#prompt: angst day

[livinghalfway]

Mini Prompt: Death Runs in the Family

Danny and Jason are twins separated at birth. When they were born Danny was very sick and it didn’t look good for him from the start. As a final act of love or malice Sheila abandoned Danny at the hospital–making sure that there is nothing connecting him to her–leaving him to whatever fate desired for the small boy.

On the other hand she took Jason with her who then ended up being raised by Willis and Catherine. With them being completely unaware that Jason has a twin brother.

Jason’s life continues on as normal with him eventually being found, adopted, and becoming Robin. He dies at 15 in Ethiopia with his bio-mom never knowing about his brother. He comes back

Meanwhile Danny gets better and is later on adopted by the Fenton’s. Living in a crazy ghost-invested town. His parents build the portal in the basement, and at 15 dies with a press of a button. He comes back.

What no one knows though is that both meet their fate at the same time. A portal opening and a bomb going off. The two become twins in life and in death.

[dameronology]

❛ you deserve better than me. ❜ with frank <3

mmm yes angst ehehe

Frank had come home in a bad mood.

That was pretty normal these days. New York City was shit right now. Hell's Kitchen was a cesspool of everything he hated, but the thing he despised the most was that you lived there. You, the most important thing in his life, were situated in the centre of the aptly named crime hotspot. Frank knew he had no right to tell you to move, or to find a new place, or to uproot your entire life just to make himself feel better. That would have been selfish, even with your best interests in mind.

You were woken that night by the fridge door slamming shut. Bare feet on the cold wooden floors, you almost tripped over as you pulled on some of Frank's thick woollen socks, stumbling through the door to the kitchen. The Punisher - you hated that name - was stood there, a cold looked etched into his tired, stony features, ever the tired soldier. He had a beer in his hand.

"You drinking?" you quietly asked. The answer was axiomatic but you didn't know how else to break the silence.

"Yeah, rough night," Frank gruffly replied. "Sorry."

"Don't be," you said.

Without another word, Frank crossed the room. He fell into the sofa, an air of defeat around him, brown eyes staring hollowly ahead. It didn't take much for you to follow.

"Wassup?" you asked.

"Nothing."

You reached for a pillow and whacked Frank in the face with it. "Every time you lie, I'm going to hit you with this pillow."

"Nothing is up."

Thump.

"Let's try again," you huffed. "What. Is. Going. On?"

"You deserve better than me."

Thump. This time so hard that Frank dropped his beer.

(It was a pillow. Not your fault he was dramatic.)

"Maybe I do," you replied, throwing your goose-down weapon beside you. "Maybe I could bag a prince, or a millionaire, or Hayley Williams - but does it ever cross your mind that I want you?"

Frank looked at you. His eyes were less blank now. Warmer, maybe.

"I could have every bachelor in New York lined up in front of me but I'd still come home to you," you said. "Because it doesn't matter what I deserve, it matters what I want. And I want you."

Frank didn't really know what to say to that. It was what he needed to hear - you always knew what he needed to hear - but he hadn't expected such perfect logic at 4AM. Perhaps you would have made a good lawyer in another life.

He glanced over at you. "I love you."

You smiled. "I love you too - and you lie to me again, it'll be something much harder than a pillow coming your way."

v. day prompts

[pommegrantaire]

Angstober Day 1: “Again”

Some post-Kazekage Rescue Arc Trauma :)

[love-me-a-good-prompt]

What does your character do on a bad day?

Do they have a comfort movie / tv show that makes them feel better?

Do they prefer to listen to sad songs to match their mood, or happy songs to lift their spirits?

Do they like to be around friends when they're sad, or would they rather be alone?

Do they have any go-to foods or treats that cheer them up?

Are there any activities like journaling, exercising, painting, etc that help them release their feelings?

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ safehouse prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “this place doesn’t look like much. i suppose that’s by design, right?”

²⁾ flinching at every gust of wind and rumble of tyres, thinking that the worst is finally about to happen

³⁾ having a nightmare so fitful about the events that’ve led them here that their protector runs to their side

⁴⁾ “nothing’s able to hurt you here.” “yeah. i’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”

⁵⁾ “i know you’re supposed to keep a close eye on me, but i think this is a little extreme.”

⁶⁾ growing faint from having been too anxious to eat for long stretches of time

⁷⁾ “so, how badly did you piss off your boss to get landed with this assignment?”

⁸⁾ trying to sweet-talk their protector(s) to allow them to leave the house, if only for a few minutes’ escape from their reality

⁹⁾ playing the same comfort movies and songs on repeat, to the point where everyone else becomes familiar with them

¹⁰⁾ “i’m here to protect you, asshole- stop making my life so goddamn difficult!”

¹¹⁾ becoming increasingly comfortable around their protector(s), to the point that they don’t realise it when lines start getting crossed

¹²⁾ sharing a bed out of necessity

¹³⁾ alternatively, sharing clothes out of necessity

¹⁴⁾ “when i came here, all i could think about was the day i’d get to leave - but lately, i’ve been avoiding thinking about it.”

¹⁵⁾ self-defence lessons borne out of boredom

[wandixx]

I've seen a lot of different takes on Fear Toxin/other fear causing stuff (Yellow Lanterns Ring or something)(later just called Fear Toxin cause I'm lazy) but here is another one.

Danny seems like he isn't affected by Fear Toxin because his biggest fear is that his accident changed him so much he is no longer human, he can no longer truly experience human things.

So when he gets lungful of fear Toxin, he feels normal. He was antsy before, because c'mon, it's a rogue attack but it's not worse. Or so he thought. Because the anxiety lingers. Not enough to register as abnormal just this slight hypervigilance that makes you see things about yourself and your surroundings that you'd never realize otherwise. He'd realize he doesn't blink as often. He'd realize that if he doesn't consciously focus, he sometimes seems to not touch the ground. Forgets to breathe. He can't feel his own pulse at time. He'd realize people will miss him when he's walking down the street as if he was invisible (people just don't care about everyone they pass by). When he'd look straight into his reflection, he'd look slightly to the left. Not enough to actually name anything that was wrong but just stretched enough to fall on the wrong side of the uncanny valley. If he just caught his reflection in the peripheral vision, it'd be vaguely shadowy creature with glowing green eyes and white smoke instead of hair. Overall he'd be just wrong enough to be distinctly not human.

For everyone else, he'd be just a dude. Literally couldn't find more normal dude than this dude. Will pass as absolutely normal human unless someone is specifically looking for ecto-ghost stuff. Even most magic users wouldn't clock him at the glance

Tldr: Fear Toxin makes Danny perceive himself as some sort of eldritch horror but not enough to make him believe he'd actually be affected, while from outside perspective he's Just A Dude™

[novelbear]

valentine's day scenarios (but it's enemies to lovers)

prompt list by @novelbear

"you have a date? how much did you pay them?"

crashing their date with another person purposely

^ and it all was definitely out of spite. not because they were jealous. never. totally not.

sending them flowers that they just know sets off their allergies

^ probably left with some smartass note too

laughing at them simply because they seem to care about the holiday

"you celebrate this corny day?" "just say you're lonely and have no one to spend it with, next time, 'kay?"

"i told my friends i'd go on this stupid double date with them." "and that's my business because..?" "..i don't have a date."

catfishing the hell out of them online leading up to the holiday

and then it backfiring because they realize, they're actually pretty nice and sweet outside of all the arguing.

"i thought bringing you roses would be a romantic! you know!?" "not when they still have the thorns on them, dumbass!"

giving them those boxed chocolates, but replacing the filling with something else instead (like wasabi for example lmao)

"you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry."

giving the other candies because it was simply "left over" and "definitely stale"

perfect chance for a little secret admirer thing to go on since one may be just too embarrassed or scared to face things head on

[rickydoodahgrimez]

𝞋𝞎 ─────── 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬

pairing: rick grimes x reader

summary: you go missing during a walker attack and you don't return until a few hours later, and a confrontation and confession later, you realise how much rick worries about you.

warnings: swearing, gore, violence, angst, yelling, descriptions of injury & blood and weapons use.

word count: 2.3 k

a/n: apart of my valentine's day special :)) hope you guys like it

𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒. 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

Was the only thing running through Rick Grimes’ mind in that moment. You, Rick and Carl entered the prison together after being on a run but the two of you seemed to have accidentally split up with him because of the sudden herd of walkers in the courtyard of the prison.

Kill after kill, he roamed his eyes around the courtyard, noticing Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn fighting off walkers, but you and Carl no where in eyesight.

Rick’s heart pounded as he swung his machete, taking down walker after walker that threatened him or his home. He couldn't see anything through the chaos, and he took down the last walker that blocked his eyesight of a few feet away from him.

And then he saw you.

You were killing any walker and that came close to you and Rick let out a sigh of relief once he saw you, still alive and fighting. But then dread washed over him when a saw a walker sluggishly walking towards you from behind, wanting to take it's bite.

And you didn’t even know.

He started to run towards you before quickly grabbing his Colt from his holder and shut the walker that was behind you. When you felt a bullet whizzing behind your head, you turned your head quickly, seeing the walker limp on the floor.

You turned your head back around, eyes furrowed until your eyes landed on Rick, a few feet away from you. It was like electricity crackling as both of you made eye contact.

“Thanks.” You called out, your lips lifting up in gratitude.

“Anytime.” He smiled back until his eyes drifted towards the opposite side of the courtyard, noticing the larger herd of walkers about to break in.

His face paled and he called out Glenn and Tyreese’s name who noticed the larger herd on the other side and started to run towards it.

He then called your name while killing some walkers, telling you to join them on the side of the courtyard, and that he will hold it off here.

You started to jog towards Glenn and Tyreese on the other side of the courtyard, when he suddenly shouted your name.

You turn your head, jogging backwards as he called your name. His eyes seemed to soften as he looked at you, despite the situation at hand. “Be careful.”

“You too, Rick.” You winked at him before running towards Glenn and Tyreese, Rick’s eyes following you.

Rick wanted to keep his eyes on you, make sure you were okay, but the onslaught demanded his full attention.

When the last walker fell, for what felt like hours later, it was sunset and Rick thought he would pass out from his sweat.

He hadn't seen you since he told you to join Glenn and Tyreese on the opposite side of the courtyard because of the coming herd.

Rick walked forward, the axe falling from his hand in exhaustion and he turned the corner, seeing everyone standing their safely, no bite or scratch on them.

He didn't notice the look of panic of their faces when he turned the corner.

Rick wiped the sweat and blood from his eyebrow, scanning over everyone until his eyes stopped on Carl.

Carl.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw his son. He was fearing for the worst when he didn't see his son in that time period and he currently felt a bit of worry releasing from him, his shoulders slightly slumping in relief.

He drifted his eyes away from his son, his hand rubbing his stubble, mind blaring for a new plan. His eyes carried on roaming over everyone until he noticed something was off. Someone was missing.

You.

His jaw clenched and his eyes hardened, as he roamed his eyes over everyone again, to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating and you were actually there.

You weren't.

Rick felt his chest burning and he suddenly found it quite hard to breathe. His breath quickened, becoming shallow and uneven.

The world around him seemed to blur all around him, and all he could hear was the thunder of his own pulse.

Rick stumbled backwards and his eyes immediately snapped towards Tyreese and Glenn, who slightly hid behind his girlfriend in panic.

“Where is she?”

No one had to guess who he was talking about.

“Glenn.” Glenn cowered behind his girlfriend even more. “Where is she?”

Rick’s voice was low and dangerous, as if he would kill someone if he didn’t get an answer.

Glenn swallowed and slightly stepped out of his girlfriend’s shadow. “S—So, um, we were fighting off walkers and she kept on s—saying that—”

“Glenn. Where is she?”

Glenn cleared his throat and looked towards the ground in shame. “I don't know.”

The silence that followed made Rick's blood run cold.

You hadn’t meant to get separated from the others, but the walkers had pushed you further and further from the prison yard.

The fence had been compromised in one section, forcing you to retreat into the woods. Your breath came in sharp gasps as you ran, the sounds of pursuit close behind.

A fallen tree provided your salvation—you scrambled up its tilted trunk, using the height advantage to dispatch the walkers below.

But you couldn’t go back the way you came—too many of them still blocked the path.

“Shit.” You muttered, looking up at the darkening sky. The last traces of sunlight bled through the treetops, casting the forest in a blue hue.

You leaned back against the rough bark of the branch, the scratch of it biting through your jacket as you closed your eyes for a brief, stolen second.

The moans of walkers echoed below—low, guttural, and hungry, a chilling chorus that crawled up your spine.

Your chest rose and fell, breath tight and controlled, but your heart thudded hard against your ribs.

You could hear the crunch of decayed leaves, the snap of twigs as the dead shambled beneath your perch. Too many. And too close.

The wind shifted, carrying the foul stench of rot, and your stomach twisted. One wrong move and they’d know—every sunken eye, every broken jaw would turn up toward you, and then it’d be a matter of minutes until your death.

A sigh slipped through your lips, and despite everything—the danger, the exhaustion—your mind wandered. To Rick.

You could already picture that scowl of his, the hard set of his jaw if he saw you up here, cornered and reckless.

He always got so worked up when you did something ‘stupid’—whether it was running into a herd or flirting in the middle of a fight.

Poor Glenn. If he was with Rick right now, he was probably catching hell for letting you slip away.

“She’s where, Glenn?” You imagined Rick growling, eyes blazing. “Alone?”

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips.

“Sorry, Glenn,” You muttered softly. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

And with that, you closed your eyes once more, just for a second. Because there was no way in fuck you were dying and letting Rick win that argument.

The prison was deadly silent, the usual chatter replaced by an oppressive weight. Rick’s boots hit the floor in a steady, restless rhythm as he paced back and forth, his jaw tight and his hands flexing at his sides.

His eyes kept flicking toward the door, where it gave him a clear view of the gate, and towards the treeline beyond it, as if sheer willpower could make you appear.

“She should’ve been back by now,” He muttered, his voice rough and strained. “It’s been too long.”

Daryl, leaning against the wall with his crossbow resting in his arms, watched him carefully. “I get it, man,” He said, his voice low but firm. “But if we go out there blin’, we could just make it worse.”

Rick’s head snapped toward him, his eyes wild with frustration. “Worse? She’s out there, Daryl! Alone. If somethin’ happened—”

“You think I don’ care?” Daryl interrupted, pushing himself off the wall. “But you go chargin’ in half-cocked, you’ll get yourself killed. Or worse, lead the dead right to ‘er.”

Rick’s chest heaved, his hands curling into fists. His voice dropped, raw and ragged. “I can’t—I can’t just stand here.”

Before Daryl could answer back, a shout rang out from the watchtower.

“Rick!”

Rick’s heart stopped—and then it bolted. He sprinted for the gate, his boots pounding against the cracked pavement. His throat felt tight, his voice rough as he barked out, “Open it!”

Glenn was already there, muscles straining as he yanked the gate back. “It's her!”

And then—there you were.

Bruised, battered, your clothes streaked with dirt and blood. But you were alive.

Rick froze, his chest heaving, his eyes burning into you. Relief crashed over him, so intense it almost knocked him to his knees.

For a second—just a second—he thought about running to you. About pulling you into his arms and holding you so tight you’d never slip through his fingers again.

But then, his body went rigid. His face darkened. And, without a word, he turned on his heel and strode back into the prison.

You blinked, your brow furrowing as you watched his retreating figure. “Rick—?”

“Go after him,” Glenn said softly, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “He’s been pacing like a caged animal ever since you were gone.”

You didn't need to be told twice. Your legs ached, every part of you begged for rest—but you followed him, your boots echoing down the concrete hallway.

When you found him, he was in his cell, his back to you, pacing like a storm contained within four walls.

His shoulders were tight, his hands on his hips, his head shaking like he was trying to wrestle with the thoughts in his head.

You leaned against the doorway, your voice soft but firm. “Rick—”

“What the hell were you thinking?” His voice cut through the air like a whip as he spun around, his eyes blazing. “You could've died.”

You opened your mouth, but he never gave you the chance to speak.

“You—” He broke off, his jaw clenching so hard it looked painful. “You think you’re invincible or somethin’? Huh? You think I’m just supposed to wait when you’re out there alone and—” He raked his hands through his hair, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea—”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” You managed, your voice low. “I had it under control—”

“Control?” Rick’s laugh was harsh, humourless. “You were covered in blood!” He was pacing again, his hands gesturing wildly. “You didn’t ‘have it under control’—you were lucky.” His voice cracked on the word, raw and frayed.

You stepped further in, your voice softening. “Rick—”

“No." He stopped, turning to face you, and the storm behind his eyes made your heart ache. “You don’t get to—” His chest heaved, his voice rough and trembling. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The anger cracked, and something deeper, rawer, bled through.

“I thought—” He swallowed thickly, his voice breaking as his hands clenched and unclenched. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with everything he hadn't said yet.

His voice dropped, hoarse and stripped bare. “You—” He shook his head, his words a tangle of grief and love and everything in between. “I can’t—” His throat bobbed, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “Rick. . .”

But he kept going, like he’d held it back for too long and now it was just pouring out.

“I can’t—I won’t live in a world without you in it. You get that?” His eyes were wild, shining with something unspoken but devastatingly clear. “I’ve lost so much. Too much. But you—” His voice cracked, and he shook his head. “You’re everything. And I—I love you.”

It tumbled out of him, raw and unguarded, like it had been burning his throat for months, years, forever.

He exhaled sharply, his chest still heaving. “I love you,” He said again, quieter this time, but no less fierce. “And I—I didn’t know if you felt—” He broke off, his voice rough and uncertain. “I just—I couldn’t—”

You closed the distance in a heartbeat. Your hands cupped his face, and his eyes searched yours, wide and desperate. “Rick,” You whispered, your thumb brushing his cheek. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His lips parted, his breath shallow, and before he could say another word, you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft—it was everything. Fear, relief, love—every ounce of feeling you both had locked away came crashing together in that single, desperate kiss.

His hands flew to your waist, clutching you like you might disappear, like holding you was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathless. You smiled softly, your voice a whisper against his lips.

“I love you too, Rick.”

His eyes fluttered shut, and a shuddering breath escaped him, like those words alone were holding him together.

His hands cradled your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as his voice—rough, soft, and wholly yours—broke the silence.

“You’re not running off alone again,” He said, his voice still firm but gentler now. “Not without me.”

A soft chuckle escaped you. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Grimes.”

His lips pressed to yours again—slower, but no less desperate. “Good,” He rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Right where I belong.”

And with the storm finally passed, he pulled you close, and he promises you that you—his world, his heart, and one of his reason to keep going—are safe in his arms.

[astra-terrapin]

Day 3: Metal Virus/Nightmare

Every day must’ve been a living nightmare during the Metal Virus outbreak. I sometimes have nightmares that look like this, so I said screw it. Espio will have it too. He’ll be happy by day 5 though, so no worries.

[pup-pee]

I RAN OUIT OF TIME PLS,,happy day 2 tho!!!!

Day 2: Superman / Cadmus @90skonweek

also i doodle sketches during work so im posting them as well bc fun

[seasprincess]

Spencer Reid valentine’s day💌💐

˚.🎀༘⋆ Spencer would wait for you to wake up with your breakfast of choice and your drink of choice. A bouquet of flowers and a smile also there.˚.🎀༘⋆

˚.🎀༘⋆ The day would be a quiet one. And fully centred around you. Even if you protested. It’s all about you. ˚.🎀༘⋆

˚.🎀༘⋆ The first stop would be your favourite cafe. Walking hand in hand down the street together.˚.🎀༘⋆

˚.🎀༘⋆ He’d take you to the aquarium and name every sea creature and tell you facts about all of them. Not that you minded. ˚.🎀༘⋆

˚.🎀༘⋆ You’d end up in your favourite restaurant before spending the rest of the evening sat with him watching the stars as he tells you all the constellations. ˚.🎀༘⋆

—————-—————-—————-—————-

JJ Maybank coming soon…

[ky-landfill]

Some angsty pit withdrawal Jason and batfam? 🤲

“Dad…?” I’m here, Jay.

[alicornze7]

Ribbun week - Day2: Constraint

Biblically accurate ribbun

*local artist attempts (and fails) at doing angst*

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m���I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[celestialwrites]

stabbing/being stabbed prompts & dialogue⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

(inspired by @que3rduckling’s day)

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ character gets attacked in alley after leaking files.

♡ they could feel the coldness of the blade as it seeped in, contrasting the feel of the warm blood flowing out of them.

♡ “what happened, are you okay?” “yeah, i’m great, only lightly stabbed.” “you were STABBED?” “lightly.”

♡ “i’m feeling very attacked right now.” character says as they were getting stabbed.

♡ character confessing their undying love to their best friend as the blade pierced their chest.

♡ “i feel like you’re flirting with me.” character A states as character B swings to puncture.

♡ the deep crimson red of his blood clashed with the light colour of the floor as it splashed along it.

♡ character rips out blade as their wound heals instantly.

♡ “it’s almost like you’re going after my heart, at least take me to dinner first.”

♡ character running for their life as their best friend chases them with a knife.

♡ characters making intense eye contact as one dives a knife into the other’s heart.

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS<3

big thanks to @que3rduckling again (please go check them out!!)

[mmpookie]

hfafderwsfwsfharcana twilight inktober day 17 : Tower ( SPOILERS.? )

umm I wanted to make this longer but then I was never going to get through this inkober lmaooo