he hates that he's doing this. it makes him feel weak. but it's an act of desperation.
the other probably saw it. ilya took a hard hit to the head during the game, on national television. it was the main talking point of the game. not that boston won. that rozanov was taken out in the second period after taking a hit. they assessed him in the back. his tests were fine. ilya was fine. cleared. no hospital. just out for the rest of the game. monitor. that was the plan.
but ilya was getting worse. the pain was getting worse. the nausea. the vertigo. as stubborn as he was, he knew he shouldn't be alone right now. so he finds himself knocking on the other's door. he'd meant to send them a warning text but forgotten. he was lucky enough to be able to find them in the first place.
when they open the door, ilya's face is pale. eyes are half-lidded. there's a welt growing above his left eyebrow. ❝ hey. sorry. ❞
I throw a canister of fuel into imposter Green's mouth and then zap them again with another wire, hoping to burn them from the inside and that the explosion stays contained inside the giant alien
That causes a large, firey explosion in storage.
The imposter is no more. The hole in the wall reopens and the Ore+ gets sucked out
The fire spreads through the hallways. Blue and Cyan help push everyone out of the way, taking serious burn injuries.
Also, just because they're the pair who somehow have been avoiding all the trauma, the fiery explosion send a bit of the metal scrap at Brown's head, KOing them (concussion)
The threat as been dealt with, but Ghost Asker Mode will remain enabled till everyone is able to pull themselves together. Also you guys should probably find a way to seal that hole all the Ore+ Eggs were sucked out of.
No because I’m actually fucking pissed at Williams. Motorsports is never a place to expect good choices for athletes’s health but to have Franco race with a fucking concussion is diabolical. And of course telling him to shut up about it and not say anything too. What the hell.
Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake “Hangman” Seresin, f!reader
Summary: You were Jake's first everything. Unfortunately, for every first, there has to be a last.
Word Count: 1062
TW: Angst, Blood, Concussion, Major Head Injury, Reader Death, Car Accident
Note: Written for @footprintsinthesxnd's 500 Follower Celebration. Big thanks to @loverhymeswith for beta reading for me! 💖
You were his first kiss.
As Jake headed to the bus after school in sixth grade, you popped out and dragged him into an empty classroom. Before he could ask what you were doing, you pressed your lips firmly against his. It was your typical closed lip, “smash my face into yours” sort of juvenile kiss, but it still made Jake’s head spin. As you stepped back, a sheepish smile on your face, he stared at you with his jaw hanging open. But then you tore from the room and Jake ended up missing the bus.
However, he didn’t stay speechless for long. The next day, he asked you to get ice cream after school and his best friend quickly became his girlfriend.
You were his first time.
Your parents were naive to allow two fifteen-year-olds to study alone in their house while they were at work. As soon as Jake walked in the door, you took his hand and led him into your room. Sitting him down on the bed, you stood before him while you tugged your shirt over your head. Jake was once again left in a stunned silence, even as you climbed onto his lap and unhooked your bra.
What happened next was awkward, and clumsy, and over way too quickly, but neither of you really seemed to mind. In fact, despite how much the two of you improved over the years, that first time always held a special place in Jake’s heart.
You were his first forever.
The night he came home from the Academy, Jake got down on one knee in front of you. He had planned to make it special, to really blow you away with his proposal, but he didn’t even fully make it through the front door before he couldn’t wait any longer. He knew he had missed you, but he hadn’t realized how much until he laid eyes on you again.
You fell to your knees beside him, covering his face with your kisses and your tears as you cried “Yes!” over and over again. And though you both knew it would have to be a long engagement with Jake’s burgeoning career, it didn’t matter because you were his and he was yours. For the rest of your lives.
You were his first loss.
The two of you were heading home after celebrating the news that he had been accepted into Top Gun. While it meant having to delay the wedding yet again, you had been nothing but supportive and overjoyed to hear about Jake’s accomplishment and it made his selection all the more special to him.
It was late and Jake glanced over to look at you resting your head on the passenger window. You looked so beautiful in the dim light that it was hard to look away. Jake never saw the semi that ran the red light until it plowed into the side of his truck.
The world exploded in a shower of glass and metal. Jake was thrown from the truck but luckily, he soared over the asphalt and tumbled into the snow on the side of the road. It was still a rough landing and he was left dazed for several minutes. When he regained some semblance of coherence, he lifted his head to see the burning remnants of his truck in front of him.
Despite the pain in his side from what felt like broken ribs, or the soreness of every muscle in his body, Jake scrambled to his feet and woozily stumbled towards the passenger side. As he approached, he could see you shifting slightly in the seat where you were still strapped down which seemed like a good sign. But as he got closer, he had to stop himself from falling to his knees in dismay.
During the collision, your head must have slammed violently into the passenger window. It had shattered on impact and pieces of glass jutted from your scalp. The right side of your head was drenched in blood which cascaded down your face, obscuring your right eye. Your left pupil was blown wide, almost completely dilated, and though he was just inches in front of you, Jake could tell you were struggling to focus on him. There was no doubt that you had a severe concussion, if not something much worse.
When he reached you and carefully pried open what was left of your door, your lips began to move, though no sound came out. Finally, you managed a weak, “Ja–... J–...Ja–...” Your speech was slurred and stilted and it seemed as if you were struggling to form complete words.
Jake took your hand. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
“He–...Hea–.... Head.”
“I know. I know your head hurts. But help is coming and they’re gonna get you patched right up and give you something for the pain. I just need you to hold on.” He squeezed your hand tighter as if doing so would transfer some of his strength into you.
Your lips began to move again, but the words took longer to come this time. Eventually, Jake could hear your whisper, “L–…L–…Lo–…Love…. Ooo.”
Jake had to bite his lip to keep his sob from tearing from his chest. Once he managed to choke it down, he brushed your hair gently from the uninjured side of your face and said, “I love you too. So much.”
Carefully, he leaned over and pressed his lips to yours. It was a chaste kiss, yet a fierce one and it reminded Jake of your first kiss all those years ago. Though this time instead of strawberry lip gloss, your lips tasted of iron and rust.
When he pulled back, a ghost of a smile flickered across your lips seconds before everything dimmed as if someone just unplugged you. You went slack and your one visible eye stared off into nothingness.
Jake felt his heart shatter as he desperately clutched at your limp body, frantic for the slightest hope he was wrong. “No, no, no. Baby, come on. Stay with me. Please. Come on. No. No…. no.”
He buried his face into your still chest, tears stinging his eyes. And though he could hear the sounds of ambulances quickly approaching, he knew it was too late.
No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”
Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Whumptober 2023 prompts
Mountain biking is so stupid, George thinks, as he tosses his bike to the side and starts scrambling down the side of the cliff. Dirt and rocks give out under his feet, and he’s dimly aware that he’s scraping the hell out of his palms, grabbing at roots and branches and whatever he can catch to help control his descent.
“Alex!” George calls, and the word sounds like it comes from someone else. “Alex!” He yells again. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, wonders what he sounds like to Alex.
He never should’ve let Alex talk him into this, never agreed. Mountain biking is so fucking stupid.
Alex’s bike is sticking out from behind a rock, front wheel badly bent. Further down, George can see the bright blue of Alex’s shirt, and the yellow of his helmet. He’s so fucking still.
“Fuck,” George says. “Oh, fucking shit, Alex.”
Alex came to a rest about ten feet beyond his mangled bike, a limp mass of limbs. George turns him onto his back and immediately panics because Christ, what if his spine is broken?
Alex’s face is scraped and muddy, but his helmet stayed on, catching sticks and dirt as he slid. There’s a tear in the side of his cycling suit, seeping blood, and a few other scrapes, but nothing is obviously broken. Even with his shaking hands and thundering heartbeat, George is able to find a pulse on Alex’s wrist, and he sags in relief. Now if Alex would just open his eyes.
Patrick arrives down the hill next to them in a spray of dirt and gravel, muttering his own curses.
“Alex?” Patrick says. He sounds so much calmer than George did, even as he drops to his knees next to Alex, his hands searching, assessing. He strokes his fingers across Alex’s temple.
Alex’s eyes flutter open and he looks between Patrick and George, opens his mouth, and then lurches to his side, retching violently.
“You’re okay,” Patrick says, helping support Alex’s head.
“I can’t see,” Alex says, a sharp note of panic in his voice.
“That’s okay,” Patrick says, and is it? George wants to ask, because that seems pretty fucking not okay. “You have a concussion,” Patrick says.
“I can’t hear you,” Alex says, voice rising slightly. “It’s all fuzzy.” He retches again, and George’s stomach lurches along with him.
“It’s okay,” Patrick says, over and over. He takes Alex’s helmet off and sets it to the side, helps him take a sip of water when the heaving stops.
George feels shocky and useless, fingers digging into his thighs as he kneels beside them. He’s afraid to touch Alex, but Patrick isn’t. Patrick’s supporting Alex’s head with one hand, stroking his back and shoulder with the other. George doesn’t know how he’s so calm.
“Can you hear me now?” Patrick asks.
Alex nods. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut.
“Can you see?” Patrick asks.
Alex shakes his head. “No,” he says. He sounds a bit more like himself.
“Okay,” Patrick says. He glances at George. “Can you sit with him? I’m going to call for an ambulance.”
“I’ll be fine in a minute,” Alex protests, but Patrick is already moving up the hill in search of cell service.
“Easy,” George says, positioning himself behind Alex.
Alex struggles to stay upright for a beat, then slumps back against George’s chest. “Can I have more water?” he asks.
George helps him take another sip of water, but his hands are shaking so badly he almost spills the entire bottle down Alex’s front. There’s a trickle of blood on Alex’s cheek and George wipes it away with his thumb. Alex hisses, and George flushes.
“Sorry,” George says.
“S’okay,” Alex says. He holds his hands up in front of himself and George can see the cuts on his palms now, the scrapes and dirt all the way up his arms. “I look a mess,” Alex says. It sounds tired.
“You do,” George agrees, drawing a laugh from Alex the way he intended.
“Sorry for mucking up the afternoon,” Alex says.
George’s heart squeezes so tight it’s almost hard to breathe, and he sees it again, Alex in a heap at the foot of a tree.
“Yeah, well,” George says weakly, “bet James is going to add a no cycling provision to your contract.”
Alex snorts, and then falls silent.
I’m just glad you’re not dead, George wants to say. It feels too serious, too earnest. It makes the possibility too real.
It doesn’t take as long as George would have expected for the paramedics to show up, though time has gotten a bit sticky since the moment Alex tipped over the side of the trail, expanding and contracting like taffy. The paramedics poke and prod and take Alex’s blood pressure and shine a light in his eyes. Then they move him onto a soft stretcher – a precaution, they assure Patrick – because somehow nothing seems broken but they can’t be sure.
George stands up to follow them up the hill and immediately sits back down. Exhaustion slams into him like a rogue wave. His legs are jelly, shaky and useless.
“George?” Patrick says. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” George says, “I just.” He takes in a breath and it ends in a strangled exhalation. He buries his face in his hands, hot tears stinging his abraded palms.
“Hey now,” Patrick says. He rests a hand on the back of George’s neck, squeezes gently. “It’s okay. He’s okay.”
“Yeah,” George says again. He knows that, knows he’s being an idiot, making it about himself. “Sorry,” he says, swiping at his eyes. He knows his cheeks will be blotchy, eyes too bright.
Patrick helps him to his feet and pulls him into a side-hug. They don’t have a hug type relationship, actually, but George accepts the contact gratefully.
“Alex is lucky to have you,” Patrick says. He pats George on the shoulder and heads up the hill after the paramedics.
George takes a deep breath, counts to five, and follows.
Sasaki startles awake with a hiss of pain and immediately screws his eyes shut, disoriented by vertigo and the ringing in his ears. His chest aches with every breath as he tries to piece together what happened. He has flashes: headlights, squealing tires and a panicked shout but the only thing he can remember clearly is this morning...meeting-
"Mya-chan!" His eyes snap open, darting wildly around the wrecked interior of their rental car. Now he remembers the truck, the impact, the dizzying roll-
"Don't move!" A voice shrieks at him, tight with panic, and he freezes immediately. He's never heard Miyano sound so scared before. Panic lurches up in his chest but before he can say anything, Miyano continues:
"S-sorry, Sh-shuumei-san. We...we shouldn't move too much." His voice is strained like he's in pain. Sasaki's heart sinks. He wants nothing more than to turn and look at him, but Miyano is right. In this situation all he can do is stay still.
"A-are- how are you doing, Myaa-chan?" Sasaki winces but he needs to know.
"I...I think...I hit my head. I can, um, feel it?" Miyano sounds uncertain, voice wobbling a little like he's trying to hold back tears. Sasaki doesn't know what Miyano can feel, but his stomach rolls with the thoughts of it. He fumbles his free hand across the centre console and feels ice cold fingers squeeze his like a lifeline.
"O-ok, Myaa-chan, just-" he swallows thickly, feeling his eyes starting to sting. "Just stay awake for me, ok?"
Miyano hums something less certain than Sasaki would like and Sasaki feels suddenly, overwhelmingly guilty. His breath catches painfully around ribs he's pretty sure are broken, probably from hitting the steering wheel, maybe from when the door caved into his space.
I should have been more careful. I shouldn't have even suggested driving there.
"-npai-"
This is my faul-
"SHUUMEI!"
Sasaki chokes on a wheeze and snaps out of it, lungs burning as he pants for breaths he clearly hasn't been taking. Each one strains his ribs and he can't help the pained sounds that escape with them. A cold thumb tuns clumsily over the back of his hand and he squeezes back. His other arm throbs to the beat of his heart.
"S-sorry," he stutters. "Got...lost in thought. 'm fine now."
He knows, immediately that that was a mistake. Miyano huffs a wan, humourless sound.
"Shuumei...please? I know you're not. I need to know what's w-wrong."
Sasaki bites the inside of his cheek and pretends he doesn't taste blood. he doesn't want to worry Miyano but he's never been able to lie to him.
"'m pretty sure my right arm is broken. Some ribs too. Dunno about my legs and I'm not gonna move them unless I have to."
The hand in his hold starts to tremble and Sasaki hears a hitched breath from the passenger seat. And then another, tight around what's definitely a sob.
"'m sorry, Sh-shuumei-san," Miyano whispers "I shouldn't-" his breath hitches again, "'m sorry I suggested this trip."
Sasaki's stomach rolls with guilt and his own eyes well up in response. He's never felt so helpless before. He's sure Miyano feels the same, but that only makes the weight on his shoulders even heavier.
"Myaa-chan, it's not your fault. I'm the one who suggested driving," Sasaki croaks, distantly aware that he's also crying. He pets Miyano's hand, doing his best to reassure him.
"Well...you're not the one that ran us o-off the r-road," Miyano argues, some of his normal stubbornness colouring his tone. Sasaki can't help the weak little chuckle that escapes him.
"Guess you're right," he admits, even if the guilt doesn't ease at all. Miyano hums like he knows it and squeezes his hand, weakly. For a minute or so, there's no sound in the car other than quiet breaths and then, in the distance, Sasaki hears sirens.
"D'ya hear that, Yoshikazu? Help's almost here."
"..."
"Yoshikazu?!" he yelps, squeezing his fingers.
"S-sorry, 'm 'wake," Miyano slurs, but it does nothing to reassure Sasaki and his panic only grows when Miyano asks:
"Where...'re we?"
"We had...an accident," Sasaki explains, trying to keep his voice level around the lump in his throat. "But the ambulance is here. They're gonna help us, ok?"
"Y-yeah," he croaks, unable to hide his fear anymore. "I just need you to keep still and keep talking to me. Can you do that?"
He can hear voices now, getting closer. They're so close to being rescued.
"Mmm, maybe," Miyano replies, dazed.
"I know you can," Sasaki encourages, wracking his brains for a non-BL topic to keep up the conversation. He doesn't want their shared pastime tainted by this. Instead, he asks meaningless, easy questions about whatever else comes to mind.
They'll be out of here soon. He's not going to let their story end here.
