#I cringe at the stitches scene so bad

[ashlynnlylim]

Finally watched the Butterbean scene (was gonna watch it with my sister but she went and consumed the entire first movie without me 😠) and got my screenshots, now I'm gonna draw the hell outta this 🤘🏻

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Scratches in the Surface

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader 

Synopsis: Investigating Shepherd was a mistake, but the betrayal of John Price hurt more than anything Shadow Company could do to you.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Talks of gore, torture, violence, swearing, blood, angst

A/N: Not really sure if I like this or not, but the idea was good so I kept it. Your codename in this is ‘Key.’ Part 2

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The buzzing lights above you were going to drive you insane faster than the damn clicking of the man’s pen, but you endured the overstimulation of your brain with an expression of boredom. 

Click, click-clack, click,

God, You clench your teeth together, either stop that, or I’m going to– 

When you go to move your hands over the metal table, the cuffs around your wrists shriek as they slide. The man in front of you pauses, looking up from his file, the manila folder sitting tantalizingly close; your fingers curl over the paper cup to your right, grabbing it and dragging it to your lips. 

As you sip the stale water, your eyes bore into the CIA Agent over the rim, unblinking and dead. Feeling the liquid travel down your throat and hit hard into your empty stomach, you watch the man tense in his seat, his eyes averting from your own quickly like you were a blazing fire. Suppressing a smirk, the man clears his throat.

You place the cup down delicately, leaving a small amount of water behind, right as the door behind the man opens loudly, creaking on its hinges and making you cringe.

Your gaze snaps to the familiar head of blonde hair that belongs to Kate Laswell, her stone-cold face more wrinkled since the last time you had seen her. The woman walks through the door, and the Agent gets to his feet quickly, leaving the file on the table.

“Ma’am,” He says, holding onto the back of the chair as he turns to face Laswell, “She hasn’t said anything since she arrived.”

“Thank you, Moore. I’ll take it from here,” Kate sighs deeply, her white dress shirt and black pants swishing as the air conditioning comes on. The lanyard around her neck makes a slight clinking noise as her name card jumps with her steps. 

You tilt your head as far as the bandages around your neck allow, feeling the stitches on your throat pull painfully; you hoped your former friend could see the blood already staining the gauze. 

The man leaves with clacking shoes, taking the godforsaken pen with him, and Laswell takes his seat. You couldn’t help but compare the scene to a transaction – you being the package thrown between unwilling participants. Not that you cared. The aches and pains in your body demanded retribution; you were more scar tissue now than skin. 

The silence between the two of you is thick, eyes clashing in a mute battle of wills you know you’ll win. You’d had four years to squelch every ounce of weakness from your body – waiting, praying, for this moment. 

Just as you imagined, Laswell breaks first.

“I never knew that Shepherd was capable of doing what he did,” Her hair collects in a bun at the base of her neck, and her bangs caress her forehead. The Agent’s style hadn’t changed, at least, “When you told me that I should–”

Kate stops mid-sentence. 

You watch her gaze fall to your arms on the table and your fingers twitch. 

Frowning, you suppose the widening of her eyes was about all the reaction you would get out of her; the one second of horror that sweeps Laswell’s eyes before the practiced calm resettles like mud in the water. But the satisfaction you garner is unparalleled. 

“You ever been thrown into a tub full of glass, Kate,” Laswell flinches at the gravel in your throat, vocal cords ripping with every word, “It’s not that bad if you don’t move so much,” You smirk, letting the dry skin on your lips break open, “Kinda hard, though, when you have a million little knives digging into your flesh.” 

“I didn’t…” Kate closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, looking away from the mangled remains of the skin of your arms, the more significant cuts starting at your elbow that jaggedly run down your forearm. Those ones weren't made by glass, but you didn’t tell the woman that. 

Let her squirm, You pick up your paper cup, grasping the rim and the hard wire hidden in the fold, It’s been a long time since I had that effect on anyone. I want to get my edge back. I need my edge back.

Kate continues her previous sentence, placing her hands on top of the folder on the table and clenching them together. You bring the cup to your lips, sipping down the last few drops before letting your bound hands fall once more. You rest them on your lap and fiddle with the cup, shifting your shoulders to relieve the tension that sits there.

“I didn’t believe you at the time about Shepherd, Key, and that was my biggest mistake. I led an investigation the second you went missing but as far as everyone was concerned you had disappeared off the face of the earth. We had no leads, no information, and no trace,” She sighs, “You have to believe me when I say we did everything that we could too–”

“We?” You scoff, “We? You’re saying you had Price working on this?” You spit out the name as venom leaks from your tone; leaning forward you see shadows move from the corner of your eye. 

You had nearly forgotten the glass window to your right, no doubt the multiple shadows barely seen behind the one-way were faces you had prayed to come and save you for all that time in the facility. You knew Price’s outline when you saw it – bulkier than the rest, large shoulders, and the bulge around his head because of that damn black beanie. The fidgeting was a new tick, though. Then again, it had been years. Maybe you had never really known him at all. 

You blink, stuffing away that fact with a pounding heart. 

Calm down, you growl to yourself, You’re in control. You…You are fucking in control. Don’t think about John Price. 

“...That’s really cute. Do you want a medal? A pat on the back?” You grunt and shut down the conversation, noticing you’ve been crushing the cup in your grip under the table, the object shaking from the force of your fingers. Leaning back, you take in a slow breath, “It never really added to much, did it?”

To anyone besides Kate Laswell and John Price, no one would have noticed your sanity fraying at the seams inside your pounding brain. Licking your tongue over your teeth your eyes stay locked with Laswell’s as you feel panic build.

It’s a long time before the woman speaks again. She utters your real name under her breath.

“We tried everything to find you. But as I got sucked more and more into Shepherd’s world, allegations started to gain validity, and the news of your death–”

“And all it took was him losing three American missiles and his little Shadow Company friends killing more than half a city in Mexico?” You force out a chuckle, your white hospital t-shirt uncomfortable over the mass amounts of bandages digging into your skin. Kate brings a hand to her temple, rubbing it with shaking hands, “Yeah,” You deadpan, “They told me about that.”

“Do…Do you know anything about where he might be?”

“Shepherd?” You sputter out a harsh laugh that leaves Laswell swallowing, “what, do you think I’m the center of the gossip ring? They kept me in a fucking dark room for days at a time. The only thing I heard was the rats eating the corpses in the corner and the sound of my blood hitting the drain basin.” 

You rose your right hand as far as the cuffs would allow and pointed your thump at the one-way glass, “Until your Toy Soldiers broke me out, that is.”

“Key,” Kate shakes her head and you know what bullshit she’s about to spill, “I can’t imagine what you went through for all those years. If we knew you were still alive I know Price and I would have–”

You tune out whatever Laswell says, fingers fidgeting under the table as you turn your head and itch the thin bandage over your chin with your shoulder, feeling stitches break open. The Ac unit was so damn loud, and that stupid buzzing of the lights. 

Fuck, everything’s just too loud, You begin to bite on the skin of your bottom lip, peeling back the flesh until you feel blood dribble down. 

Laswell calls your name, and you narrowly suppress a flinch, your eyes flickering closed before snapping back to the woman. You release your lip silently and live with the pain that breeds. 

“What?” You numbly question, foot shaking under the table.

“How about I get you something to eat?” Kate draws out and you don’t like the concerned glance she sends to the glass as she shuffles forward in her chair, “They have those mini sandwiches in the cafeteria that you love.” The woman licks her lips, her blue eyes running over the noticeable bulges of bandages and gauze that span your chest and abdomen, down your thighs and legs. The bottoms of your feet, under your socks and shoes, even have wraps. All stained red.

“Not hungry,” You clear your throat through the lie. 

“Key,” Kate whispers, “you’re skin and bones.”

“You think I don’t know that, Laswell?” The words set you off, snapping from your lips as your eyes flash and your face twists. The Agent tenses, shoulders locking tight, “I’ve looked like this ever since you and Price sold me off like a fucking dog with a rope around its neck!” Your wild eyes revel in the fear that sweeps Kate’s face. She doesn’t know you anymore, “That was you two wasn’t it? Or are my memories more fucked up than I know…? Huh?! Did the electrocution finally fry my brain?!” 

Laswell’s eyes fall to the table.

“I trusted you!” You’re screaming now, guttural and savage; every so often your voice would break, and the shadows behind the glass were all straight as a rod except one, one who slightly hunches as if in guilt, “You both left me to die! I gave you evidence, I showed you facts and you turned me over like I meant nothing to you! Like I meant nothing to Price!” The words hurt you when you spit them out, and the stitches over your throat feel like they’re on fire. 

Oh, God, John I wanted more than anything for you to find me – t-to stop it. Stop the pain, stop the torture. I need you. Where did you go, John?

“We couldn’t act on–”

“You trusted Shepherd more than you trusted me! That’s what you acted on. That’s the truth.” You turn your head to the ceiling, trying to stop the vile tears that coat your eyes as you suck in ragged breaths. Your ribs ache awfully. 

A minute passes, then two.

The next words come out muffled with numbness, whispered from your bloody lips, “Their deaths are on you. I pass off my guilt of it.” 

You could hear a pin drop. Hell, did they even know? 

“The bodies in the corner…” Laswell whispers, and you hear her throat get clogged.

“What,” You snicker, “Your forensic team not identify them yet? The ones with their faces still on, that is?” 

“Who are they, Key?” Kate whispers but you know she knows the answer already. So does Price. 

You turn your head to the glass, finding that familiar shadow and boring your eyes into it blankly. Feeling your tears dribble down your cheeks, you smirk when the black on the other end turns its head away. The others shift nervously before you look back at Kate.

“Shane, Jax, Alice, and Sam.”

Laswell’s eyes snap downward to her clenched hands.

You lean closer, “Look at me,” You growl lowly, “Kate, look at me.” 

Her eyes are red when they meet yours and you stifle a deep-chested laugh at the sight. A vicious smile blooms over your cheeks, teeth and all.

“He killed my fucking family, Laswell. My squad. My brothers and sisters that I never even involved in this because I knew how it could end if it went south. And they ripped them to fucking pieces while they were still alive,” You lift a free hand and throw your unlocked cuffs on the table, the small, thin, metal wire from your paper cup visibly stuck in the key slot. It rams onto the surface with a bang. Laswell flinches back, head snapping to the object in surprise, “That’s on you and Price. And I want it to haunt you just as it haunts me.” You tilt your head to the side, nodding towards the cuffs, “Good to see my nickname held up, at least. As you can imagine my tricks don’t work so well on rope or barbed wire.”

A ruckus sounds from the other room, loud shouting, and the rushing of feet. You lean back in your chair, slouching, and not soon after the door to the room slams open; John Price stands in the doorway with a stupid look on his face you can’t help but huff at.

“There he is,” You mutter, staring his blue eyes down as his large frame nearly hits the sides of the wall. You spread your arm out, elbows on the armrests sarcastically, “The other person I’m so eager to see.” 

Laswell stands on shaky feet and exits the room, shoving past John as he stares at you. For a moment you see what you could on describe as guilt on his face before it's wiped away the next instant. 

Not bothering to speak anymore – you’ve said your piece – you bring your hands up and caress the red skin where the cuffs had been. The area was more sensitive now that the flesh had been torn away time after time while you were held by Shadow Company in some godforsaken facility in the wilderness. You throw the remnants of the ripped-up cup onto the table. 

The door closes nearly silently, and heavy feet pad forward. You could lie to yourself and say you don’t feel your heart pounding, but what use would it be?

John sits in Laswell’s chair before palming the once more left-behind file. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, as he slowly flips through the pictures. Pictures of you, of your once perfect body full of scars and burns and bruises over every inch. You swore you saw his fingers begin to shake as he turns another page. 

John Price used to be something important to you. A friend, a mentor, and if time had permitted, perhaps he would have been something more. You don’t choose to dwell on these thoughts, but they haunt you still; how he would always prioritize your safety on missions, and give you a rare real smile when you impressed him. His laugh when you slipped out crappy jokes on missions together. The imprint of his calloused hand seemed to forever live on the back of your head, dragging you into a tight hug as you remember an OP in Romania.

On the mission, when a bullet had lodged itself between your third and fourth rib, the outcome had seemed grim – hopeless – but all John did was grab your cheeks and force your eyes on him as the Medic worked hastily, grunting and uttering calmly.

“Eyes open, Sweetheart. Keep them on me, eh…? There you go, atta girl. I’m right here,” It was safe to say you had chosen to stare at those unusually soft baby blues the entire time you were getting Evac. and John had dragged you into the ramshackle head-to-chest-hug the second you were stable, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Talking so sweetly you had wanted nothing more than him.

He had been so much more than a Captain to you. 

But that was all so long ago, and the memories were rotted like tree trunks. He was just another face, a handsome one, yes – he still hadn't shaved his beard and the circles under his eyes looked darker than you could ever remember seeing them – but still that rugged charm that was John. 

I trusted you, You want to scream at him, hit him, tear his throat out. But in the end, you did nothing, but you didn’t trust me. 

The wrinkles around his eyes tighten as he sees the extensive claw shreds over your back on one of the printed sheets, the impression of dog teeth over your left shoulder blade and right thigh.

You feel a tightening in your throat. 

“They liked their dogs,” You mutter, “That’s for sure.” 

Price’s throat bobs. 

“German Shepherd?” He asks, accented voice thick, picking up the picture and grasping it so tightly the corner creases. 

“Nah, Doberman.” 

“Hm,” He grunts, finally looking up from the picture to stare into your broken eyes. Against your better judgment, you look away first, not able to stand the unwavering blue with that specific emotion staining the iris. John was different from Laswell. He…He had meant more. 

That’s why it hurt so much to be near him because he would always mean more.

Under the table, your feet shook. John cleared his throat, placing the image down and closing the file before he, in the buzzing of the lights and the whishing of the Ac, whispers your name under his lips.

You’re ashamed of the way it makes you feel like you could cry, your body freezing. Only he could utter it in that way. You had waited to hear him say your name every single day you were stuck with the Shadows.

“Save it,” You nod your head his way once, not looking up from your lap, “I don’t want your apology, Price. It’s done.”

The Captain’s head nods firmly, ever the gentleman, chin jerking as he clenches his jaw. John’s fingers close your file and he taps it with the back of his knuckles, prompting you to raise your gaze to follow the motion. 

“I want every name you can remember, yeah?” You pause, for a moment you thought you hadn’t heard him correctly. Under the table, you can feel your knee spasm with nerves. 

Picking your gaze up, you travel the length of Price’s tight gray shirt; looking over his combat vest and all the tiny pouches holding only he knows what. You settle on the man’s eyes with a small hitch in your breath. He looked furious, downright lethal. 

John’s shoulders were tense, muscles vibrating with badly concealed anger. At his neck, he had a visible tendon from how hard he was clenching his jaw. Had he not read the file before now? Seen the pictures? Or was that not even the point? You frown, shifting in your chair with nervousness. Your head was all messed up. 

Logically you knew his anger wasn't directed at you, but you could never be too cautious when it came to someone you haven’t seen in a while. Men had been the source of your problems for four years, and even if you knew John the thought remained that if you had changed so drastically, so could he. 

At your silence, Price pauses, blinking a few times before he realizes his hand is clenched on the table, nails biting into his skin. He leans back into the chair with a heavy inhalation, bringing a hand up to rub over his face. John holds a hand over his mouth for a moment, eyes closed, and you watch him and his unsteady breaths that echo through the interrogation room. His chest sputters.

So now he cares, You ask bitterly, blinking away the anxiety in your bones with false calm, now he wants to help.

“Where was that anger when I asked you to help me investigate Shepherd?” You whisper, saliva stuck under your tongue. 

John never answers and not a second later he’s standing and stalking out the door with measured steps, but manages to close the door softly behind him before his form disappears.

Come back, You want to plead the second the lock latches, your hands shaking violently in your lap, don’t leave me alone here, John. Don’t leave me alone. I-I can’t be alone again.

But you say nothing.

Outwardly no one can analyze your body language the way that the Captain or Laswell could. All they see is a blank slate waiting to be filled sitting stone-still in an interrogation room. Left alone, all you can do is force back the tears and listen to the loud buzzing and the whining of the Ac, trying with all of your might to forget Captain John Price and the damning comfort his presence still brings you after years of hell.  

But how could you forget him? All of the good memories you have left are of him; the only ones untainted by blood or a dark room with no light. The shrieking of rats is like a symphony of death that plays on repeat in your head, digging into the small spaces in your ribs and intestines. But you welcome it because anything is better than thinking about John. Of the times you shared with him.

The betrayal itself is less painful than the memories.

[thedomesticanthropologist]

The BG3 characters on Tiktok

Wyll: has 2 accounts. One is for fitness, dancercize, calisthenics, and a little bit posing while flexing. The other is an unhinged BookTok account where he cosplays and acts out romance scenes with himself, stitches cosplay character actors with himself. Dramatic poetry, songs, reenacting Broadway play moments. Responds to every comment.

I would also accept a children's entertainment performer type account from him.

Shadowheart: Silent poses while staring down the camera. Almost every video is the same, but they all pop off in popularity saying she looks mysterious and beautiful. She uses the camera to do her eyeliner and outfit checks. No editing, always short videos, never replies in the comments. Manages to get makeup 💄 deals and free outfits sent to her all the time. Puts in mimal effort

Karlach: someone else films her just being herself. She has several viral videos. Sometimes she plans them, like seeing how much cereal she can eat in one sitting or if she can punch down an old shed she found without using any tools. Captions are usually just some version of a meysmash or one word in all capital letters.

Astarion: Influencer that got all his followers by gossiping and sniping at other influencers in their comment sections or making call-out posts but if they're unpopular he turns off comments or deletes them and pretends he didn't do anything. Posts thirst traps that would be extremely cringe but people fall for it because he's pretty. Never does "getting ready" videos without having already gotten ready off camera and faking that his hair is just naturally Like That. Ends up with a niche fan base that is extremely feral for him and he uses them to target other accounts and harass people who annoy him. Or when he's bored.

Laezel: her entire account is just clips the Shadowheart takes of her mispronouncing words or being irritable. She gains a surprising amount of followers. There starts to be an underground plot to figure out if shafowheart and laezel live together, with fans pointing out background items that match. Neither of them address it directly.

Halsin: it... it's a nature channel. Camera is set up on a log or something at a bad angle and he either whittles in silence for 15 minutes and then shows u a duck, or the camera is in his hands shaking and being fumbled regularly with his thumb half over the mic and the view isn't always in focus but you're pretty sure he's telling you about the symbiotic relationship of moss on a tree. Most of his comment section is people asking him to take his shirt off.

Gale: his tiktok would be exactly what is VA's tiktok already is probably honestly ajsdgjdhdhjg. But OK, so he would absolutely wear velvet outfits and spend 30+ minutes describing one book at a time per video feom his giant library. Sometimes does wine reviews, or cheese reviews. Mixed in is short videos of Tara snoring or her paws twitching in her sleep.

[soulidarity]

cosmic meeting - crash landing

Vigilante!Mc "Cosmic" accidentally breaks into her neighbors apartment who is a hunter and should arrest her

mc x xavier

tw: injuries

Mc struggled with the window lock more than usual. She groaned when it finally opened and threw herself onto the couch. All of her body aching, a lot of injuries she should be tending to, but a much needed break was in order before she started to worry about the amount of blood and bones she lost.

The couch felt odd, more comfortable than she remembered. Maybe she was so tired that her body just accepted anything, she would be happy not to give it another thought if it wasn't for the gun suddenly pointing at her head.

Looking at the intruder through her mask, she frowned at his outfit. A casual kitty cards branded pijama, weird choice of armor. Her eyes wandered towards the coffee table, spotting a wallet with an I.D.

A hunter's I.D.

This wasn't her apartment.

The gun clicked, a clear sign of it being loaded. "Why are you here?" the owner of the apartment asked.

"Um... Apartment viewing...?"

The gun was pushed closer to her mask.

"Okay! Okay! Bad joke! I'm not a criminal, just a vigilante. I think you're my neighbor,  I broke into the wrong apartment. I mean, I'm trying to break into mine, which I know sounds really weird -"

"How do I know that's true?"

She sighed and went to remove the mask slowly. "I'm MC, I live in apartment 301, I think we moved in around the same time," she smiled akwardly.

The man sighed, unloading the gun and putting it down on the coffee table.

"I'm Xavier. Vigilante activity is forbidden in Linkon. As a hunter, it is my duty to turn you in. "

"Woah! Settle down, pretty boy! I'm not doing bad stuff. If anything, I'm helping you out." she stated matter of factly.

Xavier looked at the woman on his couch, actively bleeding onto it and most likely permanently staining it. Maybe he was too tired, or maybe it was the slightly flirtatious way she spoke, but he decided to let her go for now.

"...Fine."

"Thank you! Now, I caused you enough trouble, so I'll be out of your hair. " The vigilante went to stand up, but xavier held her down. "You're bleeding."

MC was about to dismiss his comment until she realized that the soft surface she was laying on was supposed to be pure white.

"OH MY GOD, IM SO SORRY ABOUT YOUR COUCH. I'LL BUY YOU A NEW ONE-"

"It's fine. That's a big wound. Let me get my first aid kit. " he stood up, leaving her alone for a bit.

What the hell was happening?? First, she was so out of it that she broke into the wrong apartment, didn't even try to escape, and then revealed her identity? She'd been in several similar gun-to-head situations before, but she had never reacted like this. MC looked down at the wound and the sofa again, cringing at the likely high price of the furniture.

Before she could dwell on her financial situation further, her neighbor emerged from the corridor with the first aid kit and quickly started assessing her most obvious wounds. A comfortable silence fell between the two of them. Some alcohol stings and a few stitches later, the man retreated to put away the medical equipment.

Mc slowly sat up from the couch, grunting a bit due to her injuries as she gathered her mask. "I'll... come by later to get your details to pay you back for the couch. I'm sorry again."

"Don't worry about it, it was in bad condition anyway." Bad condition?? that was the best surface she had ever laid on. if the smell of blood wasn't so strong, she'd be happy to take it home. "Try to stay out of trouble and not force yourself so much for a few days, dont want your wounds to open."

"Let me pay you back with dinner then?"

"Sure. I'd like that. See you around cosmic"

MC smiled at her codename and climbed out the window. Once she finally reached her apartment, she changed out of her dirty suit and fell into her bed, giggling.

i have a lot of ideas for this au with the different LI's, id like to continue with little scenes of how their relationship develops in the case of xavier and cosmic and first meetings for the rest of the LI.

if you have any requests for this au lmk!!!!!

english isnt my first language!

[shootingstarpilot]

Speaking of "kill your darlings," I promised y'all a scene that got axed once Chapter 4 went up, so have this AU version of Cody's return to the Negotiator:

When he blinks, he feels the steel floors of the Negotiator under his boots, and one more piece of Cody clicks back into place.

Helix stands in front of him, eyes narrowed, hands on his forearms–

“–der. Cody.”

“I hear you,” he manages.

The hands squeeze. 

“Good. Then I don’t feel bad about blaming you for my blood pressure.”

“Oh, hello to you too,” Cody mutters. “Aren’t I your commanding officer?”

“I give less of a shit every passing day,” Helix says, and his smile is just a tad manic as he propels Cody in the direction of the freshers. “Like the armor wasn’t enough– the two of you are sickening. Disgusting. I can’t believe I’ve had to put up with you for this long. I can’t believe I did.”

Cody blinks at him. “What?”

Helix kicks the door open and shoves him inside, but Cody reaches out, seizes his arm– because Helix is here, but why had he met him in the landing bay when he was supposed to be in medical with–

“Where’s Obi-Wan?”

Helix stops, sighs, his shoulders slumping–

“Pulling the kid out of whatever Force-damned trap the Sith stuck him in,” he says heavily. “Risk of psychic backlash, that’s the only reason I’m not– Stitch is monitoring remotely–”

He stops. Looks down at Cody’s hand. Grabs it before he can think to retreat.

“Your knuckles are bruised,” he says slowly. His fingers press along the bones, searching for fractures, for movement in things that should not be moving– “What happened?”

Cody cringes.

“Jinn grabbed me from behind,” he mutters. “I– reacted.”

The hands still.

“You punched him?”

“Don’t get pissy about it,” Cody hisses. “You could have given me a bit more to work with. I know you said not to start any fights, but–”

He stops. Helix’s lips are twitching.

“Oh, no,” he says flatly. “What a tragedy.”

“Helix.”

“What? Did he punch back?”

“No, but–”

“Then technically not a fight,” Helix says cheerfully, giving his hand a pat and promptly dropping it. “No harm done.”

“I think I broke his nose.”

“No harm that matters,” he amends, and pushes Cody towards the sink. “Wash,” he orders. “Blood on your face. Scrub up. Take an inventory. I will be right outside because I don’t trust you not to pass out and make my life that much harder, you ass– sir. Ten minutes.”

He’s gone before Cody can string together another sentence.

Right. Okay. Wash up. He can do that.

He yanks at the faucet. Splashes water on his face. Soaps up his hands, scrubs roughly at the dried blood, watches it flake off, swirling around the drain, staining the suds pink–

(“A chip embedded here could essentially override your free will–”)

“Stop it,” he says, his voice echoing in the empty fresher. “Stop it.”

Would he have been trapped inside his own head? Made to witness? Or would he have just been– gone?

Obi-Wan trusts him, and he would have–

He hiccups.

They’re alive. The Sith is dead, and they’re alive. He splashes his face once more, washing away the salt, scrubbing at his eyes, and pushes himself up, glancing in the mirror–

And freezes.

The cut had carved upwards across his cheek, ending just under his left eye where the visor had cracked. Deep and bloody and stinging– he’d just counted himself lucky that it had been under the eye instead of over. If the blood had messed with his aim, things could have turned out very differently.

(He’s alive.)

Helix’s reaction–

And Waxer’s expression–

“Looks like the General took care of that one for you, sir–”

The blazing warmth of Obi-Wan’s hand against his cheek–

A silver of clear sky in the storm–

Yeah. He had, hadn’t he?

Arcing up and across his cheek, sealing the cut shut, sharp and jagged and bright–

A thin white line.

Almost like lightning.

Cody stares. Tilts his head.

He raises his hand to his face, mimicking–

Yes. Exactly where Obi-Wan had– before he’d–

He leans forward, braces his elbows against the sink, and laughs until he cries.

Eventually, he grabs a towel. Dries his face. Runs his fingers again over his newest scar.

Helix is waiting for them when he steps outside, and the two of them head for the bridge.

They’ll find each other.

They always do.

The reasons I ended up going with something else:

Pissy Helix is fun to write, but I wanted to emphasize exactly how rattled Cody was, and I felt it was more true to form for Helix to set aside that attitude to make sure Cody was okay when he realized he was dealing with a BIG PTSD flare-up from getting grabbed.

I wanted the scar reveal to come from Obi-Wan's POV, because I felt like a lot of the CodyWan moments so far have come from Cody's POV and it was Obi-Wan's turn to be Absolutely Smitten.

Waxer and Boil have absolutely been telling EVERYBODY what went down, and I thought it was unrealistic for Helix not to know since they had dropped Cody off with him. >:)

[lakemichigans]

tlou episode 7 thoughts!!

- ellie's gay little run :') i know the mean girl isn't abby but her face really does look like her lol. but young abby wasn't a mean person anyway so i don't know why that theory got spread around so much

- "there's a leader in you. and one day it could be your turn." i've long guessed that this would be the plot if they do decide to make another game

- i loooove the way they introduced riley; it was similar to the game but had so many unique lines that felt right at home. and they kept in ellie saying "i'm so stupid" 🥺

- they kept in some of the rooftop parkour from the american dreams comic! it seems like that's pretty much all they took from the comic, but i don't mind, because the comic kinda sucks (sorry). i'm sad there's no mention of winston though :(

- riley is extra bossy and i love it lmao. it shows how big of an impact she had on ellie's personality and future choices

- the escalator scene 😭😭😭😭😭

- i was wondering why ellie didn't have a photo of the two of them in her dorm room, but it's because because they actually get a physical photo from the photobooth later 🥺

- ellie loving video games but being bad at them, she is so me

- ohh i was wondering if the halloween store would make an appearance! i love how they mixed up the order of events a little, it makes it all feel new whether you've played the game or not.

- i'll articulate my thoughts more clearly later, but the extra world building of FEDRA vs. the fireflies in this episode is incredible. it really delves into the fact that FEDRA sells the idea of power while the fireflies sell the idea of belonging.

- no water guns :( makes sense though because in the game that was meant to be like a fun nod to combat mechanics and wouldn't be as fun on screen

- i'm soooo glad they kept the same song because hearing the first notes of it sent equal parts excitement and dread through my veins like lightning

- fuck meeeeee i knew it was coming and i was still shocked. seeing ellie get so excited after she killed the infected because she thought she saved riley but the horrors were just beginning 😭

- i love love love the way riley's actress gave riley so much more dimension, particularly in response to being bitten. in the game, riley is so calm and collected that it's hard to believe. in the show, she's still the more stoic, reserved one, but she's obviously just as devastated as ellie is, she just shows it differently. i'm not a huge fan of the dialogue changes in riley's final speech (it was just so so perfect in the game), but i'll be curious to see if there's a reason why they changed that wording, like a future parallel or something? but the way ellie rested her head on riley's shoulder and they just sat together and cried for a while.... fuck. that broke me

- ouchhhh those stitches made me cringe, i felt that. the acting from both of them in that scene was outstanding

- i'm really surprised that we didn't see an answer as to what happens after the events of left behind?? it has to be answered at some point though. maybe we'll see riley again, even for a short time, in a flashback when it becomes relevant to marlene? like in the last episode maybe?

[melpomenacorvus]

I finally understood why idol is such a bad show.

You remember they said that around 70-80% of production (filming) was already finished when original creator and some part of the crew left the show? I was extremely confused because 80% of a series is hours of material. I don’t know how it’s done in US but in my country it’s around 2-3 hours of SELECTED material per 45 min episode . And we talking around 6 hours including takes. So just throwing away this much video and sound material sounds stupid right?

And what do we have now? Plain acting, cringe lines, unrealistic behaviour in some situations. It looks like parts of original product, the satirical one. Because if you hold in your head the idea of these scenes being sarcastic everything make sense. Even Weekend’s weak play. His character now looks like someone who director making fun of. Narcissistic delusional cult leader. And Joslin crew? Yea, their behaviour start making sense, they just Hollywood sharks and Joslin also one of them, at least she wants to believe it.

But without this context show trying to be serious story about poor abused twinkle star. I’m sorry for sounding so assholish, I can’t with this trend on women suffering in media for male gaze. And this is what shows is. A fucking male gaze on original concept and I will be particular, Weekend’s and Levinson’s gazes. I guess I would be alright if it was originally an another pretentious story told by toffs, but no. It could be at least funny, but I guess someone’s ego couldn’t cope with their character being the main clown of a show.

I want to say that my theory is that they made some re-shoots, shot some edited scenes, and blended it with material they had. The same shit when Snyder left production of Justice Ligue. I also guess it based on some shots that are very far away from Levinson type of artistic decisions, they look more simple and luck his taste for overproduction.

Even with re written script you can see that show can’t be something new. No soundtrack in the world would make actors look serious in every scene. Their acting is perfect for satirical performance but it’s a complete flop when it’s comes to serious scenes. This is just a Frankenstein of ideas and you can see stitches on this abomination of a show.

[zoobus]

Good

Some of the gore is good, like the acid corroding the glass helmet, fusing with the skull beneath it

When the Engineer pet David like a cat for a picosecond. Moé. I may gif that.

Xenomorph baby design

Neutral

I guess the theme was supposed to be entitled humans think they're entitled to answers from the creators...Well they're not. Mission accomplished. Wish I cared more about the questions posited but Who Am I? Who Made Me? Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me?" Is nothing. Pokemon the First Movie fielded those questions better

Bad

Even if you know nothing about their scientific field, you know they're doing their job wrong. Was this intentional? A callback to Ripley's team begging her to break protocol for their friend? If so, it didn't come across well. "I can tell this alien is a girl 😏" yeah haha it looks like a vagina so funny, don't anthropomorphize a species you discovered five seconds ago you stupid biologist. I'm glad it broke your arm.

We need more diversity. I'm so sick of these lazy as judeo-christian ✌️ themes ✌️ it's the same analogies and metaphors every time. Get samsara on the phone

When vikkers and the captain have that cringe flirt and then she's like ok I'll have sex with you :) Could have done without it.

All the tentacle face fuck scenes looked worse than anything in the original Alien movies. Cartoony CGI. Outsource to James Gunn next time.

Regression in android depictions. Lazy writers will have an android share an opinion perfectly within the realm of human thought and act like THIS is what separates Man from robot. you wouldn't get it, you empty husk.

Nit picking

Why did she say Caesarean when she clearly meant abortion? Why would she even think that word? I've been corrected

They could pick any weapon in the world to mercy kill their teammate. They choose a flamethrower. To mercy kill.

it bugged the shit out of me that she has graphic, barely anesthesized, fully awake surgery that ends with her ripping the parasite out of her gaping stomach with her bare, dirty hands and she's doing track and field stunts in her space suit like an hour later. She didn't even get real stitches, I wanted her organs spilling out mid conversation

Prometheus (2012) was entertaining but annoying in such a way that describing it would heavily suggest I didn't find it entertaining. For a movie that's (allegedly) meant as thought provoking, they sure did let a lot of unchecked stupid happen. What's a protocol? What's wrong with immediately anthropomorphizing an alien planet? Why can't I wear my mask under my nose while playing with a corpse? These are all scientists.

[chaomother]

AHAH IT WAS I, THE OTHER TWIN

Fooled ya

Anywho mY BAD - night + jet???

- Moon

*GASPS* YOU GOT ME!!! HEHEHE i hope this drabble can make you forgive me ;3 it got away from me a little so it was longer than i expected it to be hehe

「jet the hawk x gn!reader」

Starlight gleamed upon the water’s surface, your hands distorting the quintessential reflections from your ripples as you delicately traced your fingertips across the cool liquid. “I wish I could be anywhere but here,” you huffed out tiredly, “Don’t you agree, Mr. Caterpillar?”

The vibrant green caterpillar making its way to the other side of the marble fountain paid you no mind, impelling you to sigh with an equally strained smile. “You’re heading home, aren’t you? Well, here, I’ll give you a lift,” you chortled as the little critter allowed you to scoop it up onto your finger.

“This spot looks perfect,” you gently placed the caterpillar onto a purple flower, observing how it rubbed itself against the luscious petals. The subdued, pale light emanating from the mansion magnified the lovely scene; and you couldn’t help but think about how beautiful the garden truly was.

Knowing that life beyond vegetation flourished here made the irritation you felt deep inside quell slightly—you never had anything against the abundant, bountiful place to begin with, but with how obsessively your parents cared for it… just made it feel spiritless. And ugly.

For the sake of ostensible cosmetics, every flower or vine had to be perfect; your parents pursuing this ideology so cruelly and vehemently that they’ve fired caretakers in the past for causing one accidental blemish.

“What’s someone as pretty as you doing out here at night all by themselves?”

At the sound of a familiar and disembodied voice, you gyrated on your heel and discerned your favorite vainglorious thief. “Jet? Why am I not surprised to see you here?” you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing he’d come this way, attracted to the lavish and rich gathering inside.

You sauntered back over to the fountain, taking your previous spot back but with new vigor at the appearance of a friend. Jet purloined the seat adjacent to you, prepared to listen to your ramble as he seen your lips parting again, “You know how these boring fancy parties go. I’m just sick of putting on a face for the sake of appearances, like, the food is terrible. It’s so hard not to cringe and say I like it…”

“Parents who push their own unattainable expectations on their kids are so annoying,” Jet sympathized with a light tone, thinking back on his own father. Not that his father pushed anything unwanted on him, but rather that Jet felt the need to live up to that legacy—and the subsequent worries that came along with it. “Want me to snatch your old man’s cane? It’s real gold, right? We can watch him stumble around in front of everyone and teach him a lesson!”

Jet sounded so utterly confident in his suggestion that you couldn’t stop your heart from fluttering into your throat. But it was still an undeniably absurd idea that the rigidness in your shoulder ricocheted off each other as you threw your head back in a fit of laughter.

“Haha, no, no, that’s okay!”

And as Jet watched you sincerely be in stitches, unrestrained and full of animation, he knew he’d allow you to get away with laughing at him this one time. “That’s better, isn’t it? Now quit your laughing!” Jet expressed his disapproval, his hand jerking your shoulder.

Rubbing a tear from your eye, you grinned, “Much better!” Did he say something so stupid to make you feel better on purpose? He really did have such an effect on you—ever since he first messed up the layout of your house and mistook your bedroom for the vault room…

You could still faithfully recollect how your heart pounded as the Babylon Rogues burst into your room and how Jet’s breathtaking poise captured your attention; right before he squawked panickedly when met face-to-face with you!

The way skeins of moonlight cascaded into your room and beguiled his handsome figure… and how you couldn’t resist explaining to the trio where the actual destination was. It’s not like you cared for the things in there anyway, instead you were riveted on the mystique and excitement in your chest.

A complacent smirk etched itself onto Jet’s expression, and he kicked himself off the fountain and stood before you. “If you’re feeling so fantastic, than, will you give me a dance on this lonesome night?” he questioned, hand sticking out to you in what you surmised was meant to be a debonair manner.

“Trying to be smooth? It doesn’t suit you,” you giggled as you slipped your hand into his, allowing him to pull you up onto your feet. He settled his other hand on your waist as you grasped his shoulder, and he nudged you closer; needing this propinquity as minimal as possible.

Jet rolled his eyes, exclaiming, “You just haven’t seen this side of me until now.”

“Hehe, alright… Show me,” you whispered, flitting your eyes shut as the world went quiet upon the two of you beginning to spin in place slowly. Jet was a terrible dancer, so there were no elaborate moves… but you liked this makeshift dance best. More than anything in the world.

[fahbev]

@whumper-in-training

ok I don’t know how long my caption is allowed to be, but here it is! The promised fan art! I REFUSE to be self-deprecating here because I actually do like these a lot. Basically, I read this amazing story called ACP- The Agency for Cryptids and the Paranormal, (https://whumper-in-training.tumblr.com/post/673130936584568832/acp-the-agency-for-cryptids-and-the) and I totally fell in love with the character of Zak. This STORY MAN! It broke my heart in half and then lovingly stitched it back together, like multiple times, and I think that’s the ESSENCE of a good story. So yeah I made fan art. 

I was in the car on a fairly long trip, and I had my sketchbook, and I was like, hey, what should I draw? Fuck it i’m drawing Zak. So I drew Zak. I originally didn’t want to deal with how the hoodie would work with all the weird perspective and just gave him a tee-shirt, but then I yelled at myself: “COWARD! Draw the hoodie!” And so I erased the shirt and drew a hoodie. I figure that the hoodie in the picrew isn’t how the hoodie actually looks, it’s just the closest approximation you can get with a picrew, so I put an alien on it because yes. While I was drawing it though, I hit a fork in the road with the pose. I was going to draw him with his hand clawed and the other on his hip, but then I was like “what if he had his arm up instead?” And so I made two versions.

I drew werewolf Zak hell ya! I spent FOREVER inking this. Okay if was only like two hours, but inking is kinda boring and thus I procrastinated, and so it took me like three days to ink it. It took much longer than usual Bc I went over each line a bunch of times to make it look like fur/hair/eyelashes, but you can’t even see it Bc the colors are so dark! Argh! Usually color more than doubles the amount of time I spend on a drawing, but this time I just quickly threw down some color in only like an hour! I was so sure I was gonna say, “it’ll be quick” and then spend another six hours on it, because that ALWAYS happens, but it actually WAS quick so yes.

Last but not least, I drew the gang all together! Technically I drew this second, and colored it first, but you get the idea! This drawing filled me with all the happy chemicals the whole time making it y’all. After several hours it kinda wore off, but every time I zoomed in on Max’s face I got a fresh rush of serotonin. I decided to draw that one scene where they all fall asleep together because it was SO WHOLESOME! I wanted to draw the whole group, but didn’t know what kind of context to do. Then I scrolled through the blog, found that scene, reread it and was like “yes! That’s the one!”. And so I drew it. I did have to look up “do Muslim women sleep with their hijabs on?” And i’m glad it was a google search and not asking a real person Bc the response I found was basically: “No, you dumbass! Why would we do that? That makes no sense-” and several sarcastic responses to the same question on Quora and i’m just like: “:’D” I did look into it a bit more and realized the hijab has to stay on Bc while they are like family, they’re still not her mahrams. Also I figure that if I was gonna post this, even if she was alone, drawing her without it would kinda be violating her privacy yk? Like i’m exposing her for the whole internet to see. Kinda like drawing her naked would be. Anyway, I love this drawing, hope you love it too!

Ok, still keep your expectations to an army crawl because I never finish stuff, but fanfic is in the works. I am probably gonna wait until it’s finished to post it though, that way I can edit things and change earlier chapters. Also! I’m a total novice writer! So it’s probably crap! I don’t care! I have this policy that I would always rather make the cringe fanfic, wear the ugly clothing, make the stupid drawings, the cursed memes, shout all the embarrassing shit, do all the dumb things that teenagers do (as long as it’s not harmful or permanent obvi), sing all the bad karaoke, embarrass myself a TON, etc, and regret it later, cringe so hard in ten years, than to never let myself do anything, constantly hold back, never reach my full potential and regret THAT in ten years. Thank you for listening to my TED Talk. I still might very well be too shy to post it though ahhhhh. For some reason i’m WAY more shy online than irl, that makes no sense. Like I can walk up to a random person and talk to them no prob, but I get super anxious going in someone’s ask box. Maybe Bc I can’t read their body and face language like that? Idk. Like I said, just don’t expect anything.

[bakubub]

In which racer!kuroo is your roommate, and seems to only like it when you treat his wounds... (word count: 1.9k)

Ngl quite proud of this one!!

Warnings: 18+, a whole lot of swearing, a whole lot of blood, innuendos and implied nsfw, reader almost vomits (NOT from pregnancy chill, I know we're all scarred but its going to be just fine) and if you're squeamish perhaps skip the scene where reader stitches his wound?

Also bit of a disclaimer: I am in NO WAY a med student and literally all of my knowledge is from movies and other fics... so if you acc know what to do in this situation this may be a torturous for you :D

All due credits go to @aikk00​ for this AMAZING fanart!!!!

I watch as my roommate enters the penthouse, once again scratched up and bleeding, covered in so much blood there is no possible way that it was all his- if it was he would not be standing.

I launch myself off the couch- where I was sitting for the past hour nervously waiting for his return- and slip my arm under his, supporting him as we inched towards the bathroom.

"I can do this by myself you know," he grumbles, his grimace revealing just how much pain he was actually in.

"Mhm, I'm sure you can. Just like you boiled that poor egg by yourself last week, hmm?" I say sarcastically, trying to keep my mind calm and clear, because oh my god it looks really bad this time...

"Oi, its not my fault it fuckin' exploded," he mutters, voice laden with pain.

"You put it in the microwave because 'the shitty water wasn't doing its job.' Of course it would explode," I say, gently seating him on the closed toilet seat and taking out my supplies that I unfortunately have become rather accustomed to using. He's made it a habit to get himself injured.

"Where's the injury?" I ask, setting down my half-empty bottle of antiseptic and box of bandages. He peels off his shirt, cringing at the pain it brought him as the fabric was stuck to the gash that went from his left pectoral down to the middle of his chest.

"Pissed off a bidder after winning a race, fucker took out a knife once he realised he couldn't beat me up," he huffs out, arrogance still lacing his tone even with sweat dripping down his brow as he leans the back of his head onto the tile wall behind him. His Adam's apple bobs down his bloodstained neck as he speaks, and I quickly look away, focusing on the injury at hand.

Not his blood soaked, but nevertheless well defined pectoral muscles, nor the abs that my hands occasionally brush up against and know how hard they really are, and definitely not the trail of black hairs that lead down, down, down...

"What's wrong, the view too hot to focus on the work at hand?" He asks suggestively, raising his pierced brow, even in this state.

I'm quick to reply, having gotten used to his flirtatious remarks from the second I moved into his penthouse, "nope can't even see the view from that massive head of yours. Not to mention your permanent bed head."

He huffs out a laugh, then proceeds to flinch from the pain it must have caused.

"Stop moving, idiot. You're going to exacerbate the cut!" I say, quickly grabbing a damp towel and beginning to clean up his abdomen, whilst simultaneously pressing another rag to his wound to stop the bleeding.

“At least you admit that there is a hot view,” he says in his low voice, gazing at me from his position.

I simply roll my eyes.

No falling in love. That was the deal we had made on the day he offered me a place to stay in exchange for my services as a maid and apparently, a nurse. I cook, clean and basically keep the house running while this moron goes out and acts like the idiot he is. In my defense, dorms are expensive as hell, and his penthouse is nearby. Plus, I don't have to pay rent. It's a win-win situation.

But the feelings stirring up inside my heart might just ruin the dynamic we have going on and simultaneously take out a whole lot of cash out of my pocket.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Once his skin isn't completely saturated in blood, and the wound has (thankfully) stopped bleeding, I add some antiseptic onto a make-up pad and begin to dab at his wound, earning winces and slight grunts from the massive man.

"The cut looks deep, Kuroo. You need to go to the hospital," I say, worry lacing my tone as my eyebrows crease and earn yet another huffing laugh.

"Do you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life?"

I roll my eyes at his response, deliberately dabbing just a little harder which earns me a yelp and an attempted glare in my direction.

"First off, illegal street racing won't send you to prison for your entire life, just for like, half a year. Second, this wound needs stitches, and believe it or not, I'm not a fucking licensed medic. In fact, the only experience I have is with you!" I say, immediately regretting my choice of words as I wait for his remark.

"That's what she said," He says, chuckling at his own innuendo.

I sigh in frustration, pouring more antiseptic to make sure there was no chance of infection from whatever grimy ass knife stabbed him, and beginning to gently scrub the wound with a soft towel, so as to make sure there was no debris left in there.

"You're gonna have ta do it," he mutters, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

"I- I can't Kuroo, you can't possibly think-"

"Fine. I'll do it. Go get me a needle and thread," he states, struggling but nevertheless, sitting upright on the red stained toilet.

I stare at Kuroo in disbelief as he utters these words. Was he dumber than I thought? Does he have some sort of head injury too?

I examine his face and all I come up with is unnerving determination. I exhale out of my nose sharply, "fine, dammit. I'll sew your fucking wound shut."

I am extremely handy with a sewing needle and thread, used to really be into embroidery back when I had the time so...it should be fine.

He just shrugs, leaning his head back against the tiles and closing his eyes.

"Fucking asshole. Can't believe I'm saving your damn life," I mutter, leaving the bathroom to dig through my wardrobe for my sewing box and taking out a gold silk thread that I was saving for a special project.

Well, I guess that will never happen.

"Hey, I found some silk thread. It's literally known for its strength and durability in high temperatures, so it should work like a charm!" I say, walking back into the blood stained bathroom and trying to psych myself up.

He grunts in response. I sigh as I begin with mopping up the excess blood and sanitising the needle and thread before chucking on gloves.

I wipe the antiseptic over the wound once more, and examine it carefully.

Well, if his condition worsens, I can always knock him out and call an ambulance...

I decide, screw it, and thread the needle, pretending it was just another embroidery project.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant as I puncture his skin with the thin needle.

Kuroo gasps in pain, and I place a hand on his knee, telling him to suck it up and deal with it, half talking to him but also to myself.

To my surprise, he listens, stretching his head back once more and gritting his teeth.

"Don't do that, here put this in-between your teeth," I say, grabbing yet another towel and shoving it into his mouth.

He obeys as I continue to stitch. I feel my gag reflex kicking in as I think about how stitching skin feels as though I am stitching leather, it feels hard and tough while pushing the thin needle through.

Must hurt like a bitch.

Once I've completed my neat stitches down the wound, without vomiting, I tie it off as I would with any embroidery, and clean the area free of any remaining blood. After rubbing some antibacterial ointment over the gold stitches, I stick on a particularly large bandage over the wound and start tidying up.

"Thank you," Kuroo mutters, still seated on the toilet seat and practically panting for breath.

"Ah, the criminal knows his damn manners!! Now get up and get in the damn shower. You ruined my pristine bathroom!" I complain, putting the last of the materials away before walking to the door.

"Wait, I- I can't get up." I turn around and look at him incredulously as he utters his next few words, "will you... shower me?"

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets at his request. "Are you insane?! I'm not your mother, nor your wife! Call your pudding haired friend and tell him to come shower you!"

He shakes his head, a rare pleading look taking the place of his usual arrogant smirk, "Kenma's too lazy to shower himself, Y/n, please!"

I contemplated it for a moment. Sure, I've seen him naked before, accidentally of course, and so what if I have to scrub him clean. God knows he can't do it himself with that damn injury.

Fuck this shit.

"Fine, get up right now." I bark at him, leaving to change out of my blood soaked pjs into a pair of shorts and a tank.

"...I just said I can't."

---

"Ow, y/n, you're scrubbing too hard!" He complains, his exfoliating glove around my hand as I rub his toned back clean of any dead skin-cells and blood remains.

"But look how much stuff is coming off!" I say gleefully, enjoying this a little too much.

Kuroo, seated on the built-in bench in the open shower with his red boxers on, looks back to see the satisfaction dripping from my features.

"Are you secretly a sadist?" he whispers. In response, I begin to rinse off his raw back with hot water, causing him to screech like a cat.

"It burns, it burns-”

“Shut the fuck up, moron! It's 4 in the morning, you’re going to annoy our neighbours. I tried very hard to get in their good graces, and Mrs. Suzuki still doesn’t like me! She definitely thinks I’m some kind of hooker…” Kuroo laughs at this, and I can’t help but watch as his whole face brightens up from his usual emotionless expression. I find myself smiling in response.

I grab his expensive shampoo and pour some into my hands, beginning to massage it into his scalp. With wet hair, his raven strands are for once flat on his head and reach down to his defined jawline. Kuroo groans under my touch, leaning into my fingers. I snatch my hands back and pour hot water over his head.

"ARGH! Y/N!" He screams, hastily getting up and wetting me in the process.

"Ah- what are you-" I don't get to finish my question as he grabs my arm and yanks me next to him under the hot water, soaking my clothes and my hair.

"You asshole!" I screech as I reach up to pull his hair in defiance, but he only grabs my arm and hooks it around his neck, leaning down to look directly into my eyes.

Our noses brushing against one another, he mutters, "You look pretty with your hair wet and your shirt see through."

It takes me a moment to get past the compliment and to hear the perverted comment that he just uttered.

He sees my look of confusion and laughs, bends over, clutches his stomach and laughs, before bellowing in pain because of his injury.

Smiling smugly down at him as he grimaces, I force him to sit back down and continue massaging the shampoo into his hair, warning him that if he so much as moaned I would leave him in here, dripping wet and in pain.

"That's what he said," is his reply.

I smack his head in response.

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

[team-gabriel]

♟brightglass?

so, uh… yeah. I might’ve gotten a little carried away. enjoy?

[also on my AO3]

♟- patching up a wound

Jack Bright was almost certain that he’s bled through the half-assed bandage job he’s done on his shoulder. He can feel the throbbing pain radiating down his arm with every exhausting step that he trudged up the stairs to his apartment.

He fumbled with his keys for a few moments before he finally managed to pull the door open, kicking his shoes haphazardly by the mat and hanging his (now somewhat bloody) lab coat on the hook beside the door… he’d wash that out in the morning; he was too tired to do anything about that tonight.

Judging by the blood on his coat, he knew that his shirt had to be soaked as well, and, looking down at the ugly, dark red stain that had spread across his once-white dress shirt, he found that his guess was correct. Jack groaned in frustration — yep, that shirt was ruined… he really liked that one, too…

Whatever.

Simon, who had been sitting at the kitchen counter, was currently pouring all of his focus into the psych reports scattered in front of him. The commotion Bright caused as he entered the apartment was enough to draw his attention, but he still hadn’t looked up from his work.

���I don’t wanna hear it,” Bright muttered toward the psychiatrist before he even had a chance to speak.

“Rough day, I take i— Jack, what the hell happened to you?!”

Simon’s casual statement quickly turned into an exclamation of shock and panic the moment he glanced up to see his blood-covered boyfriend.

“Simon, I said I don’t wanna hear it,” Jack groaned in response. He was not in the mood for Simon’s fussing, and wanted nothing more than to just replace the bandages, put on a clean t-shirt, and go to bed…

“Jack—!”

“Don’t worry about it…” Bright dismissed as he tossed his keys and lanyard onto the table, undoing his tie and wincing as another sharp wave of pain hit him.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” Glass replied in disbelief, his tone somehow managing to convey both sarcasm and utter panic. “There’s absolutely nothing to worry about here!”

“Simon. Really…” Bright groaned, both out of frustration and pain. “It’s fine…”

“Oh, sure looks it, Jack,” Glass replied, hastily gathering his papers into a pile and standing from his spot at the table.

Simon vanished into the bathroom and Jack could hear him rifling around through the cabinet for the first-aid kit… a lot of good that will do him, Jack thought bitterly.

“I’m too tired for this,” Jack muttered loudly. “Just let me go to bed—”

“Oh, so you can bleed to death?” Glass piped up, still digging around in the disorganized mess that was his cabinets.

“I’m not going to bleed to death.”

Jack heard Simon’s rummaging abruptly stop for a moment, and despite being in a completely separate room, Bright could practically feel the incredulous glare Simon was giving him right now. Simon muttered something under his breath and continued his search.

“…and so what if I do!?” Jack shouted back. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve bled out…! and sure as hell won’t be the last!”

Simon reentered the kitchen, having finally found the first-aid kit, and still refusing to give Bright’s previous comments any form of response. He grabbed the chair that he had been sitting in and loudly dragged it across the kitchen floor — Jack wincing at the harsh sound.

“You know, Si, those downstairs neighbors are probably loving you right now…” he remarked.

“Sit.”

“…You’re being absolutely ridiculous, you know that?”

“Sit.”

“Simon, just give me the bandages, I can do this mysel—”

“Jack Bright, sit your arse down in this chair, or so help me god—!”

“Damn, Si, look at you — taking charge like that,” Jack teased, his voice still having that sharp edge to it, once again refusing to acknowledge any of the severity of this situation. “…Keep talkin’ to me like that, and you’re gonna make me act up—”

Bright had enough sense to cut his statement short when he was met with that frustrated exhaustion in Simon’s eyes. He dropped his inappropriate comment and shook his head.

“Si, really… the only one working themself up about this is you,” Jack hissed, but nevertheless, he finally sat down.

Simon’s expression was still pressed in a tight frown as he muttered a tired “thank you…” turning and placing the plastic kit on the table, pulling out the supplies he needed.

Bright rolled his eyes as Glass returned, clearly trying his hardest to get a good look at the wound despite Jack being in no way helpful.

“Jack, would you just hold still—?”

“I am holding still—!”

“Well quit moving your shoulder th—!”

“Ow! Simon, that fucking hurts!”

“Jack, I can’t even see what I’m trying to work with—! Would you just—? Jack, just—!”

Glass exhaled a growl of frustration. Since Bright was clearly not about to make things any less difficult, he decided it was necessary to take matters in his own hands. He immediately began fumbling with the collar of Jack’s shirt, roughly undoing the buttons.

Bright’s grumbling quickly turned to a shout, and now it was his turn to raise his voice in concern.

“Hey — careful! Jesus, Simon, careful!” Jack snapped, throwing one hand over his amulet, the other snatching Simon’s wrist and roughly yanking it away before his hand could get any closer to the pendant than it already was. “Fuck, Si, would you just wait a fucking second?! I already feel like my shoulder’s been beaten to absolute hell, I don’t need you dying on top of everything else!” he screamed.

Simon flinched backwards, clearly startled both by Jack’s outburst and the realization of how close he’d come to accidentally touching the amulet. “I- I’m—!” Glass began unsteadily. “Jack, I’m sorry…!”

Jack stayed like that for a moment while he waited for his heart to stop pounding, Simon still staring down at him with that deer-in-headlights expression.

Finally, he sighed, letting go of Simon’s wrist and watching as the psychiatrist immediately drew his arm back, guarding it against his chest and unconsciously rubbing at the spot where Jack’s grip had been the tightest. There was another moment where their eyes met, and both of them decided to soften their demeanor…

“I’m sorry,” Simon mumbled again, backing off just a bit, but still unable to stop staring at Jack’s bloodied shoulder with concern.

He really wasn’t about to let this go, was he?

Bright weighed his options. The irritation of having Glass attempt to patch up his shoulder was decidedly not even close to being greater than the utter devastation that would come with Simon inadvertently killing himself — or worse — because Jack refused cooperate and Glass once again ends up getting a little too close to his amulet…

Another sigh as Jack undid the remainder of his buttons as best as he could with his one uninjured arm, allowing Simon to easily reach his shoulder. He sat back down and twisted the amulet behind his back, slipping it beneath the back of his half-unbuttoned shirt.

“There you go,” he said, still not overly enthused with this whole ordeal, but willing to bite the bullet if it meant just getting this over with so he can go to bed. “Have at it, doc.”

Simon’s expression was much softer than it had been just minutes prior. He stepped back up to Jack, first carefully taking in the scene, and then delicately beginning to remove the old bandages.

Bright cringed a little at the way they clung to the wound, and at the growing pile of blood-soaked gauze and tape that was accumulating beside him as Glass continued to peel them away.

“Christ, Jack… this looks bad…” Simon exhaled, gently dabbing some of the excess blood away with a damp rag.

Bright only hummed in agreement. To be completely honest, even he hadn’t really seen the full extent of his injury — he saw a lot of blood and he taped himself up with gauze until he couldn’t see it anymore — problem solved!

…But now he was beginning to see the jagged gashes where claws met skin. He didn’t exactly enjoy looking at it, but he continued to stare, as it was better than having to look at the worry in Simon’s eyes.

“This... might sting a tiny bit...”

A tiny bit proved to be an understatement. Jack sucked in a sharp hiss and dug his fingers into the arm of the kitchen chair the moment the antiseptic soaked cotton touched the wound.

“Sorry...” Glass whispered, still carefully dabbing the gauze around the gashes. “So sorry... Just a little more, Jack. It’s almost done, I promise.”

“Yeah…” Jack said through gritted teeth. “Whatever you say, Si…”

Simon worked with diligence, cleaning the wound with a delicate touch, methodically bandaging as he went. He managed to get most of the superficial cuts to stop bleeding using butterfly bandages, but it was becoming obvious to Jack that the worst of it needed sutures…

It was clearly obvious to Simon as well, who apprehensively bit his lip, looking from the wound to meet Jack’s eyes.

Jack sighed and shook his head. “Go for it, Si…”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Whatever.”

Jack didn’t watch as Simon threaded the needle, he didn’t watch as he carefully examined the gash… but he definitely took in another little hiss of pain as the first stitch was made.

“Sorry, Jack…” Simon whispered.

“To be honest,” Jack gritted out again. “That fucking antiseptic was worse.”

As Glass continued to stitch up his shoulder, Jack once again found himself unable to look away, but now for a different reason. It always sort of amazed him when Simon did stuff like this. Granted, he’s only ever really seen it once — Jack had accidentally gotten his palm with a kitchen knife when he was washing dishes — but still, it amazed him. Glass worked with such exactness that, if he hadn’t known any better, Jack might’ve believed that he did it on a daily basis. He could tell by the meticulousness of it that this was no doubt a skill Simon acquired in medical school and perfected in his years as a field agent.

But, what Bright perhaps found the most shocking was how gentle Simon always was with him. No matter how much of a fight Jack put up, Glass remained delicate when it came to actually working on him. He’d whisper apologies after every wince or hiss of pain. He’d put such a high level of precision and care into his actions — when most everyone else at the Foundation (Bright included) would deem it unnecessary in the long run.

If Jack couldn’t truly die, then why bother putting in so much effort to save him? Why waste the time, skills, and material on keeping him comfortable?

But Glass… he always did. He’d care for him when he was sick. He’d tend to minor injuries no differently than to major ones. He’d sit by Jack’s side for anything.

But that was just a part of Simon’s nature, he supposed — to comfort. It was why he advanced so easily in his field. It was why the word “soft” was so frequently hurled at him like an insult.

And that softness was clear with the precise way he finished the last of the stitches… the way he gently cleaned away the residual blood… the careful way he bandaged his shoulder…

“Simon…?” Jack asked, watching as Glass finished up with the final bandages.

“Hmm?”

“Why do you do this?”

“Why do I do what?”

“Care so damn much,” Jack replied with a snort, although the heavy sincerity of the question still lingered in the background.

“About?”

“Me.”

“Why do I care when the person I love is severely injured? Is that really what you’re asking me right now, Jack?”

“You know what I mean,” Bright replied, rolling his eyes, only deciding to elaborate on that further after several moments of Glass doing nothing but staring at him incredulously. “I can’t die — not really — so, like, why put in all the effort, y’know?”

“Except you can die, Jack,” Simon replied. “…As you so frequently do. The only difference is that you don’t stay dead—”

“But is that really that different?”

“Yes, Jack!” Glass replied, the disbelief audibly rising in his voice, as if Bright were missing some point that was glaringly obvious to him. “Some may argue that it’s worse!”

Jack only rolled his eyes, prompting Simon to elaborate further.

“You aren’t invulnerable, Jack,” he continued. “You aren’t immune to feeling pain — in fact, you have felt such an immense level of pain, on numerous occasions, that a person should only have the capability to feel once, if ever, in their lifetime… You’ve experienced your own death, Jack. Over and over… And perhaps you’ve just become numb to it — or you like to claim that you have — maybe everybody else in this damned Foundation has as well—”

“Because it still isn’t the same as actually dying, Simon—” Jack butted in before Glass could cut him off again.

“Alright,” he replied. “Maybe it isn’t. But why does that mean that you don’t deserve to be treated with the same level of compassion as anybody else?”

Jack bit down on his lip, refusing to meet Simon’s eyes… he hated when Glass had a point on topics like this.

“Alright,” Simon continued, keeping his voice gentle. “The other month, when I came home feeling sick — you stayed awake with me—”

“Simon, that isn’t the same thing!”

“But was I dying, Jack?” Simon asked without so much as missing a beat, his tone rising with pretend disbelief. “Was I so critically ill that someone needed to waste their time on me? It was just a stomach flu — nothing serious, there’s nothing anybody needs to do for that except wait it out… why waste the effort, taking care of someone who was just going to get better on their own in 24 hours? Hm?”

Bright had gone right back to avoiding Simon’s eyes, this time going as far as to avoid looking at him all together.

“Simon, it’s…”

Glass sighed, letting his expression soften once more, losing the sarcastic edge to his voice.

“It’s what, Jack?” he asked softly, attempting to finish the sentence that Bright had given up on. “It’s not the same thing?”

Jack’s mouth was pressed in a tight frown as he turned his eyes to the floor, still unwilling to admit his ‘defeat’.

And, with a gentle, sincere expression, Glass finished his (albeit, mostly one-sided) argument.

“I love you, Jack…” he said. “I love you… and I hate seeing you hurt…”

Bright finally opened his mouth to respond, only to shake his head and close it wordlessly when he couldn’t find the proper thing to say. There was nothing he could say to disprove that final statement, and he knew that. He could feel the beginnings of tears prickling at his eyes… and he knew he was going to have a tough time trying to pass it off as still being caused by the sting of that stupid antiseptic.

That shield he put up was cracking, and Jack hated putting the vulnerability that lied beneath it on display. So, instead, he only leaned forward, gently bunting his head against Simon’s chest, burying his face in the soft, warm fabric of his shirt.

“I know, Jack…” Simon whispered softly, running his fingers through the back of Bright’s hair.

Jack took in a bit of a stuttering breath, letting the tears finally slip from his eyes and pressing his face harder against Simon’s chest. He couldn’t explain it with words — he never properly could — why there was something about Simon Glass that just felt so… right…?

Jack had never been good with feelings. And right then, he was swept up in such a powerful wave of different emotions that, for a moment, he thought he may drown.

He had come to believe that kindness almost always came with some sort of strings attached… but not with Glass.

Never with Glass.

He felt loved — so genuinely loved — that, at times, it almost overwhelmed him because of how unused to it he was.

So Jack held onto that feeling, staying there a moment longer, breathing in Simon’s warmth and feeling that gentle rise and fall of his chest. Until finally, he managed to gather enough composure to speak.

And, naturally, in true Jack Bright fashion, he attempted to change the subject entirely — anything to deflect from the fact he’d just been crying.

“You’ve got the hands of a surgeon, you know that?” he remarked, looking back down to his shoulder, trying to pull back up his cool, detached facade… although his voice was still a little unsteady and his sentence ended with a bit of a wet sniffle. “…Or maybe a painter. Ever think you might’ve gone into the wrong profession?”

He knew Simon had to see right through this pathetic attempt at a diversion as well, but he went along with it anyway.

“Don’t think I could handle the pressure of being a surgeon,” Glass replied softly. “Stitching someone up is one thing… don’t quite think I have the stomach for cutting someone apart.”

“So you settled for just taking apart their minds, then?” Bright teased, exhaling in what was half a laugh and half a choked, hiccup-y sort of sound.

“What can I say,” he replied lightly, turning and cleaning up his supplies. “Much less blood.”

Jack exhaled another quiet laugh and Simon couldn’t help but smile, and somehow, just seeing that made Bright feel warm inside.

His mind pulling him back to that unexplainable way that Simon just made him feel right.

Because there was just something about Simon Glass.

Something about those warm grey eyes and gentle smile that made Jack feel so at home.

Something about that open, deliberate way he expressed his love that made Jack truly believe that he deserved this… That this wasn’t a mistake. That this was what it felt like to be loved on purpose.

And Jack, despite years and years of denying himself the right to feel this sort of feeling…

He loved Simon right back.

-

-

✨send me a prompt?✨

[maybe-your-left]

OOH. CAN I GET A KYLO POV OF YOUR FAVORITE SCENE FROM HAPPILY EVER AFTER FOR THE ASK THINGY

well hello @trashpandagamer this has been in my inbox for a while but i think i finally have a solution that everyone can be happy with... enjoy this kylo pov of coming to our house to get back together!

welcome to the beginning!

Is she going to be home?

She’s usually out with her roommates on Fridays…

I saw her hanging out with one of the guys on the swim team last week at the gym, maybe she’s rolling around with him learning how to hold her breath?

No, she’s gonna be home. Stop being nervous, Kylo.

She has to be.

Kylo’s grip tightened on his steering wheel, clearing his throat to interrupt the voices in his head that were swarming with doubt. This would be fine, he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just driving by your house, after a few months of not speaking…

And running out in a flurry of sweat and nerves, leaving you on the couch streaked in tears. Whimpering for him to come back, while he fucked off to drown his feelings in hordes of Alpha Xi’s.

Maybe, he should bring a gift?

Something you can’t hit him with, flowers?

No, he’s seen you weaponize thorns before and he can’t handle another scar on his face. Wine? He cringed at the memory of you accidentally knocking him with a 2-liter bottle last spring break, he had to get stitches from the glass shards. Chocolate? That would be a good idea, but what if you assume he thinks you need the candy to forgive him?

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling into the neighborhood by your house. He was almost there, no turning back with his tail tucked between his legs. He woke up today knowing he missed you, and he wasn’t going to cower away like he had the other hundred times. Kylo needed to swallow his pride, listen to you chew him out, and then crawl into your arms as he had for the past two years.

Simple as that, and it’s not like you could be that angry with him. Right?

Kylo quickly turned left, stalling halfway on your front lawn and driveway. Your green Subaru was in its normal spot, he was blocking your exit if you tried to run away. But hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that, he was back, and that is what you wanted! All your messages when he ran off were begging for him and he was just giving you what you wanted, just two months later…

After chain-smoking two cigarettes, he worked up the nerve to step up to your porch. Peeking inside the front windows a little to see if you and your other roommates were watching bad TV. Kylo wasn’t looking forward to seeing them, especially Rose. She would throw something at him for sure, she did in their Philosophy class the week after you split.

And that hydro flask left a fucking bruise.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

Kylo heard stomping feet and muffled swearing coming from inside, his gut rolling over and over itself as the noises came closer to the door. He looked over his shoulder, debating if it was worth it to just book it to his car and forget about it, it’s not like you will want to see him.

No, this was a bad fucking idea.

He needed to-

“What the fuck-” you paused once the door flew open.

And so did he, because fuck.

Kylo missed your face, even though it was scrunched up in anger and your nose had those sweet little wrinkles when you were pissed off. Your eyes narrowed as you sized him up, Kylos’ upset stomach instantly melted away. Replaced now by that oh-so-familiar urge to wrap you in his arms and drag you away from everything else in the world.

Like he had so many times before, Kylo cleared his throat, “Hey.”

-------

you wanna know what happens next? here is the link to Happily Ever After on my College Kylo Ren Masterlist.

-------

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads​​​ @onlykyloscenes​​​ @candycanes19​​​ @historyandfandoms50​​​ @caelum-phyriina-vermillon​​​ @ghoulian13​​​ @mrs-kylo-ren​​​ @millenialcatlady​​​​ @relationshipwithmybed​​ @dancingmicrobes​​​ @wayward-rose​​​ @contesa-lui-alucard​​​ @daydreamsofren​​​ @insufferablelust​​​ @ohdamnadamm​​​ @mariesackler​​​ @caillea​​ @safarigirlsp @jalexunderthestars​​​ @shesakillerkween​​​ @glassythoughts​​ @zimmermansbrat​​ @not-the-teen-witch​​ @jynzandtonic​ @roanniom​ @celestiasin @glassbxttles @cornmousequeen @driversmutbucket @fathersonandhouseofgucci @reyloaddict55 @emeritusemeritus @livi-s @eagerforhoney @xxgarden @emi11ie

[antidisneyinc]

Top 10 Embarrassing ‘The Batman’ Things

I drafted this a couple days ago when I saw it and I guess at least enough people have sat for this 3 hour long empty fanboy vehicle that I can go ahead and post

I was ready to enjoy this movie at the very least for its cast but it honest to god just made me really embarrassed for them. so here’s my personal catharsis list of cringe The Batman moments, spoilers under the cut obviously:

Paul Dano’s Riddler giving the most hilarious over the top PSYCHO!!1!#!!! performance perhaps of all time. People at my (male fanboy dominated) screening were cracking up BEFORE he even took off his mask, and by the time he started squeaking ave maria (no joke) most of the theater was in uncomfortable stitches. People are going to defend it saying ‘he’s supposed to be a cringe internet radical” but there is no way that we were supposed to find the serial killer antagonist this ridiculous and I cannot wait for the meme clips

Colin Ferrell looking like the goblin king the whole time and being the ugly punchline. Just hire actors who are the size you want next time instead of making grotesque prostheses for a laugh

The DARK DARK DARK GRITTY tone being undermined constantly by how fucking silly Reeves’ universe is. Batman tampers with every crime scene so much it’s a joke by the end. They hold off on arresting him like ten times despite his name appearing on every dead body. Also every “grisly” moment is completely censored or omitted for the rating which makes characters being horrified at things just really funny and anticlimactic

Everything just being weirdly awkward, as movies tend to be nowadays now that test screenings drive the edit. Even the batmobile reveal is super weird, with the car stuttering and stopping. Literally not a single crowdpleasing moment to be found that wasn’t undercut by uncomfortable and hollow filmmaking

The Wayne family plot. There are 3 scenes back to back where bruce just listens to different people telling him different backstory on thomas and martha wayne who were apparently scandalous political figures for some reason. It could’ve just been ‘thomas wayne was yknow a capitalist’ but instead is some weird thing with martha being institutionalized and thomas having mob connections, it takes up like 45 minutes

The copaganda, as always. Singling out the “bad apples” and revealing that there’s a whole bunch of ““good cops”” who the mob bosses couldn’t bribe is supposed to be a gotcha moment

Matt Reeves’ Rian Johnson aura when he tries to inject some social commentary in the form of catwoman calling out the “rich white privileged assholes” only to be wrong and vengeful, actually

On that note, the endlessly infantilizing Revenge is Bad Actually theme, played for the billionth time on cinema’s largest violin and with selina kyle as the naive, damaged would-be killer

Uncomfortable laughs at my showing were second only to exasperated breaths as the movie just. Kept going. Like a solid hour too long. A guy in a batman shirt in front of me who’d been riveted around the one hour mark cried finally as the credits rolled and didn’t bother to stay for a credits scene

Last but not least the embarrassing requisite Joker tease at the end, like this is just any run of the mill trash DC movie. Which it is

hope that helps :) 

[elysianslove]

Hello! Can I please request a hc of Kuroo, Bokuto and Akaashi with a s/o who easily passes out when they see blood? idk but like for me even thinking any anything graphic makes me super light headed or when I watched a birth video I almost passed out :P but yeah something like if someone at practice gets a deep cut and they pass out, sorry if this is too vague but thank you anyways! :))

hi!!! yes you absolutely can i hope you enjoy mwah <3

kuroo tetsurō

it probably comes up every once in a while, in a conversation, but he’s never actually seen you react to blood. 

any time a bloody scene happens in like a movie or something you’re always so quick to shut your eyes and he’s so quick to laugh the bastard. 

probably teases so much whenever it’s brought up like he’ll be telling you about an injury someone on the team sustained and you’ll be cringing so bad and he’ll just coo at you like aw my baby’s scared of a lil blood

he doesn’t realize how serious it is until he sees it happen before his very own eyes: it’s a weekend and you’re hanging with kuroo and some of your mutual friends outdoors on like concrete ground. they’re playing easy going volleyball it’s all chill and stuff and, since yaku’s libero, he goes in to receive the ball and he scrapes his knee really bad. nobody’s really worried but they make him walk over to where you are with all the water to clean it up a little. you can’t really see what’s going on until yaku walks up to you and his knee is so. it’s so bloody. 

you react the only way you know how to

you faint lol

kuroo’s so confused tbh he’s like that video of the guy screaming what happened! what happened! what the fuck happened! while people cheer in the background

he rushes over to where you are and asks yaku what happened, to which yaku shrugs with wide eyes like bro i did nothing i swear 

you come to pretty quickly though and kuroo’s so worried about you he’s all over you asking you if you’re okay if you need anything makes you rest your head on his chest to prevent dizziness makes you drink water all that. when you spot yaku’s knee again you freeze up and just slap your head over your eyes and then it all finally clicks 

proceeds to laugh

what a big meanie rip 

he’s like here i thought you were dying and turns out you’re just a pussy haha 

but he is a lot more careful after that! like he makes sure not to be around you when he’s injured and whenever he sees someone else get hurt he immediately turns your head and hides your face in his chest. also always makes sure you yourself don’t get injured, and if you do, even though he’s teasing you so much, he’ll patch you up so you don’t have to. if you’re asked to watch something like a birthing video or anything equally disturbing to you, he watches it for you and just explains what you need to know for class.

he’s very supportive and protective but will never miss an opportunity to laugh at/with you in the process. it’s his way of lightening up the mood :)

bokuto kōtarō

if you’d told him before he’d actually seen you react to something gore-like or blood in general, he’d be like 

so amazed. like he’d just feel this surge of protectiveness over you like don’t worry never fret i’m here i’ll protect you always!! he is literally the sweetest he doesn’t even need to take you seriously he just wants you to know you’ll never have to worry about something like that

but then it happens: you’re cooking something up in the kitchen and he’s like watching you, keeping you company. you’re just having a normal, lighthearted conversation, talking about your days as you cut up some vegetables, when you accidentally just slice your palm. it’s a relatively deep cut, you’re not sure if you’ll need stitches or not, but suddenly you’re bleeding out really quick and you feel lightheaded. bokuto has really good reflexes though, and as soon as he sees the blood drain from your face and your eyes roll back, he’s immediately by your side, stopping you from hitting the ground.

he’s kind of panicking honestly, because not only is your hand bleeding, but you’re also unconscious. he reaches out to hold your hand and cover it with his own big one, but the blood seeps through also. you come to relatively quick and the first thing you see is the blood, but then bokuto takes his other hand and covers your eyes, turning your head away from the sight.

he’s not entirely sure what to do he just doesn’t like seeing you like this. when you try to turn your head again, he tuts, pouting and going, “don’t look,” while his brain finally catches up and he grabs a towel. he wraps your hand in it and helps you stand, leading you to the sink to wash off the blood, and just as softly as he can runs the water over your cut palm.

he’s insanely gentle. bokuto’s a really hyperactive person, but when it comes to it, he can be really serious, especially when someone he loves it upset or hurt. seeing you like this left him all frowned up and pouty, and he doesn’t like the fact that you look like you’re on the verge of tears. or he fact that you just passed out. like are you okay????

never lets you cut up vegetables after that. or never lets you near a knife in general. paranoia? protectiveness? a good mix of both. 

also constantly kisses your bandaged hand, and if it scars, he’s always tracing it and leaving little featherlight kisses on top of it. 

his panic just makes time move slower, so he’s able to react a little better than others would. overall very protective but in an endearing, soft way

akaashi keiji 

i think akaashi would probably be even panickier than bokuto lmfao

but he’d be the one out of the three to absolutely take you serious when you tell him of your phobia. like as soon as it comes out he finds himself hyperaware of his surroundings whenever he goes out with you, constantly making sure there’s nothing that’ll make you uncomfortable or trigger you

he’s never actually seen you react to blood, but he’s always preparing himself for it to happen. ironically, it happens when he least expects it: you’re carrying around something fragile or made of glass, like a mirror or a porcelain plate and you accidentally trip. he barely manages to react quick enough to catch you before you fall, finding the both of you on your knees, but the glass falls to the ground, crashing and spilling across the room. it cuts him deep on his arm, and you’re immediately fussing over him when you hear him hiss in sudden pain. you hadn’t expected the heavy flow of blood on his pale skin, though, and he hears you gasp before you fall on the ground, unconscious. he’d been a little too distracted by the pain and blood himself to remember your phobia and he immediately panics like ohmygodshit what did i do what do i do 

but then he recollects himself and rushes to get a towel or something to hide his bloody arm, before returning to your side as you’re waking up. starts asking you if you’re okay, repeatedly, as he’s helping you sit up, while you ask if he’s okay because you’re convinced it’s your fault he got hurt in the first place. that kinda makes him smile, steadies and calms him a bit. he helps you to a couch or something while he cleans and bandages his arm away from you, returns to cuddle you and kiss all over your face. 

he was already really painfully aware of your surroundings but after seeing you actually faint because of blood, he’s way more protective. he also learns to respond super quick to your reactions, so if you’re ever out with him, or like with a bunch of other people and you start cringing away at the sight of blood or you faint again, he’s really quick to calm you down or catch you. coddles you and holds you near his chest whenever you’re returning back to consciousness, just whispering softly that you’re okay and urging you not to look.

so, initially he’s very panicky because he thinks he’s prepared but he isn’t. but once he actually experiences it he learns your cues very well and is super good at taking care of you! 

[lloydskywalkers]

let me just start out by saying i love ever single one of your stories!!! i’m pretty new to the show and your works just add so much more feeling to everything and it’s sooo good!!! i don’t know if you ever do requests or not, so don’t bother with this if you’re busy!! but if you ever get a chance could you write smthg abt Jay and Kai? their friendship is so underrated but so good and i live for the moments in the show when Kai’s big brother instinct(tm) kicks in for him as well as Nya and Lloyd

aH thank you so much!! i’m so glad to hear that :D and this isn’t...exactly what you asked for, but Kai and Jay have this fun of dynamic that reminds me a lot of me and my brother, and i’ve been tossing around little bits of interaction between them for a while now, so i tried to make something coherent out of those :’D

Jay likes to think he’s pretty good at the whole compartmentalizing thing, for the most part. Mainly because he actually knows what it means, and it is not, for instance, locking your team up in a literal compartment while rushing off to fight the other compartment that is your resurrected homicidal father into submission.

“That was one time,” Lloyd will grumble, as if he’s only almost-died once. And then Jay will flinch, because that’s where his compartments come into play.

(Nadakhan gets one, Unagami gets another, the whole fun-times adoption reveal another, and everything else can get stuffed into the metaphorical attic since they won’t pay rent.)

Unfortunately, the attic is where the bad stuff lives.

Metaphorically.

If Jay had a nickel for every time he almost lost all of his friends, he’d have two nickels, plus another nickel for Cole falling into the fog, and another for Lloyd getting crushed by a roof, and another for Zane blowing up, and another for Nya in that awful dress with paling skin as her breathing stutters and the light in her eyes draining and —

And Jay is way, way too familiar with how it looks when his family dies, and all the nickels in the world won’t help that.

So while Jay likes to think he’s pretty good at compartmentalizing, he also thinks he’s got a valid excuse for the way he reacts when Lloyd goes down in the fight that afternoon. Sure, some vague part of his mind remembers that they’ve got a plan they’re running, and Lloyd should easily be able to handle a tiny little stumble — but Jay’s mind is stuck in glaring oranges and health bars, the unsteady gasping noise Lloyd had made before he went down, dissolving into digitized cubes just like everyone else, and Jay—

Jay can’t handle that, compartments or not, so he clears the space between them in a heartbeat just in time to take the bullet that comes hurtling Lloyd’s way.

It’d probably be a very noble and touching scene, if one) Jay didn’t make a hideous squeaking noise when it hit because bullets hurt, and two) the bullet would have missed Lloyd by a good two feet anyways.

Ah well, he thinks, as everything devolves into panicked yelling. It’s the thought that counts.

Except thoughts do not count when Kai is involved, apparently. Or any of the rest of the team, for that matter.

“What is wrong with you?” Kai hisses right in his face, eyes wild and sparking. “I was covering Lloyd, what were you doing?”

“Filling in for you, obviously,” Jay retorts. He has an excellent followup to that, real snappy and all, except that’s the moment Kai’s hand clamps down on the bullet wound in his arm to stop the bleeding, and Jay ends up stifling a shriek instead.

Great, he thinks, fighting back stinging tears of pain as he tries not to take Kai’s apparent wrath too personally. At least Cole looks worried, along the the rest of the team, who are dutifully concerned for his wellbeing like proper teammates should be.

“He’s going to need the hospital,” Zane informs them, his voice a lot steadier and calmer than his words make Jay feel. Zane’s eyebrows furrow as he studies his arm. “Stitches, probably.”

Jay swallows, trying not to curse. There’s a sharp scream as Nya finishes taking out another attacker just beyond them, and Jay figures that’s good enough.

“Okay,” Lloyd says, squeezing Jay’s wrist briefly. Either in comfort about the stitches or thanks for trying to cover him, Jay’s not sure. It’s a nice gesture, nonetheless. “Kai, Cole, can you get him there while we finish up? Sooner the better.”

Cole gives a sharp nod, and offers to take Jay from where Kai’s got him in a death grip. Kai shakes his head, and Jay’s stomach sinks. Sure enough, as soon as they’re clear of the scene, Kai starts going off.

“What did you mean, ‘filling in for me’,” he grinds through his teeth, clearly not about to let this go.

Jay bristles in response at his tone. “I meant,” he bites out, through a hot flare of pain in his arm. Kai’s always merciless with the bandages, even when he’s not in a mood. “That you weren’t there. So I covered.”

He should leave it at that, but Jay’s in a foul enough mood to finish with a condescending, “You’re welcome.”

Kai’s expression grows thunderous. “You didn’t need to. I was right there, you shouldn’t have — you weren’t needed, you should’ve held back.”

Jay feels his chest go tight. His head is clouding with anger, and the pain in his arm isn’t helping, but — ‘you weren’t needed’? Kai really didn’t skimp on the jerk juice this morning, did he.

“Oh, like you could’ve done so much better,” Jay glares. “Lloyd would’ve been toast by the time you got to him.”

“I could’ve made it!”

“Yeah right—”

“I would have, and I wouldn’t have gotten hit!” Kai snarls back. Something in Jay snaps. Or maybe it’s just the steadily increasing blood loss, but of all the nerve—

“Well you didn’t, ‘cause you weren’t there!” he snaps back. “You were too slow, which is real funny since your brain is too!”

It’s not his best comeback, he’ll admit, but Kai looks as if he’s about to light him on fire, if he weren’t stuck carrying Jay like the cover of some awful romance novel, blood getting all over his uniform as they both scream at each other. Maybe Jay will get lucky, and Kai will combust, and they’ll both go up in flames before they can remember that Cole is right there watching them.

“Cut it out, now!”

Oops, too late. For all the incensed authority in Cole’s voice, there’s still a traitorous falter that lets them both know they’ve screwed up. They fall silent, the atmosphere heavy with the lingering tension and new sense of guilt.

And the disgusting sound of Jay’s blood leaking through the makeshift bandage and hitting the ground, truly revolting, he hates blood.

“Just…no more. Please, shut up until we’re at the hospital.” Cole marches forward, snatches Jay from Kai’s arms, and proceeds to beat the fastest route to the hospital at a militant pace.

Jay still looks like some helpless romance cover heroine, dangling from Cole’s arms like he is. It occurs to him that he doesn’t even need to be carried — it’s his arm that’s hurt, he can still walk—

But any protests die rapidly at the look on Cole’s face. And at least this way, Jay thinks sullenly, he can fixedly ignore Kai.

Then again, Kai’s got a killer glare, and Jay’s always been garbage at ignoring people when his feelings are hurt.

* * * * * * * *

Despite the fuss everyone makes, Jay’s arm really isn’t that bad. They hook him up with some pretty sweet meds so he remembers zero of the actual arm-fixing, and he wakes up just in time to complain about being held in the hospital for ‘observation’ or whatever.

“It’s to make sure there’s no infection, or that you don’t rip your stitches out,” Nya tells him pointedly. Jay cringes under the look she gives him at that last part. Geez. You get kicked in the stitches one time after sneaking out early and suddenly no one’s got any faith in you. Typical.

“Why couldn’t we have just gone to medbay,” Jay grumbles. “Pixal gives way better stitches than this, anyways.”

“Gun wounds get hospitals,” Nya reminds him. “And it’s not fair to put that kind of pressure on Pix when we can avoid it.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Nya glares at him. “It most certainly was that bad.”

“Oh, so when you get your arm crushed by a car, it’s fine,” Jay glares back. “But when I get a tiny little bullet nick, it’s that bad.”

Nya rolls her eyes, ignoring him. “Just think of it this way,” she says. “Now you have a little more time before Lloyd starts weeping apologies all over you.”

“Aw, no,” Jay groans, leaning back in the hospital bed. “Tell me he’s not blaming himself, Nya.”

“I think we had a promise about not lying to each other, or something,” Nya says, sympathetically. She winces. “Pretty sure he made the connection, too.”

Jay frowns. “What connection?”

Nya shifts, her eyes darting from side to side. “The, uh, the whole…Prime Empire, thing.”

Jay stares at her for a beat, trying to reconcile his blatant shock with the roiling nausea at the mention in his stomach. Nya looking at him all kind and sympathetically isn’t helping, either, because she might have made it down to the final two, but she was never all alone, and the reminder that she’d have been fine if Jay hadn’t gotten her killed twice is—

Bad. Real bad, not good, zero out of ten stars. Maybe he can take a bullet for Nya, next, and that’ll — that’ll help things, maybe. Equivalent exchange? Restitution? Some kind of fancy word that means Jay swears he’s gonna make it up.

In the meantime, he smothers the rising sickness in his throat and sinks lower into the bed, sulking. “It’s too easy to recognize trauma in this team.”

“I hear you,” Nya sighs, wearily. She nudges his shoulder, rising from her seat near the bed. “Speaking of. Someone’s got something they want to say to you.”

It takes Jay a second, but his eyes widen as Nya heads for the door. “Wait, wait wait wait, don’t you dare—”

“Love you,” Nya says cheekily, before taking her merry leave of the room. There’s a brief scuffle from outside, and the sound of Kai yelping, before Nya shoves him through the door, slamming it shut behind him with a damning click.

For a second, Jay’s tempted to hit the ‘call nurse’ button as hard as he can, in some desperate attempt to escape. Then he gets a good look at Kai, who’s turned a pale, queasy color that frankly looks awful on him, which is saying a lot ‘cause there isn’t much that doesn’t look good on Kai, but the expression he has on now—

Aw, man, now Jay’s feeling guilty and it isn’t even his fault. Stupid moral conscience center, he curses himself.

“So, uh…” he begins, because far be it from him to let this kind of awkward silence stretch on any longer. “Nice, ah, weather we’re having?”

Kai doesn’t respond, staring fixedly at the floor, and Jay sizes up the ‘call nurse’ button again. Just for the both of their sakes, of course.

But then Kai takes a deep breath, blows it out, and rocks back on his heels, fiddling with his hands. “I, um. I’m sorry.”

Jay’s jaw drops open. Which is probably an overdramatic move, all things considered, but unless he’s suddenly lost the ability to understand words, Kai just apologized to him.

Kai apologized. To him.

It’s not that Kai apologizing is some great big deal — Kai might have his pride, but he’s also an intuitive and good-hearted person who knows when he’s messed up. But to him?

Jay knows how he and Kai work. Kai knows how he and Jay work, and he’s breaking the rules. Because Kai and Jay don’t apologize to each other. Unless it’s some awkward expression of sympathy, they’ve never needed to. They fight dirty, aim for each other’s kneecaps, swear eternal vengeance and hatred at each other before storming off, then an hour later Jay’s bounding into Kai’s room to show him dumb meme videos and neither of them even remember what they were fighting about.

Acknowledging said fight with something as gushy as apologizing is not only useless since they both forget what they’re apologizing for anyways, but also useless because it’ll take too much time, and counterproductive on top, because it’ll most likely end in another fight about who apologized better. So for Kai to walk in and say sorry—

“Oh no, who did you kill?” Jay says, paling.

Kai spears him with a look, but it’s so pathetically watered-down and miserable that Jay forgets to glare back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jay mutters. “I just—”

“No, no, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Kai interrupts. He hesitates, then sighs. “But that’s fair. I — I was unfair. To you, back there. Like, really unfair, in a bad way, ‘cause you were shot and I know you meant well, but you—”

Kai gestures wildly with his hands, his stream of words cutting off. Jay is left to stare open-mouthed at him again. Babbling like this is Jay’s thing. Kai is breaking all the rules today, huh.

“I just…” Kai trails off, ducking his head. “I don’t like watching you guys get hurt. I don’t — I don’t like watching you get hurt. And I get scared, but it comes out angry, and then I make a mess of things so I’m — sorry. Really sorry, for biting your head off.”

He exhales, a little shaky, fingers balled up in tight fists as his head hangs low, refusing to meet Jay’s eyes. Something softens in Jay’s chest, like gooey melting butter or something else equally pathetic. But it’s rare that Kai vocalizes this stuff, despite the fact that Jay knows he cares, and it’s nice to hear it, so he figures he’s entitled to all the butter he wants.

Jay’s own gaze falters, and the something starts to twist. He bites his lip, tugging half-heartedly at the bandages around his arm.

“Well,” he pauses, thinking of the way his brain had shifted to autopilot when he’d watched Lloyd falter, the razor-sharp shard of terror that always splinters through him when any of their teammates come too close to the awful images of death left in his head. He swallows. “I guess I don’t really have any room to talk,” he murmurs. “Be pretty dumb if I blamed you for that.”

He’s preparing to sink back into his own well of self-pity and loathing, resigned to spending the next few hours until they check him out of the hospital replaying bad memories in his head, when Kai’s next to him all of the sudden, shoving him over on the hospital bed.

“Hey, hey, what’s the big idea—”

“Move, c’mon. You don’t need that much room, you’re a stick,” Kai grumbles, before grinning brightly in success as Jay makes him space. The contrast in expression is enough to startle Jay into silence, and Kai takes advantage. “I know that look. But you already got shot, so you gotta cheer up now.”

“So you’re forcing me into cheerfulness by stealing my hospital bed,” Jay scowls, but the sting is lost in the sudden surge of affection as Kai elbows his way on the bed with him, a steady warmth by his side.

“I’m gifting you my presence, you should be celebrating,” Kai huffs, as he pulls his phone out. “Now stop looking so sad and watch this video I got of a bunch’a geese chasing Zane at the park the other day.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Jay says, but he’s already snickering as he leans his head against Kai’s shoulder to get a better look.

He’s forgotten to tell Kai he forgives him, but like most things between them — Jay doesn’t really need to say it out loud.