bakerstreet | I’m dying here

[Or his AUs. Having a bad week, feel like killing (nearly) the boy as a treat idk let me live (ha).]

[ m/m 20+ if that matters here lol! wing it or plot it. either is fine with me! near death can knock out his esp if you'd rather not deal with his mindreading. ]

[ ooc; castmates, cross-canon, au, ocs all welcome. assumed cr is great, but would rather not have a serious romantic relationship pre-established unless it's canon (organic ic development is preferred). up for tweaking anything in the prompt to make it work better for you, or reply with your own starter if you'd rather! ]

[ Jesse doesn’t remember how he got here. That’s the first problem. The second is the blood. So much of it. Sticky and warm, soaking through his shirt, his jeans, spreading in the cracks of the asphalt beneath him. His hands are crimson and shaking, pressed over a wound he can't see, but definitely feels. It's deep and hot and wrong. Every breath he takes is a little shallower and a little more difficult than the last. It's like his lungs are folding in on themselves one painful inch at a time.

He’s curled half on his side in an alley, or a parking lot. Somewhere he doesn’t recognize. One shoe’s missing. His sweatshirt is ripped. There’s a smear of blood on his cheek from where he tried to wipe his face and only made it worse. This is exactly the kind of bad joke his life loves to tell. There's gravel digging into his hip, his arm’s going numb, and his heart is slamming against his ribs like it knows it’s on borrowed time.

Jesse should scream for help. Do something. But his throat’s raw, choked up with panic and spit and the taste of copper. All he can muster is a broken sound; more sob than anything else. His fingers twitch like they want to reach for his phone and call someone, anyone, but his phone is gone. He can't find his voice. All he has is breath, ragged and wet-sounding, and a prayer he doesn't remember the words to.

Tears mix with the sweat and blood on his face as his blue eyes flutter open. His vision is blurry, but Jesse's able to focus just enough to see movement. Someone..? A shadow, a figure...something in the distance. It's getting closer. Could be a friend. A stranger. Could be someone coming to finish the job. Jesse swallows hard, his voice barely able to raise above a whisper. ]

H-hey...please. Don't go. I-I...fuck--[ A wave of pain hits him and a growl rumbles in his throat, teeth clenched, his breath hitching as he tries to get it together. ] I'm done for.

[ He tries to laugh at that--at the irony of his entire life, but it comes out cracked and miserable. The kind of laugh you make when you're scared shitless and it’s the only thing left between you and a breakdown. ]

I don't wanna go out like this...

[ His hand lifts weakly, reaching. Not pleading. Just hoping. ]

...And you don’t have to. [Comes a voice from the other end of the alley. One that belonged to the mayor of Gotham, once upon a time - and that now belongs to a silhouette with the shiny, unblinking eyes of an animal.] Not like this.

[With silver bullets and dart-tips making rounds through the underworld, easy marks are growing scarce. More often than not, he finds himself having to chase his prey, even bleed for them, whenever his contacts at the General Hospital can’t quite meet his demand. This city didn’t raise him on handouts. But this is the closest thing to one in weeks: a sorry-looking young man whose luck appears to have run dry long before Oswald came scuttling down the roof of a boarded up apartment to investigate the noise.

He’s already closing the distance in a few limping steps - slowly, purposefully - and from the shadows, the finer details begin to take shape: the sharp cut of his face; cufflinks glinting at his sleeves; dress shoes, two-toned and strangely spotless. Even his hair, somehow, still holds its shape, despite the ground he’s covered tonight.

Jesse’s scent slices through the thick stink of rot, piss, and smoke that is Gotham City. Oswald pauses a moment just to pull the pure sweetness of it deep into his lungs. Hunger clenches his inside.

Lucky for you... you can still serve a purpose.

Edited (sorry for the edits >>) 2025-04-22 22:50 (UTC)

[ The voice stops him cold. Not in a bad way, at least, not immediately. It’s not the voice of someone trying to rob him, or finish the job, or tell him to shut up and bleed quietly. It’s calm. Weirdly calm, given the situation. It's not every day that you come across someone bleeding out, even in Gotham. Jesse blinks up at the approaching figure, vision swimming and then refocusing as the guy comes into view, partially illuminated by a flickering streetlight. Mostly a silhouette, but Jesse can make out some details.

Sharp suit. Clean shoes. Whole vibe says expensive, but the eyes? Those freaky, glassy eyes say predator. Dead, like a shark's. Either way, it strikes him with a sudden chill that somethin' ain’t right.

Jesse tries to shift, a weak drag of his elbow across the pavement, but pain blooms in his side like fire and he lets out a strangled groan. A wet cough brings a flood of blood into his mouth. He turns his head to spit it onto the concrete. ]

Purpose...? [ He rasps, half-gagging on the metallic taste of blood, then snorts. Even dying, he can't keep his mouth shut. ] What is this, some kinda TEDtalk shit? I need an ambulance, not a fuckin' life coach.

[ Jesse's sarcasm is thin, but it’s all he’s got. The panic hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s worse now that there’s a man-shaped threat closing in with that weird, calm energy and eyes that don’t blink. Telling him he could have purpose. It would be hilarious if it didn't hurt so damn bad.

Jesse isn’t completely out of it yet. There’s something else creeping up his spine now. Something colder than blood loss. The way the guy moves, like he’s floating above the filth. The way he smells him like dinner. Jesse’s been around a lot of sketchy people: cooks, dealers, junkies, murderers...but this guy feels like something else entirely. Another wave of dizzy nausea washes over him. He swallows hard, lips cracked, throat like sandpaper. But his gaze sticks on the stranger, locked somewhere between fear and morbid fascination. ]

You got a phone? You gonna call for help or like...harvest me?

[ It’s meant as a joke, but it lands a little too close to truth, and a piece of Jesse knows that. His raised hand finally drops, limp at his side, and his eyes flutter half shut. ]

‘Cause I ain’t got much left, either way.

Edited (fixed something. my bad.) 2025-04-23 02:14 (UTC)

[The corner of his mouth tugs up slightly as the poor man coughs and chokes out more than a few words around a mouthful of blood. Not quite a smile at the display of suffering, but at the attitude. The bravado that precedes death.

But there’s none of the bite that Oswald that has come to expect from those he corners. No fury or defiance, no jagged, ugly words spat his way, meant to draw blood. To this man, it seems he could be anyone. Just another opportunist, human or otherwise, drawn to the scent of weakness and the hint of a reward. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

Oswald raises a hand and gives a stiff-lipped shake of his head, urging Jesse to stop talking. He has no good reason to stay and chat; this isn’t personal, and lingering puts him at risk of an interruption. God knows a cop cruiser is never more than a few blocks away whenever it's least convenient. But between Jesse’s ignorance and a niggling itch at the back of his mind - the remnants of a personal code he still clings to - he finds himself compelled to ask:]

How old are you...?

Edited (u_u) 2025-04-23 05:27 (UTC)

[ she's not supposed to be here, is the thing.

of all the places Margaery Tyrell wouldn't be caught dead in, somewhere in Bumfuck, America is on the top of the list, but after some unexpected technical issues with her family's private plane and an unfortunately human need to eat and sleep - here she is, outside of a modest family diner that mostly serves truckers coming and going, trying to figure out if she can get a better signal out here.

and in her concentration, she comes close to missing him entirely. another second and she would've turned to head inside before she could hear the unmistakable sound of shallow breathing - but she does hear it, and it scares her shitless before her eyes pick out the source in the darkness.

against her better judgment, she walks a few steps closer, phone clenched in her hand, face paling as she realizes the dark pool around the stranger is blood. oh fuck, oh shit - she takes a few steps back, scrambles to dial 911 at a safe distance instinctively - but then he's calling out to her and her grandmother is totally going to murder her for being so stupid, but she's coming closer immediately, kneeling beside him and trying to remember the tips she learned while volunteering abroad.

first thing: keep them calm. keep them talking. ]

Hey, hey, don't say that. [ she forces herself to sound soothing, her smile automatic. ] My name is Margaery and I'm going to get you some help, but I need you to try and breathe slower while I find the source of your bleeding.

[ her phone is left on the ground, the call button pressed, the outgoing call screen loading - if this doesn't work, she's going to have to run inside and get them to call 911 on their landline, but it'll be for nothing if she can't slow the blood flow. ]

What's your name?

[Modern AU available]

>> [The world rights itself as the Mononoke dies, flashes of coloured light fluttering down like pieces of confetti from where it was finally severed from its Form, its Truth, its bloody, bloody Regret. The coloured lights mingle with the petals falling from the apple orchard, until there is only shades of pale white fall gently to the ground.

Where once had stood the spirit of the Ri sword, wreathed in fire and gold, now lays the Medicine Seller, still and prone, his opulent attire slashed to ribbons.

Blood leaks from his body, tiny red streams cutting rivulets into the cold, soft earth, carrying petals like tiny white boats to distant corners of the orchard.

He's dying. Or he will, if he cannot mend himself fast enough, which seems a likely outcome. The blood won't stop and he feels light-headed and fatigued.

With his last ounce of strength, he pulls the sword close to his chest.

It's a bittersweet thought that at least he will not die alone.]

[He's probably looking like this icon rn. Don't worry about it.]

{{He's probably avoided until this very moment letting on how seriously he's been injured. Wouldn't want to worry anyone. Wouldn't want to need help. Everyone else has enough burdens to bear.}}

ooc: up to date with s2. mark for spoilers. it's all spoilers at this point....

👉👈

ooc: i need my heart ripped out. AGAIN.

I'll get you back to Jackson-- [The words come hushed. Ellie's already huddled against his side, as if Joel isn't curled in from the beating he's withstood for however long it's been. His eye is swollen and those bastards are on their way up. Abby dropped the nine iron before the rest shuffled out the door. It hardly mattered that she's been kicked in the ribs herself.

Air doesn't matter. The cold doesn't matter. The storm out there doesn't matter. There's a blind rage building, seeing the only man she considers a father figure taking his own last breaths. She can't admit it though.]

Joel, get up. [His leg won't make it out there. Jackson's attacked. Jackson might not even be alive right now. And Dina-- fuck. She can't carry Joel and Dina out of here by herself. Her options are slipping through her fingers, and she blinks through the rage tears in her eyes. The memory of that bitch kneeling in front of him as she was pinned to the ground.]

Joel-- you have to get up. [He's bleeding out. He's sustained too many injuries.]

Joel. Joel, please.

[They're supposed to be good now. It should have been her on patrol with him. Not Dina. Now everything just feels hollow and her cheeks are burning, not just from the sting of racing up here from the town Jesse found.

Fuck. Jesse. Maybe he can get here. He can get there, and it's the last piece of hope Ellie's got in her mind, her hand squeezing around Joel's hand tightly, so tightly with her smaller hand in his and her eyes brimming with tears she wants to refuse to let go, but one sneaks it's way down, burning down her skin now.

Joel, please..]

Edited (wrong icon omg) 2025-04-23 02:34 (UTC)

[ Just shut the fuck up and do it already.

Twenty-five years in this hellscape and his past had finally caught up with him. In the beginning, he did what he wanted to without giving a shit about the future because he had no hope left and no desire to play the hand he'd been dealt.

Living through his first attempt at taking himself off the board should have given him a foundation to build upon but instead it just made him more apathetic. He found people he liked, but he'd scarcely call them family. He even warmed a bed or two, but he never considered any of it with anything but brevity because he knew how quick and how efficiently the wick of life can burn out of somebody. He'd given into the cynicism because when the flame went out it couldn't be rekindled.

Until Ellie.

Ellie who, despite his many attempts to keep her at arms length found a way to the soft gooey center he kept buried under all that scar tissue.

Ellie, who, if given the chance he'd do it all over again for. Go against every promise he made, every credo he'd pretended to follow. He'd take every action or inaction every time to get them here, even with the teenage tension and the cold shoulder because deep down, since losing Sarah, she was the only person that really knew him and still wanted to know him warts and all.

And whatever Ellie had awakened in him by bridging that gap he'd left inside of himself to get hollowed out and cavernous had made him a better man. Against his own judgment.

Coming to the aid of people he never would have stopped to consider five years prior.

Her, therapy, and to some degree the belonging she brought him into by sheer domination of will.

And now? Now his come-uppance has arrived on a pale horse with a pretty face. A fledgling, not unlike Ellie herself and he's blinded by that and he lets her lead him and Dina to the final drop of the hammer.

She tells him to get up, and he can only hear every other word. His name. Her pleading. The dull roar of his heart beat, it's slow tick toward the unknown has him rooted to the ground.

The hole in his knee cap doesn't help, and despite that, he still tries, his palm flush into the floor but he doesn't have the strength in his bones or the breath in his lungs to pull it off.

It's not what he would've wanted for her, in a perfect world she never would've followed up and he could've had his own flame smothered while watching Jackson's fire surge on.

Worried. For her sake.

Her being here now, is somehow worse.

He's got nothing left, blood, bone, tissue, but his baby girl's there and that's enough to strengthen his resolve enough to curl his knuckles over her slender fingers, a pale comparison to their altercation that left him in stitches. The pressure he returns is a ghost of skin on skin, a barely there summation of what he has left to give. ]

ooc: can play from book or show.

[ota, she may be the cause of it honestly. 3.2 compliant, please let me know if you'd prefer i avoid spoilers.]

[ mark for spoilers but i am utd and I'm good with being on both sides of this. :o ]

[We'll say he's taken heavy damage from silver, choose your adventure on the source of the silver.]

((He's a knight, so he could be either the one dying or finding someone dying.))

[ Bucky as the Winter Soldier. Assumed cr preferred, slowposting prose preferred. Might be open to AUs if you want to try a setting that isn't full MCU ]

I’m dying here

Sister Imperator (1969) | Ghost

James T. Kirk | Star Trek AOS | OTA

Bobby Nash | 9-1-1 | OTA

shin | sakamoto days

Jesse Pinkman | Breaking Bad | OTA

random vampire crosscanon mishmash, feel free to ignore if it's not your bag!

sounds like fun!

s'all good in my book!

no subject

Nancy | Oliver Twist | ota

Death | Sandman | Ota

Ri!Kusuriuri | Mononoke (2007) | OTA

Frank Castle | mcu

Eskel || The Witcher (anyish) || books + games but ota

Dorian Storm | Critical Role | OTA

ellie williams | tlou

if i'm spoiler and ur spoiler can he, she, me, we spoiler

we be spoilin' up in here

pls excuse my lack of icons - cw: brief mention of suicide

francesca bridgerton | bridgerton

helaena targaryen | hotd

natasha romanoff | mcu

ani mikheeva | anora

castorice / hsr

Joel Miller | TLOU

Ash | World of Darkness | Garou

kim dokja | orv

Suzaku Kururugi | Code Geass | M/F

Bucky Barnes | MCU