#“i hope the bleeding-through-the-tape thing stops with time”

[ottern0t]

(Tiny cw- nonsexual nudity) Context: i headcanon all timelords are intersex and ten got human dysphoria from being on earth so long

[rxnn]

Bleeding Heart [six]

warnings! tooth rotting fluff cause i wanna, mentions of stalking, mention of a gun for like 2 sentences at the very beginning (it isn't used and no one is hurt)

one, two, three, four, five

❥❥❥

...one week later

Banging at his door made Jason jump, setting his well-loved book to the side and reaching for the .45 taped to the bottom of the coffee table. It was one of many he had hidden throughout his apartment, a safety hazard, he claimed.

“Jason!” A familiar voice called through the door. “Sorry to bother you but it’s important!”

He was up in an instant, forgetting the gun, and scrambling to get to the door. As soon as his hand was on the handle, he almost ripped the door off its hinges.

“Hey,” he said, breathless, praying she didn’t hear him almost trip over his discarded boots to get to the door as quickly as possible. 

Shit.

He cleared his throat. “Everything okay?”

Everything was most definitely not okay.

Leia’s hair was messily pulled away from her face, her eyes were wide and quickly becoming glassy, her hands wrung themselves out as she looked up at him.

His mind drifted as she rambled on, he caught every other word, but not the full thing. How could he when tears were collecting in her eyes, a silent plea as her lips trembled slightly. He wondered if she would look at him the same way as he –

“So can you come over?”

“What?” His ears were on fire, they had to be.

“Can you watch Cal for a few hours? I didn’t plan on getting called in today, people just didn’t show up. I promise it won’t be long, I’ll get back as soon as I can. I just –”

“I don’t mind.” Jason interrupted her, shoving down any and all thoughts that were less than appropriate for the situation at hand.

Maybe one day – no.

The woman in front of him visibly deflated, shoulders sagging. She leaned against his doorframe, looking up at him again with her pretty smile.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

Jason’s heart skipped and he smiled down at her, heart feeling like it could burst. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Her mouth opened and closed and she cleared her throat, neither of which Jason missed, a smug sense of pride filling him. “I’ve already got dinner made, feel free to have some. Just…please make sure Cal doesn’t hurt himself.”

Jason hummed, nodding. Easy enough.

Leia pushed off the door frame and walked toward her apartment. He snatched up his keys and locked his door before following her. 

“I really can’t thank you enough for this.”

“It’s not a problem. Callum’s a good kid and you need help.”

“You promise? What about your night shift you were telling me about a few days ago? The one that got you that bruise?”

Jason stiffened for a second. It was a half-truth he’d told her when she saw the large bruise on his cheek bone. With his quick healing (thank you Lazarus Pit), he hoped it would be gone by the time it was time to pick up Callum from the bus stop, but Leia had been off work that day and spotted him leaving in his civilian clothes as she came back from dropping Callum off. She had told Jason to stay put and she ran into her apartment and came back with frozen peas wrapped in a hand towel. She had offered it to him without a second thought and he took it, exhausted and sore from the night prior. Maybe it was because it came from her, maybe he was in more pain than he thought, but he sighed in relief when the pain evaporated. 

“You have to take care of yourself.” She had said, hands on her hips, scolding him. He wondered if she would say the same thing to him if he came home to her every night, if she would take care of him into the early hours of the morning like she had when he’d accidentally stumbled into her room. “How did you get that anyway?”

“I’m a bouncer.” He’d blurted out the first thing that came to mind. To his surprise, Leia just nodded in understanding. 

“Makes sense.” She shrugged then grinned teasingly at him. “Bet the other guy looks worse, huh?”

Jason had laughed, peas still pressed to his cheek. It had hurt to smile, but it was worth it.

“Jay? You coming?”

His heart caught in his throat at the nickname. It wasn’t the first time she’d called him that and he prayed it wouldn’t be the last. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” A cheesy grin plastered on his face, wondering if she’d call him on the nicknames. She didn’t. She shifted on her feet again, holding the door open for him so he could walk in behind her. 

He glanced around, taking in the space. Most of the walls seemed bare with a few boxes stacked in the corner. The walls that were decorated were full of photos of the small family, much like Leia’s room, and two large shelves that housed a few trinkets and books with worn spines. The remnants of Leia’s cooking hang in the air along with the faint scent of her perfume he’d come to adore.

The overall layout was similar to his apartment if not smaller which made him feel incredibly guilty. There were a few stuffed animals and toys scattered across the floor, a coat hanging over one of the chairs at the small table, and a few dishes in the sink, proof of Leia’s hard work.

The soft padding of feet brought him back to reality as he closed the door behind him, 

“Mr. Jason!”

A little body collided with his legs, small arms wrapping around him.

“Callum, honey, lets not overwhelm–”

“It’s okay,” he waved her off and shut the door behind him then crouched in front of the boy who grinned and waved. “Hey, little man. Mama has to go to work, so why don’t you give her a hug before she has to head out?”

Callum spun on his heel and hugged his mother who was smiling fondly at the two. Jason had never seen that smile before. A type of melancholy sweetness he’d never thought existed until now. She picked Callum up, hugging him close and kissed his nose. The boy giggled and wrapped his small arms around her neck. 

It was so domestic, a life Jason thought died in the warehouse. A normalcy that he would never be able to grasp. Now, he watched it stand in front of him and giggle at each other. 

“Go get your stuff and head out. I’ve got this one.” He risked reaching out and gently squeezed her arm, her skin warm and soft under his calloused hands. She let him and nodded, pressing one more kiss on Callum’s head before sitting him down. 

“You be good for Jason, okay?” Leia held out her pinky finger, a faux serious look on her face.

“Pinky promise!” Callum wrapped his much smaller pinky around his mother’s and shook it side to side. 

Leia nodded then gestured toward the kitchen counter where a dish was covered in plastic wrap. “Sorry about the mess, but feel free to have as much as you want.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She chuckled and shook her head before walking toward what he assumed was her bedroom.

Callum took Jason’s hand (the boy’s hands were only able to grab two of his fingers) and tugged him toward the couch where a plethora of legos were scattered across the worn rug. Most times, Jason had no clue how to act around kids, but after the short walks and small meets in the hallway, it became as easy as breathing. 

“What are you working on?” Jason sat on the couch, leaning forward to peer down at the small lego pieces (and make himself not look as intimidating, not that that ever mattered to Callum).

“It’s Star Wars.” Callum responded. “Can you help me do the…” he pointed at the small booklet with the instructions.

Jason chuckled, picking up the small booklet. “Was Mama helping you?”

Callum nodded, picking up two pieces and fiddling with them. “Yeah, but her phone told her she had to go to work…I don’t want her to go.”

“She’ll be back before you wake up tomorrow.” Jason tried to assure the kid.

Leia watched the two from around the corner, heart warming at the sight before her phone went off again, bringing the boy's attention over to her. She texted back, saying she was headed that way and walked over to stand beside Jason, placing a hand on his arm. Electricity shot up his arm from her palm.

“Love you, Mama!” Callum waved.

“I love you too, baby.” She turned to Jason. “Bed time is in an hour. I put his pajamas on his bed, Callum knows his routine. If something happens, you have my number.”

Jason nodded once. If she was paying more attention, Leia would have noticed how he looked at her, the silhouettes of hearts dancing around his dilated pupils. 

“Have fun!” He called over as she left, her responding laugh music to his ears.

“Be good you two!” 

And just like that, she shut the door behind her, her quick footsteps fading down the hall. When he could no longer hear her, Jason turned back to Callum who was fiddling with the corner of the rug, frowning as he looked at the shut door.

“Why don’t we see how much of this we can get done, yeah?” Jason tapped Callum’s head with the instructions. 

The boy’s face changed immediately, grinning widely as Jason pointed out the next few steps, handing him the small pieces he needed. This went on for a while, Jason moving to sit on the floor crisscross so he could reach all the pieces easier. Honestly, it was harder than it looked. With Jason’s bigger hands it was harder to maneuver some of the pieces correctly and more than once Jason thought about throwing the instructions out the window but decided that wasn’t setting a good example for Callum.

The incessant ringing of Jason's phone broke the moment and he frowned, rolling his eyes at the name that appeared and declined it.

They'd be fine without him for one night. Plus, Jason deserved a night off.

The ringing picked up again and Jason groaned, grabbing his phone and standing.

"Sorry, kid, this guy is gonna bother me till I answer. I'll be right back."

Callum nodded; face scrunched up as he focused on finding the pieces for his portion of the step.

Jason walked over to the kitchen, answering the call with gritted teeth.

"What?"

"Where are you? We've been waiting here for an hour!" Tim, Red Robin at the moment, hissed through the speaker.

"Busy tonight. You'll be fine." Jason replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The one night everything was going well for him. Out of all the nights these fuckers could've borrowed him it was tonight.

"And you didn't think to tell anyone?" Tim replied, probably rolling his eyes on the other end. Jason faintly heard Damian's chattering in the background getting progressively louder.

"It's none of your business what I'm doing," Jason replied, leaning against the counter, frowning at the floor. He could feel the start of a headache building in his temples.

“I found the gray one!” Callum cheered, holding up a single gray piece they’d been looking for for the past five minutes.

“Good job, kid.” Jason chuckled, watching him connect the pieces.

"Who was that?"

Jason ended the call, tossing his phone onto the counter. He sighed, his eyes catching a painting in the corner of his vision, and he froze.

Slowly, he turned, finding a crude painting of three people. He easily recognized himself, a smile painted on the face of his character. Next to him, Callum, much shorter and then on Callum's other side was Leia, dark hair framing yet another smiling face.

Despite how it was obviously made by the young boy not paying much attention to Jason's stiff, barely breathing form.

When he finally broke out of his stupor his fingers grazed over the painting, scarred fingertips reaching to grasp the normalcy of a child's drawing.

"You draw this, kid?" Jason called over, swallowing the swell of emotions

Callum scrambled over, peering up at the painting on the fridge and grinning. "Yep!" Then, he glanced at Jason's phone and his smile wavered, and sad eyes peered up at Jason. "Are you going too?"

"No." Jason said immediately, shaking his head. "Just my...uh...brother."

How could he? Especially now, after seeing the painting Callum made. The kid painted himself, his mother and Jason. Most would just glance over the paper, finding it cute and moving on, but Jason couldn't. It was something he never knew he wanted. He hadn't thought this would ever be an option in this second chance life of his. To have a child draw you in a place of care was something Jason had yet to experience and now that he had, he didn't know if he could ever let this feeling go.

"You have a brother?" The kid gasped, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "What's that like? I told Mama once that I wanted a sibling, but she said not right now. I heard it's like having a best friend."

Jason bit back any remark about his rather...rocky relationship with his brothers and instead smiled and ruffled Callum's hair.

"It is pretty fun most of the time. Now, let's keep workin', yeah?"

"Yeah!" Callum cheered, going back over to his spot, sitting crisscross on the rug.

Jason chuckled and looked over at the painting one more time, ingraining it in his mind, memorizing the beady eyes and wobbly smiles, the reds, blues, and yellows of their shirts, the sky, and the sun. A beautiful ideal of everything Jason had ever wanted, but never thought he could grasp.

He shook his head and moved to sit down too, careful to not step on the small Lego pieces scattered across the floor.

As they continued, Callum quizzed Jason: what’s your favorite color, who’s your favorite hero (his was Flash which made Jason laugh), what do you do for fun. Jason was as honest as he could be, leaving out a particular violent hobby that originally let him meet the boy’s mother.

“Mama likes reading too,” Callum pointed to the large bookshelves. “She used to read a lot while Auntie Matilda painted.”

“Auntie?” Jason paused putting together the pieces.

“Yeah, she went away after the crash. Mama says she’s in a better place, but we can’t see her anymore.” Callum teared up then, looking toward a picture on the wall depicting another woman with blue and pink hair split down the middle. She was beside Leia who was holding what he assumed was baby Callum wrapped in a green blanket. 

Callum sniffled, rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey,” Jason suddenly felt guilty, scrambling to stop Callum from crying. He’d never seen the kid cry so seeing the tears falling down his small face made him panic. “Your mom was right, y’know?”

Callum looked up, bottom lip trembling. “But I miss her.”

“I know, bud. But you’ll be okay. She wouldn’t want you to be sad, right?”

The boy sniffled again then leaned his head on Jason’s arm and he went stiff, not sure how to proceed. He didn’t mind that the boy’s tears stained his shirt, no, he could care less. 

“Thank you, Mr. Jason.”

“Anytime, kid. Why don’t you go get ready for bed?”

Callum whined and gripped Jason’s shirt. 

“Can I not stay up a little longer? Please?” 

“Nice try, but you know what your mom said and I don’t think she’d be too happy to find you awake when she gets back.” If Leia hadn’t given him strict instructions, he would’ve bent to the kid’s will immediately, but the last thing he wanted to do was test Leia’s trust in him that tonight showed. He wanted to prove that she could rely on him.

Callum groaned dramatically but relented and got up, going to his room. Jason kept his ears peeled for any sign of Callum getting hurt. While listening, he cleaned up the legos, putting their half finished project on the coffee table and putting the small pieces back in their bags then into the box. 

“Mr. Jason!”

Callum’s shout made Jason rush toward the boy’s room.

“Everything alright?” He looked into the room, quickly scanning for intruders then Callum for injuries. Instead, he found Callum sitting in bed, grinning up at him.

“Can you tuck me in? Mama always does it.”

Jason sighed heavily, shoulders sagging just a little. “Sure, little man. And you can just call me Jason.” He winked at Callum who giggled as Jason pulled the baby blue covers over the pajama clad boy. 

“Okay! Good night, Jason.”

“Night, kid. I’ll be here till your mom gets home, yeah?”

Callum nodded, yawning and snuggling further into his blankets that Jason had just tucked him into per the kid’s request. Jason was honestly a little surprised the boy went down so easily, having heard about how kids his age were little monsters but Callum was the furthest from it. Sure, he had his moments, but he was a child so that was expected. He credited it to Leia’s parenting. 

Jason walked out, closing the door softly behind him. The temptation to wander into the room adjacent to Callum’s was beyond strong. It tugged at his conscience, what he knew would be a direct violation of her trust…but it was right there. 

Before he could give in, he walked into the living room, curiously picking up a book that was on the corner of the couch. There was a bookmark made from a receipt from a local coffee shop that Jason took note of. It was halfway finished, not Jason’s usual pick, a fantasy novel judging by the cover, but he was desperate to have something in common with her. To be able to talk about this book whether Leia enjoyed it, her favorite character, chapter, anything.

He sat there for two more hours, keeping his ears peeled for Callum, but it was otherwise peaceful, calm. The silence was different from his lonely apartment. Their place was whole, warm and inviting while his was bare as bones, the home of a ghost. He clung to this feeling, hearing the shuffling of feet outside the door, he tucked the book back where it was, having gotten a little past Leia’s bookmark. 

He stood, hearing the door creak open. And there she was, exhausted, but beautiful as ever. He walked over, footsteps light but enough shuffle so she could hear him approach.

“It’s me,” Leia called in softly, shutting the door behind her. She kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag to the side, smiling sleepily at him with her eyes half closed and hair messy. 

“Hi,” he said, peering down at her. “Callum is asleep.”

“Thank you, really, it means a lot. You’ve done so much for us these past few weeks, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you.”

Her confession made his heart soar, but was overtaken by confusion when she pulled out her wallet, grabbing two twenties.

“Stop.” Jason rushed to put his hand over hers, stopping her from trying to pay him. He had more than enough access to money so taking anything from Leia, especially this, left a gross taste in his mouth.

Leia looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. She tried to push against his hand, but he gripped it just tight enough to keep it in place, pressing the money back in before tossing her wallet back into her purse with shocking accuracy. “Then how am I supposed to pay you back?”

Jason had no clue where the confidence came from, but the words came out so quickly, he couldn’t stop them.

“Maybe you could repay me with a date?”

The silence was heavy and thick, but then a smile broke out onto Leia’s face and Jason could’ve kissed her when she responded.

“I’d love that.”

Unbeknownst to both parties that were too in their moment of giddy smiles and warmth to notice the hints of a storm rising over the city’s horizon. A shadow growing in the distance took the form of Gotham’s protector. It peered through the window, curious as to why the Red Hood was absent, only to find him clinging to a civilian like she was the last good thing in the world. Maybe to him, the bloodied vigilante, she was.

Poor thing, the sun whimpered as it disappeared behind the clouds.

❥

“Where was Hood tonight?”

“He said it was something important but I thought I heard —“ Tim caught himself, brain too fuzzy to think of much else than getting in bed but was awake enough to remember that he wasn’t supposed to know what Callum sounded like. 

“Heard what?” Nightwing – now back to Dick Grayson asked, raising a brow at his younger brother.

For once in his life, Tim cursed his inability to rest seeing as now it left him scrambling for an answer.

“He’s with Leia isn’t he?”

“What?” Tim sputtered, not missing how casually Dick leaned against one of the stone walls, crossing his arms.

“C’mon, Timmy. I’m not blind.”

Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line and he prepared himself for a lecture. Instead, Dick smiled kindly at him and nodded toward the almost too large computer dutifully named the BatComputer. 

“So…you gonna share with the class or am I gonna have to sort through your shit myself?”

“As if you could get through half of it.” Tim snorted, glancing around to make sure Bruce and Damian had gone away for the night, leaving just the two of them in the Cave. 

Dick shrugged, pushing off the wall to stand behind him. “Fair point, but it’d be easier to compare notes, right?”

Tim chuckled, beginning to type in his many passwords to open his treasure trove of notes and know-it-alls. He wouldn’t show Dick everything, no, Tim was going to be a little selfish, but Dick was right: it was better to compare notes and learn more. Afterall, Dick had already met her and was as observant as any other trained Robin. There was only so much Tim could see – feel from behind a screen.

So, still weary, he pulled up the first, much less in depth version on a smaller screen in front of him, allowing Dick to pour over the information. 

“Thorough as always, Timmy,” Dick muttered as he scanned it.

“You’re not…usually you get onto me for this type of stuff.”

Dick hummed. “Well not this time. First, we’re both worried about Jason especially since he likes her enough to skip patrol.” Tim could’ve sworn Dick’s jaw clenched, but it was gone in a millisecond. “Second, she’s a curious thing, nothing wrong with a little background check. And third, well, if anything this is just keeping her and her son safe.”

Little…right…that’s what all the document Dick was looking at had. 'Just a little background check' his ass, but Tim perked up when Dick mentioned they were just keeping them safe. He was glad he wasn’t alone in that thought. 

It’s to keep them safe, they told themselves over and over and over again.

“Right…now spill.”

Uhhh sorry I dropped off for a sec there y'all my bad.

[injuryprompts]

how would you go about treating a sword through the abdomen?

Heyyy, I am so sorry for the long response time! I would not be surprised if you've forgotten about sending this in the first place.

To answer your question it's important to know if the sword is a through and through or not. Because you said "through" i'm going to treat it as such.

Then it's important to know if 911 is available. Because most sword wounds happened pre-emergency services, i'm going to write it like you'd 100% treat it yourself. Otherwise step 1 would be: call 911.

IF ANYTHING LIKE THIS HAPPENS IRL, ALWAYS CALL THE EMERGENCY NUMBER AND DO AS THEY SAY. THIS IS FOR FICTIONAL USE ONLY.

Now for the treatment of a stab wound to the gut:

First and foremost, DO NOT PULL OUT THE SWORD until you're ready to deal with the bleeding.

Step 1: Make the stabbed person lay down. Because the stab wound is probably front to back, make them lay on their side. This reduces the risk of falling after the adrenaline stops. Which could cause more damage, think head trauma, or disturbing the sword making the wound worse.

Step 2: Remove the clothing around the wound. This gives better access to assess the damage done and get a clear working area.

Step 3: Put on gloves. Easy to forget, but it lessens the chance of infection in the wound. If you can't at least wash them as thoroughly as possible.

Step 4: Prevent bleeding. Severe blood loss will cause shock or worse death. So any blood that can stay inside, should stay inside. If the sword hit a (major) artery the person could die within a minute when the sword is pulled out. WHICH IS WHY YOU LEAVE IT IN FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE.

Arterial Bleeding: The blood will be SPURTING out. It will be a bright red color.

Venous Bleeding: The blood will be oozing out. The blood will be a darker color.

Capillary Bleeding: The blood will slowly come out. It will eventually stop on its own.

To prevent bleeding, apply pressure. You can still apply pressure when the sword is still through the body. Just put pressure around the blade from both sides. and since the knife went through. pressure on 4 sides basically. Be careful not to move the blade too much as you do this.

Chest wounds should be sealed with a credit card/plastic bag/duct tape etc, that sticks on 3 sides, leaving it so air can go out but it cant go in. This helps prevent a collapsed lung.

Step 5: Remove the sword. Get ready to put real pressure on it as soon as the blade is pulled out, because it will probably start gushing. If its not that bad, you can wait until it stops. If not, the wound will need to be sealed/stitched. Now the abdomen has a lot of nasty things called organs in it. Lets hope we missed all of those, because if not, intestine contents can do horrible things to the rest of your body.

Close the Wound Under These Circumstances:

The wound is large and refuses to stop bleeding

The wound penetrated through the entire skin (you’d be able to see underlying tissues)

The wound has been open for less than 6 hours

The wound is over a joint or moving part of the body and won’t close by itself

The wound is gaping open and won’t be able to close without your intervention

You close a wound only when it's dry, preferably with butterfly bandages or adhesive tape, (sutures only by profesionals or in dire circumstances). Or if you want to go for dramatic, cauterization as absolute last resort.

Open or closed, it's now time to cover the wound. You should first use any form of antibacterial treatment, preferably conventional medicine, but if you don't have that, use honey. Its antibacterial too. Then you can cover the wound with a bandage, make sure to change it every so often for a clean one. Every 12 to 24 hours.

Open wounds should be covered by wet dressing. Closed with dry. Make sure to pack around the puncture wound. If you can't find sterile bandages you can boil rags before using them.

ENDING THIS WITH: I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. ONLY USE THIS INFORMATION FOR FICTIONAL PURPOSES. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF IN A SITUATION PLEASE CALL YOUR LOCAL EMERGENCY NUMBER. THEY WILL TELL YOU WHAT TO DO.

[toomanywordsnllines]

Ghost's love is... Morbid. Melancholic in the way that he explains it and expresses it. It's extreme and revolting.

Disgusting.

No sane person would look at the object of their desire, love and affection and think half the things he does. Try and do half the things he does.

It's the way he wants to tear and be torn apart, inch by inch of his skin, have his muscles ripped apart, his bones broken and shattered. It's how he wants his organs to stop working the moment his love dies.

He wants to decompose and be eaten by the earth, he was almost once, and it brought him a sick sense of peace. To know that after all the pain he went through. There would be peace and he would just go back to the earth.

It's probably because of his fucked up psych and all the torture his mind as been through since the day he was born. Simon is a cursed name, he's known this for a while. That's why he destroyed it and buried it. Hoping, wishing, that it would have the piece it desired.

It didn't. He got restless under the skin of Ghost and little horrid pieces started revealing themselves slowly. Like ants coursing through his veins, it burned like poison. Made him itch. It scratched his insides painfully. Made him want to tear his viscera out. Gore displayed over his fingers.

But when he looks at the person he loves. Johnny. His person.

His Johnny.

It's like a part of his brain is both satiated and starving for more.

He cannot help but want to die for him.

Kill for him.

But also, live another day to see his smile, his laugh. Watch the sun melt into the beauty of his blue eyes, reflecting back the beauty of the sky like crystal water.

Like a cat bringing his owner a gift of appreciation-

Wishes to decapitate the ones who did Johnny wrong and bring their heads on a silver platter. Hoping for praise and satisfaction.

But he controls himself, because Johnny can take care of himself. Because Johnny, strong and resilient Johnny is not a man of pitiful revenge. Not when it's about himself.

And he gives him what he seeks anyway. In the way of gentle hands and soft touches, encouraging words. Time. Touch. Talking.

Still, most days, every day he wants to taste his blood on his tongue. Drink it like the sweet tasting wine he knows it would be.

But most of all-

Wants to be killed by his love's hands when his time finally comes.

When he commits a mistake he cannot undo. When he has overstepped his stay. He wants Johnny to put his hands on Simon and to break him. Slit his throat. Quick and gentle. Lay him down gently to the dirty. Flowers heavy on his chest.

Because love for Simon is devotion.

The moment he saw John. He swore to devote his life to him.

However, John's love is caring.

Taking care, his own form of devotion. Construct Simon back to be whole, not trying to make him perfect, never. Paint his cracks gold, always trying his best, plaster on his wounds, chipping his skin, bleeding over him. White glue, duct tape. 

It's messy, it's terrible, disgusting, disfigurating.

He has never felt so understood (He's not looked at like a freak. His concerning sentences aren't brushed off as odd or concerning but listened. Observed. Johnny understands that his words, words that would leave anyone queasy, green with sickness, are the only way Simon was taught to love. Learned to love.)

It 's peaceful.

It's the way of Johnny loving him and that's enough to quell the morbid thirst in Simon's heart.

A little 'study'(?) on how I think Ghost loves... Some notes I wrote after:

My favorite type of Simon is the one who's love is just revolting. Out ,of what's called, the ordinary and extreme.

It's the love of a man who does not let others in, not because he's scared of being seen. But because he knows if they knew how much he loves them they would run away. Disappear. Question his fucked up mind. Lock him away. Treat him like the freak that he is.

That's why he loves Johnny.

Because the man is not scared of him and he himself admits he's not normal. Too clingy, too obsessive. Explosive. Weird. Too much.

They're both freaks, in their own way.

That's why they love each other.

[j1g-s4w]

Do Something About It.

By j1g-s4w

A/N: I wrote this in like 5 hours while sitting in class and doing absolutely nothing at all. I kept thinking about what Adam must’ve felt and what he went through in those few days alone. Hope yall enjoy, it’s not my best work but it’s content 🌀

Word count: 3,680

Character count: 19,025

‼️WARNING‼️

This content is a little graphic. Talk of rotting bodies, pee and poo. If you are uncomfortable with reading about those sorts of things, either do I not read or read with discretion.

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Day 1

“Game over.”

The man looming in the now dimly lit doorway pulled the heavy door shut, leaving Adam completely swallowed in darkness. His ankle strained against the metal chain binding him to the rusty wall pipe, his right arm outstretched, reaching out to the hope he once had, and his throat raw from his screamed out sobs. His body went limp after a moment of begging and wailing for mercy. The shot wound in his shoulder was inflamed and swelling. As he lay on the now blood stained tile, he brought his hand up to his shoulder and grasped it tightly, hoping to stop some of the bleeding. The pain was like a sharp burn. It reminded him of his 6th birthday party, when Scott Tibbs, his best friend at the time, had stabbed him with a rusty nail. It was the same burning sensation in his new wound that he had felt once before. The same burning sensation filled in his throat, another feeling that he was all too familiar with. His mind drifted to the man who had left him that wound. His eyes began to pool, and he wept as he still held his shoulder. The pain was almost unbearable, but it was all he left to remember that man by.

“Lawrence..”

Adam continued to sob and his mind was left racing with thoughts of where Lawrence could be or if he was really coming back.

A few minutes passed, his sobs came to a gradual stop. He remained on the floor, staring up at the ceiling to allow his eyes to adjust to the pitch black bathroom. Lying in the dark like this reminded him of the many nights he’d lose power and would have to navigate through his dark and cluttered apartment. Adam was often exhausted from his ‘day job’ so the dark never bothered him much. Come to think of it now, he never really used that much electricity anyways. All of the bill always went to the damn dark room equipment. It was like a loop. Process the photos, make money off of those photos, and use that money to pay the bill to make more photos. He had forgotten to pay the electric bill quite a few times, and he had forgotten again about a week ago. Last night, when he had come home to process his newest pictures, he had fallen asleep at his desk, which he did often. Waking up a few hours later in complete darkness wasn’t a shock, but it was certainly annoying. He remembered grabbing his flashlight.. no batteries. He remembered hearing something. Grabbing his camera. That doll. And he remembered opening that closet. If he had just swung his bat as soon as he opened it, this could’ve all been avoided. He could’ve gone on with his life. The little life he had anyways.

Adam had always wanted to be a vet growing up, but he was never really good in school. Maybe if he had swung that bat, he would’ve still had a chance. Then this bathroom would’ve remained empty, painless, and quiet. But Adam knew he wouldn’t become a vet. He would’ve remained himself; pathetic, poor, and a voyeur. And that man. The blonde man who once stood at the opposite side of the room. He would’ve remained a nameless man who stood as Adam’s muse. His model and his work of art. His source of financial income and a secret he kept to himself. But that man did have a name. And he had a job, a wife, a child, and a secret of his own. Adam didn’t care though, at least not before. Lawrence may have only been a project to him, but now he wasn’t so sure anymore. The 6 hours that were spent together with him showed Adam that he was in fact a human, too. He may have been cold, maybe even condescending at times, but he knew Lawrence cared about his family. Adam had family too, but seeing someone act out of pure desperation and insanity just to see their family again made him question things. He knew he needed to reach out to his mom again. He thought about it a lot. But now, he meant it. He kept telling himself that once he got out, once he was free, he’d call his mom and apologize. Maybe he’d even apply to vet school.

There was a stray cat that would hang out in the stairwell of his apartment building. Every day and every night, anytime he’d see the cat, he’d give it a gentle stroke and then be on his way. In his head, he had named the cat Flash, but he knew that if he ever said it out loud, he’d grow too attached to the thing and he couldn’t afford a cat anyways. Now, he’d do anything to see that cat again.

His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he crooked his head up to look over to the door. How he wished that door would open to reveal Lawrence back with help, or someone who had just stumbled upon the place. Or even the damn cat. But the door stayed shut and the air remained stale and still. The pain in his shoulder hadn’t fully subsided, but he was now used to the pulsing and the sting. He sat up from the floor and his eyes were instantly planted on the corpse in front of him. The man that he had beaten to death. Panic had set it once again and he used all of the leg strength he had to push it as far from him as he could. The metal chain dragging and scraping the floor made him cringe and he could feel himself becoming angry again. He reached up the wall and rose to his feet to try and get a better grasp on what to do, if he could even do anything. His eyes were squinted, not a single drop of light anywhere, and the room was too dark to make out any real details. He raised his hands to his head and began to sway and pace slightly to calm himself down. He felt hopeless. It felt like hours had passed when it had only been 20 minutes. Adam sat himself on the edge of the bathtub and cupped his head in his hands. They were filthy. One stained a slight yellowish brown color up to the elbow and both covered in dust, dirt, and blood. But it just looked like a black stain now in the darkness.

While sitting in the silence, any sound, drip, or creek made his eyes shoot open with hope. 20 minutes turned into 30, then 40, then an hour. He had sat himself back in the corner on the floor and rested his head against the broken wall tiles. He doesn’t remember when, or even how he fell asleep, but he had woken up feeling groggy after a few hours had passed. There was no telling in what time it was or how long it had been now. When his eyes fully opened, he was hit with realization that this wasn’t a bad dream. He sighed heavily and the deep breath he took in smelled of mildew and rot. It was enough to make him gag, but he was able to hold down the urge to vomit. That would only make things worse. His body felt sticky and hot. He reached to the hem of his blood soaked shirt and pulled it up and over his head. His shoulder ached, the bullet was still nested deep inside, but surely the doctor who put it there knew what he was doing. Adam knew that his body would be too weak to fight off any sort of infection. He tossed his ruined shirt off to the side and brought his hand up to the injured shoulder. His breathing was now heavy, and the pain was getting worse. It felt like a burning welt or blister. The bullet was practically begging to come out. He took a few shaky breaths and placed his fingers onto the entrance of the wound. He sucked the air through his teeth, his fingers felt like fire next to his new bodily trauma. He held his breath and slowly but firmly inched his fingers into the hole. His eyes filled with tears as he choked for air. He let out a suppressed scream as he inched in deeper, finally feeling where the bullet had been lodged. Taking a few seconds to regain some strength, he takes another deep breath, but this time is unaffected by the odorized air and is too focused on this agonizing self procedure. He grabs the bullet between his finger and thumb and starts to pull. The pain is like nothing he had ever experienced before. His face was wet with tears and spit as he continued to pull and scream to fight off the pain. Finally, his fingers and the bullet withdrew from the wound and he was brought a feeling of slight relief. The pain was still present, but now it felt empty. No more pressure, and a hope that it may start to heal normally now.

Adam held the bullet tightly in his hand, not really knowing why. He took a few slow breaths and closed his eyes. The room was still hot and he was covered in his own blood, tears, spit and sweat. He longed to take a shower or even a nice bath. As a kid, his mom would always run him a bath after a long day of playing outside. His eyes shot open and his gaze adverted to the dark and dingy bathtub.

“As if.”

He knew he would never take another bath again. The thought of being submerged in water in such a small space; it would be like waking up in here all over again. Adam reached over to his damp, balled up shirt and used the very few spots without blood to try and soak up some of his sweat. It was really no use, he’d just end up sweating more. But he did anything he could right now to pass the time. But it didn’t even feel like time was passing. He felt like he was waiting for nothing now, but he still sat and waited. What else was there to do?

Adam still had the bullet in his grip and he brought it closer to his face to try and get a good look at it. It was slightly sticky from the slow drying blood all over it, but he didn’t really register that. As he stared at it, his mind went back to that doctor. The look of his face when he was sprawled out in front of Adam and wailing about his wife and daughter. He wondered if Lawrence meant to shoot him in the shoulder, or if it was a ‘happy’ accident. Maybe Lawrence had been so far gone in that moment, he didn’t care if Adam lived or died. But he did live, and he didn’t understand why.

Adam was never very religious, but right now, he couldn’t help but look at that bullet and wonder. If God wasn’t real, then why did he survive? Was it out of pure coincidence, or was someone or something ensuring his survival? No. He knew there was no way that any god would allow any of this to happen. Even though he had survived, he still has to live with everything that happened. He wrapped his fist tightly around the bullet and considered chucking it across the room. But he couldn’t do it. In his hand, he held the only thing that kept him connected to that doctor. To Lawrence. His only hope for freedom and survival now.

He threw his head back and leaned against the wall once again, still holding the bullet tightly. His shoulder was still pulsing, his face red from tears, and his whole body stiff and sore. All he could do was wait.

Day 2

Adam opened his eyes once again to still find himself in the same spot. The hunger in his stomach had become too hard to ignore and his bladder felt like a balloon. He reached his hand up to search for a pipe to help lift him off the ground. His body started to feel weak and it ached all over. He shifted his way over to the tub and unbuttoned his jeans so he could at least take a piss. His head felt heavy and the darkness started to play into his disorientation. As he leaned over the tub, the piss hit loud against the rusty metal. The heat and lack of ventilation caused the smell of fresh urine to infect the air, but Adam was too desensitized to notice. Once he was finished, he dropped back down to the floor in front of the tub and sighed. His head was pounding. Probably from fear.

Was Lawrence even coming back? How long had it been? He brushed the hair out of his face with his hand. The room was getting hotter by the second and he was drenched in sweat. The smell of the room had caught up with him now and it filled his nostrils with stale, thick air. It smelled now like piss, rot and iron. He put his hand on his mouth, gagging again at the smell but repressing any sort of need to puke.

All the attention was now suddenly on the door. A clatter was heard from the other side. Could it be Lawrence? Was he finally back? Was he finally going to be able to experience freedom again?

He waited..

Silence.

He waited a little longer.

More silence.

He was able to call out.

“Hello..?”

His throat was dry and his voice was raspy. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had water, but now it was all he wanted. All he wanted was water, a shower, that stupid cat and that stupid fucking doctor.

He felt angry and annoyed when there was no response. He grabbed a small piece of the broken tile off the floor and threw it across the room. He felt betrayed. Abandoned. Deep down he knew he wasn’t getting out of there. He reached down to throw another peice of tile, but his hand landed back on the bullet. He picked it up and examined it in his fingers. And he felt the sadness and pain raise in his stomach. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream. He wanted to get the hell out of that room. He clutched the bullet in his fist now and threw it. It made a clattering noise before it landed in its new permanent home, and the room fell completely silent once again.

As he sat there, now feeling helpless, he thought about the people who might look for him if they ever noticed. He wanted to believe that Lawrence would come back, but by the looks of it, he may have been dead. His body somewhere a few feet outside the door, decaying while Adam sits and waits for him. His savior who will never arrive.

His mother would probably never know. She’d continue on thinking her son just stopped calling. Stopped caring. The only person he could think of that might actually ‘care’ was Scott. He knew that Scott would only care though because he takes pictures for Scott’s band. One no-show and Scott would be livid. At least it meant a shot at hope.

Adam’s eyes felt heavy. There was nothing else to do in this room but sleep and think. And he couldn’t fight the mental exhaustion that pulled him back into slumber. His head was leaning on the bathtub edge and the hard floor started to hurt his ass. But he didn’t want to move. He could feel depression settling into him. His dreams were only a replay of the things that happened a day prior. Only in the dream, it was Adam that had sawed off his own foot. And it was Adam who had pointed that gun at Lawrence and pulled the trigger. Seeing Lawrence fall to the ground with a lifeless thud made Adam jump awake. The sudden movement sent a sharp pain to his shoulder, still agape and probably infected despite his makeshift extraction. His neck was stiff, but he tried to look around the room. Nothing had changed. The adrenaline in his chest died down and his mind was brought back to his bitter reality. Somehow though, the dream felt worse. At least in the room now, it’s quiet. And he’s alone.

Adam dragged himself along the floor and back into his corner, and sat with his knees now pressed against his bare chest. His mind was left wandering, constantly on the thought of what happened to Lawrence. He had made a promise that he would come back, so something had to have happened. As Adam thought about it, he thought that maybe the same nameless man who rose from the dead and locked him in this room, killed Lawrence too. But he could feel something in his gut telling him that Lawrence was okay. That he was alive. That feeling made him sick. He didn’t know how to truly feel towards that man now. He wanted to hate him. To resent him. But he still held onto that hope that maybe he’d walk through that door and maybe everything would be alright. Maybe.

Day 3

Adam had passed out with his head on his knees. When he woke, he was already used to the hazy sight and stink of the room. His neck and back were stiff, and the sweat that coated his body was thick and sticky. His felt dizzy, which helped distract him a bit from the pain everywhere else in his body. He let his legs fall down to the floor, and he sat there limp. Every now and then, he’d feel a sharp pain from his stomach. The man was starving. He rested his hands gently across his stomach and squeezed his eyes closed. Right then, Adam began to pray. He didn’t know who he was praying to, or what he was praying for. Tears started to seep from his eyes. All he could do was beg.

“Please please please please..please…please…”

His begging for mercy turned into sobs. He felt truly alone and afraid. He was afraid of dying alone. Being forgotten. It seemed as though he already had been. Lawrence wasn’t coming. No one was coming.

He felt useless. He thought about what that man on the tape said. Adam was ‘angry and apathetic. But mostly just pathetic’. Even now his anger was present, but had no energy to show for it. However his apathy had been changed forever. He had learned something from this so called ‘game’ and it was that everyone, no matter who, is a person. A human being with a life that must be cherished and taken care of. If he was able to learn, then why was he still being punished? Did Lawrence learn anything? No. But his game wasn’t about learning. That may have been the goal, but he did what he did out of desperation. He did what he did because he couldn’t handle losing. If he had learned something, then he would’ve come back for Adam.

The passing hours all blurred together. Adam had no clue how long he had been there now. He was ready to give up. His body was weakening and his sweat glaze caused him to start shivering. He grabbed for his shirt, still bunched up next to him and put it back over his head, aching. The blood was dry and caked into the shirt, but he didn’t care. His now cold body felt weaker than it ever had. He dropped his arms to his sides out of exhaustion and he let his head rest against the pipes behind him. He didn’t care to do anything else now. All he wanted was sleep.

Day 4

He hadn’t moved an inch since he had dozed off. His chest was barely moving as he breathed. He was still alive physically, but mentally he was already dead. He had let go of hope. In his half awake state, he thought he had heard someone open the door and maybe even a flash of light. But he convinced himself it wasn’t real. It was a dream.

But then he felt the touch of another human being. He tried to open his eyes, but the light from the flashlight was too bright for him now. He could hear the voice of a woman. Her voice felt familiar, but he couldn’t figure out how, and he didn’t care. He felt hope and happiness wash over him as she tried to move his body. He was far weaker than he had been previously, and wasn’t able to hold himself up well. He could still hear her talking, but wasn’t focusing on her words. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He was ready to be free again. He thought about his mother and how he would call her as soon as he could. He thought about that stupid cat- Flash. And how he’d take him in. For once, Adam felt excited about living.

It was all ripped away from him when he felt that plastic wrapping cover his face. It was like getting locked in that room again. He wanted to fight. He wanted to punch, hit, kick and scream. But he couldn’t. His body and mind were too far gone. He tried, but to no avail. In his last moments, the tape replayed in his head again. ‘You might be in the room that you die in. So are you going to watch yourself die today Adam? Or do something about it?’

He may have won his game, but he never did anything about it. He won because Lawrence cheated. And he lost for the very same reason.

-

-

-

🌀

[masterwords]

short time

This isn't really a story, it's just a fun little Hotch/Will ficlet because sometimes my brain says WRITE THIS QUICKLY and I have to. I'm working on a couple of nice, longer ones but this is quick and dirty and...yeah.

It's not much. Just a re-write of the "Hit/Run" bomb attached to Will situation but with Hotch instead of Emily. (For simplicity sake, so I don't have to write a huge backstory for this tiny little thing - Hotch & Will are in an established relationship and this does not involve JJ in any way. Don't try to complicate things. It's just some tasty hotmontagne brain soup.) The title is just a funny little nod to what my husband and all the wrestling coaches yell at the kids in matches when they're down to the last few seconds and they need to try and go crazy and get a point out of desperation.

Words: 1.4k

**

Hotch instructs Emily and Reid to go to the left, he goes to the right. Up the stairs to the Mezzanine, around the barricade. His feet fall light on the marble floor, he hushes his breath. Everything feels surreal. This is just a movie scene, and the music has dropped out, just the sound of his heavy breathing. Any minute now the Director will yell CUT! and people will swarm and reset the scene for a re-take.

His ear throbs, the pain lighting up the side of his face with every careful step up. It was bleeding again, he could feel the warmth pooling, dripping in a slow sticky rivulet down his neck. It’s a nuisance, nothing more. (For now. He has no future until this is over anyway.)

Scaffolding. Construction. Paint buckets and drop cloths. Everything covered in a fine layer of silky dust. His foot slips in it as he pulled his gun higher and slows his steps.

“I found Will!” Hotch says into his comm. He regrets it instantly, they’re going to want to come up and he wants them as far away as possible. What he sees is a nightmare.

“Is he mobile?” Emily's voice breaks through, out of breath.

“Negative. He's got six transmitters on him.” And duct tape, he says to himself as he creeps closer. He scans the floor for trip wires, trying not to disrupt anything. Once he’s satisfied it’s just he and Will and the open mezzanine, he crouches beside the other man and pulls the duct tape from his lips.

“Aw hell...why?”

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Where are you? I'm on my way,” Reid says, and even though it’s only into the comm Will can hear it too. Loud and clear. He shakes his head. The movement is slow and pained, he's barely hanging on.

“Tell them to get everyone out.”

“The bomb squad is on its way,” Hotch says, looking at the bomb.

2:48

“How far out is the bomb squad?” Hotch asks into his comm, daring to hope for one second that they would come rushing through the door as if on command. No such luck.

“Three minutes,” Rossi replies. Hotch feels his heart drop. Not metaphorically, he's pretty sure it actually drops down into his stomach.

“They need to get everyone out.” Will is bleeding all over his shirt, he looks sick. There's sweat on his brow and Hotch wants to reach out and dab it away but there's no time for that kind of intimacy. “You too. Go. They're at your house, they've got Jack.”

“It's taken care of. JJ's got him.”

Will screws up his face, trying not to cry. “It's my fault. I keep Jack's information in my wallet, in case I have to pick him up...or if his school calls...”

“Shh, we don't have time.”

“You have to get out of here.”

2:35

“Stop wasting time whining. I'll get Reid up here, and you can walk him through it. With his memory and your...”

Voices, dismembered and chaotic, float from the main floor up toward the vaulted ceiling. The squealing of brakes, trains on their tracks, echo against a marble landscape. Will shakes his head adamantly.

“No. Not Reid. Come on Hotch, if I gotta die, I want your face to be the last thing I see.”

“You're not going to die.”

“I am if you don't get busy on this bomb...if it gets down to thirty seconds, you run. You hear me?”

Silence between them. Time ticking toward zero.

“Hotch. Promise me. Thirty seconds and you run for an exit. I won't be the reason Jack loses his only parent.”

2:12

“Talk me through it, then. Everything they did was about them. Their story.”

“When did they meet?” Will asks, closing his eyes for only a second to slow his heart before it crashes through his sternum. He’s usually frighteningly good under pressure, always the last person to get worked up, but he’s never had explosives strapped to his chest before. This is a new one. He’s a little panicked.

“2008,” Hotch whispers, punching in the numbers.

1:57

Wrong. Colors flash, Hotch's heart stops briefly. “Hotch. Seriously. Just go. Jack needs you to live through this. Don't be stupid.”

“I have plenty of time. Hold on.” He tries another code, another failure. Will lets out a pained whimper and shakes his head.

“Hotch. Dammit. You gotta go. I'm glad I got to see your face one more time, now just give me a damn kiss and run like hell. Tell Jack I love him, aw'right?”

“We have one more try.”

“And if you get it wrong we both die.”

“And if I get it right, you walk me through some wires I don't understand. I won't give up on you.”

1:01

“This isn't about them,” Will says finally, the low throb in his shoulder no longer a distraction. He’s cold and tired. Maybe he’ll die before the bomb ever goes off, it hadn’t even occurred to him until now. “This is about her. This is his love letter to her.”

“Okay...” This would be the time for Reid. Coming up with random four letter words that meant love would be easy for him. Hotch felt every word he'd ever known suddenly vacate the premises. He’s nothing but a caveman blindly navigating his way through this modern technological mess.

“Izzy...” Will whispers. “Her name is Izzy.”

Hotch punches it in without thinking. The time is too short, it’s too late to question him. They’re both goners anyway.

IZZY

Green lights. A small door pops open.

00:30

“Wires?”

“Wires.”

Will lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “What colors are they?”

“Red, blue, yellow.”

00:28

“Hotch, what's your status?”

Hotch stares hard at Will, meeting his eyes, locking there. He doesn’t know what to say. Is fucked an appropriate response?

00:20

“Hotch, do you copy?”

He rips his ear piece out and lets it fall around his neck. No distractions.

“The story's in the details...”

00:14

“These wires mean something,” Will says. He’s disgusted by these people, the audacity of them to make everyone else unwitting participants in their sick love story. “The colors. Usually you can tell by how they're...but this time...” the pain is back and it’s making him dizzy.

He knows there's a way he uses to get to the right answer, he knows it. Will tells him to look at certain things, see where they go, but he's not listening. He’s in that same movie scene again, the soundtrack has dropped out, it’s just the sound of his breathing. Heavy, exaggerated breathing.

00:08

He can't hear anything now. Maybe that’s his ear, there is some latent pain there that he knows should feel a lot worse except he’s barely connected to his body. Will’s lips are moving, he’s explaining something quickly but his ear is ringing, sound has taken on a muffled underwater quality. Maybe the injury, maybe the anxiety. He thinks of the US flag and the Chad flag, and with his eyes locked on Will’s he offers the smallest fuck it smile he can...

00:04

He snips the yellow wire.

00:01

The bomb goes dead, the world stops spinning. Hotch falls back onto his butt and Will breathes a huge sigh of relief.

“How'd you do that?”

Hotch looks at him as sound slowly trickles back into his surroundings. It's still muffled but it's there again. Color bleeds back into his vision, and for a moment he thinks he might be sick or faint but it passes quickly.

“I stopped listening to you.”

Will laughs. ��Classic.”

They stare at each other for a minute, relishing the fact that they’re still alive. Somehow they’re still alive. They can’t really believe it.

“You gonna leave me in the chains or what? My ass is going numb and I think I might bleed to death.”

“I guess I could call someone.”

“You guess?”

Hotch leans close and Will kisses him, right on the mouth, right there in the wide open. If he had his hands free it would have been violent and possessive, hands grabbing at Hotch's face, holding him there. It doesn't really matter that he can't, Hotch can feel it anyway. Each time he tries to pull away, to say something, Will follows. Trails him, chases him, keeps them connected like he's drawing life from the kiss. He isn't ready to stop and how can Hotch deny him that while he's strapped to explosives?

Hotch knows that once he makes the call and says the bomb is diffused, they’ll be flooded with people. For now the mezzanine is still theirs. It was mean, making everyone wait. But Will is still kissing him like he needs it. Another kiss. And another. Hotch's jaw aches by the time the sound of feet crashing against the floor tell them that the bomb squad has arrived.

“We got it,” Hotch says into his comm not a moment too soon. He’s a little out of breath and it has nothing to do with the bomb. “Barely. We need someone who can cut through chains. And a medic. Stat.”

[kensboytoy]

A Boy and His Doll (Ch. 1)

Title: A Boy and His Doll

Fandom: Barbie (2023)

Pairings: Ken/Original Character (M/M)

Ratings: General

Chapter: 1/?

Summary:

An underpaid middle school librarian gets the surprise of his life when his childhood doll waltzes out of Barbie Land and into his workplace. When the two reconnect, both start to realize they have been chasing the wrong things in life.

A/N: 

This is singlehandedly the most indulgent thing I've ever written. I have selfshipped since I was a kid, yet Ken has blown every other crush out of the water. He means the world to me and I hope this fic can be a glimpse into why I adore him so much!

Quietly shelving books that preteens had shoved in various nooks and crannies around the library, things almost seemed peaceful for once. It was just before the final bell was due to ring and everything was finally quiet since class after class had descended upon the tiny library like wolves. The teachers tried their best to handle the large class sizes in an environment outside of the classroom and, well… At least there wasn't a ton of trash to clean up today. Just ripped up books that would either have to be taped up again or tossed in the ever-growing destroy pile.

Why were kids so destructive these days? Oswald sighed to himself as he ran his fingers along another torn cover. He didn't blame the kids, really. Junior high was rough, after all, and he certainly knew that the larger class sizes each year meant that so many of these kids were falling behind. Sometimes he wished he had pursued that teaching credential like he had dreamt of since he was young. That was a far and distant dream nowadays. Many of those silly childhood dreams were. Teacher. Cartoonist. Writer. This job barely paid the rent in Los Angeles, adding teacher expenses alongside student loans would be the final thing that would send him living in his car.

[Continue Reading or Read on AO3!]

The young librarian plopped down in his shoddy swivel chair to begin the process of rebinding all the destroyed books now piled up like an unstable mountain on his desk. It already took him through his lunch hour earlier, so he would just spend the rest of the day working on the daunting task. Somewhere in the faculty fridge, his salad was only getting more wilted and pathetic. It could wait. If he didn't do this now, it would just be another project to work on for hours after school and he loathed staying too late. Classifieds like him with no teaching degree weren't exactly encouraged to have more hours than what was on the schedule and the school had already warned him that there was plenty of time in the day to get all his job duties done.

Oz rolled his eyes at the thought. Administration was just so out of touch with what actually made the school run. When you get paid enough money, you stop caring if kids actually are thriving in public education or not. He let out a soft sigh as he booted up what was now considered an antique: the old Cover One machine. Lazily, he reached around in his drawer for his X-acto knife and gave a blank stare as he pulled it out. No blade. Seriously? How these little thieves got into his locked drawers was seriously impressive, yet mildly infuriating.

"Just take the whole thing next time," he muttered under his breath while reaching for his bag. Years of art supplies were stashed away in there, so he held his breath in prayer for a blade refill. "Shit!"

Of course it was loose. When did he ever have the common sense to put things in their proper cases? He carefully pulled the blade out and was thankful that the cut wasn't deep enough to bleed for more than a few seconds. A quick sucking on the tip of his index finger would heal him enough. Into the holder the blade went and Oz was back at the task of dissecting this book apart. As the blade sliced through the cover, severing it from the spine, Oswald winced. He was always so careful with his own books, always keeping them pristine while reading and never dared to even dog-ear the pages, he felt a bit guilty for the inanimate object he was holding. Hopefully books couldn't feel being tossed around and ripped apart. So many of them sat lonely and untouched on the shelves that he wondered which was a worse fate for something designed to be helpful to humans.

The librarian hummed to himself as he carefully cut off the dust cover before preparing a piece of adhesive to slide against the now bare spine. With the Cover One now warmed up, Oz delicately wrapped the book in wax paper before placing it in the machine. He firmly held the book steady until there were a few beeps signaling that it was done. Out the book came, almost for a breath of air, before he plopped it back in to let it settle for the next eleven minutes. He mused that he could try and fix some of the paperbacks while waiting for it to cool off when he heard the thick library door push open.

Figuring that it was one of the quiet kids coming in to retreat from the chaos of class dismissal, Oz’s face softened into a smile while he stood from his seat to greet them. However, when he saw the fully grown figure in a… cowboy costume? Oz paused. Having adults on campus wasn't unheard of, there were in fact many parents on a daily basis who came in and out even though they really should have stricter security measures at the school. But this person didn't really look like a parent trying to pick their kid up from school.

Was there an assembly Oz had forgotten about? Some weird yo-yo man teaching tricks to bored kids even in this day and age? Or maybe he was a cowboy teaching kids for a career day or something? But that costume didn't scream a real, genuine cowboy. Oz had grown up with vaqueros in Gilroy, watching them skillfully take care of the farmlands out there. And they did not look like this delicate, untouched pretty boy who had just strutted in.

Curiously, he elected to watch the stranger for the time being as nothing about the man really warranted him to freak out quite yet. It was actually a nice surprise. Oz sat back down in his chair and continued to work on his book repairs, his emerald eyes flashing up every now and then to see what the cowboy was up to. The man looked lost, like he had never been in a library before. He was staring at the ends of the isles, desperately searching for where a certain subject would be. Alright, he was starting to look pathetic enough that Oz had to help him out.

"Can I help you?" he inquired, sneaking up behind the cowboy.

There was a soft yelp from the blonde before he whipped around, baby blue eyes wide in fright. Oz was looked up and down before the stranger stood back up at his full height, eyes narrowed.

"You must be the keeper of these books?"

The question sounded almost impressed. Oz, obviously amused, gave a small nod.

"The one and only. What can I help you find?"

That caused the cowboy to look more relieved as a wide smile stretched across his goofy looking face.

"I'd like your books about men, please."

Oh. Oh? Well that was interesting. Was this man…? No, no. No need to make speculations. Just because Oz was gay didn't mean that every guy was. Though, with that outfit…

Oz shook the thought from his mind quickly, not wanting to assume that this pretty man was talking about the wide selection of queer books they had. He led the man to the non-fiction section before turning his head back up at him.

"Well, you'll have a lot to pick from, but I'd start here. Try the biographies and autobiographies if it gets too overwhelming," the ginger haired man offered with a smile. "If you have a better idea of… men, well, I can help you narrow it down."

The cowboy scanned the books for a moment, still seeming so puzzled. Oz might have to hold his hand through the entire library process wouldn't he?

"Do you have books about… the patriarchy?"

Oz blinked in surprise. Huh. Yeah, this guy was a weird one. Didn’t exactly scream incel but the request was a bit amusing coming from a handsome boy. He quickly walked down the isles to the war section and pointed out a few very outdated pieces of literature the school still somehow hung onto. The man ran his index finger along the spines before grabbing a few that interested him. Pleased with his selection, he beamed at Oswald. There was something charming and almost innocent the way he smiled. Like a proud child picking out their first book. Oz couldn’t help but feel a flutter in his heart at that.

"How about horses?"

Now that was a normal request. Fitting for the cowboy! Oz returned the smile and showed the cowboy their small selection. Wasn’t anything fancy, really. Perhaps an elementary school would have a wider selection. Back when he was a horse girl, that was the ultimate treasure trove of knowledge. Middleschoolers didn’t care about that sort of thing too much. ’That stuff’s for babies’ would be the usual complaint. So, the school barely kept anything fun in stock. Booooring! A total snoozeville. It’s like no kid could harbour a special interest anymore.

Oswald carefully pulled out the only book that was specific to horses and watched the man’s eyes go wide. Eager hands snatched it up, thumbs dancing along the cover as if he was trying to actually pet the horses plastered all over the book. That goofy smile never faded from the stranger even for a second.

“Yes! Yes…” The man was giggling. “This is perfect - do I have to pay for these?”

He suddenly looked very worried, full of cautious optimism searching Oz’s face for an answer while protectively clutching the handful of books to his chest. Oz let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.

“Normally you’d need a library card but, uh, you’re not a student. ‘sides, no one will miss those books if you took them. I think the last time anyone even looked at those books was more than a decade ago. They’d probably end up in a landfill soon anyways.” Playfully, he shot the cowboy a wink and pressed his index finger to his own lips. “Just keep quiet about it, ‘kay?”

There was that sweet smile again followed by frantic nodding.

“Of course! Your secret is safe with me, bookkeeper.”

“School librarian, but I kinda like bookkeeper better,” Oz laughed.

“Well, bookkeeper, I shall take these fine books and bid you ado,” the cowboy grinned, tipping his hat to Oz.

As the cowboy turned to leave, Oz reached out to grab his hand. It was so instinctual - like he was afraid of saying goodbye to this stranger. He couldn’t just let him go so easily. Maybe he could ask him what his deal was. Anything to spend another minute with him.

When their fingers grazed against each other, his mind exploded with visions that suddenly froze every muscle in his body and completely immobilized him.

Visions of him being very little with a doll in his hands. The only doll he ever had growing up. Ken. His Ken doll that he found in a pile of cheap toys at the flea market his family vended at. The one that caught his eye underneath the mountain of stuffed animals he normally would jump at the chance to pick through. Still in his tattered box. Oz never thought he’d be able to afford something so nice. His usual toys were old and discarded ones no longer wanted by their owners. Broken, unbranded, or simply just cheap fast food toys that other children grew tired of. The kind old lady selling the doll had given it to him for all the change he had rattling around in his pocket that day once she saw the quiet child’s nervous excitement just holding the box.

How very careful he was taking such an exquisite toy out of the box. Delicately opening the packaging and saving what he could before holding Ken tightly against his chest. Tears had rolled down his cheeks from just how happy he was to own something so nice. A little dollie all of his own. He’d be oh so careful to love and cherish this Ken for as long as he could!

They were inseparable. Ken was always in his coat pocket wherever he went. Despite being so young, Oz made sure to play with his toys as gingerly as possible. Ken was handled especially tenderly. Always getting a nice long bath in the sink after spending the whole day outside. Then getting tucked into a makeshift bed made out of tissues or scraps of fabric samples Oz’s mom let him have. All set up nice and cozy on the dresser next to his own bed so that he could keep Ken closeby. With Ken around, nightmares didn’t stand a chance.

Memories like this had been long locked away by Oz’s deep-rooted trauma. Yet now they were pouring in uncontrollably.

“Ken?” Oswald’s voice cracked as tears flooded his vision. It was so soft and uncertain. Surely this was a dream. It couldn’t be his Ken, right?

It looked like Ken had been hit with the same realization. His twinkling blue eyes were wide like a deer in the headlights as he searched Oz’s face. Immediately, his arms were around Oswald, holding him tightly. A laugh bubbled up from him and he just kept squeezing. So afraid to let go.

A memory. Ken had a memory! He wasn’t sure if he ever had one before, but it felt so nice. Brand new, a bit scary, but… he could feel something deep inside him that he had never felt before. The only thing he could compare it to was the feeling he had been chasing whenever Barbie looked at him. What was that funny feeling that made him feel so full?

“Oz! Wow!” He couldn’t stop himself from letting out excited little laughs of disbelief. “Is that really you? Look at how much you’ve grown…”

Clutching onto his old friend, Oswald was overcome with emotion. His smile was wide and shaky as he began to sob softly into Ken’s shoulder. Those were words he always craved to hear from loved ones since his transition. No one had ever said something so sweet to him.

Worried that he had upset his dear friend, Ken pulled back enough to closely examine the weeping man. Oz wasn’t frowning, no there was still a smile on his face, but why did he cry? Was he not happy to see him? Had he said something wrong?

“You should be standing in my curio cabinet at home,” Oz’s voice cracked, teary eyes looking up at his doll. “How…”

“You kept me?” It was Ken’s turn to be surprised.

“Of course I did.” Carefully, as if he were afraid that Ken would disappear like a fading dream, Oz cupped his doll’s cheek. “I tried to keep all my toys that my family didn’t haul off without me knowing.”

Family.

Ken remembered those people - they weren’t very nice. As the memories continued to trickle into his plastic brain, he could recall the nights Oz would cry after being berated by his aunt and uncle specifically. He had been so scared after his parents passed away. Hugging Ken close to him every night even though he was all grown up. How desperately Ken wanted to hug him back and tell him he was okay. To protect his boy. He could feel that protective surge swell in his chest, arms tightening his hold onto Oswald. Now he could properly hold his boy.

It was an unfamiliar feeling to be held like this. Sure, Oz gave plenty of hugs to his friends even as an adult. This was far different from that. His body tensed up for a moment like a frightened prey animal unable to move. However, the longer they stood in the embrace, he felt himself relax into Ken’s touch. The tears couldn’t stop themselves as soon as they cascaded back down his cheeks. Safe. For the first time in more than a decade, Oz felt safe.

“I’m so happy I found you again,” Ken murmured, dipping his head down to rest against Oz's.

“How is this possible, Ken? I - I’m not having one of those hallucinations again, right?” Nervously, the librarian pulled away so that he could stare into Ken’s eyes. It was so bizarre that Ken looked so human and yet still very dollike. “You feel real.”

“I am real!” Ken puffed out his chest and gave a bit of a flex to show off. “Does this not totally look real?”

There was a giggle from Oz as he placed a hand on the firm bicep that was being showcased. The fact that Ken was such a show-off was rather charming, he couldn’t lie. A true himbo like the human had always imagined.

“C’mon, dollie. I didn’t mean it like that.” He gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. “You know that my brain plays tricks on me.”

Ken’s boisterous behaviour faltered for a moment as he looked at his boy.

“You still see those… monsters?” he quietly asked.

“Sometimes. It’s not as scary like it was back then.” Oz gave a sheepish smile, feeling bad that he was causing Ken to worry so much. “I take medication to help now.”

Those arms were back around him, pulling him in for another hug.

“I won’t let them get to you. I can fight them for you now!”

How could Ken so easily make all the years of trauma slip away like it was nothing? Oz had been fighting for so long on his own, trying to make a life for himself in this crazy world. And now his doll was human-sized and a walking, talking being that somehow waltzed back into his life? He didn’t believe in fate. But this was one hell of a coincidence.

“But how are you here, Ken? I don’t understand.”

“That’s easy! Barbie was trying to find the little girl who was playing with her. Something about cellulite - whatever that is. Lots of transportation. And now we’re here in the Real World!”

Staring at him like he grew a second head, Oz cocked his head to the side.

“Barbie? I never had a Barbie. Did you… find a Barbie?”

Suddenly, Ken felt very warm. His face was red hot! That was weird. He was plastic. Was this another funny feeling he didn’t quite understand?

“Well, yeah. It’s Barbie and Ken, you know?”

Oz’s face softened at that.

“That’s sweet. My Ken has a Barbie. Huh.”

“Wh-what?” That blush was growing deeper. Ken looked nervous. But that funny feeling was growing when Oz called him his Ken.

“Nothin’. ’s just cute that you found your girlfriend. Is she here too?” He peeked out the window of the library, glancing through the crowds of preteens. Nothing loud and pink out there.

“She’s uh. Doing her own thing.”

Oz’s brow shot upwards and he tried his best to suppress his grin.

“Well, don’t let me keep you, Ken. Go on, go to her.” He pulled away from his doll, heart feeling achy at the thought of Ken leaving. But if Ken had a Barbie, he wasn’t going to keep him from her. Looks like his doll didn’t need him anymore.

It was Ken’s turn to grab Oz’s hand.

“I wanna stay with you longer. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” It was surprising to Ken that he was saying all this. Normally, he’d do anything to trail in Barbie’s shadow in the hopes she’d so much as look at him. But that didn’t seem to interest him right now. Not with his boy right in front of him. Something was telling him that he needed to stay with Oswald. “Please?”

Oz couldn’t say no to such a sweet face. How could anyone?

“Okay, okay. You’re really twistin’ my arm here,” he joked. Ken immediately let go, panic on his face. “Oh, no! I was just teasing! It’s an expression.”

The librarian turned his head to the stack of books on his desk. He should have stayed to finish the daunting work and not have even more on his plate for the next day, but…

Oh, come on! His childhood doll springs to life and he’s just supposed to go back to his mundane day job? Nuh-uh. He was going to spend as much time as he could with Ken in case he was plucked away back to wherever the hell he came from.

“If you give me ten minutes, I’ll wrap up everything here and maybe we could…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his head nervously. “Go back to my apartment or something?”

Ken lit up at that. Like an excitable dog, he was practically bouncing up and down. Then he realized he may be looking very uncool and tried to stand up straight to posture himself as calm and collected.

“That would be rad.”

“You can go over to those bean bags and chill for a bit - I’m sure you wanna read those new books you got.” Oz smiled, pointing to a circle of janky bean bag chairs that had seen much better years.

Oh right. The books. Ken had almost forgotten about the books he was carrying, fingers curling against the thick spines of each one. Somehow, he wasn’t that intrigued to explore the topics of this world that he had been so curious about not even ten minutes ago. That didn’t matter to him when Oswald was right there.

“I can read that stuff later,” he shrugged. “No big deal.”

Oz tried to bite back a laugh at the fact that Ken was trying to act so smooth after nearly bursting at the seams getting these books just a short bit ago. Was he wanting to impress Oswald now? What a silly doll. He simply gave a little nod and began to tidy up the books he had been rebinding, taking notice as Ken shuffled closer to try and take a peek. Oz didn’t mind the audience. Having his doll near him felt safe. A warm feeling that pooled in his belly that he hadn’t felt in so long. Maybe Ken could stick around longer before he went back to his dollhouse. Did Ken have a dollhouse? He’d have to ask a million questions about where Ken came from when they got back home.

The little flutters in his chest with Ken nearby were so bizarre. Was it excitement? Nervousness? There was a frenzy of emotions running through him all at once due to the fact that his doll was lifesize and following him around like a lost puppy. Such a sweet face. He could feel his own face grow warm with the threat of blush rising to his cheeks. Shit, when he went red, it was so painfully obvious! So he tried to hide his face with his long copper locks of hair and turn away from Ken as much as possible when tidying up. Maybe since Ken was so oblivious he wouldn’t notice his human getting flustered.

And he didn’t, thankfully. The doll was too occupied with watching what Oz was doing with his hands. How gentle they were with the tattered books lining his desk. Ken smiled to himself. Of course his boy was careful - he remembered how well taken care of he was when he was Oz’s doll. There was something swirling around in his own chest at the thought of it. Kens were merely accessories for Barbies and not typically played with on their own. Yet, with all the memories filling him, he now knew that he had been loved by his human. Looks like it wasn’t just Barbie that had someone! His half smirk was wide on his face with just how smug he felt. There was someone out there that loved Ken for being Ken. Wow!

“What’s that look for?” Oz chuckled, bag slung over his shoulder and car keys in hand as soon as he walked back up to Ken.

“Nothing!” Ken lied. Had to still play it cool. Couldn’t mess this chance up! “Just… ready for our hangout sesh.”

Oswald looked skeptically at Ken before he absentmindedly reached for the doll’s free hand. Their fingers laced together and Oz was pulling him to the door. It felt so natural that neither of them had questioned how sudden this was. Just bashful glimpses at one another like two shy kids holding hands for the first time.

“Alright, cowboy. Let’s go home.”

[zellkasin]

"Neglected Space" by Imogen Heap is such a good Laudna (& Imodna) song...

I don't have anyone to scream about this to directly so y'all are getting this obsessive thought right here on tumblr dot com.

I've been listening to the song again recently and ??? the yearning & loneliness in it ??? the desperate plea tp care for a once beautiful thing ??? the if you take care of me, i'll take care of you ? ? ? ? ? ? Imogen is the one that took the time to look past the peeling paint and sunken ceiling and found a shelter, a loving home, a lifelong friend.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3dW2FFkXIdM > lyrics & commentary from yours truly under the cut / readmore <

Hello I watch you come and go I know you can hear my voice Don't walk away

Come daydream with me In closed loops and future-proof Cardboard to caviar Let’s show them how good we are

>>> Laudna trying to make friends in the woods. The trauma of being shunted everytime, of being feared, of being chased away. Yet the hope that never fades (the worst thing of my life already happened to me). The hope that is rewarded when she meets Imogen...

If you look after me, I’ll look after you

>>> I MEAN ? ? ? ? ? Laudna only wants to love ;;;;;; she is so full of it, yet she had no-one to pour it into. She had houses, the had cabins, she had neglected spaces but it took so long for her to find someone that would take care of her, and that would let her take care of them in return ;;;;

Sonar, night vision Or desperate lovers seeking privacy for they're forbidden I am their defenseless host Through my open wounds they let themselves in Sheltered... (sheltered...) They mock me... (they mock me...)

>>> This is about Delilah Briarwoods lmao

If you stand up for me, I’ll stand up for you

I’m weather-beaten in a losing battle Punctured by nature Becoming organic The air in here ages me ungracefully

>>> The 30 years spent alone that did make her kind go a bit crazy. The talk about nature and the link to her tree form of dread ? ?? ? ? ? ? ?

But if you take care of me, I’ll take care of you

Oh, my crumbling heart! If you’ll be good to me, I’ll be good to you

I’m a nest I could be the best decision you ever made A beacon, your peaceful corner Find me, cherish me Take me on or pull me down You choose

>>> Laudna will be whatever Imogen wants or needs of her... but she also wants nothing more than to just settle with her and have a little simple and calm life and space where they cherish each other ;;;

Wait! Oh, save me the ache of slow-decay! Cause I will remember you, will you remember me?

Bespoke to broken, this interwoven tapestry of tragedy Crooked frames and cracked glazing Slithers of wistful window gazes glint in borrowed light

Where doorways with no door stage a ballet of leaves Who pirouette in the footsteps of once glorious days...

But I'm peeling paint, I’m a sunken ceiling I’m cracking up, and can seem threatening

I’m falling apart I’m scary at night I'm taped up, forbidden Keep out... keep-out! No, no, no-go-zone

>>> Her appearance and vibe that scares most people and keep them at bay. Keeps them from peering in and to see Laudna's potential, and the person that she is.

A has-been, a once was, the leftovers, an eyesore Broken beer bottles, I'm bleeding, rusty nails Oxidising, a few remaining tiles Unloved, no human touch, I'm walked past, I'm a waste of space I'm a nuisance, a hazard, abandoned, unwanted Unwanted! Lights off! I’m losing grip This is not what I stand for This is not what I stand for This is not what I stand for!

It was a perfectly good grand piano

>>> To me this vividly echoes to how Laudna talks about herself. She loves herself but she also DEEPLY internalized the lowest of self esteem... She's not what people like, she's repulsive, she's scary, she's a waste of space. The "it was a perfectly good grand piano" could be about Mathilda... she was a young girl who freshly discovered her magic and had her whole life and potential ahead of her....

Stop in the name of love! I’ve got just what you’re looking for! I’ve got tree-lined interiors Where we can dine with the biosphere

If you’ll take care of me, I’ll take care of you If you be good to me, then I’ll be good to you

I’m a story in mourning, and you’re the author So pour out your masterpiece

>>> BUDDY WILL IMOGEN POUR IT !!! SHE'LL POUR HER LOVE IN LAUDNA SHE'LL FIX THE LEAKY WALLS SHE'LL FIX THE BROKEN WINDOWS she'll build a nest for them both, with Laudna's help (and she will keep some of the cracked paint and some of the burnt corners and some of the wild unkept garden because that is also what she loves about Laudna.

Entropy increasing, how long before I’m dust?

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 27

“You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.” | Matches | Scars | "Let me see."

Pairing: Fili/Kili (mentioned Kili/OMC) Rating: Teen AU: Fast Car (formerly Dead Batteries) - Ao3 / Tumblr Words: 1076

--

Warnings: self harm, scars

(and probably some typos and tense switching, I'll get around to fixing them after NaNo and before this goes up on Ao3)

--

There were scars on Kili’s arms. 

They started out angry, red, and bleeding. He would press his fingers to them to distract him from his other feelings. The physical pain overwhelmed any and all thoughts including those about…

Kili dug a fingernail into one of the fresh scars and that thought stopped there. He most certainly did not follow that thread of thought and feeling to wonder what it would be like to…

No. 

He wore long sleeves even when it was warm. When he was asked if he was hot he just shrugged and said no. And that was that. 

Then the scars faded and no new wounds joined them. They faded to silver or a faint pink on his skin. And they were really only noticeable if someone were close and looking for them. Kili saw them. Sometimes they bothered him and he would wear long sleeves again, but mostly he forgot about them and no one asked.

Then Fili asked.

Fili had parked his car, the one that was held together with duct tape and hope, in its usual place near the shed. Hidden from the house by the shed, shielded from the neighbors by the tall wooden fence, and much warmer than the shed they sat in the car talking until they were not talking anymore.

Fili was sprawled on the back seat that was far too small for such a thing. His face was lit by the cool light of the security light that was on this side of the shed. Their cheeks were pink, eyes wide, and the windows of the car were fogged enough to filter that bright light to something that seemed to fit the mood. Kili had one hand planted on the seat next to Fili’s head, the other on Fili’s chest, a seatbelt buckle dug painfully into his knee. 

Fili had taken hold of Kili’s wrist, eyes closed, with a sharp inhale. He turned his head and Kili’s inner forearm. Then his eyes widened and his brows furrowed. “What’s this?” He ran a finger over one of the scars. 

Kili pulled his hand away, quickly shifting back and away from Fili until his back was pressed against the wall of the backseat with its small inset window and molded armrest. “Nothing.” Kili crossed his arms. 

The light cast start shadows on their skin. Fili pushed himself up, his bare chest rising and falling steadily. He pulled one leg up to better balance on the narrow seat. “Let me…” he reached out and took hold of Kili’s hand, pulling Kili’s hand toward him and turning it so that his palm and inner arm faced up. Fili ducked forward to see them more closely. “Kili…” his voice was soft. “When did…” Fili ran a finger over the scars.

Kili twitched. “A long time ago.”

“When?”

Kili shrugged and looked past Fili to the fogged and smudged world through the back window. “Middle school, maybe Freshman year.”

“Do you do it now?”

“No.” Kili exhaled and looked at Fili again. “Not in a long time. I don’t really remember when I stopped, but it’s been years.”

“Will you tell me if you want to start again?” Fili asked quietly.

“I guess. If you want.”

“I do.” 

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry I missed it the first time.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“But I’m your best friend. I should have known.”

“I’m not your responsibility,” Kili said. “I can take care of myself.”

“I want to help.”

“I know…” Kili relaxed, moved away from the molded plastic wall. 

Fili had lifted Kili’s hand then and pressed a kiss to the palm and then moved to Kili’s wrist. He lingered on each scar, lips caressing the rough yet still sensitive skin. Kili shivered. It became a thing that Fili did regularly, a way of showing Kili that he was loved and accepted, even his darker parts. 

And then there was the time when they were supposed to be doing their homework and Fili had started doodling on Kili’s arm instead. With a red pen he had drawn small hearts and flowers on the scars.

And then one time he had drawn stars and galaxies swirling across Kili’s skin with gel pens. He had used a silver one, highlighting the scars and turning them into something beautiful. Kili had not washed his arm for a week after that. He had traced over the silver glittering lines and not thought about the pain that had caused them in the first place. 

After Kili left he had pressed fingernails into the scars again, remembering the pain, but he did not create any new wounds. He could only think of Fili’s sad and disappointed expression and that stayed his hand. The indentations from his fingernails faded quickly and eventually he had learned better coping skills. He started running, using a stationary rowing machine (a torture device that caused callouses and blisters that tore his hands apart), he wore a rubber band on his wrist to snap himself when he had the urge to harm himself—all things suggested by the school’s therapist.

And then he did not need them anymore. He did not have to remind himself to distract himself; it became a habit, just something that he did. On Fili’s birthday he would wake up early and go to the gym, he would make plans with friends. Later he would schedule meetings with the escort that he was seeing from time to time. But he did not have to remind himself to do any of those things anymore.

Now Kili does not even notice them or remember that they are there most of the time. Occasionally they itch and grow red and irritated, and sometimes they would catch in the light and were highlighted by the sun. He occasionally traced a finger over the thin lines and wonders if a tattoo could hide them, if he wants them hidden, and he feels regret for the boy he used to be, and glad that he lived to see himself get better. 

And he no longer lied if anyone asked about them. Fili’s acceptance had made him feel less shame regarding the scars and how they came to be, and that was something Kili carried with him even though it was a decade later. And sometimes he wished he could thank Fili for all he had done and all the ways that Fili had healed him without even trying.

--

Taglist Everything @silvermoon-scrolls @metztliluaa-blog @i-am-pinkie

Fili/Kili @dubhlachen

[mara-xx217]

can I ask for a continuation to the “killer accidentally pulling the pants/skirt off a survivor and seeing their panties” from the other anon? with amanda, sadako, susie and the artist?

Ngl, I do enjoy this scenario a little too much lol

Warnings: Ya get Pantsed, No NSFW, Just Embarrassing, A bit of a Killjoy at the End

Amanda Young/the Pig

'Talk shit, get hit' should be a personal motto for her, for she's both a receiver of this justice and a dealer in it as well.

You talked shit, running around and distracting her from her priority targets. Once again, Amanda allowed her anger to overtake her and cloud her judgement. Only, this time...

You were the recipient of the oncoming justice.

One wrong move, once mistimed vault over a pallet and Amanda had juust enough time to-

RIIIP-!!!

There goes your pants and your dignity. It was enough to make her laugh audibly, genuinely, from the chest. A cackle that caused your ears to burn and your priorities get all messed up.

Run? Hide? Drop to your knees?

You dropped to your knees.

And she kept laughing.

Sadako Yamamura/the Onryō

Anger. Hatred. It's all she felt anymore. And you were pissing her off.

Just out of her reach. Just out of grasp... She wanted to sink her fingers into your flesh, make you scream, make you see things that would make your mind bleed and your heart stop beating.

You need to watch the tape-!

Or come closer...!

So close-! She almost has you-!

The tips of her fingers graze your shirt and manage their way to the waistband of your pants-

And pulls them down to your mid-thigh.

Silence. No movement, no pain or death, then-

A laugh.

A light one, not so different to the sound of windchimes on a gentle breeze. Not a mockery of a human voice, taunting or depraved, but childish and light.

When was the last time she's felt something like that...?

Mother-

Susie/the Legion

Frustrated, frustrated- INFURIATED!

"S-Stop- STOP RUNNING-!"

Her heart slammed in her throat as she chased you. Through the Lodge, to the Shack, back to the Lodge, around some rocks-

Susie released a frustrated scream.

All airs of control and careful planning flew to the wayside. She threw her head down and sprinted at you, as fast as her legs would carry her.

"YOU BITCH-!!"

You were tackled onto the snowy ground. Susie didn't have much of a grip on you, having thrown her body clumsily against yours. You were nearly back onto your feet when she grabbed you by the back of your pants.

"NOOOOO-!!"

She pulled down your pants-

AND YOUR UNDERWEAR?!

You scream and kicked her in the face. Susie didn't let go.

And so you dragged her across Ormond, attached to your legs and trying to rip your pants down, underwear and all.

It was fucking cold.

Carmina Mora/the Artist

Your back and legs were covered in an inky substance. Carmina nearly had you several times, but you slipped out of her grasp every time.

You shrugged off her crows, you narrowly avoided her attacks. She wanted to paint the sandstone bricks red-brown with your blood-

She hates the way you kick and scream, like a disobedient child. Or a victim being stolen away-

Seeing your underwear when she attempted to pull you from the Shack window did nothing to her bring up old, lost feelings.

Childish glee

Laments of the past

The hope for more

An act of violence and silencing-

The inky appendages she used to grasp a hold of you fell away. Lifeless and heavy, not unlike ink being spilled from a well.

Carmina looked down at the bloody, mangled stumps at the end of her arms and wondered-

Where have they gone?

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine

[something-tofightfor]

TLOU ask:

@stealyourblorbos​ asked me a question and here’s the answer behind a cut because I don’t want to spoil anything.

I am feeling .... anxious. I love what they’ve done with the story so far, and don’t think that they’ve cut too many things out that were essential to the story... so I can’t complain. 

Were there things I would have liked to see? Yes. (Water gun fight, Joel saying the “mighty thin ice” line, Joel exploring the hotel in “Pittsburgh” and finding the piano) ... But I’m really happy that they’ve managed to work similar things in in different ways so that we’ve gotten glimpses of the things that are very meaningful in the game. (Ish, Bill’s personality, Ellie and Joel’s banter, Joel exploring places, the monkeys in the University, Ellie and Joel’s argument in the bedroom)

There is a LOT to cover in the last two - but I think that David’s section is much more important in terms of the amount of things to cover than the SLC segment. 

I also think Troy’s going to have more screen time than Ashley, which is sad, but really - we only need a few minutes to establish her relationship with Marlene, who she is to Ellie, and what her “sacrifice” means. 

I want a fifteen minute “Joel torturing two men to get to Ellie” segment next week, so that leaves them 40 minutes for all the other stuff. 

I think the Anna/Ashley scenes will take the place of Marlene’s tape recorded memos, and instead of Joel finding and experiencing them, we as viewers will know something he doesn’t - and that Ellie doesn’t, either. 

I think they have plenty of time in the finale with 43 minutes. 10-12 devoted to marlene/anna, 10-12 to Joel and Ellie making their way into SLC and with the giraffes, 12-16 devoted to joel and marlene, and then Joel’s journey through the hospital.   

That leaves 5-7 minutes of content left to get them back to Jackson, to have that final conversation and for whatever else they have to include. 

It’s going to be a rush. It’s going to feel fast ... but I don’t think they’re going to include the tunnel or the drowning, so that eliminates that encounter with the infected and cuts down on a LOT of what the final chapter is. 

I think episodes 6 and 7 have felt the least “forced” when it comes to including game dialogue and 1:1 adaptations, so I hope the same is true for the remaining two episodes. 

I feel like some of the dialogue has been a little flowy; there’s a little heavy-handedness when it comes to some of the things that have been said and shown, but overall, I can’t really complain. 

I really think that the bookended scenes in this week’s episode were VERY well done. Pedro’s acting is off the charts. Bella’s responses are spot on. The way he controlled his face and his expressions and those TEARS and the shivering... the GROANING. The way they held hands and didn’t even need to SAY ANYTHING??! 

I think that it’s really interesting how closely Joel reaching for Ellie mirrored Sarah gasping and reaching for Joel - and I have no idea where he found the strength to push her away like that - but I’m so glad he did, because even though that’s what he did, and he told her to GO... Ellie knew he didn’t mean it. 

Those two are so necessary to each other that it hurts. His lil face poking up over that coat made ME want to cry. I’m so glad that she didn’t go far, but we all knew she wouldn’t ever, at least until she found a way to stop the bleeding as much as she could. 

Thank you for wanting my rambles. thank you for being around to talk about this game and show with for the last .... however long. <3 

[sylvanas-girlkisser]

@drowmonk replied to your post “Hnnnngggghhhh I'm haunted by ideas for a Tomb...”:

*Palpatine voice* Do it!

@xhopsalong replied to your post “Hnnnngggghhhh I'm haunted by ideas for a Tomb...”:

if you wanted to be stopped you've come to the wrong place bc you had me at 'Sam'. tomb raider 2013 was everything okay

hnnngghhh maybe, here's my idea so far.

Basically I'm really taken with the concept of "dark mirror" characters, and I feel like both Amanda and the Lara clone kinda fall short at this. At the same time, I do also miss pre-2013 thrillseeker Lara, but that sort of personality just doesn't mix with modern ideals around archaelogy.

The modern trilogy has tried to make Lara come off as a good archaeologist; someone who respects the sovereignty of indigenous cultures, and takes only pictures and what is given to her.

Combined with how bookish new Lara is, I think there could be a very interesting dynamic by putting her up against someone who is just in it for the hell of it. A bored heiress looking for kicks and a few conversation starters for her 17 multimillion bachelorette crash pads.

And like, yeah the story itself is kinda given, Lara and her rival (for now i'm going with Alina) are both after the same "treasure", Lara for its archaeological significance, Alina cause it would look good 169 inch gold plated apple tv. It's all the little things that are missing, to get us to the catfights, the sweaty makeout session, the brawls that ends with one of them left bleeding on a cave floor. How does Sam fit into all of this?

I think one thing that would probably turn away a lot of readers (and yeah you shouldn't write to get readers but i digress) is the fact that the story in my head contains some amount of dubcon. Lara and "Alina" would to me represent two different but equally unhealthy ways of responding to trauma.

Lara like we see in the games, responds to the events of Yamatai, and the media shitstorm that followed it by try to enforce normality in her life - trying to stiff upper lip her way through gestures vaguely, while insisting that she is NOT CRAZY. One of the ways I've always imagined that manifesting is through aggressive denial of her own queerness (as well as any kinks she might have). She's a good christian girl, she's gonna find a brown eyed brown haired mr. right and have 2.3 children and that's that on that.

Alina meanwhile probably went through something similar to Yamatai, but went to the exact opposite extreme. She has stared death in the face and come back laughing, the world is fucked and the best you can hope is leave a pretty crater when you crash and burn. That same attitude is reflected in her queerness, sure being gay is illegal in Russia, but if you have money, everything is legal; and if people try to blackmail you, then you know those old Moscow houses, very weak windows, people fall out of them all the time.

And Alina can of course read Lara like an open book, she sees the way she looks at Sam, and the way she pauses to look at Alina lips while they're beating the shit out of each other. She knows, and because this would all be told from Lara's PoV so does the reader, that Lara's refusal to admit their mutual attraction is a product of internalized homophobia mixing with her steelheaded focus on proving that her and Alina are nothing alike.

At first Alina will try to "provoke" the dyke out of Lara, getting closer than they need to, inviting her on a barcrawl, hooking up with Sam and "accidentally" sending Lara their sex tape. You know, usual homoerotic rival stuff.

But Alina is not used to not getting the things she want, and especially after a very drunk Lara admits that she's actually super subby (justice for sub!Lara), she starts getting real forceful until Lara eventually reveals that yes she absolutely does want Alina to do all sorts of nasty things to her.

What I'm getting at, is that Alina is to some extent meant to be a, for lack of a better word, fetishization of the predatory lesbian trope - and I feel like lady Dimitrescu has proven that we as a society are ready for that, but also I would probably publish the fic under a pseudonym to limit the chance of tiktokkers sending me letterbombs.

[mlmxreader]

Not On The Floors | Helmut Zemo x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Hey, can I request “You’re bleeding all over my freshly mopped floors”  with zemo please? If you want to angst with a happy ending?

If not that alright, have a good night!

summary: in his biggest time of need, there’s only one person that Zemo can turn to for help, only one person that he can trust... he’ll even agree to mop the floors again in exchange. 

tws: swearing, blood, injury, smoking, drinking 

word count: 1080

You were enjoying your night, the last night home alone before Frank came back, when the doorbell rang; you had left the door unlocked for Frank, so you didn't think anything of it, thinking he was just announcing that he had returned, you didn’t even flinch when you heard the door slam; you only hoped that he wouldn’t drag fucking mud and shit all through the floors, you had mopped them not even an hour ago and they were only just dry. 

“Frank, if you get shit all over my floor, I’m gonna kill you!” 

“Es tut mir leid," you turned around to look at the voice, sighing when you saw Zemo, your boyfriend. “I need help, (y/n).” 

You furrowed your brows, but when you saw the blood on his jacket, you clenched your jaw. “You’re bleeding all over my freshly mopped floors, Helmut. Fucking sit down.” 

He did so with a laugh, but soon groaned when he shrugged his jacket off; across his forearm was a deep and awful gash, and he sighed as he looked at you. “Again, I’m so sorry.” 

You grumbled in response, fetching the first aid kit; it was a good thing that Frank had taught you how to stitch wounds like that, but when you sat opposite Zemo, you frowned. Your hands were shaking, and your heart was thudding in your chest as you looked at the gash. “Fuck… can you not go to the hospital?” 

Zemo shook his head, almost frantic as he reached for your hand, gripping it tightly, big brown eyes pleading as he gave you the best puppy dog eyes he could muster through the pain. “Bitte, Bärchen. Bitte.” 

You groaned softly, wrenching your hand out of his grasp and turning your attention to the first aid kit; you rummaged around for a moment, finding the sewing kit and the antiseptic wipes. You grabbed the bandages and made him hold them in his free hand - he could break his knuckles gripping them while you worked, at least. “It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker, you realise that, right?”

He nodded. “I’m ready when you are.” 

You grabbed one of the larger antiseptic wipes, trying not to show how your eyes welled up with tears when he winced loudly, making you clench your jaw as you tried to work steadily; your hands were shaking something awful as you wiped down the wound, slowly turning the antiseptic wipe orange. You tossed it aside when it was spent, and grabbed another to keep wiping it down; you weren’t even halfway done by the time you had used six. Six more, and the wound was clean; there was no debris, there were no foreign objects, the edges weren’t jagged and at least it was definitely clean. You grabbed the needle, stuck it through his skin but paused when he growled so loudly that you almost thought you had heard a death rattle; you started to work on stitching up the wound, having to put more force on his arm than first expected, if only to stop him from wriggling around and moving so much. Your heart was fucking pounding, and you could feel your breathing pick up and get more shallow as you worked; sure, patching up similar wounds on Frank meant nothing to you, you had done it for so many years that it was almost instinct these days… but Zemo was different. You loved him in a different sense and in a different way, and when he cried out with pain, you almost wanted to stop altogether; but you had to keep going, and only when the wound was finally stitched up properly, you could at last stop. Licking your lips, your mouth felt dry as you took the bandages from him, working slowly and cautiously on wrapping the wound; you had to use that awful smelling surgical tape Frank bought a couple nights before he had left to make sure that it was secure. 

“That too tight?”

“No,” he shook his head, his voice hoarse. “Thank you.” 

You dared to smile sadly at him. “What happened?”

“I met that new guy,” he explained, “you know, the one that dresses in all white and everything is moon-shaped?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know the guy. Frank takes the piss out of him every time they meet.” 

Zemo smiled, although it did not mask the pain as he groaned softly, pulling his bandaged arm to his lap as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Well, he doesn’t like me a lot.” 

You nodded. “How does it feel? The arm? I have some leftover painkillers from Frank’s last escapade. I still owe that damn nurse half a grand.” 

“I’ll pay it,” he told you gently, shaking his head. “In exchange for a night here.” 

You got up, abandoning him at the table for a moment so that you could roll two cigarettes; you sat back down opposite him, and chucked one his way. “Sure, I can do that. I’ll, uh, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” 

“You don’t have to,” Zemo said quietly. “I’m your boyfriend, we can share a bed.” 

You frowned, scratching at the back of your neck. “That ain’t why. I don’t wanna accidentally smack that gash of yours while I’m sound asleep. It’d only make it worse.” 

He let out a quiet hum, daring to take the lighter from you so that he could light his cigarette. “Thank you.” 

“It’s alright,” you told him with a shake of your head, taking the lighter back and lighting your cigarette. You dared to laugh. “You owe me, though, you fucking bled all over my floors and I spent ages mopping ‘em.” 

He smiled, nodding. “Of course, where are my manners, Bärchen?”

“Thank you,” you hummed, daring to nudge his shoulder as you raised your brows. “Fancy a beer?”

“I would kill for one,” he agreed. 

You got up, and Zemo heard the fridge open, glass bottles clinking together before you snapped the lids off on the counter; but when you brought them over, you passed his over his shoulder, and dared to press a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I missed you, y’know… after, y’know, I didn’t think I’d see you again.” 

“And yet here I am,” Zemo said quietly. “I told you, I will always return to your side. You’re the only one I can trust when things like this happen.” 

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “I love you, too.” 

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[ally-holmes]

Regular Customer | Steve Harrington x Reader (ch.8)

Series Masterlist.

Chapter Seven – Chapter Nine.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader|plus-sized!reader|nerd!reader

Word count: 3478

Warnings: Blood.

Regular Customer | Chapter Eight.

Covered in demogorgon's blood, Y/N helped Max until they found a safe place inside the theater version of the Upside Down. Max had a significant cut on her torso, not too deep but it kept bleeding. Also, in her fall, she sprained her ankle. The demogorgon had been lured to her due to a superficial cut on her knee.

"We were racing, you know. The loser had to buy the ice cream. I fell," the young teen explained.

After all the things Y/N had learned since March, she was ready to fight whenever she got out of her house. Eddie had gifted her a denim shoulder bag with patches of music bands in gratitude for her tutoring and she was obsessed with it. Therefore, that was the purse she had with her with a knife, a mini-first aid kit, and the essentials.

No matter how well they hid, as long as there was a blood smell on any of them, the monsters could find them. Y/N used the first aid kit to attend to Max's wounds covering them with adhesive tape, mostly, when the bandages ran short; then she covered them with the demogorgon's mucus and blood that was covering her dress.

"Ew– Fucking ew, Y/N! This is disgusting."

"Trust me, I know, but let's hope it'll cover the smell of your blood."

"Cool. What do we do now?"

"I've been thinking. Eleven can connect with people with the radio noise, right?" The other girl nodded so she kept talking. "Mike also said that she once was able to tune Will from the other side with his walkie and with the radio at school. We need to find some fabric to make bandages with and a walkie. Also, there's a huge chance the bastards are reunited in Wheeler's house so…"

"Wheeler's house it is."

The distance between the theater and Mike's house felt longer and infinite. Y/N had her knife tightly held in her dominant hand, while she helped Max limp forward. Eyes and ears were open, hypersensitive to the slightest change in their environment. They were in tension and had to stop and hide several times before they finally made it.

Using questionable fabric in the Upside Down Wheelers' house, Y/N fixed Max's ankle helping her be more comfortable and took the walkie. It didn't have batteries which wasn't that surprising considering that on the Upside Down there was no light, no water, nothing useful. Y/N suspected that even without the batteries, the walkie plan could still work.

"What now?" Max asked anxiously.

"Now we wait. If Lucas paid attention, he should've gone looking for El. Any request?"

"For what?"

"Singing, of course? I can't be asking if they copy every three seconds, I'm not Henderson."

Max rolled her eyes and fixed her eyes to the outside through the window, holding a softball bat the Wheelers had at home in the Upside Down version.

Y/N played with the walkie while thinking about a song.

"Here we stand. Worlds apart. Hearts broken in two, two, two," she sang softly to the walkie. "Sleepless nights, losing ground. I'm reaching for you, you, you. Feeling that it's gone. Can change your mind. If we can't go on. To survive the tide, love dives," she started to feel the song as she sang and she gave it all in the chorus. "Someday love will find you. Break those chains that bind you. One night will remind you. How we touched and went our separate ways. If he ever hurts you. True love won't desert you. You know I still love you. Though we touched and went our separate ways."

"Really?" Max complained.

"Hey! We have a walkie here. They have a walkie there. If we're at the same place and Eleven makes the connection we could be able to actually communicate with them."

*

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

"Here we stand. Worlds apart. Hearts broken in two, two, two–" a well-known voice half-singing through the walkie Eleven held.

"How long are you going to keep singing?" Another voice complained.

"It worked for Will, it should work for us. Why, Max, do you only know Kate Bush songs? No Journey? They're good."

Steve let out a shaky breath of relief. At least they were fine. Nancy was still anxious, and he couldn't blame her; if he was feeling like this about a woman he had only known since March, she must've been going insane.

They were about to taste their second theory of the day when the Wheelers' basement door got opened. Hopper entered dragging a covered in Upside Down mucus Jonathan Byers.

A bubbling growl vibrated in the walkie.

Silence.

Steve's skin broke into goosebumps. He snatched the walkie, "Y/N! Hey! Y/N, are you there? Are you alright?"

"Sorry," El mumbled.

"Can you find them again?"

"I can try."

"Guys, listen, I made a signal amplifying for our radios in the science camp this summer. Suzie said it was very smart."

"To the point, Dustin," Lucas cut him off.

"Yeah. Right. My point is that if we use my invention with El's powers we could actually communicate with the other side instead of just listening to them."

"I see what Dustin's trying to say," Mike claimed. "The gates, the Huntgates, that the new rogue demomonsters are using are too small or too brief to come with a plan. We could set a trap, open a controlled Huntgate that Max and Y/N could use to come back."

"Which will only work if they know where and when the gate's going to open," Lucas pointed out.

"Exactly. And here we have two experts in luring a demogorgon to our world," Dustin pointed to Jonathan and Nancy, still hugging each other, with both hands extended.

"Kids, we need more time to come up with a plan. Let's not rush things, alright?" Hopper intervened.

"We can't just wait with our arms crossed! Max and Y/N are still there!" Robin burst out starting a catastrophic rambling about the dangers of the other side and how every minute they spent there, alone, implied more chances of ending up dead.

Steve couldn't hear that right now. Not when his heart was recoiling painfully in his chest; the guilt was eating him alive and his blood was boiling with such intensity, that the moment someone came into his path, he most probably was going to destroy them. He couldn't stand being there. The chaos between the kids talking all at the same time, Eleven failing to contact again, Lucas shaking like a leaf, Hopper being his usual cop-asshole-like, Nancy and Jonathan safe and sound, Eddie turning green with nausea… Steve couldn't take it anymore. He needed air.

As he approached the basement door, Nancy stopped him by holding his arm with a sweet smile on her face.

"We would find them, Steve."

"Not now, Nance," he spat.

"Don't worry, man. Y/N's tough and resourceful; I'm sure she–"

"Look, I'm sorry," Steve cut Jonathan too loudly. The room went quiet. "I can't do this right now. The woman I love is trapped in the Upside Down with a bunch of hungry monsters that can smell blood. She's in danger and it's all my fault. If I'd gone to our date on time she wouldn't have gone through the gate. If Nancy hadn't called I would've been on time. If you hadn't gone missing– I don't want to be an asshole. I truly don't want to, man, but all I have inside of me is hate and guilt, and I have these awful thoughts… I'm sorry. I need to go. Just– Just leave me alone."

He didn't go too far. Steve got out of the house, the hot and humid night air in Hawkins did nothing good to his nerves; he walked up and down a couple of laps until finally collapsing near the garage door, away from busybody neighbors. He ran his hands through his hair destroying hours of work. Shit, if only–

Before he could keep the self-beating up, the sound of heavy footsteps made him look up. Eddie walked towards him, without looking directly at him, and sat next to him without a word. From the back pocket of his jeans, he produced a pack of cigarettes mostly full. He took one out, lit it, and pass it to Steve, who accepted it without much thinking. The smoke burned his lungs as he took a very long drag. Eddie lit one for himself.

"I didn't know you smoked, Steve." His eyes were lost in the darkness before them.

"I used to. Tommy and Carol were very pushy on the matter. I quit, though."

"Why?"

"Henderson, mostly."

"Oh, yeah. The little shit gets worked up every time he sees me smoking more than one."

"Yeah… Then Robin, of course. You saw it, she would ban tobacco if she could."

"True. I tried to quit five times now. Y/N doesn't really mind; she never goes all stern-mother on me or anything, but I notice the way her nose wrinkle when she smells the fresh cigarette smoke on me."

"I don't even buy marijuana anymore, you know? I don't smoke. I barely drink. I'm a fucking mom of six rebellious teenagers… I kept my lighter, though. Comes in handy to set monsters on fire."

"Cool, dude."

Steve held the cigarette before him between his fingers, watching as it consumed itself slowly, losing his mind on the movement of the smoke. "It's my fault." He whispered.

"It's not."

"Eddie…"

"Steve. It's not your fault."

Instead of arguing on the matter, Steve looked at Eddie. He had recovered a bit of color on his face but still looked ready to puke. "If she dies…"

"Don't say that, she's not gonna die."

"Eddie, if something bad happens to Y/N I won't be able to look at Jonathan or Nancy in the face ever again." Steve waited until Eddie looked back at him to keep talking, "I wish it was him. I would give everything I own. I would destroy the fucking world just to go back in time and change Y/N for Jonathan. I want her here. Safe and sound. And if something bad happens to her, if she gets hurt or if she dies… I keep thinking about it and it burns my insides. Why is Jonathan here and not Y/N? I know it's not fair to think like that. Shit, I know it makes me look bad but I can't help it."

Eddie lit another cigarette after the first one was consumed; he took a long drag blowing the smoke into the air. "I know what you mean, Steve."

"I can't look at them right now. I can't be there and see how happy they are. I can't, Eddie, because I just want to hurt them. I want to make them pay for this…" Steve clenched his hand over his chest, tears falling warm from his eyes "...this pain and uncertainty. I know it's not their fault. My brain is telling me I'm being ridiculous, but I can't help it. It's completely irrational! Fuck!"

"I get it, Steve. You said so yourself, you love her, and she's in danger. Of fucking course you will slash Byers' throat if with that you could have her back safe. Fuck, I'll hold him for you, man."

They remained together in the comfortable silence of people who were trapped inside their minds, too busy worrying about somebody they loved.

*

One step to the right. Knees down. Hunch the back and then up again, knife held with both hands. The demodog fell; one half to the right and the other to the left. Y/N's knife was sharp. She could feel the sticky and pestilent blood of the monster drying on top of her skin and clothes. Using a handkerchief she kept in her purse, she cleaned the blade and gave the fabric to Max ordering her to cover her skin with it. Between gags, the redhead did as she was told.

"That was close."

"Not really. The dog was small." Y/N inspected the dead monster on her feet. "Look at this. Its skin is still tender. It almost looks like it was new. I bet it'd barely shedded its skin. It was hungry and uncoordinated."

"I don't get it. Last time, they had his hive mind that kept them connected and if one knew where we were, all of them knew. I remember when Dustin wanted to hunt Dart, his own demodog. Yes, he was that stupid. He and Steve set a trap for it, but a bunch of them showed up. They hunt in packs, they're smart."

"If that were true once, it's not anymore. That little guy wouldn't show up here alone looking for food if they hunt and move in packs. Something might've happened when we killed Vecna. He was the hive mind owner, so to speak."

"Yes. Okay. But, if the hive mind owner dies, its monsters do too, don't they? It's what happened when Eleven closed the Mothergate."

"When we killed Vecna, there was such a strong earthquake our Hawkins felt it. Maybe that's what changed. A burst of power."

"And what does that mean for us?"

Y/N meditated in silence for a moment. Max's question was interesting enough for her to stop the adrenaline from running through her veins, take a breath, and actually think about their situation. What does that mean for them?

*

"Evolution!" Dustin yelled.

He'd gone to his house for his homemade amplifier with Mike and Erica; they'd been throwing ideas about what was happening to the Upside Down and the moment they went back in Dustin was ready to present his latest hypothesis.

By the time they were back, Jonathan had already showered and changed clothes. Steve was calmer but kept himself in solitude. Robin was losing her mind, again. And Hopper was on the phone with someone he knew from the government while smoking his twentieth cigarette.

"What?" Lucas asked.

"That's what happened. It's not that they went rogue from the hive min. They evolved. Vecna controlled the Upside Down, he created the monsters, didn't he? Well, once he was dead, every monster should be dead."

"But they're not." Eddie pointed out.

"Exactly!! Evolution, baby. Darwin, in his Theory of Evolution, postulated that complex creatures evolve from more simplistic ancestors naturally over time due to 'natural selection' because only the better genetic code with beneficial mutations is the one preserved in the organisms with time. Like, the bad genetics won't reproduce. Get it?"

"We think that the monsters in the Upside Down are genderless and reproduce asexually. Maybe they use the vines to implant the larvas inside a host for them to grow."

With Mike's words, Will remembered the larva he vomited when he was back from the Upside Down and had to sit.

"Like the movie Alien," Eddie pointed out.

Dustin snapped his fingers and pointed at him, "Just like Alien. You got it."

"That reproductive system it's just a theory we cannot prove," Erica intervened. "Although, we've been thinking, and we came to the conclusion that if the Theory of Evolution could be applied with the world Vecna created, it was just a matter of time that the Upside Down monsters separated themselves from the hive mind. I don't know, maybe because of the food, or because of how bossy Vecna was."

"It could've happened with time, but the moment the gates kept opening and closing, the monsters had glimpses of our world. Of freedom," Mike was talking very excitedly. His eyes sparkled and his hands moved uncoordinated. "That's why, when Vecna was killed, his dead spread such an amount of power that our world felt it as an earthquake."

"That power could've broken the last strings to the hive mind. And, following Darwin, we believe that some of the monsters were already in that process of evolution; which means that the power break gave them the last push they needed for their evolution." Dustin continued.

"Yes. And we just have to remember how fucking fast Dart grew up. It's possible that the demogorgons that right now are changing worlds and are independent, were just larvas the moment Vecna died," Mike finished.

Hopper closed the distance with them with a frown, "All that science stuff is very educational, boys, but what does that mean for us?"

"That we're screwed," Erica deadpanned.

"That's a point of view," Dustin scolded her.

"It's not a point of view. It's the truth."

Lucas put himself between Dustin and his sister looking into his friend's eyes. "What does that mean for Max?"

Dustin looked at Lucas and glanced at Steve, who was watching everything from a distance. The boy took his cap off and ran a hand through his hair; the silence felt too heavy on his shoulders.

"It means that the monsters won't hunt in packs anymore. That's good. It means that if they step on a vine they're not going to have all the Upside Down in their tails. That's good too."

"What's bad, then?" Steve broke his silence.

After opening and closing his mouth three times, Mike figured Dustin wasn't able to answer, so he did it himself, "The uncertainty. That's bad. We can predict their hunt rituals, like the smell of blood, but we can't be sure about how many of them are going to show up at once. That's… That's worse."

"And the fact that it doesn't really matter if we make them come back, those demomonsters could open another gate any fucking time. Even in our bedroom. You know about the monster in the closet? Picture it as a demogorgon now. That's what's happening," Erica finished.

"If you must go. I wish you love. You'll never walk alone…" Y/N singing voice came through the radio.

While Dustin, Mike, and Erica explained their theory, Nancy had helped Eleven attach the amplifier Dustin had made to the radio and she'd found them.

"They're still here," she said.

Nancy took the walkie and pressed the button, the moment of truth. "Y/N? Max? Do you copy?"

"Oh, thank fuck! Nancy? Can you hear me?"

"We all can. Are you alright?"

A sad hysterical laugh vibrated through the radio, "Wrong question, Wheeler."

"We have a plan to get you out of there. Can you go to the old Byers' house?"

A beat of silence, "Are you fucking serious? That's… Shit. Fuck. I–"

"I can make it," Max's voice sounded stern.

"Yeah, because it's going to be fuckin easy to walk there with a sprained ankle. Sure. It's not like this fucking town is filled with hungry monsters or anything. But, hey, I have a knife and you have a softball bat. We could make it there. Sure, why not?"

Steve snatched the walkie from Nancy, "Breath," he commanded. "Y/N, take a deep breath. You can do it. We'll be there, on the other side, waiting for you. It doesn't matter how long you take, do the travel safely, you hear me?"

A wet, soft laugh came from the other side, "Have you mistaken me for some sort of superhero, Harrington? The distance. The lack of weapons. The health state of Max. The monsters… It's suicidal. I–"

"You'll do it. You can do it." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again, this time he felt stronger than ever. "I've spent the evening thinking it was my fault that you went there. You would've gone anyway. The moment you saw Max and Lucas in danger you went to help them and that's what you're doing. The same thing you did when you jumped into the lake after me. The same thing you did for Eddie when Vecna started to kill. You protect the people you love, to death. It doesn't matter if it hurts or if it's scary or if it would mean the end of your own life, you keep fighting for the people you love. That's why I know you're going to make it to the Byers' house with Max. Go there. Take your time. Be safe. We'll get you back."

"Steve, I–"

"Oh my God!! Y/N!!" Max screamed. They heard glass broken and strong hits against a firm surface.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Y/N. Y/N," Steve clenched the walkie anxiously.

Some rustling noise preceded a painful growl and a cry.

"We see you there," Y/N promised with heavy breathing.

Silence.

Eleven cleaned the blood from her nose. She'd won more power since Vecna was defeated but her nose kept bleeding with the tiniest effort.

Steve felt all the eyes of the room on him, "What are you looking at? Come on, we need to move."

To be continued…

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[httpjupiterbby]

blood spills au picture me this.... wanda bringing r with her to work one day and a new guy or wtv making a comment and wanda Losing her shit

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No one has permission to repost or translate my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 ®

a/n: sad today but still got this done… also 1000/10 would want ‘blood spills’ au wanda to rail me into the next universe.… thanks for listening to my sins :))

warnings:18+ uhhh mentions of murder.. rude guy calling wanda’s girl a whore, almost murder, physical fighting, oh yeah and blood :)

 ─────────────────────────

“And this is where all the magic happens” Wanda says as she opens the door, you walk in eyes wandering around the room, a few of Wanda’s guys stood around talking amongst themselves. A chair stood in the middle of the room, blood stains around it, various guns, ropes, tape laid out on a table near the chair among other things.

“Wow” Is all you say as you walk around the chair, fingers glaze the top of it, you bite you bottom lip as you pictured your dad sitting on the chair, screaming in pain as he bleeds to death.

“Is this another one of Wanda’s whores?” A voice whispered behind you, not a very good whisper as most of the room was quiet when Wanda had walked in listening to her as she spoke with one of her trusted guys. Clenching your jaw as your eyes began to water. ‘There are other girls’ , you blink the tears away

Wanda stalks towards the guy, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throws him against the wall, one hand letting go as she grabs her gun and shoves the tip of it under his jaw, “the fuck did you just say?!” She asked, you turned around and watched hoping she’d just shot his head already.

“i-i- i was just i” The man stuttered as he stares at Wanda with fearful eyes, “i-i-i” Wanda mocks him as she presses the gun harder into him, “You heard what I fucking said, I don’t speak no other languages.. to you at least”

“I- i asked Mark if s-she was another o-one of your w-w-whores” He stutters, Wanda smirks evilly “That’s what I thought you said” She lets him go, the guy sighs of relief before groaning in pain falling on the floor as Wanda punches him in the face, “I get that you’re a newbie and have heard stories about me but don’t you ever call any woman that passes through here a whore” She spits and kicks him in the stomach, “You’re fucking lucky I didn’t fucking kill you but don’t think I won’t next time you decide to make a smart comment”

The mob boss kicks him once more before turning around to you, quickly taking you in her arms as she searches your face, “You okay, baby?”

You nod and swallow the lump in your throat, “You have other girls?” You asked her, eyes full of anger. Wanda shakes her head, “No.. well I did” She tells you, “But I stopped talking to them when I met you, I swear, baby” She leans down and rubs her nose against yours, “Daddy only wants and loves you”

Smiling, you peck her lips, “You better. I won’t hesitate to kill a bitch, if i have to” You tell her grinning, Wanda chuckles, “I know you won’t. C’mon I still have to show you the shooting range” She starts to pull you out of the room, you follow behind her squeezing her hand, “I can’t believe you didn’t kill him. I really wanted you to”

“Every newbie deserves a second chance, baby” Wanda says, letting go of your hand and sliding her arm around your back, pulling you into her side, you rolling your eyes at her words, “Still think you should’ve killed him”

“I just love you more and more, princess”

“Princess? I’m a queen, daddy.”

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@sincerelyyyalexx @ilovehotactresses

i don’t know why it won’t let me tag you :((

[quillheel]

They remember that ; that sentiment shed onto them, of tomorrows, of other days ; from a time that no longer exists, and perhaps never did.

They know, in a way they cannot think, but know anyhow that this is not true. That, in some caliber, tomorrows do not exist in the facet of survival, of unending peril, of the way she continues to return, of the way she will not stop keep coming back. They know this, that it doesn’t matter, as much as they know that the words, the phrase, is from something that cannot exist and never has. This does not stop the way it lodges into their mind like a leech, or a tick, or something under the skin. The mind they do not have, the mind they do now. 

These instances, where it is them and not him, are rare, and few, and uncomfortably quiet. This existence is one out of fried circuitry left to rot as decay settles into their metal bones the way marrow is not hollow but theirs are ━ concave, full of something, all nonexistent nerve. Their body threatens, always, to give out beneath them both, and these threats are not empty so much as they are desperately held back. Joints barely in repair, their mind clogged with two consciousnesses and a head full of bones, a head full of meat, a head full of tomorrow, and quiet, and discomfort, and senselessness. 

They, for a digital thing, should not be distinguishable from him at all, in a specific, clear-cut way that is stark against the erosion of holes through material that make up their clogged casing ━ like a single bright light. ━ that, even in a world where ghosts are real and they love you and they miss you and they hate you and they’re sorry, they should not be able to think, to feel the crackle of circuitry, to know this. ━━━ the iron maiden should not know, and yet,

━ and yet. the question prompts silence in the nervous way you’ve asked it, stretching, unbreathing, uncomfortable. To men, it would be the damning silence of a fools inquiry, knowing better, mocking in the indirect way that it is beneath them to even answer, but to Bonnie : an olive, husked thing : this is not the same. 

“ Bright. Loud. Tomorrow is━━ “ their voice-box crackles with wires too astonished in their own blinding, brief functionality that they give out underneath their own weight just after. Four words, for a thing like them with nothing to say except everything and nothing to do it with except bleed to try, is still too much. Their voice-box fills the room in a brief, frightening static that fills the building before it stops just as suddenly, and the tape starts again ━ recording over something that does not exist, something from nothing, something from nothing at all

" ... They liked it there, " a small admittance in a small voice in a much too big body, like they, in a distant way, were afraid that if they spoke too loud he'd wake up, and pry their voice from them. A child hiding a secret. They were never a child to begin with. " in the lights, with us, back then. They liked the music. The walls were white, confetti covered the floors, floors the same color as my bowtie, my bowtie the━ "

the stopping is a choice. the stopping is one they must make. they cannot tell her everything without risking falling back into a past they understand the ending of. They cannot tell her everything without risking losing themselves entire. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Sleep a little longer.

" ... We'd play songs, mostly. " they should not sound breathless. They do anyway. " I told stories, he always sang... When someone had a birthday there, there was a deal they always had. A free cupcake. Store bought. I remember that. "

so many small things, in the face of, in the spite of something so large. they remember the way the boys head cracked, and the confetti washed away in the blood, and the purple turned pink, then black. They hope they remember it forever. No one else will have to, then. Only them. Only them. That would be nice, and good, and quiet, when it's over. Only them. Only them.

" ... I don't know what you want from me. " they admit this not as a bid of silence, but unable to convey the lengths of which memory used to go, of which that place meant " So much. And so, so little. I don't know what you want more. "

" I don't know, myself, either. "

@quillheel​ sent ;;

tomorrow  is  another  day  . / fr0m Spring B0nnie! / quiIIheeI

[ fnaf prompts. | accepting. ]

   A heavy sigh is what leaves her; slumping further into her chair as she lets out a quiet laugh as she listens. She is tired, she hasn’t slept; plagued by her nightmares and the looming sense of pressure on her shoulders ( she put that there herself, in all honesty ). She pushes herself up, leaning back as she glances to the rabbit, hands reaching around herself to lock her own body into a self-hug, a cheeky little smile popping on her face as she gave a small hum of agreement– the other was right, after all, tomorrow will always be far more different, she just hopes that she can last for it. Her feet kick the air a bit idly as she sticks where she is for the moment, brain whirling to life in order to answer.

   ❝ Every day’s different from the last, considering. ❞ She states, tilting her head for a moment, ❝ Though, they do tend to blur together when you’re just trying to survive, if that makes sense. ❞ Another laugh, and Nova pauses to think of a question, ❝ …Hey, Bon. ❞ Her eyes focus on the other, and Nova gave a small smile, something a little nervous, as though what she wanted to ask might be a bit… strange, but if she does not ask now; she may not never know ( and as silly as it was, not knowing was the only thing killing her from the inside ).

   ❝ You… you don’t have to answer, but what was it like? ❞ She starts, ❝ Um, back then, ‘course, in the… the diner. ❞ Her hand raises, scratching the side of her neck as she looked down, ❝ My parents were real young when they were there, so they don’t really remember much of it… but I guess I kinda wanted to know. And… you’re, like, basically my best source of information. ❞

   ❝ Does… that make sense? ❞