of the night and with a satisfied nod, you gathered your supplies to put them back in the storage room, clicking the light off as you stepped into the hall. On your way there your phone buzzed in your pocket and with some tricky manuevering, you slid it out of your white coat and smirked at the caller I.D.

Nestling the device between your chin and shoulder, you answered the call. "Well, hello stranger."

"Aw, come on, it hasn’t been that long," Izuku laughed on the other end. "I just saw you this morning."

"Too long in my opinion." A quick shove to open the closet door and you went about putting the supplies in their respective places. "I'm closing up shop here, where are you?"

"Just left the agency," he sounded like he was in the car. "I'll be there in about twenty."

"Good, I'm starving." You wiped your hands on your coat and walked out of the closet, shutting the door with your foot. "I've been wanting to eat at Bonavici's forever."

"You sound like you're more excited for the food than to see me," he pouted through the line.

"Hey, your words not mine." When you snickered, he scoffed in return but you could practically hear his smile. "Oh, I’m kidding…sort of. I really am excited though. How on earth did you get us reservations so quickly? They book out months in advance."

"I have my ways."

Making your rounds through the clinic, shutting off lights as you headed towards the front, you grinned. "It was All Might, wasn't it?"

"Uh," he cleared his throat and you could only imagine the embarrassed blush drawing across his face. "That's still a way."

"Fair enough." The lights shut off one by one as you made your way down the hall. When you reached the lobby, you leaned against the doorframe and crossed your arms. "How did you know I wanted to go?"

"Besides the fact that you've been not so subtly hinting at it for the past few weeks?" It was your turn to blush as he continued. "I listen."

"And I love that about you." With a dreamy sigh, you closed your eyes. "I can practically taste the food. You truly are my hero."

There was a strangled sound on the other end before he coughed and stammered through his words. "I-well you, it's uh…I'll be there soon." Then he hung up and you couldn't help the small laugh that echoed through the dim lobby. It seemed you always knew exactly what to say to fluster the pro hero.

"Was that Deku?" Hanna, your receptionist called from behind the desk, hugging a stack of papers to her chest. "He's such a sweetheart!"

You jumped, not realizing she was there. "I thought you went home?"

"Oh, I was, but this fax just came through marked as urgent. I was just going to finish up the paperwork before I head home." She set the papers down and organized them into their respective piles.

"I swear, you're just as bad as Izuku." you laughed, coming around to the other side of the desk. "Go home Hanna."

"Oh, but I'm almost done!" She reached for the papers again but you gently grabbed her hands and turned her around.

"I promise it will be waiting for you tomorrow. But go enjoy the rest of your evening, okay?"

Hanna made a half-hearted effort to grab the papers one more time but gave up with a sigh. "All right. But you have to promise to enjoy yourself too. Oh, and tell me how Bonavici's was! And- and tell Deku he's…" she trailed off with a blush and you only laughed, pushing her towards the door.

"Good night Hanna."

She grabbed her purse and waved goodbye to you before she finally left. Hanna was a hard worker but it was always difficult to get her to stop working, a similar issue you faced with Izuku. Rolling your eyes fondly, you went back to the desk to clean up the rest of the papers and try to finish some of her workload before Izuku arrived.

The front bell chimed a minute later and you glanced into the waiting room, ready to tell whoever it was that you were closed for the night, only to come face to face with a gun.

"Hey Doc," a man drenched from head to toe panted, looking grimy and irritated in his wet clothes. "Got a sec?"

Two more men burst through the door, dragging a third, much less lively man between them. Blood streaked across the linoleum as his limp legs trailed behind him. The barely conscious man was also covered in water, droplets mixing with the concerning amount of red pooling underneath him.

When you remained in place partly from shock and partly from terror, the leader waved his gun at you in annoyance. "Well, don't just sit there!" he yelled, "you're a doctor, right? Well, you've just got yourself a new patient."

You glanced at the man hanging between his two buddies, shivering slightly as he let out a harsh cough, spraying blood across your once clean floors. It was clear he was in a bad position but you were just a small outpatient clinic. This was something that an E.R. would be more equipped to handle, not you.

"He needs a hospital. I don't have the-" the gun was roughly shoved against your cheek and you snapped your mouth shut.

"You're a doctor. You fix him. Fix him now." The threat was clear and all you could do was nod, trying to ease yourself away from the cold barrel resting way too comfortably on your face.

"Okay," you swallowed thickly and pointed down the hall. "Take him to a room."

As the two underlings dragged the man down your darkened hall, leaving a bloody trail in their wake, you took a deep breath trying to remain as calm as the situation would allow. The only thing keeping you together was the fact that Izuku was on his way. It wouldn't be long. Besides, if you could help the man, then you would.

Bossman lingered in front of the desk, gun still trained on you, guestering for you to go first. He would be a problem. Especially if he kept waving that gun aroudn like a damn maraca. Reluctantly, you followed the trio into the first examination room and watched them lug the limp man onto the bed.

Steeling your courage, you stepped into the room and tried to ignore the guns and the thugs attached to the end of them and instead tried to focus on your new patient. Most of the damage seemed to be around his stomach. There was a nasty gash on the side of his head, carving a neat little river of red down the side of his face, flowing right over the deep-set bruise near his temple. Along with the apparent dip in freezing water, he'd been through the wringer tonight.

Washing your hands and slapping on some fresh gloves, you cut the mostly torn shirt away to examine the wound further. Bullet holes. Three of them. Burn wounds around the site indicated they had probably been fired point blank. That was a problem.

"Help me turn him on his side." you whispered, glancing at one of the men, not even sure if they would listen.

The closest one grunted and helped you pull him on his side. Wary of the man, you leaned in closer to get a better look at the hole in his back. Two exit wounds which meant the third was still inside. Who knows what kind of internal damage he'd already suffered. Just stitching him up wasn't going to cut it.

"He needs surgery," you rolled him back over and turned to the Boss. "This is just a small outpatient clinic. I don't have the right equipment for that kind of operation. If we call an ambulance and take him to the hopsi-"

That wasn't what he wanted to hear. The next thing you knew, he had you by the collar of your shirt and the gun nestled into your hairline. Your words choked on your gasp as he leaned in mere inches from your face enough to smell the tobacco in his breath.

"You save him. If he dies…you die." He growled it out quietly and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep calm.

This man, while you would try your best, needed more help than you could currently offer. He'd already bled out to the point of an unsettling pale sheen. His breath was staggered and shallow. Each time he coughed, red spittle spattered his lips. This would quickly become his death bed if these men couldn't see reason.

"Listen to me," you pleaded, "let me call an ambulance. If you want to save his life then he needs better care than I can do here."

"So you're saying you're useless." He narrowed his eyes, pressing the gun further into your temple and you shook your head furiously, instinctively trying to wiggle out of his grip.

"No! No! I can staunch the wounds here, but he needs surgery to repair the damage and probably a blood transfusion. None of those things can be done here. Please, you need to understand he-"

"No!" he screamed in your face then finally stepped away to pull at his hair. "No, we can't go to any hospitals. You fix him here and you fix him now!" The moment he stepped away, you deflated, but a moment later he whipped the gun back to you with a scowl. "Do it! Now!"

Best not to argue with an unstable gunman. Grabbing the antiseptic and bandages, you went to work cleaning the wounds. The bullets did some pretty severe damage and most likely pierced his gut, possibly a kidney as well. You did your best to stop the bleeding, but even if you stitched him up, the risk of internal bleeding was too great to ignore, paired with his already tremendous amount of blood loss. His chances were extremely low and dropping by the second.

"I can't work with that gun on me," you whispered, hoping to god that it wouldn't rile him up further. "I need space."

For once, he actually listened to you and barked orders for the other two men to go keep a look out in the front. They filed out of the room, leaving you alone with their boss who paced the length of the small room occasionally throwing nervous glances to the man on the bed. You worked in tense silence, cleaning the wound and trying to stop the heavy bleeding.

You kept your eye on the clock in the room, counting down the seconds. If you could just keep him at bay for a little longer, then you could make it out of here. It was becoming increasingly clear that this man was too far gone with his injuries and without greater medical help, he would surely die. But there was no chance in hell you'd tell that to Mr. Gunman over there. Not when he seemed way too trigger happy.

After you finished cleaning the area, your shaking fingers grabbed the suture kit, but you paused and checked his pulse. It was thready and barely there. Not a good sign. Taking a big breath, you turned your attention back to the criminal in one more attempt to plead his case.

"He needs a hospital. This man won't survive with some simple stitches. If he's really your friend then-"

You never got to finish the sentence before you unceremoniously crashed into the ground, clutching your throbbing cheek. The sharp sting where he'd pistol whipped you spread out along your jaw all the way up to your ear. Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up at the wrathful figure looming over you.

"Don't make me tell you again," he growled low and threatening.

When you didn't move from your spot on the floor, still in shock, he bent down and clutched your collar to hoist you roughly to your feet. Then he flung you towards the bed. You stumbled into the frame with a yelp. That was when you noticed the hiccupping moans and short pained gasps. It was something you'd heard before and your stomach plummeted.

It happened almost too quickly to react. He took one last heavy drag before he went completely limp. His chest stilled, breath dying in his throat. You pressed two desperate fingers against his neck and waited but got nothing. Shit.

"What happened?" The man pressed against you to get a better look.

Not daring to answer, you placed your hands on his bare chest and started compressions. "Bottom drawer on the end. Grad the A.E.D. kit. Now!"

He did as told, keeping an eye on you as he shuffled through the cabinets until he found the kit. You finished one set of compressions and quickly fixed the two leads above his heart and under the ribs. Stepping back, you waited as the machine made a decision.

"Shock advised." The A.E.D. buzzed out and you cleared yourself, pressing the button. The all-too-pale man jerked on the table as the current raced through him, but it wasn't enough. You shocked him a second time with the same results. A third time and the man grabbed your shoulders, his nails digging through your coat.

"Is he-"

"Not yet," you murmured, too afraid to give him the truth. "I just need to restart the heart." He'd lost too much blood for that to be effective. The man was gone, but you still needed to buy time until he deemed you useless.

The room was quiet for a moment as the two of you stood there staring down at the man. Quietly, you pulled the pads off his chest and set them with the machine on the small, wheeled table beside the bed.

Behind you, the boss's breathing grew heavy, and you grasped your trembling fingers together. "He's dead." The gun dropped to his side as if defeated. "He is, isn't he?"

His sudden somber change in mood caught you off guard, but when you met his gaze, there was something unreadable swimming in his eyes. Then his senses seemed to catch up to him and he pressed the gun into the side of your head.

You blinked, stumbling back into the tray table, spilling the machine on the ground. He followed you all the way to the wall until your head slammed into it but you barely registered the pain, more focused on the barrel digging into your skull.

"I told you not to let him die." He growled, his voice on the verge of breaking. "I told you what would happen if you LET HIM DIE!"

"I didn't- he was gravely injured. He needed a hospital!" Your fingers pressed harder into your forehead, mushing your cheek into the wall as he tried to tame that wild burning anger flickering through his emotions. "I'm-I'm sorry!"

"You useless piece of-" the gun cocked, and a sob escaped your throat just as his finger pulled the trigger.

Izuku pulled into the empty lot where your small free clinic sat. The building was your pride and joy and after a few years of start up had become a staple in the rundown community it was centered in. It was actually a big factor in how he met you so this place had become quite special to him as well.

A little too lost in thought, he nearly missed the figure that darted in front of his car. Cursing, he slammed his breaks as Hanna, your receptionist, slapped his hood, face cloaked in the shadows above his lights.

"Hanna!" He put the car in park and jumped out. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there! Are you alright?"

"Deku!" She cried and grabbed his arm in a panic.

Immediately he knew something was wrong. Hanna was always a bit of a fanatic, but she usually was able to keep her composure. This was a new side he'd yet to see.

"What's wrong?" He grabbed her own arm in return.

"Inside, four of them. They- they just barged in as I was getting in my car," she pointed to the clinic. "One of them was hurt pretty badly and they- they had guns Deku!" She grabbed her head and turned back to the clinic. "I called the police, but they never come quickly in this area. I knew you were coming but I didn't have your number and I wanted to help, but I didn't know what else to do!"

"Hanna, Hanna," Izuku grabbed her shoulders to center her focus. "It's okay, you did the right thing. I need you to wait out here for the police, okay. Get in your car and stay hidden until they arrive. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded, taking in a shuddering breath and then set her face. "Yes. Please help her Deku!" Then she slipped past him towards her car.

Izuku wasted no time in rushing for the door. He had to be careful of the glass doors giving him away. From inside, he could see two men who looked to be arguing with each other. Strapped to their belts were guns. Though you were nowhere in sight which didn't bode well.

He would need to deal with these two quietly less risking anyone figuring out he was here and jeopardizing your safety. Going through the front would signal his arrival, especially with the bell on the door. Though there was the delivery entrance. It was in the back and would make a discrete entrance.

At the back of the building, he found the service entrance and made quick work of the lock on the door. That was something easily replaceable. You on the other hand were not. He needed to hurry. Slipping through the heavy metal doors, he found himself in the darkness of the storage area. He could hear the low murmurs of the men in the lobby past the door. They sounded angry, cooking up some revenge scheme on the 'bastards that dared mess with their gang.'

"Call up Tanzan. Tell him to get the boys ready. As soon as we're done here, we're going after them next." One of the men said, twisting his gun in his hand. "I ain't lettin' em get away with doing that to Kanko."

"You think he's gonna be okay?" The other younger one glanced down the hall, crossing his arms. "He was in a bad way."

"Boss's got the doc on it, don't worry bout it," he shrugged. "But if he does kick the bucket, then we got the greenlight to take them all down. No witnesses."

"Even the…" The younger man trailed off, still staring down the hall. "But that's-"

"Look Karou, you wanted in? You're in. But that means you need to be fully in." The man stepped towards him, poking him in the chest. "If boss says no witnesses, then no witnesses. Got it?"

Karou nodded, eyes wide, and whispered, "got it."

Izuku clenched his teeth as he listened, getting angrier by the second. He opened the door to the storeroom and crouched low as he quietly made his way to the front desk. Leaning against the wood, he peered around the corner.

Blackwhip melted off his arm and in an instant, he stood up from his hiding spot, flinging out two tendrils at each of them. Before they had a chance to react, he wrapped their mouths and dragged them across the lobby, straight into his fist.

They didn't stand a chance and dropped like flies. Izuku zip-tied them together and wasted no time in heading down the hall. The light was on in the first room and he slowed when he heard yelling.

"-happen if you LET HIM DIE!" An irate voice screamed.

"I didn't-" that was your voice, thin and wobbly - "he was gravely injured. He needed a hospital! I'm-I'm sorry!"

Izuku hurried to the open doorway just in time to see you pressed against the wall, gun buried in your hair. There was a nasty bruise growing on your cheek and you were trembling in place, eyes squeezed shut in terror.

"You useless piece of-" the gun cocked and a sob escaped your throat just as his finger pulled the trigger.

The resounding blast nearly echoed around the room and everything was silent for a moment as Izuku glared down the gunman with such wrath that sparks flew from his skin. He held the barrel of the gun just above your head where a smoke wafted out of the small hole in the wall. Mere inches from your face. Mere inches from death.

"Izuku," his name was whispered in such a small fragile voice, but he couldn't bring himself to look at you, not when his blood was boiling with barely held rage.

He squeezed the barrel so tight, the metal crunched between his fingers. The boss let go and stumbled back in shock. Izuku dropped the gun and faced the man, quirk sparking around him.

"De-Deku." He muttered. "What…what are you doing here?"

Izuku took another step towards him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" A cursory glance and the bed told him the rest of the story.

The boss narrowed his eyes and reached behind him, pulling out another gun. Izuku was in front of him in the blink of an eye, wrenching the gun from his hands and punching him across the room. He slammed into the wall, spiderwebs cracking out from the plaster. The man coughed and fell forward with a pained groan.

Behind him, your legs gave out and you slid down the wall, staring at the man on the other side of the room. Izuku finally seemed to come back to his senses and turned around.

"Y/N," he said, kneeling in front of you. "Hey, can you look at me?"

Izuku gently cupped your face and brought your gaze back to him. Your vision had blurred over, finally letting the tears spill over as you locked eyes with him. He kept his face calm, but you could see it in the slight tremble of his hands on your face, the stray sparks that he couldn't quite dial down, the hold he had on his breath.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" He asked, thumb gently rubbing over the deep bruise on your cheek.

It took you a few seconds to process the question before you shook your head. He nodded and that breath he had been holding finally let itself out in a relieved sigh. Another few seconds and that panic that had hitched itself inside your own lungs finally broke free in a heavy sob. You buried your face into his chest and he pulled you in tight, not daring to let you go. He rested his chin on the crown of your head, gently rubbing soothing circles over your back until you calmed enough to catch your shallowed breath. When you pulled back, you kept your fingers tightly clamped to his jacket desperately seeking the comfort he provided.

"You're okay now," he whispered, turning your chin up to look at you. "Can you stand?"

With his help, you stood up on shaky legs, the adrenaline still running rampant through your veins like a hijacked bullet train. You glanced at the bed, but he blocked your view and led you out of the room and into the lobby where the other two were already incapacitated and unconscious.

"Wait here for just a minute. I'll be right back, I promise." He said quietly, kneeling in front of the chair you plopped down ungracefully in, but he hesitated to leave as he searched your face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Physically?" you touched your tender cheek. "I'm fine. A bit shaken I guess."

He offered you a smile. "You were really brave, given the circumstances. Wait here for me, the police should be here any minute."

One last look over you and he stood up to go back into the exam room. You watched him leave with your hands locked in a death grip on the chair handles. You took the moment alone to a suck in a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart. All that adrenaline with nowhere to go finally drained, leaving you feeling exhausted and sick to your stomach. With a small moan, you leaned forward and covered your eyes.

A few moments later, a hand rested on your shoulder, startling you back to your feet. But it was only Izuku who grabbed you before you could trip backwards. His eyes were wide and full of concern.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," he spoke softly, his solid grasp spreading warmth back into your shoulders. "Everything's under control now."

"Is it?" you couldn't help glaring at the hallway. "That man's dead in there because I couldn't save him. What good is a doctor who can't save a single person."

That sounded a little too familiar to Izuku and he quickly shook his head. "He also had three serious bullet wounds to the chest that were bleeding out long before he even made it here." Izuku caught your gaze again. "I just spoke to Tsukauchi. They were part of a small-time gang trying to make a big move on another territory. He was lucky to have survived long enough to make it here."

As if on cue, flashing lights dipped through the shades and a few officers hurried into the lobby. The next few hours went by in a blur as Izuku spoke to the officers and you gave your statement on auto pilot. By the time the two of you finished, it was late into the night and exhaustion was threatning to take it's hold over you.

"Please let me take you to the hospital. You could have a concussion," Izuku asked for the third time and for the third time, you shook your head.

"I'm fine. I am a doctor you know."

He gave you a genuine smile, the first of the night and squeezed your hand. "No wonder they say doctors make the worst patients. Fine, but if you won't let me take you to get looked at then I'm going to take care of you myself."

"I can't argue with that," you returned that genuine smile, albiet a small wobbly one. "But right now, I just want to go home. Can we please go home now?"

The criminals were long gone and the last of the officers had just left, leaving the two of you alone inside. There was still the blood-streaked floors that you would need to clean up tomorrow and what was left of the mess inside that exam room after the coroner left. It was something that you just couldn't handle even thinking about tonight. All you wanted was your head to hit that pillow and get some much-needed rest.

"Come on," he led you outside, carefully avoiding the stains on the floor as he went.

When you finally reached his car and slumped into the passenger’s seat, you let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your temples. Izuku got behind the wheel but instead of turning the car on, he sat there for a moment staring at his nearly white knuckled grip.

"I guess I never asked if you were okay," you broke the silence and he flinched.

"Me?" That seemed to confuse him. "You were the one that had to deal with that tonight. I'm sorry I wasn't able to get there sooner. I was almost too late." The last part was whispered out so quietly, you nearly missed it.

"You were right on time. You always are." You managed to free his grip on the wheel and squeezed his fingers with your own. "Thank you Izuku. You really are my hero."

He met your gaze, wide green eyes searching your own. "And you are my world."

"Well as cheesy as that was, your world is still very hungry." you leaned back on the headrest, refusing to let go of his hand. "Bonavici's can wait, but I could really go for a burger. There's just something about facing death that really stirs the appetite."

Despite your attempt to lighten the mood, he frowned and leaned over to wrap you in a tight hug, a bit of an awkward angle, but he made it work. You blinked at the sudden embrace before melting into it.

"I'm glad you're okay." He whispered into your hair. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Then he chuckled, a bit hollow, and squeezed tighter. "Let's go get that burger."

Taglist: @dorki-time @amive2567 @justscar @kenmaskitten10 @freckledoriya @writer---kind-of ​

[blairamok]

“how long did you have to burn before becoming fireproof?”

been reading the strange moon series by @racketghost lately and was inspired to draw up some crowley angst because that line absolutely haunts me. featuring season 2 angel baby crowley after their million light year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulfur. :(

[factual-fantasy]

A lot of people have been asking about my version of Bowser and what he’s like. And my answer is that he’s a lot more cruel than canon Bowser. He is ruthless, he is powerful. And he is more than willing to kill you to get what he wants.

People have also asked about when the Bros witnessed the power of a 1-up mushroom for the first time, and what exactly happened.. When the bros invaded Bowser’s castle to rescue Peach, Bowser was not fazed. Countless Toads and Delfinos had made the dangerous journey to his castle, only to be erased by one swipe of his claw. And Mario was no different. Without the protection of the Fire flower, he was dead in one strike.

The thing that set Mario apart from the other so called “hero’s”, the thing about him that struck fear in Bowsers heart. Was that after being killed. Mario stood back up. And not only that, but he knocked Bowser out with one blow to the face. Bowser didn’t even know what hit him before he collapsed.

As Mario was escaping with Luigi and Peach in tow, Bowser was furious. This plan he’d been crafting for years was destroyed by one small man. Bowser spoke out of line. “This isn’t over”. A threat to strike again.

Bowser didn’t think this creature could scare him more than he already has. But its when Mario made a promise. A promise to one day return, and kill him. That Bowser realized how truly outmatched he was. And he did not try to prevent them from escaping.

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

------------

What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[zarla-s]

I imagine that with the Medigun healing wounds like, instantly, that Medic cleaning and dressing a wound by hand would be a unique experience. Kind of nice in its own way! Depending on the circumstances.

(from a fic i wrote with them going from casual sex to an actual relationship, be warned it is 18+ though)

[patreon]

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1340

@skiny406 asked:

Would you do a prompt where caretaker and whumpee have a huge fight, and then whumpee is hurt (stabbed, poisoned, whatever you want) and tries to call caretaker but they just don’t answer (either is busy or just mad) and later they got to hear the VOICEMAILS.

I thought of a string of voicemails. Feel free to change them to suit your injury/situation!

“Hey it’s me, I know you don’t want to talk to me but I- fuck I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and If I can do anything, I will. I’ll uh- I’ll maybe talk to you later?”

“Hi [character], I hope you’re alright. Um. I know you don’t want to talk to me, and I do understand but- but I really need you to call me back.”

“I’m sorry. That’s selfish of me, you don’t need to call me back… it would just be good to hear your voice. I’m um, I’m sorry for everything. I hope you’re okay. Probably better than me right now, ha, but don’t worry, I’ll uh. I’ll be alright.”

“Fuck, ouch, alright. Hey [character], ah, would you- could- maybe call me back? It’s um. Shit I’m sorry, it’s not important, I’ll try [another character] again.”

*starts with the whumpee gasping for breath* “H- hi, it’s me, please, I know you’re mad, and you don’t want to talk to me again but I- I really need you to call me back.”

“Alright. Message received. You’re pissed at me- you’re fucking pissed and I’m sorry, alright? Just- pick up the phone. Please. I-I’m in trouble again.”

*there’s a pause with just some breathing. There are voices in the background.*

“Heeeyyy [character], sorry about the last one. Pocket dial hahah! Must have done it when I sat down.” *they stop to cough, it’s hacking and wheezy.* “I’m sorry. I really am- I shouldn’t have shouted at you, you didn’t deserve that. I’m in a bit of trouble… it’s’all a bit blurry, but- but I managed to get here on my own. Call me back… please?”

“It’s um. It’s not looking good. I- I just want to say I’m sorry, again, I truly am.” They’re gasping now, perhaps crying. “I’m sorry….”

“This is [nurses name] calling from [the hospital], [whumpee] has you listed as their emergency contact. Please call this number as soon as you’re available.”

*there’s another message. Just voices and the whirring of machines. Maybe some crying. There’s a muffled curse before it cuts off again.*

“… I miss you.”

“Do you miss me? I- I understand if you don’t. Just tell me you’re okay, please?”

“I can go home tomorrow. I’ve been given the all clear, I’m sorry for scaring you. I’ll um. I’ll leave you alone. I um. I understand, I’m a mess. You were right. Just - no - don’t call me back.”

[pmpwbrrs]

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Burnt Money (2000)

@of-wounds-and-woes has a lovely gifset of this here!

[letthewhumpbegin]

The Blacklist s1e9

[the-path-of-dreamers]

Moon 4: An Echo

Encounters 2/3

[electrozeistyking]

The One Time It Wasn't Fine.

"Chemicals land up exploding in his face, and despite countless reminders to put his goggles on in the past (because it’s been fine before, why wouldn’t it be now?), it lands up taking his eyesight.

"He’s already partly used to it by the time Rapunzel sees him again."

[barcaislifeee]

our midfield is COOKED oh my god

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Cross seems very serious, does he ever let up sometimes? Are there any moments of him being more bubbly?

Ps, can I get a hug from horror? I feel like he’d give the best bear hug EVER!!!

Cross: I'm not serious. I'm numb. My universe's friends and family are dead. I don't know how to contact my old friend(s). Everything I ever knew is gone and it's been an absolute wreck trying to adjust to the new norm. Cross: …and now I can't even make a short walk, or shower, or stand for long- leaping and running is out of the question, something I used to be able to do like second nature. My whole right side hurts, and it randomly gets worse for no reasons. Cross: I can't even look at art supplies without flinching and feeling- bad? Like I'm- I don't know. It's stupid and frustrating. Cross: It was bad before, but it only used to be paint brushes and paints. Now it's paper and crayons and pencils and anything that can be used to draw. Cross: …i can't even get off this stupid floor. my leg hurts too much Cross: (..i don't want to go back to bandages everywhere, but it hurts.)

(Cross laughing a bit [amused] here)

(Cross being in a neutral mood [getting a gift] here)

(Cross in a happy/joking mood here)

[factual-fantasy]

(Imp post in question) (Sleeping with hat on comic)

I haven't decided on what exactly Jevil did wrong.. But I'm thinking that a long time ago the Spade King cut his horns as a punishment for something..

Jevil is deeply embarrassed by his horn stumps.. so he never removes his hat around anyone other than Seam. The stumps are also rather sensitive to touch and cold temperatures. So keeping them covered by the hat not only keeps them warm, but also protects them from being touched or bumped in any way..

What really sucks about his hat situation though, is that Jevil hates his jester get up. All of it. But he cant deny that he needs his jester hat.. he's always on the look out for anything that can replace it. But its kind'a hard to find a hat that does the same job as his jester one, without being the same shape..

[starry-bi-sky]

more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

-

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

-

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

-

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

[teex]

Getting his swag back: How Tyler Seguin is a difference-maker for Dallas

this whole article on segs is great. just condensing a few bits here:

Tyler Seguin has seen every level of swag in his career.

He started out as the second overall pick for Boston in the 2010 NHL Draft. He won the Stanley Cup in 2011. He was seen as one of the future superstars of the NHL. That can make you a bit “arrogant,” Seguin admits. But then the hockey gods started teaching a few hard lessons. He was traded to Dallas, signed a huge contract, and after a little while started to hear criticism that he and longtime linemate Jamie Benn weren’t doing enough. Then, the injuries started. There was the sliced Achilles tendon. Then, a couple of knee issues. Then, a complicated series of surgeries around the hip that kept him off the ice for a year.

Benn has been with him since the 2013 trade, and each has faced their share of criticism. “There’s nothing wrong with a little adversity as an athlete,” Benn said. “Seggy has been through it and he’s doing really well with it. He’s battled and I think it’s made him a better player and a better leader.”

Seguin has become one of the team’s regular penalty killers and is second on the team in plus-minus at plus-6 in the playoffs. He also leads the team in shots on goal at 33. That’s impressive for a guy who is sixth among forwards in ice time at 16:35 per game. It’s also impressive that he didn’t allow the frustration of not scoring early on to get to him. He has three goals in the past two games, and definitely looks like he’s got some of that old swag back.

Seguin unveiled a new haircut before Game 2 of this series, and it is unique. He has shaved the sides tight and let the back grow out a little bit for a mini-mullet. That’s part of the joy he brings to the room.

“He’s always going to be Tyler,” Benn said with a smile. “I think it’s good to have some swag as an athlete and a hockey player, and he definitely has still got it.”