#immolation cw

[fictionkinfessions]

finally got a kinmem and its about me...catching fire...???? oh dear. ☹️

- Prince Florian (Super Mario Bros. Wonder) #🐮📻

x

[dykemagik]

the ultimates (2024) #10 written by deniz camp art by juan frigeri & federico blee

[grislyintentions]

|| HC- Unnatural Biology (妲己) ||

[Sidenote + credit: A big big thank you to Autumn ( @rvinfall ) for gifting me some icons sobs bless ;w; <3 <3 <3]

Bloodline:

Although the reason is unknown to this day, Da-ji's ancestors chose to disembark from the Xianzhou fleetships to plant and grow their family on a planet that has since been destroyed by a stellaron. As such, he considers himself to have no ties binding him to any of the Xianzhou natives.

None in his bloodline have ever been mara-stricken. Instead, they undertake the practise of self-immolation after several lifespans. Their remains are then further cremated, then diluted and mixed to use as nutrients. The trees that sprout from them grow fruit, which are harvested and eaten by their descendants.

Birth:

Religious psychosis ran deep among the clan members of his family. Conceived under the guiding light of an inauspicious star, the birth of Da-ji is widely regarded as an omen.

Thusly, from birth, he was seen as a curse and utilised as such.

He was only 15 when certain circumstances result in him taking over the cult family. Subsequently when Sanctus Medicus: S was formed, a large fraction of his remaining family members assimilated into a part of the group.

Biology:

At a glance, nothing about Da-ji distinguishes him from other Foxians. Apart from the fact that he has six tails instead of one- he is capable of moving each independently from the others.

Upon tearing himself apart to offer Yaoshi 4 of his ribs, he chose to keep the scars- Underside of his collarbones, down his sternum ending right above his hipline.

[pyreshe]

<:)c

[sleights-of-hand]

🂡 FIRST ♣  PREV ♠  NEXT 🎲 CHAPTER ♥  ARCHIVE

[nopickls]

- Zia Haider Rahman, In the Light of What We Know @theterrorbingo fill: pyre 

[clairenatural]

(300 words. angst with a happy ending)

Jack turns four and Dean starts holding his breath.

He knows it's stupid. He knows the circumstances are different, that Jack never had a chance at normalcy, that his life has never been easy or carefree–but something at the back of his mind worries there's something about four. The universe only gives you four good years, at the most, before it rips it out from under you.

It's loudest in his dreams. Nightmares, really. He dreams about Cas burning on the ceiling and wakes up in a cold sweat, fumbles around the dark bed in a panic until he feels Cas' solid arm wrap around his waist and pull him close. It takes an hour before his heart rate calms down enough to sleep again.

Or maybe it'll be Sam. When he has that nightmare he wakes up staring straight at the ceiling, imagining Sam up there, the way baby Sam watched their mother burn. Poetic, in a way, but unfair. So fucking unfair, but when has this world ever been kind to them? That dream makes his heart ache.

In the daylight, though, he's convinced he's the one who'll burn. He'd deserve it, really. He can almost feel the flames licking at his skin; a breeze will tickle the hairs on his forearm and when he looks down, he'll expect to already be on fire. Sometimes he thinks he's already been burning for so long, it wouldn't even be that bad.

The next February 23rd, when Jack is four years, nine months and a few days old (as old as he was, that night in November), Dean doesn't speak the whole day. He's not entirely sure he breathes–he must, because he manages to stay alive, but he can't rule out Cas funneling him oxygen with some sort of residual angel power.

May 18th, 2022, Jack turns five. Dean wakes up with Cas and both of them are alive. There's a party and Sam is there, with Eileen, in one piece. Claire and Jody and all of the girls drive down, Donna in tow, and nobody has burned. They eat cake. They dance.

Dean breathes.

[goreverine-archive1]

@fiddlingonthetympanic​ sent a meme: a  kiss  that  won’t  be  remembered [do it]

This didn’t happen, or it did. It could.

( Bullet holes, cauterized laser injuries, missing appendages. They’re not going to survive this.

They got so close, they really did. But now they’re cornered -- underground, underwater, a lab they only got into by pure luck -- and they have nothing. No outside communication, no way to triumphantly pump their fists and scream we found the truth!

The alarms are deafening, the strobing red lights making this all hellish. He can’t even hear whatever Woolf is screaming and cursing to those on the other side of the airlock.

“Woolf,” he yells, “Woolf!” Come here, he tries to verbalize, but it’s lost and he’s weak.

He crawls to her, instead, on a hand and a half -- grabs at her ankle to get her attention.

Kiss me, he mouths. And to his relief, in this final moment, Woolf -- wild-eyed and blood-streaked, furious and distraught -- hinges at her hips to do just that. They clutch each other, hold each other, share their last breaths.

“Clean-up in three...” goes the automated voice, as there is a click of someone pulling down a lever outside.

They burn this way, together, clutching. Pompeii. Hopefully someone brings them back. )