#character injury

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes Part 6

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

They’re stuck in the Upside Down. 

Nancy. Robin. Eddie. And Steve’s so fucked up from the bats, every breath, ever movement, has him in agony, and he just keeps seeing Eddie here, and it makes it all so much worse. This was never supposed to happen. And how was Steve supposed to keep him safe, keep them all safe, when he could barely stand upright from the pain?

Eddie walks a little way ahead with Nancy, fled after saying, “for your modesty, dude,” and throwing his battle vest at Steve’s face. It leaves Steve with Robin as they navigate the vines and random earthquakes to get to the Wheeler’s house. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Robin asks. 

Steve narrows his eyes. “You mean other than being dragged across a dry lakebed and eaten by fucked up bats?” 

“Is it. Eddie?” 

He bites his lips between his teeth. Of course Robin knows. She always does. “I hate that he’s part of this, Robs. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“You think it’s your fault.” It’s not a question.

“How can I not.” His voice catches and he has to clear his throat before he can continue. “You got dragged into this just by being friends with me. And now Eddie? If he wasn’t our friend—if he wasn’t my—he would be safe.”

“Steve. You know that’s not true. Chrissy was cursed already. She would have always died that night. Eddie was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not your fault.”

He nods, tears pooling along his lash lines. “We kissed,” he croaks out.

“What?” Robin shrieks loud enough to echo across the desolate, cursed landscape. 

Eddie and Nancy glance back in time to see Steve knock his shoulder against her arm. “Quiet,” he hisses. 

“Sorry,” she frowns. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner! When? How? Are you together now?”

His mouth twists. “No. I think I fucked it up? It was—fuck—when he came over after Chrissy. He was so upset, and I was comforting him, and it just happened. I feel like I took advantage of him.”

“So, you haven’t talked about it?”

He gives her a look again. “When would we have had the time?” 

“Okay, okay. But he doesn’t seem mad. I mean, he still gazes at you all lovestruck and ridiculous.”

Heat bursts under the skin of Steve’s cheeks. “He does not,” he mumbles. 

“But you do need to talk about it. Obviously. You two have been pinning for years.” 

“It’s a year and a half. At most. Not even.”

“Feels like years to me.” 

Steve scoffs, falls silent. “I’m scared, Robs. What if he doesn’t like me back? He was too upset when I kissed him, and—I pushed it too far.”

“You did pick a truly terrible time to kiss him, and you two should probably talk about that, but Eddie isn’t going to be upset that you have feelings for him.”

“How do you know? There’s no way you can be sure. I don’t want to risk everything.” “Steve, I—” Robin’s mouth contorts into a complicated series of o’s as she fishes for words. “We’re already risking everything,” she says. “With the Upside Down. With Vecna. When we’re back topside, you should take the time you need to talk to him, okay? I promise that, even if he doesn’t like you like that, he’ll still love you as his closest friend.”

He can’t think of the words to argue with, so he nods, stuffs his hands into the pockets of Eddie’s battle vest. His finger catches on something deep in the right pocket, accompanied by a telltale burst of pain. Steve hisses, retracting his hand, a drop of scarlet beads from a small slash at the tip of his index finger. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. He wipes the blood on the vest—it’s already soaked with it, anyway. 

“You okay?” Robin asks, her blue eyes sharp at Steve losing more blood.

“Yeah. Munson’s keeping sharp shit in his pockets again, is all.”

He reaches back into the pocket to find the offending weapon and finds a crumpled sheet of paper. An amused breath bursts out of him as he realizes what it must be, and he fishes it out with hesitation. 

It’s crinkled and grimy with age, but Steve unfurls it anyway. It’s his own handwriting at the top: “You ever been in love?” 

He doesn’t remember writing it, not clearly. There’s a vague recollection of wobbling around, crossfaded in his bedroom, scrawling words on the first acceptable surface he finds. Doesn’t remember giving it to Eddie, but he’s responded; it’s scrawled right there beneath Steve’s question: “No, but I think I’m falling.” 

Steve stops in his tracks, staring at the note, eyes darting from the paper to Eddie. A bright pulse of hope sticks in his throat. They’re going to get out of the Upside Down, and when they do, Steve is telling Eddie everything.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

He doesn’t. 

Nancy is taken by Vecna and then they fall into planning mode, apparently RV theft mode too (“don’t cha, big boy” is never going to leave his head), and in the panic and fear, there isn’t time. 

There’s a little part of him, too, that doesn’t want to say, “I love you,” like it’s a good-bye. He meant it when he told Robin he still has hope, he does, refuses to accept any outcome that isn’t success, that leaves one of their rank dead. 

So, he doesn’t talk to Eddie, and they’re in the Upside Down for their last stand and all the words and emotions pile up on his tongue but can’t find flight. 

He, Robin, and Nancy turn to go, he’s already kicking himself for his silence, when Eddie’s voice rings out, “Hey, Steve?”

Steve turns fast, almost overbalances, but the meeting of their eyes steadies him. In the rich brown of Eddie’s, Steve thinks he sees all the things he wants to say echoed back. They gaze at each other in silence that thickens every millisecond until Eddie says, “make him pay,” and Steve lifts his chin in acknowledgement. He knows it’s not what Eddie means to say, thinks he understands why he can’t. 

There will be plenty of time for their confessions when they get out of this alive. And they will. Steve is sure of it. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It’s over.

It was hard. Bad. But it’s done. Vecna a smoldering ruin on the Upside Down version of the Creel House lawn. 

Steve doesn’t feel triumphant, exactly. They’d almost died, strangled by the vines, briefly outmatched by Vecna. He is relieved, though. Eager to get back to the trailer park, to Eddie and Dustin.

They traverse the Upside Down, silent now and free of earthquakes, closing in on the trailer park in record time. 

Up ahead, Steve makes out a hunched shape that must be Dustin in his ghillie suit. He wonders where Eddie is, but he’s not afraid. 

He picks up speed to close the distance faster. “Dustin!” he shouts. He means it to sound excited, triumphant, but it’s strangled. His heart’s beating too fast.

Steve is near enough, makes out the dark heap at Dustin’s feet. Someone is chanting a high-pitched, unbroken rhythm of “no, no, no, no, no, nononono,” and it takes him several long moments to realize the sound is coming from his own mouth. He can’t make himself stop.

“Steve,” Dustin sobs. He’s covered in red, leaned over Eddie’s prone form. 

There’s so much blood, congealing in dark pools on the grey earth.

“Eddie, Eddie, hey, hey,” Steve falls to his knees, fighting off the panicked keen building in his throat at Eddie’s mostly closed eyes. 

“Babylove, honey, sweetheart, please, please look at me, okay?” There are bites on his cheeks that Steve avoids, tapping at Eddie’s cheekbones with shaking fingers. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter, try to focus, but drift. “S’vie?” he rasps. 

“Hey, hey, It’s me. We’re gonna get you out of here, but you got to stay awake for me, okay?”

“N’ver thought I’d go to heaven,” Eddie mumbles, he fights his eyes from rolling back.

Steve forces a laugh. “What a line, man,” his focus shifts. “Robin, Nancy, we need to stop the bleeding.” 

They work in a flurry of motion, Steve talking to Eddie, struggling to keep him alert. 

“You gotta stay with me, Eds. Okay? I can’t be without you. You know that, right? You’re everything, Eddie. Everything.”

Eddie smiles with teeth full of blood. “Whatever you say, angel,” he whispers. His eyes slide shut.

Steve swallows his scream, hefts Eddie into his arms, and runs.

(Part 7)

This is a rough one, please feel free to shout at me about it. Thank you so much for reading! One more part to go; and don't worry, nobody dies and there's a happy ending.

I can't add anymore tags, but I appreciate each and every one of you for coming on the steddie notes journey with me! 💜💜💜

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#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie notes #part 6 #season 4 au #fix it fic #sort of? #angst #angst with a happy ending #everyone lives/nobody dies #ficlet #note passing #upside down #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #character injury #mutual pining #platonic stobin #steve and robin have a heart-to-heart #this is a rough one #sorry about it #they get to live happily ever after tho

[shu-box-puns]

Shell-Shocked

(Neteyam x Reader)

Previous Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Summary: When you try to clear up a misunderstanding but things are getting worse before they’re getting better.

Word Count: 11,719

Metkayina Reader uses they/them pronouns.

The Cove of the Ancestors was always prettiest at night. 

Honestly, it was gorgeous at all times of day. With its arching stone limbs framing the sun and the ethereal glowing fan-like leaves of the Spirit Tree underfoot. Without the sun to dim its splendour, the Tree shone brighter than even the closest star, rivalling the soft glow of the colossal moon that sat lazily upon its throne of curved rock overshadowing the cove.

And at the centre of it all, was Ronal, the bridge between Eywa and Her children. 

Backlit by the moon, the Tsahik sat tall upon her tsurak, oozing power despite her silence as she commanded the small procession of young hunters with but a wave of her hand. 

She was draped in a flowing cloak of blue sea grass, whilst shells that represented every symbol of her people were weaved between the locks of her hair. You recognised the bright pink conch of her courting gift from Tonowari, to the bright white of blooming friendship no doubt collected after a successful alliance with another sea clan. Your gaze absently caught on the jade of a smaller shell which represented the camaraderie of warriors, before catching on a fist sized black shell set at the centre of the tapestry of her intricate hairstyle. As death was the path in which every na’vi returned to Eywa, and Eywa was at the centre of everything a Tsahik did for their people, it was only common sense that this was the symbol Ronal had chosen to place most obviously within her hair. Ominous but beautiful in the most morbid of ways. 

You had a vague memory of the morning that particular black shell had washed ashore upon the beaches of Awa’altu. The way Ronal had paled and reached for it with shaking hands as an unsettled murmur had started up from the onlooking villagers. How Tonowari’s expression had grown pinched and distant, his grasp on his spear turning unforgiving. The new stars had appeared in the sky that night. Spearing across the inky heavens like lost fragments of stars. Falling towards Eywa’eveng at frightening speeds. Scouts carrying the news that the Sky People had returned reached the sea clans within the following few days.

The elegant turn of Ronal’s tsurak in the water, drew your attention back to the present. Despite its impressive size, the powerful mount barely stirred the waves with its movements as its rider looked upon the four young hunters that she had led from the village at the beginning of eclipse. Her gaze briefly flickered over you and the two others brought along to supervise the visit whilst Ronal oversaw the ceremony itself.

With the season of the tsurak migration on the horizon, Ronal had gathered a select handful for an unprompted communion with Eywa. Whilst the others had no doubt been hand selected by Ronal for the journey, she had all but stormed into your hut with little to no warning and ordered you help her escort the less experienced hunters. She had demanded you cease your stupid pitying and be useful, to which you could do little besides grabbing your hunting spear and call your ilu.

Her judgemental gaze had glared daggers into the side of your head throughout the entire journey to the cove. Having ridden side by side, Ronal had had no shortage of opportunities to shoot probing questions your way, swiftly followed up with annoyed um’s and ah’s when your answers were clipped and short.

You hadn’t breathed a word of what had happened a couple days ago. The embarrassment would have killed you if you had had to look Ronal in the eye and tell her honestly what had gotten under your thick skin. Like Aonung, her response would be unpredictable and you would much rather avoid addressing anything. 

Naturally, you doubted that she was unaware of what had happened. She was Tsahik afterall, and there had been plenty of eyes and ears around to witness the entire mortifying situation.

But for now, you were spared by Ronal’s duty to recite her greetings to Eywa. You joined the others in bowing your heads in respect, before taking up a post near the rear of the small group. Spear in hand, you set your mind to surveying the waters as Ronal called each young hunter forward one by one. You heard the deep inhales and the lap of unsettled waves as she guided each beneath the surface to connect to the Spirit Tree. 

On the off chance you would glance back when they resurfaced, the young hunter would always be smiling with some new sense of determination. Their resolve to pass their iknimaya refreshed by whichever lost loved one had appeared to them through Eywa. 

Soon, you would be among them.

But not yet. Clearly, you were nowhere near ready. 

Neteyam’s betrayal still sat heavy above your ribs, sometimes growing unbearably suffocating. You would be continuing with your duties, only for the action of another clan mate to bring him fluttering into your mind. Something as simple as teens messing around in the surf by the beach, made you recall all those times Neteyam had tried to trip or drag you down into the waves with him after some quick retort you’d fired at him. Even now, looking at the young hunters, you could see a watery reflection of his joy at a successful dive rippling across their beaming faces. 

You could practically see the cute scrunch of his nose. Could imagine the disarray of his braids, how a couple would get stuck on his ears even after he tried to brush them back. You could practically feel the neat links between your fingers as you fixed them for him-

A flash of pink in your peripheral abruptly soured the fond memory. 

Gaze narrowed, you glared down your spear shaft to the obnoxiously bright shell currently clinging to the blade like a limpet. It felt like an act of defiance as you pulled the weapon in and mercilessly scrapped the offending object off with your thumb. Certain that no one else had seen it, you wound back your hand and pointedly threw the blasted thing as far away as you could. Your ilu straightened at the sudden motion, but watched with you as the pink landed with a plop and was swiftly swallowed by the calm silver of the dancing moonlight on the waves.

An authoritative tut had your spine instinctively straightening. 

Even without turning, you knew Ronal was behind you, and she was greatly displeased.

<”Never so rudely discard a gift from Eywa.”> She said coldly, with the authority of her station, even as she tread water at a level that forced you to look down to meet her gaze. <”It’s fine.”> You found yourself blurting out stupidly, despite the fact you’d grown up alongside this woman’s children and knew your excuses would fall on deaf ears. <”She’ll just send me more. Bet I’ll find another before we even get back to the village.”> 

Ronal was already shaking her head in displeasure, the shells woven into her hair gently clicking together. <”You do not think clearly.”> She finally stated, as sharply and quickly as a slap on the wrist. <”Now come. It is your turn to go see Her.”>

Your nose scrunched at the order, eyes briefly glancing to the young hunters, who were now mucking around in the waves whilst Ronal’s back was turned. Even the escorts were glistening in the light of the moon, their hair sticking to their scalps, having clearly already descended to the Tree for a reunion with Eywa.

Before you could unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Ronal was taking your spear from your lax grasp and tossing it to the nearest escort with barely a word of warning. Luckily, he caught it easily and rested it across his knees. 

With that, Ronal sharply dragged you off your ilu and urged you to follow her under. You went easily enough, ducking under the waves to find yourself briefly soothed by the sudden silence that came with the embrace of the water and the underlying humm of life that always inhabited the space between the waving limbs of the Spirit Tree.

Ronal swam down in front of you, the lilac light reflecting off the shells in her hair as she led the way. You kept pace easily, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting as Ronal approached a certain branch with purpose and urged you to forge the connection.

Stopping at her elbow, you pulled your kuru forward over your shoulder. The braid was a familiar weight in your hand as you reached forward, the tendrils at the end eagerly emerging to fuse to the Spirit Tree’s offered limb. 

You expected to be greeted by a distant relative, maybe some faceless Goddess, but instead, you opened your eyes to a beach. To sand between your toes and the lull of the waves at your side. The smell of meat cooking over fires and the sounds of the village accompanied the calm crash of the waves. 

There was someone standing beside you, drawing your attention from your surroundings with a soft touch to your shoulder. You tore your gaze from the village to find Neteyam at your side. He stood tall, the vision of confidence, but you could tell from the anxious sway of his tail that nerves were threatening to overwhelm him. The smile that pulled at his lips looked strained. A thought which made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

Why him? Why had Eywa sent him to greet you? 

Before your eyes, this phantom version of Neteyam seemed to pull himself together. You watched an odd expression seep into his gaze. And although it was different, you could somehow tell it was the echoes of something soft hidden within the depths of his eyes. 

If you were still a lovesick fool, you might have mistaken it for affection.

But you knew better now. You knew that Eywa had made a mistake. You knew that Neteyam did not want you. That he did not even wish to be your friend.

You had reminded yourself of this in the days that had followed the fight on the walkway. The truth had turned you bitter. Prompting Ronal to drag you from your hut with some half-assed excuse of being a scout for her visit. 

You knew and yet this version of Neteyam looked at you as if you’d hung the stars. What was even more unsettling, was that he wore your courting necklace. The bright pinks of the shells gorgeously contrasted his complexion as they cruelly supplied you with the image of what he would have looked like wearing them. If he had given you a chance to prove yourself.

<”What are you looking at?”> He asked you now, a bright laugh lacing its way between his words. He shifted, appearing suddenly at ease. 

In contrast, you felt yourself subconsciously stiffening. 

<”Nothing.”> You said simply, and he hummed. 

Unexpectedly, one of his hands strayed from his side to reach for your hand. His fingers were long and warm as they easily wrapped around your wrist, as if to anchor you in place. Holding you in place with a gentleness that was foreign to you. <”You’re a bad liar.”> He said, his words barely registering in your mind as the warmth of his hand pressed into your skin. 

He pulled away suddenly, and you immediately cursed yourself for feeling disappointed by his withdrawal. You’d think you were used to it by now. 

Neteyam didn’t notice. His expression had brightened as he spotted something at your feet. Quicker than your eyes could follow, he stooped to pluck something from the sand. 

His fingers closed around the object, his grin bright as he carefully opened his hands and showed you what he was holding. It was a shell. A very large and very, VERY pink one at that. 

You knew your tail was wagging at an unnatural pace, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. Or stop for that matter. Your heart was pounding and doing happy flips at the sheer size of the shell presented to you now. You were grinning despite yourself. Eagerly reaching for the beautiful shell under Neteyam’s bright eyed watch, your heart swelling in your chest with the amount of affection you harboured for this sweet boy and his cute smile. 

Alarmed shouts sounded from the village, stilling your hand. The smell of the cooking fires turned acidic, like the burning of metal. You glanced away from Neteyam for half a second to find that the beach was suddenly awash with screaming na’vi. Hunters were grabbing their spears and skimwings were being called, whilst Metkayina villagers ran for the sea. Some were on fire, screaming the whole way. Whilst others shepherd children out of the pods, and friends dragged each other across the sand. The drums for war were sounding, thunderous and ominous in their volume, making your heart race and your happiness evaporate.

In contrast, when you turned back to him, Neteyam was the vision of calm. <”Y/n?”> He asked lightly, acting as if you had been rendered speechless by the shell, when you could in reality see the burning of your home reflecting in his eyes. 

You managed to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, hands coming up to grip his bicep, ready to haul him towards the sea, only for your actions to freeze. Your eyes bugged at the sight of his necklace. At the shells that once resembled the forest, and now shone black in the burning light of the out of control fires. 

He was still smiling. Still grinning without a care in the world like a love-drunk fool. Comically, he tipped his head towards the shell caught between your outstretched hands. 

Again, you followed his unspoken prompt, breath stuttering at the once pink shell that had crumbled to a black husk between his hands. Everywhere his skin touched it, it shone a dirty black, whilst the part that your fingers brushed had softened into a milky white. It was a sickeningly beautiful contrast. Riddled with signs and messages that only a Tsahik could successfully interpret. 

<”Do you not like it?”>

You looked up at him once more. Heart clenching painfully as you realised that his freckles were no longer glowing, despite the darkness and the illuminated dots adorning your own skin. You didn’t need a Tsahik to know what that meant. <”No, it is beautiful.”> You promised him, and he laughed with such ignorance that you knew in your gut that he couldn’t possibly know the meaning. 

The snap of woven fibres breaking apart startled your gaze from him. Your gaze darted to the village, your home, currently being consumed by hungry tongues of flame. Pods were collapsing in on themselves as the fire spread. Their strong structures weakened as the ribs of the trees they were secured against began to blacken and buckle. A few collapsed under their own weight, tipping the People running along them into the raging waves.

Neteyam was unnaturally still at your back, the flames dancing in the gold of his eyes as he stared blankly at the ruins of your home. He did not appear surprised by the destruction, as if he had seen it all before.

The world shifted on its axes, and you stumbled back a step, only for your foot to hit something lukewarm and solid as the unsettled waves sucked at your heels. 

Unsteady, your gaze lowered to the object, only for the breath to still in your throat at the site of a body in the water. Eyes frozen in death, the na’vi stared blankly at the ruined village, his throat slit.

More bodies littered the sand. Turning the white beaches into a bloodbath of gore and red.

Your breathing picked up, even as you realised that these were not the bodies of sea na’vi. Their clothes were alien. Their features were wrong. Their noses were too sharp and strips of hair hugged their brow bones. They were forest na’vi, but not.

Not that it seemed to matter much, because someone had taken the time to kill them all. Bloody gashes stained the sand and tainted the waves. Ugly, unclean swipes of a blade that did not reflect the ways of the People. These were not clean kills.

A hand grasped your shoulder.

You lurched, hand swinging up to smack the person away. 

Neteyam was still there. Still wearing that foolish necklace. Still watching the destruction of the village. He caught your wrist easily, eyes not once moving from where they were fixed. And not a moment too soon, as you realised you were clutching your bloodied blade in that hand.

Red was smeared from the knife to your forearm, covering the ripples of your aqua stripes. Tainting the fine leather of your blade. It was only now, you could feel the stickiness of the substance splattered across your torso. Along your arms, dripping from your chin. You could feel something stuck between your teeth, and you feared it wasn’t fish judging by the sizable bite marks carved into some of the dead na’vi’s bodies.

Your disconnection from the Spirit Tree with a lurch, as if Eywa had severed your connection personally and shoved you backwards and out of her realm. It was disorienting to go from the screaming destruction of the village, to the muffled silence beneath the waves. For a few heart pounding seconds, you couldn’t tell up from down. 

A light touch to your shoulder made you jump. Your body wanted to fight, but you managed to keep from reaching for your knife long enough to recognise Ronal’s concerned expression at your elbow. 

/Who did She show you?/ The Tsahik signed, her expression pinched.

Your mind was spinning too fast to answer. You could still taste the copper on your tongue and feel the stickiness of the blood splattered across your skin. Your lungs burned as if you’d inhaled acidic smoke, and you desperately wanted to breathe it all out. You needed to surface. To inhale the seaweed and salt of the cove and allow the watery moonlight to wash away the harsh orange of the fire. Anything to get the taste of ash off your tongue and the feeling of flesh between your teeth to dissipate.

You noticed the underbellies of the other’s ilus mucking around on the surface without Ronal’s guidance. The lazy circles of the warriors helped to orient you, to give you a direction. 

Panic was still clawing up the back of your throat. Shaking your hands as that black shell flashed in the back of your mind once again, making your ears instinctively pin back. The inky blackness of their colour. The crumbling edges.

You were kicking for the surface before you realised you’d never given Ronal an answer. Your burning need for the sound of the waves tugged you higher and higher as you clumsily moved away from the Spirit Tree. With powerful kicks of your legs and the rhythmic sway of your tail, you started rising to the surface. In your haste, everything you’d learnt about swimming since infancy went out the window. Your tail worked out of sync with your legs, as your hands clawed uselessly at the water despite knowing that having your fingers apart would only slow your ascent. 

In contrast, Ronal was a calming presence at your back, easily keeping pace before she seemed to lose patience and swept you up into her arms. Despite the addition of your weight, she ascended smoothly to the surface, pressing you into her side, mindful of her swollen belly as she gracefully left the Spirit Tree behind. 

You broke the surface with a gasp, something you had NEVER done before. Coming up for breath was normally a calm procedure. Now, you greedily sucked down lungfuls of air. 

<”Suvio, guide the young hunters back to the village.”> Ronal’s voice was calm and clear as she broke the surface with the same elegance as usual. Her grip was firm around your waist as you struggled to calm yourself.

The hunter Ronal had addressed dutifully nodded as the young hunters immediately scrambled to fall back into the formation. She yipped to them before leading the way out of the cove, the other scout bringing up the rear. 

Ronal watched them go until the soft glow of their freckles disappeared against the stars of the night, offering you some desperately needed privacy. Your cheeks were warm from the torrent of your frightened tears, more obvious now that the ocean didn’t whisk them away the moment they slipped from between your eyelids. 

<”What did you see?”> Ronal asked, her voice startlingly loud against the stillness of the cove.

You sucked in a sharp breath, as you struggled to set the events of the vision into order. Ronal soothed you with a firm hand running up and down your back, easing the tension from your shoulders as she waited. 

Instead of looking at her narrowed gaze, you focused on the pool of her hair floating around her shoulders. The shells woven within the strands glowed softly, their contrasting shades of bioluminescence standing out against the raven black strands.

It was hard to speak, but you pushed yourself to anyway. Your hands were too busy clinging tightly to Ronal to be any use in signing to her. <”She, she sent me an omen.”> 

Ronal stilled. <”More shells?”> She pressed, her tone probing. There was no amusement in her question, her demeanour completely typical of the Tsahik instead of a concerned parent. 

<”A warning.”> You confirmed, voice wobbly. <”A Black shell.”> You continued, <”big enough to fill both my palms. It was ancient. Crumbling.”>

Ronal’s ears flattened. And then after a moment of contemplation, she yipped for her tsurak. <”We must return to the village.”> You grabbed her arm before she could pull away, feeling uncomfortably raw for the blatant vulnerable action, but needing to ask anyway. <”What does it mean?”> 

<”You know what it means.”> Ronal replied simply, and you did.

You recalled that morning on the beach, eavesdropping on Ronal and Tonowari as they hastily discussed the meaning of the black shell that had just washed up. <”Someone is going to die.”> Ronal had said then, and Tonowari had been powerless to shake his head at her accusation. She had been right, afterall.

>_<

Neteyam looked down at his freshly woven token. 

He was sat in his hammock, swarmed by the copious amount of pink shells that somehow managed to invade his sleeping quarters regardless of how many times he cleared them out, and trapped deep in thought. 

Absently, he ran a thumb over his weaving, gaze critical as he compared the pattern to a necklace Tsireya had gifted him to take inspiration from the day before. He was so used to weaving the Omaticaya way, that it had taken an embarrassing amount of time to learn the Metkayina way of knot working, but he thought the necklace was just about ready now.

Forcing himself not to spiral or think too hard about it, Neteyam glanced at the contents of his hammock in search of the perfect pair of shells to attach to the centre of the piece. Ideally, he wanted two halves of the same shell, so he could accent them to sit above each collar bone instead of hanging too heavy in the centre of the throat. A design choice he’d stolen from one of his mother’s old necklaces where two jade river stones took the place of the shells.

Whilst he busied himself, Neteyam tried to put together an action plan. 

He had no idea where Y/n was right now. They hadn’t shown up to lessons for the last few days, nor had he stumbled across them in the village. None of his siblings had in fact. Even Tuk hadn’t been able to track them down. 

<”What’s with the long face?”> His Dad asked from the doorway of the pod, still dripping from hauling himself out of the water only moments before.

Neteyam felt his cheeks heat, the courting necklace at his throat suddenly too tight. He hadn’t talked about mates or courting with his Dad before, certainly not since the Sky People had returned. It was simply not something they’d ever discussed. 

But his Dad was more relaxed now. A thought Neteyam confirmed with himself as his Father crossed the pod, a net full of fish in hand. He sat himself down beside the cooking pot, focused on his catch so he wouldn’t pressure Neteyam into talking before he was ready. Which he appreciated.

Talking it out would be nice though. Especially to someone who wasn’t part of the entire mess.

“It’s complicated.” Neteyam finally replied with, responding in English to help himself say it. It felt safer somehow. His Dad gummed quietly, somehow knowing there was more, and that Neteyam would give it up eventually. 

”How did you know Mum was the one for you?” Neteyam found himself asking, eyes glued to his token instead of his Dad who had ceased his rustling to look at him. There was a mement of stillness in which Neteyam knew he was being assessed. Luckily, Dad let it drop, responding in English. ”She tried to kill me.” Neteyam could hear the amusement in his tone, could picture the adoration glinting in his Father’s eyes like it always did when he thought of Mum. Honestly, it was sickening sometimes how infatuated they still were with each other. ”What’s this about?”

Neteyam swallowed, still hiding behind his braids. “The Metkayina have a concept of their mates being chosen by Eywa.” “Ah. Mo’at told me something similar. Something to do with shells if I’m not mistaken.” Dad confirmed, the hiss of his knife leaving its sheath indicating he was continuing with his task. “I take it from that look that someone’s taken a fancy to you.”

“Dad!” He hissed through his teeth, ears burning. 

His Dad barked a laugh. “What can I say? Sully men got game-”

”DAD!”

”Fine! Fine. I’ll stop.” He was grinning, so Neteyam feared he wouldn’t. But to his relief, or horror, Dad swung the conversation back on track. ”So, who is this mysterious soulmate?” “It doesn’t matter.” Neteyam hurriedly dismissed. “They won’t even look at me anymore.”

”Come on, you’re kids. It can’t be that serious.”

”You can’t compare every situation, to you betraying the clan for the demons.” ”I said no such thing.” ”You ALWAYS imply it.”

“There you go.” Dad mused, to which Neteyam suddenly realised he’d finally come out of hiding during the heat of the conversation and was now glaring down at his Father on the floor. Seemingly satisfied, his Dad continued to speak, his attention drifting down to the fish he was gutting. ”It’s Y/n, right? Friend of Tonowari’s kids?” Dad pried, glancing up long enough to confirm his suspicion with a weak nod from Neteyam. He chuckled in amusement. “Tough cookie that one. Very serious.”

“You don’t say.” Neteyam replied dryly. “I’m worried I’ve messed it up before it could even begin.” “Well.” Dad began, “you’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” “That’s it? You’re not going to give me any real advice?” “I doubt you want advice from me.” Dad reassured him, “Even in my old age, I don’t have the best head on my shoulders.” “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

His Dad laughed. “Fine, if you want my advice, I’d recommend-”

The curtain across the mouth of the pod was promptly swept aside before Dad would offer up anything decent to help Neteyam along. “Do not give our son any of your stupid ideas.” His mother ordered, striding into the pod with her visor sat low on her brow bone. “You will get him a black eye.” 

“What can I do?” Dad mused, “he insisted.”

Mum scoffed at him, playfully swatting his cheek with her tail as she passed. She did not take off her visor, nor did she stride for her own hammock.

In a matter of seconds, Neteyam found himself sat in his hammock with his Mother’s shadow casting over him. “Do you wish to court this na’vi?” She asked him bluntly. 

Neteyam spluttered. 

His mother smiled knowingly, but did not wait for his excuse as she ploughed on. “You do.” She told him. “And I will tell you what I told Lo’ak. You are going to grab them by the ear and make them notice you. You are going to present them with the best woven token and refuse to leave until you get a straight answer. And afterwards, you will stop this moping. You are a Sully. We do not mope, we thrive.” “Yes Mother!” Neteyam replied quickly, feeling both encouraged and chastised.

His Dad chuckled again from the floor. “You’ll be surprised how effective your mother’s methods are.” Miraculously, he did not want to know what he meant by that.

>_<

Upon returning to the village, Ronal had ordered you to return to your pod, to which you had been too exhausted to argue.

There had been a flurry of movement beyond your woven walls as the message of your vision had spread and the adults had begun preparing. You had focused on cooking yourself something to eat.

Tonowari had turned up at your door not long after you’d finished descaling your fish, having apparently been banned from his own pod because Ronal and Tsireya needed complete concentration to look further into the issue using their herbs or whatever methods Tsahik’s favoured when searching for answers. Which led to now, sitting beside Tonowari in companionable silence. The Olo’eyktan had propped his spear up against the wall and immediately sat on the opposite side of the cooking pot. For a long while, he was quiet as he assisted you in cooking, and in return, you were sure to make enough for him to take back to his family for their own dinner. 

Your time spent with the Olo’eyktan was always calm like this. A gentle silence that was both soothing and comforting. Unlike your time spent with Ronal, which often left you feeling chastised or tired, her mate was a pleasant opposite. Not that you disliked spending time with the Tsahik, it was merely because she could be rather intense at times.

Of course, Tonowari was the gossip of the two, so he often had his moments.

<”I was surprised by your decision to stop teaching the Sully kids.”> He said casually, eyes never straying from the simmer of the cooking pot. You, in contrast, felt yourself wind tight with tension. Your gaze flickered up to his tattooed face, only to find him pretending to be the picture of ease as he focused on his task. He had taken up the stirring stick and had begun to mix the pot with slow, calculated strokes.

And then, just when you thought he was done and you could get away with not responding, he continued. <“Little Tuk looked awfully upset this morning when Tsireya told her you were attending to other duties.”>

The sneaky bastard. 

You forced your shoulders to loosen before you responded. <“Aonung needs to start pulling his weight. You cannot baby him forever.”> <“We both know this is not about Aonung.”> Tonowari returned calmly, and promptly steered the conversation back to where it was. <“So tell me, what is wrong?”>

You bit your lip to keep yourself from responding. So Aonung hadn’t been lying when he said Tonowari had noticed. 

When you did not respond, Tonowari took it as an invitation to continue to pry. 

<“You have ceased teaching a class that you were otherwise eager to help out with.”> He pointed out plainly. <”Tsireya tells me that you rarely go out anymore unless it is to complete your duties. Whereas your pod is now completely devoid of shells, when only last week you were tracking them all over the place. Ronal was tearing her hair out with how many she kept finding around the village.”> He chuckled softly to himself at the fond memory, probably having gotten a kick out of seeing his otherwise composed mate losing her composure because of something so small.

<”The other hunters and I have never seen so many of the same kind. Not since my grandfather’s time as Olo’eyktan, which very few of the older clan members recall.”> He continued almost nostalgically, <”so whoever this person is, Eywa must be incredibly insistent on this match.”> 

You tucked your chin to your chest to avoid looking at his cocky expression and to ensure you didn’t give anything away. 

<”Aonung told me of a disagreement that occurred on the walkways a few nights back.”> Tonowari probed, <”he spoke of a misunderstanding that is yet to be resolved-”>

<“Can we talk about something else?”> You interjected before startling as you realised you’d just cut him off. Your ears flattened as you glanced sheepishly at the Olo’eyktan who simply smiled back. There was a note of victory glittering in his eye, and you knew you’d just unintentionally revealed your hand. And like an akula with fresh prey in its jaws, there would be little chance of distracting Tonowari with a subject change. 

<”Please.”> You found yourself trying anyway, even if it would be a useless attempt. <”Anything but bloody shells and signs from Eywa?”>

That seemed to unsteady Tonowari for a heartbeat. <”Shells are part of our People.”> Tonowari lectured, the same story you’d heard since before you could walk. Since you’d shown interest in the pretty coloured shells that the People wore or adorned their homes with. <”They speak of good and bad times. Foretell our relationships and our losses, you will do well not to disregard them.”> <”I know.”> You implore him, and it’s true. You do know. You might even know better than anyone. The statement slips from between your lips like a forgotten prayer. Quiet and small like the words of the child you’re always pretending you’ve grown out of being. <”I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult few days.”>

He nodded. <”Care to share?”>

You swallow. <”Eywa made a mistake with the shells.”> You told him bluntly. 

Tonowari chuckled softly to himself, making your stomach twist. <”Eywa does not make mistakes on such a matter.”>

<”But she has!”> You insist more passionately than you’ve been this entire conversation. <”He-”> you swallowed loudly. <”He can’t be my fated, Olo’eyktan-”> <”Tonowari.”> Tonowari quickly corrected, helping to lighten the mood.

You scowl playfully at him and continue to address him with his title just because you know it makes him feel old. <”Clearly, Eywa has made a mistake, Olo’eyktan, because he’s terrified of me. Your mate is not supposed to be scared of you!”>

Tonowari hummed thoughtfully over this statement for a moment or two before an amused smile tugged at the right corner of his lips. <”You know, I was fearful of Ronal.”>

Your eyes widened at the blatant admission. <”Really? But you’re so comfortable around one another.”> <”Oh, we are now.”> Tonowari said simply. <”But before I knew her, and before we received any pink shells for one another, she scared me worse than any akula. I’d avoid her in the village and if she ever struck up a conversation with me, I’d desperately think up the first ridiculous excuse I could to get away.”>

He smiled fondly at the memory, not a hint of embarrassment on his expression. You watched his tail sway lazily, the picture of a doting mate thinking about the woman he had taken as his Tsahik. 

<”And, how did that change?”>

<”My brother, Totxa, tricked me into going on a two day hunting trip with her.”> Tonowari mused, grinning now. <”The ass only told me when I was packed and astride my tsurak that he was planning to woo his own fated and sent me on my way. Ronal had already saddled up and ordered me to follow so I was essentially trapped.”> 

He chuckled, nostalgic of a time long past. <”It was on that trip that Eywa sent the pink shells, and Ronal of course figured it out first. And she confronted me about it. Demanded to know why I was so spineless. Of course, calling me a coward immediately hurt my pride and she was rather amused by my sudden courage. We started courting on our return to the village.”> Somehow, you could see it. Tonowari and Ronal, much younger than you know them now, lost in the sea and the islands beyond the village, navigating the way and each other. You knew that the pair must have bounced off of each other well once they began to see eye to eye. And judging by the strong mated pair that watched over the village now, you knew that Eywa had not been mistaken in her decision for this match.

Even now, the pair wore tokens of their bond upon their person like ever fated couple. Ronal usually had a pink shell woven into her skirts, whilst in the low light of the fire, you could see the shine of Tonowari’s courting shell woven into the braided hide of his hunters band. The shell was located near the top of the special garment, above his heart. 

<"Where are you going with this?"> 

Tonowari studied you for a moment, head tilted in understanding. <”You are uncertain.”> He told you simply, <”you believe Eywa has made a mistake and you’re unsettled. But from where I stand, it seeming you’re truly the one scared, not whoever your fated is.”> He stated with wisdom that was usually bestowed by Ronal. <”Give it time. A village is not built in a day.”>

It was then that the curtain across the entrance of your pod was abruptly swept back and a figure stormed in.

Tonowari’s head snapped up from the cooking pot, as you turned sharply to find Neteyam stood awkwardly in the doorway of your home. His expression swiftly melted from that familiar determined scowl, to an ear lowered face of surprise and regret. 

You hadn’t seen him in days, having taken the time to purposefully avoid him whenever you could, and despite yourself, you found something in you soothed to see him back in your home like he had been so many times before. Looking all bashful as he seemed to shrink in the doorway.

<”Olo’eyktan.”> He greeted smoothly, touching his hand to his forehead.

Tonowari reflexively returned the gesture but made no move to stand from his spot by the fire. <”Neteyam.”> He greeted pleasantly, <”I assume you’re here to take Y/n off my hands?”> Neteyam spluttered, going unnaturally still as he stared unblinkingly down at the older man whilst you glared at him yourself. Tonowari, always the picture of control and calm, simply raised his gaze to meet the younger man. His voice was unfaltering in his next statement. 

<“They’ve been awfully upset as of late.”> He continued to your mortification. <“Very prickly. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you Neteyam? They’re more secretive than the Great Mother sometimes.”> He chuckled to himself as if the joke was hilarious. 

You could feel your face burning as you continued to glare daggers into the side of Tonowari’s face.

Neteyam didn’t seem much better as he struggled to string together enough words for a response.

Not that you were paying attention now, as the world seemed to still when your gaze fell upon the necklace at his throat. Your mouth went dry, as if you’d eaten handfuls of sand, as your gaze locked on the sloppy knotwork and pink shells of your courting necklace. The very same necklace that should have been swept away from the current and lost to the depths of the sea. <“Where did you get that?”> You blurted accusingly, finding yourself rising to your feet with your teeth bared. The thrash of your tail and the scowl on your face could have rivalled Ronal’s fury. To his credit, Neteyam did not shrink away from you. If anything, he seemed to grow more confident in the face of your rage. 

<”We need to talk.”> He told you, but you brushed his demand aside to step closer, to draw yourself up and glare with all your might. <”Where. Did you get it?”> You repeated, slowly. Threateningly. 

His chin rose in defiance, Tonowari completely forgotten as his attention turned solely to you. <“My ilu returned it to me.”>

You scoffed at his choice of words. <“Returned?”> You repeated. <“You don’t-”>

Your words faltered as Neteyam broke eye contact and briefly returned his gaze to Tonowari. You followed his attention, catching sight of Tonowari nodding before you were startled by hands grabbing your knees and the wind getting knocked out of you as you were swung up and over Neteyam’s shoulder. Stunned by his forwardness, you stared dumbly down Neteyam’s back as he gave Tonowari a polite goodbye and began carrying you out of the pod.

Tonowari, the bastard, smiled encouragingly at you and waved. You stared back at him, jaw slack in shock.

It was only when Neteyam didn’t put you down and started carrying you down the walkways that your senses returned to you.

<”Put me down.”> You snarled.

He ignored you. 

So you began wiggling. Neteyam simply held you tighter, quiet and focused on his task. You made sure to complain the entire time, tugging at his braids, obscuring his view with your tail and trying to kick him in the stomach. All of which he either ignored or simply grabbed to make you stop wiggling. 

Deciding to conserve your energy for a master escape attempt once he let his guard down, you pretended to accept your fate as he approached the outer rim of the village that attached everything to the island. You could feel the amused gazes of the People on you as Neteyam confidently paraded you in front of their homes. It was when a hunter whistled at you that you found yourself losing your cool all over again, and you instead occupied your time in captivity by spitting every curse under the sun at anyone who looked at you funny. 

Eventually, the bounce of the walkway ceased to give way to the crunch of sand underfoot, but Neteyam did not pause once he reached the beach. He did not so much as glance around as he strode for the treeline. You could do nothing but watch Awa’atlu grow smaller and more obscured by leaves as the man carried you into the forest and out of sight.

Perhaps he’d find somewhere secluded and murder you to get out of having to be your mate. Or maybe he was finally going to blow up at you and make it official that he didn’t want anything to do with you. It would be a rather dramatic touch if he suddenly ripped off the courting necklace and threw it at you. Even you would respect the time and planning that would have been put into such an act. 

Before long, you began to recognise where he was taking you. You could hear the babble of a brook and knew that he was approaching the pond that sat at the centre of your secret place. You recognised the orange glow of the flowers that had begun to bloom along the banks and noticed the arched limbs of the tree Neteyam tried to teach you to climb up once. It had left you with a limp for several days when you had inevitably fallen out of it. 

Neteyam was gentle as he paused by the pond and carefully lowered you down to your feet. You tore away the moment your toes touched dirt. Expression venomous as you glared at him.

<”If you ever humiliate me like that in front of my people again, I will-”> <”Of course.”> Neteyam cut in, hands raised in a calming gesture. Your gaze caught on the bob of his throat making the necklace jump before his words drew your attention back up to his face. <”I understand, but hear me out first. There has been a huge misunderstanding.”>

You were both impressed by his sudden backbone and annoyed by his pleading look. In the soft glow of the plants, his glowing freckles looked more intricate than any galaxies you knew. They drew your attention from the determined line of his mouth, up the sweeping arches of his nose to his eyes, which were open and honest as he waited for your response.

He did not smile at you. And you did not scowl at him in return.

Instead, you struggled to inhale a much needed breath in an attempt to dissipate some of your annoyance. You had wanted to talk, and now you were being given a chance for an explanation. 

<”Speak.”> You instructed simply, turning briefly to find your usual rock that overlooked the small pond. Glowing insects swirled along the surface of the shallow water, weaving between the stems of plants and dancing along arching leaves. Despite their presence, the spot was quiet in a way the village was not. Willing to offer the illusion of privacy.

You sat on the rock with your attention still on Neteyam. He remained standing, fiddling with his hands as his tail swayed in his attempt to gather his words.

It seemed he was fumbling to continue. Perhaps having believed he wouldn’t make it this far. Which you found privately reassuring, in that he wasn’t aware of how easily you would bend to him. How willing you were to listen to his every word. How desperate you were for his attention. Even now, it was pathetic how utterly gone you were for him. 

With a deep breath, Neteyam spoke. <“I don’t want to be friends.”> He said plainly, and you found you would have preferred a punch to the gut instead. He paused, eyes expectant, and you realised he wanted your input. 

<”You don’t want to be friends?”> Your parroted back, expression twisting in confusion when he eyes blew comically wide in alarm. 

<”NO!”> He practically yelled at you, taking half a step closer, only to freeze when you jerked at the sudden outburst. He apologised before continuing. <”That’s not what I meant.”>

<”So you do want to be friends?”> <”No! Yes! Wait!”> In his growing panic, he was tripping over himself and cursing in his father’s tongue. If your heart wasn’t pounding so painfully, you would have found his struggle amusing. Finally, he sighed and muttered to himself, <”Eywa why is this so bloody hard!”>

You tried to prod him along. Your meal would be finished soon, and if you were away too long, Aonung was bound to eat your portion behind Tonowari’s back. <”So you find it difficult to be open with me?”> <”No!”> He declared for the third confusing time. <”That is not at all what I’m saying. What I’m trying to get at is-”> He faltered before, slumping in defeat. He dragged a tired hand down the side of his face, before closing the distance between you and dropping heavily down onto the rock beside you - his usual spot. Curling in on himself, he ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, as he groaned to himself. <”How have I already managed to royally fuck this up so quickly?”>

You didn’t bother responding, knowing that he was berating himself instead of looking for a proper explanation. 

With a deep breath, he pulled his hands away and turned to you with refound resolve. <”That is not at all how I intended for that to come out. I meant I don’t want us to be just friends. I want to be more than friends. Like we were. Before everything went to shit.”> You blinked, having not expected that response. 

<”What are you saying?”> <”I’m saying-”>

He paused, eyes catching on something. You went still as his hand slowly rose from his lap, ghosting over your ear and pulling something from your hair. It was so familiar of a gesture, that you couldn’t help but be soothed by the familiarity in which he did it. His ears were fanned out now, curious. You expected him to offer the shell to you. You expected the pink to be bright and glowing with newfound love and understanding.

Instead, Neteyam held out a black shell. 

You felt the colour drain from your face.

<”What does this one mean?”> 

Someone is going to die.

Ronal’s words from that distant day on the beach rang in your ears as you stared blankly down at the aged shell in Neteyam’s hands. There was no doubt it was the same one from your vision. Staring down at it now, you could see the similarities of the situation. From Neteyam’s confused question, to the courting necklace at his throat. 

You swallowed dryly. <”We must return to the village.”> You told him quickly, rising from your feet and grabbing at his wrists to drag him up after you. His curiosity morphed into confusion. 

<”What? But we just got here? We’ve barely said anything.”> <”It must wait. This shell, its appearance does not foretell something good. It is a bad omen. A warning. We must go!”>

<”Wait. Wait. Slow down, you’re not making any sense.”>

<”There is not time!”>

His brows furrowed as he pulled back on your arms, trying to keep you in place, but you were stronger. Just barely, and managed to drag him forward a step or two. Neteyam’s tail snapped, his confusion morphing into frustration, but you didn’t care. You had to get him somewhere safe. You had to warn Ronal. Something wasn’t right. 

As if on cue, something rustled in the bushes on the opposite side of the pond. Neteyam went still in your grasp, which was the opposite of what you needed him to do. Both of your ears pricked as you heard panicked footsteps charging through the undergrowth, headed straight for you. 

Neteyam was still clutching that blasted shell in his hands. 

The footsteps were drawing closer. Small and fast. You felt your heartbeat picking up and drew your knife at the same time that Neteyam reached for his. 

The bushes were shaking harder now as someone or something pushed through, before stumbling to a halt before the riverbank. It did not glow like the rest of Eywa’s children, which immediately turned your instincts alert and defensive. It was breathing hard, shiny from sweat and smelt of smoke and salt. 

Neteyam drew in close to your side, stiff as the pair of you stared down the unnaturally small creature. Even at a distance, you knew it would only come up to your bicep, whereas it was dirty and skinny, with a shock of dead grass coloured dreads matted at its scalp. You caught sight of faded blue stripes against unnaturally pale skin, but knew this was not any kind of forest na’vi.

With that part of your vision not matching up, you found yourself calming slightly. Across the pond, the creature spotted you with wide, brown ears. Its face was sealed away behind some sort of see-through contraption, not that you had time to focus on it for long, because Neteyam seemed to recognise it.

He called out to the little creature, using that odd language that all of his family spoke. He even went as far as to wave it over. You grabbed his hand again, growling lowly to quiet him from encouraging it, but Neteyam paid you no mind.

Across the pond, the creature had stiffened at the use of that odd language. It took an unsteady step closer, and you found yourself snarling a warning, which startled it back a step or two. 

Neteyam touched your shoulder, drawing your attention away from it. <”Be calm.”> He soothed, with the voice he used to his ilu. You scowled back, feeling anything but calm. <”He is my brother.”>

Your face scrunched in confusion as you allowed your knife hand to drop a little. Studying the hesitant creature again, you found no similarities between Neteyam and it. <”He is your brother?”> <”I am?”> The creature questioned, sounding just as confused as you. Your attention snapped back to it, mildly distracted by its fluent na’vi.

Neteyam huffed. <”Of course you are. Where the hell have you been? You’re supposed to be kidnapped.”> <”I escaped.”> The creature returned, finally finding the courage to round the pond and approach. It kept a wary eye on you, and walked closer to Neteyam than your scowling form. <”Did a hell of a lot of running and swimming to get here. Quaritch was investigating one of the nearby sea clans and I made a break for it when the bastard had his back turned.”> It looked quite pleased for itself for a moment before a realisation crept into its expression and its eyes widened comically as it remembered something. <”But Quaritch is after me! We have to go!”>

Neteyam’s posture immediately changed. <”You led him to us?”> <”There’s a tracker in my mask.”> The boy pleaded. <”I didn’t have a spare.”>

As if on cue, more thunderous footsteps disturbed the undergrowth. Your ears pricked, picking up on the heaviness of the tread and the snap of twigs underfoot. There was a metallic click from deeper in the trees. Your eyes narrowed, as the moonlight glinted off of something unnaturally shiny. The reflection was long and narrow, whilst the plant life of Pandora usually omitted a gentle and rounded glow. The shine shifted, and a face appeared near the back of it. You stiffened as you recognised the unnatural features of a forest na’vi.

The first bang startled the birds from the trees.

By the second, Neteyam had tackled you from the side and sent you sprawling into the dirt. The air was punched from you as you landed hard on your back, only managing to suck in a breath when Neteyam lifted off you to grab the creature by the wrist and drag him down with you. 

<”Hide!”> The little thing hissed, rising onto its knees to crawl through the undergrowth away from where the sound had come from. Rattled by the loud noise, you numbly followed. Neteyam lurked close to your side, a hand on your back to keep you low, whilst he clutched his knife tightly in the other. You don’t know when he dropped the shell, but you were thankful it was gone anyway.

“What is it Mansk?” An alien voice hissed from the shadows.

“Thought I saw a couple of na’vi with the kid.” 

There was a thoughtful hum in response.

The three of you kept crawling, making sure to keep to the thicker cover and to disturb as little undergrowth as was possible. You found yourself leading the way. You’d grown up foraging these woods, you knew of the cave system tucked away on the east side, should your pursuers get between you and the village. 

“Tracker says he’s this way.”

A moment of stillness. 

“Got ‘em.”

The forest was lit up by the orange of a fire before a second bang made your ears ring. You dart to the left, biting down hard on your knife handle so that you had both hands free. 

Neteyam and Spider disappeared briefly between the leaves. 

You heard your pursuers approaching loudly and pressed your back into a tree. Sliding up the bark so you were back on your feet, you slowly rounded the tree, ears keeping track of where exactly each were. 

“There he is.” You were behind the pair of them now, knife back in hand as you took in the weird armour of the na’vi in your vision. The unnatural weapons and the arrogance of a race that had been the apex predator of their ecosystem. These people had clearly not grown up alongside the rules of Eywa. You noted the line of destruction in their wake. How the grass they had trampled no longer glowed with life and how they had bent branches and bushes out of place to force their way forward instead of finding natural breaks and openings. 

<”We have to go!”> Neteyam’s brother yelled from somewhere in the darkness, and the pair of alien’s snapped to attention. Both raising their destructive weapons that harnessed fire. 

<”This way.”> Neteyam replied, and you saw the grass wave as someone passed through it. 

The aliens saw it too, tensing as they aimed, so you did something Ronal would punish you for later. You allowed your foot to drop on a twig, feeling the bark crunch and snap under your weight. Both soldiers went unnaturally still. You twirled your knife into a more secure grip before charging. 

The duo spun, one firing as he turned. Whilst the other let out a scream as you descended upon him. He backpedalled desperately at your swift approach, clearly terrified that something of your stature could move so quickly on dry land. His companion kept firing. Landing hits to your abdomen. Leaving wounds in your legs. Your arms. Trying and failing to slow you down as you tackled the first demon.

<”GO FOR THE NECK!”> Neteyam’s brother yelled from the bushes, guiding your hands as you slammed the demon down flat on its back so that its head connected with the earth hard. Its weapon slipped from its grasp, disappearing between the glowing trees as the visor protecting its eyes from you slipped down its nose. Too small, terrified, golden eyes stared up at your snarling face as you brought your knife down hard. 

Its neck split open easily on your sharpened blade, allowing red to stick to your fingers. It gargled, choking on its lifeforce before it let out a last wet sound and promptly died. 

Its companion barely gave you a moment to rise from the body before it was slamming the butt of its weapon into your temple. The weapon crumbled in on itself from the force as a weak pain shot through the side of your head. Slowly, menacingly, you turned to glare up into the face of another demon, who stared frozen down at its ruined weapon. A weapon which had been no match for the reinforced bone of your skull.

You heard the demon audibly swallow and felt its fear stroke your ego as you effortlessly shifted your weight from your knees to the balls of your toes so that you were crouched over the fresh corpse. And with a precise swipe of your blade, you forced the soldier to deflect your knife with its battered gun. Reeling from the force it took to keep your weapon from slicing into its abdomen, you pushed down hard on the weapon to force them back a step before snatching the knife back. The demon struggled to keep its footing, arms windmilling, which gave you just large enough of an opening to dart forward and sink your knife up through its ribs. 

The breath was punched from the alien as you hit a lung. 

Yanking your knife free, you rose to your feet as the body collapsed with a wet thump. The glowing freckles dotted across its cheeks flickered as the demon tried sucking in another breath before going still. The light produced by the body followed suit as it died and went dark. 

Adrenaline kept your guilt at bay. It had not been a clean kill. A clean kill would have been an instant death without the wasted spilling of blood which could be used. 

“Holy shit.” 

Your head snapped up to find Neteyam’s brother emerging from between the leaves, staring down at the corpses with mild awe. <”How did you make that look easy?”> He demanded with a pinched smile. There was something unknown plaguing his face when you looked down at him, something that made your stomach pinch uncomfortably.

Not that Neteyam gave you any time to analyse the boy, because he came charging out of the undergrowth with little to no warning. His eyes flickered from the bodies to your bleeding form, knuckles tight on his knife. 

<”Are you both okay?”> You found yourself asking, although you couldn’t see blood on either of them.

<”Us?”> Neteyam bit back, sounding more hysterical than furious. “What the hell was that? Do you know how dangerous they are? You almost gave me a heart attack! They could’ve killed you at least twice!” That alien language was back now, making his brother smile as Neteyam grabbed your head between his hands and shook you.

<”I don’t understand.”> You asked uncertainly.

<”Never do that again!”> He yelled at you, and somehow you knew the simple sentence didn’t match up to the abundance of words that had just split out of him. <”Eywa, you scared me.”>

His hands slid back into your hair, grabbing at the back of your head and pulling your head down into his chest where he held you for a moment. You found yourself soothed by the frantic pace of his heart, and how he was willing to touch you despite the blood that was no doubt being transferred to his skin.

“As cute as this is Neteyam, and as much as I want the full story, there’s still recoms after us.” 

“Right.” Neteyam replied before switching back to na’vi. <”We need to go.”>

<”You should have gone earlier. What were you still doing lurking in the bushes?”> You argued as you pulled back far enough to shoot him a displeased look. <”I wasn’t going to leave you!”>

<”You should’ve gotten Tonowari!”>

<”It doesn’t matter now. We’ll go together.”> He made quick work of his suggestion, grabbing your hand in his and encouraging his brother to stick close. 

It didn’t take long to clear the forest. The three of you emerge onto the beach out of sight of the village due to the curve of the island. But if you remained hugging the treeline, you’d reach it within no time. 

No one spoke. The brother had taken to picking up rocks as he walked, which you assumed he’d use if you came across anything else lurking in the undergrowth. Whilst Neteyam kept a firm hold on your hand as he walked closest to the treeline. 

<"How are your injuries?"> He asked quietly, gaze still flickering between his brother and the trees. You were warmed by how protective of the boy he seemed to be. Clearly, there was a complex history here. 

<"I can’t feel them yet."> You said honestly, even though you knew that the minute you stopped to breathe, you’d be able to do nothing BUT feel them.

Neteyam squeezed your hand knowingly. <"Once we get you looked at by the Tsahik, why don’t we go for an ilu ride? I’ve missed it.">

You glanced up at him, caught off guard by the sweet comment. He was already looking at you, all bright eyed and open faced, warm despite the situation. 

A genuine smile emerged onto your face at the suggestion as something in you loosened. <"I would like tha-">

A bang had all three of you instinctively flinching.

You pulled at Neteyam’s hand, trying to drag him to cover, only for him to grunt and trip over his own feet. A pained wheeze escaping his lungs as if all the breath had been knocked out of him. His brother let out a wounded sound, and despite the danger, raced back to his side as Neteyam didn’t move. His grip remained strong on your hand for a heartbeat before he abruptly crumbled.

Between you, you managed to keep him from splitting his head open on some concealed rock hidden beneath the sand. 

Within heartbeats, there was blood everywhere. Slipping out of the gaping wound in his shoulder, spilling down his chest and over his stomach, running over his shoulder and wetting the sand. His brother was quick to press his little hands down against the entry wound, but there was so much blood. It dirtied the courting necklace at his throat which jumped and shivered at each desperate, sharp breath he dragged into his weak lungs. 

<"Neteyam?"> His brother begged, but the sound was distant, as if you were back underwater suppressing a panic attack. Neteyam was grabbing at him weakly, trying to find words, but struggling to breathe more. <”Oh no. Neytiri is going to kill me!”>

Another click of that stupid weapon from the undergrowth.

Your head snapped up.

There was something white hot and writhing collecting in your belly. Something deranged and unnerving. It clouded your vision and coaxed you into pulling back your lips and barring your fangs into a ferocious hiss at the alien hiding between the trees. Neteyam was grabbing weakly for your arm, trying to keep you close, but you only had eyes for the threat.

You knew you were thinking clearly as you rose to your feet. You knew that the stress and fear had finally made you snap. You also knew that you wanted them to suffer. You wanted to see them bleed. You wanted them dead.

Neteyam was still grabbing at your arms. His eyes wide and panicked, his every breath punched out of him with a painful, twisting wheeze. You couldn’t leave him like this. 

<”We need to go!”> Neteyam’s brother insisted, and you found yourself nodding. The instinctual fog that had fallen over you made it hard to form words, so you followed his instructions instead.

With your bloody knife clutched tightly between your teeth, you stooped to grab at Neteyam’s armpits. He squirmed and screamed in pain as you hoisted him up. His voice hitching up in octaves, his pained wails chasing after the waves as you began frantically dragging him away from the trees, towards the village. 

His brother kept pace. Speaking hurriedly in his alien language. Frantically glancing from Neteyam to the trees and back again. You could feel yourself growing more frantic, your pupils narrowing into slits at the smear of red Neteyam’s limp body dragged down the white sand beaches.

It was because you were staring blankly at the bloodstain that you noticed the token slipping out of Neteyam’s belt and flopping uselessly to the sand. The pink shells were streaked with red, which the sand quickly clung to. 

Neteyam started squirming anew. Struggling against you and making aborted reaches for it. <”S-st-op.”> He begged, his syllables slurring together. 

<”Don’t worry Neteyam.”> Spider assured him, darting back up the beach to retrieve it. You kept dragging, and Spider ran to catch up with you. <”I’ve got it.”> He promised, showing Neteyam the bloodied necklace. The body in your arms lost some of its tension at the sight of it. 

<”Th-ank yo-u.”> He whispered repeatedly, soft as a prayer. <”Tha-ank yo-ou. Thank y-ou.”>

Movement from the trees drew your attention from the pair. Your head snapped up, to find yet another demon stepping out into the moonlight. A companion was seconds behind, its weapon already raised and aimed. 

<”Go away.”> You snarled around your knife hilt, panic making you pull Neteyam along harder. His brother went rigid, a single stone clutched in his tiny hand which he tightened around it. Preparing to hurl it. 

The demons did not do as you warned.

Your fury was resurfacing. Faster and faster. Higher and higher. Hotter and hotter until you could hardly contain it. 

Slowing your pace, you spat your knife into your hand as you began lowering Neteyam’s wounded body to the sand. <”Stay with him.”> You hissed at Neteyam's brother, who’s breath faltered. He met your gaze, and you found that he looked terrified. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. 

The demons were jogging towards you now. Yelling in a language you did not speak. And advancing with microexpressions that screamed aggression. That practically invited you to lose your shit.

<”Go away!”> You repeated, a hiss slipping into the words.

They kept coming closer.

You made to pull away from the pair, but Neteyam grabbed at you. His grip was weak but his expression screamed panic. He was hurting badly. But he still clung to you. Making sad, frantic sounds. His brother helped you pry his fingers off, just in time for you to deflect the first strike of one of the demons. 

From there, pure, unfiltered instinct took over. You bit and clawed like a na’vi possessed. Every blow you struck was fueled by all your pent up stress and frustration of the past few days. You moved with precision. Whilst the strikes of the demons flowed into one another, your only beat was the pounding of your own hear. Where the demons struck with finesse and practice, you moved like a restless tempest. Relentless and unforgiving.

It was over before it truly began. 

The demons were dead at your feet. Their blood staining the sand, and your skin. There was skin stuck between your teeth and sticky blood beneath your nails. But you did not care.

As the last one lay dying, you turned back to your friend. To his brother, who had thrown himself over his much larger sibling in some pathetic attempt to protect him. 

Blood dripped from your chin as you approached, weaving scarlet rivers down your chest towards your feet. What a sight you must have made. 

And yet, somehow, Neteyam was bloodier. His body collapsed at an uncomfortable angle against the sand, a hand clenched around his bloodied token. His face was pale, but his eyes still saw you. Still looked into you with more knowledge than anyone had the right to.

He did not look afraid, despite the state of him. Despite witnessing what you had just done with only a knife and your teeth. In fact, he almost looked proud. But that was clearly just wishful thinking on your part.

<”Don’t just stand there!”> His brother abruptly screamed, tearing you out of your head. You blinked back the fog, struggling to find autonomy over your limbs again as you realised that the kid had tears streaming down his face behind his mask. <”Help him! He’s dying!”>

Previous Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter

#Neteyam x Reader #Part 2 of 3 #character injury #Neteyam gets shot #he's fine #just needs to walk it off #violence #further misunderstandings #did I mention shells? #yeah #because there's a fuck tonne of them #bad omens #Jake should never EVER be giving his kids dating advice #we all saw how that went down in avatar #avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #Neteyam lives

[thiawen]

Febuwhump Day 5

Prompt: Rope Burns

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Warning: Violence; Character Injury

@febuwhump

“I’m alright.”

Spock remained silent at the obviously false statement. It was an illogical human habit to lie about one’s condition in an attempt to lessen the worries of others.

Spock was not reassured.

“Spock.”

He finished wrapping Jim’s wrists with gentle hands, pretending not to notice the way his fingers trembled.

“It’s just rope burn.”

“It is not.” He told his captain firmly, eyes dark. “The rope cut into your skin. You bled quite heavily. Additionally, I fear you may be allergic to whichever plant they use to make the fibers. The swelling is extensive.”

“I’m not allergic,” Jim assured. “The natives use a particularly vicious plant for their ritual ropes. Seems to have corrosive sap. And it stings,” Jim grimaced, “Like nettle.”

Spock was appalled.

“It hurts.” Jim admitted. “But you got me out of there before they could do worse. And once we get back to the ship, Bones will have me fixed up in no time.”

Spock held Jim close, careful not to cause him more discomfort. His body was stiff with pain.

Jim leaned in and pressed his forehead to Spock’s. “I will be alright. Because of you.”

#febuwhumpday5 #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump #my writing #my fanfiction #prompt fill #Star Trek #Star Trek aos #star trek fic #Spock #james t kirk #james kirk #jim kirk #kirk/spock #k/s #Spirk #Character injury

[morgansunflower]

Don't Close Your Eyes

Jason Todd X Pregnant! Reader

Warnings:suggestive content, nudity, bathing, vomit, and character injury

Words:1445

Arthur's notes! THIRD P. O. V

Red must save her loving owners from freezing to death.

Jason and Y/N helplessly bang at the large double doors. They were trapped inside a freezer thanks to Joker. Their gear was not with them. Jason was wearing his shirt, his boots and jeans with his jacket. While his wife was wearing her H/N uniform.

"somebody help us!!" she shivered her throat shaking.

Just as they think their hope is gone.. They hear a faint bark, was it really her? "did you hear that?"

They hear it becoming louder "Red?!" Jason shouted.

She barked louder by the door. She looked for anything that could get them out or a command. She then whined unable to get to them.

"it's OK girl keep working at it!" Jason encouraged "the handle Red try the handle girl"

She moved to her hind legs trying to move the door handle down but the chains were preventing her to. She runs off knowing exactly who to get. Jason wrapped his arms around his wife tightly so they could stay warm. Their breaths were cold as were their body's. Jason takes his jacket off for her. He was a gentleman.

"n-nnno!" she pleaded shaking her head..

He wouldn't listen. He takes his jacket off putting it on his wife. He grabs her collar pulling her to him and holds her. He moved to the ground, sitting on the floor. He kisses Y/N cold and brittle lips that he still loves. He felt defeated. He couldn't get them out. Would they freeze to death in hear?

"I love you so much" she said scared they weren't going to make it out.

"don't.. Don't" Jason shakes his head and kisses her head "don't say it like that"

"it's so-so cold" she shivered

He held her tighter his heart beating fast "I know.. Just.. Don't close your eyes"

Batman was in the Bat-cave typing in his report. He was completely unaware of the fact that his loved ones were trapped and as fast as a heart beat they were slipping right through his hands. Red runs in instantly gaining her mates attention Ace. The two dogs run to each other while Bruce smiled. He waited to see if Jason or probably Y/N walked in but neither did. Red frantically barks to Batman spinning to the exit... They were in danger.

"no" he muttered truly frightened.

Batman runs following the Shepard with Ace. They came to the large stand in freezer. They had to be alive. They had to..

"Y/N! Jason! Stay away from the door I'm going to get you both out!"

They didn't speak but could hear as their teeth chatter. Their cheeks ice cold as they were shaking. Bruce used his bolt cutters to open the doors. He pulls the doors open. He sees both Y/N and Jason shivering in each others arms. Red quickly ran to her owners to lick their faces. She began to whine greatly worried for them both. Y/N and Jason smiled petting her. Their faces were pail and their hair was nearly frozen.

"good girl.. Good girl" Jason proudly said

Alfred flew the bat-plane and landed to the ground. Bruce carries his son while Alfred carried Y/N to the helicopter. Alfred laid his granddaughter on the stretcher. Bruce did the same laying Jason on the other stretcher. Alfred and Bruce grabbed heated blankets laying them on Jason and Y/N. Bruce whistled to the dogs. Red laid with Y/N close to her laying on her arm, while Ace laid with Jason. Bruce knew the dogs could help keep their body temperatures up. Moment's later.. Red stood in the hallway in Wayne Manor. On the left side of the hallway in the room, she could smell the sweat dripping from Jason and the hint of his musk. In the room with him was Alfred.. Alfred smelled like cookies and comfort. In the right side of the room in the bedroom was, Y/N. She smelled of her favorite shampoo/perfume and of sweat from the severe coldness. She also smelled Steph who smelled of the cupcakes. Red would always never touch the sweet treat because she was a good dog. With Steph and Y/N was Cass along with Barbara. Cass smelled of vanilla from her favorite candles and a hint of Chinese noodles. Barbara often smelled of floral perfume to block the smell of sent from her constantly working as Oracle and coffee but not as much as Tim. Red softly whines at Y/N's door. Stephanie opens the door. She runs into the bathroom to see her second but very loved owner stepping into the warm tub.

"H-hey girl" Y/N weakly says happy to see her rescuer.

She let out a groan in tiredness of her muscles from the intense coldness. She also feels nauseated, that she thought was probably from her fever. She yawns lowering herself into the water. Red approaches closer greatly concerned. She puts her paws on the rim of the tub. She smells Y/N to make sure she didn't have any blood. She then smells something.. Different. Something she never experienced. It was lovely but very different. She barks loudly to alert the girls, seeing Y/N's face turning a different color. Barbara rolled in her wheelchair to Y/N, with the Wayne daughter's right in front of her. Cass takes a bathroom trash can and placed it close to Y/N. She held it as she began to reek into the can. Red whined sadly licking Y/N's shoulder and back for comfort. Stephanie held her hair back. Y/N takes a deep breath as she finally stopped. Cass rids of the nasty vomit as Y/N cleaned herself. She then dressed in her long sleeve shirt and Jason's sweatpants he had left here. She loves wearing his clothes. Jason's hands try to shake as he leaves the tub. The coldness of the freezer weakened his muscles. Both him and his wife had a low grade fever. He dresses into sweatpants and a red hoodie. He really wants to go see her so he could hold her, but he's so weakened. He sits on the bed taking a deep breath. The door pushes open to see Red. She jumps on the bed and licks Jason's face. Jason softly smiled petting her.

"hey girl! How's my good girl? Have you seen my wife? Is she OK?"

Red barked happily. They are both OK! She smells that unique smell again from her owner. Jason smiled to see his beautiful wife standing right in front of him.

"I was going to come see you babe" he weakly said raising to his feet.

She opens her arms as he hugs her. They held each other just to be together from the near death experience. The weight of worry leaves. They wanted to cry. Y/N and Jason laid in the bed. Red laid by their feet sleeping from the exhausting day. Jason held his wife's now warm face in his hands. She feels her eyes shake. He kisses her as she begins to cry in his arms.

"it's OK babe. I was scared to" Jason admits to try and ease her to not worry about being emotional.

"that's not why I'm crying.. I mean I was scared. Though I.. I was throwing up earlier. I thought it was because of the fever but.. I took a test because I really wanted to know and.." she stammered unable to stop her emotions from taking over.

"Y/N are you?... Is their a baby?.. Is the baby ok?" his heart raced he was a dad or he was going to be. Those thoughts scared him. One would make him so thrilled the other would break his heart.

"yes! Yes! And yes!" she cried with a smile on her face

Jason let out a deep breath his chest heavy. Feeling like he was never more.. Happy and emotional at once. He kisses her with so much passion, wanting to show her his love. She feels his love in his lips. The rawness was nearly overwhelming.

"Aww babe.. I can't believe--" his eye's shake he didn't want her to see him cry but he couldn't help it. His throat shakes as he keeps trying to say all he, feels. She could've had a miscarriage. He could have lost both his wife and their baby. How is the baby ok after that? He couldn't believe it, but everything is OK "that's great" he leans forward kisses her and hugs her while burying his tearful face in her neck. So overwhelmed with relief that everything was OK "that's really great"

Requested taglist @too-strong-to-lose

#Jason Todd X Reader #Third pov #batfamily #Hudson and Rex inspired #German Shepard #Ace the bathound #Batman #Character injury #Nudity #Fluff #Bathing #Vomiting #Pregnancy #Pregnant! Reader #Jason Todd X Wife! Reader #Third P. O. V #Red is Jason's and Y/N's lovable dog

[rookieoneil]

HOWLING HEARTS

chapter seven

Preview

“So,” Angela started, Tim was preparing his and Lucy’s dinner. He was going to take her out to the woods tonight to begin helping her with her transition, but he wanted to make sure she was well-fed first. “How’s Lucy?”

“Good, she’s settling in well,” Tim answered.

“Right,” Angela nodded. “Are you gonna tell me what that whole macho man thing was?” She has known Tim for a very long time, perhaps longer than anyone else in the pack, and she can't help but notice the subtle changes in his demeanor. From the moment she spoke with Tim that night in the woods, Angela sensed a shift in his demeanor, a quiet fascination that seemed to grow with each passing day.

She remembered that night the way Tim's eyes had lit up when he spoke of Lucy, his voice betraying a depth of feeling that he had kept hidden from the rest of the pack. In that moment, Angela had known that Tim's feelings for Lucy were more than just fleeting, that there was something more profound at play.

Now, as she watches Tim interact with Lucy, Angela can't help but feel a sense of warmth and admiration for her friend. She sees the way Tim's eyes light up whenever Lucy is near, the subtle glances and gestures that betray his growing fondness for the newest member of the pack. And though Tim may not yet realize the full extent of his feelings, Angela knows it's only a matter of time before he admits the truth.

#the rookie #fanfiction update #fanfic #fanfiction #lucy chen #tim bradford #chenford #eric winter #melissa oneil #angela lopez #tim x lucy #nyla harper #caleb wright #character injury

[sgcairo]

Near Death Experiences

It's Dottore's turn to get a few heart attacks because Pantalone gets hurt more often than he reasonably should, in all honesty. Poisons, assassination attempts- hell, Pantalone almost broke a hip falling down a small set of stairs because he was distracted by his quarterly reports.

Logically, Dottore should be the one who ends up hurt the most in this case, mostly because his job is more dangerous and definitely can get you killed if you don't know what you're doing. Pantalone quite literally sits for hours at a time and occasionally makes trips out and about to settle business. The difference is huge, and Dottore has gotten burned, shocked, and cut so many times that he has a godly pain tolerance (or really doesn't feel anything at all because of the physical modifications he's given himself).

Pantalone does not have this pain tolerance, but he's also very good at ignoring his body's warning signs. Especially when it gets in the way of his work.

Hence I raise you: Pantalone gets hurt- not just a flesh wound, but also a newly created poison that Dottore himself had derived, somehow spreading into the hands of a foreign dignitary.

It was a simple meeting. Things seemed to be going excellent, up until the point Pantalone turned his back to leave.

A Harbinger should never turn their back on anyone. It's a common rule, that one. Don't show your back to the enemy unless you want a knife lodged in it.

And a knife indeed get stabbed into his shoulder from behind, just off from the actual target of his neck. Pantalone was quite lucky it wasn't his spine or something worse. After getting stabbed in the back, he makes quick work of this backstabbing bastard, and orders for the body to be shipped back from whence it came as a reminder on why people don't back stab the Regrator.

The journey back to the palace is easy. Pantalone is a master of disguising his pain, not to mention that he very clearly states that he's fine, it's a mere flesh wound. It hurts, sure, but he can wait until later to handle it. There's more urgent business to attend to, and making a fuss over a small wound will only hinder his progress. Though his vision starts to swim a little by the time he gets back to the Piazza, and he feels somewhat lightheaded. No matter, he's probably dehydrated, and that wine he was given is definitely not helping his case.

He gets back to his room and only stops to ride out the waves of pain that have intensified in his shoulder once. By the time he shuts the door, he feels even worse, but having half a bottle of fine wine would help ease it, no?

Crash!

The bottle somehow manages to slip from his hands and explode across the ground. There's glass everywhere. His head hurts. It feels like someone's stabbing him behind the eyes, and there's little white lights scattered across his vision.

Then overwhelming pain explodes across his body, much like the glass bottle shattering against the ground.

He doesn't even know he passed out until he wakes up in a pile of glass some time later, confused and dazed. He manages to get up, but his body feels too hot, like he's in the middle of a furnace- Impossible, this is the Tsaritsa's palace, it's never warm- and his body is practically throbbing as small and large cuts alike as he drags himself to the bedroom, collapsing into the bed and blacking out.

The next time he wakes up, there's voices. Some say that he's dead, a finger poking his face- he just wants to sleep, it hurts so much. His face is hot, his chest feels too tight to be normal, and he feels sick. His whole body feels like it's being stabbed by tiny needles, shaking violently as he opens one eye, only to behold... Dottore?

Who looks absolutely furious, which is kind of hot but also terrifying. His pain-addled brain liked the view of Dottore's chest very much, mind you. Very plush, shields against pain. 10 out of 10.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"...go' stabbed. Was fun."

"You got fucking stabbed and didn't say anything?!"

"N'pe. Too busy..."

Dottore looks like he's going to strange Pantalone right then and there. "Well, darling, it looks like you have an almost deadly fever, a stab wound, several puncture wounds, and your blood pressure is very low. You know what that means?"

"No."

"You're coming with me."

Pantalone is terrified, but also... being taken away sounds very nice right now. His arm hurts, and Dottore always makes things better. Ish. It's up for debate, but Pantalone is too tired and shaking too hard to care.

The fever starts to win, after a while. To the point that Pantalone is no longer conscious, his face is completely red and shining with sweat. It's dangerous, but Dottore is no stranger to feverish and idiotic Harbingers, it's half his job description by now. A simple IV and getting the fever down will do the trick, what he's more worried about is the combination of the fever and the wound itself.

Uncovering it reveals a lot more than he cares to know.

A quick blood test reveals too much, in all honestly. Dottore should've known, he'd found a rat within his segments not all that long ago. Someone has been selling his unfinished formulas, and now the consequences are appearing in the Regrator's body. Just amazing, now he has to clean up this mess and make sure Pantalone doesn't die like the idiot he is.

Dottore's fainting couch gets more use than usual, and it's not the most comfortable surface, but it's better than the operating table. A quick prick of a needle and a bucket of ice water painstakingly gathered by one of his younger segments, he gets to work on bandaging up the gaping hole in the Regrator's back, an antidote, and slapping cold wet washcloths onto the Regrator's forehead every once and a while, just to make sure that he's still alive. Bandaging up the hole and making sure it doesn't get infected is the easy part. The hard part is stopping the effects of the poison, as Pantalone has already lost a lot of blood and his body is running on its last resorts.

Dottore has never worked so fast in his life. Taking his formulas, shifting them to meet the effects of the poison (which is really just an off the rails drug at this point), testing them on himself and feeling nothing but a cold empty void in his chest with a side of crippling loneliness, then eventually coaxing it into Pantalone's mouth after three hours of nonstop study and laboring.

The rest of the night is without major consequence, until Pantalone wakes up sometime shortly before dawn, delirious and crying quietly.

"Hurts..."

"I know, darling. It'll be over soon. I promise."

"M'kay."

"Do you need anything?"

The Regrator doesn't remember, but he demanded to be held in Dottore's arms for a little while, resting his head on the Doctor's shoulder before nodding off, comforted by the familiar presence.

Dottore will never confess to blaming himself either, as it was his fault that the unfinished product ever fell into the hands of the enemies to the Tsaritsa in the first place. And to have it used on the one person it actually hurts to see suffer.

After a few days of being fussed over by the Doctor and his army of segments wanting attention and attending to Pantalone's every need, the Regrator is back on his feet, as cunning as ever.

Though now he has a scar along his shoulder that will always show his stupidity (according to Dottore).

#pantalone #il dottore #dottore #pantorre #dottolone #il dottore's clones #hurt/comfort #character injury #the washcloth smacking is based on a true story #it's not everyday you wake up to someone smacking you randomly in the middle of the night with a cold washcloth #fatui harbingers #fatui headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons

[highcaliberstupidity]

CW - Character Injury | Descriptions of Wounds | Minor operation in the middle of no where on said bullet wound | Blood | The usual CoD violence to be expected

So, looking at Soap during 'Alone', i'm fairly certain that the bullet wound in his arm is a through and through.

HOWEVER. It's a good thing I don't care and will bend the narrative to explore little things. So strap in.

I really, really love the idea of Soap fighting his way through Las Almas with a bullet lodged in his arm and a graze on his ribs (someone dug up his Alone model and found he had a wound on his flank). By the time he makes it out, the wounds are throbbing. He is in agony, and he knows infection will set in if he doesn't get them cared for soon. But they have to escape first, so he bites his tongue and sweats through the pain while still shaking with the frigid cold of rain-soaked clothing in a truck with no heater.

Finally, between blood loss, frantic shivering, and general fucking exhaustion, he starts to pass out, and Ghost finds a secluded place to pull off as he realizes just how bad his Sergeant is.

He's surprisingly gentle as he maneuvers him around until he can stand between his legs in the passenger door, stripping his shirt off and slapping his med kit down in his lap. All the while he's cussing him up, down, and sideways for not saying something sooner as he shoves a small, cracked, and ruined piece of leather into his hand.

He takes off his gloves, soaks his hands in alcohol, and gets to work. Soap will blame it on the heat of the moment, but as Ghost works on his flank, he falls into him, pressing his head into his shoulder as he bites down on that piece of leather and tries not to scream aloud, hot tears of shame burning down his cheeks.

He nearly passes out when Ghost has to dig the bullet from the edge of his bicep, fisting his hand into the side of his rain-soaked hoodie.

Soap's too out of it to see Ghost slip the malformed lump of lead into his tac vest when he pulls it out, dripping crimson. Ghost sews him up, shoves meds down his throat, and lets him catch as much rest as possible while he drives, heading for Alejandro's safe house.

--

Ghost forgets about the bullet he kept until they return to England following the shitshow in Chicago.

He finds it on accident when cleaning out his tac vest before sending it off to be properly cleaned up and the armor plate replaced. For a long moment, he contemplates throwing it away, because why should he keep it?

Why did he keep it in the first place?

For some reason, he dumps it out of the pouch and into his hand, noting the dark stains around where it'd settled. He tries not to think about how red Johnny's blood had been on his hands when he'd dug the damn thinged loose.

He takes it back to his room and leaves it in his bedside drawer.

Every once and a while he sees it, remembers it exists, and contemplates throwing it away again. The memories it holds aren't good ones, lumpy metal covered in rusty stains.

But it's a piece of Johnny, in a fucked up and morbid way, and he can't bring himself to get rid of it.

--

It's a long time, before Johhny finds it.

Ghost had forgotten about it again, lost it in the limbo of his thoughts between missions and protecting him.

He asks where something else, and Ghost, not really paying attention, answers on autopilot from where he sits at his desk, filling out paperwork from their last mission.

"Bed side table."

He hears it open, hears some shifting. He'd never really kept that damn thing clean, one of his few bad habits. The sounds stop, and Ghost, pays it no mind for a moment.

But then it drags, and drags.

When he turns around to ask if he'd found it, he sees him cupping his hands, staring down at a small, malformed lump of lead with confusion. He's pretty sure his heart tries to leap from his ribs, climbing halfway up his throat in a matter of moments.

Soap lifts his head, and it must be the expression on Ghost's face that gives him away.

"You kept it...?"

"Honestly, kinda forgot about it."

"But why?" And wasn't that a fucking question? It wasn't big enough to be a paperweight, it was covered in long-dried blood, and useless.

Why had he kept it?

"I, don't know. Just, felt important." They'd been together for years now, he'd figured this wouldn't make so many nerves dance.

"Can't believe you had a piece of me that entire time and I never knew about it." Ghost blinks, remembering when he'd thought of it like that, how he still thought of it. A smile curls across his face under his mask.

"Yeah, suppose I did Sergeant. Suppose I did."

#soapghost #ghoap #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost #cod soap #cod ghost #character injury #somewhat possessive behavior #look man #he just #wants a piece of his mans #even whenn he wasn't his mans yet #idk where this came from but i've just been #kinda thinkin' about it a lot today. #calibers writing

[pegasister60]

“Not yet. Not yet. I have to…”

Drew @spikyearr’s cool ass Trainer Gold as a pegasus design again!! This time with some drawings based off of their fic “Baby Hotline (please hold me.)” which has horror, angst, hurt no comfort, and attempted egg hatching. :D

The fic isn’t for their Ponydex AU I just really like this lad’s design. And the imagery of him hugging the egg close and closing his wings around it. That also compelled me even though I didn’t follow through. Maybe next time!

#dsmp fans in the audience stop me if you’ve heard this one before-/j #my post #i speak #my art #this lad is so whumpable #you did so good gold #anyway onto the important tags #injury #character injury #angst #blood #bleeding #horror #parasites #tw parasite #mind control #I’m tagging this as mind Control because eggy was absolutely fucking his mind up with them toxins #ask to tag #trainer gold #trainer ethan #pokespe #ponydex au #LMAO I FORGOT TO ADD THE CHARACTER TAGS #entirely unrelated thought but I remembered moments where Pegasi use their wings like pseudo hands #and omfg ponydex gold but he can line up pool shots with his hooves *OR* his wings #new doodle concept just dropped but that’s for another day #print error au

[obsessedwithtodoroki]

Fanart someone made for my works!

They sent it to me via Instagram so the credit goes to CRINGEKID

A Knight and His Prince

#au #fanfiction #fanfic #ship #mondo x ishimaru #mondo x kiyotaka #ishimondo #mondo owada #kiyotaka ishimaru #prince kiyotaka #knight mondo #fluff #character injury

[cyprus-green]

Please do 10!

Dramione Prompt Fill #10 'If you die, I will fucking kill you myself! '

...

'Draco we need to go, NOW!' Hermione shouted.

She threw a protego around them both, strengthening the one Draco had set only a few minutes before.

Draco nodded in response, his grey eyes intensely focused on the task at hand. He twirled his wand, pulling it away, snaking it around and repeating the motion. Nearly done with the complex spell he was weaving over the small silver bracelet in his gloved palm. The inconspicuous object, an artefact from the great Malfoy collection, glittered brightly reflecting the spells being thrown in the area. This particular piece was stolen from Lucius's personal vault, a very traditional marriage gift, now a horrible weapon that could take out a hundred wizards, in a matter of seconds. Despite his father's attempts to disown him, Draco was still recognized by all the Malfoy blood wards and he was going to take advantage of what he could.

Draco's brow dripped with sweat but his eyes never left the bracelet.

'I know! Just a second more.' Draco yelled quickly. Suddenly he closed his eyes and began chanting the final lines of the spell. It was an old magical language that he couldn't understand, but knew it would do the job. The grass around the the pair began to glow as small green flames poked through the ground, creating a boundary between them and the death eaters.

The group around them had grown from six to twelve in a matter of minutes. And Hermione had already taken down five. Only in these types of moments did Hermione aim to kill. Only with her back to the wall. But oh when she did, she did it with an unmatched viciousness.

'Draco...' Hermione gritted through her teeth, and Draco heard the warning in her tone.

He was out of time.

Hermione sliced through the air and sent hex after hex in quick succession. Two death eaters clutched their stomachs as their intestines spilled graphically onto the grass-- it reminded her of the time she saw a gang of neighborhood lads kick over a butchers cart, watching pounds of uncured meats and long looping ropes of sausage fall to the pavement. She had sliced them clean open from their chest to their groin. Their strangled cries caused the others to stiffen in fear. Everyone had known that Draco Malfoy was a dangerous wizard. But Hermione Granger? She was beyond anything they had ever encountered. Moving elegantly and quickly, you'd be dead before you ever saw her wand.

It was rumored she had stolen the wand she now used from Lucius Malfoy himself, both of their original wands having a dragon heartstring core. Many who faced her in battle would agree, that though diametrically opposed in life, she and Lucius fought with a nearly identical ruthless competence. They had the same deadly aim, and a wicked imagination. And because of it, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were not the team to be caught in a dual with.

The Golden Girl turned and threw a bombarda at another masked wizard's chest, creating a hole the size of a quaffle. From her height she could see straight through, but moved on quickly.

The air smelled of smoke and blood; thick with the distinct rot of dark magic.

She looked over at Draco who swore, but oblidged when she pulled him to her side. She blocked again as Draco's protego began to fade.

'That's as good as I can get it! I'll set it. Apperate to the safe house ahead of me. I'll be right behind you!' Hermione saw the fear in Draco's eyes. And she also saw his unwavering determination. His will to live had been revived the moment she found him alone and bleeding out in the forrest of Dean. He had been deserted, left to die by his own men. He even tried to fight her at first, thinking she was a demon sent by the Grim Reaper to punish him for his sins. When she convinced him otherwise, he was greatful and delirious.

From that moment on, Draco Malfoy worked for the Order. Though he would argue otherwise, saying he only ever worked for his own benefit, Hermione knew it to be a lie. His loyalty laid with wherever hers was, and it had not wavered once.

Something had changed between them the moment Draco woke up to Hermione sitting bedside, a book in her hand and pain potions in the other. To her suprise, and eventual delight, the bigoted boy she had once known, seemed to have died that afternoon in the forrest of Dean. And the two became inseparable. For among The Order, she alone was willing to help Draco heal from his debilitating wounds. They became dueling partners, as no one else would stand beside a deatheater in a fight.

Who besides, Hermione Granger 'savior of elven-kind, patron saint of the underdog' would trust an excommunicated, pureblood deatheater. Who else would trust a Malfoy to not lead them all into a trap? Very few, it turned out.

It appeared that only two people in the entire Order of the Phoenix (Hermione Granger and Remus Lupin) trusted Draco's turn of heart. Whatever Hermione had seen in the young heir had been enough for Remus. So Draco stayed. And from those early days on, Draco and Hermion became a team. The deadliest, most unconventional team The Order would ever have in rotation.

One thing was for certain, amongst the resistance...Around his 'Granger ', Draco Malfoy was a changed man, becoming braver than anyone expected and more loyal to her than anyone could have ever imagined.

That is how the pair found themselves surrounded by a swarm of death eaters, on the outskirts of a small farming village. They had been sent out on another impossible mission, faced with another chance of death. A typical Tuesday afternoon for the duo.

'I'm not leaving without you. We come back together, or not at all. We promised.' Hermione's back was to Draco and he growled as he sent three of his old comrads flying backward through the air with one rapid, fluid motion.

'Granger, just go! Please-' Draco began, his voice pleading.

Suddenly Hermione's shield was penetrated and she gasped and clutched her side.

'Talk to me Granger!' Dracos voice was steady as he sent back two green curses, hitting the man who had gotten past their defenses square between the eyes.

'I'm fine! ' Hermione called back, and sent out her own green curses, missing her target by a hair.

'Lets just GO. NOW!' Draco looked down at his partner and caught her eye.

Something was wrong. His eyebrows knitted, but he had no time to figure out what exactly set his hair on edge.

'On the count of three! You set it. I'll apperate us out.' Hermione looked nervously at the green flames surrounding them.

'Three!' Hermione shouted and Draco whispered to the braclet, throwing it quickly over he heads of their opponents, landing behind the group.

'Two!' By this moment the green flames spread like lightning from the semi-circle to the small object. Every person it encounted on the journey became anchored to the ground, flames coming up from underneath their boots, licking at the hems of their robes. Their cloaks and capes going up in flames within seconds.

'ONE!' The entire host of death eaters, now numbering at least 18, began screaming in pain, unable to move from where they stood. They became engulfed by the quick moving, high burning flames. The smell of flesh made Draco want to gag. But he took in a deep breath in anticipation of the jump.

Hermione linked her arm with his and for a split moment he didn't feel them move. Cold terror filled his veins but when he looked down he barely had a chance to register anything before he felt them tugged inward and spit out again.

....

....

The pair landed and stumbled, Hermione nearly crashing into a nearby tree.

She grabbed onto it and panted. Her body and face angled away from Draco who had immediately fallen into a patch of tall grass, his blond hair poking through its yellow-green.

He wasn't sure where they were, or why she had taken them here, but that was the least of his concerns as he watched her try to find her grip on the tree's bark.

He stood quickly and removed his gloves, moving to place a hand on Hermione's back. He ran his palm up and down, pausing at her shoulder.

'Alright there, Granger?' His voice was cautious. Tight.

Hermione didn't turn but hummed in the affirmative and lifted her hand, waving him off. Her body sagged against the tree.

'Just grand. Just. Need. to... catch...my..' and before she could finish her sentence Hermione crumpled. Draco caught her before she could hit the dirt and lifted her, bridal style, cradling her against his chest in alarm. Her body was deadweight in his arms. Her eyes were closed, but she was still conscious, crying out in pain.

'Where did it clip you?' His voice barely concealed the extent of his concern. They'd both been injured before...but those times they had apperated back to the safehouse. Where real healers could care for them.

When Hermione didn't answer him, he laid her down carefully on a soft patch of grass. Placing her gently on her back, he saw her eyes open as she began to shift and groan more loudly. There was no evidence of blood from where he could see-- and it made him all the more frightened.

He looked around and removed his coat placing it under her head. He thought to apperate, but decided it was too risky. A wrong move and Granger might be splintched in half. Casting a locator spell, nothing appeared and he groaned. The silence indicated that they were very, very far from any town and consequently, completely and utterly, fucked.

'Talk to me, Granger. Ey. Look at me. Granger? Tell me where it hurts.' Hermione had become pale, her warm brown complexion now pallid, her skin covered in sweat and grime.

He surveyed her quickly and leaned down, one hand cupping her cheek. His other hand lifted her layers, pressing gently, searching for the source of pain. So far her chest was untouched. As were both of her arms.

'Did it get you in the ribs?' Draco asked more firmly. 'Granger...Your ribs?'

Hermione didn't answer but clutched Draco's forearm stopping him for a moment. His eyes were wide and frantic, hers barely able to focus. She tensed and cried out thrashing in pain, reaching for her trousers.

'Granger, I'll fix it. Just hold on. Fuck!' Draco cursed and with shaking hands undid her denims, pulling down the right side where her hands kept trying to grab.

He set his jaw and held his breath as he peeled the thick fabric down to reveal a deep wound, with a jagged purple edge.

It was oozing black liquid. The wound was already bigger than his hand, reaching from her navel to the edge of her upper thigh.

A Curse. Corrosive. Painful. Deadly.

He blinked and looked back up at her, rolling his jaw. Her eyes were fixed on his. She had stopped thrashing. Instead, she shivered. Her eyes pleading.

Trusting but so afraid.

Her hand, which now was covered in black ooze, reached for his. It was trembling.

He grasped it and swallowed. Feeling the terror spreading from her, through their grasped hands, to his chest and his throat. She must have seen how bad it was.

'It's alright Granger. I'll fix it. Just hold on to me okay?' he nodded at her reassuringly but felt cold.

This could not be happening. Not now.

Pulling from all he knew of dark curses, Draco began reciting every heaing charm and countercurse he could think of.

One to clean the wound, did nothing.

Another to seal the wound, did nothing.

A general countercurse, did nothing but cause her to scream louder.

Another countercurse pulled at the viscous black liquid, revealing the wound to be deeper than he feared. He could see unknown, mangled tissue. The white of her hip bone. He cursed and felt her grip his arm more tightly, nails digging in.

She found her voice and let out one singular howl.

DRACO!

He closed his eyes for a moment holding her down.

'I know. I know. Shhh, I know it hurts. I know. We must keep trying. We have no other choice, Granger. Listen to me. Granger? I'm not going to let you die. I promise you. Just breathe...just breathe.' He was nearly in tears, frantic, shaking. But his wand was steady as he spun it clockwise, then anti-clockwise. His breath was shallow and rapid but he forced himself to take a deep breath.

Every countercurse he attempted after appeared to have no effect. She brought his hand to her face and he felt her cheeks wet with tears and sweat. But he couldn't look. He had to save her. If he looked now, he'd break, and that was not an option.

'Hold on Granger. Come on, Golden Girl just hold on for me.' He heard the terror in his voice. No hiding it now. He gently removed his hand from her grip and he felt her shudder. He shushed her gently, still not looking up. Her breathing was ragid.

He had a thought. A Single. Wild. Imposible thought.

He would do anything to keep her alive.

Anything.

Draco removed his rings and his jumper, leaving him in a plain black t-shirt. He was covered up to his elbows in dark fluid and tried to clean off his hands with his shirt to no avail.

'Granger, I'm going to try something, okay? If you hate me after, then so be it. I'll let you crucio me.' He looked up at her quickly and exhaled sharply at the sight. Her eyes unfocused as she gasped, her small body shivering.

This had to work. It had to.

He quickly pulled a dirk from his waistband.

Desperate times.

Slicing his palm open, the blood pooled and he allowed the deep red of it to spill into her wound. He began to chant the ancient words. An amalgamation of Malfoy and Black rites, ones he had been taught as a 14 year old. At the time he learned them, he read them carelessly, with not nearly as much solemnity as they deserved.

Hermione gripped his arm with more force than he had felt since they apperated. He looked at her to see her eyes open in alarm. He set his jaw and continued to recite the words. He grabbed her palm gently and brought it to his lips quickly before he apologized and sliced it down the middle.

She grunted and twitched. He looked down at her confused expression and pressed their palms together. Her eyes widened and she whined and murmured but he couldn't make out any discernible statments. He shook his head and held her hand more firmly as his wand circled her wound again and again.

Suddenly her body stiffened and she let out an agonizing scream as a great ball of ooze began to levitate up and out of her. The curse itself seemingly being torn from her body and her magical core. He shouted over her screams, bringing his face closer to hers, holding her hand as tightly as he could. He began to feel a burning sensation pulling at his navel and before he knew the pain was so bad, he was struggling to complete the spell. But he had to. He had no other choice. His Golden Girl was relying on him.

With all the strength he had left he yelled the final phrase and a pulse of magical energy knocked him off his knees and onto the grass, half ontop of Hermione's still form.

When he opened his eyes he groaned and grabbed his side. He ignored the pain, rolling over and struggling to kneel over Hermione's body. The ooze had disappeared from sight.

Granger was still. Eyes closed.

When he observed where her wound had been, he saw new skin covering the once open flesh. Something had worked--what, he could not be sure.

He put one shaking hand against her cheek. Cool to the touch. He shuddered and leaned over her, placing his ear against her chest. Faint wheezing sounds let him know she was still breathing. But only just barely. He brought his face close to hers and shook her.

'Granger. Come on, Granger wake up.' He looked at her and swallowed.

He patted her cheek and brought his other hand to her neck, feeling her weak pulse. He closed his eyes. Breathing in deeply he yelled helplessly into the silent clearing, digging his fingers into the dirt.

His eyes filled with tears.

Hot. Angry. Tears.

He grabbed the front of her coat and shook her limp body.

'Absolutely not!' His voice was caught in his throat, but it cut through, enraged.

'This cannot be happening!' He shook her forcefully again, gripping her lapels in his blood stained hands. Her head lulled back.

He let her coat go and roughly brought her up, placing her body across his lap. He grabbed her face roughly with both hands and brought his face flush with hers, letting out an angry cry.

'If you die I will fucking kill you myself! I forbid it....Do you hear me Granger?'

He pressed his forehead against hers and sobbed, holding her body tightly to him.

'I swear to Salazar Slytherin, I will. I'll fucking kill you. How could you?' He was crying and yelling in her face. Rocking them back and forth. His tears falling onto her skin.

He pulled back, cupping her face. Another sob wracked through him as he brought his lips to hers. Nothing about it felt like he had hoped their first kiss would.

He shook his head and whispered against her lips. 'Save me...and make me fall in love with you... Just for you to fucking die? How is that fair, Granger?'

He pulled back and brushed her hair away from her face. Even now she was beautiful. And his expression crumpled into anger once more.

'You fucking bitch!' his body shook but his hands held her head steady.

'Are you just going to lay there and let me call you that Granger?' Anger filled his voice again. 'Are you going to simply give up? Like this?'

He growled and slapped her cheek.

'Fuck you! Come back and fight me, Granger!' He threw himself over her again. His words muffled by her hair and by his sloppy kisses to her head.

'You coward, come back! We are not done here. Come back and hate me again.' He got close to her ear and whimpered, his eyes closed in complete and utter devastation.

He remembered how she refused to apperate away without him, not a half hour ago. Because they were partners. And so much more that he had no words for.

And now she was leaving him. After promising eachother years ago to always return to HQ with eachother, or not at all.

They were a team.

That thought ruined him. He broke and howled into her neck. 'Don't leave me, please Granger!'

'Please, please! Oh Gods, please!' He kissed her. Lips. Again. And Again. Caressing her face. Fingers playing with her hair.

'Hermione. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm so sorry.' He shook, and wiped his eyes, tears now completely obscuring his vision.

He touched her cheek and let his thumb caress her lips. 'Please Golden Girl, you can't die. You can't, Hermione.'

Placing his lips to her temple he held her against him, crying into her hair. She smelled sweet. Even now.

After saving him from the brink of death she was going to leave him.

He lay over her sobbing not knowing how much time went by. He could no longer hear her breaths. He whispered broken words into the space between them. 'I will never forgive you for this Granger. I won't.'

He felt exhaustion threatening to take him. He prayed to join her and caught himself just before falling over. Carefully, he layed down and cradled her close, bringing her against his chest. He could no longer feel her pulse with his fingers, so he just laid there and sobbed.

His cries were weak and defeated. 'Gods take me with you. You can't leave me.' and before he knew it darkness and devastation overtook him.

....

....

'Draco. Draco! Wake up!'

He shook his head. A Vision? A Demon? An Angel? Must be. Because it couldn't be her. He could not let his heart even begin to hope and immediately tried to fall back into unconsciousness once more. He was in no mood for mind games.

He felt a strong zap between the eyes and yelped, sitting abruptly. Kneeling above him was Hermione Granger, holding her wand tightly. His breath barely came and he couldn't find his voice.

She looked worse for wear, covered in blood and dirt, her chesnut curls full of grass and mud. Her side still exposed. But as far as he could tell the Witch was alive. And by all accounts, that should've been impossible.

'Draco are you alright?? What did you do? How long have we been out? What spell was that? Why were you using blood--' the young woman was interupted by a tackle and a role.

He landed ontop of her, nestled between her thighs his hands tangling in her hair, caressing her face. His lips found hers. He frantically kissed her, whispering vaguely violent, mostly sweet sentiments into their kiss.

'You came back.' He laughed but his voice wavered between anger and relief. 'You horrid Witch. How dare you! How dare you nearly fucking die on me, Granger!' Her lips met his eagerly but she pulled away quickly placing a ooze stained hand on his cheek, their foreheads touching. He felt her chest rising and falling underneath him and he nearly cried at the feeling.

'Draco what did you do? The last thing I remember was feeling something tearing through me. I knew I was dead. But then I remember you cutting open our palms. Reciting things in languages I'm certain I've never heard. What did you do?'

He tried to kiss her lips once more and she shook her head forcefully. Taking the hint, Draco pulled back and looked down at her.

Bloody incredible Witch.

Spotting his rings he grabbed them and held them in his fist, before looking back into Hermiones impatient eyes.

'I had to Granger. I had no other options. You were dying.' His expression was sheepish. Embarrassed. Worried.

'Draco...' her voice, although weak still expressed a threat.

'If you hate me. So be it. I wasn't going to watch you die.' His voice caught, and he coughed.

Her expression softened.

'Tell me.' She placed her hands on his face bringing it close to hers. He exhaled. Eyes a Grey storm on the horizon. He grabbed her hands in his, bringing them to his chest. Dipping low, he nuzzled his face into her neck and kissed the soft warm skin there. He began murmuring into her ear, unable to look at her as he explained.

'As you know, for years, ancient rites typically having to do with family lineage were passed down father to son, mother to daughter. Well the most .... common ones .... and most useful ones are those used for tying ceremonies. And I was taught them as a young teenager...'

Hermione stopped him, pushing him back. Placing a hand on her lips. She breathed, 'Draco are we married?'

Draco flushed and tipped his head back down against hers. He wrapped her up in his arms more tightly.

She wouldn't understand.

'I'm so sorry, Granger. If there had been any other way, I'd have tried it. But you were dying. I couldn't bear to watch you die in my arms.'

He had whispered it, but it lit the air between them like a firecracker. He remained utop her and their chests met in rapid rising and falling.

She flushed but her hands went to his side and when she pressed down he cursed. She gasped and lifted his shirt to reveal the beginning of a purple mark, one that mirrored her own. She was speechless and looked up at him in wonder and confusion.

'Draco... What in Merlin's name did you do?'

'I used a combination of Malfoy and Black marriage rites, to tie our magic cores.' He said it quietly.

'Because you figured if you joined us, your core could help me fight off the curse.' She said it as a statement.

'Yes... and believed it would endow you with the protective blood magic my parents placed upon me as a child.'

'Which is something that happens... when you choose a wife?'

'Precisely. Although some benefits... such as healing and protection occur when one is tied, some occur after the couple... consummate the marriage. Other protections only once rhe Witch conceives.' His voice was resigned. As if he expected her to begin pushing him off of her at any moment.

Either way it seemed as if he was destined to loose her today.

'And if the curse still took me?' Her voice cracked. Why she cared about this, he could only guess.

'With our cores tied, there would've been a chance for it to take me as well... but it all depends on the emotional bond between the pair. So. Yes. I expected that if I didn't die tonight, it wouldn't take long for me to follow after. A few months. A few years. Who knows.' Though Draco suspected he wouldn't have made it a week.

They sat in silence. The implications of the afternoon ringing in the quiet clearing.

'Thank you. For not giving up.' Hermione grabbed his hands. Bringing them to her lips. Her eyes were watery. 'I know these must be binding. And now you'll never be able to marry the traditional--'

Draco grabbed her jaw forcefully and let his lips caress hers, his tongue forcing itself between her parted lips.

He breathed, 'You really don't know, do you?'

Her silence gave away her answer.

'I love you, Granger. Have since the day you found me. I regret nothing. As long as you're still here.' He searched her eyes.

Was the feeling mutual? He doubted it. How could she love him? Death Eater. Childhood bully. She healed him, yes, but love him? That was too much to expect. Too much to even begin ask.

He paused again but quickly found his voice.

'I only regret that you're tied to my last name. I want to be clear. I expect nothing. You're free to marry as you wish. You owe me nothing. A life for a life. You saved mine. I saved yours.' He finished, his voice tight. It was coming. He knew it.

But she leaned in again, closed her eyes and kissed his lips hard. Tangling her fingers into his blood and dirt stained blond hair. She gasped at the unfamiliar feeling of her magic reaching out to his.

'I've fallen for you, Draco. I did so, very quickly. I can't even remember what it is to not love you.' Their magic curled and twisted around eachother. Mirroring eachother's movments, savoring the ways it fit seamlessly into one another.

The enthralling joy of their combined magic compelled him to kiss her. To press their bodies together until there was no space at all between them. He threw himelf onto her, a boyish laugh rumbling through him. Her magic felt like autumn breeze and warm apple cobbler. It felt like home, and indulgence, and a secone chance.

He grinned at her, all teeth and smiling eyes. He took the small ring in his hand and held it out to her. His pinky ring. She hesitated, but took it from his hand placing it on her middle finger. The enchanted ring pulsed, accepting her magic. She had no idea what it meant but felt no discomfort.

She kissed him again, peppering them all over his jaw as she twisted her fingers into his hair. He swore and groaned. She laughed at his helpless expression. 'And the other benefits? What of those?' Her eyes sparkled full of life. A dash of hope.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And it felt like time itself had stopped around them.

But he knew better. The war still raged. The order would be searching for them. There was still a world worth fighting for. A world where such a union between a muggleborn and ex-deatheater might be possible.

They had to leave.

'Come on Golden girl. It's time we find our way back. Lets get you cleaned and looked at. By a real healer, yes? And after you heal, you can decide if this is what you want. Alright?' He kissed her chastely, gently caressing the back of her head, cradling it in his hand. He needed her to be sure.

'And what if I wish to make love to my husband?' Hermione spoke into his kiss, not opening her eyes.

He groaned, touching their foreheads together. This Witch.

'Then you shall, my Golden girl. You can have whatever you desire of me. It's you and I. A team. We come home together or not at all. I promise.'

....

Send me a # from my Dramione Prompt List

#dramione #draco x hermione #dramione fandom #draco malfoy #hermione x draco #dramione fanfic #dramione ficlet #draco #dramione prompt #dramione fanfiction #character injury #hurt/comfort #hp #hp fandom #hp prompts #dhr #hermione jean granger #hermione granger #hermione #enemies to friends to lovers #CyprusGreen-Writes

[kitnjinx]

@whumpcember has begun! Day 1: Fever is now posted (for me)!

#whumpcember #whumpcember2023 #whumpcember2023 day1 #mha #dabi #fanfic #fever #character injury

[withgirl-sq]

Carina and Maya have a rule, never call during a shift; they texted. It meant that Carina didn't have to worry about her wife being hurt. During their separation, Carina forgets about this rule and rejects a call that she really should have answered.

#carina deluca #maya bishop #station 19 #marina #angst with happy ending #character injury

[thiawen]

Febuwhump Day 3

Prompt: “Bite Down On This”

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Warning: Major Injury; Violence

@febuwhump

Injured, on the run from hostile natives, and out of contact with the Enterprise. It was fast becoming the standard for an away mission with Captain James T Kirk.

Jim was not looking forward to his crew’s reaction to this one. Spock and Bones in particular. They would never let him off the ship without them again.

He had been leading a team taking samples of some promising flora. They had been at it for hours, meticulously filling crates full of interesting specimens and beaming them up to the ship. The team had been taking a break after sending up the latest load when Jim had realized they were being watched.

They had been aware of the native inhabitants. But they had scanned the area extensively and the nearest population was over a hundred kilometers away. They hadn’t intended to make any kind of contact.

How they got so close without detection was a mystery.

Jim had seen movement in the corner of his eye and noticed a mud covered form raising a bow in their direction.

He had tackled lieutenant V’Rona quickly enough to save her life. Unfortunately, he had taken the arrow in her place.

They had ran for the jungle, the security officers covering them with phasers.

They had lost their pursuers and taken shelter in a cave. Security was guarding the entrance while the rest tended to Jim and tried to get in contact with the ship for an emergency beam up.

“Something’s wrong, Sir,” Ensign La Rue told him. “None of our comms are working.”

Jim hummed from where he lay, head in lieutenant V’Rona’s lap.

The walls of the cave had a strong green tinge. It was the same color as the mud the natives had been covered with.

There was a thought there. Something important, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate.

“We need to stabilize his injury. Bind the arrow in place until he can get to Doctor McCoy.”

There was shifting, blurred figures around him. His wound burned.

“No!” He gasped. “Take it out.”

“Captain,” came the immediate protest. “You’re not supposed to remove foreign objects without a doctor. You know that. You’ll make the injury worse.”

“No choice,” he groaned, voice slurring, “Poison. Can feel it. Burns.”

“Fuck.”

“He’s right. No choice.”

“We have to get him out of here. He needs the medbay.”

“We can’t wait to take it out. Look, the arrow’s hollow. There’s no telling how much poison is getting pumped into him. We have to stop it.”

“Right.”

“We don’t have anything for the pain.”

“…”

“…”

“Captain,” Jim groaned in acknowledgment, unable to focus his vision on the figures around him.

“This is going to hurt a lot. We don’t have anything to lessen your pain. But…But you have to be as quiet as you can so they don’t find us. Okay?”

“‘Kay.” He mumbled.

He moaned as he was maneuvered around, the movement jostling the arrow.

“Hold him down. If he struggles too much he might make it worse.”

“Walls…”Jim whispered.

“Captain?”

“Green.” He gasped. “Mud. Cave. Walls.” He tried to clarify, thoughts swirling away in a haze. “Comms can’t. ‘S the rock.”

“Oh.”

“Of course.”

“We understand, Sir. Don’t worry. We’ll get out of here and get help.”

“Ready?”

“Wait. Captain? Bite down on this.”

Jim bit down on what seemed to be a strap of leather, following directions on instinct. And then, suddenly, agony.

Jim clenched his teeth tight, biting down on the leather with a scream.

When consciousness faded, it was a relief.

#febuwhumpday3 #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump2024 #my writing #my fanfiction #prompt fill #Star Trek #Star Trek aos #star trek fic #james t kirk #james kirk #jim kirk #character injury

[ghoul--doodle]

And he never came back

#sorry for angst posting but this has had me fucked up for a few hours #sorry Atlas HGFHHD #art tag #oc tag #oc: atlas #oc: capuchin #ask to tag #character injury

[simiansmoke]

- like Tony killed Manolo

The prince would not be returning. That's what they had told the leader of their alliance, anyway. And technically, they weren't wrong. Though - funny thing about Kongs was, they were notorious for leaving out details. To their credit, it was more so to spare further pain than it was because of a lack of awareness. Just the opposite, in fact - they were painfully over aware beings, able to sense in the air just by the way the air in their fur felt. Sometimes knowing too much was just a detriment...and they preferred to avoid it when possible.

Certainly they didn't want to let their leader know what had befallen his son. It seemed - ... to knowingly taint the prince's last moments, unapologetically selfless as they were. The returning members of the army would have those details to live with and with a wish of burying them deep, they would also become the selfless guardians of the pain that was desperate to stain every heart it encountered.

It beckoned the princess to the Darklands where such dark truths were in wait, eager to escape once it found resistance in the saddened few that left a member short. No, the prince would not be returning...couldn't, actually. But what those details they did not disclose would have provided her had she known them...perhaps it would be less of a shock to her when she arrived at the borderline with its wall of wooden stakes barred at all sought entrances.

Though the prince would not be returning, it didn't mean he was dead...yet.

Blurry vision blinked in and out of consciousness. His body was not his own - just some limp container that lost its mobility several days earlier, yet still functioned - albeit, poorly. For a moment in one such spell of budding awareness, he admired the blush of red at his feet. A rose head? It seemed out of place among the smoldering rocks and the greenless dirt, but that made it all the more a pretty sight. Once his gaze shifted into a slightly better functioning gear, he noticed the flower was just a puddle that his stomach dripping intermittently fed crimson drops.

A hoarse sigh escaped him, followed by a grimace. The stake that pinned him in place had dried at the end already, but closer to its base sat stained stomach fur and lower back punctured through. Any slight movement had sent waves of agony through his nerve endings when the injury had first occurred, but now-...several days in had numbed the Kong prince into a state of transition. He knew he was done for the moment it happened - but his pride wouldn't let him off the hook just yet.

At least he had spared the princess an unwelcome sight after ordering his fighting mates to leave him where he fell. There was no point...except to upset. And to be frank, he couldn't bring himself to pull himself off the fence. Though maybe he would already be dead if he had.

Eyes shutting as he said his sorries to Peach for the morning in his head, his resolve faltering at not being able to complete what he'd set out to do, DK didn't notice the monster of the Darklands nearby, surveying the scene of dropped weapons and in a way - dropped royalty. And when his fur twitched slightly to alert him of the gaze, he kept his eyes shut, expression stern.

"Not dead yet, nerd?" Bowser's chuckle was off somewhere to his right, and he hoped it stayed over there until he could not hear it anymore.

"Nngh-...disappointed?" He answered wetly. What was the point in reserving his strength anyway? All it did was give this guy a thrill.

"Impatient is more like it. Hurry up and kick it, already. I've decided you'll make a nice rug for my home. And Peach and I will DO IT every night on top of it!"

Mental images he did not want. But hey, could he really be surprised at this point? "Psh...she's never getting with you, dude. Give it up." He had.

#//i woke up and decided on violence #//=w= ok but i- wanted to play with this scene #character death #character injury #pichipie #//it was going fine but bowser made me laugh at the end so now im ==

[pi-creates]

I don't know if you're still accepting requests, but could we have a few moments of the young Clementine with Omid? Because I haven't accepted Omid's death yet, and in my head he still lives.

You want Omid to live - I give you alive Omid who manages to find the cabin crew after getting separated from Clem, and he and Luke come to the rescue just in time. And also Christa is just off to the side with her and Omid's baby in all the later images... trust me.

And with Omid, Christa, the baby, and Clem all working together, Season 2 progresses very differently and nothing bad happens at all because I say so.

#twdg #twdg s1 #twdg s2 #twdg omid #twdg clementine #twdg christa #model swaps #screenshots #character injury