#cw: major injury | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kjack89 · 4 months

Text

Say Don't Go

E/R, canon era. Some light angst for your Friday evening (or whatever your timezone equivalent). Implied canonical character death, blood mention.

The candle in the back room of the Musain flickered with increasing unsteadiness, its melted wax having long since overflowed from the holder. Shadows cast by its inconsistent light danced along the walls, accompanied solely by the sound of Enjolras’s pen scritching across paper and the methodic dull thud of Grantaire’s wine bottle as it was lifted to lips then returned to its place.

Without warning, the candle spluttered out, plunging the room into darkness.

“I suppose we should take that as a sign,” Grantaire said, a moment later, and Enjolras sighed.

“You may,” he said shortly, standing and fumbling to light another candle. “Would that my work ceased with the absence of light.”

He successfully lit another candle, lighting the room once more, and Grantaire just shook his head. “But does your work not bring light into the world of its own accord?” he mused.

Enjolras glanced at him. “Coming from you, that is almost a compliment.”

Grantaire laughed. “Only if we are in the business of considering drunken rambling to be complimentary.”

“Again, from you…”

Enjolras trailed off and Grantaire laughed again, a somewhat gentler sound this time. “That I suppose is the most potent sign yet that I should take my leave, before my words somehow bring offense, intended or otherwise.”

He stood and Enjolras glanced up at him. “You need not leave on my account,” he said.

Grantaire paused, something unreadable flickering across his face. “Truly?”

“Grantaire, if I made a point of removing you every time you caused offense, you would never again attend another Les Amis meeting,” Enjolras said patiently, already looking back down at his papers.

But still Grantaire hesitated. “There remains a difference between my presence at one of our meetings versus my presence here, after hours, with just you as company.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth before blurting, “Would you permit any other attendee of our meetings to stay late into the night with you in this way?”

“No other attendees are brave enough to attempt it,” Enjolras murmured.

“Or fool enough,” Grantaire countered.

Enjolras glanced up with a small smile. “That too,” he agreed.

Grantaire hesitated for a moment more before shrugging. “Very well,” he said, taking his seat again. “If you truly do not mind.”

“I have far more important things to concern myself with than how you choose to spend your evening,” Enjolras told him.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, reaching automatically for his bottle of wine. “I imagine you do.”

— — — — —

“Sit,” Grantaire ordered, in a tone that brooked no argument, pointing at a chair as he crossed to the washbasin, rolling his shirt sleeves up.

To his surprise, Enjolras sat without complaint, which in and of itself was evidence that forcing him to sit and stay still was the best move. Joly might have additional advice, but he had been swept up in the crowd after the National Guard had interrupted their assembly, leaving Grantaire alone to close his hand around Enjolras’s wrist and bodily drag him from the scene.

But not before Enjolras managed to get himself hit in the temple by the butt of a musket.

It was with slightly shaking hands that Grantaire managed to wet a cloth in the washbasin, and he took a deep, steadying breath before turning back to Enjolras, and the blood that matted the entire right hand side of his face. “I’m certain it looks worse than it is,” Enjolras murmured, though he didn’t quite meet Grantaire’s eyes as he said it.

“And I am certain that you do not find yourself in a position to determine as such,” Grantaire said, reaching out to tilt Enjolras’s chin just slightly with two fingers before finally reaching out with the wet cloth.

Enjolras winced at the touch and would have flinched away were it not for Grantaire holding his head steady. “I can do that,” he protested, his voice little more than a mumble, as Grantaire began washing the blood from the side of his face.

Grantaire made a small dissenting noise, his eyes not leaving the gash at Enjolras’s hairline. “You certainly can,” he murmured. “But I have little faith that you would if left to your own devices.”

“To be fair, you have little faith in just about everything,” Enjolras returned evenly.

A smile twitched at the corner of Grantaire’s mouth. “Well, save for—”

“Your full glass, yes,” Enjolras said, rolling his eyes. “Do you ever grow weary of making the same jest?”

“Haven’t yet,” Grantaire told him, straightening to return to the washbasin and rinse the cloth. As he did, Enjolras stretched and made the tell-tale signs of beginning to stand, and Grantaire whipped around instantly, scowling. “Did I say you could stand?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes once more. “I am fine,” he told Grantaire, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Grantaire pursed his lips. “I did not say otherwise.”

“Well enough to stand, at the very least,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Now that remains to be seen.” He pointed again at the chair before ordering, for a second time, “Sit.”

Enjolras sat, scowl firmly in place. “I think you are enjoying this,” he said, a little sourly, and Grantaire’s shoulders tensed as he hunched over the washbasin, the water in it pink with blood.

“You think that I enjoy tending to your wounds?”

Grantaire’s voice was quiet but Enjolras still flinched as if he had shouted. “I did not mean—”

Again Grantaire turned to him, his face impassive as he took his previous spot at Enjolras side, pressing the cloth once more to Enjolras’s head. “My preference would be that you not be harmed seemingly every time you get it in your head to set foot out your door, but my vote, it seems, does not carry much weight.”

Enjolras winced, though it did not appear to be from the pressure Grantaire was applying. “I—”

“What?”

Enjolras sighed. “I apologize.”

Grantaire blinked, his hand not moving. “There really is a first time for everything.”

For a long moment, they sat like that in silence before Enjolras rolled his shoulders and tilted his head, trying to catch Grantaire’s eye. “I do mean what I said earlier, though.”

“Which part?” Grantaire asked.

“That I can do this myself,” Enjolras told him, reaching up to rest a hand on top of Grantaire’s and the cloth still pressed to his temple. “You need not stay.”

Grantaire just made a small humming noise of what could have been agreement or dissent in equal measure. “I shall take that under advisement,” he murmured, making absolutely no move to pass the cloth to Enjolras or otherwise move.

Enjolras sighed, his hand dropping to his lap. “You shall be the death of me,” he said sourly.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Grantaire’s face. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

— — — — —

Grantaire sat upright, swinging his legs over to the side of the bed but making no attempt to stand. He glanced back at Enjolras, sprawled next to him, the light from the moon filtering through the window casting Enjolras’s usually golden curls with a silver sheen. “What?” Enjolras asked, something languid and almost sleepy in his tone.

“Nothing,” Grantaire said, his fingers twitching against the bed sheets.

A frown puckered Enjolras’s forehead. “And yet you look as though you are waiting for me to say something.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Perhaps I am.”

Enjolras sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Would it not be easier to tell me what you wished to hear?” he asked, something like frustration coloring his words. “I am—” For the first time that evening, even more so than when he had asked Grantaire to accompany him to his bed hours earlier, Enjolras hesitated. “You know that I am not experienced in this regard, so if there is any set of usual platitudes I should be offering—”

Grantaire let out a noise like a snort, shaking his head. “After all this time, you think I seek mere platitudes?” he asked, his voice low.

Enjolras rolled onto his side to face him. “Truth be told, I know not what you seek,” he said, matching Grantaire’s tone. “From me, from this, from any of it.”

Grantaire just shook his head. “All this time, I have sought only one thing.”

He said it simply, evenly, and Enjolras frowned, looking away. “That is what I feared most of all,” he said quietly. “That you should seek the one thing that I cannot offer.”

For one long moment, Grantaire just looked at him, something unreadable in his expression. Then he sighed and drew a hand across his face. “I know what you presume I wish to hear, but you are wrong,” he said. “Never have I expected to hear those three sweet words from your lips in this or any lifetime.” He leaned over so that his lips were practically against Enjolras’s ear. “I would settle instead for two.”

“Two?” Enjolras breathed.

Grantaire nodded. “Don’t go,” he murmured.

Enjolras shifted away slightly so that he could frown at him. “You wish for me to tell you to stay?”

Grantaire shook his head. “No. I wish for you to ask me not to go.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened. “I see no difference—”

“I suppose you wouldn’t, so used are you to having every request treated as an edict,” Grantaire mused, straightening once more. “And that is what telling me to stay would be: a command. You and I both know I have had no great success at following commands, even the ones given by you.” He paused, his eyes searching Enjolras’s for a long moment. “But while you have commanded many things of me, all of which I have failed, never once have you asked anything of me. So if there are only two words I could hear fall from your lips, it would be that request alone.”

Enjolras looked away. “Must I ask for something that is offered freely?”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression, but his voice was even as he replied, “Only so that the person offering knows that it is not he alone who wants it.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, broken only by Enjolras’s eventual sigh as he rolled over onto his other side, his back to Grantaire. “If you wish to stay, stay.”

Grantaire swallowed and nodded with unspoken understanding. “And I think it best that I go.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “If that is what you wish.”

— — — — —

Enjolras ground his teeth together, frustration palpable. “Go home, Grantaire.”

Grantaire just smirked, lifting the bottle of wine in his hand but not drinking from it. “Give me one compelling reason why I should,” he challenged.

“You are drunk.”

Enjolras said it flatly, his disappointment clear, and Grantaire’s smirk sharpened. “That has never hindered my staying in the past.”

“Fine,” Enjolras said impatiently. “You are drunk and you are annoying me.”

Still Grantaire looked amused. “Again, never before have you found that a hindrance.”

“Well, I find it one tonight.”

Grantaire set the bottle down, propping his chin on his hand as he looked thoughtfully at Enjolras. “I don’t believe that you do.”

Enjolras scowled. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard what I said, unless you have suffered yet another injury, this time to your ears,” Grantaire said, before repeating, enunciating every syllable, “I don’t believe you.”

“You think that I speak falsely?” Enjolras asked, with a dangerous sort of calm.

Grantaire just shrugged. “It is less that I find your words false and more that I understand your meaning to differ from what you speak.”

Enjolras scoffed, looking down at the pamphlet in front of him. “I don’t believe even you know what that means.”

Grantaire’s smirk became brittle. “It means that you say one thing, knowing that I will understand what it is you truly wish to say but cannot allow yourself to.”

Now Enjolras looked up sharply, his lips pressed together into a flat line. “You know not of what you speak,” he said, the same dangerous edge to the words.

A dangerous edge that Grantaire did not heed. “Don’t I?”

“No.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s face and he leaned forward, urgency in every line of his body. “I, who have spent every day of the past few years deconstructing every sentence you have ever uttered?” he asked quietly. “I alone who has spent uncountable hours at your side to hear what words you do not share with even your closest friends? You think I know not of what you speak?”

His volume had risen considerably by the end, and Enjolras just lifted his chin, meeting his glare coolly. “You have deluded yourself into believing this is more than what it is. You may lace your words with hidden meanings and double entendres, but that does not mean—”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “And now you accuse me of not saying what it is I think!” He stood abruptly, taking only a few automatic steps toward Enjolras. “My God, man, I could not be any more transparent with my thoughts, with my feelings, if I tried. I ruminate and I ramble and every thought that has ever existed in my head has seemingly also passed my lips, but you—“

He broke off, shaking his head, equal parts admiring and grudging. “Every word that passes your lips is weighed, measured, considered,” he said. “Each sentence as carefully constructed as any of your plans. And so I have taught myself to read between your pauses just as surely as your words, to find meaning in each breath and every hesitation. Call me deluded if you must, but do not sit there and tell me that I do not know of what I speak, in this instance at the very least.”

Enjolras said nothing, and Grantaire took another step towards him, reaching out for his hand. “There may only be two words I have ever wanted to hear, but it does not mean you have not said them in every way that matters. And that is why I do not believe you find my presence a hindrance, on this or any night.”

But Enjolras just pulled his hand away, his expression carefully neutral. “Go home, Grantaire.”

Grantaire’s hand fell to his side. “So be it,” he said. “But returning to my home will not change the meaning of any words said here tonight – or anything left unsaid.”

“I know,” Enjolras said quietly, so softly that Grantaire almost could not hear him. “I only wish that it could.”

— — — — —

There was no moon in the sky, and the only candle in the room had long since extinguished itself.

Still, Grantaire moved with practiced ease, finding his clothes where he had flung them a few hours earlier. He shrugged into his shirt, doing up the buttons with long, nimble fingers, pale against the stark blackness of the room.

Enjolras watched with hooded eyes as Grantaire tugged his trouser on and then stood, disappearing a little at a time under each additional layer, the hastily buttoned waistcoat, the sloppily tied cravat.

Neither man made any attempt to speak.

Perhaps all that needed to be said had been.

Or perhaps both feared breaking the tentative, unspoken truce that had led Grantaire again to Enjolras’s bed that night.

In any case, Grantaire turned to the door without sparing Enjolras an additional glance, and only then did he hesitate, his hand on the doorknob.

Without warning, he turned, crossing back to the bed and reaching for Enjolras, his hand gentle against the back of Enjolras’s neck as he pulled him up just enough to press a single long kiss to Enjolras’s forehead, the kiss like a benediction, a sacrament.

Penance and absolution in one.

His fingers carded through the wispy curls at the nape of Enjolras’s neck, but still he made no attempt to speak, or otherwise break the moment.

A moment that was not enough, and could never be enough, but the only moment that Enjolras had ever granted.

He held onto the moment as though he could somehow force it to be enough.

Then he straightened, and this time, when he left, he did not turn back.

— — — — —

Grantaire, roused by the silence, stumbled forward, his eyes fixed on Enjolras and only Enjolras. Just as always.

He brushed past the National Guard as though they were no more than mere specters, for in that moment, they were. One final impetus for the unspoken conversation that had ruled what little he had forged with Enjolras over the years.

“Do you permit it?” he asked, the simple question that defined their entire existence, that narrated the way their lives were forever entwined and hurtling towards this moment no matter what either man had tried to wrought along the way.

Enjolras’s answer to the question was as immaterial as ever, because Grantaire had always known what the answer was, or would be. Had known it as certainly as he knew that it would end like this.

His answer was in the soft smile Enjolras gave him there at the end of all things. It was in the gentle press of his palm against Grantaire’s, just as it had been in every kiss, every touch, every gasp wrung from Enjolras’s body. Grantaire had heard what he so longed to hear in every way that mattered, in the end.

He only hoped that Enjolras knew it, too.

There was no time now to ask, no time to speak, but so much of them had lived in the unsaid that it mattered not.

The final volley of gunfire sounded, but Grantaire did not hear it. His eyes were still fixed on Enjolras, and he heard but one thing, one final time:

Don’t go.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #canon era #developing relationship #sort of ish #major character death cw #canonical major character death #injury cw #blood cw #light angst #someone's inevitably going to get mad at me for calling this 'light' angst and you know what? I welcome it

53 notes · View notes

space-blue · 11 months

Text

@recom-week Day 4 : Whump and Betrayal. What goes around comes around for recom Eyre

#recomweek #avatar #avatar 2 #atwow #recombinant #recom eyre #eyre #oc #original character #cw blood #cw injury #major character death #fanart #bluedaddysgirl

43 notes · View notes

drunkenmantis · 8 months

Text

what if....

#self sacrifice #cw: blood #good omens #crowley #major character death #major character injury #aziraphale #angst #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #sketch #doodle

42 notes · View notes

not-poignant · 8 months

Note

I hope it's okay to ask, but how are things? Looking forward to Underline The Gold on Sunday so much

Omg I'm looking forward to it too

Tbh I'm up to chapter 8 on that now so we're ready to really start pushing ahead with some of the side stories which is exciting

As for me, it's been pretty rough, anon, not gonna lie. I'm going to put this under a read more because I'm pretty honest and also because there's more than one 'I might have cancer' mention among other things:

I kind of thought I was doing fine and then it all got on top of me a couple of days ago and (self-harm mention) I ended up self-injuring due to autistic meltdown. Sometimes I don't realise how bad things really are until I'm at that stage and I have bruises and soft tissue damage to show for it. I've since talked to my doctor and therapist about it, but like...oof.

I've actually been taking a break from writing since I've hit 50k and I generally have a rule that I have to take at least 2-4 days off once I've hit that point, but I'm still pretty stuffed, but mostly for health reasons. I've written 14 chapters this month so I feel okay about the break lol.

On Friday (the day after the meltdown) I needed to have a hand X-ray (even right now, the knuckles in my left hand are really sore), see my GP for 40 minutes, talk to my therapist, organise an iron infusion (I have microcytic anemia and need an iron infusion again, which I think is my 5th or 6th - I need one about once every 2-3 years, and mostly the time between is the slow downward spiral of losing more and more iron until I'm truly fucked) and a meeting with one of the head haematologists in the state because my red blood cells are bullshit and weird (yay). Guess that explains the exhaustion.

I still need to organise a lymph node ultrasound (which is probably nothing, except there is like a 'higher than average' chance it could be metastatic cancer, since I do have tumours in my head right now that could metastasize, and the tumours are extremely close to the swollen lymph node - also I haven't had a virus).

I need to organise a meeting with a dermatologist, I need to organise a full abdominal MRI to see if I have any other tumours we don't know about, and I got an eating disorder management plan for restrictive eating, which does entitle me to like...cheaper dietitian appointments, but also formalises me as having an ED as opposed to 'disordered eating.'

On top of that I had to deal with a tribunal after my Dad had a catastrophic stroke a few months ago, and the tribunal was last month, to determine who would look after him. Our family is so broken and my stepmother so manipulative/vindictive that the government decided no one could be trusted and took care of his finances and healthcare themselves meaning none of us can have any real say in his future (truly the best outcome, but a damning one for the state of the family), and I also had to listen to my stepmother accuse my sister of being a criminal for 20 minutes with completely unfounded lies, and of course, my Dad has had a catastrophic stroke, and that's complicated. That's a whole...

That saga is so much anon, I cannot even begin to explain even the tip of that iceberg.

I've been spending a lot of extra time like scanning family photos and other things and packing items in his home for storage etc. and while that's been done now for over a month and a half, I guess the burn out started some time ago and it's just been slowly getting on top of me. Kind of the 'slowly boiling a lobster in a pot' analogy.

I've been overall quieter on Tumblr as a result of all of this, and it all just...destroyed me on Thursday, and ever since then I've been recovering.

I've just realised it's nearly 1.00am and I swear the last time I looked at the clock - which felt like 5 minutes ago - it was 11.00pm.

Oh and to top it all off I've had vicious 'not falling asleep until 4.00am' insomnia + increased nightmares because my PTSD has relapsed back into 'pretty severe.' So um, managing most nights on 3-4 hours of sleep a night, and that's bad for all my chronic illnesses, of which I have many.

Ah. Yeah. :(

Lemme rustle up some good news for you, anon, because I feel like this is just too much crap.

Bushflowers/wildflowers are really nice right now as it's turning to spring in Western Australia (it's Djilba in the Noongar seasonal system, which I prefer)

Rhubarb is in season so I'm making a lot of stewed apple and rhubarb as a comfort food.

Reading the manhwa Punch Drunk Love and enjoying it.

Asks like yours - even if all of this sounds dire - helps me to undestand that I actually do have good reasons to feel tired and that it's okay to take breaks and that's really valuable (sometimes - though rarely - people use my anon function to talk at me, rather than talking to me as a person, and I just...really value feeling like a person sometimes aslfkjsa) so while I might seem down, this has actually been nice to end my night on. Also you've reminded me that I am super excited/happy to share more Underline the Gold with people

I got some organisational stuff and organising stuff in the house makes me feel good.

I have an extremely good doctor and tbh for a long time I didn't, so like, every good specialist and doctor is worth their weight in gold. :)

I hope you're doing okay and looking after yourself / taking care anon, and that you get something good out of what remains of the weekend. <3 And for everyone who needs one, hugs are on the house.

#personal #cw cancer mention #cw self injury #cw PTSD #cw major depressive disorder #maybe you just wanted me to say that things are going good #but i assume folks know what i'm really like sdfalkfjsa #i'll generally be honest #and just give folks the option not to read it lol #anon i am on the strugglebus #i am going to bed #and i hope i'm not still awake and having flashbacks #in 4 hours #but like who knows salkfjsafs #actually last night was a lil better so maybe /crosses fingers

36 notes · View notes

some-mari-thoughts · 2 years

Text

The room felt loud for only a moment

Don't watch Bruno is Orange animation as much as I do at unholy hours of night

Edit: ogh my god please click it at least on mobile, first time I see this sorta quality dip

180 notes · View notes

langernameohnebedeutung · 9 months

Text

iZombie S01E13: Blaine's World

#Your honour he was getting carried away by the excitement of wearing a new jacket #major lilywhite #blaine debeers #izombie #fandom #cw gore #cw body horror #cw injury #cw death

16 notes · View notes

lingeringmirth · 19 days

Text

too still

Stranger Things | Lumax, Lucas centric | Rating: T | Words: 100 | Drabble, Angst, major canonical character injury , S4 missing scene.

cw: major character injury (no graphic description)

A/N: This is actually my first lumax and first time writing Lucas' pov.

Also here on AO3.

Lucas holds Max in his arms and he cries. He knows he should get up, should run, call an ambulance, but he can’t move.

Erica finds him there, his fingers to Max’s weak pulse, his vision blurry with his tears.

She runs.

‘I’m sorry… Don’t go. Please, Max.’

Death has brushed by him before, but never like this since they thought Will was dead, and that hadn’t been like this… he hadn’t been in love with him.

Max is too still, maybe too broken to be mended. He can’t lose her.

The sound of sirens has never sounded as welcome.

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday12 #prompt: weak pulse #lumax #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #angst #drabble #cw: major injury (non-graphic description)

4 notes · View notes

egginfroggin · 1 month

Text

--------

Hi, everyone! ^^

I'm back with that fic I kept mentioning back before my hiatus started, and although it isn't finished quite yet (burnout hit hard), I hope to have it done for you all soon.

I hope you all had a wonderful, blessed Easter.

Happy reading!

#eggin's writings #wtst #multi line au #submas #subway boss emmet #subway boss ingo #major character injury #cw blood #cw broken bones #compound fracture #arceus shenanigans #pokemon fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

the-berf · 9 months

Text

The soft opening of The Bear was a successful disaster, everyone could accept that. By the time Carmy was excavated from the fridge nearly everyone had gone home. Some on better terms than others. The only ones left were Nat and Pete, giving him sad smiles and pats to the shoulder. Of course he'd fucked up, Carmy knew that all too well. But he didn't need be babied about it, didn't need their misplaced sympathy.

"So the night went well," he grunted as he pulled on a t-shirt.

Leaning against the wall, Nat nodded. "People seemed happy with the food and service. We just need to keep the momentum going."

"Good." Patting his pockets, Carmy made sure he had cigarettes and a lighter. "At least Mum didn't show up. That would have tanked the night."

As much as it looked like Nat wanted to argue, there was nothing but a pained expression in response. She watched as Carmy walked out to the front of house and looked around, scanning for anything out of place. If she had to be honest, it looked like he was pacing, trapped with energy that he didn't know how to expend.

"Carm-"

"No. Don't 'Carm' me," came the interruption. Carmy was standing by the large window, lights behind him illuminating him like some angel. Lights which were becoming brighter, closer and Nat realised far too late that something was amiss. Whatever Carmy had been about to say was lost in the sound of shattering glass, the crunch of broken tables and a body bouncing off the bonnet of a car, into the wreckage around them.

Screaming, Nat didn't know what happened or what to do. Carmy was lying motionless on the ground, twisted in an unnatural way while the broken light of the car flickered. For a moment she thought she could see their mother in the family car, in their living room at Christmas. Only, it wasn't their living room, it wasn't Christmas and it wasn't the family car. But it was definitely their mother trying to clamber out of the wreckage, stumbling drunkenly and leaning on the mangled hood of the car.

"I made it! I fucking came." Glancing around, she giggled. "This is as much of a shithole as it has always been."

The next few hours were a blur of flashing blue lights, of answering questions while Carmy was loaded into an ambulance. The bright white of the hospital as they waited. It wasn't just Nat and Pete, at some point Richie turned up, looking ashen. Then Fak was there as well, he had drinks for everyone, including Carmy and Nat just broke. Tears started streaming down her face as all the emotions of the night bubbled over.

"I shouldn't have invited her," she sniffled into Pete's shirt. "Or told her to come early and sober."

"She did." The chorus of "what?" almost drowned Pete out. "I saw her outside. She was there. Wouldn't come in. Told me not to tell anyone she was there."

There was so much going through Nat's head about how the situation could have been avoided. If she could have handled the talking, could have brought their mother inside then The Bear would still be in one piece and Carmy wouldn't be in hospital. Perhaps she should have prioritised Carmy in that thought but Nat was just too tired to analyse why The Bear had come first.

Finally they were shown to a ward where they could hear Carmy before they even saw him.

"I'm not pressing charges against my own fucking mother!" Voice loud and angry, the monitor beeped loudly next to him as his heartrate soared. "I don't care! Listen. Just listen! She's family, you hear? We don't do that to family." A very pointed and dismissive "thank you" saw to the departure of the policeman trying to take a statement. He eyed the group before huffing and walking out.

In the hospital bed Carmy looked decidedly small. Still red in the face from his anger, he was trying to get his breathing back under control. For a moment Nat could fool herself into thinking everything was fine. Except for the bulky casts that the thin blanket did nothing to hide. The drip that was attached to Carmy's hand. The bruises and scrapes on his arms and side of his face.

"Oh Carm," Nat whispered as she sank onto the edge of the bed, unsure where she could touch that wouldn't hurt him. "I'm so sorry."

They were either the best or the worst words she could have said because Carmy visibly deflated, shrank into the bed.

"How bad is it?"

"I don't know, I haven't spoken to a doctor yet. Needed to see you."

"I meant The Bear."

Expression closed off, Nat shook her head. "Insurance will cover it. Don't worry about that. We'll have it ready by the time you are."

For the first time ever, she could see hesitation in Carmy, a broken, haggard look that screamed defeat. He wasn't meeting her eyes. "I don't think I can. I can't start over again. I don't have it in me. Let Cicero take it."

"You don't need to make those decisions now. You need to focus on healing."

Richie butted in, frowning deeply. "Yo, Cousin, that's not just your call to make now. I get a say, Syd gets a say, and Nat, Tina, Fak, and everyone else. Heard?"

"Heard, chef," Carmy replied, eyes downcast. "You can call the shots."

It may have been too much to start over again. But that kind of decision wasn't one to make when still dosed up on painkillers, and nursing freshly set bones and a fractured pelvis. By the time Carmy was released from the hospital, The Bear was under construciton yet again, Syd, Richie and Nat working together to resurrect their dream.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #natalie berzatto #cw car accident #major character injury

6 notes · View notes

guttercoop · 10 months

Text

#tw: violence #tw: death #tw: injury #cw: major character death #tmnt #donatello tmnt #raphael tmnt #tmnt 2012 #TMNT au

14 notes · View notes

ceo-of-sloppy-men · 2 months

Text

Do Your Worst To Me; 'Til The River's Running Red

Ship: Cullen Rutherford/Lavellan/Raleigh Samson Rating: Explicit (for mature themes, gore, lyrium addiction/withdrawal, injury, Samson's potty mouth, etc.)

A defeated Raleigh Samson is taken prisoner by the Inquisition after the battle in the Arbor Wilds. He wanted to die on the overgrown cobblestone, unfortunately, Cullen Rutherford and Neros Lavellan don't give a flying rat. Samson is determined to make them regret it.

Today is one of those days I ask myself why I do these sorts of things.

1 note · View note

drunkenmantis · 8 months

Text

Please don't take my sunshine away

#cw: blood #major character injury #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #sketch #doodle #art #my art #neil gaiman #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #angst

29 notes · View notes

apricot-ghost · 2 years

Note

Villain Janus & Hero Remus

(it’s not exactly the format, but 19 and 20 just go So Well together, of course if you don’t wish to combine them then just 19 is fine :])

Weird

A/N: I know nothing about radio broadcasting systems, oops. I'll upload to ao3 and link it in a reblog, if anyone would rather read there.

Word Count: 1.9k

Ship(s): Dukeceit, Platonic Logan and Janus, Platonic Virgil and Janus

CWs: fighting, bad sibling relationship, blood, injuries, major character death, grief, depression (because of the grief)

It had been a weird few months; Janus would readily admit that. Dating one of the city’s foremost superheroes was definitely weird, considering Janus’s own occupation. Hell, he was pretty sure Remus was thinking about proposing.

And he was scared. Scared Remus would find out who he was, scared Remus would figure out he didn’t want Janus anyway, scared Remus would finally listen to Roman and kick him to the curb.

Then again, Remus didn’t exactly like his brother. He did love Roman, certainly, but that never quite translated into liking him.

Either way, Janus was determined to ruin this on purpose before he could ruin it by just being Janus. He didn’t really have the words for these thoughts and feelings yet; that would come later, in the aftermath.

Janus figured it was time. He’d been working on this plan for a long while. And, he had justified many times, it was for the greater good. The machine Logan had built was positively genius. It would be a fantastic equalizer, if only for a couple weeks. So what if he lost his own powers; he never asked for this, any of this, anyway.

“Are you ready?,” Logan asked.

No. “Yes,” Janus lied. He was good at that, lying. He’d been lying to himself for so long that it was hard to know what he felt anymore. But he knew what he felt about the “heroes,” and the other villains, too.

The plan was relatively simple. Get Logan to the radio station to plug in the (bulky, unwieldy) device without letting him get killed. Simple. Easy? No, not easy. Because as soon as someone spotted Deceit, they’d call for the heroes. And then there’d be a whole commotion. So, Janus went in disguise, he and Logan in civilian clothes, wheeling a dolly with a crate containing the device down the sidewalk. No one paid them any mind, which was remarkable, given Janus’s scars. Then, again, he wore his hood low over his brow.

The radio tower was old, but sturdy. It had been built to last. He shed his bulky jacket once they’d gotten to the roof and begun climbing the tower. Logan hauled the device up in a large sack slung across his back. All they needed was the broadcaster at the top. It was simple. It was… easy. Too easy. Something should’ve gone wrong by now. Something always went wrong.

Janus sat on a beam a few meters from the top of the tower, letting Logan do the technical work. He needed to watch for them. And, speak of the devil. Roman flew over. If Janus hadn’t put up his forcefield, over himself and Logan, in time, Roman may have killed him. Roman never had known how to control his temper. Janus only knew the identities of all the heroes because of Logan’s hacking skills. The Prince may have been more forgiving than Roman in the public eye, but no one was around to see, that Janus could find, anyway. He had no doubt that Roman could just say it was an accident, and people would believe it.

Virgil appeared next, sweet Virgil. The vigilante just watched. He never picked a side until he knew what the fight was about. But Janus didn’t plan on monologuing, not this time.

“It’s ready!,” Logan called.

“Not yet! On my signal,” Janus replied.

Patton bounded into the deserted street, superhuman strength and speed making him far more intimidating than he looked. Remus was right behind him. Remus. Remus, with no powers, just the best martial arts and self-defense training and a desire to help. Remus, who told Janus every day that he loved him. Janus wished he could believe he was worthy.

Remus was the one to begin the climb up the tower. The others generally knew to stay out of his way when it came to Deceit. Deceit fired him up more than any other villain.

Janus readied himself, standing slowly and carefully on the steel beam. Don’t look down, don’t do it.

Remus swung himself up onto the beam, standing gracefully. He was so goofy, most of the time. But when he wanted or needed to be, he was scarily agile and graceful.

Deceit sneered. “Hello, Duke.”

“Deceit,” Remus acknowledged. “What’s the big scheme today?,” he asked with a wild smile.

“Oh, nothing much,” replied the villain. “I wouldn’t even worry about it, if I were you.” Because Remus had nothing to worry about. He would be fine.

Janus, it turned out, had a lot to worry about.

Remus tackled him, and Janus thought, for just a split second, You idiot! Then they were falling.

“Deceit!,” cried Logan.

Janus could barely hear the others calling for Remus with the wind whistling through his hair, over his ears.

The next few occurrences happened in slow motion.

Janus’s mask was whipped from his face by the wind.

Recognition flashed across Remus’s face.

Remus kicked the tower to turn them over in the air.

They hit the roof of the radio station, hard, and went crashing through it, into one of the studios.

The DJ screamed, then stared at them in shock.

Janus scrambled to his feet. He wasn’t hurt, at least not that he could tell. He looked down at Remus, who was groaning in pain. “Re!”

Remus pushed himself away from Janus the best he could, eyes narrowed in distrust.

“I–”

“Don’t say a word, fiend!,” exclaimed The Prince as he barreled into the room.

Janus barely managed to throw up another forcefield before Roman could get to him. He pressed Roman back as far as he could manage.

“I knew there was a reason I didn’t like you!,” Roman spat. Janus flinched.

Patton and Virgil came into the studio then. Patton gasped when he saw Janus’s face, and Janus couldn’t meet his eyes. He looked to Virgil, who gave him an odd look. Something guarded and careful, but oddly emotional.

Patton went to his knees next to Remus, speaking to him in hushed tones. Remus didn’t seem to be able to speak.

The radio DJ finally managed to get close enough to the door to make their escape.

“I’m sorry for this,” Janus said. “I truly am.”

“Wha–” Roman didn’t get to finish his question.

A tremor ran through the ground beneath them. “Outside, now!,” Virgil yelled. He obviously sensed what was coming.

They all scrambled to get out, Patton helping Remus. Janus stayed put. Thank you, Logan.

As the building crumbled around him, he wondered if this was a fitting karmic punishment. He supposed there was some poetic justice for his crimes to be had in dying to one of his own schemes.

When he saw Remus before him, he was unsure whether it was real. Remus shouldn’t be there. Remus was supposed to be outside, where it was safe–or, safer.

Then arms were wrapped around him tightly, and he began to cry. He cried for himself, for Remus, for what he had done. Distantly, he hoped the others were okay.

More urgently, he felt the power, the very strength, draining from his body. Something hit him on the head, and he fell, ripped away from Remus by the falling debris.

When he was a bit less dazed, he stood. The buildings all around them were collapsed. Roman, Patton, and Virgil lay on the ground, Logan nearby. Janus felt blood trickle down his face. “Their powers, they’ve been disrupted. We did it… Victory is mine.” He didn’t feel victorious.

“At what cost?,” a familiar voice asked, weak but passionate. “Look around you! There were people in those buildings! How many have you killed?!”

Janus whirled to face Remus, then flinched back at his words. Then he noticed Remus’s hand clutching at his opposite side. He noticed the tears in his outfit. He noticed the cut across his cheek. Red oozed from between the fingers on his side, and Janus felt sick.

He took a step toward Remus, and Remus growled. “Stay away!”

Remus was getting paler by the moment, blood spilling into the dust beneath his feet.

Roman and the others seemed to be recovering. By the time they were all three standing, Remus had collapsed.

Janus rushed to his side, putting up a forcefield around the two of them without even thinking about it. Roman was trying to get in. He wanted in. Janus could only see Remus, and barely that through the tears that blurred his vision. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “I never meant to– to–”

Remus’s expression softened. Even as angry as he was… He reached up with his free hand to cup Janus’s face, rubbing the falling tears away with his thumb. “I believe you… I do…” he shifted, then gasped in pain. Janus sobbed louder.

Remus took his hand away from Janus’s face, much to Janus’s dismay, and pulled a pendant from underneath his shirt. Except it wasn’t a pendant. It was a ring. Gold, with a beautifully cut onyx stone. “I love you,” Remus whispered, pulling the chain until it broke, then pressing the ring into Janus’s hand firmly.

“I love you, too,” Janus sniffled. “Please, just… Just don’t leave me!”

But it was too late. Remus’s eyes slipped closed. He was still breathing, but Janus knew he wouldn’t wake. He let himself grieve for maybe five more seconds before staggering to his feet. He kept his forcefield up, though he let Remus out as he backed away. He watched numbly as Roman fell to his knees next to him, barely hearing the anguished wail.

While the heroes were distracted, he grabbed Logan, and he ran. He ran back to his secret lair. He let go of Logan only once they were inside, then he went into his office, and he locked himself in.

It would take days of coaxing from Logan, then Logan and Virgil, to get him out. His office was destroyed when they got him to come out, to eat and drink and sleep in a proper bed in the saferoom. He didn’t leave the lair for weeks. Virgil and Janus regained their powers at some point in that time. If the heroes had only known it was temporary… If he’d only known how big the shockwave would be…

“Leave me alone!,” he snapped so many times at them. They often got frustrated, but they would only leave for short amounts of time. They were there for him. He resented that.

Janus hid himself in his, frankly, excessive amounts of clothing. It may have been over the top, but at least it made him feel a bit safer from prying eyes. The yellow bouquet felt heavy in his hands. He knelt to place it in front of the headstone.

“I brought you flowers… Just wish you were around to enjoy them.” He laughed to himself. “That’s terribly morbid. But not the kind of morbid you would have liked… You probably wouldn’t like the flowers either. Too sappy or whatever… But that’s what people do, when they visit… these places, so…” He sighed shakily, wiping away tears. “I should go. Virgil’s waiting in the car, and I don’t want anyone to see me… I love you.”

He waited for a moment for an answer, any kind of sign Remus heard him.

There was nothing.

Janus supposed that was fitting.

It had been a weird few months. And Janus would readily admit, his life had been changed, forever.

#sanders sides #dukeceit #janus sanders #remus sanders #superhuman au #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #cw fighting #cw blood #cw character injury #cw major character death #cw grief #cw depression #appie writes #oof this took a while #im happy with it tho

11 notes · View notes