#near-death experience

[moon-sang]

Literally my first request EVER. But maybe reader x din where she almost dies and you can decide if she gets actually hurt or not, but the brush with death really shook her up and din comforts her and they admit feelings and all that cute stuff. ;—-;

anon this is adorable <3

I'm Here For You

SUMMARY: After your near-death experience you're pretty shook up. Lucky for you, you have a caring Mandalorian partner.

WARNINGS: Blood, LOTS of angst, fem!reader, tell me if I miss anything!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din worked as quickly as he could.

Blood was everywhere. You faded in and out, unconscious and then conscious. "Keep your eyes open cyare!" Din exclaims, worry coaxed through his voice. You felt so cold. Like a blanket of snow was draped on you and the blood trickling down your body was the cold water, from melted ice. It was hard to breathe. It felt like something clogged your throat, and your lungs burned with every breath you took. The stench of burnt blood (from the cauteriser) made your nose twitch in disgust. "D-Din, I'm going to die" you cry out. The corner of your eyes stung from tears threatening to fall, one tear manages to slip past, and streaks your pale face. "N-no your not, you're g-gonna live.... o-ok" Din stutters, clearly on the verge of crying himself. You nod as best you can and Din continues to wrap you up.

After completely stopping the bleeding of your stab wound, Din allows himself to breathe again. "See all done, now you just need some rest to heal properly." Din says with a sigh of relief. You don't reply. Din cocks his head. "Cyare?" Still no response. Din immediately pushes two of his fingers into your pulse point. Nothing. Not a single beat. "Your not going to die on me" Din says more so to himself than you. Pushing a small blue button on his gauntlet, Din starts a transmission. A light blue holograph sprouted to life, showing a woman with short black hair. She seemed to be sitting in an office by the looks of it. "I didn't expect you to be calling Mando" Cara chuckles. "I need you, quickly!" Din practically shouts. "What is it?" Cara questions, voice laced in concern. "I need y-you... I-I mean on t-t-the Crest, it's Y/n." Din splutters. "Is everything ok Mando?" Cara asks, obviously never hearing him this worked up. "Just come... and hurry." he replies, ending the transmission. Whilst he waited Din tried his best to restore some air to your lungs but none of which were effective.

In only a couple of minutes Cara manages to board the Crest. "What's going on?!" were her first words. Din simply points to your limp form, on his cot. "What the hell happened?!" Cara shouts. "it doesn't matter! I have a defibrillator for emergencies, I just don't know how to use it, and I know you got training on how to use one, so I need you to use it on her!" Din shouts. Cara doesn't even reply when she's running to get the defibrillator. When she got over to you she checked for a pulse just in case it was there. Nothing. As quickly as she could Cara pushes the surfaces of the defibrillator onto your chest and clicks a red button in it. It jolts you, shocking your body. After checking your pulse again and it doesn't beat, she does it again, and again, and again... but still... nothing. Din really starts to worry now, Who is he going to secretly kiss to bed now? But then it happened. It was Cara's Ninth shock, and your pulse returned. Din felt like his heart leaped out of his chest. You cough and splutter, air returning to your lungs (even though it still hurt to breathe.) Din ran over to you and wrapped his arms around you, comforting you... and himself. Cara smiled and rubbed light circles over your resting hand. You're confused, but don't complain at the comfort. Din pulls away from the hug for a second. "Don't you ever scare me like that again." he huffs before pulling you in for a quick hug again. "I-I uh better get going." Cara says with a smile. She whispers something to Din, and then makes her leave. "I'd leave you to get some rest, but I- uh- don't think I want to leave." He admits. You nod tears beginning to form at the corner of your eyes again. "Hey, hey, what's wrong mesh'la?" Din asks, voice like honey, despite the modulator. The rim of his thumb wipes away that one tear that manages to slip down. "I-It-It was so scary, I thought, t-that I was going t-to die!" you cry out, voice hoarse. Din decided to climb up on the cot with you, and when he's close enough he pulls you into his lap and nests your head in the crook of his neck. His thumb rubbed small circles on your shoulder. You allowed yourself to sob in his arms, needing as much comfort as possible. "It's ok to be afraid of death cyare." he whispers next to your ear. "I-" you sniffle. "I'm n-not afraid o-of death, I-I'm afraid of never s-seeing you a-again." Din felt like he was going to collapse, the words settled warmly in his heart, and so he made a decision. "Mesh'la.... I... I need to.. tell you something." Din says. The air turned thick and it was harder for Din to breathe but he wasn't going to hide it anymore. "Cyare, I-I love you, and i'm not going to wait another day pretending that I don't." Din could feel you stiffen in his hold, and he felt your heart rate pick up. "Din... I love you too, and I've f-felt that way for years." You reply, honestly. You don't even get a chance to recognise what Din is doing when his lips are crashing onto yours, and his helmet is flung somewhere on the bed. You push back in the kiss, enjoying every touch he offered. After a few seconds Din pulls away, and you have the chance to explore his features. You greedy eyes drunk in every feature of his face. His coffee-brown eyes, His scruffy brown hair, his golden skin, it was all intoxicating, and you loved it. "I can't believe you hide all of this in your helmet" you chuckle. Din laughs too, but it's not modulated, and it has you falling for him even deeper. Lucky for you, he's all yours. You allow your hands to touch his face and Din thinks his going to faint from the intimacy and softness of your palm. When your hand reaches near his mouth he kisses your hand and you smile. "So..." you start. "What did Cara say to you." You question. "How long have you wanted to ask me that?" Din chuckles. "Since she did it." you reply in a chuckle. Din laughs. "She said... Nows your chance, I guess she was right."

Hope you liked it anon!

#Mando x reader #Mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin x reader #The Mandalorian #Mando x you #Din Djarin x you #Din x you #Din x reader #mandalorian #ANGST #Wounded reader #near-death experience #Whumpee #Caretaker #whimper and care taker

[squealing-santa]

i'll be okay

by: uwu!anon for: music!anon summary: the mission has clearly taken a toll on your mental health a/n: i apologise for the angst and merry (AHEM VERY LATE) christmas!!!! <3 warnings: swearing, nightmares, panic attack, depictions of violence, near-death experience, tickling words: 1.5k

"i'll be okay."

"i'll be okay."

"i'll be okay."

those were the words that you kept telling yourself.

but you weren't okay. and you just might never be.

you woke up drowning in your own cold sweat, hyperventilating like there was no tomorrow, the nightmares burning into the depth of your mind, grabbing away every ounce of sanity you had. there you were, cold and vulnerable, shivering in the blankets which had you sweating but freezing cold at the same time. every time you tried to fight the feeling of being petrified, you failed miserably. and every failed attempt made you tremble in fear.

what is wrong with you?

an avenger, the second youngest one on the team, barely older than peter by a few months. you should be old enough to deal with stupid nightmares. peter would never be like you.

what is wrong with you?

you were trained to do this, shooting enemies and doing heroic missions. all those years of training as a shield agent- why is this so hard for you?

what is wrong with you?

you fucking fought your way to be an avenger. you went from being a normal low rank shield agent to this, outshining millions of other agents- why couldn't you deal with a single, normal mission?

you fought to keep your eyelids open, but they felt like they weighed a million pounds. soon enough, your eyes closed into a deep trance once again, as your latest mission (or nightmare, for that matter) floated right in front of your tired eyes.

"RUN, Y/N! GET OUT OF THERE!" as you heard rogers say distinctly in the earpiece. you bolted, twisting through the maze of endless science products.

behind you, you heard loud footsteps chasing you. at least forty men, you supposed. probably armed.

BANG!

okay, they were definitely armed.

"fuck fuck fuck" you swore under your breath as they caught up with you. you were fast, but apparently not fast enough for a literal stampede of forty armed men.

dodging bullets, you managed to get through the door, sunlight temporarily blinding your eyes. you squinted, jumping down the balcony, feeling the sinking feeling in your stomach and expecting the all too familiar avengers aircraft to catch you perfectly as you landed.

it wasn't there.

screaming and flailing your limbs hopelessly against the air, it was you versus gravity.

guess who won?

"oh shit."

after a while- (a very long while)

"y/n! thank god!" steve's voice ringing in your ears. your head was pounding and you were pretty much really banged up.

"what the fuck was that? weren't you ready to catch me in the air, like we planned?"

"i'm sorry, the helicopter broke down and i crashed straight on the ground right as i saw you dive off." steve stared at you apologetically. seeing your bruises and scratches, he scratched his head sheepishly.

"i'm fine." you reassured him.

but you weren't fine.

you had succeeded in failing your mission AND nearly killing yourself in the process.

the dive of your stomach as you jumped down without a doubt, the fear when the aircraft wasn't right there to catch you, the terrified feeling that you were going to die. it didn't just go away.

not to mention the guilty feeling when you didn't grab the science vials and the forever unsatisfied urge for every mission to be a success. you failed.

sure, you knew the risks of being an avenger. but never had you ever been so close to death. and as ridiculous as it was, you had never failed a single mission.

and there you are now, crying and clutching at your chest helplessly, as you fought to forget those simple memories that would haunt you forever.

"y/n?" you heard a voice call out.

you jumped, turning your head. you hated that others could see this vulnerable side of you. normally stoic, unaffected y/n, broken down because of a few bullets and a long fall. pathetic.

you would never be accepted by the other avengers. you didn't have superpowers, nor anything special. even the other human avengers were brilliant. you weren't badass like natasha, or amazing at archery like clint. you were just you. normal. boring. you.

"wanda?" you whispered, trying to hide the trembling of your voice.

"are you okay?" her voice sliced through the awkward tension at 3 am, nearly making the overwhelmed tears rush through your eyes.

"yeah." you took a deep breath and sighed.

"it's okay to... talk to me, you know."

you stiffened, sitting up straight. "i don't need to talk to you. i'm fine."

"y/n." wanda stared at you straight in the eyes.

you didn't return the stare.

at that point, warm tears had gushed through your eyes, making your entire face a mess. you looked away in embarrassment, rubbing your eyes furiously to stop the long overdue tears from running down your cheeks.

"i'm sorry, i-" you were a loss for words as you tried to pull yourself together. to be seen as a mess in front of your idol, wanda maximoff, was too much too handle. you sobbed, blushing as you felt her gaze staring directly at you.

wanda's lips pulled into a reassuring smile as she held out her arms, raising her eyebrows as if asking for permission to hug you. you hesitantly nodded.

you practically melted into her embrace. this made you realise how much you missed physical affection. your family was never the touchy type, and training to be a shield agent wasn't exactly, well, lovely.

wanda couldn't help but let out a giggle at how you reacted to her simple gesture. you playfully glared as she rubbed her hands comfortably up and down your back.

she never asked about what happened, or why you were crying. never forcing your boundaries or triggering you again. but her message was clear: i'll be here for you no matter what happened.

at that moment you felt like you would be okay.

until the fingers started rubbing at your sides.

you could feel every one of her fingernails pressing gently into your hypersensitive skin, triggering the nerves in it. you tried not to squirm away, too shy to tell wanda what she was doing to you.

as she continued to rub on your sides, you let the tiniest of squeaks leave your lips.

wanda's fingers stopped.

time stopped.

you gasped inaudibly.

"you're ticklish?" the dreaded question left wanda's mouth.

oh god.

you could practically feel wanda's smirk burning at the back of your head as you covered your face bashfully with your hands.

"no?"

wanda scratched her fingers up and down your sides, eliciting a whole bunch of squeaky giggles.

"that's really cute, y/n"

you looked away, afraid to make eye contact.

"you don't think i'm weak?"

"what? no way! being ticklish is real normal y/n. it's just a human thing!"

she poked at your ribs.

"look at me, you dork. you're amazing, no matter if you have superpowers or not. it doesn't matter how great you are at fighting, or how many missions you've failed. we love you for who you are. and about the post-mission traumas, trust me, i've been through plenty of them. not to mention the time when hydra experimented on me and pietro, and even the time when pietro-" wanda swallowed hardly before continuing.

"there are always some things we can never get over. some losses. some pain. it's all part of our lives and we can't help it. so the only thing we can do is just live through life. i'm not telling you to just brush it off. but you're not alone, y/n. i hope you'll understand. everyone here has suffered through major losses and post-mission traumas. you can talk to us, you know? you don't have to be always reserved and private. we're a family here and that's what matters. we can help you. all you have to do is learn to trust."

"trust." you repeated. "i can do that."

"great." wanda's face broke into a smile. "now let's get you tucked up in bed."

as you went dove back into your bed which wanda had thoughtfully changed the sweaty covers of, you were afraid once again. you wanted to call for wanda, but it seemed unnecessary. you didn't want to seem like a baby.

"trust." you said to yourself. "WANDA!"

and that night, wanda maximoff, the scarlet witch, crouched uncomfortably next to your bed, insisting that she was okay. she held your hand until you fell asleep, brushing your hair out of your eyes, holding you tight.

the next morning, you whispered to yourself, "i'll be okay."

and for once, you really believed it.

#author: uwu!anon #marvel cinematic universe #wanda maximoff x reader #swearing #nightmares #panic attack #depictions of violence #near-death experience #squealing santa 2k22 #ss2k22 #submission #tickle fic #angst and fluff

[shepherds-of-haven]

Who of the ROs is most to least likely to go for that desperate, impulse “oh my god we’re alive” kiss after they/the MC has a brush with death? Who regrets it immediately, who totally commits? In the crushing stage :D

Blade: I'd give him an 8/10 likeliness, depending on 1) how scared he was (like if he thought MC was dead for hours/days versus a single high-stakes battle) and 2) what stage of the crush he's in. He's a 10/10 likeliness for regretting it and being extremely self-flagellating after he came down from the high :D once again depending on what stage of the crush he's in, but since 99% of his crush timeline is just "Denial," it's pretty likely

Trouble: 9/10 because he's easily overwhelmed by his emotions, but the likeliness also solidly depends on the way MC is looking at him/interacting with him in that moment: he might just as easily crush them into a hug if they're not giving off similar 'kiss me' vibes! He totally commits if MC kisses him back, no regrets - he might be confused, like 'oh?? MC is kissing me back??' but once he figures that out, there's no going back XD

Tallys: 6/10, if they've already been hooking it up and she's caught feelings, it probably goes up to a 10/10; it hovers at a 7/10 if they've been hooking up but are just FWBs! Also depends on the deadliness of the situation, but she totally commits - once Tallys chooses to do something, she rarely feels embarrassed about it afterwards, because she deliberately made that choice and owns it!

Shery: 1/10, she'd feel the impulse but it's rare that she'd be able to without getting self-conscious or shy and backing down beforehand! She'd probably throw herself into MC's arms before remembering herself and being like, "Oh! I... I'm glad you're okay!" and backing off with a blush!

Riel: 1/10, he would do this in a relationship, but would never lose control of himself to that extent while only in the crushing stage! He would probably shake their hand with Overt Gladness and Relief ☺️

Chase: like a 7/10, it really depends on where he's at in their relationship; he basically tries to shut down any strong emotion he's experiencing before it gets out of hand when he's falling in love, so he might go in for a kiss and then pull back before it lands (once he realizes he's lost control of himself), etc. etc. If it does end up happening and he's trying to stick to FWB, he experiences INSTANT REGRET and tries to play it off like it didn't happen. Maybe he'll kiss Trouble like it's just a normal thing he does for all of his friends that he's worried about LOL (that's a joke but that's how silly he'd be about it)

Red: 10/10, if the vibes have already been there, the brush with death is just a catalyst that tips him over the edge, and he's an enthusiastic participant if MC is receptive to it! No regrets!

Ayla: like an 8/10, it's not her first instinct, but if MC is hugging her back and they're leaning back and looking at each other a certain way, she's going to go with the moment and not regret it a single bit once she confirms MC is kissing her back!

Briony: like a 5/10, she's a weird case in that I think she could be kissing MC's face/cheeks several times out of tearful relief without even realizing she's doing it, like sobbing and going "I was so worried about you! *kiss kiss kiss* Don't ever do that again!!" And she would only figure out she did that like hours later. But she wouldn't go straight for the romantic kiss unless MC initiated it first!

Lavinet: 5/10, I think she's more likely to lightly slap MC for worrying her than kiss him, but she'd enthusiastically go in for the kiss if he initiated it first!

Halek: I was going to say low probability but he pretty much almost kisses MC in Chapter 4 so I guess it's higher than I thought LOL I'd say a 6 or 7/10?

#Shepherds of Haven #hypothetical scenario #fluff #kiss #near-death experience #romance options #all characters #halek is not an ro but i know y'all are going to ask so i just saved myself some time :') #<3

[lazinesswrites]

Prompt 10: “It’s alright, I’m here now.��

Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch

Rating: Teen

Warnings: No archive warnings apply, near-death experience, starvation, open ending (it ends well in my mind though)

Excerpt: They should’ve brought Impact along, but they hadn’t expected to find anyone, alive or dead; hadn’t thought they’d need a medic, and so Rex hadn’t wanted to bring him away from the base, and the few wounded he’s treating there. “Shh, it’s alright, Crosshair,” Rex soothes when he sees Crosshair’s brow furrow just slightly. He must be at least somewhat conscious then. Enough to hear what’s happening around him, if not enough to understand or fully react to it. “It’s alright, I’m here now.”

#Fictober23 #Prompt: It's alright I'm here now #Angstober2023 #day 10 #Prompt: Can't go home #Star Wars: The Bad Batch #Crosshair #Captain Rex #CrossRex #starvation #near-death experience #ao3 link

[clemsfilmdiary]

Brainstorm (1983, Douglas Trumbull)

3/17/24

#Brainstorm #Christopher Walken #Natalie Wood #Louise Fletcher #Cliff Robertson #Jordan Christopher #Donald Hotton #Alan Fudge #Joe Dorsey #80s #science fiction #thriller #psychological #neurotechnology #research #experiment #laboratory #exes #virtual reality #death #afterlife #conspiracy #technology #scientists #surveillance #North Carolina #flashbacks #memory #near-death experience #military-industrial complex

[icypantherwrites]

New Fic: Just a Headache

Summary: It’s just a headache. Lance knows it’s just a headache because it’s not allowed to be anything else as that would be a cause for worry and he doesn’t want to worry anyone. So it’s just a headache. It was just a routine mission that he absolutely didn’t almost die by a Druid during. And everything is just fine.

Story snippet:

“Sorry,” he whispered, feeling his cheeks heating even as he swayed slightly in the chair, squinting and wincing at the water and the light. “I,” he swallowed, “I guess I don’t feel well.”

“I’ll say,” Pidge muttered but Lance could hear her concern behind the bite. 

“Did something happen during the mission today?” Coran asked, brows furrowed with concern. “A knock to your head, perhaps, or—?”

Lance shook his head, regretting it immediately as his brain seemed to rebound inside his skull, but no, nothing had happened.

He’d made sure that no one except Keith knew about his near-death encounter, telling the rest of the team during the debriefing that Keith had dispatched the Druid while they were distracted by Lance and it was technically the truth and Keith hadn’t elaborated further, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Besides, this wasn’t related to that at all. 

It was just a headache. He was just a little tired.

Nothing to be worried about.

They had so many other far more important things to be worried about and this was not one of them. 

“It’s just a headache,” Lance tried to muster up a smile but it came out more of a grimace. “I’m fine."

Read it here

#voltron #vld #fanfiction #fanfic #lance #langst #hurt lance #druid attack #protective team #Just a Headache #icypanther #icypantherwrites #writing off an injury #whump #hurt/comfort #angst #near-death experience

[niuniente]

I recognized a brilliant glowing ball of gold headed my way. It radiated brilliantly and transformed into a indescribable Being of pure LIGHT, now levitating in front of me. It was larger than the tallest person I had ever seen, wider than two of me but so evenly proportioned as to be of Magnificent Stature. Its features were outlined as if made with a fine ink quill. Hair, face, robe, all golden and flowing as would an electric charge, perhaps even a nuclear charge. This was energy personified. As it form took on a more solid shape, all that was behind it did as well. Other figures appeared in front and behind of The Being and myself - some winged, most not; some fully formed, others not. As I looked at the two magnificent beings dressed in brilliant capes just off to Its side, It said; "That is Michael and Gabriel. Michael has chosen you as His, and Gabriel shall teach you the ways". I looked past them to another large being, so beautiful yet darker in contrast, as was the sprawling robe it wore. This being had eyes that pleased but pierced with its gaze, and the Light Being said; "That is He who has been cast out." (The Being continued:) "You, who I have given choice, may go with any of these of your choosing." I thought as I had a choice, and Michael had already chosen me so then I would choose Him. He appeared so strong and mighty, as did the others, but in his eyes seemed to fire that was drawing and captivating me. Gabriel's eyes were softer and gave more in an understanding manner and I thought "Oh, how beautiful are these beings!"

Near-Death Experience of a 21yo American marine in a car accident, in which he met archangels Michael, Gabriel and Lucifer/Samael.

#nde #near-death experience #lucifer #angels #spiritual #michael #gabriel

[cyber-streak-2]

Title: Cold is the night

Description: After escaping Styx, Steamsight had a tiny bit of good luck for a while... that is, until his ship is shot down.

••••

In all honestly, Steamsight was shocked that he had even made it this far. Surely he wouldn’t have been able to escape Styx, and would’ve died during The Jump?

Surely, even if he managed to escape, he still would’ve ended up dead in some way shortly after? Steamsight’s best guess was that he would’ve lasted at least two more weeks.

Someone would’ve found him—either someone from Styx, a dangerous Autobot—a dangerous Cybertronian in general. Or, the worst case scenario: The DJD.

The DJD... God, how had he not been cornered, tortured, and killed by any of them yet? Was his name pretty far down on it? How long would it be before it was his turn?

Maybe Tarn and his team didn’t even care? Maybe none of them even knew he was alive, and wasn’t ever going to track down and kill him? That was a nice thought, really.

Whatever they did, he certainly knew that it would be far worse than everything else that had happened to him previously. Far, far worse. He didn’t even want to imagine what would be done.

To the mech’s surprise, he had lasted for a long, long, time. Sure, he had occasionally got into some... issues, and maybe got a little wounded from time to time, but he had lived.

Or... at least he assumed he had lived through all of that. If all of this was supposed to be his afterlife—going through all of this stuff, then he hated it. Was he never going to see Echo, if that was the case?

The war was over. He knew that—he had watched something on his cracked and dusty datapad talking about it. The K-Class had survived the whole war. It was over. Done.

He didn’t know who won, though, and didn’t exactly want to know. He didn’t care too much anyway, there were quite a lot of other things he was focused on.

Even if he did end up learning, with everything else on his mind, Steamsight figured that he’d just end up forgetting. And then he’d have to keep rechecking, continuously.

Plus, even with the war being over, it wasn’t going to stop what the K-Class had been doing for all these years. He didn’t really have anywhere or anyone to go to, anyway.

He was to scared to go back to Cybertron... what would happen if he did? There were so many possibilities—so many horrible possibilities for what could happen.

And... well, there was a certain someone, but Steamsight didn’t even want to think about him. He caused so many horrible things to happen—even now, in the present.

If none of it had happened... Steamsight did have to wonder, how different would everything be? Would he and the mech still be friends? Would he be helping him out?

Would Wildflow have helped him escape Styx? Maybe he could have helped save Echo, and the three could travel together? What would all of them do, though?

Maybe they could’ve all tried to still take care of sparklings? But that would certainly be pretty difficult—considering all of the circumstances and issues at the time.

Well... unfortunately, whatever else he planned on doing in this timeline in the future, and what he would’ve liked to happen... wouldn’t ever happen.

You couldn’t exactly do stuff like fly around on a little ship, exploring, while avoiding a lot of things and people—when you were going to be deceased soon.

He wasn’t sure of the planet’s name—he never checked the names out, those weren’t too important. It was icy and cold—it was always snowing, and a blizzard always seemed to happen. Frequently.

Maybe the name was like a pun? He knew a few planets that were like that. Or maybe it didn’t even have a name? Maybe it was just never given one?

His little ship had reached the planet at night, although one of the few tiny scanner’s on it had detected the planet several hours before. At least fifteen.

He was sure that, if he happened to have some other kind of ship, that was actually fast, and wasn’t about to break down, then he would’ve reached it much, much sooner.

There wasn’t much of a reason for why Steamsight had wanted to go here—he didn’t actually want to step out onto it. He just wanted to look at it, it was quite pretty.

And... well, maybe there were a few certain things that he could find around the planet, but not exactly on it. He had no luck though—the mech never found anything.

After not finding anything, and figuring that there were other things he could do besides watching the planet, he had started to move his ship, wanting to head out.

Though it seemed like someone had other plans for the K-Class. Bad plans.

Steamsight wasn’t sure who had done this. He had noticed a ship—much larger than his, which certainly had a lot of weapons—and was painted orange and green. He didn’t know who it belonged to.

For as long as he could actually see the ship, he tried his best to try and find some sort of insignia on it. Though no matter how hard he tried, in the end, he didn’t spot anything.

He tried to avoid everything that was coming towards him—the mech really did, but his ship was too slow. Five blasts were sent, and every single one hit perfectly.

The fifth blast had practically destroyed the window that Steamsight was sitting in front of while piloting. The blast only stopped when it finally hit the mech, though.

It had hit his chassis directly. He wanted to avoid it, but never had enough time to do so. It left a hole, energon leaking out. It didn’t seem like it hit his spark—but what if it had?

His ship spiraled down onto the planet, the mech unable to do anything to stop it. Upon crashing onto the cold planet, the ship was practically unrecognized—destroyed into tiny bits.

Steamsight wasn’t sure if anything was actually fully intact, or if anything possibly still worked. He doubted it. Even if he wanted to check, he couldn’t. Barely anything could be seen out here.

He lay collapsed in the snow, energon continuing to leak from the chassis wound. Steamsight couldn’t move—he was already freezing, and heavy parts of the destroyed ships were on top of him.

The way all this weather was... it wasn’t suitable for a Cybertronian. For anyone, really. Unless someone was made for this, Steamsight assumed someone would be gone in a matter of minutes. Or, the longest time being an hour.

How long had he been out here? How long had he been stuck out here for? Was he going to freeze to death? Was he going to die from energon loss—it seemed to be coming out quicker.

He guessed it would be because of both options. It seemed the most likely.

After the original attack on his—now destroyed—ship, there were no other attacks. That other ship, and whoever was piloting it, was just... gone. Nobody came down here to deal with him.

Who was in that ship? Was it someone that Steamsight knew? Was it someone he didn’t know? Whoever it was, why had they done this? Just because they wanted the mech to suffer?

It was already difficult enough to see ahead of him—it was almost pure white with all of the snow coming down. He couldn’t get the snow that was starting to cover him off, either.

What if... what if he just took a short recharge for just a little bit? There wasn’t any harm in doing that, at least he hoped so. Maybe he’d wake up, and would be perfectly fine.

He couldn’t resist it. Sure... maybe there were some risks, but the mech just felt so, so exhausted—and he wasn’t sure if he could even keep his optics open for much longer.

Maybe, when he woke back up... or if he woke back up, it would turn out that all of this was just some kind of horrible dream—and that none of it actually happened.

As the mech’s optics began to shut, despite it being quite difficult to hear, he thought he heard something—something like a... ship? But... that couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be.

Nobody cared for him... the only one who did was dead. Nobody would risk their life to save him. Nobody was coming to help him... it had to be his imagination. It couldn’t be real..

#Stories/Fics #Main OC: Steamsight #Other/Extra OC’s: None #Angst #Backstory/Past related things #Transformers #IDW1 #MTMTE/LL #Near-death experience #Finally got another Fic out :) #And of course I continue to do angsty ones

[cr-noble-writes]

Title: New Stars Series: I’ve Got You Fandom: Mass Effect Characters: kid!Alex Shepard, Pathfinder Ishara Tags: kid!Shepard, angst, near-death experience, maybe fluff?, homelessness, dumpster diving in space, Asari colony, cross-species adoptions, earthborn, Alex Shepard (OC)

Summary: Twelve year old Alex Shepard grew up in a New York City orphanage and spent a lot of time running the streets, but he’s always wanted to go to space. The first opportunity he saw, he took, and ended up on an unfamiliar planet, surrounded by unfamiliar people. It changed the course of his life forever.

Notes: This is a look into Alex Shepard’s childhood for a series of novelization fics that I just recently started writing. Currently, the longer fics that take place during the timeline of the game have not been finished, and therefore aren’t posted yet, but I had this in my brain and had to get it down on paper. Thanks to thelordofdarkreunion for beta-reading this for me!!

Read it on AO3!

#mass effect #pre ME1 #kid!shepard #angst #near-death experience #homelessness #dumpster diving in space #Asari colony #cross-species adoption #earthborn #Alex Shepard (OC)

[inevitablysomber-dark]

hi luv, i have a request

reader gets badly hurt by rafe or put in danger because of his addiction. that’s like her last straw and she tells rafe she cant be with him if he keeps using. he begs n pleads but reader needs space

over a few days rafe acts crazy, sending her messages n shit saying how he’s gonna make it right bc he “loves” her. reader ignores him for a bit and then once she is ready, goes over to his to talk to him abt the relationship. when she gets there though she overhears rafe talking shit about how reader is the bad person for leaving him + invalidating the severity of the danger he put her in + is literally high on coke while going on this rant

she tells him off, he doesn’t let her leave, idk abt the rest i just see a lot of angst and possessive rafe💌

Of Bullets and Wounds:

Warning: There are some intense, nonconsensual sexual themes in this story, also domestic abuse, and injury. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. MINORS DNI.

Thoughts and Opinions are Welcome

You didn't understand how you let things get this severe or allowed Rafe to push things as far as he did despite your reluctance.

You probably figured things always worked out and you would be fine.

Unfortunately, that kind of thinking had you keeled over in immeasurable pain and panic as you held on to your injured arm for dear life.

Due to some incident that Topper had with JJ, Rafe, and his little trio, and had recently stumbled upon a firearm, courtesy of Barry. You didn't understand what happened, but something told you Topper had started it.

You couldn't say that to Rafe because admitting the pogues were anything, but guilty would ruin his little fantasy of them being the bad guys.

He lured you out of the comfort of your room for a date night, and somehow you ended up at the beach with the dream team, high and impulsive while playfully handling a dangerous firearm.

You were tired, you had been tired for a while now, and at this point in your lives, you were wondering when Rafe was going to grow the fuck up.

You sat beside a makeshift bonfire as they tampered with the weapon, mostly Rafe, consistently telling them that this was a bad idea and that maybe they should put the gun away and go home.

In fact, your statement made Rafe a bit more rebellious, and he seemed to get a bit more reckless with it.

Shooting out rounds to the ocean, laughing and trying to reassure you. You weren't having fun, not that the night had been a gaggle of laughs, but when the pit of your stomach began to churn, you felt that you needed to get out of the situation as soon as possible.

Rafe noticed as you got up and began to gather your things, and in his hurry to stop you, a bullet shot off in your direction.

Rafe had shot you.

It wasn't on purpose, but you couldn't help but think you wouldn't be in this situation if he had listened to you from the beginning.

The pain was unbearable, and it was all you could focus on as he carried you to the jeep and had Topper drive you out to the hospital.

"Let me see," he says

"Don't touch me," you cringe on the other end of the backseat, doing your best to get as far away from him as possible.

"Baby, I'm so sorry, but please let me see it," he begs.

You desperately shake your head. "No,"

"Just let me fucking see it," he was no longer gentle, and as his patience wore thin, he grabbed your injured arm and taking a look at the wound.

"It hurts," you start hitting him, hoping it would get him to stop pulling on your arm.

But that makes him angrier, as he takes hold of your neck, threatening you with a squeeze. "Stay fucking still," he growls.

You stop, the fear in your belly was spreading to your chest. He goes into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, turning on the flash to get a better view of your injury.

"It looks like a graze," he says.

You take a peek at the open wound, the skin ripped open as blood seeped out, but it didn't look like a hole.

"You're gonna tell them we were playing around at the beach, and you fell on a bunch of rocks."

You're taken aback as the lie flows effortlessly through his lips.

Once you get to the hospital, you tell them precisely what Rafe told you, and you feel like an idiot. He was by your side the entire time, acting as moral support while you got your stitches.

Topper took you back to the beach to pick up Rafe's truck, and Rafe took you home.

Before he can turn off his truck, you let it all go.

"I don't think this is working," you stare at your hands to avoid looking him in the eyes.

"What?" his voice deep and clear. He must be off his high.

"I'm not saying it should be forever, but I think we should take a long break," if you were being honest, you'd been thinking about it for a while and didn't think you'd ever return.

"Y-"

Before he could finish his statement, you jumped out of the truck, rushing to your front door.

"Wait!" he shouts, grabbing your injured arm.

You let out a strangled cry, emphasizing your pain.

"Look, if it's about the whole gun thing, I said I was sorry."

He didn't get it, and frankly, you weren't surprised. Rafe was incapable of thinking about any perspectives outside of his own.

"It's not just the gun, Rafe. It's the fact that every time you get high, you find trouble, and somehow I get dragged along for the ride. It was fun when we first started dating, but now I'm scared and tired." you heave a heavy sigh getting everything off your chest.

"Look, I promise to be better, just don't do this," he whispers, sounding desperate.

"No, we can't be together if you're going to keep using and acting out like this."

"Please"

"We're adults now, Rafe," you open your door.

"Please don't do this to us," he tries to push his way in, and despite going up against his strength, you manage to hold your own.

"Look, I just need some space, I'll see you later,"

Despite the struggle, you lock the door before pushing your back against it.

"What the fuck."

You really didn't want to see Rafe ever again. The night at the beach put things into perspective as you considered him a future partner.

In conclusion, he was very unfit.

Unfortunately, Rafe didn't seem to understand the concept of 'space' since that night. Either that, or he didn't respect you enough to give it to you.

He was constantly messaging you with love bombs, and I'm sorry's, With the last message alluding to him making things right and you effectively having him blocked since.

But that didn't stop Rafe.

He delivered flowers and chocolates to your home, even getting your mother to talk to you about how good your relationship was and that you shouldn't destroy it over a little spat.

He clearly didn't tell her what happened, and you had half a mind to expose his sorry ass.

You let the situation stew for about two weeks before finally deciding to talk to him.

You unblock him and ask to meet up, and he responds by saying anytime and that you knew where to find him.

As you walk up the steps to his mansion, you hear someone making noise by the pool in the backyard and decide to check it out.

When you get closer, you hear your name on what sounds like Rafe's lips.

"She's being such a bitch about the whole thing. It was a fucking accident. She's acting like I held the gun to her fucking face and pulled the trigger on purpose,"

When you look over, he's moving back and forth on the pool's edge, gun in hand, with agitated movements. He was very animated with the occasional tick, and as soon as you heard him sniffle and go to wipe his nose, you knew he was still using.

This bastard and his audacity, before you could walk away, he spots you calling out your name and quickly hanging up with whoever he had on the line.

"What that was-" as soon as he grabs your arm, you push him off and decide to face the Devil.

"Fuck you, Rafe. You're gonna grow to be a miserable old man, stuck to this fucking island, except you won't have daddy's money to ease the pain."

You get in his face, anger slowly building in your chest as you get louder.

"What's worse is that you won't be a kook. No, you'll live on the cut just like the pogues you hate so fucking much, you miserable cokehead,"

You huff as you try to walk away, but he grabs your waist.

"Where the fuck are you going?" he says, irritation laced in his tone.

"I'm going home, let go," you try to push him off, but his hold gets tighter.

"You're not going anywhere,"

You feel a cold heavy metal pushed up against your neck, and still.

"That's my good girl," he says, pulling you into the house and throwing you on the couch, with the gun still in his hand and facing your direction.

"Rafe-"

"No, I gave you the space you needed, you're done, and you're coming back to me." he sits next to you, gun still pointed your way. "Babe, you don't understand just how much I need you in my life. You can't just walk away from me."

He tries to pull you into a kiss, and in the midst of you pushing him away, he clumsily drops the gun.

Feeling a chance come up, you rush for it, but Rafe is faster and stronger as he slams you against the couch.

Your lungs struggle to breathe at the impact, and he takes this opportunity to lift your skirt and rip off your thong.

Pushing his fingers deep into your cunt, roughly fondling you as you try to fight back.

"Rafe, Stop. Please,"

He chuckles as if he thought of something funny. He flips you over without so much of a struggle on his end.

You hear his movement as he adjusts his shorts to pull his cock out.

He massages your ass, giving it a harsh smack. "This is all mine," he gives it another one. "Don't you ever forget that,"

He pulls your cheeks apart as wide as you can handle, and you feel the head of his cock poking into your entrance.

He feels so much larger as your pussy stretches around him. A thought then occurs to you.

"Condom," you say

"Don't worry about that. I wanna be the only thing on your mind," he quickly forces the rest of his cock inside you.

All it takes is a few pumps for him to catch a rhythm, hovering over you as he rolls your clit between his fingers.

You were so wet and didn't understand why. But Rafe didn't care, his enjoyment of the situation evident as his grunts became rabid.

"Fuck" he says as he flips you around so that you're facing him. Pushing himself back into your body. Exhausted by the situation, you just let it happen and let your eyes close as you felt the sensations.

" Look at me," he says. "I wanna see your face when I cum inside you,"

Your eyes open at his suggestion.

"Rafe, no!" you put your hands against his pelvis as you try to push him off. He just grabs them and pulls them over your head as he fucked you with more vigor than before. His other hand plays with your clit as you're forced into an orgasm, toes curled and back arched, with him following close behind. Filling you with his seed, a creampie forms as you feel it leaking out.

"You're gonna be stuck with me forever, bitch."

#Dark!Rafe Cameron #Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader #Dark OBX #dark fics #Rafe Cameron c Reader #Outer Banks #abuse #near-death experience #non con #nonconsensual #request #of bullets and wounds

[stone-97]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Warframe, Five Nights at Freddy's, The Medium (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Vanessa A. | Ness/Michael Afton, Vanessa A. | Ness & Gregory Characters: Glitchtrap (Five Nights at Freddy's), William Afton | Dave Miller, Original Characters, Phantom Animatronics (Five Nights at Freddy's), Withered Animatronics (Five Nights at Freddy's), Marianne (The Medium), Wisp (Warframe), Saryn (Warframe), Henry Wilk (The Medium), Henry Emily, Old Man Consequences (Five Nights at Freddy's), The Stitchwraith (Five Nights at Freddy's), Malhare (Five Nights at Freddy's) Additional Tags: Revenge, No Romance, Supernatural Elements, Eggs Benedict is Michael Afton, Dreams and Nightmares, Self-Reflection, Spirit World, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resurrection, Sneaking Around, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Past Character Death, Aftermath of Torture, Near Death Experiences, Flashbacks, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, On the Run, Good Vanessa A. | Ness, Protective Vanessa A. | Ness, Learning on the Fly Series: Part 2 of No More Fear Summary:

Vanessa hunts for the half of her soul stolen by William; facing the cult's evil creations and Mawlhare's underlings as she follows Vanny's trail. Unfortunately for her, the cult is the least of her worries when a vengeful Henry, and an embittered OCM join the hunt. The board is set as her life becomes a survival game under the gaze of a being beyond sanity. Who can she trust when both her enemies are of the living and the dead.

#fnaf series #fnaf vanessa #warframe wisp #warframe saryn #supernatural au #fnaf vanessa fights back #fnaf vanessa isn't possessed #fnaf vanessa is an afton #fnaf cult of malhare #fnaf henwraith #fnaf mrs afton #fnaf clara is ballora #vanessa isn't vanny #fnaf eleanor #near-death experience #fnaf princess quest #canon divergent au

[bcficrecs]

The Breakwater Dove Series by MissMadimeow

Part 1: Lay Your Cheek On Down

After losing the funeral home, Daryl and Beth are forced into the wind, nothing but the trees as companions while they process who and what they are.

Part 2: Psalms, Beasts, and the Unbeliever

Be a cold, closed book. Take no shit and take no hands. Mantras etched into Daryl’s skin began to fade as he basked in soft, golden light. It would mark their downfall.

“Sounds like our friends finally got off their asses.” Daryl whispered to the girl as they got back to their feet. Hearing the chaos that they started made him feel uncomfortable. They threw a molotov in the middle of the cat fight and now everything was on fire.

“What now?” Beth asked and the only answer that came to mind was ‘run’.

A bullet whizzed by her cheek, floating a few strands of yellow hair into the air. Daryl yelled something and they ducked behind a couple thick trunks. Cursing, he raised his crossbow and let the air settle around them, hoping for a hint of their attacker. Judging by the angle of the shot, he guessed the guy was pressed against the left corner of the house a few feet away. They couldn’t run, they were pinned. He had one shot.

The image of the bullet barely missing smooth skin was enough to bring out an anger Daryl had barely tapped into. He took a shaken breath, deep and low into his chest, and flung himself away from the tree and out into the open. His finger pulled and the arrow went singing through the yard and landed silently in a neck.

He motioned behind his back and the two of them crept across the lawn and retrieved his bolt. The man on the ground was spluttering blood and Daryl put him out of his misery with his knife. They stayed crouched and listened. The amount of gunfire simmered down drastically, but they could still hear the obvious sniper rifle discharge which meant the gate had not been breached.

Daryl almost allowed himself a moment of victory when Beth shouted his name.

Suspended clarity. It always showed its ugly head at the worst of times.

Daryl looked up slowly, witnessing the flash of golden hair and a yellow shirt blocking his view of someone coming around the side of the house. Beth had her gun up and she attempted to fire but missed the shot. The other guy was luckier.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her tiny body twitched backwards and Daryl was on his feet, crossbow loaded and firing into the left eye socket it aimed at. He panicked, watching the enemy fall as Beth did the same. She let out a gasp as a small red patch expanded across her stomach.

#bethyl fanfiction #fic rec #za #canon divergent au #post-s4 #beth greene #daryl dixon #beth and daryl #beth/daryl #beth x daryl #mc fic #series #angst #romance #smut #team family #near-death experience #MissMadimeow

[first-and-last-neocount]

Whumptober Day 3

#sorrynotsorry

Welcome the Goodbye!AU, aka Gerald Makes More Bad Decisions Under Pressure. Let us all bow our heads for a moment of silence in memory of Damien’s peace of mind. 

There will be several more fics set in this ‘verse. You may consider that a good thing or a cause for concern by the time you’re finished reading this one. :P

Day 3 - Theme Chosen: Say Goodbye

Damien had stepped forward without a second thought, meaning only to shield Gerald, to buy a few moments to negotiate. When he met Andrys’s eyes, though, he experienced a moment of vertigo. 

That wasn’t just hate and fear making the younger Tarrant’s eyes shine so brightly. Under those perfectly natural emotions, Damien caught sight of something else, something that he had glimpsed only once or twice in Gerald’s eyes during their travels together. Something he had seen more frequently in the eyes of those who had sworn themselves to serve Calesta. 

The gleam of utter madness. 

“You’d stand with him, then?” Andrys breathed. Damien’s blood ran cold, and the Knight opened his mouth, scrambling for the words to diffuse the situation - but he wasn’t given the chance. 

“So be it,” Andrys hissed, and his finger flexed on the springbolt’s trigger. 

The pain was slow to come. Damien felt the pressure first, a sudden punch against his ribcage, a peculiar breathlessness as though all the air had gone out of the room. He looked down dazedly, and saw the rear half of a springbolt shaft protruding from his shirt. Already, a small crimson stain was beginning to bloom around it, soaking outward through the light brown linen. The front half of the shaft, six inches at least, was buried in his chest. 

Left lung, a lifetime of Healer’s knowledge whispered in his mind. With a strangely clinical detachment, Damien watched his own chest heave weakly, trying and failing to properly expand. At least partial collapse, possibly full. At minimum a severe pulmonary haemorrhage. Ten percent chance for a successful Healing, no more. 

Then his chest spasmed again on another attempt to breathe, and the pain ignited through his nerves like wildfire. 

Three percent. 

Damien fell back, clutching for some kind of support; his right hand found cold stone and leather, and he realised dimly that it was the altar. He braced himself there weakly, feeling the floor tilt beneath him, but even the sudden ringing in his ears couldn’t drown the shout that echoed through the room. 

“No!”

Despite the disorientation making his head swim and the tell-tale chill of shock spreading through his limbs, Damien managed to raise his head; perhaps his gaze should have gone to Andrys, but he found himself looking for Gerald instead, the man who had just shot him forgotten in favour of his own companion. Gerald was staring at him, the adept’s grey eyes wide and dark with a raw horror that reminded Damien viscerally of their encounter with the Unnamed. The Hunter’s eyes had looked like that right after Hell, haunted by the glimpse of what waited for him on the other side - but now, instead of sulphur stinging Damien’s lungs, it was the taste of copper blooming across his tongue. 

“Damien!” 

Gerald reached out to him, his face twisted in rare desperation, a few strands of precious fae twining visibly around his hand. An offer of power that the adept wasn’t strong enough to make. Damien opened his mouth, intending to protest, no matter his own need - but the words stuck in his throat, blocked by an obstruction more physical than fear or pain. 

Damien retched a little, his throat convulsing involuntarily at the feeling of the blockage, and the thickness shifted all too readily upwards. A rush of blood filled his mouth and spilled over his chin, filling his mouth with its metallic tang, hot and slick and damning. 

Zero percent. 

As he choked, Damien felt something shift and tear inside his chest, and the ice-cold knowledge pierced the haze of shock that had fallen over him; he was going to die. That tearing sensation had been his lung tissue ripping as it struggled to pump around the rigid impalement of the bolt, and his lung was now filling with blood, the pooling liquid drowning the precious network of alveoli that transmitted oxygen into his circulatory system. Worse still was the pneumothorax - it wasn’t the shock of impact that was keeping him from breathing, but the air leaking into his chest cavity outside the lung itself, the increasing outside pressure letting his lung collapse in on itself like a deflating balloon. Removing the bolt would do even more damage, and Damien was in no condition to Heal what had already been done, and there was no help coming. 

He had only minutes left to live. 

He knew the sudden certainty had to be palpable through the link, watching the horrified realisation dawn across Gerald’s face. If Damien had needed any more confirmation that the Hunter truly did care for his well being, it was there, written loud and clear in the despair on Gerald’s face - but rather than being a comfort against the crushing agony in his chest, it sent a thread of fear coiling through Damien’s soul. 

What does this mean for his second chance? God, if You are listening, please… Please don’t let this push him back into darkness.

Andrys’s voice seemed to come from far away, his tone jarringly careless, still drenched with self-righteousness and youthful bravado. 

“I suggest you say goodbye to your pet, Hunter. Though, you’ll be joining him soon enough.” 

If Damien hadn’t already been fighting a collapsed lung, the flood of unadulterated fury that spilled through the link would have taken his breath away. 

Gerald turned to face Andrys, and the carefully cultivated mask of self-control fell away; his handsome face was contorted with a rage so primal that it seemed almost bestial, his eyes blazing with raw hatred. He was mortal, exhausted, he should have been nearly defenceless - yet, even Damien’s un-Worked eyes could see the power stirring around him, tendrils of violet light writhing to life about his feet. Mortal or not, it seemed the Forest knew its Master’s call, and the dark fae was ready to answer. 

Gerald’s voice, when he spoke, was almost unrecognisable. As a fresh wave of pain rolled through his chest, Damien wondered distantly if he had lost enough blood to be hallucinating - surely that strange choral effect, as though the adept were speaking in a half-dozen voices of slightly different pitch all at once, couldn’t be real. 

“I would break you beyond recognition for this, but as you’ve forced my hand, I will have to be content with your death.” 

Gerald moved, then, striding forward; alarmed, Damien reached out - but the world spun too violently around him, and he staggered and fell. The ground was brutally hard where his knees struck it, and he slumped sideways against the base of the stone altar, fresh blood spilling from the corners of his mouth as he wheezed. His vision was swimming, and he could only stare at the blood-spattered floor, no longer able to lift his head - but the sounds that reached his ears, though they made little sense, were still horrifying enough that he was almost glad he couldn’t look up and see their source. 

Andrys was screaming; not the enraged cry of a man confronting an enemy, but the shrill, unchecked howl of an animal with its leg caught in a trap. Gerald was speaking over his descendant’s agonised howls, his voice rhythmic, chanting. No matter how hard Damien strained, he couldn’t make out the words; he could hear the adept’s voice, clung to its familiar tones as his only anchor amid the pain and disorientation, but the words slid formlessly from his brain before they could register. There were other sounds too - a great rushing sound, like howling wind, and a rumble like thunder that made the ground itself tremble - but Damien couldn’t make sense of it. His sight was beginning to darken at the edges, and the ingrained knowledge of his years of Healing told him that he was nearing the brink of unconsciousness, with death soon to follow. 

Still, some part of his brain refused to let go, resisting the pull of encroaching darkness with all its might. Some animal instinct, still shrieking a warning. 

Listen! This is important, you have to listen, you need to know what he’s saying. Listen, listen-

“Vryce.” 

The single clear, steady word jolted Damien out of his growing fugue. Familiar hands, cold and strong, gripped his shoulders and drew him gently away from the altar. Opening eyes he hadn’t even realised were closed, Damien found himself on his back on the hard-packed earth, blinking up at the man above him. 

“Gerald?” 

Damien could barely manage the adept’s name, his voice a wet rasp, almost unintelligible. Even to his rapidly weakening mind, there was something strange about the image swimming before his eyes. Gerald was kneeling next to him, his face pale and set, but the adept looked strangely better; the dark circles of exhaustion and the lines of pain were gone from his face, and there was a renewed strength in the line of his shoulders, a fluid grace to his movements once more. He looked more like himself than he had since his time in Hell - but there was something in his eyes, something dark and terrible coiling behind the quicksilver brightness. A long-buried madness, awake and aware once more. 

Some part of Damien wondered hazily if the freezing sensation like liquid ice filling his chest was in response to something Gerald had done, or just the cold of exsanguination setting in. 

“Don’t worry, Damien.” Chill fingers against his cheek, then, and he was meeting Gerald’s gaze - gazing directly into that darkness behind the adept’s eyes, a dizzying feeling sweeping through Damien as though he was standing at the brink of a very high cliff. The Hunter’s voice was soft, soothing. “I’m not going to let you die.” 

His other hand came into view, and Damien felt a spike of concern - oddly sharp, as though of everything that had happened, this was the true reason for worry - when he realised that Gerald’s wrist was bleeding. There was a neat incision in the pale skin, just over the veins that flowed there, rivulets of dark vermillion spilling down; Damien blinked, and with seemingly no movement in between that injured flesh was pressed against his mouth, and the Hunter’s oddly gentle voice was echoing in his ears. 

“You just need to drink. Just a mouthful. Just enough to keep you here, with me.” 

The rest of the world was gone, swallowed by the thickening grey mist that swirled at the edges of Damien’s vision and all through his mind. The only things left were the hard ground beneath him, the gentle sweep of Gerald’s fingers against his cheekbone, the lukewarm trickle of blood over his chin. With those coaxing words filling his cloudy mind, it seemed so natural to part his lips, to let that crimson liquid spill into his mouth. 

As the taste of copper spread across his tongue, oddly sweet, Damien felt the link bloom open in the back of his mind; that same dizzying depth of connection that had almost swallowed him whole at Shaitan, the sense of Gerald’s mind reaching out to enfold him entirely. Damien sank into the sensation, a taste like starlight and winter’s chill on his tongue, Gerald’s gentle words carrying him into darkness. 

“I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

#whumptober2022 #no.3 #Say Goodbye #coldfire trilogy #fic #graphic violence #near-death experience #graphic injury #consent issues #gerald tarrant #damien vryce #andrys tarrant #evil is what you make of it #the neocount writes

[townflex]

Actress Abimbola Craig Shares Near-Death Experience Following Brain Surgery

Actress Abimbola Craig, from Nigeria, talked candidly about her traumatic experience after brain surgery in 2014. After having surgery, the actress said in a recent video on her YouTube channel that she had nausea, insomnia, and weight loss. She claimed that after numerous spinal taps, or lumbar punctures, her doctors started to suspect meningitis but were unable to identify the underlying…

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#Abimbola Craig #Brain Surgery #Near-Death Experience

[niuniente]

I've had an NDE before from drowning and let me tell you, I am 99% sure my brain was trying to comfort me in my dying moments. I lived, obviously. But I VERY MUCH disagree with you on the whole 'doctors being considered quacks' for it thing. During my recovery I was sent to a support group and one of the people there tried to convince me that the tings I saw were real and I had some sort of ethereal experience. Whereas my doctor told me about the chemical shifts in my brain and explained to the best of his ability why I might have seen what I saw. The doctor admitted that it is a newer field of study, and that not too much is known yet, but he assured me I wasn't alone and that if I felt concerned that he would be there to make sure I was okay. All that person at the support group did was re-traumatize me and give me a mental breakdown. I would rather trust my doctor, who instead of mocking me or calling it nonsense, spoke about it to other doctors who had seen similar things happen with their patients. Please, don't use NDE's an an excuse to discredit doctors or molecular biologists. Because that REALLY sounds like what you are doing what with bringing up the whole 'dark ages' thing.

You are free to have your opinion and view of your experience. After all, it is yours. Who am I to say that it was false?

The same way, I am free to have my views, not based on one person's experience only but thousands of experiences. Thousands of studies. I didn't come up with this just one day like BLING! This is it!

I don't like that the notion that science and "non-scientific" experiences should rule each others out but let's be real; if you tell a scientist, a doctor included, that I had an NDE (like for example, the famous Eben Alexander, who is a neurosurgeon himself, too), 95% of doctors will say "That's bollocks. Our current scientific understanding of this phenomena is X". It's dangerous to think that we already know it all. Science should always be open and hungry to know more, to study more, to go beyond what is already known. Of course, doctors doing their daily jobs are doing their daily jobs and that's good! They do what they can with the technology and understanding we've got at the moment, exactly the same way as doctors in 1823, 1532, 323BC and in 3023. If you somehow understood that as a message against doctors, well, too bad.

If we keep scientific and currently unknown scientific things which we can't understand at the moment separated, it takes longer to study different things and learn to understand them - and also, of course, to rule out things, too. All scientific fields are full of dogmas you shouldn't try to break of question. That's how it has always been and probably always will be. It doesn't mean that the scientific field COULD NOT do good while they are full of these dogmas. That's Christian fundamental belief system where only absolute good or absolute evil exists - and that doesn't work in real life.

IF you, or anyone else, wishes to learn more about NDEs, International Association of Near-Death Experiences IANDS has been studying this phenomena for decades, and it is the world's most reliable source, including scientific studies and help for scientists.

If the physical part of NDE and how brain makes it (most likely brain does have something to do with it, after all, we're psycho-physical beings), the best case is the neurosurgeon Eben Alexander's experience. He knows what he talks about, also as a doctor specialized in brains. He was in such bad condition that there shouldn't have been any experiences, no imagination, not comfort from the brain (based on our current knowledge, that is) and yet, he had such a long, vivid, strong and profound experience that he wrote a book of it.

Here's also Eben Alexander's own speech in an event about his experience, would it interest someone:

Eben Alexander: A Neurosurgeon's Journey through the Afterlife (not the only one, of course, but detailed and nice)

As a final notion: Please, always keep your experiences as yours but respect others', too. Not everything is always about US and what WE have gone through and what WE believe in. The same way as I can't (and won't) rule out your experience as yours and what it means to you, as I have no right to do it, you can't rule out other peoples' different NDEs just because you personally don't believe in them. (The same way as you can't, for example, dismiss someone having an abusive mother just because your mother adored and loved you). Give them the same respect as you want to be given to you.

#NDE #ask niu #near-death experience